And now stay tuned for the mystery program that is unique among all mystery programs. Because even when you know who is guilty, you always receive a startling surprise at the final curtain. In 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, the intruder. The sleek convertible had cut a devious course through the back and side streets of the town, skirting the main road that led to the small suburb. At the wheel, Eve Trahearne sat rigid, her face tense, expressionless, her jaw set, her eyes riveted on the road ahead of her. The white nurse's uniform she wore seemed entirely out of character. The watch she glanced at as she wheeled the car around a curb, a dazzling blob of diamonds was not a nurse's watch. Indeed, Eve Trahearne was not a nurse, yet she was on her way to perform a nurse's duties at the bedside of an ailing woman. And there was murder in her heart. Strange really that the end would be like this, when the beginning was so different. That day so long ago in the office of Gordon Dietrich, when Eve McKay first met Philip Trahearne. Eve, I'd like to have you meet Philip. Philip Trahearne, Eve McKay. How do you do, Mr. Trahearne? Eve McKay, the, uh, the author of Fire and Ice. Oh, you've read my book. Philip checks through all my historical novels. Eve is a history professor at Litchfield. We were roommates there years ago. Really? Tell me, professor, did you like Fire and Ice? There were some flagrant historical discrepancies in it, Miss McKay. I meant the writing. Well, to tell you the truth, Miss McKay, I'm afraid I found some of your characters a bit hard to believe. Flame Winthrop, for example. Yes. Perhaps women like Flame do exist, and I just don't know about them. After all, I guess I'm just an old college pedant with ink in my veins. Yes, perhaps you are, professor. Well, I hope I haven't offended you. Gordon, tell her I mean well. Oh, Eve knows that, I'm sure. As a matter of fact, professor, I was going to ask for your help. I have a first draft, a novel on the Renaissance, that's almost finished. I'd like for you to look at it before I go any further. I wouldn't want any more flagrant historical discrepancies, you know. Well, I'd be very glad to. Fine. I just live a few blocks from here. Just remember that Philip lives in Litchfield. Those trains don't run all night. Why, Gordon, it shouldn't take an hour. And I'll drive into the station myself. Come along, professor. A simple beginning, isn't it, Eve? Yet for some unexplainable reason, you feel a challenge to knock this quiet, tweety man out of his ivory tower. To prove to him that women like Flame Winthrop and you, Eve, do exist. And when he leaves that night, just in time to catch the last train to Litchfield, you know he'll be back. And he does come back. The next week and the next and the next, doesn't he, Eve? Always with some flimsy excuse. Your little game is going well. He's falling in love with you, isn't he, Eve? But he won't face it himself. So one night, seated before the fire, you force him to admit it. It's been a wonderful evening, Phil. All our evenings were wonderful. I mean, you're a very stimulating person to be with, Eve. I've never known anyone who... Phil, don't. Don't what? Don't say any more. I'm going to leave here, Phil. But why, Eve? You know why. Eve. I'm in love with you and you're married. I'm not the kind of woman who'll take half a loaf. No. No, certainly not. So there's no other out for me, is there? I suppose it would be best for us both if you leave. Kiss me goodbye, Phil. I... I don't think it's wise, Eve. Please kiss me, Phil. Eve, Eve, I can't let you go now. You know I can't let you go. But there's no other way, darling, is there? Yes, Eve, there is one other way. Huh? I'll ask Ethel for a divorce. Of course. Strange, isn't it, Eve? You should feel triumphed. Your little game of knocking Philip Trahearne out of his ivory tower has worked perfectly. Yes, Eve, you've trapped him, just as you planned to do. But after he leaves you that night, you realize for the first time you've trapped yourself too. No. I won't be. But I am. I'm in love with him. Helplessly in love with him. In Love With a Girl If your car doesn't spring to life the moment you touch the starter, don't blame your car. Try a tank full of Sigmo Ethel. If your car's pickup doesn't make other drivers cast envious glances in your direction when the traffic light says go, Don't blame your car. Try a tank full of signal ethyl. And if pings and loss of power are forcing you to shift on hills that other cars walk up in high, don't blame your car. Try a tank full of signal ethyl. After all, the performance any car delivers can be only as good as the gasoline you use to power it. That's why it's only natural that signal ethyl, a true premium quality gasoline, will bring out the best in any car, whether it's brand new or pre-war too. So if you're not happy about the way your car is acting, don't apologize for it. Drive into a signal station. See if a tank full of signal ethyl doesn't surprise you. With performance you can be proud of. Yes, Eve, that was the beginning. Your first chance meeting with Philip. Your determination, because of his patronizing attitude toward your book, to prove to him that you could interest him as a woman, if not as an author. And it worked out, didn't it, Eve? Except that in the process of making him fall in love with you, you've fallen in love with Philip too. His divorce from ethyl was a mere formality after that. And now you're Mrs. Philip Traherne, wife of a history professor at Litchfield. Not quite the role you'd intended for yourself. But as you approach the door of his home in the little college town for the first time, you're determined to make Litchfield, as well as Philip, forget that ethyl Traherne ever existed. Welcome home, Professor Traherne. Thank you, Mrs. Wilkes. It's good to be back. This is Mrs. Traherne. Hello, Mrs. Wilkes. Good afternoon, ma'am. Yes, it's certainly fine to be back. Well, Lady MacFair. And how are you, huh? Philip, you didn't tell me you had a cat. Oh, didn't I? Well, I have. Just about the most beautiful tortoiseshell cat I've ever seen. Oh, why Lady MacBeth? Mrs. Traherne named her that because she was always washing those orange marks on her paws. How very clever. Now, come here, lady. Come on. I'd like to pet you. Eve, I'm sorry. I should have told you she's nervous around strangers. Cats aren't supposed to be trustworthy, but they got their loyalty. Really? You know, she'd better get used to me, Mrs. Wilkes, because I'll be running this house for a long time. A long time. And that's your introduction to Litchfield, Eve. You've been in town less than five minutes, and you've already alienated Philip's housekeeper and his precious cat, Lady MacBeth. In that short time, too, you've sensed that you have a formidable threat in Ethel, Philip's first wife. And in the weeks that follow, you're made to realize that you don't belong in Litchfield. You're not accepted, and most of all, that you'll never replace Ethel in Litchfield's affection. President Conway's residence. May I speak with Mrs. Conway, please? Who's calling, please? This is Eve Traherne, Professor Traherne's wife. One moment, please. Hello, Mrs. Traherne? Yes. I'm sorry. Mrs. Conway is out. I see. You know when to expect her? I'm sorry. I don't know. I really have no idea. I see. Thanks for nothing. Hello. Do you mind if I share your table? Of course not. Sit down. Thanks so much. I'm Della. You're Professor Hutchins' daughter. I know. Oh, really? Are you from the college? I'm Professor Traherne's wife. You're Eve, I mean... Yes, I know what you mean. Jeepers, look at that clock. I had no idea it was so late. I'm afraid I won't have time to eat. Oh, very nice meeting you, Mrs. Traherne. Goodbye. It's all around you, isn't it, Eve? The symbol of your rejection. You won't let yourself lose, not to Litchfield, and most of all, not to Ethel. The day your novel on the Renaissance appears in the bookstore, you go down to watch how the sales are going. You haven't been there long when you overhear a conversation in front of the display on your book. Lady of the Renaissance? Brother, where do those jacket artists get their models? You know who the author is, don't you? Professor Traherne's wife. Yeah, I know, poor guy. He was all set for that appointment, wasn't he? Yeah. It was unofficial, of course, but everyone knew he was supposed to be named the new dean of history. But now, hmm, I wonder if he feels she's really worth it. It's a shock, isn't it, Eve? You knew nothing of the prospective deanship for Philip. Later that same afternoon, you're at home considering a course of action to take. When Gordon Dietrich, your publisher, comes by to call. Oh, Gordon, how perfectly wonderful to see you. This is a business, Carl, Eve. I can't stay very long. I brought you the reports of the advance sale on your book. Looks as if it's going well. Well, that's good. Although I must say it doesn't seem to please my publisher very much. I don't like to mix my professional life with my personal life, but... Gordon, I don't believe I understand. Philip is my friend, Eve. So is Ethel. I like them married to each other. You had no right to break it up deliberately as you did. Philip didn't seem to mind. And after all, it is our affair. That's right, it is, entirely. Just the same, I'd rather you found another publisher for any future work you may do. Very well, I will, if that's the way you feel about it. Gordon's reaction enrages you, doesn't it, Eve? Because it makes your opposition so complete. It makes you even more determined that Philip shall have that deanship, not in spite of you, but because of you. Shortly after Gordon leaves, you hit on a plan. That same afternoon, you go into the city, a hurried overnight trip about the book, you tell Philip. Once there, using your ingenuity and your money in the right places, you gather your weapons. And late the next afternoon, armed with the ammunition to satisfy the one weak spot of President Conway of the college, you call it his office. My uncle was such a strange man, President Conway. Several of the first editions he left me turned out to be fakes. I'm afraid it takes an expert like yourself to distinguish between them. It's amazing, amazing, Mrs. Verheuren. Every one of these books is genuine. Thackeray, Dickens, and Jonathan Swift, and all in excellent condition. I can't say how I envy you. I only wish I could appreciate them as you do. I'm afraid they're just books to me. Just books. Why, Mrs. Verheuren, if I were a man of means, I'd give you $5,000 for them right now. Well, then I'd appreciate it if you'd simply accept them. Oh, no, no, I couldn't. Please, it would mean so much to me to know someone had them who really appreciated them. I'd consider it a favor, Dr. Conway. Oh, but surely Philip would appreciate them as much as I do. Oh, no, not nearly so much. Philip has only two interests, history and his job. There is whole life. As far as fiction is concerned, first or tenth editions mean absolutely nothing to him. Dr. Conway, I insist that you accept these. Mrs. Verheuren, you're too kind. I mean, I can't say... Don't say anything. Just enjoy them. This is between you and me, Dr. Conway. No one need ever know where they came from. Eve! Eve, where are you? Here, dear. What happened, Eve? The letter just came. What letter, Philip? The Board of Regencies. They've made me the new Dean of History. Oh, Philip, that's wonderful. I'm so proud, darling. I know who's behind this appointment, too. President Conway. I'd never have gotten without his recommendation. You've worked wonders, haven't you, Eve? And you're sure that when Philip is installed as Dean of History, your position in Lichfield will be guaranteed, and you need fear nothing more from Ethel. The day of Philip's installation finally comes and you're ready for it. And at mid-afternoon, you're standing before the bedroom mirror, admiring your gown when there's a tap on your door. Yes, yes, what is it? Mrs. Conway is downstairs to see you, ma'am. The President's wife? Yes, ma'am. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. Mrs. Wilkes, I've told you never to let that cat in my room. Get her out of here. Yes, ma'am. Come on, Lady Macbeth. Get out of here, you... Come on, Lady Macbeth. I was to take the rest of the day off, ma'am. Will you be coming down? When I'm ready. You...you may leave for the day, Mrs. Wilkes. Tell Mrs. Conway I'll see her in ten minutes. Mrs. Conway, how nice to see you. I'm sorry we haven't met sooner, but now that Philip is to be Dean, I imagine we'll see a great deal of one another. I should doubt that very much, Mrs. Trahearne. I beg your pardon. I came here today only to return some property of yours. These three books, Mrs. Trahearne. First editions of Thackeray, Dickens and Swift. Oh, yes. Well, you see, my uncle... My husband subscribes to a rare book journal. They list the sales of all important first editions. You bought these through Rosenbach's ten days ago. I told your husband this was just between him and me. I think you should know, Mrs. Trahearne, that my husband cast his vote for Philip after he knew about this attempted bribery. Then Philip won't lose his appointment. No. My husband voted for Philip for two reasons. One, because Philip deserves the deanship. He's right for the job. And two, Mrs. Trahearne, because Ethel is a very dear friend of ours, and she pleaded that Philip's divorce not affect our decision. Ethel. You have her to thank for the appointment, Mrs. Trahearne. Let me tell you something. You will never replace Ethel, not in the college's affections or in Philip's. I'm sure you feel you can speak for Lichfield, Mrs. Conway. But I know my husband. You may not like it, but Philip is in love with me. Yes, Eve, you're sure of Philip, aren't you? Furious as you are with Mrs. Conway, it doesn't shake your faith in Philip's love for you. You walk upstairs to your room. You've got to think. But as you reach the door, you see something that enrages you still further. My dress! Get off there, Lady Macbeth. Get off my dress, you little demon! Hey, what on earth are you doing here? I'm here to see Philip. Get off my dress, you little demon! Your cat! Your precious Lady Macbeth. She's ripped my dress. I'll kill her. That cat hates me. Like everyone here hates me. I want her out of my house right now, this instant. Have her destroyed. Take her to the vet right now. Control yourself. You shouldn't have left the dress on the bed. This cat hates me, I tell you. And I hate her. I want her destroyed. I want her killed. All right, Eve, that's enough. I'll see you at seven this evening. I've got to call on President Conway now. Take that cat with you. To the vet, Philip. All right, Eve. I'll take her. She'll never bother you again. You watch him pick up the cat and walk out of the room and down the stairs. You glance at your watch. Philip said he'd see you at seven. It's nearly five now. The dress will have to be repaired in time to wear it to Philip's installation dinner. And there's just a chance you can get your dressmaker to fix it for you. You cross the room, pick up the phone to call her. You're surprised to find the line in use. It's Philip talking on the downstairs extension. Philip talking to Ethel. Well, Ethel, I had no idea you were ill. Why didn't you let me know? Well, I'm not very ill. I'll be all right in a few days. I'm so glad you called. I'm so proud of you. This is the day you've worked toward for 15 years. You worked too, Ethel. You always said I'd be dean someday. Oh, Ethel, Ethel, I wish... There, now, Philip. Just you give a good speech at the dinner tonight. Don't forget it the way you used to. Ethel, Ethel, are you all right? I think I'd better hang up now, Philip. I do feel rather weak. Oh, my dear, can I... I'll be all right, Philip, really. Don't worry. And remember, I am proud of you. You'll hang up quickly, Eve. Philip's concern over Ethel, his desire to share his hour of triumph with her. You wonder, don't you, if Mrs. Conway was right, that you'd never replace Ethel and Philip's affections. You expect to hear the door slam, indicating that Philip has left the house. But when you pick up the phone again... I can tell you, Doc, I don't like to think of Ethel out there all alone. I want a nurse for her, Doc, full-time. That can run into a lot of money, Phil. I want a nurse for her. I can't stand to think of a way out there in the suburbs all alone at a time like this. All right, all right, Phil. I'll call the nursing home if it'll ease your mind. Forgive me, Doc, I don't mean to sound upset. It's just that Ethel will... I understand, Phil. There are still ties between you and Ethel. There always will be. You grip the phone till your knuckles are white, Eve. For now you know that what Mrs. Conway said is true. Ethel will always stand between you and Philip, as long as she lives. As long as she lives, Eve. You step to the bedroom window, watch Philip leave the house carrying Lady Macbeth in the crook of his arm. Then you see him hail a passing taxi and ride off. You're glad he's leaving you the convertible, the family car. For suddenly you see a solution. Pick up the phone, dial a number. Litchfield Nursing Home. Oh, hello. This is Dr. Starr's assistant. The doctor just phoned you, I believe, about sending a nurse out to Mrs. Ethel Drayhorns. That's right, he did. Well, the doctor asked me to cancel that call. You see, I know Ethel, that is Mrs. Drayhorns, quite well. I'm going to take care of her myself. Because cool weather starting puts an extra strain on your car's battery, you can never be sure how soon you may be needing a new one. But of this you can be sure. Now, more than ever, it's important to get a good battery built to last a long time. A battery such as Signal's Deluxe Battery. It's built to last up to two and a half times as long as ordinary batteries. Because they're guaranteed not for just 12 or 18 months, but for a full 30 months on a service basis. It actually costs you less per month to own a Signal Deluxe Battery. Yet while you're enjoying its economy, you're also enjoying up to 35 percent more power for quicker starting and to take care of the many electrical gadgets on today's cars. That's because the microporous all-rubber separators in Signal Deluxe Batteries, which are considered the greatest battery improvement in 20 years, hold twice as much acid solution between the plates. Now, what's more, right now, Signal dealers are offering generous trade in allowances for old batteries, plus liberal credit terms. So if your present battery is getting old or tired, you'll be wise to play safe. Get a Signal Deluxe Battery now. Well, Eve, you have taken care of Ethel, haven't you? You've killed her. Philip belongs to you now, doesn't he, Eve? As you drive back into Litchfield from Ethel, you check your watch, and you note Philip isn't due home for some time. So you take the long way home. It's a much longer road, Eve, but you don't want to be seen. You drive a mile or so, stop and slip off the nurse's uniform you wore over your dress, hurriedly stuff it into the glove department. You're sure you have nothing to worry about. Mrs. Wilkes is not at home. She's been gone for hours, and no one need ever know that you left the house this afternoon. As you turn into the driveway of your home, you stop the car at the side entrance of the house. Hello, Eve. But Gordon, what are you doing here? I was waiting for Phil. He asked me to come up for his installation as dean. I see. I've been waiting here for an hour. Maybe I misunderstood Phil about the time. You've been here an hour? That's right. Look, there's Phil getting out of that taxi. Hey, Phil. Hello, Gordon. Eve. Phil. What's wrong? It's Ethel. She's dead. Dead? Oh, Philip, I'm so sorry. I've just come from there. Looks like an accident. How did it happen, Phil? Apparently, she smothered to death. Her face was turned into a pillow. Pillow? She must have been sleeping awfully hard to have smothered that way. The police say she may have taken sleeping pills. That sounds reasonable. No, but it isn't. No, no. Ethel never took them. Never in her life. Dr. Starr says he never prescribed any. No, I'm not satisfied with this accidental thing. The police aren't either. Was she alone, Phil? Could anyone have come in? That's it. If we could only prove someone else had been there, we'd know it was no accident. No one saw anyone enter or leave. But why would anyone think Ethel was murdered? No one said she was. Yet. Well, I know, but... When did it happen, Phil? It had to be within the last hour or so. I talked with Ethel on the phone about an hour and a half ago. Where were you for the last couple of hours, Eve? Gordon! I was here when you drove in, Eve. Where had you been? Philip, are you going to let him talk to me this way, practically accusing me? I don't like that kind of talk, Gordon. I won't have it. But... Why, it's Lady Macbeth. Philip, I thought you took her to the vets this afternoon. No, Eve, I didn't. I don't know how she got back here, but... She just jumped out of the convertible. I saw it. What's that got to do with it? Eve, you just drove that car in here. You were at Ethel's, Eve. You had to be at Ethel's at the time she died. Philip, darling! That's the only place Lady Macbeth could have climbed into the convertible. Darling, you don't know what you're saying. I'm sorry, but I do, Eve. You see, I couldn't better have that cat destroyed. I had to find some place where Lady Macbeth would be happy, cared for. So after I left here this afternoon, I took her to Ethel's. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program, The Whistler, each Sunday night at this same time. For men over 17 who are eligible for military duty, here's a reminder from the National Guard. If you want to be sure of staying with buddies from your own hometown, train with your local National Guard unit. For more information, inquire at nearest National Guard headquarters. Featured in tonight's story were Bill Foreman, Joan Banks, Bill Johnstone, and John Stevenson. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen, with story by Betty Julius, 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. Stay tuned for Our Miss Brooks, starring Eve Arden, which follows immediately over most of these stations. This is CBS, the Columbia Broadcasting System. The Whistler is a production of the U.S. Department of State.
