The Whistler. Whistle is your signal for the signal oil program, The Whistler. I am The Whistler and I know many things for I walk by night. I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. Yes friends, it's time for the signal oil program, The Whistler. Rated 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, Bird of Prey. Eddie Smith was pleased, very pleased, and he congratulated himself for the long trip from St. Louis to Havana was about to pay off. It had been quite a task tracking down the elusive mysterious J.C. Raven, the big question mark of the literary world. Author of a half a dozen bestsellers, the man's true identity had remained a secret over a period of years. A secret that was shared by two men, Raven and his literary agent, Barclay Wells, who was as mysterious as his famous client. Of course Eddie hadn't caught up with J.C. Raven, not yet, but he'd done the next best thing. He'd finally located Barclay Wells, who at the moment sat in a small smoke-filled cafe on one of Havana's side streets sipping coffee. His eyes fastened on a slender dark-haired beauty. Now look Mr. Wells, this story means a lot to me. It'll make a great magazine feature. Now I'm willing to play along with your client's man of mystery routine and I'll write the story any way you wish, but I... Mr. Wells. I'm very sorry Mr. Smith. She is attractive isn't she? Yeah, she? Young lady in the floor show. Oh yes, she reminds me of home and mother. Now look Mr. Wells, you and your client have built up a fine gimmick, the mystery angle I mean, and I wouldn't want to hurt it if you're worried that my story is going to... Mr. Smith, how did you find me? I own a Ouija board. Do you really? Oh cut it out Wells, cut it out. Now listen, why don't you fix up an appointment for me to talk to this guy Raven? Guy? Mr. Smith, has it ever occurred to you that J.C. Raven might be a woman? Sure, sure, I'd kick the idea around but I won't buy it. Now take that last novel, Undertow. Could a dame have written it? Undertow? Oh yes, it's a fine book. Yeah, and from what I read in the trade, it's going to be a terrific movie. And I also read that Imperial Studios are paging your boy and waiving a big fat contract if he'll come out of hiding. Very true. We're not interested. We? My client isn't interested. By the way, Mr. Wells, what are you doing down here in Havana anyway? Business? Yes, business of course. Oh yes, sure. All the literary agents hang out in Havana. There's nothing to keep an agent in New York, Philadelphia, Boston, nothing at all. What are you driving at, Mr. Smith? Nothing, nothing. But wouldn't it be funny if you turned out to be J.C. Raven? I? Oh, now really? I'll tell you what, suppose you drop around to my apartment tomorrow afternoon. We'll have another little chat, eh? I live in... Yeah, yeah, 36 Plaza Del Norte, third floor front. Say around two. Well, do you mind if I walk along with you to the door? Why should I? Come right along, Mr. Smith. And so you accompany Barclay Wells out of the cafe and into the dark, almost deserted street. At the corner, a man is standing under a street light, idly puffing away at a cigarette. But you hardly notice him as you say good night to Wells and start away in the opposite direction. Then you hear it, a shout. You break into a run. As you move back past the cafe and round the corner, you see two men struggling in the street, one of them is Wells. Suddenly he falls to the pavement. As the other man wheels around and rushes you, you block the knife. No, you don't. He crumbles. Senor, Senor, what is happening? I hear a noise. Hold up, I think. This is the guy. I knocked him cold. Here, help me with my friend, will you please? Easy now, easy. Wells. Wells. Senor, he's hurt bad. Say, is there a phone around here? See, in the shop. Well, get a doctor, will you please? And the police. Senor, I will do this. Wait a minute. Never mind the doctor. Wells is dead. Just call the police for this guy that killed him. You watch the man disappear into the shop to call the police. Then you turn and stare at the lifeless form of Barclay Wells. Or was he really J.C. Raven? There's one way to find out, Eddie. You stand in the shadows and watch the police pick up the killer, then you slip away. A quarter of an hour later, you arrive at 36 Plaza del Norte and slip into the apartment, third floor front. The first thing you find is a letter, an offer from Marcus Rosamond of Imperial Pictures addressed to J.C. Raven. Then you find it under some penciled notes in a desk drawer, a synopsis, a complete story plot, Eddie, for a brand new J.C. Raven novel. It's all here, Eddie, waiting for someone to write it. And then an idea hits you, the best idea you've ever had in your life. On American Airways. When's the next plane leaving for Miami? Four o'clock, senor. Well, that'll do. And I'd also like to arrange for a reservation out of Miami. Muy bien, senor. Where to, please? Going west, Los Angeles. With the prologue of Bird of Prey, the Signal Oil Company is bringing you another strange story by The Whistler. But first, friends, a message especially for you drivers who have new cars or expect to be getting one. Just any motor oil won't do, you know, for today's high-efficiency motors. No, sir. They need special protection if they're to give you the long, trouble-free service you have a right to expect. That's why Signal Oil Company brought out Signal Premium Compounded Motor Oil, especially created to give modern motors this extra protection and manufactured under strict laboratory control to ensure a uniform product. The result? Tests prove that this new type Signal Oil actually keeps motors cleaner and reduces wear, assuring you thousands of miles of trouble-free driving pleasure. So if you want to keep the performance of your car 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 Compounded Motor Oil. And now back to The Whistler. So, Eddie, you're on your way, on your way to Hollywood, secure in the belief that J.C. Rabin, the literary man of mystery, died on a quiet street in Havana. As your plane heads westward New Orleans, Houston, El Paso, you go over your plan carefully over and over again. You can't miss, can you, Eddie? It's late Thursday afternoon when you arrive in Hollywood and check in at a fashionable hotel. Early the next morning you walk into the offices of Imperial Studios. Good morning, sir. May I help you? Yes, Edgar Smith to see Mr. Rosamond. Do you have an appointment? Appointment? Honey, I don't need an appointment. I'm sorry, sir. My dear girl, apparently you don't read the papers very much, do you? The papers? There was a small box item on the front page of this morning's Hollywood Reporter. What was it about? Why, I... Wait a minute. Then you're... I'm Edgar Smith, and I want to see Mr. Rosamond. Now, if I may trouble you for an envelope, I'll just jot down a little note on this letter. Yes, Eddie, she got it. All you have to do is insist that your name is Edgar Smith, and there's certainly nothing wrong with that, is there? You are Edgar Smith. You'd give anything to see the expression of Rosamond's face when he reads the few words you scrawled on the letter. The same letter he'd sent to Barkley Wells, the one you picked up off his desk in Havana the night he was killed. Yes, it'll be a pleasant surprise for Mr. Rosamond. Come in, Mr. Smith. Come in, come in. Thank you. Florence, tell everybody to go away. I don't want to be interrupted. Go, go, go, go. Yes, sir. Mr. Raven, Mr. Raven, let me look at you. Just as I pictured you. I cannot tell you what a pleasure. I'm indeed delighted. Delighted. Here, here. Sit down, sit down. Well, thanks, Mr. Rosamond. So, so you are J.C. Raven. J.C. Smith. Edgar Smith. I beg your pardon? Oh, of course, Edgar Smith. I'm afraid I must insist on that. Of course, Mr. Smith. I'm glad you didn't make it John Smith. I had nothing to do with it, believe me. Edgar Smith, wonderful, wonderful. Now that you are coming to work with us, you are coming to work for Imperial, no? If the terms are right. Terms, terms, terms. You write your own contract. Anything you want will be, that is, within reason. Of course, Mr. Raven. Smith, Edgar Smith. Oh, excuse me. I can't impress this on you too strongly, Mr. Rosamond. I'm Edgar Smith, you understand? Yes, yes. On the contract around the studios, Smith, Edgar Smith. Edgar Smith. And no publicity on J.C. Raven. No publicity? No publicity. But my boy, such an opportunity we cannot afford to miss. Why, I... So long, Mr. Rosamond. No, no, no, no. Wait, my boy. Think of what the publicity is. So long, Mr. Rosamond. All right, all right. No publicity. No publicity. Fine. And now, shall we discuss money, Mr. Rosamond? When you leave Rosamond's office an hour later, you congratulate yourself again. Yes, you're in now, Eddie. It's a big step from freelance writing to a movie contract. You've cleared the first hurdle. The rest of the way will be easy. The next day, you settle the matter of the contract with Rosamond over lunch at the Brown Derby. Then, there are a few other details that Rosamond handles personally, like your new office and secretary. On Wednesday morning, you meet Miss Corby, your new assistant. Small, slender, mousy, with large brown eyes, a pale, thin face, dull blonde hair trimmed close to the head. Mr. Smith, you can take my word for it. She is the finest girl in the building, knows the industry better than I do. Oh, I wouldn't say that, Mr. Rosamond. A jewel, Mr. Smith, a veritable jewel. She'll be a great help. With her, you'll turn out some great stories for Imperial. Listen, Veronica, he's a genius. Take my word for it. I'm sure he is, Mr. Rosamond. Mr. Smith, take my advice and listen to Veronica. She'll save you a lot of time and trouble. Take Sloss and Perry Hex from the other writers. She taught them everything they know about pictures. Uh-huh. And you, you listen to her. Well, thanks, Mr. Rosamond. I'm sure we'll get along. Well, shall we go, Miss Corby? And this is your office, Mr. Smith. How do you like it? Oh, it'll do. But where's the trout stream? Oh, well, um, whenever you're ready, I'll be glad to take you around the studios. You'll want to meet a few of the... Uh, time enough for that, Miss Corby. Right now, I'm more interested in getting to work. I have an idea for a story I want to get down on paper as soon as possible. Well, yes, but I... Now, you just park yourself out there in your little office like a good little girl and see that I'm not disturbed. Oh, very well, Mr. Smith. And so you get to work on your first story for Imperial Studios, the Raven original you picked up in Havana. You can't take any chances, can you, Eddie? The first story has to knock them cold. So in the days, the weeks that follow, you write and rewrite, while Miss Corby, with that hurt expression in her eyes, sits quietly in her office just outside your door. Only once do you change the Raven storyline, and that's to alter the ending. You like yours better than Raven. Yes, it sounds much better your way. Finally, you turn the script over to Miss Corby. Well, there you are, Miss Corby. Now, if you'll retype this for me. Yes, Mr. Smith. And when you're finished, put a copy on my desk and send one around to Rosamond. If, uh, if you want me for anything, I'll be home sleeping the clock around, okay? Very well. Oh, come on, come on. Cheer up, sweetheart. I leave the script to your tender mercies and to Rosamond. Oh, Mr. Rosamond, come in, come in. I was just about to run up to your office, too. Mr. Smith, it's wonderful, wonderful. I've just finished reading The House in the Swamp. Wonderful. The same ingenious touch, the same masterful approach of undertow. Better even. Better than undertow. Well, thanks, Mr. Rosamond. I, uh, a few technical matters, but Verona can help you out. But the storyline, wonderful. Mr. Smith, Eddie, you know something? What's that, Mr. Rosamond? For a little while, I was not sure. As I read your story, I was a little afraid. Afraid? Ridiculous, of course. I should have known. Forget it. Oh, no, no, no, no, no. What do you mean? Well, halfway through the story, I saw the ending. I was a little afraid it would turn out that way. It was the way our hundred dollar a week writers would end it. But no, the way you handled it, my boy, wonderful. A complete twist. The touch of a master. Oh, you really like the way I paid it off, huh? I can see it now. That scene between the old man and the little girl at the edge of the swamp. What? The old man and the little girl? Yes, yes. The confession. Beautiful, you're writing it. Wait a minute, wait a minute. You mean that's the way that... What's the matter with you? Oh, nothing, Mr. Rosamond. Nothing. Rosamond continues to rave about the story. But you're not listening, are you, Eddie? A thousand and one thoughts, confused thoughts, are racing through your mind. The minute Rosamond leaves, you pick up the script and thumb through the neatly typed pages. This isn't the way you finished the story, is it, Eddie? No, this is the original ending, the way J.C. Raven had written it. Carby! Carby! Yes, yes, Mr. Smith. Come in here. Well, what is it, Mr. Smith? This story. What happened to it? Who changed it? I did. You did? Well, I felt sure Mr. Rosamond wouldn't like it the way you ended the story, so... So I changed it. Oh, I see. I wanted you to make good on the first story after the risks you've taken. Risks? What do you mean? You told Mr. Rosamond you were J.C. Raven and... How did you? Well, he didn't mean to give it away. It sort of slipped out. I won't tell anyone, Mr. Smith. I won't tell anyone you're not J.C. Raven. Keep talking, sweetheart. You... you couldn't be J.C. Raven. Then who is? I am. What? You're... you're wondering about Barclay Wells, aren't you? I could use a few answers. You remember the day you came here? Mr. Rosamond mentioned several writers I'd worked with. Hegstrom, Slauson, and... Barclay Wells worked here, too. He was a fine person, kind and thoughtful. He didn't treat me like the others. When I was with him, I felt like I belonged. I was somebody, not just part of the office furniture. I guess he's the only man who ever paid any attention to me. The only man who ever knew I existed. Sorry. Just beach. Um... about Wells. Well, you see, I've always wanted to write. And at the start, well, I'm afraid publishers weren't impressed. And then I hit on the idea of creating the mystery author. And somebody had the front for you, so you picked Wells. Yes, he was the only man I could trust. I sent him stories, outlines. We worked on the Raven novels together. I see. So that's that. Um, Miss Corby. Veronica. Yes? About J.C. Raven. Where do we stand right now? We... we could go on just as we have been. You... you'd help me? Yes. You're sure you want it this way? I... I'd like to keep it this way. Very much, Eddie. You know something, Miss Corby? I don't know. Eddie? You know something, sweetheart? We're going to get along fine. Just fine. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] In the weeks that follow, you spend quite a bit of time with Veronica outside of office hours. Concerts, the supper clubs, weekends at Palm Springs, the races. It's the smart thing to do, isn't it, Eddie? Yes. You've got to put up with her if you're to continue as J.C. Raven. You can stand dull little Veronica for two years or so, and then you'll have enough money set aside to quit. Quit Imperial Studios and walk out on Veronica Corby. So your plan rolls along smoothly until that Saturday, the day you're taking her for a drive. You sit in the living room waiting for Veronica to finish dressing when the phone rings. Hello? This is Lieutenant Driscoll, Los Angeles Police. I'd like to speak with Miss Corby, Veronica Corby. Hello? I'm sorry, she's not in. Oh. When do you expect her? It's hard to say. Who was that, Eddie? Oh, what? I said, who was that? Oh, wrong number, darling. I couldn't understand what the guy was talking about. Oh. Well, I'm ready. Shall we go? Eddie? Yeah? I've been wondering. Maybe I shouldn't bring it up now, but... What's on your mind? What, um... what really happened in Havana the night Barkley Wells was killed? Why do you ask that? Well, I just wanted to know. The papers didn't have much information to give. The papers? I didn't see anything about it in the papers. Oh, it was there. The Havana police arrested a man named Emilio Vasquez, but he denies doing the killing. Well, he would, wouldn't he? I suppose, but... A native who lived in the neighborhood said there was someone else at the scene of the crime. They seem to think this unidentified man may have done the killing. May do? And what do you think, Veronica? Me? Oh, I haven't the slightest idea. It all begins to add up now, doesn't it, Eddie? Veronica's been stringing you right along, keeping you around until she can turn you over to the police for a crime you didn't commit. She must have been in love with Wells, and now she thinks you killed him. You had the motive. She'd tell them how you came to Imperial Studios posing as J.C. Raven. She'll tell them you broke into Raven's apartment, stole the letter, the story line. And if Vasquez sticks to his story, he'll get away with it, and you'll hang. There isn't any doubt in your mind what Veronica's little game is. And the clincher comes that afternoon as you start to leave your office. You hear Veronica talking to someone on the phone. Yes, Lieutenant. Barkley Wells was a close friend of mine. Yes? Well, I'm not sure. That's why I... Yes. Yes, all right. I'll be there first thing in the morning. I'll tell you everything then. Oh. Oh, yes, Eddie? Uh, Veronica, darling. Let's quit for the day, huh? Oh, well, I still have some typing to do. Oh, let it go. Look, why don't we run up to the Sunset Strip for a couple of drinks and an early dinner, huh? All right, Eddie. It's shortly after 7.30 that evening when you drop Veronica off in front of her apartment. After you say good night and watch Veronica go up the steps, you drive around the block and slip into the darkened alley running along the back of the apartment building. A few minutes later, you hurry into the rear entrance and dash up the stairs. You've got to silence Veronica before she gets a chance to talk with a police lieutenant. Why, why, Eddie? Aren't you going to ask me in? Oh, yes. Come in. Is something the matter? You're a smart cookie, don't you know? Oh, what are you talking about? Oh, Eddie, let go. You're hurting me. Oh, Eddie, what are you doing? I'm going to kill you, Veronica. The Whistler will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story. Meantime, let me give you a clue toward solving another mystery, how to make today's shrinking dollars buy more value. When it comes to your gasoline dollars, if you want to be sure you're choosing the gasoline that gives you the very maximum in performance and mileage, 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. Yes, it's a fact. Your best yardstick of gasoline quality is mileage, the thing signal gasoline is famous for. After all, in order for a gasoline to give you more miles per gallon, it has to help your motor run more efficiently. And when your motor runs efficiently, naturally you enjoy quicker starting, faster pick-up, smoother knock-free power. In other words, the superior performance you expect of a superior quality gasoline. That's why we say, to be sure of the tops in gasoline 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. And now back to the Whistler. It's all over very quickly, isn't it Eddie? Too bad Veronica won't be able to keep her appointment with the police lieutenant in the morning. No, she's dead. You glance at your watch, 7.45, then you start for the door. Miss Corby, Miss Corby. It's Mrs. Ellison, the house manager. You can get rid of her easily enough, can't you Eddie? Quickly you drag Veronica's body behind the davenport, then you open the door. Yes, it's Mrs. Ellison all right. Oh, Mr. Smith. Is Miss Corby in? These officers want to see her. Mr. Smith. No, that is, she's not feeling very well. That's so? That's too bad. My name is Driscoll, L.A. police. I talked to her on the phone this afternoon. It was routine business then. It isn't anymore. But you can't see her now, I told you. It's important friend. Two hours ago we received a wire from the Havana police about the murder of Barkley Wells. Seems he wrote novels under the name of J.C. Raven. Well look I... It also seems he had an assistant. The assistant got a little greedy and decided to take over in place of Raven. What? A Havana, a killer named Emilio Vasquez confessed to the murder of Wells. Or Raven or whatever you want to call him. Confessed he was hired to bump off Raven for five thousand bucks. Says he was paid off by the dame that lives here, Veronica Corby. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program, the Whistler. Each Wednesday night 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 were Wally Mayer and Sarah Selby. 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.
