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. 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, Undercurrent. The sea was calm when the ship, the SS Java Queen, out of Vancouver for San Francisco, was moving calmly through it, smoothly, and in the vernacular, all was well. But not so with a certain member of the cargo ship's half-dozen passenger. No, Chris Horton was anything but calm. He was obviously concerned and confused. For as he hurried along the deck, he knew that something was wrong, very wrong, and he intended to find out about it. He was deep in thought when he bumped against the deck steward. Oh, oh, I'm sorry. It's my fault, sir. I wasn't looking. Oh, never mind. Where are you taking that tray? There are two. Mr. Ashcroft's cabin, sir. You ought to be one person on board this ship and knows what he looks like. What he looks like? Well, well, certainly, but I... Look, I just came from Ashcroft's cabin. There's a man in there who claims he's Ashcroft. I know he isn't. What do you mean? I've been bringing him these meals ever since we sailed, sir. He's not a very good sailor, you know. He won't come on deck, but I'm sure... Okay, take a look right now. Find out what that guy in there is trying to pull. Well, of course. Of course, sir. Excuse me. You watch the steward walk away, Chris, to knock on the door of Ashcroft's cabin. Presently, it opens. The man inside takes the tray, and a moment later, the steward is back at your side. He shoves his cap back and stares at you as he scratches the side of his head. You feel he's ready to agree with you. And then... I... I don't get you, Mr. Auden. I don't get you at all. What? Well, unless you're trying to pull my leg, well, you're all mixed up, sir. That's Mr. Ashcroft, all right. Oh, I know it is. Well, Chris, you thought the steward was going to agree, didn't you? But he's confused you even further. You're positive the man in cabin C isn't Ashcroft, that the steward's wrong or lying. Is that it, Chris? And why? You pace the deck for a long while, thinking things out, and finally decide there's only one thing to do, and you hurry toward the captain's quarters. Yes, you've got to convey your suspicions, apprising of the situation. Come in. Oh, good evening, Mr. Auden. Captain, I'd like to talk to you. It's very important. Of course. Come on in. Shake hands with my friend Mr. Ashcroft, we're just having a little drink. Mr. Ashcroft? How do you do, Mr. Auden? Now, what was it you wanted to see me about, Mr. Auden? Nothing. That is, I guess it can wait. I'll talk to you later. It's a shock, isn't it, Chris? A terrible puzzle. A ship moving through a calm, smooth sea. And with a weird undercurrent criss-crossing in your mind. Because you know that the ship's captain and the deck steward are making a horrible mistake. Or they're deliberately lying. You stop suddenly, realize you're passing a radio shack. And there's someone inside you can trust. Reg McKenzie, a nice youngster, clean, fresh. He couldn't be mixed up in anything undercover. He could send a message for you, Chris. To whom? And then your gaze falls on the ship's bulletin board. A typewritten sheet of paper. The news from shore. There's a brief paragraph. The sensational developments in the Siletti murder case in San Francisco. And instantly a name comes to your mind. Stoddard. John Stoddard. A well-known police detective. A man known to you only by reputation. You hurry into the radio shack. Reg? Huh? Oh, hi there, Mr. Horton. I'll be with you in a minute. Just getting the weather. Okay. What can I do for you? I want you to send a message for me. Here. Hey, five bucks. You can earn it. Got a message, Plank? Sure, sure. Thanks. Lieutenant John Stoddard, Hall of Justice, San Francisco. SS Java Queen docking tomorrow, 10 a.m. That's right, isn't it? Yeah, that's right. Meet me, Chris Horton. SS Java Queen docking tomorrow, 10 a.m. Meet me, Chris Horton. Check. Sure, I'll get it off right away. Good boy, Reg. Thanks. You feel better now, don't you, Chris? Relieved. And you start down the companion way toward your own cabin. And then a thought strikes you, makes you hesitate and turn. Slowly, you make your way back to a position where you can observe the radio shack. Sure enough, Chris, the radio man, yellow message blank in hand, leaves the radio shack and goes straight to the captain's quarters. Now you're certain, Chris, know that they're all against you. And your message to Police Lieutenant John Stoddard has been turned over to the captain. In your cabin, you pace the floor. Worry and worry for hours into the night. Then as you decide to step out on deck again. What? What the devil? Locked? I'm locked in! It's a terrible night you've spent, isn't it, Chris? A virtual prisoner in your own cabin, unable to get out, get help from the other passengers. And on this kind of a ship, there are no phones. You stretch out on your bum, and it seems you've only dozed off. And then it's morning. You hurry toward the porthole, look out, see that the ship is docked. The cargo is being lowered away. You turn and start pounding on the door and shouting frantically, let me out of here! Open up! Open up, Stuart! Something wrong, Mr. Oates? Something wrong? Why was I locked in like this? What's going on? Locked in, sir? Yeah. Why, this door wasn't locked, sir. Perhaps it just jammed a little, eh? Jammed? Yeah, sure. Maybe it was just jammed. Well, if you're all packed, Mr. Oaten, I'll carry your bag ashore. You hurry ashore. Look frantically that the man who called himself Ashcroft hasn't disappeared. For if you lose him now, Chris, oh, but suddenly you spot him just a few feet away about to enter a taxi. You hear him give the driver a hotel address on Fulton Street and ride hurriedly away. You carefully note the address he gave and then rush to a drugstore near the docks. Your hand trembles, Chris, as you drop a coin into the payphone, dial a number, and wait nervously. Yes? Linda, it's Chris. Just got in. Oh, Chris. What's happened? Why didn't you get in touch with me? I've been scared to death. Listen, baby, something's gone wrong. We'd better not talk now. Come to my apartment tonight. All right, Chris, but did everything go... Tonight, I said 8 o'clock. Hello, Linda. Chris. Take it easy now. I've already fixed your drink. Oh, I can use it. Maybe you can use another when you hear what I've got to say. What? You'd better sit down. Oh. I did it, baby, just like we planned. I bumped him off and set it up to look like suicide. Frank, he's dead. Yeah. But when I went back to his cabin a few hours later to discover the tragedy, his body was gone. Gone? Yeah, somebody else was in the cabin, a stranger, Linda, a guy I never saw before. He was posing as your husband, said his name was Ashcroft. But, Chris, how could he? I don't know, but the steward backed him up, the captain, everybody. But why, Chris? What does it mean? I don't know yet, Linda, but we've got to find out. Quick. I'm going to go and get a drink. A 20-page booklet, which Signal Service Stations are now offering free, can make your Labor Day trip next weekend a lot more pleasant. It's called Lane's Guide, and it answers the two questions travelers ask most often. What's a good place to eat? Where's a good place to stay? In addition, this handy pocket-sized booklet, which was prepared by a professional travel organization, contains other useful information, such as whether prices are low, medium, or high, whether the lodging place has facilities for swimming, and in the case of motels, whether kitchens are available. Since Lane's Guide includes 350 cities and towns throughout 16 western states, you'll want a copy in your car for all your trips. So I'd suggest that you stop at the very next Signal Station you see to get your free copy of Lane's Guide while the supply lasts. You'll find this is just one of many friendly services that independent Signal dealers offer to put more pleasure into your driving while you go farther with Signal. It's a terrible, puzzling thing, isn't it, Chris? The events on shipboard, the calm, the undercurrent of something very wrong, the discovery that someone, a stranger, was posing as Frank Ashcroft, the man you murdered. It's a horrible twist of circumstances on the aftermath of your perfectly planned murder, a plan that had its beginning some three months ago when you first met Linda. Newly arrived from Canada to find a home in San Francisco for herself and her wealthy husband. She fell in love with you, agreed to the murder of her husband. Then finally word came that he was sailing for the States from Vancouver. You hurried there, booked passage aboard the Java Queen, and the night before the ship arrived in San Francisco, you killed him. Now you and Linda are both caught in the undercurrent of a deadly mystery. Ashcroft is dead. You know that, Chris. You killed him with your own hand. But there's another man, a stranger in his place. And now back in San Francisco, sitting in your apartment with the victim's wife, lovely Linda Ashcroft. The two of you share the shock and stare at one another with eyes filled with questions. What, what are we gonna do, Chris? We're gonna find out what he's up to, Linda. Before I called you this morning, I heard him tell the taxi driver to take him to a hotel on Fulton. Oh, what, you, you don't think we should go there? I do, yes, and right now. Come on. There's the hotel. Let's, wait a minute, Linda. What's the matter? There he is, the guy getting into the cab. What? He doesn't even look like Frank. We'll just tag along, find out where he's going. He went into the park, Chris. Yeah, I know. What are you gonna do? I'm going in after him. Oh, Chris. Relax. I'll be all right. You wait here for me. You hurry into the park, down the darkened path after him, and then up ahead a street lamp, and under it, sitting on a park bench, another man. There's something familiar about him, isn't there, Chris? Yes, it's the ship's steward. Just then, you see the man that you've been following walk toward the steward. You move quickly through the trees, circle behind the park bench, and listen. Evening, Mr. Ashcroft. You can forget the Ashcroft. My name's Mercer, you know that. What's wrong? Wrong? Nothing's wrong. Mr. Mercer, nothing at all. Well, then why did you ask me to... Sit down, Mercer. We've got a little talking to do. All right. All right, now what is it? Well, the captain's been thinking it over. You know, smuggling aliens into the States is risky business. Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Well, the captain thinks that job we did for you is worth a little more money. Look, a bargain's a bargain. I paid what you asked. Right, a regular fee. Bet you got special treatment. Now, for one thing, we set you up in a nice cabin instead of letting you sweat it out in the old of the ship. First-class accommodation, meals... All right, so you did. I didn't ask for it. And on top of that, we furnished you with a set of identification papers, all neat and proper like. Now, that wasn't included in the bargain, Mercer. You know, we took a big chance dumping that suicide overboard. How much do you want? Well, the captain figures Ashcroft's papers are worth at least 500. Ha! That's crazy. All right, then hand them over. We can always use them. No, no, wait a minute. I don't like to wait, Mercer. If you'll meet me here tomorrow night, I'll have the money for you. I'm sorry, I'll have to have it now. But I don't have it with me. Why can't you wait till tomorrow? Tomorrow night, you might not show up, Mercer. You might be halfway across the country. Let's have the money now, eh? All right, all right. It's all quite clear to you now, isn't it, Chris? The conversation you've just overheard explains a lot of things. You know exactly what happened aboard ship last night and why. And now as you hurry back to Linda, you know you've nothing to worry about and a plan is already beginning to take shape in your mind. What happened, Chris? Relax, baby. We're in great shape. Great shape. What do you mean? Our friend just met the ship's steward. You mean the same one who... Yeah, yeah. Seems like the captain of the SS Java Queen and his boys are running a nice little racket, smuggling aliens into the States. And the man who was posing as your husband is one of their clients, a guy named Mercer. Well, Chris, I don't understand. Well, it's simple, Linda, the steward went down to your husband's cabin and found him dead. Right away he gets a bright idea, removes all identification from the body, dumps it overboard and sets up Mercer, this alien he was smuggling in, as Ashcroft. Oh, but that seems like such a risky thing to do. No, not particularly. The steward must have known your husband had no friends aboard. Besides, he stayed in his cabin all the time. It was a perfect setup. Of course. Yeah, perfect. Until I started asking questions. That's why they locked you in your cabin. Sure, just long enough to get this guy Mercer ashore. It all adds up, Linda, it adds up beautifully. Well, what are we going to do now? I think I got that figured out too. This guy Mercer doesn't know anyone here in town. How about your husband? Oh, no, not a soul, I'm sure of it. He's been living in Canada for the past 15 years, came from Detroit originally. Good. Suppose something happened to Mercer. An accident. He's carrying your husband's identification papers. An accident? A fatal accident. The police find him, you identify him as your loving husband, Frank Ashcroft, telling me arrived this morning aboard the Java Queen. Oh, no, Chris, the captain will know. So what if they do call him to identify the body, he'll have to string along. We know too much about his little sideline. Oh, no, let's forget it. Forget the whole thing. We're in the clear now. Look, baby, how are we going to get our hands on your husband's estate if we can't turn him up dead? There's got to be a body. Oh, Chris, listen to me. There's still the bank account Frank had me open here, $30,000. It's in my name. Are you satisfied with that? No. First thing in the morning, I'll call the police and report my husband missing. Then in a few years... In seven years, he'll be declared legally dead, sure. But I don't want to wait that long. Don't you see, Linda, this setup is perfect. You're the only one in town can identify your husband. He didn't carry any insurance, so there won't be any investigation. Oh, Chris, I'm afraid. Well, don't be. There's nothing to worry about, not a thing. Leave everything to me. A perfect setup, isn't it, Chris? An opportunity you can't afford to miss. You start the car, turn into the park, drive down the road toward the park bench. It's empty now, but up ahead you see Mercer walking along the side of the road. Your foot presses down on the accelerator hard. Chris, what are you going to do? Take it easy, Linda. I said I'd handle it. No. Oh, Chris, no, we don't have to do this. Sure we do, baby. Sure we do. It's all over very quickly, isn't it, Chris? Mercer is dead and you drive away. Leave him sprawled out on the road, the victim of a hit and run accident. That's what they'll call it. And he'll be identified as Frank Ashcroft. As you drive back to Linda's house, you tell her what you expected her to do. You're a little worried about her, aren't you, Chris? Afraid she'll go to pieces at the wrong time. After you drop her off, you drive down the street, park your car in the shadows half a block away and wait. It's almost 9.30 when you see the police car pull up in front of the house. Two policemen hurry up the steps. Few moments later, they disappear inside. You slip out of your car, walk toward the house. Yeah? Oh. Good evening. Is this Mr. Ashcroft's residence? Are you a friend of his? Well, in a way, ship bought acquaintance, you might say. We met in the Java Queen out of Vancouver. She docked this morning. He gave me this address. I see. Something wrong, officer? Mr. Ashcroft is dead. Dead? Yeah, a hit and run accident. It happened a couple hours ago. Hit and run? Oh, horrible. We came by to pick up Mrs. Ashcroft, take her downtown to make the formal identification. I see. Oh, I...you know, I just can't believe it. Ashcroft dead? Only last night we sat around. They had a few drinks. Uh, Sergeant. Yeah? If I can be of any help... Yeah, maybe you can. You probably saw him last. You can help with the identification at the morgue. I'm sure Mrs. Ashcroft won't mind. In here, Mrs. Ashcroft. Mr. Horton. Oh, thank you, Sergeant. Oh, hello, Charlie. Howdy, Sergeant. What do you got? Uh, this is Mrs. Ashcroft. Oh, yeah, yeah, sure. Just a sec. Um, let me see. Here we are. Section B-43. Yeah, it's down this way. Oh. Well, Mrs. Ashcroft. Yes. Yes, that's my husband. Mr. Horton? That's Mr. Ashcroft, all right. Well, I'm sorry, Mrs. Ashcroft. Thank you. That's all, Sergeant? Yeah, that's, uh, that's all. Uh, Sergeant. Yeah, Charlie. That fellow from Java, Queens here, Captain Jensen. Captain Jensen? Okay, send him in. It's a tense moment, isn't it, Chris? You and Linda stand back. Watch Captain Jensen as he enters, walks forward with the Sergeant, identifies Mercer's body as Ashcroft. Then, without even a glance in your direction, he's gone. Well, I guess that does it. I'll have one of the boys drive you back home, Mrs. Ashcroft. Oh, uh, never mind, Sergeant. I'll see to it. Oh, thank you, Mr. Uh, Horton. Chris Horton. I wouldn't want to put you in trouble. No, no trouble at all, Mrs. Ashcroft. Well, I'll just see the two of you to your car, then. You're very kind, Sergeant. No, I, uh, I became very well acquainted with your husband just those few days aboard ship. He's a fine man, wonderful person. I'm sure we would have become great friends. I'm sure you would have, Horton. Oh, it's strange, Sergeant. I feel as though I'd known Mr. Ashcroft for many years. I've seen it happen. I can understand how keenly you feel, Mrs. Ashcroft. True, he's, he's gone now. But he's left something. Something for both of us. Next weekend, when you start off on your Labor Day trip, wouldn't it add a lot to your peace of mind to know that no matter how high the thermometer may soar, your motor is protected by an oil that won't break down under heat and form destructive varnish, sticky, gummy varnish that clogs up piston rings, causing your car to lose pep and power and eat up gasoline and oil? Well, you can be sure such damage won't happen to your car. If you stop by a signal dealer this week, have him drain out your tired old motor oil and refill with fresh, clean, signal-premium compounded motor oil. This extra-duty signal oil is scientifically engineered not only to keep from breaking down and forming harmful varnish, but also to cleanse your motor of accumulated varnish, which other motor oils may have deposited. Naturally, this means sweeter performance for your motor. More driving pleasure for you. Two good reasons to stop at a signal station before your Labor Day trip and change to signal premium, the extra-duty oil that does so much more than just lubricate. The You're certain you're in the clear now, you and Linda, aren't you, Chris? Yes, she's just identified Mercy's body, the hit-and-run victim, as Frank Ashcroft, her husband. It'll all be over in a few days. There'll be a quiet funeral, a private funeral. You're sure now that Linda will inherit the Ashcroft estate, and the two of you will share it together. And now as you follow the police sergeant out of the morgue, Linda holding onto your arm tightly, a man suddenly appears in the doorway, blocking your path. Good evening, Sergeant. Oh, good evening, sir. I understand you brought in Mrs. Ashcroft and a man named Horton. Why, yes, this is Mrs. Ashcroft. Well, well, well. So you're Mrs. Ashcroft. This is a surprise. Nice to see you again, both of you. What? What do you mean? Last time I saw you and Horton here, the two of you were in a big hurry, Mrs. Ashcroft. Just a minute. What is this? We're talking about that hit-and-run accident, Horton. Only now it doesn't look like it was an accident at all. Now wait a minute. Drop the act, Horton. It won't work. I saw the two of you in the car that ran down Frank Ashcroft. You... you what? You know, you're a hard guy to trail, Horton. I've been trying to catch up to you since this morning. I don't understand. When I went down to the boat, they told me you'd already gone ashore. The boat? You went down to the boat? Got your address there, but you haven't been home all day. When I came back tonight, you were gone. But the doorman was very helpful. Pointed you out about a half a block away, driving a yellow Nash convertible, license number 12M483. All right, but I still don't get the connection. They almost caught up with you then, but I lost you in the traffic on Fulton near the main entrance to the park. I picked you up again in the park just when you ran down Ashcroft. By the time I found out he was already dead, you'd beat it out of there. Finally, I find you here. You've been trailing me? Why? I'm John Stoddard. You sent me a radiogram from the S.S. Java Queen. Asked me to meet you when she docked. Remember? 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 Oil Company has asked me to remind you that starting next Friday, heavy holiday bound Labor Day traffic will make it even more important to drive at sensible speeds, be courteous, and obey traffic regulations. It may save a life, possibly your own. Featured in tonight's story were Bill Foreman, Larry Dobkin, and Francis Robinson. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by Adrian John Doe, 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. There's a miracle going on right in front of our eyes every moment of the day. It's the miracle of America. Today, power-driven machines have taken over nearly 95% of the burden. Our country has been built on this kind of progress. Just look around you, at the radio in your living room, at the car in your garage, at the food in your refrigerator. These are the miracles which have made our American standard of living the envy of the world. And you can learn much more about the wonderful system of freedom which has made them possible in a booklet called The Miracle of America, which will be sent to you free of charge if you send a postcard with your name and address to your local CBS station. Remember at the 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.
