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 tops in popularity for a longer period of time than any other 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 stations from Canada to Mexico. And now the Whistler's strange story, undertow. He had all summer in which to do nothing and that's what he was doing. Driving north along the coast from New York, stopping when he felt like it, swimming when the beach looked inviting. But above everything else, John Digby loved to swim, to trot down across the white beach to the blue Atlantic water, plunge through the long lazy rollers, out a hundred yards a mile with tireless strokes, content with the feeling that he belonged there, that the ocean was his home. He'd been ten days coming north to Cape Anne. And as he floated out beyond the breaker line, he knew that here was the most beautiful spot of all. Made up his mind to linger for a few days, a week perhaps before going on. It was then looking back at the beach, at peace with himself and the world that John saw. A tiny figure in a green bathing suit, standing before a beach house hidden by an indentation in the cliff. Curious, he started back toward the beach, toward the place where he saw her plunge into the water and start out. Well, hello there. Hello. Mermaid. You're a wonderful swimmer. I've been watching you through the glasses. Had to come out and join you. It's a big ocean. Anybody can use it. National policy, you know. What? Freedom of the seas. But I hope you don't mind the intrusion. Oh, not at all. You swim very well. But I never have anyone to swim with. That's why I came out now. Oh, I'm glad you did. Give me a head start and I'll race you in. Okay, you're on. Oh, I win. Yeah, nice going. Oh, I'm going to collapse right here in the sand and catch my breath. Oh, isn't it glorious? Oh, nothing like it. I love to swim. Always did since I was a kid. You're from New York, aren't you? Yeah, I got my first taste of water off East River docks. How'd you guess? The way you talk. And you're a denizen of the deep. Only, what did you do with your long silver tail? Only wear it on Sundays. Say, do you live in that house around the bend? During the summer. Just where I'd want a house if I had my choice. Sand and water and no one around for miles. Gets lonely sometimes. Doesn't have to. Would you like a hot drink? Coffee or anything else? How about anything else? Well, if I remember correctly, we have a whole cabinet full of assorted anything else. Do you know how to mix it? Why don't you give me 15 minutes to get dressed? She smiles, walks away from you toward the house around the shoulder of the cliff. Her long slim legs swinging gracefully over the sand. Her hair bobbing easily from side to side. Like a honey-colored cascade in the still air. And back at the car when you finish dressing, you find yourself taking a little extra care to comb your own sparse hair over the bald spot. Feeling your 40 years a little guiltily for the first time. It's a very long 15 minutes before you walk up to the door. Come on in, I'm making sandwiches. Wonderful. And will you have bourbon, scotch... Stop right there, bourbon straight. I see you're a man of very definite opinions. Oh, I've been known to waver. I like that. Wavering? The definite opinion. I bet it goes right down the line with you. Business, politics, the books you read. Oh, please. I'm not pig-headed, really. I didn't mean that at all. Here you are. Thanks. Well, here's looking at you. Yes, so I've noticed. Will you drink to it? Of course. Why not? Well, the sandwiches were wonderful and anything else. You'll be back again tomorrow to swim? I think so. Will you let me start out with you? You were right a while ago. I have pretty set ideas about politics and business. Oh? Women, too. My name is John Digby. I'm stopping at the Gloucester Inn. I'm not married. I'm Sandra Merrivale. Mrs. Sandra Merrivale. I see. You will make it tomorrow. Goodbye, Mrs. Merrivale. Thanks for your hospitality. You're welcome. Except for weekends, my husband never comes home till eight. He has his business in Boston. I'd like to meet him sometime. I'll expect you about ten. Goodbye, Mrs. Merrivale. Hello? It's me. I thought it might be. I'm calling from the drugstore on Main Street. Yes? I'll park my car in the drive near the statue in ten minutes. Do you always do that? What? Give a man the exact number of minutes to meet you. Suppose I'm not there in ten minutes. You'll be there. You're making it difficult. I think I know what I'm doing. So do you. Yeah. All right. I'll see you in ten minutes. Here's the place. Yes, it's very nice. In the daytime you can see for miles. That's the town back there, the lighthouse. Yes, I see it. Got a cigarette? Sure, sure. Here you are. Thanks. That's better. I always come up here when I want to think. Strange, isn't it? Being up high this way, looking down on the ocean, on the town. Gives you a curious sense of power. I do most of my philosophizing out there. In the water? Mm-hmm. Do you ever swim at night? Sometimes. Harrison does. It's to show he's not really afraid. He doesn't swim well, but he grits his teeth and swims out to where it's just over his head, then back again. That takes courage, overcoming two fears at the same time, the darkness and the water. You're not afraid of the water, are you, John? No. But there are other things. Like what? Like married women. Any ethical objection? No, strictly practical. We're very much alike. Tell me more about yourself, John. My name is John Digby. I'm stopping at the Clouser Inn until tomorrow. I'm not married. I'm 40 years old, about twice your age. I'm 25. Not quite young enough to be my daughter. Harrison's 50. Good for Harrison. When do you ever marry, John? It's hard to say. Why do you? Check. John? Wait a minute. Look, Sandra. Please, John. Oh. Why are you afraid of me? Skip it, will you? Come on. Let's go back to the hotel. Her kiss tasted salt like the ocean, like tears. And somehow you find yourself remembering the time you battled the undertow for two hours off the Carolina Cakes. And during the week that follows, the feeling stays with you. Through the morning swims off the bright beach. The lunch is with her. The afternoon is with her. The afternoon's lying in the warm sand. Even with the final realization that you were so in love with her that you shut the future out of your mind. Something would have to be done, of course. But you hoped it would take care of itself when the time came. Then when you drive up the following Monday, she comes out to the car in her bathing suit. Don't get out. Why not? There's a barjank at 100 yards offshore. Some scientist from Woods Hole conducting some sort of experiment. Oh, why did they have to pick on our little piece of ocean? Oh, I don't know. But I don't want them to see us together. We'll swim on the other side of the Cape. I have lunch in the basket. We can spend the day. You think of everything, don't you? I try to, darling. Oh, it's nice here. John. Yes? What are we going to do? Do? About us. Oh. You know, we can't hide away from people forever. All right, so we won't hide. We'll face it out. You can pack up some things and we'll start driving. Oh, he won't give me a divorce. I've talked to him before. We can make Reno in five days. Six weeks after that, you're free. No. Why not? Harrison's made everything possible for me, John. Given me things I always dreamed of having someday. Everything except... Yes. Look, Angel, you've got to be sensible. You can't have your cake and eat it too, Reno. I can't give all those things up, John. I love you, believe me, but I can't give them up. You must think of a way, some way. You're smart. You know how to do things. All right, Sandra. Just... Just give me a little time to think. He says he wants to close up the beach house and go back to the city. Why? I can't understand. He's become more interested in swimming lately. Goes all the way out to the barge, 100 yards. Boasts about it to his business friends. You mean he swims out at night alone? Yes. Hmm. That could be dangerous. I've told him so, but he insists on showing off. I see. What do you see, John? Little girls shouldn't ask questions. With the prologue of Undertow, the Signal Oil Company is bringing you another strange story by The Whistler. This, you know, is the fifth consecutive year that Signal Oil Company has sponsored. A long time for a radio program, yet short compared with the 17 years that Signal has served the West. And just as The Whistler has grown to be the West Coast's most popular mystery show, Signal has grown too. Grown from a mere handful of stations in Southern California to almost 2,000 dealer-owned stations serving six Western states from Canada to Mexico. Now, obviously, there must be good reasons why so many drivers have switched to Signal gasoline. And there are. One important factor, of course, is good mileage that has made Signal famous as the go-farther gasoline. But equally important is the thing which makes such mileage possible. I mean the superior efficiency today's Signal gasoline gets from your motor, which naturally means superior performance for your car. That's why Signal says to be sure of the top 10 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. And now back to The Whistler. It's something out of a fantasy, John, like swimming underwater with blurred shapes and shadows, your mind moving past everything except what you must do to have Sandra. Two weeks ago, you'd have laughed at the kind of thoughts that have taken hold of you, because that was before you met her, before she'd come swimming out to you from the white beach shoreline of the cove at Cape Anne. But now the things she said come to you over and over. It's to show he's not really afraid. He swims all the way out to the barge, 100 yards, all alone. He boasts about it to his friends in the city. You shiver slightly, John, but then you tell yourself it's the only way, and you have to have her. During your swim the next day, neither of you talk very much, and you find yourself surprised and a little alarmed that Sandra has sensed your mood so quickly. And it isn't until almost time to start back to the village that you can bring yourself to mention his name. Sandra. Yes, darling. He'll be home tonight, as usual. Harrison? Of course. No special plans, no appointments in the village? No. Good. Sandra, make sure he goes for his swim tonight. Never mind the questions, just be sure he goes swimming tonight. It's cold out there. He'll go. Good. There's only one thing. Yes? Well, someone might think that I went with him. Oh, I didn't think of that. Could you have someone over for dinner, somebody who doesn't care for night swimming? I think so. Betty had come. What if she wants to watch? All the better. There won't be anything to see. There's no moon. But if he cries out... He won't. All right. I'll arrange everything. You start early, John. But even in the darkness, you have a little trouble finding the barge. It's necessary to swim out to sea aways and get the house lights behind it. Then, clinging to the anchor chain and cables, you wait, stiff with the cold. But just when you're almost ready to give up, Sandra's voice carries across the water to you, crisp and clear. Now, do be careful, Harrison, please. I'm all right. We can walk from here, Betty. You won't see much. You strain to get a look at him in the darkness, but it's no use. You'll have to go over the sound. And then you hear him swimming towards you. You listen to him moving closer and closer. When he's almost to the barge, you take a deep breath. Pull yourself down on the anchor chain. The water is pitch black, John, and it won't be easy to find him. But you move under the surface to the point where you plan to meet him. His thrashing feet give off a faint luminescence. You glide toward it using a flutter kick, hands outstretched. A few seconds later, you reach him and pull him down. Good morning, Mr. Digby. Good morning, clerk. Hope you slept well. Oh, yes, thank you. Have you heard the terrible news? What news? Oh, of course you couldn't have. I was in another drowning, one of the regular summer residents. He was swimming off the dunes last night and evidently was pulled on by the undertow. Oh, that's too bad. Who was it? Mr. Harrison Maryvale, very nice man. Only 50 years old. Well, accidents will happen. Mrs. Maryvale and a guest were there. They saw him go in. Poor man, never came back. Couldn't have been anything else. No. No, it couldn't have been anything else. Hello? Hello, it's John. John, John, listen, I can't talk. The house is still full of friends and relatives. You've got to be patient. They're already asking questions. It's been three days, Sandra. I want to see you. Get rid of them, will you? Well, I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. I'll try. Goodbye, John. It isn't easy, is it, John. Waiting for a phone call that never comes. Finally, you can't stand it anymore. And you drive out for the dunes, run the car out of sight off the road, and walk until you're inside of the house. If only you can see her, talk to her for a few minutes, you'll feel better. A half hour goes by and then she comes out of the house in her bathing suit, starts toward the water. It's perfect, isn't it John? You can swim out too, talk to her somewhere offshore. Then you stop, staring unbelievably as a young man comes out joining Sandra. As they move off to splash about on the surf, you edge toward the house. Still empty, not a sign of a mourning relative. There's a large clump of hydrangeas growing near an open window. You ease yourself in behind them, crouch down to wait and to listen. It isn't long. Oh Clark, you simply must learn to swim. It's so much fun. And so dangerous. No thanks darling, I'll keep my feet on the ground. But nothing would ever happen to you. You can bet on that, sweet. Now that we're out of sight of those nosy scientists on the barge, how about a little kiss? Oh Clark. Clark dear, let's be serious for a moment. What are we going to do? Well, get married. But when? Oh, I can't get away before next week. How about Monday? I'd like to go soon. There's a reason. What reason? I'd rather not say. Monday my pet. Now, how about some lunch? The tramp. The little tramp. The tramp. You're shaking all over as you get up and stumble back to the road. You drive around to get control of yourself, to think and then... John, you shouldn't have come here. Why not? No one's going to see me. Well, it's so soon after... That's what I want to talk to you about, Sandra. I don't want it to appear as if you were in a terrific rush to get married. Oh? I thought maybe I'd go back to New York tomorrow and get some work in until you can join me. Say in about a month or so. Oh, that's a splendid idea, John. Then we can have a quiet wedding, go on a trip or something and come back and settle down with nobody the wiser. John, you are thoughtful, dear. I thought you'd like it, Sandra. Only, only since I won't see you for so long, I'd like to take something back with me. A memory sort of. Oh, sentimental. I guess I am sort of. Anyway, I thought we could say goodbye in the same way we met. You know, swimming. Swimming? Mm-hmm. Let's go for a long swim, Sandra, way out. Then in the morning heading back for New York, I'll remember you as you were that first time, my lovely mermaid. Give me time to change. My trunks are out in the car. I'll meet you in the water on the other side of the barge. I'll be there in 20 minutes. Darling. Over here, Sandra. Hang on to this cable. Oh, isn't the water wonderful? It's wonderful, all right. Just like the night you sent your husband out here for me to drown. John, I don't want to hear about it. This isn't about it, Sandra. This is about me, John Digby, the man you said you wanted to marry, remember? John, I don't know what... It's no use, Sandra. I know all about your friend Clark. You know about... Get away from me, John. Let go. I'm going in. Not in, Sandra. No, down. The way Harrison went down. Another accident in the undercoat. No. Please, John, let me go. No. No. Clark, he's not. He's just... No. The whistle will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story. Meantime, since you hear so many claims these days about various motor oils, Signal has asked me to pass along to you some scientific facts so that you can draw your own logical conclusions. In gruelling road and laboratory tests, today's finest straight motor oils were compared with Signal Premium, the new type signal lubricant, which combines pure paraffin base with five scientific compounds. And what were the results? By actual test, motor stayed six times cleaner and cylinder wear was reduced one-third with Signal Premium motor oil. Now consider what this means to you. Less carbon means that your motor runs quieter, smoother, and less cylinder wear means more power. So there you have it. Proof that Signal Premium motor oil is your guarantee of a sweeter running motor. Good reason why more and more drivers who want to keep their car's performance young are making their next oil change a change for the better, a change to Signal Premium motor oil. And now back to the Whistler. Two days later, it doesn't seem real, does it, John? As you drive on from Cape Anne north to the main beaches, as you fill your eyes with the beauty of the down east coastline. And as more long lazy weeks pile up, it recedes farther and farther into your memory. And you can't believe that you committed two murders, that the undertow pulled you out beyond your emotional depth for five horrible days. For Sandra's gone now, and you're as safe as on the day you dragged yourself out of the undertow on the Carolina Cakes. It's two days after you arrive back in New York that a man drops into your apartment, flashes a headquarters shield. I'm Lieutenant Patton, Mr. Digby. Oh? Well, what can I do for you, Lieutenant? I'd like you to drive downtown with me, if you will. Any particular reason? Yeah. A few weeks back, there were a couple of drownings in Massachusetts. This way, please. Now, look here, Lieutenant, I insist on you. You tell me the reason for all of this. I don't know anything about... You'll know in a minute. Hello, Dr. Alderman. Yes, sir. This is Mr. Digby, Dr. Alderman. How do you do? How do you do? I'm an ichthyologist, Mr. Digby. Fish, you know. For the past year, I've been conducting some experiments from the Woods Hole base. You've heard of Woods Hole, of course, Digby. Well, yes, but what has that... Go on, Doctor. Very interesting experiments, they were. During the war, the Navy discovered its underwater detection apparatus was picking up some curious impulses, vibrations, which we later discovered were made by fish, the sound of fish. I'd like to play you a recording we made. Now, wait a minute, Lieutenant. I haven't got time to sit around... It'll only take a moment, Digby. Got the turntable ready, Doctor? Yes, here we are. Now, our microphone is in about 50 feet of water, right over a bed of snapping shrimp. This is the way they sound. That noise is made by snapping their claws together. Now, here is a chorus of croakers. Our microphone is right over this school of fish. Here are some single fish. There is a rock cod. That's a flounder. The records you have just heard were official recordings made for the Navy several weeks ago. But a few nights later, we were testing the equipment. Well, listen to this record. Oh, isn't the water wonderful? It's wonderful, all right. Just like the night you sent your husband out here for me to drown. John, I don't want to hear about it. This isn't about it, Sondar. This is about me, John Digby, the man you said you wanted to marry, remember? John, I don't know. What about that, Digby? Stop it! Stop it, damn it! All right. All right, I... I can't argue with that. You don't want to hear the rest? Oh, no, no. I know the rest by heart. Of course you do. You're a wonderful swimmer, Digby. I guess you just got in a little too deep. Let that whistle be your signal for the Signal Oil Program, the Whistler. Each Wednesday night at the 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 were Doris Singleton and Wally Mayer. The sounds of fish used in tonight's script were actual undersea sounds recorded by University of California oceanographers at the Naval Research Laboratory, San Diego. The Whistler was produced by George W. Allen, with story by George and Gertrude Fass, and music by Wilbur Hatch, and was transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. Next Wednesday, for a full hour of mystery over most of these stations, tune in a half hour earlier. Enjoy the Saint, as well as the Whistler. This is Marvin Miller speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
