The Signal Oil Program. Yes, the Signal Oil Program. The Whistler. Yes, friends, that whistle is your signal for the Signal Oil Program, the Whistler. The mystery program that is unique among all mystery programs. Because even when you know who's guilty and you see his every move or know his complete plans, you always receive a startling surprise at the final curtain in the Signal Oil Program, the Whistler. 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 the Whistler for tops in entertainment. And for tops in gasoline quality, it's Signal. 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. Golden Opportunity. Harry Farrell sat in his luxuriously furnished office, puffed slowly on a cigar. His eyes wandered over the room, the polished mahogany, thick broadloom carpets, the Gauguin canvas on the wall opposite, all the trappings of success, a reflection of his own progress. Harry Farrell had reached the top, the apex of a pyramid, with a broad solid base built upon years of scheming, planning, meeting people, and a fortunate marriage. Anne's money had been the original foundation. Yes, in the beginning he owed everything to Anne. And now, even though he had become one of the most successful attorneys in Phoenix, he had little money of his own. Gambling debts, high personal expenses, bad speculations, were a constant drain on his earnings. Yet, as long as he had Anne, he felt secure, for he knew he could always count on her to ease the financial strain. Excuse me, Mr. Farrell. Oh, Miss Mullins, what is it? I thought you'd want to know. They've come. What's come? The travel folders. Oh, good, good. Let's have a look. I'll confess I've already peeked at them. They look simply wonderful. So exciting. Rio, Buenos Aires. Yes, yes. That's fine. Thank you, Miss Mullins. Yes, sir. Oh, here are some checks for your signatures. Oh, later, later. They have to go out tonight, Mr. Farrell. All right. By the way, Miss Mullins, do you have anything planned for this evening? Why, no, no, I haven't. I wonder then if you'd mind staying on here at the office for a while. I'm expecting a phone call around seven. Might have some work for you to do. Oh, no, I won't mind, Mr. Farrell. Good. If you're going to be working, shall I call Mrs. Farrell? No, don't bother. I think your wife is so attractive, Mr. Farrell. Yes, yes, she is. Just yesterday, Sue Avery, she's a secretary down at Hamlinstone, came to me with the nicest compliment for Mrs. Farrell. Oh. She happened to see Mrs. Farrell going into the Arizona Biltmore for lunch. Sue said she was the smartest looking woman in town. That was nice of her. But she said Mr. Wolcott, he was with Mrs. Farrell. She said he was the smartest looking man she'd ever seen. Well, I don't exactly agree with that. Here are the checks, Mrs. Mullins. Thank you. Yes, sir. They all know, don't they, Harry? Even Sue, what's her name at the office down the hall? She knows too about Anne, your wife, and your partner, Sam Wolcott. And you've known for a long time, but there was nothing you could do about it. You were willing to let things stand as they were, and keep your eyes shut as long as you had to depend so heavily on Anne financially. It really didn't matter. You've forgotten when you stopped loving her. Perhaps you never did. No, you're only interested in holding to her until you're on your own feet, until you have enough money of your own to live the way you want to live. Mexico City, Buenos Aires, Rio. But you know it'll be several years before you can do that, don't you? In the meantime, you turn to your travel folders, and through them you escape. A few minutes before seven, you put down the last of the folders. door slam. And an instant later... Yes, Ms. Martin? Yes, I was looking for you. Oh, thank you. I was looking for you. I was looking for you. Oh, thank you. I was looking for you. You were looking for me? Yes, ma'am. Thank you. I'm sorry, I didn't know. You were looking for me? Yes, Miss Mullins? Mr. Farrell, I think something's happened. It's Mr. Walcott. He just came in. He looked awful. What do you mean? I can't explain it. It frightened me, the look on his face. Where is he? In his office. All right, I'll go in. You hurry across the room to the door leading into your partner's office. Open it. In the half light, you can see him sitting at his desk, staring vacantly at the green window. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. He's not here. He's not setting his eyes onطou Yes, that's right, I've been drinking. But I killed her, Harry. She told me it was all over between us. She was standing in the library near the fireplace. I fired, she fell down. She's dead, Harry. Mr. Farrell, shall I call the police? No. Wolcott's drunk, he doesn't know what he's saying. Don't call anyone. I wanted to call the police. I'm running this same. You're not yourself. I'll lie down on that couch until I tell you to get up. I'll be back in a moment. As you walk back to your office, your mind is in a turmoil. Spinning, whirling, your emotions are in a tangled mess. Then as you close the door behind you, a strange feeling of happiness sweeps over you. Suddenly you realize you're free. Free to live the life you've always wanted to live. And your wife is dead. Her money is all yours now. You hurry to the telephone and dial your home. You've got to make certain she's dead, don't you, Harry? You wait. And wait. There's no answer. And then you realize it's Thursday, the maid's day off. You're about to replace the receiver when... Hello? Hello? Hello? It was Anne, your wife, wasn't it, Harry? The voice of a ghost. A voice like a heavy blanket, stifling all those warm new thoughts of a new life. You glance at the gay, colorful travel folders on your desk. Your dream. The dream that came true for but a brief moment. Anne is alive. She's ruined everything, hasn't she? No. She can't do this to me. I won't let her. I won't let her do this. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] With the prologue of golden opportunity, the Signal Oil Company brings you another strange story by the Whistler. Have you had your car radiator inspected recently? Warmer weather, you know, puts an extra burden on an automobile's cooling system. So to make sure that your radiator won't heat up and spoil your driving fun, Signal dealers carry three little items designed to make your cooling system young again. The first is radiator cleaner to remove clogging sludge and rust. The second is rust preventive to protect the radiator of any car, old or new, from corrosion. And the third item is radiator sealer that stops small leaks in a jiffy. These three products, incidentally, are just a few of your signal dealers' fine quality upkeep items that include purilator oil filters, fan belts, radiator hoses, spark plugs, and Lee tires. You see, signal service stations are much more than places to buy Signal's famous go-farther gasoline and Signal Premium compounded motor oil. Wherever you see Signal's familiar circle sign in yellow and black, there you will also find conscientious Signal service and dependable Signal products to help your car run better, look better, and last longer. ["Signal Service and Signal Premium Compounded Motor Oil"] When your law partner, Sam Wolcott, told you he'd killed your wife, there was no feeling of loss, was there, Harry? By his act, Sam had cut away your chains. Had made you a free man to live your life as you'd always wanted to live it. Anne's death would have made it possible for your dream to come true. Then the voice of your wife over the telephone had shattered that dream, and the depths you reached after hearing her voice were almost more than you could stand. And now as you stare at the telephone, you realize you can't let her ruin everything. No, you can't allow her to stand between you and your dream. You tell yourself there must be a way, and suddenly the idea occurs to you. A simple plan, isn't it, Harry? Yes, a golden opportunity. You hurry back into your partner's office, and you're just in time. Sam, put that phone down. I'm sorry, Mr. Farrell, I tried to stop him, but I... I said put it down! Look, Harry, I've got to give myself up. You're not gonna do anything until I tell you to. Now sit down. I'm your partner and your attorney. Or am I? Of course, but don't you understand? I killed her. I've... Sit down. But, Harry, I've got to tell... I said sit down! Oh. Now, tell me exactly what happened tonight. Harry, what's the use... What happened? Well, Anne and I... we've been in love for quite some time, Harry. I don't suppose you knew. Go on. This afternoon, she called me. Said she had to talk to me. It was important. I guess right then I knew what was coming. As it turned out, I was right. What do you mean? Tonight, she told me it was all over between us. She just didn't love me anymore. I sort of went crazy. I had the gun. I couldn't stand the thought of not seeing her anymore. You shot her? Yes, yes. How many times? Once, I think. She was standing by the fireplace, holding the glass in her hand, smiling. I pulled the trigger. She fell. I turned around and came here. Where's the gun? The gun? The gun. Did you leave it at the house? No. No, I have it here in my pocket. Give it to me. I said give it to me. Mr. Farrell, please, you're not going to... Keep out of this, Miss Mullins. Here it is, Harry. Well, go ahead. Why don't you pull the trigger? Don't be a fool, Sam. All right, then. Call the police. I want to get this over with. No. Well, if you won't, I will. You're not calling anybody. Not yet. Oh! Oh, Mr. Farrell, is he... He doesn't know what he's saying. A little nap will sober him up. Come along, Miss Mullins. Are you going to leave him like this? He just knocked out. He'll be all right. Are you sure? Yes, of course. All the drinking he's done, he'll probably sleep for an hour. That'll give me time to figure things out. Are you going to the police? No. I'm going home to see what really happened. I don't call anyone while I'm gone. And if Sam should wake, don't let him call anyone. Plug the switchboard if you have to. Tell him the lines are out of order. Yes, Mr. Farrell, but suppose... You can handle it, Miss Mullins. I'm counting on you. I'll handle it, Mr. Farrell. Good. Remember, no one must know about this until we're absolutely sure. Yes, I understand. Mr. Wilkut's been drinking. I can't believe he did this terrible thing. Now, remember, don't do anything until you hear from me. Minutes later, you're racing across town with Sam's gun in your pocket. Time is important, isn't it, Harry? Yes, you don't have a second to spare. You've got to get home before something happens to ruin your little plan. It's almost 7.30 when you turn off the narrow canyon road, swing into the driveway. Then as you step out of your car and start up the path, sudden fear grips you. The house is dark. Then you know you're too late. Anne is gone. Anne? Anne? You hurry into the library. Anne, where are you? The study is empty too. Yes, your simple little plan has collapsed, hasn't it, Harry? Anne has left the house. You turn, walk back to the library. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, wasn't it? A golden opportunity to set up for a perfect murder. And then as you sink into the heavy leather chair across from the fireplace... Hello, darling. Anne! I was upstairs. Thought I'd lie down for a while. I've had a horrible headache. Anne. Yes? That bruise on your forehead. Oh, it's nothing. That bruise on your forehead. Oh, I just had a little accident. It's nothing, really. What's the matter, dear? Why are you looking at me like that? I just left Sam at the office. He told me all about it. I see. Well, now you know. I'm glad you do, Harry. He might have killed you. I suppose. I was so startled to see the gun, I jumped back, tripped over the chair. I fell just as he fired. Struck my head against the fireplace. Does anyone know about this? Did you call the doctor? The police? Of course not. You didn't tell anybody? Can't you see the headlines? Other man attempts to kill prominent attorney's wife. No, Harry. No one knows. That's fine, Anne. Fine. Did Sam tell you why he tried to kill me? Yes, Anne, he did. Were you terribly hurt? Not even surprised. You knew? Everyone knew. And you didn't say a word? What good would it have done? Oh, it might have done a lot of good in the beginning. I doubt it when two people fall in love. But I wasn't in love with Sam. I... He thought you were? Yes, but dear, I... You told him you were, didn't you? Sometimes. Yes, I guess I did. But Harry went, oh, you know what I mean. Yes, Anne. Listen, darling, please, I... You don't have to explain to me, Anne. I'm not blaming him. But I want to explain. I never loved him really. It was just that... Well, you became so wrapped up in your work, always in court. I was bored. Yes, I understand. I only turned to him because you weren't around. I'm... I'm sorry, darling. Very, very sorry. I hope you can forgive me. Please, Harry, you must forgive me. You've got to know it always was you. No one else but you. Yes, of course. I... I hope you can forget too, darling. I'll do all I can to make it up to you. I'll do anything. Will you, Anne? I... I've been thinking. You've always wanted to go to South America. Why don't we go, Harry, the two of us? Oh, we'll make it a wonderful trip. A second honeymoon. I... I don't know. What do you say, darling? A second honeymoon. You... You're sure that's what you want? Mm-hmm. Move over. Yes, sure. But, um... First, how about fixing my drink? All right, give me your glass. I, uh... I left the decanter near the fireplace. Think I'll have one myself. You know, Harry, my headache's almost gone now. That's... Fine. What'd you have in your drink, darling? Plain water or soda? Harry, did you have plain water or... Police department. Sergeant Williams. This is Harry Farrell. 372 Bedford, Kenyon Road. You better send someone. My wife has been murdered. That's all I know, Lieutenant. When my partner told me what had happened, I rushed here, found her like this. All right, Mr. Farrell. Your, uh, your partner, where is he now? Back at the office. Oh. About Mr. Walcott, you say he's at your office? Yes, that's where I left him. He was quite drunk. I thought it best to take the gun away from him. Uh-huh. I think we'd better get down there and have a little talk. All right. Hey, Mr. Farrell. Yes? How long has this romance been going on between you and... Cut it, there may seem. Come on, Farrell. Later, boys, later. A half hour later, you're back at the office. Listen to the police, Lieutenant, quietly questioning your partner, Sam Wolcott. Miss Mullins is there, too, and she serves as an excellent witness. That's right, Lieutenant. It's just as Mr. Farrell said. Mr. Walcott came into the office shortly before seven. He admitted shooting and, uh, Mrs. Farrell. Okay, thanks. All right, Walcott, just a few more questions. Look, I told you, I killed her. What's the matter with you? Take me down, book me. Let's get this thing over with. Sure. Anything you say. Let's go. You struggle to keep the smile from your lips as the police lead Sam Wolcott out of the office, a condemned man. It's all over, isn't it, Harry? Your plan worked perfectly, and you're free at last. You heave a sigh of relief, and you're free to go. You heave a sigh of relief, walk back to your desk, and then you realize you're not alone in the room. Miss Mullins is standing by the window, staring at you, a strange expression on her face, one you've never seen there before. Mr. Farrell. Yes, what is it, Miss Mullins? After you left the office tonight, while you were on your way home to see if your wife was dead. Yes. She called me on the telephone. She's almost buckled under you. You reach out, grip the edge of your desk for support, as a wave of panic sweeps over you. She knows, doesn't she, Harry? Miss Mullins knows that you, not Sam Wolcott, killed your wife. You stand there paralyzed, unable to speak. Finally, Miss Mullins breaks the silence. She called about some tickets, wanted me to arrange passage for the two of you to South America. A second honeymoon, she said. I see. Mr. Farrell? Yes. You don't have to be afraid. I won't tell anyone. What was that again? I said, you don't need to worry. I'll never tell a soul. I know it's wrong, but I can't help it. You're doing this for me, aren't you, Miss Mullins? Yes. Well, I... I guess I haven't been very observant. No. Millred. No, I guess you haven't. I wish now that I'd known. Would it have made any difference? Yes, I'm sure it would. Sure it would? I wish I could believe that. Well, it's still not too late. Let me prove it to you, Millred. Hurry up. Millred. Here. Here, look. The folders there on my desk. Yes? Pick one out. What? Just go ahead. Pick one out. Anyone. All right. There. Destination? Mexico City. And the hotel? Hotel Reforma. But I don't understand that. It's very simple. I'll meet you there. Later. Oh. I see. Well, what do you say? You really don't have to do this, you know. I'd never tell anyone. I want it that way, Millred. You can get a plane out of town tonight. I'll give you the money you need. Two thousand should do it. There's that much in the safe here. Well. You'll meet me in Mexico City? As soon as I can. It all depends on the trial. Sam's trial. But I'll meet you when it's over, Millred. I promise. All right, Harry. I'll leave tonight. The Whistler will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story. You hear a lot these days about the trend back to good old fashioned value in buying. Well, frankly, we at Signal are delighted to see this because Signal, the famous go-farther gasoline, has long been the choice of drivers who appreciate extra value and for two good reasons. One, of course, is Signal's good mileage. And number two is the thing which makes Signal's good mileage possible. I mean the extra efficiency today's Signal gasoline coaxes from your motor. Because when your motor runs more efficiently, you also enjoy faster pickup and smoother power. So you see, mileage is the result of the same features a gasoline must have to give you superior performance. That's why more and more drivers today who want the most from each gasoline dollar, the most mileage and the most driving pleasure, are switching to Signal, the famous go-farther gasoline. Have you given Signal gasoline a chance to prove what it can do in your car? Music It's over, isn't it, Harry? As you waited well hidden in the shadows at the airport, you watched your secretary, Miss Mullen, step aboard the plane. Minutes later you saw it take off, and the one remaining threat to the success of your plan is gone. You're not worried anymore about Mildred, are you? You're certain she'll never tell anyone that you, not Sam Malkett, killed your wife. Then after the trial, after your partner has been convicted of a crime you committed, you'll join Mildred in Mexico City. That's what she wants, isn't it? And why not? Who knows what may happen in Mexico. An hour after you leave the airport, you're back at the house. As you step up to the front door and fumble with your keys, a voice drifts out of the darkness beside you. I've been waiting for you, Farrell. What? Oh. Oh, it's you, Lieutenant. Yeah. I think you'd better come along with me. But what's the matter? You're under arrest. Under arrest? For the murder of your wife. That's ridiculous. Sam Walcott confessed he killed her. You made a bad mistake when you killed your wife, Farrell. You see, you picked the wrong library. Walcott confessed shooting your wife in the library all right, but it wasn't the library of his house. And that bullet that missed her, it's there too, embedded in the mantelpiece. 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 Willard Waterman, Monty Margetts, Lois Moran, and Walti Mayer. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by Harrison Negley, 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. This is Marvin Miller speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
