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. S-I-G-M-A-L, Signal, Signal Gasoline. 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, Poor Henry. It's an even mile from Miss Whitehead's house, brooding somberly on the cliffs above the English Channel to the village. Ellen Lovelock had walked it often, but on this misty waterlogged morning, she lagged a few paces behind her employer who marched determinedly down the sodden path in her shapeless British tweeds, her chin jutting out aggressively beneath her beak-like nose. Ellen was worried. The affair of last night had infuriated Miss Whitehead, and she was determined to see it through to the finish. In attitude, she made amply clear to the village constable two minutes after she and Ellen arrived at his office. The point is simply this constable, Stanley, as I told you this morning over the phone. Last night at approximately twelve o'clock a prowler broke into my home. Yes, yes, I see, but... I heard him moving about in the sunroom, so I decided to investigate. You hear him, Miss Ellen? No, Fred, I didn't. She sleeps like a corpse. But weren't you right next door to the sunroom, Miss Ellen? Yes. Will you two allow me to continue? By all means, Miss Whitehead. Very well. As I was saying, I heard this feature moving about. I approached the sunroom determined to capture this blackguard in the act. But unfortunately, he heard me coming and leaped out the window. This man... Are you certain it was a man? His footprints were clearly visible in the mud below the window this morning. Isn't that right, Ellen? Yes, yes, that's right, Miss Whitehead. I see. Was anything missing? No. Unfortunately for his purposes, I chose to read late and heard him. Well, it's hardly likely he'll return. I agree with you, can't you? On the contrary. It's very likely. Now that he's possessed an adequate inventory, the contents of my sunroom, it's highly probable he'll return very soon. He's after Grandfather's painting. I'm positive. This prowler, Miss Whitehead, it's apparent he was well acquainted with your habits when you retire ordinarily and so on. Quite, Sir Perris. I'd say this attempt to steal your grandfather's painting, well, it has certain characteristics of an inside job. Are you accusing my secretary here? I'm not accusing anyone, Miss Whitehead. I'd like very much to question your chauffeur, Henry Macklin. My chauffeur? Good heavens, why? Because he happens to be a man with a prison record. Just how did you happen to know that, Mr. Pinley? After I talked to you on the phone this morning, I phoned your secretary back to question her about Henry Macklin. Ellen, what right did you to tell anyone? Because I asked her specifically. She was suspicious of him. I'm sorry, Miss Whitehead. So am I, Ellen. I placed a trust in you. You violated it. It leaves me only one thing to do. Miss Whitehead... Let's not have a scene. When we return to the house, I'll give you two weeks' pay in lieu of notice. Miss Whitehead, you're discharging the girl? Exactly. But that's unfair. If only you'll listen to me... Mr. Pinley, I must remind you this is none of your affair. Now, you'll please approve this permit. I'm going to purchase the revolver. Just like that, Ellen. Three years of service as Miss Whitehead's secretary. Three years of daily battle with a jutting jaw and icy grey eyes, ended in a snap of the finger. The old lady, coldly precise, snatches up her revolver permit and strides out of the office. Constable Finley, engulfed in the guilt complex, tries to make sympathetic noises. But he succeeds only in looking embarrassed. And you, Ellen, hurry out into the street to see where Miss Whitehead is. As you do, Miss Whitehead's car pulls in at the curb. Henry Macklin is at the wheel. Good morning, Miss Ellen. What are you doing here, Henry? Oh, thought the old girl might want me to drive her back to the house. She would have called you, Henry. Just saw her going into the gunsmiths with that look on her face. What's up? Nothing that would interest you. You'll excuse me, Henry, I have a... Want a ride back, Miss Ellen? Thank you, no. Uh, Miss Ellen? Yes? I was just thinking, there's an American film at the Croft tonight. I was just wondering if you... Sorry, Henry, I have an engagement. Oh. You walk away, leave Henry staring stupidly after you. At the corner, you turn. Hurry down the street toward the ram's head end. As you move past, the figure detaches itself from the misty bulk, falls in step behind you. Ellen. Not here, Matt. Down to the beach then. Go ahead. I'm sorry, Matt. Of all night, she had to take it into her head to read a book. That the old girl is buying a revolver, eh? Good thing she didn't have one last night. She's probably as efficient at offhand shooting as she is at everything else. I suppose everything's ruined. Oh, no, my dear. I'll admit our plans will have to be changed, but we're not giving up. I've spent a lot of time tracing down those paintings, and I'm not quitting now. To try to steal them again, that would be dangerous. Not particularly. You say she rarely looks at them. And even in the frames, they're small enough to fit in an average-sized trunk. They'll bring at least a hundred thousand pounds. Are you certain, Matt? Well, the old girl didn't give me much time in that sunroom. But I'm positive they're the ones all right. The mayor, a couple of Bruegels, and the others are mixed 17th-century Flemish and Dutch minor masters. You still think they can be sold on the open market? They're not catalogued? I told you, Ellen, they were smuggled off the continent into England during World War I. After some very clever chap covered them with a resistant shellac and overlaid them with those stupid still lifes of fruit and potted plants. Matt, couldn't you... I mean, go to see Miss Whitehead. Offer to buy them. Oh, now, really. You know how she feels. Never break up a private little art gallery. Dear Loom, they belong to dear old grandpapa. What's the matter? Darling, I've just thought of the most wonderful idea. Henry Macklin, is it? Henry? Of course. He's the one to throw the police off our trail. The constable suspects him already. Yes. Yes. You know, Ellen, that's a rather interesting thought. He's stolen before. He'll do it again. He'll do anything for me, Matt. I'm sure of it. You still make arrangements to smuggle the paintings into France? There's a boat skipper in London who'll help me out for a fee. Just think, darling. A hundred thousand pounds. And we'll owe it all to Henry. Not a nasty trick to play, on the lad, eh? Poor Henry. BOOGIE HISTORY Again this week, you Whistler fans have set in some really choice limericks. So once again, Signal has asked me to skip the regular commercial in order to present $20 Signal Gasoline books to three of you as tokens of our appreciation. The first one tonight goes to Alice Ray of Portland, Oregon, for this limerick. A thrifty young fellow named Joe, when asked how he saved so much dough, said, with signal, my friend, you go farther no end. You can bank on that, brother, I know. Signal, signal, signal gasoline. Your car will go far, will go farther gasoline. Tonight's second $20 signal gasoline book goes to Alan N. Sharp of Los Angeles for this limerick. There once was a farmer named Green who improved on his milking machine. Using signal for power gets more milk per hour, and half of the stuff is pure cream. Signal, signal, signal gasoline. Your car will go far, will go farther gasoline. Tonight's third $20 signal gasoline book goes to Evelyn Eddington of Fontana, California for this limerick. Said Jack, not a cylinder's hittin'. When I bought this old crate, I got bitten. Said Jill, with a grin, you weren't takin' in. Cry signal, she'll purr like a kitten. Signal, signal, signal gasoline. Your car will go far, will go farther gasoline. Well, that's all we have time for tonight, friends, but our thanks to all of you who sent in limerick. Well, Ellen, poor Henry is going to have to face the music, isn't he? And only two days after the scene in the constable's office of planning with Mack, you have a general idea how the tune will sound. Henry Macklin, with a prison record at Dartmoor, stepped off the straight and narrow, burglarized the home of his benefactor, stealing among other things a collection of nondescript Victorian paintings from her son room. Henry is the perfect out, the most reasonable suspect, and with a hundred thousand pounds waiting for you and Matt in the art markets of Paris, the decision to use Henry wasn't difficult. Ellen, Ellen. Yes, Miss Whitehead? Help me unbutton this and turn it down, will you please? Oh, God. While they insist on putting buttons where only a contortionist can reach them, I'll never know. You are? Oh, thank you. I'm going to lie down for a while now. The Courtney's are stopping by for me at six. The garden club banquet at Stone Ridge, you know. Oh, I dread the motor trip. This weather and with this beastly cold I know I'm getting. Well, I really don't think I should go. Oh, you shouldn't, Mr. Banquet. I don't believe it'll rain. Well, we'll see, we'll see. Wake me at five. If I do go, I'll spend the night at Stone Ridge. Stay with Helen Whitney. I haven't visited with her in quite a while. Hello, Henry. Oh, hello, Miss Ellen. Just cleaning up the carburetor a bit here. Henry, I've come to say goodbye. Goodbye? You're not going, Miss Ellen. I'm afraid so. I've taken all I can say. Oh, now come. It's no use, you know. I don't mind leaving her, really. Well, she is an ill-tempered old girl. But I do mind leaving you. Hey. I wasn't going to say anything, Henry, but somehow now that the time's come, I just can't go off without telling you. Telling me what, Miss Ellen? That I admire you very much. Miss Ellen. Miss Ellen. Please, Henry, let not make it anywhere. I never knew. I know. I thought you'd think I was foolish. Foolish, Ellen, I... Please. I'm going back to London. Going to try to find a new life. Start all over again. You can't go now. Oh, it will be difficult. I don't have much money. Don't really know how I'll manage, but I've made up my mind. Maybe we'll meet again, Henry. I hope so. We will, so help me. I'll see to it. If you're ever in London, I'll be staying at the Dorkin Hotel. The Dorkin, yes. I know where it is. I've got to go now, Henry. Good heavens, I almost forgot what I came for. Miss Whitehead's miss-taste is the key to the vault in the library. She thought it might have fallen behind one of the cushions in the car. Oh, that's strange. She's a strange old lady. I think she should be more careful with it. You know, there must be a couple of thousand pounds of valuables in there, Lord. A couple thousand pounds? Huh. How careless of her. The way his eyes light up, Ellen, tells you he'll do exactly what you expect. You leave Henry, move off the garden path and around to the garage window. Watch him paw frantically behind the cushions of the car. Find the key where you just left it. And then look around furtively and slip it into his pocket. The old lady's still asleep as you walk to your room. Open your trunk, and then you hurry around to the sunroom close by and unlock the door. One by one, you take the paintings from the wall and put them in the trunk, all ten of them. With a stupid, fruit-and-pot-ed plant beginning to peel off. Showing what lies underneath. A hundred thousand pounds, Ellen. Over four hundred thousand dollars in American money. For a moment you stand there looking into your trunk. It's golden cargo. And then... Just a minute! Oh, Henry. Miss Ellen, I just can't let you run off like this. It'll all work out. Really, it will. Let go of me! I told you I'd made up my mind, Henry. What is it not right? It's not. Look here now. I'm... You see, Henry, I'm all packed up. Now, what do you say? Let's get busy here. You can help me with the trunk. I won't have it. That's what I won't say. I'm going, Henry. That's all there is to it. Come on now. Let's move the trunk down here. Then I have to run down to the village and arrange for the express means. By the way, do you find the key to the safe? What? No, not yet. Oh. Well, Miss Whitehead will want it tomorrow. She's taking her valuables into town. She's a little worried. That Prowler the other night, you know. Henry's denial of finding the key assures you of his intentions. And now you've made it clear to him that tonight is his only chance. Promptly at five, you'll awaken Miss Whitehead. Reminder that the Courtney's will be calling for her at six. It's upsetting when she tells you she's decided not to go to the garden club banquet, that she intends to remain in bed for the rest of the evening. But going downstairs, you realise that Henry will still have the opportunity to rifle the safe. And that's all that's important. You go on to the village, giving him the run of the lower part of the house. You wander through the village for almost an hour and then contact the express. Well, yes, Miss Lovelock, I suppose we could run out and pick up the trunk. What train will you arrive on in London? Expect we'll get it on the 728. They'll put it into Paddington Station at 8.50. Oh, God. If you'll excuse me, I have a telephone call for me to London. I'll be back shortly. Right. I'll finish up here while you're gone and then we'll run out and get your things. Hello? Hello, Miss Lovelock. I'd like to speak to Mr Matthew Graves, please. Mr Graves? Hold on a moment, please. Surely. Hello? Hello, Miss. This is Ellen. Everything going well? Yes. I'm sending the trunk on in. It will arrive on the 8.15 Paddington Station at 8.50. I'll be there in a moment. Yes. I'm sending the trunk on in. It will arrive on the 8.15 Paddington Station. Fine. When something's come up, I will be here to receive it. Oh? I've got to arrange for the shipment to be received on the other side. You'll have to come to London yourself tonight. See that it gets out of the boat. All right. Now contact Captain Vogel from the schooner Melissa K. Thorpe. He'll be expecting you. Captain Vogel, Melissa K. Thorpe. Right. Got to ring off now. What? You replace the receiver a little shakily. Stop for a moment to compose yourself. Now that the moment has come, you begin to wonder if you haven't been too sure of yourself, of Henry. And then you dismiss the thought. You kill another half hour before returning to the express boat. You're sure now, aren't you, Ellen, that once the way was open, Henry moved in the right direction and made your plans foolproof. It's seven o'clock as the baggage man turns off the highway down the road to the old house. It's dark as you expected. You're sure Miss Whitehead is asleep, that Henry has had the opportunity he needed to rob the safe and leave. Miss, what do you want me to do? Pull up right here at the foot of the stairs. I do. Well, lady, home? Yes, in her room. She's not well. That's good. Better not sloshing around on a night like this without her to contend with. See, I have my key. Yes, here it is. After you, Miss. The trunk's there by the library door. Turn on the light, please. Of course. The expressman doesn't know it, and you smile. Watch him ease the trunk out down the stairs, hoisted onto his truck. You close the door, then as you step back into the library. Miss Ellen. Henry, what are you doing? I've got it all arranged for us, Miss Ellen. What? Henry, you've been at the safe. That's right. Look, look, over 600 pounds. And a good bit of jewelry beside. You won't have to worry about money anymore. Henry, you did this for me. Oh, you shouldn't, you shouldn't. We'll make it you and I, Miss Ellen. They'll never catch us. No, no, Henry, it's all wrong. Miss Whitehead will find out. Don't worry about her. She's gone. Gone? She said she was going to stay in bed all evening. She changed her mind again. Decided to go to Stone Ridge after all. That's strange. Strange or not, that's what she did. Over, over myself. Now look, Miss Ellen, I'm taking this money and jewelry. Nothing's going to stop me. I should, Henry. I should stop you. But I can't. Now it's all my fault I'm responsible for this. Henry, go. Go quickly. Keep the money, the jewelry, but run. Run, Henry. I'm not going without you, Miss Ellen. Please, I won't tell her so. Go on. We'll run together, Ellen. No, it's better this way. I'll meet you in London, the Dawken Hotel. Please, Henry, you must go. I'm not leaving without you. That's final. You stare at him angrily, confused. His being here, his refusal to leave without you, ruins everything, doesn't it, Ellen? Somehow you've got to get him away from the house. Frighten him into running. You move quickly to the telephone desk, where Miss Whitehead keeps a revolver. If he thinks you're going to turn him in, he'll run, won't he, Ellen? Now what are you doing? How a gun is it? Henry, I'm giving you a last chance. If you don't go now, I have to call the police. Now you wouldn't do that to Henry Macklin, would you? Henry, I'm warning you. Stay away from me. You're in this just as deep as I am, Miss Ellen, up to your pretty neck in this affair. Get back, Henry. Give me that. You fool, I didn't do it. You stare down at him shocked, realizing slowly that he's dead, that you've killed him. More than that, Ellen, you've ruined everything. Henry will be found here now, and how will the missing paintings be explained? Then suddenly it hits you. Henry could have had an accomplice, yes. Someone who was here with him when you came in. Someone who rushed past you fled with the paintings under his arm. That's it, isn't it? You're sure it'll work. Sure they'll believe you. Yes, they must believe you, Ellen. A quarter of an hour later, when Constable Finlay answers your frantic call and rushes to the house, you're sure that your story rings true. You say he came in and found Henry at the vault. Yes, it was only a moment after the expressman left with my baggage. I saw him in there. I was terrified, Mr. Finlay, and the other man rushed past me out the door. I didn't get a good look at him. And somehow you remembered the gun. Yes, I knew Miss Whitehead had a revolver, the new one. You faced Henry. That's right. I was shocked. I couldn't believe he'd do a thing like this after the way she took him in and gave him another chance. All I could think of was calling the police. I started to pick up the phone. He lunged at me. Well, it's pretty clear what he was after. Henry had Miss Whitehead's money and jewels on him. As for his accomplice in the paintings, we'll send an alarm out on him right away. Let's see now. You'd plan to leave for London on tonight's train? Yes. You realize, of course, that we might have to keep you here a while. Keep me? But it's terribly important that I leave for London tonight. It's bad in its new position. I see. Of course, Miss Lover. Well, I suppose I could take your disposition, the inquest, have you give us a formal statement exactly the way things happen. I'll be glad to do it, Mr. Finley. I'd like to help you under the circumstances. All right, Miss Lover, we'll drive you down to the constabulary. I'll call the coroner. I'll have someone take your statement. Fine. Oh, by the way, Miss Whitehead will have to be notified. Where is she? Henry said he drove her to Stoneridge, to the Garden Club banquet. She'll be back tomorrow. Good. I'll see you first thing. You accompany the constable to the village, his office. Attend to the deposition. The procedure is brief and official. And you wait nervously as the constable reads it over and finally looks up at you. Well, I should say everything seems to be in order, Miss Lovelock. Oh, fine. I'm through now. Fine. Sorry you had to be put to all this inconvenience. Now, pleasant journey to London. And now, a tip for you drivers who want to keep that light new performance in your car and also keep repair bills down. Be sure to protect your motor with the improved type signal motor oil that won't break down under heat, Signal Premium compounded motor oil. Because it combines 100% pure paraffin base with scientific compounds, Signal Premium does things for your motor that oil alone cannot do. One compound, for instance, was specifically developed to prevent the formation of harmful gum and varnish. Another compound in Signal Premium actually removes carbon. And still another compound protects costly bearings from corrosion. So why trust the protection of your modern motor to old-fashioned oil when you can now get this improved type signal oil that does so much more than just lubricate? For your next oil change, change to Signal Premium compounded motor oil at a signal service station. So you're in the clear now, aren't you, Ellen? And even through your nervousness on the train trip to London, you find that you're pleased with yourself. Everything is going so smoothly. In London, you hurry to the baggage office. There's only one thing left to do now. Claim the trunk addressed to Max, and have it taken aboard the ship bound for France where you'll meet him. The agent of the expressman attending the freight office seems to look at you oddly as you make inquiries about the trunk. But a moment later, he's nodding his head amply. Oh, yes, Miss, it's here. If you'd just step around through this door. Here she is, Inspector. Inspector? That's right, Miss. I'm Maitland, Scotland Yard. We got a call from a constable, Finlay. Seems he wanted you detained. Detained? I made my statement. So you did. But it didn't include quite everything. You didn't explain about the trunk. The trunk? Why, it's here. Yes, we found that out from the express company. We've already opened. Oh. By the way, who's Matthew Graves? What does he have to do with this? He arranged to ship the trunk across the Channel. But it was all a mistake. If you'll let me, I can explain. Can you now? Let's see if you can. You know, this was all rather clumsy of you, Miss Lovelock. Constable Finlay started adding things up when he found some of your personal things and a bunch of paintings on the ground outside the library window. What? Yes, he went back to the house after he put through a phone call to Stoneridge. Learned that Miss Whitehead wasn't there. Had never been there. Not there? But Henry told me. There we are, Miss Lovelock. Can you explain this? Look inside your trunk. I see. That's why Henry lied. He killed her. Oh, come now, Miss. Let's not try to blame poor Henry for everything. This is one murder you're going to have to explain. 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. Remember, if you would like the fun of having your friends hear a limerick of yours on The Whistler, the address to which to send it is Signal Oil Company, Los Angeles 55, California. All limericks become the property of Signal Oil Company. Those selected for use on The Whistler will be chosen by our advertising representatives on the basis of humor, suitability and originality. So of course they must be your own composition. Featured in tonight's story were Peggy Weber, John Hoyt, Verna Felton and Ed Begley. The Whistler was produced by George W. Allen, directed by Sterling Cracy. The tonight's story by Harold Swanton, 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. S-I-T-N-A-L, signal, signal gets all the way. Marvin Miller speaking. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
