Murder of Byron Blake

The signal oil program? The Whistler. That whistle is your signal for the signal oil program? The Whistler. I am the Whistler and I know many things before I walk by night. I know many strange tales hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadow.

Yeah, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. Yes friends, it's time for the Signal Oil program, the Whistler, rated by independent research the most popular West Coast program. In gasoline, you know, it takes extra quality to go farther, and signal is the famous go farther gasoline.

So look for the Signal Circle sign in yellow and black that identifies Signal Service Station from Canada to Mexico. And now the Whistler's strange story. The murder of Byron Blake. It was well past the lunch hour, and the little restaurant on 56th Street was almost deserted.

Except for the corner table near the window, where Julie Lane and Gus Hackett sat over a pair of coffee cups. Julie? Yes? How about some dessert? No. No thanks Gus. Thanks, guys. Oh, you better eat something.

You didn't touch your lunch. I don't feel like eating. Sorry, but I'm sorry. Yes, of course. Wait a minute. Yes, sir. The window. Would you mind? Oh, yes. All right, do we? How about some more coffee?

No, I'm sorry. I can't. I could use a cigarette. Oh, sure, sure. Yeah. You feel any better? I guess so. You do understand, guys. I'm sorry to be- Oh, of course I understand, darling. I don't feel much like talking.

Just want to be quiet. Think a little. And Julie Lane had a lot to think about. She was grateful for the quiet of the little restaurant. But somehow, even though the waiter had closed the window behind her, those headlines still were howling to her brain.