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 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. Yes, friends, it's time for The Whistler, rated by Independent Research, the most popular West Coast program in radio history. And now, The Whistler's strange story. Dear Diary. Two lone cars streak through the late Southern California night, south along the coast route toward San Diego. In the first car, Mike Jordan, his face drawn in tents, his forehead beaded with cold sweat, stepped hard on the accelerator. And the car behind him matched his speed, closing the gap between them. With one frantic turn of the wheel, Mike swerved his car onto a side road, narrowly missing the ditch. But the car behind him had anticipated his move and made the turn after him. And then cut sharply into Mike's car, forcing him off the road. Come on, Mike, get out of the car. Okay, Len, okay, I'll get out, I'll get out, but don't shoot, don't shoot, Len. Listen, listen to me, Len. Shut up. Monty, check the car, see if you can find it. Here, let me tell you about it, Len. You see this is what... Hey, hey, hey, said shut up. I ought to finish you off right now. Run out on me, will you? I was going to come back, Len, honest I was. Yeah, I'll bet you were. Find anything, Monty? Packet of bills in a suitcase, only ten grand here though. My cut was fifteen. Come on, Mike, talk. Where's our other five grand? It's gone, Len. I had bills, I paid them, I... You had bills. Well, you... Look, Len, look, I'll get it back for you, honest I was... Hey, I bet you will. If you live long enough. It won't do you any good, Len. Make him get the dough. Yeah, maybe you're right. All right, how are you going to get it? I don't know. I don't know yet, but I'll get it somehow. When? Pretty quick, Len, pretty quick. Just give me a little time for a little... Okay, okay. I'll be a nice guy. I'll give you a week. But, Len, a week... A week. You better get a real bright idea that pays off. And don't pull any funny stuff. I won't, I won't, Len. You just tell me where to meet you a week from tonight... I won't be hard to find, Mike. I'm driving back to Santa Monica with you right now. Monty will follow us. We're taking a room, Monty and me, in that same dinky hotel you live in. And we'll be there watching you all week long. And now back to the Whistler. Well, Mike, you've pulled a lot of shady deals in your time. But this time you gambled and lost. You tried for the easy money. Pulled a small payroll job in Long Beach three nights ago that Len and Monty had cased. You thought you could run out on the split up with them. But they caught up with you, took the money that was left, and gave you a week to dig up the $5,000 you spent before they overtook you. A week, Mike, with Len and Monty staying in the same cheap Santa Monica hotel where you live. Where they can keep an eye on you. Early the next afternoon you find yourself walking along a path in the park above the beach. Suddenly a gust of wind catches up a blur of color and wraps it around your head. What the devil? Oh, you stopped me. I'm so glad. Stop what? Oh, that's a scarf. My scarf. The wind took it right off my head. And blew it right onto mine. I couldn't figure what it was. Here. Thanks. I hope it didn't frighten you. No, no, it's okay. Oh, goodness. It's blowing my diary over there on the fence. I'll get it. No, no, don't. I'll get it. I'll grab it. Here it is. I'll take it. Okay, you got it. I'm sorry. Thanks for retrieving all my possessions for me. I'd better go now. I'll walk with you. If you don't mind, Anne. Why, no, I don't. How did you know my name? It's engraved very neatly on your diary. Oh, yes. What's the rest of your name? Wilson. Anne Wilson. Oh, that's a nice name. Mine's Mike Jordan. You live here in Santa Monica? Born here. You? I live here now. I was born in Nebraska. Been here long? Six months yesterday. And every day of it recorded in your diary, huh? You're laughing at me now. No, no. But I'm not fooling myself, you know. I'm still a small town girl. Just as drab and mousy as when I left Nebraska. You're putting words in my mouth. I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk like that. You've been very kind. Thanks again. I turn here. So do I. Where, where do you live? See, up there on the hill. That big old house with the wall round it. You live there? Why, that's old Silas Muller's place. You know him. Know him? Who doesn't around here? He was old when I was a kid. We used to climb over those walls and he'd chase us, waving his cane and threatening to wail the tar out of us. How come you, how come you live there? I work for him. I'm a practical nurse. He's quite old now and not too well. Old is right. What is he, about a hundred? He's 83. I feel so sorry for him. He's all alone in the world. No one ever comes to visit him, except his doctor. And he doesn't come very often. Mr. Muller says he doesn't like to spend money on him. He doesn't like to spend money on doctors. From what I hear, he doesn't like to spend money, period. They say he gave up trusting banks a long time ago. Keeps his money around the house somewhere so he can count it every so often. You ever seen him counting it? I know. Of course I haven't. What a really silly thing to say. I guess it was, wasn't it? Well, Anne, maybe I'll come by and see you sometime. Oh, I'd rather you didn't. I mean, not there at the house anyway. But I usually come down to the park and bring my lunch at noon, and sometimes before dinner I walk along the beach. Okay, Anne, maybe I'll catch up with you again. Back at the hotel, you stretch out on the bed, light a cigarette. You have plenty to think about, haven't you, Mike? Glen, Monty, the $5,000 they expect you to pay back within a week. But you keep thinking about Anne Wilson. The way she started when you suggested that old Silas Mueller kept his money right there in the old house where she works. You're sure you were right, aren't you, Mike? Sure that Anne knows the money is there. Odd, isn't it? An hour ago you were groping for a solution, a place to get the money. And now, quite by accident, you've met Anne Wilson, probably the most innocent girl in the world. And she may lead you to that money. Yeah? Oh, come in, Len. I intend to. Who's the doll? What? The doll in the park. Oh, oh, no one. I just ran into her. I never saw her before this afternoon. Ah. You got nothing better to do? Just walk in the park? You said I had a week, Len. Yeah, I have. And the week ends next Saturday night. Don't be spending no more days walking dolls around in the park. Look, Len, let me do it my way, will you? You and Monty stay off my back for a while and give me a chance to work something out. Something to do with the doll? Maybe. I won't run because I'd know you'd find me. Yeah, I would. Will you leave me alone till Saturday? Sure, Mike. Sure. I'll leave you alone. Till Saturday. There isn't much time, is there, Mike? And it's a long chance you've got to take. But it's your only chance. If old Silas Mueller does keep his money in his ancient house where Anne Wilson works, then you and Anne must become good friends. Good friends in a hurry. Late that same afternoon, you walked a few blocks down to the beach. You see Anne standing almost at the edge of the surf watching the brilliant sunset. It's beautiful, isn't it? What? Oh, Mr. Jordan, I'm afraid I was lost to the world. You think you could put that sunset in your diary? I'm going to try. Oh, look at it, Anne. The sun's slipping out of sight. It's unbelievably beautiful. When I was a little girl, I used to think I knew where the sun went at sunset. Oh, really? Where? I was convinced it hid in a big maple grove just west of town. Anne, Anne, I want you to believe me. I thought about you all afternoon. Why, Mr. Jordan? How can it be, Mike? Just Anne and Mike? Why, yes, I guess it can. Mike? Good. At first I... Well, I thought it was silly the way I was thinking about you. I just met you, talked to you a few minutes, but I couldn't get you out of my mind. Anne, can you believe that? Yes, yes, Mike, I can believe that. I can believe it because I want you so very much and because I've thought of you too all afternoon. Good thoughts, I hope? Good thoughts. I'm glad. Oh, my, look at the time. Mr. Mueller will be furious if dinner's not on time. Will it take you long to fix it? Oh, Martha does that, the housekeeper. But Mr. Mueller likes to have me bring him his tray and then eat with him. Poor old man. I'm the only company he has. Lucky old man with you for a dinner partner. Why, I really must go now, Mike. All right, I'll walk with you. Do you ever get a night off, Anne? After dinner's over, I do. I almost never go out, but I can. Mr. Mueller goes to sleep right after dinner. About 8.30? Uh-huh. Will you meet me at the corner south of you tonight at 8.30? Oh, Mike, I'd love to. And that's just the beginning, isn't it, Mike? You meet Anne every night at 8.30, each night bringing you nearer to your deadline with Len and Monty. You were right about Anne. She's a love-starved kid, completely carried away by your attention to her. You wish fervently that you had more time for the build-up. But every time you walk through the lobby, Len and Monty are sitting there staring at you, silent reminders that you haven't much time left. Shortly before your 8.30 date with Anne on Friday night, the night before your deadline, you start through the lobby toward the door. Mike! Mike! Oh. Well, hello, Len. Oh, wait a minute. Okay. Sit down, Mike. I'm in a hurry, Len. Sit down. Okay. Monty here tells me you got a good thing, Mike. What do you mean? The doll. Oh. Well, yeah, maybe. I'm not sure yet. Monty's sure. Says the old man she works for is loaded. Isn't that right, Monty? Yeah, loaded and sick. Awful sick. Monty says the old man keeps his money around the house and maybe won't live long. Yeah? Well, maybe he won't. Only look, Len, tomorrow night's awful soon. I mean, if I could have more time... Monty and me want you to take more time. What? Don't we, Monty? Sure we do. You... you mean that? We said it. Oh, that's great, Len. Great. How much time? All the time in the world, Mike. Oh, gee, that's so... Well... Three days. Oh, now, wait a minute. Three days. We'll see you Tuesday. Oh, and, uh, Mike... Yeah? Forget the five grand. What? Forget the five grand. Make it... twenty. Three days. That isn't much of a reprieve, is it, Mike? And now Len and Monty want $20,000 instead of five. You're desperate by the time you pick up Ann at your regular meeting place and drive to the spot on the beach that's become your nightly rendezvous. Mike, what's wrong? If I've done something, I'm so sorry. You haven't done anything, Ann. Oh, I'll be all right in a little while. Just... just talk to me, huh? Anything at all, but just talk. All right, Mike, I'll talk. I'll talk to you like I talk to you in my diary. They're for lonely people, Mike, diaries. Are you lonely, Ann? No, not anymore. But I was all my life. I was lonely till I found you. No one to talk to, no one who'd understand. That's why I got a diary. I tried to kill myself once, Mike. I was so lonely. They saved me, brought me back to the loneliness. And I never understood why until I met you. Less than a week ago. In time, but not in my heart. Oh, Mike, I've waited for you so long. Ann. Put that in your diary, darling. I'll be glad to. Oh, Ann. Ann, I love you. But I haven't any money, any job, and I want to marry you. Marry me? Oh, Mike. I can't marry you without money, lots of it. But why, Mike? All I want is you. I'm used to money. Lots of it, I made it, spent it. There's more money in the world. I want it for us, Ann. Is it so important, Mike, money? It isn't to me. It is to me, it is to lots of people. Old Silas Mueller, he thinks it's so important, he won't even spend it. He just looks at it, feels it. He's going to die soon and he won't part with any of it. So he dies, who gets it? He's got no one, no one in the world. Oh, it would mean everything to us, Ann. Mike, we couldn't, we're not thieves. Then you do know where it is. You've seen him with it, haven't you? You know where he keeps it. Mike, my arm. You do know, you do know, you do. Yes, yes, I saw him. I wasn't spying, it was an accident. I went away quickly and he didn't see me. Did you tell anyone? No, no, of course not. Oh, good, good. Mike, Mike, please take me home now. In a minute, darling. Oh, Ann, oh, I meant what I said. I do want money for you. But before I can even think about that, I... I need money, Ann. I have debts, big debts. I was, I was ill, Ann, a long time. It was expensive. Oh, Mike, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't want you to. But well, you know now. I'm glad you told me, Mike. It makes all the difference in the world. You're sure of her now, aren't you, Mike? The lie about your illness was a sudden inspiration. But it touched her deeply, just as you knew it would. Ann, for the moment, you're willing to leave her. To let her love for you and her great sympathy for your need of money blend into a solution for you. You don't hear from Ann until late the next afternoon. Hello? It's Ann, Mike. Oh, I wondered if I'd hear from you. I've had a pretty busy day. It's Martha's day off. She won't be back till tomorrow. Mr. Mueller's worse, Mike. I don't see how I can get away to meet you tonight. You'll have to stay there, alone with him? I don't know what else to do, Mike. Dr. Thorne just left. He's coming back when he finishes at the hospital at eight. I see. Ann, do you love me? More than anything, Mike. More than life itself. That's all I need to know, Ann. It's a perfect setup, isn't it, Mike? Ann, loyal, simple Ann, alone with old Silas Mueller. By 7.30 that night, you're standing in the patio below Silas Mueller's darkened bedroom. You see Ann seated at a desk in the living room, her back to you, writing. Noiselessly, you climb up the trellis to the balcony leading off Silas Mueller's room. The Frenchman is standing in the corner of the room leading off Silas Mueller's room. The French doors are ajar, obviously, for ventilation. Inside, you slip on your driving gloves. A dim wall light burns on the far side of the room. And you can see the outlines of the old man's form in the bed. He's breathing heavily. Quickly, you move to the bed, hold the pillow over his face. It didn't take long. He was very weak. You cross the room, open the door, and step out into the hall. And as you turn toward the stair... I was afraid you'd come tonight. Ann, Ann, for the love of heaven, don't scream. He's dead, isn't he? You've killed him. Ann, Ann, it was for us. There was no other way. You must believe that. What's that? The doorbell. That must be Dr. Thorne. Ann, you won't say anything. No, Mike, I won't. I won't say anything. The next door down, my room. Go in there and wait. He's gone now. Dr. Thorne's gone. He said Mr. Mueller's heart gave out. Ann. They'll be coming for the body. There isn't time for talk. Yeah, sure, sure. We'll meet tomorrow night at eight and talk then. I'll be at Ninth and Rail. What? Tomorrow night at eight. Ninth and Rail? Well, why not the usual place? Why Ninth and Rail? I'll be at Ninth and Rail, Mike. You want the money now, don't you? Ann, I... It's my fault, really. If you hadn't met me, you wouldn't be a murderer now. You wouldn't be a thief and a murderer. Ann, Ann, for the love of heaven... The money's in his room, a strong box. I took the keys and opened it. We'll get the money for you now, Mike. You follow Ann back to Silas Mueller's room, observing her closely. She's dangerous to you now, isn't she, Mike? Her dull, lifeless manner, the mechanical way she thinks and moves. It's shock, isn't it? You're sure she'll break soon, pour out the whole story to the police. Her honesty will demand that. The money's in neat packets, tens, twenties, hundreds. It's a fortune. Ann doesn't even look as you take it. She turns, walks mechanically out into the hall. The hall at the head of the stairs. You follow her. And as you see her at the top of the first step, you know what you must do. And now Ann lies dead at the bottom of the stairs. You're sure no one will connect you with her death. Certain no one knows you were here. That only Lynn and Monty are aware that you even know Ann. Then you remember her diary. You can't leave without it. It tells too much about you and Ann, you're certain of that. You race back to her room, search feverishly for her through everything. There's nowhere to be found. Your knees go weak and you sink onto the bed. Your throat is dry and parched. You look around quickly for a drink. Pick up a glass of water from Ann's nightstand. And you pull yourself together and resume your search for the diary. Suddenly you remember. You saw Ann downstairs writing as you came in. You hurry down to the living room. A bulky envelope lies on the desk. An envelope addressed to you, Mike. It's the diary. Ann's diary. I've got it now. The Whistler will return in just a moment with a strange ending to tonight's story. And now back to The Whistler. It's over, isn't it, Mike? You're a good man. You're a good man. You're a good man. You're a good man. You're a good man. It's over, isn't it, Mike? You run all the way back to your hotel. Silas Mueller and Ann Wilson are dead in the old Mueller house. And you have his money and Ann's diary. You're sure you're in the clear that no one can possibly connect you with the crimes. Len and Marty will know. But they're only interested in their $20,000 split. You're out of breath, perspiring freely when you get on the elevator back in your hotel. Hi, Mr. Jordan. You look all in. Yeah, Johnny, I'm tired. Say, how come you're on tonight, Johnny? You're the day boy, aren't you? Yeah, I changed with Bill today. I had to go to a funeral. My aunt's at 9th and Rayo. 9th and Rayo? Oh, what do you mean? Funeral parlor there, Wertham's. Funeral parlor? You're sure it's at 9th and Rayo? Sure, I'm sure. Wasn't I there? Your floor, Mr. Jordan. Huh? Oh, oh, sure. Thanks. Meet me at 9th and Rayo. I'm sure she said that. The diary. I've got to sit down and read it. The last page. It's addressed to me. Why? I just talked to you on the phone, Mike. Told you Mr. Mueller and I were alone. It was a test, Mike, that call. If you come tonight, I'll know it was only Mr. Mueller. It was only Mr. Mueller's money you wanted. And if anything happens to him, it will be my fault, really. And I'll have to pay for what I've done. You say Mr. Mueller will die soon anyway. And he has no one to leave his money to. But you need it, so you should have it. That isn't right, Mike. But I love you so that there's not much right left in me. Funny, I've waited so long for love. And I do love you. But if you come tonight, I'll know why. And after you go away with the money, I'll mail this diary to you. I wouldn't want anyone else to find it for your sake. Tomorrow, if you want to see me, I'll be at 9th and Rayo. It's a funeral parlor, Mike. If you come tonight and do what I fear you will do, after you leave, I'm coming back to my room and drink the contents of the glass on the nightstand. It's a slow poison, Mike. But I won't suffer long, not over and over. Poison? That water on the nightstand in Ann's room. It was poison. And I drank it. This sweat. I... Desk. Hello, this is the lobby desk. Hey. Help. I'm sorry, I can't hear you. Will you speak louder, please? Hello? Hello? All music for The Whistler, composed and conducted by Wilbur Hatch, and is the property of Herman Music, Inc., ASCAP, Hollywood, California. Broadcast rights granted solely to Audio Arts Productions, La Mirada, California.
