And now, stay tuned for the program that has been 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. I am The Whistler, and I know many things, for I walk by dine. 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, Jessica. Jessica Monroe stared at the manuscript she held tightly in her hand, the manuscript that had suddenly shrouded her spacious office with ugly, threatening memories from the past. Until that moment, the reputation of no member of the Monroe family had ever been questioned, not openly. But there before her were vivid, venomous words, words to shock the sensibilities of any reader. To Jessica Monroe, the editor-publisher of Monroe House, these words produced a curious challenge. Slowly, she closed the manuscript and faced the man who had written the words, Joe Arnold. Why did you write this, Joe? For money, and because it's a great story. It'll sell a hundred thousand copies, if you'll publish it. Do you really expect me to publish it? A story written in poison and gall by an ingrate I was foolish enough to employ when no editor in town would let him inside their office? Maybe you made a mistake. You rifled the files of this office for what facts you have, and you've twisted them so that you've even made my parents look bad, very bad. I bit the hand that fed me. And again I ask, why? I wanted to write a great story. Did you read it all? I read enough. If I were you, I'd finish reading it, Jessica, word for word, the entire manuscript. It might affect your attitude toward it. All right. How much do you want for this manuscript, Joe? Well, as I see it, there are two prices on the manuscript, Jessica. There's one if you want to publish it, and another if you want to suppress it. I'm talking about publishing it, of course. You wouldn't dare. It'd crucify you and your family name. You'd better read the rest of it. We'll have plenty of time to talk, and you'll need plenty of time to think about how much this is worth to you. How much time? All day. I'll be back tonight for an answer. I don't have to ask if you'll be here. I'll be here. Fine. Oh, and Jessica, you'll find this out as you read. You're in that manuscript in a big way. So that's it, Jessica. One of your employees, Joe Arnold, has written a novel of your family, and Joe has featured you in the chronicle. You sit there stunned after Joe leaves. It isn't anger you feel. It's more terror, isn't it, Jessica? Joe seems to know a great deal more about you than you thought, almost without knowing if you pick up the manuscript again. Begin reading where you left off, searching for further incidents from your past. You read on and on, unaware of time, unaware, too, that you have another visitor. Must be a best seller. What? Oh, Mark, I was reading. Oh, good for you. Always meant to learn myself. Mark, did you want something important? Does a sales manager ever want anything important? Oh, look, I'm not in much of a mood for games, Mark. Oh, I see you're not. I'm quick that way. Okay, we won't play games, boss lady. I'm sorry, Mark. I was... I know. You were reading. That's where I came in. Maybe you ought to buy it, Jessica. What do you mean? Just that if any manuscript can hold your interest this much, it must be worth a asking price. But then that's your business, Jessica, isn't it? Yes, Mark. I guess it is my business. You're glad when Mark closes the door behind him, Jessica, and you turn quickly back to your reading of Joe Arnold's manuscript. By evening, you finished, shocked and numb by what you've read. Joe hasn't missed a thing, has he, Jessica? Your own doings and misdoings are vividly reported and twisted in such a way that to bring discredit on your father's memory, even your grandfather's. It's past closing time and your employees have left the building. Joe's footsteps, Jessica. You'll have to come to a decision. Had a few drinks to celebrate my victory, Jessica. Have you won a victory, Joe? How can I lose? I might as well sit down and be comfortable, huh? Sure. I'm sure I've won, Jessica. Either way, if you publish it, I get money. If you don't, I get more money. I'm not going to publish it, Joe. Sensible decision, I'm sure. I suppose anything this contemptible comes high. Let's keep it on a business basis. I'll pay you $15,000 for the manuscript and all its copies. My starting figure, $15,000. Say some more. All right. How much do you want? $50,000 and a piece of the business. Maybe a junior partnership. You must be out of your mind. Isn't the reputation of a Monroe, especially if it's you, worth a small piece of your fortune? Before I'd let you commercialize this vindictive story, I'd kill you. That's your answer? Get out of here. You don't mean that, Jessica. You don't touch me, do you hear? You try to reach for the phone, but Joe stops you. In one desperate movement, you free one hand, seize a bookend from your desk, and blindly wield it at you. You stare down at him, Jessica, and slowly the fury drains out of you, the shock of the deed replacing it. Joe lies there motionless. Convulsive shiver runs through you. You move to feel his pulse, listen for his heartbeat, and just as you bend over him, you'd better let me help you, Jessica. Last Thursday, the $10,000 signal gasoline contest came to an end. Two weeks from tonight, if professional judges of the Rubin H. Donnelly Corporation have had time to study all entries and reach their decisions, we will announce on the Whistler winners of the Buick and the next 12 prizes. All 200 prize winners will be notified personally, and a complete list of winners will be posted at every signal station as soon as possible. Meantime, Signal Oil Company wants to take this opportunity to thank the many thousands of you who entered so wholeheartedly into the spirit and fun of the contest. We regret there couldn't have been a prize for each and every one of you. However, if the contest has been instrumental in acquainting you with your neighborhood signal dealer, your car has acquired a valuable friend. You see, signal dealers are independent businessmen with sufficient experience and genuine interest in cars to invest their own money in the business of serving you. We hope you'll give your signal dealer an opportunity to prove how his conscientious service plus fine quality signal products can help your car run better, look better, and last longer. The whole thing seems like a nightmare, doesn't it, Jessica? Joe Arnold lies motionless on the floor of your office, and beside him the heavy bookend you dropped after you hit him. On your desk is Joe's manuscript. Your dazed eyes move mechanically from Joe's steel form to the bookend to the manuscript, and there bending over Joe is Mark Harris, your sales manager. You don't know how much Mark saw. You better let me help you, Jessica. Those are the only words he's uttered till now. He gets up, looks at you, his eyes expressionless. I'll handle it from here, Jessica. I didn't mean to, Mark. Now take it easy, take it easy. I guess it's a good thing you hit him instead of using that gun of yours. How did you know I keep a gun? I saw it on your desk once. Sometimes I snoop. Now look, you're in a lot of trouble, but I'm going to help you. The reason I'm going to help you, you'll find out later. You are not going to the police with this. Yes, Mark. Now listen to me. You'll go home now, just as if nothing had happened. Elliot, the night watchman, will let you out of the building. You'll walk a block to the cab stand, get in one, go directly home, and say nothing to anyone. Do you understand? Yes, Mark, I understand. You'll go to your room, go directly to bed. Relax, even if you have to take a fistful of sedatives. You'll think of nothing and do nothing. How do the thinking and the doing from here on in? Mark, I don't know what you're going to do. I don't either. I'm going to start figuring it out. I'll call you later or drop in after I've gotten rid of it. I'll leave now, hear? Well, Jessica, Mark's sudden assertion of strength has you completely in his power, hasn't it? You do just as he says. You go home in a sort of hypnotic state. You do take the sedatives. And just as you give in to exhaustion and sleep, you tell yourself that this is all a bad dream, that you'll awake to find Joe Arnold alive again. You do sleep, but a few hours later, you awake with a start and the dream is not over. The voices downstairs tell you that Mark has come and is arguing with your butler about waking you. You hurriedly dress and go down. Mark's face is grim as you lead him into the library and close the door. You fixed him up pretty good, Jessica. What shall I do, Mark? Nothing. It's been done. I carried him down the back way and loaded him in my car and got away without the watchman or anyone seeing me. I don't think they'll ever find him. But what will they think? That he's among the missing, that he disappeared tonight, vanished into thin air. He was drunk tonight, you know. Yeah, that makes it better. If the cops ask me, I'm going to say that he's probably in heaven or the East River. But will they believe he just vanished? It's all they'll have to believe. It's not all I'll have to believe. No. Why'd you hit him, Jessica? The manuscript, Mark. Is that a reason? A story about my family, the Monroe's, mostly the present generation. Me. It wasn't pretty. I couldn't bear to have it told Joe's way. But I didn't mean you. I think I remember you saying once that there were too many writers in the world. Maybe I did, but I didn't mean to... Is that Joe's manuscript? That's the original. But there must be copies, probably in Joe's apartment. All right. I'll get them. Now, that's part of it. Part of what? Part of the deal I'm about to make you, for getting myself into this mess and you out of it. Why are you doing it? For a loan of $25,000. A loan? Which I doubt that I'll be able to pay that. This loan, do you ever intend to pay it back? Frankly, no. I'm the best book salesman in the country. You owe me a raise. All right, Mark. I'll have the money for you tomorrow. Thanks. And I'll see you tomorrow. With all the copies of Joe's manuscript. Mark, I've got to know. What did you do with Joe? What do they do with the dead Barry and me? Where? The less you know right now, the better it is for me. Okay, Mark. Where is my secret? Goodnight, Jessica. Well, there it is, Jessica. Mark has disposed of Joe's body. It cost you $25,000 and you don't know where Mark hid him. The money, Jessica, you wonder if it's just the beginning of the payoff. But you're not in much of a position to ask questions or get answers. The next day and all that week, you sit by and watch Mark manipulate the business of Joe Arnold's disappearance with the police, the missing persons bureau, the office staff. Mark makes it very plausible that Joe went on a binge, disappeared, that he'll undoubtedly show up someday, somewhere. And everyone seems satisfied, Jessica, except Lieutenant Hennigan from homicide, who's been snooping around the office quite a bit this past week. And then one day, the lieutenant comes to you with a disturbing piece of information. Arnold's landlady said he was writing a book, Miss Monroe. You know anything about it, ma'am? No, no, I don't. Of course, Joe often worked at home on his book reports, but I know nothing of a book of his own. Landlady seems to. The last morning she saw him, she warned him to come home with a rent or get thrown out. Arnold waived a copy of a manuscript before her eyes and said he was going to see his publisher. That would be you. Well, he may have said that, but he didn't come to me with it, Lieutenant. I wonder who he took the book to. That's what we're all wondering. Funny he wouldn't bring it to you. Yes, it's strange. Well, don't worry, Miss Monroe. We'll find him or his book that disappeared. In time, we find everyone, even some people we're not looking for. By the way, ma'am, you're not thinking of leaving town for any reason, huh? No, I hadn't thought of it. Well, just check with me if you do, will you? What's the matter, Jessica? Don't you like the music? I don't like the way that detective told me to stay in town. Oh, now forget it. That's what makes a cop a suspicious man. Mark. Hmm? Maybe I should tell Lieutenant Hannigan everything. You don't trust me? I gave you $25,000, didn't I? But you're still not sure of me, is that it? Well, it's hard to be, Mark. I know nothing about you. On the other hand, you know all about me. Will this help? I was born on a farm near Omaha. I suspected you were born once. And at 20, I got sick of corn and wheat and I went to the coast. I picked oranges and I fought in the war. And then? And then, oh, I was a press agent for a circus, later a jazz band, and finally a movie queen. Well, of what was the movie queen like? Like nothing. A lampshade on her head and a Cadillac on each foot. You're a strange person, Mark. Still don't trust me? No. No more than myself. With a murder between us. There's only a table between us now, Jessica. But let's get out of here. If you're thinking I've got something to say to you I don't want to say here, you're right. You can't read my mind tonight, Mark. I haven't got one. I once saved a guy from drowning. I jumped into a lake after him and ruined my best and only suit. And when I got him to the shore and revived him, what do you think he did? Oh, it's your story. He busted me in the mouth. He was committing suicide. Is there a moral to your story? I should have thought a long time about it before jumping in after him. Maybe you better think some more before you tell the cops what happened to Joe. This is an interesting side to your character, Mark. And now that we're alone, here's another side to it. I'm in love with you. What? I don't mind repeating. It's really necessary. But, but Mark. I'm in love with you. When did this romance overwhelm you? The day I came to work for you a year ago. If that's true, you've concealed it better than you think. Oh yeah. Yeah, I concealed it all. You had a million bucks and I had 30 cents. I was standing on the earth looking at Venus. We were just about the same distance apart. And now you feel you can tell me why? Because you know what I've done? No. Because now I have 25,000 bucks. And I'm in a different financial bracket. Mark has surprised you, hasn't he, Jessica? And when you arrive home that night, you're confused and somehow even more troubled. You wonder if you can trust Mark, or if his sudden admission of love for you is part of the payoff, too. That day you see Mark only once on business, and there's no mention of his love for you then. Late that night you're at home trying to untangle your snarl thoughts. Suppose Mark does love you, Jessica. What does it mean? But your thoughts are abruptly interrupted. Yes? Lieutenant Hannigan has come home. Oh, yes, Lieutenant. I thought you ought to know. We found what we were looking for. You found what? Joe Arnold. Found him in the East River. Mark Harris must be something of a prophet. I see. When did you find him? A couple of days ago. We've been running some tests. We'll want you to come in in the morning, Miss Monroe. There are some questions. Of course, Lieutenant. Make it ten o'clock, will you? Oh, and Miss Monroe. Yes? I think you should know Mark Harris will be here, too. So, there'll be questions at the police station tomorrow morning, Jessica, and Mark will be there, too. It's a tormenting thought, isn't it, what Mark might say to Lieutenant Hannigan tomorrow? Has the Lieutenant talked to Mark? And if he has, what has Mark told him? You move to call Mark when... Yes, hello? This is Mark, Jessica. Has Hannigan talked to you? Yes, yes, he just called. You'd better get over here, Jessica, quick. I've got something important to tell you. You leave the house hurriedly. Your cab makes one important stop before you go to Mark's apartment. A stop at your office, Jessica, to take your gun from its regular place in your desk. You're not certain you'll like what Mark has to say. Your gun is insurance against that possibility. When you arrive at Mark's apartment and he meets you at the door, you instantly notice that there's something different about him, the way he looks, his manner, the way he treats you. Mark has changed, Jessica. An unreal feeling sweeps over you as you check a chair opposite him. I've been afraid this time would come, Jessica. I thought about it a lot and dreaded it. You thought about it? What have you decided to do? There's just one thing I can do, but before I tell you what it is, I want you to understand that I am in love with you, Jessica. Go on. Well, when we see Lieutenant Hennigan in the morning, I'll have to tell him the truth, exactly what happened. Somehow I knew you'd say that. Well, it wasn't easy to say. It wasn't easy to decide, but I want you to know now that the devil are you doing. You're not going to tell Hennigan or anyone the truth, Mark. You're not. Don't use that gun. Silly little fool. You don't know what I'm... You stare down at Mark dead on the floor. No, Jessica. Mark won't tell the truth of Joe's killing to Lieutenant Hennigan or anyone, ever. The very thought that Mark's lips are forever sealed is comforting, isn't it, Jessica? A quiet confidence overtakes you. For the first time, you know exactly what to do and what to say. You go over to the phone and place a call to police headquarters, to Lieutenant Hennigan. Hennigan speaking. This? This is Jessica Monroe, Lieutenant. Oh, yes, Miss Monroe. You'd better come to Mark Harris' apartment immediately. He threatened me. There was a struggle. I shot him, Lieutenant, in self-defense. He's dead. You know it won't take long for Lieutenant Hennigan to arrive, and when he comes, you'll have your story ready for him. You're composed, Jessica, quite sure of yourself. When the Lieutenant arrives, complete his examination of Mark's body, you know that you must play very convincingly the role of a woman who has recently defended her own life. How did it happen, Miss Monroe? He's been threatening me all along. I've been so afraid of him. Tonight, when I told him I was going to tell you the truth tomorrow, he came at me. I knew he meant to kill me, so I shot him. I see. And what is this truth you were going to tell me in the morning? That I saw Mark murder Joe Arnold. I've lived in fear of my life ever since then. We were pretty sure it was Mark Harris all along. What we needed was a witness or something else incriminating. Well, he won't threaten you anymore, Miss Monroe. You're going home to bed now. You've been through enough. Oh, thank you. Our session tomorrow morning will just be routine. We'll try to spare you everything we can. Because summer weather causes many motor oils to break down and form harmful gum, varnish, and carbon, I want to tell you tonight about an improved type motor oil that's specifically engineered to stand up under heat. It's Signal Premium compounded motor oil, the finest lubricant ever offered by the marketers of Signal, the famous go-farther gasoline. And naturally, Signal Premium has 100% pure paraffin base. But in addition, it contains scientific compounds that make Signal Premium do what oil alone could never do. One of these compounds, for instance, actually cleanses your motor of varnish, gum, or carbon that may already be there. Another compound protects against costly bearing corrosion. And still other compounds help in other important ways to keep that light new performance in your motor. So if you want to keep wear down when the temperature's up, now's the time to stop at a Signal station. Change to the improved type oil that does so much more than just lubricate. Signal Premium compounded motor oil. Well, Jessica, your ledger is balanced out nicely, hasn't it? Joe Arnold, the writer whose novel was a convenient means of blackmailing you, is dead. And his manuscript is destroyed too. Mark Harris, the one man who could have betrayed your secret, is also dead. And Lieutenant Hennegan of Homicide seems convinced that your story of killing Mark in self-defense is true. The next morning, you make the trip to police headquarters for the routine investigation Lieutenant Hennegan promised you. It won't keep you long, Miss Monroe. Everything seems to piece out okay. This gun you shot Harris with, your gun? Yes. Yes, it's my gun. How long have you had it? Well, I've had it for some time. I never expected to use it. The gun's been in your personal possession? Yes, at all times. Okay. Now, tell me again exactly what did you see, Miss Monroe, the night Joe Arnold was killed? Well, I just happened in on them, Lieutenant, on Mark and Joe Arnold. They were having a heated argument about something. I don't know what. They were struggling when I came into the room. I called to them, but they didn't hear me. And then Mark picked up a bookend and hit Joe. He fell dead. Then Mark saw me and threatened to kill me too if I came to the police. And that's all you saw, Mark hitting Joe with the bookend? That's all I saw. Now, that's what's so confusing, but I think I see it all clearly now, Miss Monroe. Oh, what do you mean? Joe Arnold was hit on the head all right, but that isn't what killed him. But I saw... The thing that killed Joe Arnold was a.38 slug in the chest. Joe was shot? Yeah, he was shot all right. Mark, he was trying to tell me that... Mark Harris was also killed with a.38 slug in the chest. And both shots were fired from this gun, Miss Monroe, your gun. The gun you say has been in your possession at all times. 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. Introduced in tonight's story were Bill Foreman, Joan Banks, Bill Boucher, Shep Menken, and Ed Max. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by Jack Leonard, 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 for the Signal Oil Company. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
