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 for the Signal Oil Company, the Whistler's strange story, the Lady in the Snow. It was midnight and the street was quiet with the serene gentle stillness of the hour. Except for the light shining brightly from the drugstore on the corner and from Brent Morrison's home studio a few doors down the street. The rest of the neighborhood was dark. Inside the studio, Brent Morrison, well-known commercial artist, was working feverishly on an advertising layout with his assistant, Elaine Nelson. Suddenly Brent stopped, put his pen aside, leaned back and lit a cigarette. Well, Elaine, won't be long now. Just about finished. Looks good, doesn't it? Mm-hmm. It's going to be the best double-page ad that's ever been placed between two magazine covers. Your idea of doing it with cartoons was terribly clever. Well, thanks. You know, Brent, you've got to style all your own. No other commercial artist can match it. Thanks again. I hope working late tonight didn't interrupt any plans. No. Joe and I didn't have anything planned. Good. How is Joe, by the way? Well, just the same as ever. Lost another job last week. Oh, I'm sorry. Yeah, I'm used to it. Let's get back to work, shall we? Okay. Now, if you'll color this sketch here, well, I wonder who that could be at this hour. Better answer, it might be a client. Brent, wait. If that should be Joe asking for me, would you tell him I'm not here, that I'm on my way home? But Elaine... Please, Brent, it's important to me. I'll explain later. Well, all right. Hello? Mr. Morrison, this is Joe. Joe Nelson. Oh, yes, I... Is my wife there? Well, no, no, she isn't. She left some time ago. She ought to be home any minute. Oh. Okay. Thanks, Mr. Morrison. Thanks, Brent. Look, Elaine, what goes here? Why did you ask... Oh, it's nothing, really. Well, you'd better tell me. It could be I just put myself in quite a spot. Well, the last time I worked late with you, Joe didn't like it. We had quite an argument. Well, why didn't you tell me he was suspicious? Because I was afraid you'd be annoyed, get someone else to work with you. Joe, out of a job, earning a living is up to me. Well, I'd have been glad to make some special arrangement. We could have worked at your place. I'm sorry, Joe. I'm so lonely, and then Joe is so difficult. He finds fault with everything I do. Oh, now, Elaine. Elaine, if there's anything I can do... Thanks. I guess there isn't. It's nice to know you're willing to help. You're a wonderful girl, Elaine. It's just too bad Joe doesn't understand. Wow, wow. It's a very touching scene. Joe. Yeah, very touching. I figured you and this Morrison guy out all along, baby. Oh, wait, you're all wrong. I know you were here. That's why I called from the drugstore on the corner, just to see what Morrison would say. Give me the wrong answer. And he's gonna pay for it. There's and I, and I'll do the trick. Brent, look out. You raise an arm to stop him, but Joe moves in quickly. Sharp, sudden pain, and you're almost defenseless against the rain of blows against your arms and body. And then just as suddenly, it's there in your hand. The gun, your gun. You see Elaine realize that she's handed it to you. Your gun, Brent. You know it isn't loaded, but it might frighten Joe off. He grabs for it. The struggle for possession heightens. Suddenly, you feel Joe relax, and then he crumbles. Brent, you, you shot him. But, but how? The gun, it was never loaded before. Elaine, is he? Yes, he's dead. You look down at Joe's lifeless form, and as the gun in your hand clatters to the floor, you wonder how it ever could have been loaded. You blink in amazement, turn from Joe to Elaine. Your mouth forms words to say to her, but the words won't come. She just looks at you, a steady expressionless stare, and then... Hey, what's going on in there? I heard shots. What happened? I'm so glad you've come. That man there, Mr. Morrison, he just shot my husband. Elaine, it was an accident. It was self-defense, and you know it. Oh, it's no use, Brent. I won't lie for you. Whatever was between us is over now. I can't defend a murderer. This man's dead, all right. There's a hat, and we better call the police. I've already phoned them, lady. Did it as soon as I heard the shots. It's like some horrible nightmare, isn't it, Brent? You try to shake it off, but it's no use. You can't understand how it feels to be shot. It's a terrible nightmare, isn't it, Brent? You try to shake it off, but it's no use. You can't understand why, but Elaine is saying you murdered her husband, and the police are on their way. You stand there staring, Elaine weeping softly, the man looking at you curiously. Here the police come now. I'd better go out and flag them down. I couldn't give them the exact address. I didn't know it. Elaine, what's this all about? Tell me. Oh, come off it, Brent. You can't be that dumb. Dumb? I'm beginning to see. You planned the whole thing. Me on the phone telling Joe you weren't here. And then when he came, you gave me the gun, the gun you loaded without my knowledge. You wanted me to kill him. The police will never know that, Brent. Why? Why did you want Joe dead? Simple. Twenty thousand dollars worth of life insurance. Twenty thousand a girl can live a little. She can do a lot of things. But Elaine, why did you pick on me? You're handy. Besides, I don't like the way you've used my ideas. That's not true when you know it. You don't think you're going to get away with a brazen frame-up like this, do you? No. Of course I'll get away with it. As you hear the police car stop outside, you suddenly spring into action. Before Elaine can stop you, you're out the door, running down the back stairs. Stop him! He's getting away! Stop him! You race down the back alley to your car, then speed away into the night. As you reach the outskirts of town, you hear the siren again. You know they've picked up your trail. And now you realize it was a mistake, wasn't it, Brent, running away? The gun. Your gun, Brent. Back there on the floor of your studio, your fingerprints on it. By running, no one will ever believe that you were framed for the murder of Joe Nelson. Several miles later, you turn into a narrow road leading past an old abandoned quarry. The police car is closing the gap between you. And then too late, you remember the sharp curve above the old quarry, the deep pool at the bottom. Your car spins, skids, heads for the steep embankment. Quickly, you open the door, jump, just in time as your car starts its horrible descent toward the quarry pool. For a minute, a black curtain shuts out everything. And then it's gone. And you find yourself lying in a clump of bushes. Over here, Brent. Below, you hear voices. Yeah, he sure picked the wrong person. Crawl to the ledge. Look down. See the two policemen. He sure took a tumble. Yeah, and that pool of water didn't leave 50 feet deep. Never get him out of there alive. That's the cinch. Well, maybe it's a break for him. It was this or the gas chamber. Tonight's $20 signal gasoline book goes to Helena E. Bryant of Santa Ana, California, for this limerick. My jalopy's a gallon old lass, though not in the Cadillac class. Greater mileage I get, and speed too, you bet, when she's filled up with good signal gas. Signal, signal, signal gasoline. Your car will go far with go farther gasoline. Tonight's limerick writer was twice right when she said that with signal, the famous go farther gasoline, you get both mileage and performance. Naturally, you get both, because today's great signal gasoline helps your engine run more efficiently. So whether you're looking for economy or whether you're more interested in peppy pickup and smooth, effortless power, remember you get all these things that make driving more pleasure when you switch to signal, the famous go farther gasoline. Well, Brent, Elaine schemed to frame you for her husband's murder work, didn't it? You had to get away fast, and in the police chase following your flight from the house, your car crashed over a steep embankment into an abandoned quarry pool. By a miracle, you had managed to jump clear of the car and remained in hiding while the police were at the scene. They believed you went down with the automobile, so now you're free. Until they pull the car out, discover you're not in it. You manage to stagger back to the road, hail a ride in a passing truck. You do a lot of thinking, don't you, Brent? And shortly before dawn, you get off the truck at the outskirts of a small mountain village, Kentville. You make your way slowly into a clump of trees, drop exhausted on the grass, and soon you're asleep. When you open your eyes again, the sun is shining, and there's someone standing over you. Hello. Oh, hello. I... What? You're hurt. You're sure there's blood on it? It's nothing. I just slipped a while ago. Fell on some rocks, just scratched myself up a little. Oh, here. Here, let me help you up. That's all right. I'll be okay. Oh, you are hurt. Hello. Feeling better now? I guess so. We didn't get around the introductions. I'm Claire Lawson. This is Dr. Matthews. He helped bring you here to my house. Hello, son. What's your name? It's Webb, Roy Webb. Good thing Claire found you, Mr. Webb, and called me. You were pretty badly banged up. You'll be okay. Just what did happen, Mr. Webb? What happened? Yes. I'm curious. Oh, I'm not sure. You can't tell them the truth, can you, Brent? So you tell them you can't remember, that you must have suffered a brief lapse of memory. You explain you've had similar attacks before, that you can remember some things, your identity, but you can't remember others. You're relieved when Dr. Matthews seemed to accept your story. The following week, with the help of Dr. Matthews, you find a furnished cottage. You're glad it's inexpensive because you don't have much money with you, Brent, and you realize you can't write a check as Brent Morrison. You're certain the police have already pulled your car out of the quarry pool, discover you've escaped. You've got to hide out now, and Kentville seems a safe place. A few nights later, Dr. Matthews drops in to see you. Feeling better, son? Much better, doctor. Your memory improving? Well, I can't say that it is. It's pretty strange. Look, son, you'd better quit stalling. Stalling? You didn't have amnesia the day Claire found you. You didn't betray the slightest symptoms. Oh, I see. And why did you let me... Because you were pretty badly hurt, suffering from shock, and you seemed like a nice young man. Now I want the truth. Who are you, and what are you doing here in Kentville? Now you know, Brent. Your story didn't fool Dr. Matthews for a second, and you're faced with a vital decision. You make up your mind quickly, tell him as much as you dare, that you've been framed, involved in a scandal affecting your future. But you don't mention names or the death of Joe Nelson. Why, sounds fantastic. You're not making this up, son. What I've told you is the truth, doctor. All right, I believe you. So you want to stay on here. Maybe you need time to think things out, eh? Yes. That's what I want. I need time to think things out. You feel safer than you have in a long time, don't you, Brent? And you're certain you found a real friend in Dr. Matthews. There's Claire Lawton, too. And though you've known her for only a short time, she already means a great deal to you. The following evening is the two of you return from a movie. You decide to tell her not only the things you've already told Dr. Matthews, but the whole story. There it is, Claire. The whole story. Thanks, Brent. Thanks for telling me. I was really worried about you, not knowing where you came from, what you'd done. You mean my situation doesn't upset you? Of course it does. But it'll work out. It has to. Anybody who knew you at all would know you couldn't kill anyone. Thanks, Claire. Your belief in me means more to me than you know. I...I was afraid you'd forgotten things like...well, like... Like what, Claire? Like you might be married. There's little doubt in your mind as to how she feels about you, Brent. And you realize now you never want to leave Kentville, Claire, and friends like Dr. Matthews. But staying on here presents a problem. Money, Brent. What little you have will be gone soon, and you have no way of getting to your funds at home. But you can still draw and paint, can't you? And suddenly an idea hits you. A cartoon strip, one you've had in the back of your mind for a long while. Now, if ever, is the time, Brent. You work feverishly, disguising your style as much as possible. Then using your new name, Roy Webb, you send the results to a newspaper syndicate in New York. When you receive their reply, a contract, it's even better than you'd hoped. Claire is elated. And as the months pass, you spend more and more time together. You have a bank account now. The citizens of Kentville have accepted you as one of their own. And you wonder if you can't spend the rest of your days here as Roy Webb, cartoonist. And then one evening, as you return to your cottage. Hello, Brent. Elaine. Or shall I call you Roy? Roy Webb. You should have known I'd spot your comics to place you through the syndicate. All right. So you found me. What are you going to do, turn me in? That depends on you. Joe's insurance money didn't last long, but it was nice while it lasted. I hate to work, you know. I won't have to go back to work, will I? Blackmail, huh? First a frame for murder and now blackmail. I'll make it very easy on you, Brent. Three hundred dollars a month. That's impossible. Oh, no it isn't. You forget I know a little about the money in cartoons. I'd like the first payment in a few days. Now look, Elaine. By the way, I have a new name too. It's Helen, Helen Walsh. You'll have the money by Saturday, won't you, darling? All right. I'll have it. Fine. I'll be staying here in Kentville for a while. Matter of fact, I rented a small cottage up on the hill. We'll be seeing quite a bit of each other from now on. Won't we, Brent? As the weeks pass, Elaine becomes more and more demanding. Insists you take her to dinner, the movies, and the lonely roadhouse on the outskirts of Kentville. And finally, she demands that you increase her allowance to five hundred a month. You manage to stall her off for a time, but then one night as you're driving up to her remote cottage, she tells you of a new plan. You know, Brent, I'm getting pretty fed up with this bird. I think it's time I moved on. Palm Springs, maybe. Oh? Isn't this rather sudden, this decision to leave? I guess it is. You're coming with me, of course. Now, wait a minute. I like it here. I know. But I want you in Palm Springs. Close by. You and the money. If it's the money you're worried about, I'll mail it to you. You might, for a while. Then you'd miss the payment. I'd come back here and you'd be gone. It might take weeks to find you. Oh, no, no, darling. Well, perhaps we can work something out, Elaine. At least give me time to think it over. All right. Twenty-four hours. You can think it over that long. Just be at my cabin tomorrow night, Brent. And you'd better decide to go with me. You hadn't planned on this, had you, Brent? The idea of Elaine leaving Kentville seemed like a very good one to you. But you never thought she'd force you to go with her. You don't sleep well that night. And during all the next day, the decision you must make twists and turns in your mind. Finally, you're on your way to Elaine's cottage again. The light snow that started falling in the afternoon has become thicker, and the narrow road leading up to the cabin is more treacherous than usual. You drive slowly, with great care. And when you arrive at the cabin, Elaine is pleased with your decision. Yes, I'll go with you, Elaine. Fine. I'm all packed. We can leave tonight. Tonight? Oh, no, look, I can't go tonight. I'll have to close up the cottage, settle some bills in the village. All right, all right. In the morning then. What's your hurry anyway? I just want to get out of this iceberg. It's getting colder every minute. Yeah, there's a pretty bad storm going, too. I'd better start now while I can still make it. Now, before you go, close that window, will you? I'm freezing. As you start back from the window, you watch Elaine strike a match. Bend down to light the gas heater. She straightens up, stands there warming herself. Not much of a heater, but it'll have to do. Anything else? No, no, just close the door on your way out. I'm going to get some sleep. See you in the morning. Outside, you brace yourself against the wind, make fresh tracks in the snow to your car, and then suddenly you stop. In one blind moment, you whirl, head back toward the cottage around to the side, the main gas valve. Quickly, you turn it off. You wait one breathless moment until you're certain the light in the heater inside the cabin has gone out. And then you turn the valve on again. Elaine will be in bed soon, and the heater in the front room will pour forth deadly gas fumes all the rest of the night. Only after you reach your own cottage do you realize what you've done. You pace up and down, your heart pounding. She deserves to die, doesn't she, Brent? And you keep telling yourself that's the way it's got to be. But it's no use, is it? You can't let her die, can you, Brent? No matter what she's done to you, you know now you can't commit murder. You go out into the storm to your car. You drive crazily up the narrow road again, twisting, swerving dangerously. Your own safety isn't a factor now. Even though Elaine is vicious, threatening, you've got to reach her in time. Only two more curves and you'll be there. Your foot is almost on the floorboard now. And as you take the first curve at top speed, a pair of headlights suddenly looms ahead. You feel remote, detached, Brent. And when you open your eyes, the blur before them clears slowly. It's morning. You stare at the ceiling above you, then down the walls to the bed in which you lie. And there, standing at the foot of the bed, is Claire. Hello, darling. Hello, my dear. Claire, where am I? You're all right, Brent. There was an accident. You're in the hospital. Accident? That's right, Morrison. For you. Lieutenant Taylor, Los Angeles Homicide. We've been looking for you for a long time, Morrison. Yes, I guess so. But wait a minute. Claire, the cabin. Elaine Nelson, I was on my way up there. Elaine Nelson. There's nothing you can do for her. Elaine Nelson's dead, Morrison. If automobile engines were made of glass, a lot more drivers would certainly switch to signal premium compounded motor oil. Through the glass, you would actually see how the scientific compounds in this extra-duty signal oil help to keep wear down and performance up. In the cylinder head, for instance, you would see how one of these compounds keeps signal premium from breaking down under heat, keeps it from forming harmful gum and varnish. Around the piston rings, you would see how a second compound in signal premium actually removes carbon. And down in the bearings, you would see how still another compound prevents corrosion. Yes, if automobile engines were made of glass, you would see the many things signal premium does for your motor besides just lubricate. In short, you would see why, if you want to keep your motor's performance young, you should get your next oil change at a signal station. Get it changed to signal premium compounded motor oil. It's all over, isn't it, Brand? You know you were too late. The accident on the road to Elaine's cabin prevented you from reaching it in time to shut off the gas. And Elaine Nelson is dead. Now, in your hospital room, Claire Lawton, the girl you're in love with, is standing by your bed. So is Lieutenant Taylor of Los Angeles Homicide. And you're certain he knows that you're responsible for Elaine's death. There's nothing else for you to do now except tell him the whole story. But you know he won't believe a word of it. As you start to explain... Save your breath, Morrison. We know who did it. We know the whole story. Yes. I suppose you do. Soon as the local police got the facts, they called us. That's why I came. It's all cut and dried. We've got the gun Elaine Nelson was killed with and... The gun? I thought it was... Darling, Elaine Nelson was found in the snow several hundred yards away from her cabin last night. She'd been shot to death. Shot to death? She was trying to get away when he caught her, killed her. He? Who are you talking about? Elaine's ex-boyfriend. She ran out on him after she'd collected her husband's insurance money. He got sore and started looking for him. Her boyfriend? Nick Devins, the guy who ran into your studio the night Joe Nelson was shot. The guy who called the police. But I don't get it. You really caught him for us, Morrison. After Devins killed Elaine Nelson last night, he was making his getaway, driving down the road from her cottage when your car crashed into his. Devins, you mean he... Yes, Brent. He was driving the other car. Wasn't hurt seriously. He'll live to die in the gas chamber. We know now, Morrison, that Devins and Elaine Nelson framed you for a husband's murder the night he was killed in your studio. Devins confessed the whole thing. He did. Yes, darling. Everything's gonna be all right for us after all. 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. Featured in tonight's story were Hi Aberback and Betty Lou Gerson. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by Nancy Cleveland, 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 Kevin Miller speaking for the Signal Oil Company. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
