The Signal Oil Program. Yes, the Signal Oil Program. The Whistler. 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 and 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 independently operated signal stations from Canada to Mexico. And now the Whistler's strange story. Beyond the Wall. There are some words that hit a man like an electric shock. And Marty Fisher had just heard them. He was standing at the head of the line of prisoners as he always did on visitors' day. But this time he didn't smile at the guard, pick up his card and move casually on toward the wire wickets at the far end of the room. This time he stood paralyzed, rooted before the battered oak desk, staring at the man who sat behind it. What's the matter, Marty? Didn't you understand me? I said your wife didn't show up today. But she told me she'd be here. Sorry. Next? Look, check the waiting room, would you? Maybe the rust is wrong. Maybe she didn't get her name. She isn't here. Now look, there's still a half hour of free time. Go on back out to the yard. She's never missed a visitors' day in five years. I got news for you. There's always a first time for everything. A life like you ought to be able to figure that out. Next? Yes, you can figure it out, can't you, Marty? You've seen it happen before to hundreds of others here at the state prison. And now you wonder if it's happened to you. For months, even years, a woman will show up at the visitors' cage every Wednesday, wearing a smile and murmuring soft words. And then one Wednesday she doesn't come. And after that, if there is another time, there are excuses. The words are a little less soft, the smile a little more forced. Yes, Marty, you've seen it happen before. Now you turn, half stumble out of the room, and walk slowly down the gravel path to a bench in the sun. Well, well, Marty, old man. Didn't expect you out so soon. Sit down. She didn't show up, hmm? Well, she's an attractive woman. It's bound to happen. Shut up. I'm told there are an amazing number of desirable men who are not in prison. I said shut up. Of course, your wife might have come down with a headache. Or had an appointment with a dentist, or been busy with a church supper. The only turn I'll break your head with. Don't get excited, Marty. You know what happens to those of us who get excited. All right, and let me alone. Of course. I know how you feel, Marty. But don't worry, you'll get over it. Why, in no time at all, you'll forget you ever had a wife. Okay, okay, so I'll forget. I'm sure you will. However, it won't be so easy to forget the money, will it? What money? No, no, Marty. What money? Let me see now. I recall that payroll job of yours. Plant guard was killed. Seventy-five thousand dollars was missing. The money was never recovered. I don't know what you're talking about. Tell me, Marty, does your wife know where the money is? Look, Baron, I told you a million times I don't know anything about seventy-five thousand bucks, and I'll forget it. Ah, very well, my boy. However, I've been thinking. I, um, I might be in a position to do you some good one of these days. Ah, sure, sure. From the outside, that is. What are you going to do, gnaw your way to the war? Well, at least there's some reason to believe that I'll be out of here before long. You've heard of paroles, haven't you? You getting a parole? I think so. And the connection that's fixing mine could, um, probably get you one. Ah, here's the hour bell. Beauty calls. I don't want to be late. They're so fussy at the machine shop, you know. But we'll talk about it again, Marty. Yeah, sure. Oh, and about your wife, Marty, don't worry. She really might have had an appointment with the dentist. Well, that's her. As you walk back to the prison library, you try to convince yourself that you've been all wrong about Helen, that there must have been a good reason to prevent her from coming today. You tell yourself that she'll be here the next time. Yes, you're sure she will be, aren't you, Marty? The days drag by, agonizing days filled with suspense. And then finally next Wednesday, you're sitting in the visitor's room looking at Helen on the other side of the screen. Hello, Marty. Hello, baby. I'm sorry about last week. Yeah. I just couldn't get here, Marty. I was feeling terrible, the old headaches again, and worse than ever. Yeah. You're not mad, are you? No. Should I be? I wanted to come, Marty, honestly. I said it's OK. Marty. Yeah. Nick Hellman came to see me last night. Hellman. What a sucker I was to let him handle my case. It could have turned out worse, Marty. If he had any brains, he could have figured an alibi for me, get me an acquittal. What he want? He said he might be able to help you. Yeah. Yeah, he said he had connections and he might be able to get you out on me. Sure. Only it cost dough and I don't have any, baby. He said he didn't have any dough. I. All right, Marty. You don't believe me anymore, do you? You think I did pull that jam on you? Marty, please. You figure I got that 75 grand, sold it away somewhere, don't you? Marty, listen to me. I love you. I love you and I want to be with you. But I want you out of here. Listen, I ought to. All right, Marty. All right. I was only telling you what Hellman said. You didn't finish, baby. What? You supposed to ask me where the dough is. You tell him and everything is keen. Marty, please. I'm out, just like that. Kidding me, I know, Hellman. Look, you tell him to forget about it. All right, Marty. And Helen. Yes. I think you better forget about it, too. You're determined no one is going to get any part of that 75,000, aren't you, Marty? And in the weeks that follow, there's no further mention of the money or of Hellman. Your wife doesn't miss a single visit and you begin to realize how foolish it was of you to suspect that something was wrong, that Helen had found someone else. Then one Sunday morning at the prison chapel, it's the baron sitting next to you who has something to whisper into your ear. Marty. Yeah. My parole came through. That's fine. Why tell me about it? I can do you some good when I get out, my boy. Yeah, sure, sure. The way things are going, you'll need someone to look out for your interests. What do you mean by that? Some friends of mine on the outside, Marty. They've been checking things for me. Like what? You ever hear of a man called Johnny Rego? No. Your wife has? What did you say? My contacts tell me she's been running around with him. Keep your head down, Marty. The guards. Look, what are you handing me, Byrne? I'm telling you, your wife and Rego, they're pretty palsy-walsy. It's an old gag, Byrne. You're wasting your time. As you wish, my boy. But if your wife gets her hands on that 75 grand, but you can kiss her goodbye, she's gone with friend Rego. And I'm supposed to tell you where the door is so you can protect it for me. That's the general idea, Marty. Forget it. I'm getting out in three weeks. Think it over. You can sit here, do nothing, give your wife a chance to get her hands on the dough, or you can tell me where it is. I said to forget it. You don't have much chance, my boy. No choice. You can trust me or your wife and stay here the rest of your life. With the prologue of Beyond the Wall, the Signal Oil Company brings you another strange story by The Whistler. Which of these parts could your car get along best without engine, transmission, differential, or front wheel bearings? Well, the answer obviously is that it couldn't even run without a single one of these vital parts. That's why the mailing card which Signal Dealers are sending out this month showing a bluebird feeding a nest full of hungry mouths has the caption, Don't Neglect a Single One. And right now, with increased spring and summer driving just ahead, is the time to put these vital parts of your car on a lube diet that will keep them singing. For your engine, that means draining out winter-weary oil and refilling with Signal Premium Compounded Motor Oil. This improved type Signal Oil does so much more than just lubricate because it combines 100% pure paraffin base with scientific new compounds. Then have your Signal Dealer drain the transmission and differential and refill with proper summer weight gear lube. And at the same time, ask your Signal Dealer to clean and repack your front wheel bearings. When you've had this work done by an experienced Signal Dealer, you can sail confidently into a summer of carefree driving knowing that these vital parts on your car will stay young because you haven't neglected a single one. Music You're not greatly concerned about the money from the payroll robbery, are you, Marty? You're certain no one will ever find it. But you are worried about your wife, Helen. And you wonder if the baron was telling the truth about her and Johnny Regal. Before you plan your next move, you decide to check his story. Several days later, you're working in the prison library when one of the trustees comes in, returning an armful of books from the hospital. Hiya, Marty. Yeah, the books, pal. Oh, help me check them all, will you? Sure. Hey, by the way, one of the guys wanted me to ask you. It's about his favorite magazine. You got it? What is it? Popular Mechanics. You get it? Popular Mechanics. Yeah, yeah, I get it. Now, what'd you find out? The baron wasn't stringing you. Your wife and this Regal guy sure are seeing a lot of each other. All right. What about Regal? Well, the boys don't know much about him. Good luck in Swell Dresser. Lives in a house over on Marvell Boulevard, 2240. Sorry, pal. Sure. Sure. Well, what is it, Marty? Ready to talk about the money? Yeah. Yeah, Baron, I'm ready to talk about the money. But you're gonna have to earn it. If the cut's big enough, okay. It'll be plenty. Half. Thirty-seven thousand. Thirty-seven thousand. Five hundred. All right, all right. And what made you change your mind, Marty? To tell you I had it, though? No, no. I've always believed you stashed that role, but you're not cutting me in just because I have royal blood. No. It's to pay you for the risk you're gonna run. Risk? Yeah. Look, Baron, your parole's coming up when? Two weeks. Two and a half. What's that got to do... It's got everything to do with it. That truck, they have you running the town every month. This'll be the last trip before you get out. Right. You're not making that last trip, Baron. I'm not making the trip, but I... I'm making it. But they'll expect me to... you. Yeah, that's right, me. I get this. Won't be any trouble. The way they make the check, it's always been you. You've always behaved yourself. The perfect trustee. I can't do it, Marty. Not even for what you've offered. It's too big a chance. If I mess up my chance at parole... You'll do it, and you won't mess up anything. All you gotta do is keep away from the guards, hang around where I work, and wait. I'll be out and back in again in three hours. I got it all timed, Baron. You got what all timed? What's so important? Why do you have to go out there? And how do I know you'll be back? I'll be back. It's the money, Baron. In two and a half weeks, I could handle it for you. Sorry, I don't trust anybody. But I have to trust you. If you want, 37,000. 37,500. All right, all right. Do you want it? How do I get it? I'll stash your half of the dough someplace where you can find it when you get out. Look, why don't you let me take care of everything for you? I'll be out in a minute. Look, chum, it's my way or nothing. Marty, I guess I ought to tell you. Tell me what? I've been up to the administration building several times in the last couple of weeks. I happened to find out something. You did, huh? I heard they were going over your files again. There's a chance your case will hit the parole board in another six months. What are you handing me? That's what I heard, Marty. You're not telling me this to sort of discourage me from taking that trip in a tie. Well... Or is it that you want to be sure I come back? I'm telling you because it'll save both of us from sticking our necks out. Now, Marty, listen, I've always leveled with you. Sure, sure. You have some contacts in the administration building. Check it. I want to get this settled first. What do you say, Baron, do I take your place in the truck? Yes, Marty. I suppose you do. That's all, Marty, all you need. The Baron's cooperation in that one round trip into town. By the end of the week, you're ready. The steady rain makes a heavy oil slicker excusable, a rain hat that can be pulled low over the eyes. In the machine shop, the Baron starts the truck, runs it out into the yard, has it inspected and then drives off. No one pays any attention as he swings around past a loading platform, momentarily out of sight of the inspecting guard, and makes the switch with you. The truck doesn't even slow down, only now you're at the wheel, Marty. Thankful for the rain that helps your plan work, a plan that will take care of your wife's boyfriend, Regal, and helps you drive out the service gate with no one knowing. An hour later, you drive the truck into the railroad station, back it up to the loading platform and climb down. Can I help with loading, Jack? No, no, I don't feel so good. Go on over and get some coffee. Ah, you get it. All the same. Yes, if you only knew that. You only knew. Away from the railroad station, you break into a half run. Regal lives several blocks away and you don't want to be gone too long. Approaching the place, you slow down, moving carefully. When you reach 2240 Marvell Boulevard, the house is dark. That's something you hadn't counted on, Marty. Regal isn't home, the place is empty. You stand there wondering what to do, realising that precious minutes are running out, and then a car swings into the drive. You press back against the house hidden by the shrubbery. It's Regal all right, and he's driving into the garage. Perfect, isn't it, Marty? Almost too good to be true. You run forward silently and reach him before he shuts off the motor. Get out, Regal. Sit tight. That's right. We haven't met. You don't know much about me. It's okay, Regal, I'm not sensitive if you're not. Now look, I... Shut up. Open that door. No, don't turn the motor off. We're in the garage, the fumes will... I know what the fumes will do. Listen, I don't know what you're talking about. You don't have to know too much, Regal, just that some guys don't like their plans interfered with. Plans? Can't it? I'm talking now, I'm running a show. You're out of your mind. Let me out of here. Hold it, Regal. What do you want? Stop your squirming, pal. It'll be over in a minute. Just gonna tap you on the chin. What? Put you to sleep for a while. Carbon monoxide fumes will put you away for good. Who are you? The name is Fisher. Marty Fisher. Fisher? Marty Fisher? Yeah. Now you know. It's all over quickly, isn't it, Marty? You leave the unconscious Regal in the car with the motor running. You close the garage doors and hurry back to the railroad station. An hour and a half later, you're approaching the prison gates. Everything has gone according to plan, hasn't it, Marty? There hasn't been the slightest slip-up. Right on time. Just a little luck and I'm home. Okay, okay. Who do you think you are, a real baron? All right. What are you waiting for? Take her through. All right. You're clear so far. And you swing the truck around the loading platform where you agreed to meet the baron. Only he isn't there. The baron isn't there. You slip the heavy raincoat off and the hat, toss them on the seat and step out of the truck. You're about to walk away when he comes towards you. Baron, where are you going? Let me in there. Wait. Give me the loading papers. You haven't, don't you? Yeah, yeah. Get in your truck, Baron. I'm waiting for you back there and unload. We're all right here. We can talk. Where'd you hide my half of the money? The money? I don't like the way you said that, Marty. You don't, huh? No. Yeah. You're not getting any ideas about changing your mind. Now that you're all set, I mean. I never changed my mind. Go on. It's been made up from the beginning. You know something, Baron, like I always said, there isn't any 75 grand. Why, you... You see, Baron, you don't want to fight with me. You got too much to lose. That parole, it's coming up. That's the way you had it figured, huh? Bait me with that money, then use me. And I can't talk. I wouldn't. I don't think you will. Maybe, Marty. Maybe. Maybe. And maybe not. Figure the odds, Baron. I have. You're clear in two and a half weeks. If you keep quiet, you shoot your mouth off and boing, no parole and no money. Yeah, it's a simple sucker. You don't talk. There's only one good thing about this place, Marty. You're here. And for life. Better makes you happy, chum. Only for a reason that you'll never know. Right now, I'm glad I'm here. The Whistler will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story. If you're like most drivers, balmy spring days such as we have at this time of year make you want to head your car for the open highway and go somewhere. And going places just naturally makes you more concerned about gasoline mileage, the thing signal gasoline is famous for. Mileage, in fact, has been one of the principal reasons for signal's amazing growth in popularity. Starting with a mere handful of stations in Southern California, signal's popularity has grown and grown. Until today, signal stations serve six western states from Canada to Mexico. And wherever signal is sold, it is known as the go-farther gasoline. But mileage, mind you, is just one of the benefits you enjoy when you switch to signal. After all, to give you such good mileage, today's signal gasoline has to help your motor run more efficiently. And when your motor runs more efficiently, you also enjoy more flashing pickup, more responsive power, the things which make driving more fun. That's why whether you want performance or mileage, you want signal, the famous go-farther gasoline. Music Yes, Marty, it all worked out, didn't it? And the man who helped you, the baron, is the last man in the world who would dare to reveal you. He doesn't even worry you in the remaining two and a half weeks before his parole. And you're there, smiling with the others to shake his hand as he heads for the tailor shop to exchange his denims for a blue-sirte suit. He'll be wearing it for a while, won't he? Because the baron is not a rich man. And your money, the $75,000 from the payroll robbery, will be waiting for you when you're on the outside. But that's the future, isn't it, Marty? You have the present to think of. Helen's paying you a visit, and you want to see how she acts, how she feels now that her boyfriend, Rigo, is out of the way. You're amused, pleased with yourself, as you face her through the wire mesh screen of the visitor's room. Hello, Helen. Marty. What is it? You look like you've been crying. Yes, Marty. Oh, Marty, something terrible's happened. Has, huh? Marty, I asked you for the money again and again. I never told you the real reason, but... There... there isn't any money. You loved him that much. You see, Marty, I guess I'll never stop loving you no matter what you've done. Only... well, now there's nothing more I can do. What are you talking about? There was a man, Marty, a prominent man, and he was convinced you were innocent, and he was in a position to do things. Do things? Yes, he'd been talking to the parole board for months, and with a little more time to work on it, he was sure you'd be free soon. I know, Marty, I know I've been working with him constantly. Wait a minute, what? You... you mean this man would fix it so I'd get out of here? Yes, Marty, you'd have been free. But now I don't know where to turn because... because Johnny Rigo... Johnny Rigo? Yes, Johnny Rigo can't do anything for us anymore. Something happened to him in his car. He died in his garage from carbon monoxide fumes. Let that whistle be your signal for the Signal Oil Program, the Whistler, each Sunday 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 Tony Barrett, Wilms Herbert, and Evelyn Scott. The Whistler was produced by George W. Allen, directed by Gordon T. Hughes, based on a story by Jackson Gillis and Robert Eisenbach, with music by Wilbur Hatch, and was transmitted to our troops overseas by the Armed Forces Radio Service. The Whistler is entirely fictional, and all characters portrayed on the Whistler are also fictional. Any similarity of 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.
