And now stay tuned for the mystery program that is unique among all mystery programs. Because even when you know who's guilty, you always receive a startling surprise at the final curtain. In the Signal Oil Program, the Whistler. The famous go-father 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 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 finale. The rehearsal of Ned Wilson's new Broadway musical had been in progress for several hours. On stage, the spotlight held a dancing figure of Christine Courtney, star of the show. Out front, the director, writers, and backers of the production watched intently. You would each intricate step with a rhythmic ease which had made her famous. Christine was well aware of the admiration she attracted. But at that moment, her efforts were devoted toward pleasing just one man, her fiance, Ned Wilson, producer of the show. And she glanced often into the wings where he stood watching her, smiling his approval. Okay chorus, let's take the tag break. Here we go. As the chorus swung into the routine, Christine walked quickly off stage to Ned Wilson. Oh, you're terrific darling, sensational. You know, if he was the star, the show just can't miss. Oh, that's a very convincing line you have, Mr. Wilson. But go on, I love it when you tell me how wonderful I am. Oh, it's not a line and you know it. Oh, you're wonderful, Chris. You know, I just can't believe that you'll soon be Mrs. Ned Wilson. Oh, Ned, I've waited for you so long, all my life. Miss Courtney, may I speak to you for a moment, please? Oh, Martin, of course. Here, I want you to meet Ned Wilson, our producer. Well, how do you do, Mr. Wilson? Ned, this is Martin Duncan. Hello, Martin. I spoke to you about him several days ago. Oh, yes, the young playwright. Well, Chris tells me you've written a show I might be interested in, Martin. Well, she said you'd read it, Mr. Wilson. Tell me if you think it has possibility. Sure, sure, I'd be glad to. Look, while you two talk business, do you mind if I run along to my dressing room and change to street clothes? No, go ahead darling, go ahead. And Martin, good luck with your play. Well, thanks, Miss Courtney. Nice of you to help me out. Forget it, Martin. I remember when I was trying to get a break. Yes, you know how hard it is to get a foothold in show business, don't you, Christine? Your struggle to the top has been long and difficult, and you're proud of your accomplishment. For in achieving your goal, you've risen above the mistake you made long ago. For years, you've lived in constant fear that the past would catch up with you. You've ruined everything you've worked so hard to build up. And for almost a year, you've been Broadway's leading musical comedy star. And no part of the past has asserted itself. You make your way to your dressing room, humming happily to yourself. The past quite forgotten. Hello, Miss Courtney. Oh, hello. I'm afraid the doorman doesn't keep a very close watch on the stage entrance. No, he doesn't seem to. Look, if you want an autograph or something, I... Oh, believe me, Miss Courtney, I'm not a fan of yours. Not yet, anyway. Well, then, whatever... My name's Doris Richley. Mean anything to you? Nothing. It should. Maybe this will help. My hometown is Redwood, Missouri, and in case you've forgotten that, too, I'll just remind you, it's also your hometown. Really? I don't know what you have in mind, but... Eight years ago, a man and a young woman robbed the Redwood City Hotel of several thousand dollars. When the clerk tried to phone the police, he got himself killed. Well? Oh, you were just a girl then. In your teens, I was the only person who saw the two of you make your getaway. I don't know who he was, but I was able to identify you all right. And no one ever found you till now. This is the craziest thing I ever heard of. Oh, you've changed your name, the color of your hair, but you're still little Maxine Wood of Redwood, Missouri, as far as I'm concerned. You know, I bet I'm the only one in Redwood who ever sees the theatrical section of the New York papers. You have pictures in it quite a bit, isn't it? Maxine. Look, I'm not Maxine anybody, and I don't know what you're talking about. Oh, you're not much of an actress, Maxine. Take a tip and stick with dancing. And let's quit this hedging round. A quick check of your fingerprints would prove you're Maxine Wood. Want to go have them checked? Get out of here. You know, I can't decide whether I'll go to the police first or the newspapers. What would you do? What is it you want? Very little, Miss Courtney. You see, I came to New York to get into show business. I, um, thought you might like to help me. Why, of course. Oh, I can probably get you some kind of a part, and then, if you have ability... I want your part. You want my part? Yes. Made for me. Well, do you know what you're saying? Well, I've signed contracts. I couldn't break them if I wanted to. Now, the producers want a name for a show like this. I couldn't even begin. Easy, take it easy. I don't want to be unreasonable. I'll just bet you could use an understudy. Oh, so that's it. You become my understudy, and after the show opens, I sprain an ankle or something, and you take over. You ought to know. You got your start as an understudy. That's right, I did. Look, I'm just curious, you understand, but what makes you think you're good enough for the part? Oh, I'm good enough. I know I am. As Shakespeare might phrase it, I've got it in here. You know, you'd have to audition. I had to when I became an understudy. I just couldn't announce that you're going to understudy me. Well, Ned Wilson is not easy to please. Neither am I, Miss Courtney. So if I were you, I'd arrange an audition for me with Mr. Wilson. It just might be the smartest thing you ever did. If someone asked you if you own a chemical factory, you'd probably answer no. Yet the engine of your car is actually a miniature chemical factory capable of generating enough heat to turn motor oil into synthetic varnish, sticky, gummy varnish that clogs up piston rings and prevents them from expanding and contracting. That's bad. Bad for power and pep. Bad for oil consumption. Bad for gasoline mileage. So to protect your motor from such damage, Signal Oil Company has a special type motor oil, specially engineered not only to keep from forming varnish, but also to wash out accumulated varnish that other motor oils may already have left in your motor. As a result, when new engines are protected with Signal Premium compounded motor oil, they stay new. And when older cars switch to this extra-duty Signal Oil that does so much more than just lubricate, you notice improved pep, power, and gasoline mileage. So whatever you're driving, you'll be giving your car a new lease on life by making your next oil change a change to Signal Premium compounded motor oil at a signal service station. Music Well, Christine, after eight years you were sure no one would ever discover your real name is Maxine Wood. That you once participated in a robbery that ended in murder by your accomplice. It was something you hadn't counted on when you recklessly agreed to help on the job, but it happened. And now, the girl who saw you threatens to inform the police of your true identity. Tear down the long years of struggle that has made you a leading musical comedy star unless you make her your understudy. The following morning, you telephone Ned Wilson, arrange an audition for Doris Richley that same afternoon. And after lunch, you pace your apartment floor nervously as you await Ned's call. Finally, you calm down and decide your fears are grandless. That it would be impossible for anyone with so little experience to audition successfully before the critical Ned Wilson. And then the telephone rings. It's Ned, Chris. Oh, hello darling. Say, you really uncovered some talent. Doris is great. She's really great. What did you say? I said Doris Richley is great. A natural, a real fine. Oh, wait until the critics get a load of her. Please, Ned, it isn't necessary to shout. Oh, I'm sorry, Chris. I guess I'm a little excited about her being so terrific. I was afraid she turned out to be another Martin Duncan. His play wasn't any good at all. I was afraid it wouldn't be. Doris is another story. She seems to learn quickly and she ought to have your part down pat in no time. Matter of fact, if you're not careful, she might dance right into your job. May make you a talent scout instead. That's one of my strong points, spotting talent. Wait, Chris, Doris is right here. She wants to talk to you. I just want to thank you, Miss Courtney. I'm so pleased about everything. Mr. Wilson seems to think I have excellent possibilities. Yes, yes, so he said. I told you I could make it if you just give me a chance. Yes, you did, didn't you? Anyway, thanks again. I think you know how much it means to me. And Miss Courtney, I'll never forget you. You know what she means, don't you, Christine? She'll never forget who you really are in case you should get out of line. You're shocked at the success of her audition. And yet you're relieved too, because this should silence her, keep her from going to the police about you. And a lot of things can happen before Doris actually steps in and takes over your part. Everything goes smoothly for the next few days. And then one afternoon you enter your dressing room to find Martin Duncan waiting for you. Well, Martin, hello. Hello, Miss Courtney. Oh, it's nice to see you. I've been meaning to call you and tell you how sorry I am Ned wasn't interested in your play. It's very nice of you, Miss Courtney, but you see, it doesn't make any difference. I found a buyer for it. Oh, Martin, that's wonderful. Oh, I'm so glad for you. Who? You. Me? Oh, now wait a minute, Martin. You're certainly doing a lot for unknown talent these days, Miss Courtney. First Doris Richley, now me. Doris? You and Doris? Yes, Miss Courtney. Redwood, Missouri isn't so far from Broadway, is it, Miss Courtney? Doris and I discovered then. We found we had a lot to talk about. Of all the cheap conniving tricks, how much of a fool do you two think I am? Well, you were foolish enough to make a pretty big mistake eight years ago back in Missouri. But we don't think you're foolish enough to let me go to the police with him. Suppose you went to the police. Where would that get you? The question is, where would it get you? You know, Martin, you're the type that's liable to wake up dead some morning. I don't think so. I keep a revolver in my desk at home that says I'm going to live a long, happy life. You must have annoyed quite a few people. Possibly. Anyway, the price for my play is only $30,000. Oh, you know I don't have that kind of money. Big star like you don't make me laugh. I'm not trying to. I've only been on top for one season. My expenses are big. So are my taxes, agent fees, publicity costs. You're going to have to go on a budget, aren't you, Miss Courtney? Tell you what, give you a couple of days to think it over. Then you can pay me, say, $5,000 down and go $300 a week. Hmm? Well, Christine, your past is catching up with you. First Doris, now Martin Duncan. And you're sure it's just the beginning of a very long payoff. The next day, you try to find some way to meet Martin's demands, but you don't have the money and you won't ask Ned for it. You can't. The tension and worry within you mounts. All day, you've been nervous and irritable. And late that afternoon, you receive a telephone call from Ned, which upset you still further. Hello? Hello, darling. Look, I know it's a little late to call it off, but I'm afraid I'll have to break our lunch date for tomorrow. I have an appointment I forgot about. An appointment named Doris Richley, I imagine. Oh, yes. Yeah, it is. See, I promised I'd run over some lines with her. She's not so sure of them. Oh, how very, very thoughtful. Oh, now, Chris, don't be that way. You know she doesn't mean anything to me. It's just that, well, we open in a week and never know when she might have to step in. I don't even need an understudy. I have never missed a performance in my life. Chris. Chris, look, you've been working pretty hard lately. You seem tired and nervous. And I think you need a rest. Well, the cast has noticed this too. In fact, even Doris mentioned that you haven't seen your usual self. Oh, she has, has she? Look, I can take care of myself and I don't need a rest. I've never felt better in my life. Chris. If you want me out of the show, say so. But don't give me this other routine. Oh, Chris, for heaven's sake. Now, listen, I just... You might have known that stealing Ned away from you was part of Doris' plan too, Christine. Suddenly, even in your anger, it all becomes quite clear. You felt only the first stinging blows, the first pebbles of the avalanche. You know now that Doris won't stop until she's pushed you entirely aside. She or Martin can turn you over to the police anytime. You toss and turn most of the night. Toward morning, you realize you must take steps, desperate steps if necessary, to eliminate this threat to your present and future security. Suddenly, you see a way out, a dangerous way. But if you're successful, a sure way, you carefully work out your plans. And then after breakfast, you pick up the phone and dial Martin's number. Hello? Martin, this is Christine Courtney. Good. I thought I might hear from you today. I've decided to buy your play. I thought you would. When can we talk about it? Well, I'd hope tonight. Didn't you say you lived at the Carleton apartment? That's right. Right now, I'm the only person who can make that statement. They're redecorating the other units. Mine's the only one that's finished. Well, I've got to stop by my dressmaker's. She's over near you anyway. How about nine for our appointment? Fine with me. Oh, I'm in 308. You can't miss it. It'll be the only one that sounds inhabited. Good. I'll be there about nine. Oh, Martin, would you call Doris for me and ask her to be there too? I have an idea I think she'll be interested in. Sure. I'll phone her right away. Thanks, Martin. Goodbye. That's the way you want it, isn't it, Christine? Martin and Doris together tonight. And your certain things will work out perfectly for you. That evening before you leave for Martin, you take three of your own sleeping pills from the bottle your doctor prescribed for you and put them in your purse. From your dressing table, you select a pair of white cotton gloves. It's seven o'clock when you reach the Carleton and press the buzzer outside 308. You're two hours early, just as you planned. Well, hello. Don't tell me my clock stopped. I'm afraid I'm quite early, Martin. The dressmaker couldn't take me after all. Well, I was so near, I decided just to come on early or not. Glad you did. Take your hat, gloves. Oh, no, thanks. I'll just keep them on, then I'll know where they are. Is Doris coming? Mm-hmm. She'll be here around nine. How about a drink? Oh, wonderful idea. I'd love one. When Martin comes back with the drinks, you discuss his play, its chances for success, and wait patiently for the opportunity to drop the sleeping tablets into his glass. You ask for more ice, and while he's in the kitchen, you'll watch the tablets bubble up and then quickly dissolve in his drink. Not long after he finishes it, his eyes grow hazy and close, his head falls forward on his chest. From your own experience, you're sure he'll sleep soundly for at least two hours or maybe three. And that's all the time you need, isn't it, Christine? Still wearing your white cotton gloves, you take your two glasses to the kitchen, wash them both thoroughly, and pour the least bit of a fresh drink in the Martin's glass. Back in the living room, you press his hand around it for fingerprints and put it on the table before him. Then you walk quickly over to his desk, open the center drawer, and there it is, just as Martin said it would be. The final link necessary to your plan is revolver. You make certain it's loaded, and put it in your jacket pocket, and settle back to wait for Doris. A little after nine... Buzzer. Knock, knock, knock. Door opens. Come in, Doris. I'm afraid I'm a little late. I... What's the matter with Martin? Looks like he passed out. Passed out? Well, there's the switch. He's never done that before. He's never had this kind of a drink before. What kind of a crack is that? His drink was loaded, Doris. So is this. Hey, now, wait a minute. What's the idea? That's something you'll never know, Doris. It was simple, wasn't it, Christine? Doris Richley is dead. That leaves only Martin slumped head forward on the divan. You move quickly now. Drag Doris over near Martin. And then, still wearing your gloves, you place the gun in his hand, put his index finger on the trigger, raise the gun to his temple, and fire. Now it's over. Martin is dead beside Doris, and your secret dies with him. You remove your gloves, survey the room quickly, and then you go to the phone. Police headquarters. Oh, please. Send someone to the Carlton Apartments, number 308. There's been a murder and a suicide. Oh, please, hurry. Your hysteria is almost real by the time you hang up the phone. But you're sure that with the evidence you've carefully planted, your story will stand up. And you're grateful in the knowledge that Martin's apartment building is empty of its occupants. No one will be barging in asking questions until the police come. And when the lieutenant arrives, you feign a stoic calm as you tell your story. I tried to stop him, lieutenant. I never dreamed he'd do such a thing. Suppose you begin at the beginning, Miss Courtney. What were you doing here? Well, Martin asked me to stop by. He'd written a play. He wanted me to read it. When I got here, his apartment door was slightly ajar. Doris was here. They were quarreling violently. He was accusing her of things, all sorts of things. Would you call it a lover's quarrel? Yes, yes, I would. I started to leave, but then I realized that in his state of mind, he might have done something. Oh, he was insanely jealous of her. So I came in to see if I could help. Did he have the gun then? Yes. Yes, he was sitting on the divan with a revolver in his hand. I tried to talk to him, calm him down. At first, I thought he was going to be okay. Then Doris said she was through with him, and he seemed to go crazy. Before I could stop him, he shot her. Then he calmly sat down on the divan and turned the gun on himself. I see. If only I had the sense to go for help immediately. You mustn't blame yourself, Miss Courtney. But they were both my friends. I know. Things like this are always tough, even on us. You get some rest now. I'll have one of my men drive you home. Oh, thank you. Try to forget about tonight. I'm sure the fingerprints on the gun and Potter Burns on Duncan's hand will bear out your story. You've been very kind, Lieutenant. I appreciate it more than you know. ["The Star-Spangled Banner"] To make your vacation budget by as much fun as possible, you'd naturally like to be sure you're powering your car with the gasoline that gives maximum mileage, maximum performance. Well, when it comes to mileage, that's what signal, the go-farther gasoline, is most famous for. But when you understand what gives signal gasoline such good mileage, you also know why signal assures you peak performance, too. You see, today's signal gasoline is engineered to help your motor run more efficiently. And when your motor runs more efficiently, naturally you enjoy quick starting, proud pickup, and smooth, quiet power in addition to mileage. So whether you're going on an extended tour of our glorious west or just a jaunt to the store or office, remember, you get a full, full measure of all the things that make driving more pleasure when you fill up with signal, the famous go-farther gasoline. Music Well, Christine, it's all over, isn't it? Then you're certain the police believe Martin Duncan killed Doris Richley, then turned the gun on himself and committed suicide. The police lieutenant's statement that the fingerprints on Martin's gun, the powder burns on his hand, will prove your story. Convinced you've left no loophole and removal of the only two people in the world who could identify you as Maxine Wood, wanted on an eight-year-old murder and robbery charge. Today, following the tragedy, you insist on returning to work so you can forget. And once again, the rehearsal of Ned Wilson's new Broadway musical is in progress. Out front, the directors, writers, and backers of the production watch intently as you execute each intricate step with a rhythmic ease that makes you famous. Music Okay, take a break, everybody. Five minutes, we'll be right back. As you start off stage, the first person you see in the wings is the lieutenant who'd question you at Martin Duncan's apartment. You try to appear unconcerned as you walk toward him. Hello, lieutenant. Hello, Miss Courtney. You want to see me? I'm afraid I do. Afraid? What do you mean? I thought maybe you might want all of a story you told me last night. Why would I wish to do that? There were just three of you at Martin Duncan's apartment. That's right. And you still say you saw Duncan shoot Miss Richley, then turn the gun on himself? Well, of course I do. That's exactly what happened. Why, you said yourself. His fingerprints on the gun, the powder burns on his hand, prove that. His prints on the gun check okay, Miss Courtney. The powder burns are in his hand, too. Well, then why are you... What are those sleeping pills, Miss Courtney? Well, I don't know. They're from your medicine cabinet, and your name's on them. Then they must be mine. Your doctor says they contain exocene. Well, suppose they do. Funny thing about some drugs, exocene, for example. Some people, most people even, can take it. Doesn't bother them. But a few cannot. Martin Duncan was one of these. He was allergic to exocene, Miss Courtney. Well, suppose he was. He shot Doris, I tell you, and then he turned... He did. He was the first dead man in history to commit murder and suicide. Dead man? That's right. Duncan strangled to death a few minutes after you gave him the sleeping pills. He couldn't have shot either of himself or Doris Richley. He autopsy proves he was dead. For more than an hour before either of them was shot. You were the only other person there, Miss Courtney. The autopsy proves he was dead. For more than an hour before either of them was shot. You were the only other person there, Miss Courtney. You were the only other person there, Miss Courtney. This is their EDUCATION. WHAT IS HAPPENING BEHIND THE MOON? 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. To make your travels even more pleasant, Signal dealers are now offering free a 20-page guide to selected eating and lodging places in 350 cities and towns through 16 Western states. One of these handy booklets is yours for the asking at any Signal service station. Featured in tonight's story were Bill Foreman, Joe Gilbert, Doris Singleton, John Daynor and Dave Ellis. 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 resemblances to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Ladies and gentlemen, the Signal Oil Company invites you to stay tuned to this station for in half an hour at 830 you'll hear the spectacular presentation, The Miracle of America. Featuring 20 top radio stars and six name orchestras, The Miracle of America is a full-hour show beginning at 830 this evening on the station to which you are listening. Remember at this same time next Sunday another strange tale by the Whistler. Norman Nesbitt speaking for the Signal Oil Company while Marvin Miller is on vacation. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System.
