And now stay tuned for the program that has rated tops in popularity for a longer period of time than any other West Coast program in radio history. The Signal Oil Program, The Whistler. Signal, the famous go-farther gasoline, invites you to sit back and enjoy another strange story by The Whistler. For extra driving pleasure, the signal to look for is the yellow and black circle sign that identifies signal service stations from Canada to Mexico. And for Sunday evening listening pleasure, the signal to listen for is this whistle that identifies 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. And now The Whistler's strange story, Brotherly Hate. Visiting hours were over. The Jeffrey Long Museum in San Francisco was quiet. And in the private office of the owner, Jeffrey sat at his desk, staring at the note in his hands, a note that was damp, almost wet with his own perspiration. The hands trembled, and there was a tight, nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach, symptoms of terror. It had all started three months ago when Jeffrey Long had received the first envelope while in Cairo. Then followed days and weeks of mounting fear, because each Saturday thereafter, like a gentle stabbing before the final thrust, came an identical note, and the message was always the same. If you kill Estelle, you will die on the anniversary of her death. And now it's Saturday again. The feeling of terror grows stronger, doesn't it, Jeffrey? The beads of perspiration on your forehead colder. Yes, because it's Saturday and tomorrow, Sunday the 17th, is the anniversary of Estelle's death. Yes? Mr. Burton is here, sir. Thank you, Miss Grant. Send him in. Come in, Burton. Come in. What's on your mind, Long? You know why I called you. Sit down. Want me to discover the lamp used by Ramesses the Fourth? Oh, what I do for money. You're a private detective, aren't you? What about Estelle Blair's brother? Look, if you didn't kill the girl, why worry? This brother, the one who's been sending me these letters, he's obviously a crackpot. He might do anything. Call the police. They'll give you protection. I tell you, he's got to be found. You've got to find him. I can't go around afraid of everyone I meet. Everyone from cab drivers to the caretakers here in my own building. Listen, when I walked in here nearly a year ago with a hunk of papyrus and an alabaster cup that belonged to King Tut, you hired me like that. Yes, certainly. Since then, I've been doing your dirty work. I've even swiped scarabs and jewel boxes for you all over the world. But murder's another thing, even for me. I want to know what I'm getting into, that's all. If you kill Estelle Blair, then I want to know about that. That clear? I've told you, her death was an accident. And I'm telling you the result of my investigation. As far as I'm concerned, Estelle Blair never had a brother. Anytime you decide to give out with what really's got you scared, just dial my number. You can't walk out on me now, Burton. You can get another private eye. No, no, there isn't time. Like I said, when you're ready to tell me why you're so scared, just dial my number. But don't wait too long. It's turned out as you feared it would, hasn't it, General? Yes. Burton, the private detective, hasn't been able to find Estelle Blair's brother. And now there's only one thing to do. You know there's too much to lose if you are murdered. The resultant investigation would certainly reveal the ugly facts surrounding your former assistant's death. You have immortality to lose, Jeffrey. Your name is the greatest private collector of Egyptology in the world. The proud name that shines brightly from the brass plaque on your great museum. The museum you intend to wield of the city on your death. Quickly you'll get to your feet. Hurry to the small cabinet and take down a bottle marked poison. There is a way out, isn't there? A way you can preserve the honored name of Jeffrey Long. Excuse me, Mr. Long. Yes? Oh, what is it, Miss Grant? You won't be needing me anymore this evening, sir. I thought I'd run along. No, no, I won't be needing you, Miss Grant. You could... No. On second thought, perhaps you'd better stay a few minutes. There is something you can do. Yes, sir? I'll call you. As you walk back to your death, you unscrew the cap on the bottle of poison. A Herculean force drags at your arm as you try to lift the bottle to your lips. Finally you succeed. Your throat is numb as you take one swallow, then another, and another. Then a sudden stiffness seizes your hand. The bottle slips through your fingers. Slowly you walk around the desk, slump into the chair. You wait a minute or so and then press the buzzer. Come. Come in, Miss Grant. Mr. Long, is something the matter? Yes, I made a terrible mistake in the cabinet there. Two bottles almost identical. One contains cough medicine, the other deadly poison. Mr. Long, you didn't really take the... Listen to me carefully, Bernice. It was a mistake, do you understand? Be sure they know. They mustn't think otherwise. It wasn't suicide. Remember that. It wasn't suicide. You're not going to die. What? I... I was afraid you'd do something like this. I poured the poison down the sink yesterday afternoon. What you drank was just colored water. Ed Stevens of Long Beach, California is the Whistler fan who receives a $20 signal gasoline book this week as a token of our appreciation for sending in this limerick. There once was a driver named Abbott whose car took off like a rabbit. Signal Ethel, said he, is the fuel for me. From now on, I'll make it a habit. Signal, signal, signal gasoline. Your car will go far, will go farther gasoline. If like our friend Abbott, you like pickup that's quick as a rabbit, then Signal Ethel is the gasoline for you. But flashing pickup, mind you, is only one of the improvements you'll discover when you power your car with this super fuel. In addition, you'll enjoy Signal Ethel's extra power that makes cars fairly fly up hills and makes passing safer. And you'll be amazed at your engine's contented ping-free purr. For Signal Ethel is scientifically engineered to bring out the very peak of performance your car is capable of, regardless of age. So why not discover how much fun driving can be? Next time, treat your car to a tank full of the gasoline that's packed with more gold. Next time, fill up with Signal Ethel. When you raised a bottle of poison to your lips, you thought it was the only way out, didn't you, Jeffrey? You would cheat Estelle Blair's brother, the man who had sworn to kill you, if you took your own life and make it appear as an accident. And you would preserve the honored name of Jeffrey Long. Then as you sat at your desk waiting for death, your secretary, Bernice Grant, informed you that you wouldn't die because she'd poured the poison out of the bottle the day before. Replace the deadly contents with harmless colored water. I was afraid you'd try to kill yourself. You see, I've known about the letters. You... you knew all along? Yes. I've seen the fear, the worry in your eyes, the torture. But I couldn't let you do it. I'll do it again. You or no one else can stop me. No, no, you mustn't. I can help you. Please, please leave me alone, Bernice. Promise me you won't try. Leave me alone, Bernice, please. I can help you. I want to help you. I said... What'll I do, Bernice? What'll I do? We must find Estelle Blair's brother. You can talk to him. Tell him it was an accident. Yes. Yes, I... I could tell him how she slipped. Fell off the boat. I... I could show him I wasn't to blame. I... I'm sure I could find him. I know if you'll trust me... No, no, no, it's impossible. What if I told you I'd already located Estelle Blair's father? You... you what? Yes. I learned about him the other day. He's living in the old men's home in Santa Peralta. I know if I can talk to him. Oh, please, let me try. Well... You promise not to try again to take your life. Are you sure you're not making all this up just... I tell you I know I can find Estelle's brother. Now, promise me. All right. All right. Then go to the King Tut room in the basement. There's a telephone there and a couch. Stay there until I call you. I'll bring you some food later. Will you go? Yes, Bernice. If you say so. And please, no matter what happens, trust me. You must trust me. You see, I love you, Jeffrey. Still numb with shock, you find your way down to the King Tut room, the large storage room filled with relics from the Valley of the Kings in Egypt. Without even taking off your tie, you lie down on the couch and drop into a deep sleep. You awake much later and when you look at your watch, you see that it's Sunday morning, the morning of the day you expect to be killed. Your thoughts fasten on the tiny bit of hope Bernice gave you yesterday. You quickly reach for the phone. Good morning, Visaya apartments. Miss Grant, please. Thank you. Hello. Bernice, this is Jeffrey. Have you found anything more about Estelle's brother? Not yet, but Jeffrey, I've made progress. I definitely know she had a brother. He's somewhere in San Francisco. But today is the anniversary of Estelle's death. The day is going to happen. I can't just wait. You've got to wait. You must be patient, Jeffrey. At any moment I may have some news. What about the father in Santa Peralta? You must trust me, Jeffrey. I know, but what did he say? What's the brother's name? I don't know yet. But the father, didn't he tell you? I'm working as fast as I can, Jeffrey. You must believe that. I'll call you later this afternoon. Maybe I'll have some very good news. Just wait and be patient, will you? Don't go out. Oh, all right, Bernice. Remember, Jeffrey. I love you. I will, Bernice. I guess I should have known it long ago. She convinces you to wait, doesn't she, Jeffrey? And you sit there quietly in the near darkness, trying to fight down your desire to run away and leave town. You're debating this when you hear footsteps from the director. You're tense, nervously, staring at the door. Someone is coming, Jeffrey, into this room. Someone who moves quietly and has a key. You want to run, but the door is the only way and then... Good morning, Mr. Long. Brothers, what are you doing here? Why, Grady, the regular caretaker, is on his vacation, sir. I'm relieving him of his worries. But this is Sunday. You're not supposed to be here on Sunday. Miss Grant instructed me that you were here, sir, doing some special work. She asked me to bring this breakfast tray. Oh. Oh, yes, of course, I didn't see it. Sorry, Carruthers. It's all right, sir. Oh, anything else? No. No, nothing else. Thanks. You watch him leave, stare at the food, suddenly realize you're unable to eat it or even think of hunger. Your nerves are getting the best of you, aren't they, Jeffrey? And you decide to take a chance and drive to Santa Peralta yourself, at once, talk to Estelle's father. You're sure you can make it and be back before Bernice. You're sure you can make it and be back before Bernice calls you. You're on the highway in five minutes, headed south. An odd feeling tells you that a car somewhere behind you has been making the very same turns and that it picked you up near the museum. But you try to put it out of your mind when no attempt is made to catch up with you. Hours later, pull up before an ancient stucco building bearing the sign Santa Peralta Home for the agent. Well, no visitor so early. Welcome. Welcome. I'm looking for a man by the name of Blair. I'm sorry, Mr... Mr... Long, Jeffrey Long. I'm sorry, Mr. Long. No one here by that name. Maybe he's here under another name. He had a daughter named Estelle. No one here with a daughter named Estelle. She's a pretty girl, blonde. Tragically killed about two years ago at sea, the Mediterranean. She fell overboard. Oh, pity. Yes. But I'm afraid you have the wrong place. We have only ten gentlemen here, and I know their records very well. We've never had your Mr. Blair here in Santa Peralta. You're sure? Absolutely, Mr. Long. Something has gone wrong, hasn't it, Jeffrey? Bernice told you Estelle's father was in the old men's home at Santa Peralta. But apparently she was lying. Suddenly you look around you, find that you're driving through the Marina District. Not far from the little cottage Estelle used to share with her mother in the days when Estelle was your assistant at the museum. You turn left, then right, and you see the house. Hardly recognize it after all these years. You stop and get out of the car and walk toward a tall woman who is watering the lawn next door. Hello. A lovely day, isn't it? You're like them hot. This is gonna be a scorcher. You, uh, you live here long? Nine to fifteen years. You're not a collector, are you? No, no. I'm neither a bill collector nor a process server. An old friend of mine used to live next door. Andras, maybe? No, no, the name was Blair. Oh, them. Mother big woman. Arms like the poach on that porch. The girl, Estelle, was my friend. Sweet little thing, blonde as corn silk. She was killed, you know. Fell off a boat somewhere near Europe or Asia or somewhere like that. Worked for a museum. Well, I... I've been trying to locate her brother. Brother? Hmm. I don't seem to remember any man in the Blair family. Seems like there was just Estelle and her mother. Oh, I see. Well, I've got to be going. There was a girl, though. Used to live with the Blairs. A friend of Estelle's. Dark girl, slim, about five, two. Prim, little thing. Wore hair in a bun. You know, I used to say to my husband, Mac, that the girl looks more like Mrs. Blair than Estelle does. I bet you they're sisters. I used to say to my husband, Mac... Wait a minute. Be quiet. What? That car. He went past and now it's turning around on the street. Well, no law against... Well, what is it? What's the matter? Mr.... In your car, driving fast, you begin to pull away from the car and back of you. Soon lose sight of it altogether. Slowing down, your mind stops racing too. And then it hits you, Jeffrey. Something that woman back there said. Dark girl, slim, about five, two. Prim, little thing. Wore hair in a bun. You know, I used to say to my husband, Mac, that dark girl looks more like Mrs. Blair than Estelle does. I bet you they're sisters. That's it. Sisters. Of course. Yes, Jeffrey, that's it. An exact description of Bernice, your own secretary. Suddenly it all becomes very clear to you, doesn't it? You noticed it the first day she came to work for you. There was something familiar about her. She reminded you of someone, but you were never able to figure out who she resembled. And now you know. You've been a fool, haven't you, Jeffrey? The way you've played into her hand. You're certain Bernice is Estelle's sister. And all the while, she's the one who's been sending the notes, intending to avenge her sister, Estelle. Back at the museum, you see no sign of the other car. But you're no longer worried about it, are you, Jeffrey? You're certain now that Bernice is your would-be assassin. You hurry inside and wait for her call. The hours drag by, and then... Hello? Jeffrey, darling, I'm calling from a pay phone in a drug store on Broadway. Someone is watching me, so don't ask any questions. Just do as I say. All right, Bernice. Jeffrey, I found the brother. He's going to try to kill you tonight, but he doesn't know where you are. But you... Be sure you keep all the lights out there in the basement. Oh, yes, yes, of course. And don't call anyone. Don't tell anyone where you are. No, of course not. I'll meet you there in half an hour. Don't call anyone. You understand? Yes. Yes, I understand. Goodbye, Jeffrey. Darling. She's clever, isn't she, Jeffrey? She's maneuvered you on the very anniversary of Estelle's death into the basement of the museum where no one can hear a sound through the thick walls. But it's over for her now, isn't it? All over. Burton Detective Agency, Burton speaking. This is Jeffrey Long, Burton. Oh, what now? I know. I know who's been sending me those notes. Yes? My secretary all along. Bernice Grant. What? Yes. She's Estelle's sister. Now, you've got to help me. Look here, Long. I've told you where I stand. Before I do anything, I have to know. Are you... Are you prepared to go along with me the whole way, if I tell you? What do you mean by that? I mean even the doing away with someone. You mean Bernice? Yes. If it's necessary. Anything for money. You know that. All right. Yes, I killed Estelle. I pushed her overboard, but she had it coming. I'll tell you about it later. Are you with me now? Of course. I'll be right over. You better bring along a man you can trust. Bernice is coming here to the King Tut Room in the basement in half an hour. She'll probably have a gun. Can I depend on you? Don't worry about a thing. I'll meet you there. It seems ages as you sit there in the dark waiting. Then when the illuminated hands on your watch point to 830, you hear Bernice coming. Jeffrey. Jeffrey, where are you? I'm here. Oh, I've been so worried. Here, let's turn on the light. Oh, I'm so tired, darling. I've been so worried. Isn't this carrying things a little too far, Bernice? Jeffrey, what do you mean? How stupid do you think I am? Jeffrey, what's this all about? Still playing the game. Didn't you think I'd see through it all? You know, Bernice, I visited San Peralta. And as you know, Estelle's father has never been there. I had to tell you something to keep you from doing away with yourself. It was all I could think of. Jeffrey, I've been working every minute, working for you. I asked you to trust me. Trust you? You've had me so worked up, I suspected everybody I ran into. He even thought it might be Carruthers, the caretaker. And in the car, I imagined someone was following me. You didn't imagine it. You were being followed. What? I was afraid you might go out. I called in the police, begged them to put a man on me. How do you expect me to believe that? Here, give me that purse. Jeffrey! So? You're carrying a gun. For what, Bernice? Jeffrey, it's for your protection. I was afraid he might find you here. Why are you pointing that gun at me, Jeffrey? You see, Bernice, I know all about you. I found out from a woman next door to your old house in the Marina district. I know you were the one who wrote me those notes. No! I know Estelle never had a brother. I've discovered something even more interesting. But it's... I've discovered that you, Bernice, the sweet secretary who said she loved me, you were the one who intends to kill me. Because you're Estelle's sister. That's why I'm going to kill you. There are two ways to buy new tires. One way is to keep driving on smooth, unsafe treads until one day you're sailing down the highway, probably miles from nowhere, when all of a sudden, brrump, brrump, brrump, you've got a flat. Your old tire is probably ruined before you can stop, so it's now worth nothing. All you can do is take whatever make of tire the nearest station carries at whatever price they're charging. There must be a better way to get new tires. And there is. That way is to trade in those remaining unsafe miles to your signal dealer now, while he's giving today's biggest allowance. What's more, the new tires on which signal dealers are giving this generous trade in allowance are first-line Lee tires, famous over 47 years for long mileage. And today's Lee's, made of cold rubber, toughened still further with patented fill black O, actually wear 30 to 40 percent longer than ever before. So from a dollars and cents standpoint, you just can't afford to keep on driving on treadbare old tires. Not now, while signal service stations will trade them for new Lee tires at such surprisingly small cost. Stop in at your nearest signal dealers tomorrow. Get his generous trade in offer, and you'll know what I mean. You watch Bernice standing against the wall weeping. Everything is under control now, isn't it, Jeffrey? You're certain that you've outsmarted the girl you think is Estelle's sister. The girl you think wanted to kill you in vengeance for her sister's death. Now there's only one thing on your mind to get out of the museum with Bernice and do away with her. Your tents, listening for the approaching footsteps which you know will be burdened. Oh, thank heavens, Jeffrey. He's coming. The detective I've had following you. Yeah, I'm sorry, Bernice, you're wrong. That's someone I sent for. But I told you not to call anyone. I know you did. You wanted me all to yourself, didn't you? You're out of your mind. Hello, you in there? Yes, in here, Burton. Burton? Dick Burton? Yes. Come on out, Long. Shall I bring Bernice? No, leave her there a while. Come on out alone. No, don't go, Jeffrey. I found out for sure this morning. It's no use, Bernice. I fell for your lies for a long time. Wait, please, Jeffrey, don't go. The police will be here soon. Dick Burton is Estelle's brother. Let that whistle be your signal for the Signal Oil Program, 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. Remember, friends, if you'd like the fun of having your friend's hero limerick of yours read on The Whistler, the address to which to send it is Signal Oil Company, Los Angeles, California. Your limerick must be your own composition. It will be judged on the basis of originality, humor, and suitability, and the decision of the judges is final. All entries become the property of the Signal Oil Company. Featured in tonight's story were Willard Waterman, Virginia Gregg, and Wilms Herbert. 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 the same time, next Sunday, another strange tale by The Whistler. The Whistler is a production of the National Film and Television Agency. The Whistler is a production of the National Film and Television Agency. Your announcer has been Marvin Miller. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
