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, Just Like a Man. They presented a striking group, the three of them, chatting together in the airport waiting room. Sandra Haynes with her dark hair, her quiet, almost equally dark eyes, her husband Gordon Haynes, tall, handsomely groomed, and their friend of many years standing, Peter Lacey. Peter had known Sandra first, and his attention to everything she said revealed an admiration that had grown stronger over the years. Sandra was flying east alone, a fact which seemed to concern Peter more than it did Gordon, her husband. Flight 24, now boarding at gate three. Flight 24, now boarding at gate three. Well, that's your plane. But I still can't understand it, Sandra, why you insist on dashing off alone this way and without your husband. I didn't insist, Peter. Gordon was quite agreeable. The dutiful husband. You reason with her, Peter, see how far you get. Or perhaps, Sandra, you'd prefer the company of a new and exciting escort. I prefer exactly what I'm doing. And Peter scarcely fits the role of a new escort. Neither new or exciting, huh? I didn't say that, Peter. Oh, and by the way, Gordon, you will remember I'm staying at the St. Regis. St. Regis, I'll remember. You see, Peter, she checks everything. The perfect wife. And I've always said that for- Oh, now no more arguments. I have my ticket, I'm going alone. Besides, Gordon wants to look after some plans for selling the beach house. He has his week well mapped out. Check. And I'd have little time for either of you in New York. Who? I have a date with that strange man. Sandra. Pierre, the beauty king. I'm going to have him do something about my hair. You let him touch it and I'll personally wring his neck. Oh, hear that, Gordon. Seems not all gentlemen prefer blondes. Sandra, you know perfectly well that I like you just as you are. I know perfectly well that I'm changing from a brunette to a blonde. And having my hair bleached changes good for the soul and for husbands. Gordon, I'm ashamed of you. Her idea, not mine. No, but the- Passenger Haines report at gate three. Passenger Haines report at gate three. Bye, Gordon. Kiss me. Take good care of my husband for me, Peter. I will. And you take care of yourself. And stay away from Pierre. Oh, no. I'm not certain your bags have been checked aboard, dear. What do you mean? They're already on the plane. Go ahead, Peter. You check the bags. Check the bags? Oh, of course. By the way- You can kiss me goodbye again, Gordon. Kiss me. Tell me you're going to miss me very much. Sure, Sandra, you know I am. I'm going to miss you very much. Just like a husband. Can't say it himself. Has to be reminded. After all, Sandra, the important thing- I know, but you said it. Goodbye, dear. Goodbye, Sandra. Happy landings. You're a fortunate man, aren't you, Gordon? Sandra is very much in love with you, isn't she? The attractive and wealthy wife of Gordon Haynes. Yes, the marriage does have its compensations. But somehow they don't always seem quite enough, do they? No. And that's why in driving home with Peter, you suggest a nightcap. Excuse yourself for a moment and slip to the back of the cocktail lounge in the privacy of a telephone booth. Hello? Vicki, Gordon. Oh, darling, I've been waiting. It seemed ages. Yeah, for me too. Look, I can't talk long now, but she's gone. Be out of town for about a week. We'll be able to get together. Will you call me tomorrow? First thing? No need. We'll make it the usual place around two o'clock, all right? Oh, I wish it could be sooner. Two o'clock, Vicki. I'll see you then. I'll be waiting. Bye. Goodbye, darling. Sorry, Peter. You ordered for us? Mm-hmm. Double scotch and soda. Thought you might need it when I tell you what's on my mind. You look awfully serious, Pete. I am serious. About Sandra. Oh, not as you might think. I'm just the same old friend. But at least my loyalty hasn't shifted. What are you driving at? How about you, Gordon? Better check your directions, don't you think? I mean, when you're heading for trouble and Vicki Lydon. Vicki? What do you know about her? Only everything. I know something else, Gordon. You better stay away from her. Now, wait a minute. You wait a minute and listen. I know you married Sandra for her money. I don't see why that... It interests me because I don't happen to need her money, and you do. So? I also happen to be in love with her. I always have, though. I'm sure she doesn't realize it. You don't love her. You're jumping at conclusions, maybe. But whether you married her for just her money or not, I think enough of her to see that you give her her money's worth or step out of the picture. That all? I mean it, Gordon. Stop seeing Vicki or get out of Sandra's life. From now on, I'm making this my business. During rehearsal this evening, I couldn't help thinking about an old schoolmate of mine. Tom was sort of a sluggish guy, never much pepper ambition, until he started going around with Mary. And then, what a change. Mary seemed to bring out the best in him. Soon Tom was going around with new spring in his stride, new sparkle in his glance. Incidentally, Tom and Mary have been married for years now, and you've never seen a happier couple. You're undoubtedly wondering what made me bring that up on Signal's program. Well, simply this. A wonderful change like that usually comes over the average car after it starts going around with Signal Ethyl, the premium quality gasoline engineered to bring out the best in any car. Motors that used to, wham, wham, wham, before starting, get going like a covey of scared quail with Signal Ethyl. Cars that used to be sluggish as molasses display peppy pick up and power with Signal Ethyl. And cars that used to ping and balk on hills, take them like the man on the flying trapeze with Signal Ethyl. Doesn't that sound like the kind of performance you'd enjoy? And why not go around with Signal Ethyl, at least for a few tankfuls? See if the way this super fuel brings out the best in your car doesn't make you want to stay married to Signal Ethyl for always. It came as a surprise, didn't it, Gordon? In a few quiet, direct words from Peter Lacey, he knows about Vicki Lydon and is certain to tell your wife, Sondra, everything unless you fall into line. And that's why you're nervous, on edge the next afternoon, because you have to keep your rendezvous with Vicki and try to explain. You're thankful that you've made a habit of meeting her in an out of the way place, a roadside inn some miles from Malibu Beach, in the summer home that you and Sondra recently purchased. But with the knowledge of Peter's watchdog tactics, you're not at all relaxed talking to Vicki. I tell you, Vicki, we can't see one another anymore. It's all up. I shouldn't even be here now. You're only to tell me to get lost, is that it? You know it, isn't that? Look, Vicki, after a while... After a while, or a month or a year, it'll be the same. Hiding, secret meetings, wondering if every other person we see is watching us. What can I do about it? You could go to Sondra and tell her about us. Oh, sure. All right, I know. You are not the guardian of the money bags. That's a crude way of putting it. Why bother putting it any other way? That's true. All right, Gordon. What... what are you going to do? Me? I don't know. I suppose I could run out and jump off a bridge. Instead I'll just do the usual. I'll wait. You're okay, Vicki. You think so? Well, I don't. I think I'm all wrong. I think I might be lucky enough to get you out of my system someday. I think you're the heal that you are. But I... I don't think that yet. So I'll wait. I'll call you, Vicki, soon. Sure? Right now I'd better get back to town. Can't tell who might walk in here. Yes, I know. Goodbye, Gordon. Wait a minute. What is it? That car outside just pulling away. Lacey. It's Lacey's car. He... he saw us together. So what? Isn't he the one who knows all about it? You don't understand. He won't wait now. Wait? I'll call Sandra. He'll... he'll tell her everything. Oh, maybe not. Now calm down, Gordon. And drive slow on your way back to town. Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Vicki. I'll take care of myself. Don't worry. Driving back to town, you watch the mirror constantly and scan the side roads. No sign of Peter Lacey is there, Gordon. And yet as the miles hum passed, you begin to sense the only answer to the situation. Whether Peter saw you or not, he's a threat. And he will eventually tell Sandra about Vicki. And when he does, Sandra will divorce you and you will be penniless unless you stop him. And somehow the car you're driving provides the answer to that, doesn't it? Yes, it's simple, isn't it? You can see it happening very clearly. Peter, a restaurateur, always arrives home late and alone. He always walks from his restaurant to his apartment. All you have to do is wait, your car motor idling, roar forward at the proper time. It'll be over fast and his threat will be ended forever. You decide to do it soon. Tonight. Whoa, it's menacing. You're glad that it's over, aren't you, Gordon? You tell yourself that Peter probably doesn't know what hit him, and you almost wish he could have gotten a look at your face at the wheel of the car. But there's only time to hurry home now, and one more thing before you put the car away. Yes. You run one fender against the corner of the garage as you swing. The paint from the garage marks the dented area badly, doesn't it? No question how the car was damaged, just in case. Entering the apartment, you're certain that you're completely in the clear, and then... Hello? Hello, Gordon. Peter Lacey. Peter? I'm calling from the restaurant. Had to stay quite late. Why, yes, it's past two. Hello? Hello, Gordon. Peter Lacey. Peter? I'm calling from the restaurant. Had to stay quite late. Why, yes, it's past two. Gordon, my boy, I'm not going to play ball with you any longer. You see, I went for a drive today down near Malibu. I see. I warned you, old man. You're going to tell Sandra, is that what you're trying to say? That's it, Gordon. She'll be back Friday, won't she? Yes. I thought I'd give you plenty of warning. A real pal, aren't you? You're certainly not thinking of Sandra's feelings, and... I think I am. Anyway, that's it. Do what you like. Oh, in case you do decide that you can't face her, well, I'll be in the car. I'll be at the airport to meet her. You don't have to bother. The sound of his voice on the telephone hit you like an electric shock, didn't it, Gordon? And then the realisation swept over you. You'd killed the wrong man. Yes, Peter Lacey is still very much alive. And now you're certain he'll tell Sandra the truth about you and Vicky. That will end everything, won't it? Sandra will divorce you. And you can't bear the thought of being penniless again. No, somehow you've got to prevent that divorce. Find a way to hold on to Sandra's wealth. It's on your mind all that evening and the next day. And by nightfall, you've decided what you must do. Yes? May I speak with Mrs. Haynes, please? Oh, I'm sorry. Mrs. Haynes is away. This is Mr. Haynes. Help you? Oh, yes. This is Ralph Jamieson. I have a real estate office in Santa Monica. Your wife spoke to me a couple of weeks ago about the beach house in Malibu. Oh, yes, yes, I remember. She said if I found a buyer and the price was right, you might sell. That's right. Well, I do have a buyer, a man and his wife in the East. I'd like to show them the place, if you don't mind. I see. If you're going to be home for a while, I could drive over and pick up the keys. No, I was just going out, Mr. Jamieson. But tell you what, I had planned on going down to the cottage next day or so. Suppose I give you a call when I get there. You can bring the people over. Well, that'll be fine, Mr. Haynes, fine. Thank you. The beach house, Gordon. You hadn't thought of it before. A perfect place, lonely, quiet. Just the thing for what you have in mind. As you think about it, a plan begins to take shape. Step by step, you know exactly what you're going to do. And with Sandra's death, her estate will go to you, won't it, Gordon? You'll never have to worry about money or Peter again. And you'll have Vicki, too. An hour later, you arrive at the Malibu Beach House. Let yourself in. You stand for a moment in the outer hall. Look into the living room, bathed in moonlight. The furniture covered with white sheets, just as you left it when you closed the house. It's a weird, ghostly sight, isn't it, Gordon? Then as you snap on the hall light. Hello, Gordon. Sandra. I thought I heard a car pull up outside. What are you doing here? I wanted to do some thinking, Gordon. Alone, before talking to you. But Sandra, I wasn't expecting you. How did you get here? Peter met me at the airport. Peter? You let Peter know you were coming back early? Why? You may as well know, Gordon. Peter called me in New York. Told me some things that made me want to cut my trip a little short. He called you? Why? He's a good friend, Gordon. He met me at the airport a few hours ago. Told me all about you and Vicki Lyden. Oh, now look, Sandra. Don't be naïve, Gordon. I knew, without Peter ever saying a word, I knew I'd lost you to someone. Well, he supplied with the lady's name. Sandra, you haven't lost me. It's ridiculous. I'm the one who's ridiculous, Gordon. I took this trip because I thought it might help us. Absence, you know. I even got a full new beauty treatment for you. Had my hair bleached blonde, thinking maybe a new Sandra might interest you. What did you notice? Well, of course I noticed. You look very nice as a blonde. Thank you. Sandra, has it occurred to you Peter might be lying? He's been in love with you for years, you know. Has he? Well, of course. He'd do anything to break us up so he could marry you or... Or maybe this is repetitious to you. Maybe Peter told you this himself when he drove you down here. He didn't drive me out here. I borrowed his car, drove out myself, alone. You have his car? That's right. You know, Gordon, what you said about Peter's love for me interests me. I've always been very fond of him. Perhaps I shall marry him. After our divorce. You watch Sandra as she turns away, hurries back up the stairs, and then a moment later you hear the bedroom door close. Her sudden appearance at the beach house has startled you, and for a moment her driving out in Peter's car poses a problem. But you quickly see a way to turn that problem to your advantage. Slowly you move to the hall table, pick up the small antique clock with the marble base, and start slowly up the stairs after her. Sandra is seated at the vanity table, brushing her newly bleached hair. For a moment your eyes meet in the mirror, then she looks away. Seeing the heavy base clock behind your back, you move up behind her. I don't care to discuss this any further, Gordon. I'm turning the matter over to my attorney in the morning. I don't think so, Sandra. What's that? Gordon! I don't think you're going to do anything. Sandra! You step back as she slumps over the vanity table, and slowly she crumbles to the floor, her arms sweeping the table top clean. You stare at the lifeless body at your feet, the overturned powder box, the hairpins lying beside her on the floor. You hadn't expected it to happen this quickly, had you, Gordon? But Sandra's early return from the east speeded up your timetable. Now you're thinking clearly again. You'll put Sandra's body in Peter's car, drive it down the beach highway, and push it over the cliff. An accident, Gordon, in Peter's car, and you'll be in the clear. As you hurry from the house and start toward the garage, you're suddenly aware of footsteps close by. Hello. Hello, that you, Mr. Haynes? Yes. Good evening, Mr. Morton. I was just out for a walk. Saw the light, but I didn't investigate. Hello there, fella. How are you? Are you going to move back in, Mr. Haynes? No, no. I just came down to open up the house for a real estate agent. We're thinking of selling. Oh. How's Mrs. Haynes? Fine. Just fine. She's in the east. All right. Oh, rather, I should say on her way back now, been visiting relatives. Oh, here, here now. That's enough of that. Stop it, Ranger. You hear? Found it. What's gotten into that dog? Stop it, Ranger. Here. Here, come here, boy. Come here. That's a boy. That's a boy. Come on. Come on. We'd better be getting back home. Mother will be wondering what's happened to us. Well, good night, Mr. Haynes. Good night. Oh, nice to have seen you again. Come on. Come on, Ranger. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on, Ranger. Come on. Come on. Come on, come on. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on, come on, come on. Come on, Ranger. Come on. Come on. You watch Morton and his dog disappear into the darkness. Wonder whether the howls of his dog made him suspicious that something was wrong. Whether he saw Sandra when she arrived. Mr. Morton could ruin everything, couldn't he, Gordon? But after a few minutes, you decide you have nothing to fear, that Mr. Morton was quite sincere in his friendly question. is friendly questions. You have no choice anyway. You must carry out your plan for disposing of Sandra's body and making her death seem accidental. Quickly you enter the house, stop at the hall closet, pick up the vacuum cleaner and some dust rags. You've got to go over the bedroom very carefully Gordon inch by inch. Make certain you don't leave any sign that would indicate Sandra was here at the beach house tonight. A half hour later the bedroom is as neat as a pin. You carry Sandra's body to the garage, place it in Peter's car and back out and drive down the highway. A few miles from the house you turn off the road, drive to the edge of the cliff overlooking the sea, ease Sandra behind the wheel and then leaving the keys in the switch on the car and gear. You get out and release the brake. Standing at the edge of the road you look down, watch Peter's car sink slowly in the shallow water at the base of the cliff. Then you return to the beach and try to sleep. Good morning, you Gordon Haynes? Yes, what is it officer? Name Slade, sheriff's office. May I come in? Oh of course. What's wrong? Better have some bad news Mr. Haynes, it's about your wife. My wife? What's happened? There was an accident last night. Car she was driving went off the cliff a few miles down the road. No, no. She's dead Mr. Haynes, killed instantly. Sandra? Dead? Yes. When did you see her last Mr. Haynes? About a week ago at the airport, she went east for a visit. You mean she wasn't here last night? No, I didn't even know she was in town. I wasn't expecting her plane until this evening. I see. Tell me Mr. Haynes, how well do you know a man named Peter Lacey? Fairly well, he's really a friend of Sandra's, known her for years. Why do you ask? She was driving his car when the accident happened. Peter's car? I don't understand. According to his story, he picked her up at the airport around seven o'clock last night. They had a drink and then she asked to borrow his car. Said she wanted to drive down here to the beach house. Well I wonder why? Lacey didn't seem to know. That's strange, she had no way of knowing I'd be here. You hadn't told anyone? Well no, I didn't decide to come down here until late last night after I got a phone call from the real estate agent in Santa Monica. He wanted to show the house to a client. I see. Mr. Haynes, how long does it generally take to drive out here from town? Oh, an hour I'd say. Lacey says your wife left him a few minutes before eight. She said she was driving directly out here to the beach house. That means she should have arrived around nine or so. That's right. Yet you say she didn't arrive at all. The accident occurred some time after ten. Well she could have stopped for a bite to eat somewhere along the way I suppose. See here, what are you driving at? Your wife's death Mr. Haynes. We're calling it accidental for now. I don't understand. I mean the car might have been deliberately pushed off the cliff. Pushed? You mean... You said this Peter Lacey was a friend of your wife's. How good a friend. Well as I told you they'd known each other for years. Matter of fact at one time she was thinking of marrying Peter and I came along and well... I see. Good Lord, you're not suggesting that Peter had anything to do with... I'm not suggesting anything Mr. Haynes, but I certainly want to have another talk with Mr. Lacey. A nice long talk. The cheapest battery you can buy is the battery that costs the least per day. And when it comes to low cost per day, none can beat Signal Deluxe. The extra long life battery guaranteed for a full 30 months on a service basis. Here's the reason Signal can guarantee these batteries for such an extraordinarily long time. Micro porous all rubber separators, considered the greatest battery improvement in 20 years, hold twice as much acid solution between the plates. As a result, Signal Deluxe batteries deliver up to 35% more power to take care of the many electrical gadgets on today's cars. Also their new design all rubber case means that your battery needs water less often. What more could a battery buyer ask? Unless it's a trade-in for your old battery, which Signal dealers give, or liberal credit terms which are available. So any way you look at it, if you need a new battery, it'll pay you to play safe. Buy the long, long life battery that guarantees you low, low cost per day. The Signal Deluxe battery. It's turned out better than you expected, hasn't it Gordon? Now that the police have turned their attention to Peter Lacey and suspect him of the murder of your wife Sandra. Even if the police learn about Vicki Leiden, as they will after they talk with Peter, you can deny his accusations. It's your word against his now, and you're sure his accusations will sound like a desperate attempt to cover his own guilt. You return to your apartment, wait in town for some further word, and finally that evening you have another visit from Slade of the sheriff's office. Tell me Slade, you had your talk with Peter Lacey? Yes, persistent fellow that Lacey. He's been saying all along that your wife did show up at the beach house last night. And I tell you she didn't. Surely you can take my word for it. We'll let the test decide Mr. Haynes. Tests? Mm-hmm. We found some interesting things at the beach house, including a picture of your wife. What's that got to do with it? Mr. Lacey says it's quite a recent picture of her, shows her as a brunette. Well? Mr. Lacey says your wife had her hair bleached blonde before she came back from New York yesterday. I still don't see what that proves. It proves that your wife was at the beach house last night Mr. Haynes. You see we found a few strands of hair, bleached blonde hair, and several hairpins. You know you did a pretty good job of cleaning up that beach house, but you forgot one little thing. Forgot? Uh-huh. You forgot the vacuum cleaner. That's where we found the bleached blonde hair and hairpins. Yeah just like a man. When you got through using it you didn't think to empty the dust bag. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program the Whistler, each Sunday night at this same time. This month throughout America, Churchmen of all faiths are calling special attention to the part religion plays in building and preserving our American way of life. Religion is one of the freedoms our forefathers fought for, one which today more than ever needs not only our protection but our active support. Featured in tonight's story were Bill Foreman, George Neese, Virginia Gregg, and John Danaer. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen with story by Joel Malone, 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 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.
