Eight to Twelve

The signal oil program? The Whistler. Quistler 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 shadows. Yes. 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 stations from Canada to Mexico.

And now the Whistler's strange story. Eight to twelve. At three o'clock that afternoon, Danny Brine had been riding high. The top crime reporter in San Francisco with a nice apartment on Russian Hill. Two hundred a week from the Express and a lot more on the side.

At four o'clock he was nobody, just another newspaperman out of a job. He'd walked into the club knock turn just after dinner, decided he might as well give it to Teddy Wright from the shoulder.

He'd know about it sooner or later anyway. By nine he'd had four martini. Wasn't caring too much what he said one way or another. Good job. Oh, I'm still a reporter, baby. Brother Graves doesn't like my work.

There are plenty of others who do. Graves is an important guy. They'll all listen to him. He's a stuffed shirt. I helped put him where he is and he knows. Oh, wait a minute. Look in the pollion they call him down there.