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, Man on the Run. It's night, but the usually quiet countryside near Connersville is far from quiet. The man on the run could hear the sharp, baying cry of the dogs as he pushed through the marsh waters and darted behind a protective grove, threw back into the shadows panting and fighting for breath as he peered out, saw the unmistakable glint of moonlight on a sheriff's bag, and knew that only a few feet away from him calling out orders was an officer of the law determined persistent. You wonder if it's all over, don't you, Corwin, if the dogs will somehow catch the scent, even though the marsh water has helped you so far. You'll be caught if the dogs change their course and let the sheriff and his troopers know how very close they are. You wait, frenzied and afraid, and listen as someone approaches the sheriff. What, who's there? Just me, Sheriff. I got the farmer joining here, wondered what's up. Oh, robbery. Ainsford's place up on the hill. Oh. The old lady surprised the thief, tried to stop him, but he shot her down with her own gun. She's dead, old Mrs. Ainsford? Well, she sure is. We'll get him. Not a way into this marsh here. You've got the dogs covering it? Uh-huh. Servant's there on the place, so I'm running. The dogs will have trouble, won't they, all this water? Well, it's not making it any easier for them. But my men are fanning out surrounding the swamp. Poor old Miss Ainsford. Why, I was talking to her only the other day. Never could see why she didn't have her niece or somebody staying with her. Yeah, I know. Just the servant and the chauffeur. The chauffeur was away too tonight? Yeah, that's right. And the servant, did he get a look at the man, Sheriff, a good look, so that you know who he is? No, that's one thing against us. We don't know the killer, but we'll get him. I say, those dogs are working fine. This would happen in one of the few really heavy marsh areas in California. And the woods are dawning. Won't be easy, Sheriff. Sure like to help. Why, you knew Mrs. Ainsford pretty well? Sure did. Sold her that house when she moved here. That's why you're facing this marsh problem right now. She liked it. Reminded her of the swamps down south. Oh? Well, I'll settle for good solid ground, thank you. Especially when I'm conducting a manhunt. Guess I'd better get over there. I'll go along if you don't mind. All right, come ahead. Oh, but be careful. This man's desperate. He's dangerous. Yes, Cory, you are desperate, aren't you? We're the only relief you can feel resting in the sheriff's remark that they don't know who the killer is. They will know, won't they? And soon you're certain of that. Yes. Just as soon as they begin to wonder where the chauffer is, search his room. Your room, Cory. They'll find the packed suitcases. Realize that you had to run when old Mrs. Ainsford interrupted your plan set. They'll be able to put two and two together very quickly. And it will add up to Cory Evans, wanted or murdered. I've got to get away. I've got to get away. The train. I can only make it. Yes, Cory, it's a chance, your only chance. And you start off toward the railroad tracks, running half stumbling through the trees and the brush. And then you break into the clear and hurry alongside of the track, praying that it's a freight train and it's moving slowly enough. And then, hey, stop in the name of the law. Put your hands up, you. I'll put them up. All right. Oh, you don't. All right, come on, get up. Get up on your feet. Sure. Come on. What's this all about? Never mind that. You ran out of the marsh, didn't you? I thought I saw somebody looking for a killer, you know. Sure are. You. Well, wait a minute. I suppose you weren't running, but you didn't try and knock me out. Come on. You might as well tell your explaining to the sheriff. Oh, you get away. I did see somebody. I wasn't born yesterday. You got any identification? Sure. All right. Oh, wait a minute. This is slipped out of my pocket. Probably on the ground here. You didn't drop anything, buddy. Come on, let's get going. You look up at him, Cory, see the glaring light of the approaching southbound train. It is a freight and the deputy looking toward it momentarily is blinded a little by the light. Quickly, your hand clutches at some sand and gravel and you hurl it full into his face. The train starts past. You leap for the open door of a boxcar. I made it. I made it. Yes, Cory, you've made it. And luckily, it's headed south toward Denton, the next town where your girlfriend lives. You're sure she'll help you. You'll have to drop off there anyway, won't you, Cory? Because even the darkness of this boxcar won't mean very much. When that deputy gets a report back to the others and they phone ahead about you, you finally lean out, see that you're approaching the outskirts of Denton. You slip off the train, straighten your clothes as best you can and calmly walk down the main street of the town to a movie theater and approach the ticket window. Yes, sir, how many, please? I want to talk to Ginny. Why come she's not selling tickets? Oh, Ginny wasn't feeling well. I sent her home. Oh, I see. Thanks. Ginny, Ginny. Yes? Ginny, it's me. It's Cory. Cory, what do you want? Ginny, let me in. I've got to talk to you. Cory, you shouldn't have come here. I said let me in. I don't want to talk to you. I've heard all about it. What did you hear? I heard it all just now on the radio. You killed it to me. An old woman. Quiet, will you? You don't understand. Ginny, we've meant a lot to each other. You got to help me now. I won't. You always said you'd take that money. Now you've done it. But you've also taken a life. Poor Mrs. Ainsford. She never hurt anybody. Will you be quiet, Ginny? Go with me. Go on, sick. I didn't get any money, Ginny. She surprised me. I had to run. Oh, they said on the radio. You're a fugitive. I need some money. Where's your purse? I'm not giving you anything. I won't help a fugitive. Give me that purse. No. Am I coming, I said? Quiet or you'll get worse. There's nothing in here, huh? I told you there's nothing. I'm glad. Listen to me, Ginny. I'm not giving up. You are going to help. You've got a telephone here, haven't you? It's right over there. Come on. I'm going to call the theater where you work. Theater? Get on the phone, Ginny. I'll tell you what to say. You're going to ask for the favor of your boss. No. You heard me. Go on. Get to that phone. Dial that number. It won't do you any good. It won't, Cory. Here. Dial. Tell him you need some money relative to somebody a doctor will meet you. One in advance on your salary down there. Cory, you're a fool. He'll come here. Tell him not to. Tell him you'll come after it. But I'm sick, Cory. I can't. Hello, Mr. McClane. This is Ginny. Good girl. Come on. Put the bite on him. Well, yes, I'm all right. Just a bad cold. What? Sick relative. Tell him about the sick relative. Well, Mr. McClane, I've got to ask you a favor of you. Yeah. There's a relative of mine, my cousin. He needs the money for medical attention. Quite a bit of money. That's it. That's it. I was wondering if I could get an advance on my salary. What? I don't know. A hundred bucks. Tell him. Would a hundred dollars be too much to loan me? What? Yes, Mr. McClane. All right. I'll wait. What's wrong? He's just going to check to see how much he has on his hand. OK. If it has to be less, it's all right, too. This is the last thing I'll ever do for you, Cory. I don't know what you think. Maybe you might even come along with me when I leave this bird. You don't have to. I might even arrange that. Let's keep it. I told you. He's getting up and looking to save him. Check the receipt. Look, if either of you try to pull anything off. How can I do anything? I don't know. Hang up. Don't answer it. Ginny? Oh, Ginny. Oh, Ginny. Oh, it's going to be Cory. Tell her to go away. Tell her you're sick. Go on. I'm sick, Mr. Gens. What do you want? There's something wrong with most of the refrigerators, dear. I wondered if I could come in and take a look at your... No, no, no. Tell her to be back in the morning. Tell her? Could you come back in the morning, Mr. Gens? I really don't want to get up. Well, I suppose so. Very well. I'll come in tomorrow. There's something fishy. Something wrong out there. Cory, you might as well give up. You won't get away with it with killing somebody. Come on. Open up, young lady. Right now. This is the police. Announcers are always giving you good reasons for buying this or trying that. But tonight, I'd like to suggest that you try something just for the fun of it. Try just one tank full of Signal Ethel just for the sheer fun it will put into your driving. Experience the fun of seeing how quickly Signal Ethel makes even cold engines spring to life the instant you touch the starter. Feel the fun of having the back of your seat nudge you forward as Signal Ethel's peppy pickup steps your car proudly out front. And hear the fun of hushed, obedient power as Signal Ethel floats you in high over hills that used to call for shifting. Oh, sure, you can get along with less fun than you get from the premium grade of Signal's famous go-farther gasoline. But wouldn't you like to know just how smartly your car will perform on the super fuel that's engineered to get the best out of any car of any age? In short, wouldn't you, just for fun, like to fill up next at a Signal Station with Signal Ethel? It's a dread, frightening moment, isn't it, Corey? After killing old Mrs. Ainsford, your employer, in an unsuccessful attempt to rob her. Now with the police pounding on the door of your girlfriend's room. You wonder if your frenzied flight has been to no avail. If they'll break in, drag you off to jail and certain death. It's been a terrible few hours, hasn't it, Corey? The chase through the swamp near Connersville, the struggle with the sheriff's deputy, your train ride to Denton, and the argument with Ginny, your girlfriend. She doesn't want to help, does she? No one does. You're certain that the police are here because the manager of the theater recognized you when you asked for Ginny. After hearing the newscast, he must have informed the police. And now he's stalled Ginny on the telephone, giving the police time to get here. And it all means something else, doesn't it, Corey? Yes, it means that your description and identity are well known by now. Corey Evans, the man wanted for murder. But there's still a chance, isn't there, Corey, the window and the fire escape? Only you can get another start on it. Open up, lady. We'll break in if you don't. Stall them, Ginny, please. You're low and contemptible. I won't help you anymore. Okay, Ginny, don't help me. I haven't lost yet, not when there's a fire escape. So long, sweetheart. You move to the window, raise it higher, and step out. At the second floor level, you stop short. See a police car parked on the other side of the street. You're trapped, aren't you, Corey? Suddenly you hear a voice coming through the half-open window at your elbow. You look inside the lighted room. It's empty. As you drop inside the bedroom, you can hear the sound of an electric razor close by. Catch a glimpse of a man standing before the bathroom mirror. Close the window. Your eyes wander around the room and finally settle on the wallet lying on the night table. Ten, fifteen, twenty-five, thirty, forty bucks. They're just fine. The phone startles you, doesn't it, Corey? You jump back, step quickly into a closet, and leave the door slightly ajar. Hello? Oh, yeah, Betty, yeah. Well, I tried to reach you earlier, but, huh? No, no, I won't be able to make it tonight, honey. Look, I've got to think of the airline. Okay, so I just got one beat up C-47 to my name. But to me, it's an airline, or at least a startup one. I've got to fly down to San Diego. I'm leaving in another hour. Oh, I can't put it off, Betty. A contract, a contract. Yeah, Benson and Hewitt Company flying some new equipment for them. Well, you know, old man Benson, he wouldn't hold still for... Oh, but, yeah, but look, baby, I... Hello? Hello? Okay, okay, get some. What a day. You can't help smiling, can you, Corey? As you watch him walk back to the bathroom mumbling to himself. Then with his wallet safely tucked away in your pocket, you tiptoe across the room, slip out the apartment door, hurry downstairs, step into an empty linen room, wait until you're certain the police have left, and then walk quickly to the bus depot. When's the next bus due in? Well, that depends on which way you're heading, mister. Uh, south. I'm going to see. There's a bus due in ten minutes. Farmington, Delhaven? Delhaven, yeah. Okay. Here you are. That'll be a dollar twenty. Hey, mister. Never mind, forget it. The police car pulling up in front of the bus station starts you on the run again, doesn't it, Corey? You slip out the side door, spring down the darkened street, and finally blocks away, stop long enough to catch your breath. It's not going to be easy getting out of Denton, is it? The police are watching the bus station. They'll be at the train depot, too. You're certain of that. And then an idea hits you. You pull the wallet from your pocket, the wallet you picked up in the apartment earlier. The identification shows that it belonged to Charles Trent, Charlie, who told his girlfriend that he was flying down to San Diego. Yes. You recall that it was for the Benson Hewitt Company. Chance, isn't it, Corey? You'll have to use another name, any name. But other than that, it will just take a phone call. Hello? Mr. Charles Trent? Yeah, that's right. This is Mr. Cartwright, J.B. Cartwright. I'm with the Benson Hewitt Company. Oh, oh, yes, Mr. Cartwright. Cartwright, yeah. Just got through talking with Benson. He wants me back in San Diego right away. Oh, is that so? Yeah, Mr. Benson said since you're flying down there tonight, I might come along with you. Come along with me? Why, sure thing, Mr. Cartwright. Good. Good. Let me see. You're leaving at 11, huh? Yeah, that's right. Of course, I don't have to leave right on the dot. It's 1040 now. How long is it going to take me to get out to the field? Oh, you're calling from town? Yeah, in the corner of Center and St. Louis. Oh. Well, it shouldn't take you more than 20 minutes or so. Just turn off the main highway three miles past Dent and at the signal service station. Yeah, I know. I'll see you at 11, Charlie. You know the place, don't you, Corey? Yes, Groves Field, a small private airport just a few miles away. Perfect, isn't it? And you're sure the police won't be watching there. You enter a sandwich shop, order, and as you sip your coffee, you can't help overhearing the conversation of the waitress and the truck driver sitting next to her. Oh, what's happened? Yeah, well, that's what Gus said. I don't know. He ran into a roadblock on the way in. He came out back at the top of the grate. That's so. Uh-huh. Who are the cops looking for? Some guy who knocked off an old lady over in Cornersville, but they really got a dragnet out for him. I'd say he ain't got a chance. Why do you knock off the old lady? What else? Only you almost got grabbed. How do you get out without getting a dime? I hope they get him. Don't worry, they will. Sooner or later. More coffee? Yeah, half a cup. I've got to shove off in a few minutes. OK. The cops hold me up for any time at that roadblock, I'm going to have trouble keeping on schedule. How about you, mister? More coffee? No, thanks. I'm in a hurry. I'll take care of the coffee. Yeah, that sure does, mister. A roadblock, Corey. It complicates things, doesn't it? But you've got to get through somehow and reach the airfield. Then a solution hits you. A truck driver. You hurry out to his truck, unfasten the rear canvas, slip inside and wait. In a minute, the truck is racing south along the highway. Then as it starts up the grade, you know the roadblock is not far ahead. As the truck slows down for the climb, you let yourself off. Start running across the open field to avoid the patrolmen. A few minutes before 11, you arrive at the airport. Find a man in coveralls tinkering with one of the engines of a tired looking C-47. Hello there. Oh, howdy. Charlie Trenor, huh? Nope. Can I help you? I'm his partner. My name is Cartwright. I'm with Benson Hewitt. Oh yeah. Glad to know you. Anything I can do for you, Mr. Cartwright? Oh, no. See, I'm making the trip, too. Oh. Charlie didn't say nothing about any passengers. I told him just a while ago. Benson suggested it. Oh, I didn't mean it wasn't okay with me, Mr. Cartwright. Only if I'd known I'd fixed up a seat for you. Not much room in there with the cargo we're hauling. So I don't manage. Yeah, not much of a trip down to San Diego anyway. Over for you, no, it's sure. You been working for Benson Hewitt very long? No, no. We think, oh, Mr. Benson's quite a guy. Yeah, I think he's fine. Good man to work for. Yeah, and a good man to do business with. You're a salesman, is that it? Well, I'm more of a field representative. I guess you do business all over the state of California. That's right. What do you do for excitement around here? It's pretty quiet. Yeah, sure is. Charlie makes out. He's kind of a Romeo, he thinks. Yeah. Me? I'm getting old. I'm just listening to the radio. Oh. News mostly. Been too busy loading the plane tonight, though. What's the word today? Same old stuff. Higher taxes again. Well, guess I better get up front, warm up the ship. Make yourself comfortable. Yeah. You think Charlie will be along soon? Sure, sure. Any minute now. You stand by, watch the mechanic as he climbs aboard the plane, warms up the engines. The minutes drag by and the nervousness within you mount. You're anxious to get away, aren't you, Corey? Yes. And you keep glancing at your watch. Eleven fifteen. Eleven twenty. And no sign of Charlie Trent. Can't understand what's holding him up, Mr. Cartwright. He's generally right on time. Maybe if you phoned his apartment. Nah, he wouldn't be there now. I got a hunch, yeah. Maybe I do know what's keeping him. Oh? Dane, his girlfriend. Oh, I see. Yeah, Charlie had a date with him tonight. I know he was kind of worried about breaking it. Oh, here he comes now. What? That convertible coming across the strip. That's Charlie's car. Oh, at last, huh? OK, Mr. Cartwright, let's hop aboard. We'll be airborne before you know it. Fine. That's just fine. Assuming that the tires on your car are guaranteed, let me ask you a question. In case of tire failure, where would you have to go to get an adjustment on that guarantee? Would you have to go back to the same store where you bought the tire? Or to a limited number of outlets in a limited number of cities, open perhaps only during daytime business hours? Not so if your tires are Lee tires. No, indeed. Regardless of where you buy Lee tires, you can drive into any signal station throughout the seven Pacific Coast states from Canada to Mexico, and they'll cheerfully make good on the Lee guarantee. Or if you're traveling east, you can stop at any of 19,000 Lee tire dealers throughout the entire country, and they'll honor the famous double guarantee on Lee Super Deluxe Passenger Tires, guaranteed 15 months against all road hazards, guaranteed for life against defects in workmanship and materials. Well, friends, I don't need to tell you what a satisfaction it is to know your tires are backed by such a generous guarantee that follows you wherever you drive. And this extra satisfaction can be yours at no extra cost if you just make sure your next tires are Lee tires bought from any Lee tire dealer or signal service station. Music You congratulate yourself, don't you, Corey? As you follow the mechanic aboard the plane, you'll settle yourself as comfortably as you can. In almost no time, you're certain you'll be in San Diego, where you can use the wallet you stole from Charlie Trent to establish a new identification. You can use the money, too, after you've escaped the police dragon. Suddenly, the plane's engines are turned off. A few moments later, Charlie Trent comes aboard, followed by an officer in uniform. Hello, Mr. Cartwright. Hello. You must be Charlie Trent. That's right. And this is Sergeant Stratton, Highway Patrol. Well, Sergeant, this man fits the description of that killer, Corey Evans, pretty well, doesn't he? May I see your identification, Mr. Cartwright? My identification? I, uh, maybe you don't have any, huh? Well, I see here. What's the meaning of it? Oh, I'd hold it, you two. Your identification, Mr. Cartwright. Well, you see, Officer, I... Oh, save it, Evans. We just talked to Mr. Benson on the phone in the airport office. He never heard of Mr. Cartwright. You... you called Benson? I had to, to get him to identify me. Identify you? Yeah. You know, you almost got away with it. I never would have called Benson, but when the police stopped me at the roadblock back there and asked to see my identification, well, I didn't have any. You see, somebody stole my wallet. Let that whistle be your signal for the signal oil program, The Whistler, each Sunday night at this same time. Signal Oil Company has asked me to remind you, the USO, which serves as a home away from home for our boys in uniform, is one of the many worthy services you'll be helping this year when you contribute to the current Community Chest Campaign. Featured in tonight's story were Bill Foreman as The Whistler, Lamont Johnson, Gigi Pearson, Bill Boucher, Larry Dobkin, Joe Gilbert, Herbert Litton, and Britt Wood. The Whistler was produced and directed by George W. Allen with story by Adrian John Doe, music by Wilbur Hatch, and was transmitted 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 to tune in at this same time next Sunday when The Signal Oil Company will bring you another strange story by The Whistler entitled Three Minus One Equals Murder, in which an excitingly beautiful young woman turns an accidental meeting into the prelude for a bold murder scheme. Marvin Miller speaking for The Signal Oil Company. Stay tuned now for our Miss Brooke starring Eve Arden, which follows immediately over most of these stations. This is the CBS Radio Network.
