The Signal Oil Program. Yes, 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. Friends, here's some exciting news. The latest Hooper ratings show that in the last two months, the listening audience of the Whistler has increased by more than 50%. Yes, sir, 50%. And even before this increase, the Whistler was rated tops in popularity for a longer period of time than any other West Coast program in radio history. What do we at Signal Oil think about this? Well, naturally, we think it's wonderful. And we want to say thanks to our regular audience and welcome to all you new listeners. And remember, friends, signal gasoline is tops too. And now the Whistler's strange story. Ticket to Paris. The young, attractive, dark haired girl looked out through the dirty windowpane of the old bookshop, watched the rain as it fell on Olive Street. Then a few minutes after 10, she locked the shop door, turned out the light and stood for a moment in the dark. She rubbed her arms and shuddered and then hurried through the darkened bookstore. She would always live in terror of the dark of even the next moment. So long as one man remained alive, the man who was living only to kill her. She'd been forced into the back streets of obscurity to escape him. And though she despised this grim little bookshop where she worked for the old woman named Hattie Simmons, the job paid for her keep, provided her with more safety than she could find anywhere else. As she reached the door to a room in the back of the shop, she stopped and listened. There was someone in the room searching the darkness. She threw open the door and switched on the lights. Hello, Madeline. Hattie, what are you doing here in my room? I couldn't sleep and this old rocker here is so comfortable I thought I'd come in and sit awhile. Mine's comfortable. You don't mind, do you, dearie? No, I don't mind. It's the storm, I suppose. Makes me so restless. Hattie. Yes, dearie? My trunk. I'm certain I had left it closed. Oh, oh that. Well, you see... The wine bottle is in the cupboard. Help yourself. Well, now, I don't like to pick up the habit, mind you, but seeing that I can't sleep... Perhaps these would be better for you. Oh, the sleeping tablets. Yes, I was looking for them. The box was here on the table. Dear me, my eyes, you know. Here you are. Madeline, it always struck me kind of queer, a young girl like yourself, taking so many of these pills. They're harmless. Yes, I suppose, but you always seem to have so much on your mind, dearie. Yes, I have many things on my mind, Hattie. Yes, and Madeline? Yes? While I was looking for sleeping pills, I noticed your name on the trunk. Didn't think portier was spelled that way. Portier, P-R-T-I-E-R. Oh, I couldn't help but notice something else, dearie, inside the trunk. A gun. Of course I have a gun. During the war, many French women had guns. We had to have them. Yes, I suppose. I was just wondering... I was just wondering, how come you've got a German gun? Hattie, why don't you take the pills and go back to your room? I'm very tired. All right, all right, Madeline. You close up the shop all right? Yes, it's locked. Never know when we might have thieves, you know. Good night, dearie. Have a nice sleep. Good night, dearie. Have a nice sleep. You watch Hattie waddle out the door, and when she's gone, you hurry to the bureau. From the top drawer, you take out a folded newspaper, and for the hundredth time, you stare at the photograph on the front page. The photograph of a man in a Nazi uniform. Over it is the name Heinstadt and a question mark. Next to it is another photograph. A young, smiling American correspondent, Alan Tennyson, recently home from Europe. You slip the newspaper into the pocket of your raincoat and hurry out of your room into the shop. And then as you open the front door... Hiya, Frenchie. Oh, you frightened me. What are you doing here, George? Can a guy come around to see his old aunt once in a while? Hattie has gone to bed. Fine. Really didn't come around to see her anyway. I'm sorry. I'm going out. Hey. Why don't you hurry? George, please, let me by. It's raining, baby. Terrible night to be out. Please. Much better to stay in. Curl up with a good book or something. Madeline? Madeline, is that you out there? I thought you said the old goat had gone to bed. Madeline. Madeline, what... Oh, it's you. What are you doing here, George? It seems to be the burning question of the week. Good evening, Aunt Hattie. Madeline, I thought you were going to bed. No, I... I decided to go for a walk. In this weather, dearie? Don't worry about me, Hattie. Good night. A quarter of an hour later, you step off the streetcar, hurry toward the low red brick building in the middle of the block. At the entrance, the doorman greets you. Good evening, ma'am. This is the Sequoia Club? Yes, it is. Well, a newspaper man, a Mr. Tennyson, is giving a lecture here. Could I go? Oh, it's over, Miss. Over? Ten minutes ago. Oh, but Mr. Tennyson, is he still... No, no, no. He left. But I must see him. It is important. Well, I think you'll find him across the street at the bar. He was headed in that direction when I saw him last. The bar? Thank you. Thank you very much. Here we are. A drink? No. Well, if you won't have a drink, what's on your mind? Mr. Tennyson, there was a story in the paper yesterday about a man, a German named Heinstadt. Heinstadt? Yeah, that's one of my stories. What about it? This man, they're holding in a palace prison. The French government is not certain he is really Heinstadt. No, they're not. Plastic surgery is a great thing. But certainly they are waiting. They know what they're doing. It'll take a little time. You sure you won't have a drink? No, no. Well, it's Heinstadt, all right. Look, what makes you so interested in this? Oh, I am curious. Yeah, I'm curious. Well, I'm not sure I'm interested in this. What makes you so interested in this? Oh, I am curious. Yeah, that's been established. I used to know him. So, when? During the war in my country when the Nazis occupied Paris. You speak pretty good English for a man's health. I was educated in England. I see. And just how did you and this Heinstadt get along? Not very well, I'm afraid. I'm sorry. You, you have heard of the Chateau Polonais? I've been there. It used to be Heinstadt's headquarters in Paris. So? Well, before the war, I worked at the Chateau for a very fine family. Then Heinstadt took over. Only the servants remained. We were forced to work for Heinstadt. Not very pleasant, huh? Especially for a girl. Pretty one of that. It was unpleasant for several of us. So now you'd like to see Heinstadt get what's coming to him. But first they must be certain it is the right man. There must be no mistake. Oh, there won't be. But like I said before, it'll take time. It wouldn't take me to any time. I would know him instantly. Uh-huh. Why are you looking at me like that? You are pretty. Very pretty. Yeah. You look good on the front page. What? My picture? My syndicate could use a follow-up story on Heinstadt. French girl tells all. Sinister figure of Paris occupation. Oh, no, no, I... Think of the publicity baby. Wouldn't do you a bit of harm. And with the movie studios only a stone's throw... No, I'm not interested. Well, that's a switch. I was sure that's what you were driving at. Excuse me, Mr. Tennyson. I must go. Uh, just a minute. Please. What's really on your mind? Nothing. Nothing at all. Why? You interest me. There's something about you that's a little different, and I like people who are different. I like to know what makes them tick. In your case, I think I'm going to enjoy finding out. With the prologue of Ticket to Paris, the Signal Oil Company brings you another strange story by the Whistler. Because the past several months of cold weather have been particularly tough on car batteries, here's some news that's worth remembering. There's now available an improved type battery, which is not only much more powerful than the Whistler, but also has a more powerful battery that can be used to charge a car. And it's a very, very powerful battery. An improved type battery, which is not only much more powerful, but lasts far, far longer. I'm referring to the new Signal Deluxe battery, sold only at Signal Service Stations. Unlike ordinary batteries, which may be guaranteed for 12 or 18 months, Signal Deluxe batteries are guaranteed a full 30 months on a service basis. Also, Signal Deluxe batteries deliver up to 35% more power to give you quick, dependable starting, and to take care of the many electrical gadgets on modern cars. The secret of this superior performance in Signal Deluxe batteries is their superior construction, which includes the latest type all-rubber separators, plus an improved design all-rubber case, which requires water less often. When you take into account the generous trade-in Signal dealers are now offering for old batteries, you can see why, any way you look at it. This is today's best battery buy. So be sure you remember the name of this extra powerful battery that's guaranteed a full 30 months, the Signal Deluxe battery. And remember where you get it, at your nearest Signal Service Station. And now, back to the Whistler. Yes, Madeline, the thought of your picture in the newspaper, the publicity, frightens you, doesn't it? And that's why you ran away from the correspondent named Tennyson, the man you went to for information on the German who was now being held in a Paris prison. You hurry back to the little bookshop, spend a sleepless night wondering if the prisoner is Heinz Stock. You wonder too about the newspaper man, if he really meant it when he said that he would find out more about you. The next day, find you in the bookshop as usual, and by afternoon you're convinced you've seen the last of Tennyson, when suddenly a voice behind you, pardon me, I'm interested in a mystery called, why doesn't mademoiselle want a picture taken? Mr. Tennyson, how did you find me? Uh, let's go next door, we'll talk about it over coffee. No, I'm alone in the shop. Besides, there's nothing to talk about. Eh, you gave me quite a chase last night. Why are you afraid, Madeline? How did you know? The cop on the beach said it was Madeline. Madeline what? Simonou. Uh-uh. How about Portier? Mr. Tennyson, what do you want of me? I want to know why you're so interested in Heinz Stock, or the guy they think is Heinz Stock. I told you. Yeah, but not all of it. So he was a big nasty character. All right. The day of the liberation of Paris, Heinz Stock was prepared to abandon the château. I locked him in a room so the Americans would capture him. He pleaded with me, promised anything if I would let him go. When I refused, he swore he would kill me if he ever got away. So that's it, and he did break out of there before our boys reached the château. Yes, I knew that as long as he was at large somewhere in Paris, I was not safe. I see. So you had to get out of Paris. Yes, later I came to America. Still don't feel too safe from Heinz Stock, huh? Well, I've heard that a few Germans have been able to sneak into this country, and it's possible that- That Heinz Stock may be here now. Any publicity about you would lead him right to your doorstep. That's right. You see, Mr. Tennyson, why it's so important to me that I find out if that man in the Paris prison is really Heinz Stock. Sure, sure. Well, I'm not going to twist your arm. We'll, uh, we'll just forget the story. Mr. Tennyson, you have contact with these themes. Perhaps you will let me know when word comes, when the man is identified. Yes, I'll do that. I'll let you know. Thank you. Thank you very much. The day has passed slowly, don't they, Madeline? And Alan Tennyson doesn't call. You wonder what is causing the delay, why the French authorities can't make up their minds about the man in prison. Perhaps you tell yourself the government has decided the man isn't Heinz Stock, and that the matter has been quietly shelved. Yes, and if that's the case, the man who was sworn to kill you is still at large, perhaps right here in Los Angeles. You become increasingly nervous as the days go by, and then finally there's a telephone call from Tennyson. He sounds urgent. Asked you to meet him at the bar where you'd met before. Oh, Madeline, over here. Oh, yes. Am I on time, Mr. Tennyson? Oh, you are, you are. Sit down here. Thank you. Oh, wait a minute. Champagne, the lady's here. Champagne. Ah, it's an occasion, Madeline. Well, you have something to tell me. Please don't keep me in suspense. Listen, for you. April in Paris. Mr. Tennyson, look. Now, wait, now, wait, wait, wait. There's still the champagne. Been in this bottle since 1922. Ah, there you are, sir. Oh, Mr. Tennyson, please tell me. We'll drink to it, Madeline. Your glass. The, uh, the wire came this afternoon. That man in prison. He was Heinz Stock. Yes, not a doubt in the world. Oh. They were going to force him to stand trial, but. He didn't escape again. No, he's dead. Swallowed poison. Oh, no. Oh, delight or remorse. Well, in winning, we can afford some sympathy for the loser. Yeah, I guess it's only you. But, oh, I'm so happy now, Mr. Tennyson. Drink, drink the champagne. To Paris. The Paris I love. To the Paris you love, Madeline. Yes, Madeline, you're eager to celebrate, aren't you? Because this news of Heinz Stock's death clears the way for you. Yes, not just to the Paris you loved, but to the hidden wealth in the cellar of the Chateau Périnès. Only you know about that, Madeline, because it was you who hid it there. A fortune, Madeline. Yours now for the price of a ticket to Paris. That's all you need to do. Return and take what belongs to you through your own cleverness. Hurrying back to the bookshop after leaving Tennyson, you're thinking of only one thing. Where to get the money for your ticket. You're so deep in thought that you don't even notice Officer Davies outside the shop. He looks at you with concern. What? Oh, Officer Davies. Inside, Hattie and that nephew of hers. George. Uh-huh. They're having a lulu of a fight. I started to go in, but I thought... I'll take care of it, Officer Davies. It's nothing. You see what I mean? Sometimes I can wring your neck. I said go. All right, I'm going. George. Let me by. But... Oh, well. He's hot tempered all right. And if looks could kill. Excuse me, Officer Davies. I've got to talk to Hattie. Yeah, sure. I'll be moving along, man. George? No, Hattie. Oh, I thought it was that no good nephew coming back. I was just hiding this strong box. Now, there. Another quarrel, Hattie? Yes, over the usual thing. Money. Oh. Hattie. Yes? Hattie, I must return to Paris. I had a call. I have to return once. The turn? Oh, I'll hate to lose you, Madeleine. Come to count on you a lot. Thank you, but it is very necessary that I go. Soon? That depends. I haven't the money for tickets. Oh. I was wondering, well, Hattie, could you lend me the money just for a little while? Lend you the... Dearie, you know I'm fond of you, but you also know I'm not young anymore. I need what little I have. You must be able to get it somewhere else. No, I'm not. I don't know anyone else. No one that I could even ask. You can't turn me down, Hattie. Please, Madeleine. I've had all the scrambles about money that I can stand for one night. But, Hattie, I will pay it. Madeleine, I said no. Oh. Now good night, dearie. She's refused you, Madeleine, when you counted on her so much. But it isn't over, is it? No, it can't be. You have to get to Paris, even if it means stealing the money. You'll be able to repay Hattie three times over. The following afternoon, the opportunity you've been waiting for presents itself. Hattie leaves the shop. You wait a half hour after she's gone to be sure she's not just on an errand to the corner store. Then you close the shop, hurry to Hattie's room, and go to the drawer where she's placed the strong box. It's still there. You pick it up, hurry back to your own room, and there you try to force the lock. And then, well, sweetheart, we seem to have the same ideas about things. George. Yeah, that's right, George. Boy with the key to the front door. I'll take the strong box, baby. No. Oh, but yes. Give it to me. And you can tell my dear aunt that she won't be seeing me for some time. No, George, you mustn't take that box. Get away from me. Give it to me, George. I. Get away. He shoves you aside and you fall in a daze, your head striking lightly against a trunk. You look at it, Madeline. It's your trunk, your own. And suddenly you remember there's a gun in the side. Madeline, put that down. Give me that box, George. Don't come any closer to me. George, I warn you. Madeline, you wouldn't. You couldn't shoot me, you. Madeline. You've killed him, haven't you, Madeline? And in a flash, you realize that your plans are ruined. You'll never get away with the money now. George's body would be discovered before you can even get out of town. You stand there bewildered, wondering what to do and then. Yes, Madeline. Mr. Tennyson. I wonder if I can stop by. I want to talk to you. Say it about an hour or so. An hour? I don't. All right, Mr. Tennyson. Yes, do come by. It's a way out, isn't it, Madeline? A sudden way out that's about to be given to you. A little later, you've unlocked the front door, put the strong box back in its place, and you've turned your room into a shambles. Upset the lamps, scuff the rugs, pull things from the dresser drawers. When Tennyson arrives and walks in, you're in the middle of it all, aren't you? Yes. Sprawled out, apparently in deep sleep, the gun clutched tightly in your hand. Madeline, Madeline, what is it? Wake up. Mr. Tennyson. Is this your gun? My gun? Yes. Madeline, what have you done? What's happened here? Did you kill him? Kill him? That man behind the screen. His name was Hawley, George Hawley. I looked in his wallet. George? George Hawley? He's dead? You didn't know? What is it, Mr. Tennyson? What is it? What is happening here in the room? Look, do you remember me calling you a while ago? Yes, yes I remember. What happened since then? Come on, think hard. Right after your call? Yes. Hattie, she came in. Hattie? George's aunt. She owns the shop. Was he here when she came in? No, just Hattie and me. She mentioned him though. They quarreled again. Quarreled? Over money. They were always quarreling over money. Her money? George thinks some of it belongs to him. It was left by a relative. All right, go on, go on. Then what happened? Nothing much. We had some wine together. And is that what put you to sleep? No, I felt sleepy. Like when I, when I take my sleeping pills. I see. Madeline, where's Hattie now? I don't know. Uh-huh. You, you know something, Madeline? This is all too packed. What do you mean? Look at this room. The way things have been tossed around. I don't think there was a struggle here at all. You don't. This whole setup is a phony. The room was made to look like there'd been a struggle. This lamp on the floor, it didn't fall. It was placed there. The bookcase, it was pulled from the wall. Mr. Tenzen, I... Look, Madeline, I've been suspicious of you right from the start. You and that Heinsteck guy. But I explained what? I like to do my own explaining, find my own answers. Last night I got to think about it. I was thinking about it. I was thinking about it. But I find my own answers. Last night I got to thinking, you might have been Heinsteck's girlfriend. His girlfriend? Yes. He had one, you know, a French girl named Diane Rogier. Jeanne Rogier? But she's dead. She threw herself into the Seine on the night of the occupation. Yeah, that's the answer your government sent me this afternoon. Then what you were thinking last night... Last night doesn't matter or what I thought then. The important thing now is the dead man behind that screen. But you do believe me. Like I said, this whole thing is a little too Paris a frame and a Hattie could have framed. Hattie? She would do this to me. Look if you'd have planned to kill George you wouldn't have tried to do it this way. I think you're a lot smarter than that. Oh I'm glad you see it that way. Uh-huh. I better call the police now. Thank you Mr. Tennyson. Thank you very much. The Whistler will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story. But now a message from missing drivers. I mean drivers who are missing something and that means you if you're not powering your car with signal the famous go farther gasoline. One thing you're missing is that good good mileage which has made signal gasoline known throughout six western states from Canada to Mexico as the go farther gasoline. But equally important you're missing the superior performance in today's signal gasoline which makes such mileage possible. You see in order for today's signal to help you get the most from every drop of gasoline it has to help your motor run more efficiently and when your motor runs more efficiently you also enjoy quicker starting faster pick up and smoother power. So you see in gasoline mileage and performance do go hand in hand. That's why signal says 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. You congratulate yourself Madeline. Your plan seems successful. You're certain you've sold Alan Tennyson on the idea that you were the victim of a plot by Hattie that she had killed her nephew and had fixed the blame on you and now it looks like he's going to help you because he seems convinced of Hattie's guilt. You listen as he calls the police and tells them what's happened. Then he calls his newspaper. Minutes later he's back in your room and you notice a strange expression on his face. Is something wrong? One of the boys just cabled a story from Paris. The French authorities found a fortune in jewels in the cellars of the Chateau Polonais. Oh no. You seem disappointed. You know that hunch I had last night maybe I was right after all. Maybe Hindstedt's girlfriend Diane Rogier didn't jump in the same the night of the occupation. Maybe it was the real mademoiselle Portier who was pushed into the river. How about that Diane? You will never be able to prove it Mr Tennyson. No I guess not. What about the dead man over there George Hawley? Hattie tried to frame me. Madeline? Madeline? Where are you dearie? I oh hello Hattie. Officer Davis. How are you miss? So the police found you Hattie. Found me? What are you talking about dearie? I've been with Officer Davis all afternoon. We went down to Long Beach. Hattie wanted someone to go along with her. Protection you know. And it was my afternoon off. Protection? That's right dearie. Forget what I said last night. I changed my mind. I decided to go down to the bank where my brother works to get the money you wanted for your ticket to Paris. Let that whistle be your signal for the Signal Oil Programme The Whistler each Sunday 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 Nan Boardman and Eddie Marr. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W Allen with story by Robert Stephen Brody and music by Wilbur Hatch and was transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. All characters portrayed on the Whistler program are fictional. Any similarity to names or resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Remember at this same time next Sunday another strange tale by the Whistler. Marvin Miller speaking. This is CBS the Columbia Broadcasting System.