Dear Diary

And now stay tuned for the Mystery Program that is unique among all Mystery Programs, because even when you know who's guilty, you always receive a startling surprise at the final curtain in 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. Yes, friends, it's time for the Whistler, rated by independent research, the most popular West Coast program in radio history.

And now the Whistler's strange story. Dear diary, two lone cars streaked through the late Southern California night, south along the coast route toward San Diego. In the first car, Mike Jordan, his face drawn intense, his forehead beaded with cold sweat stepped hard on the accelerator.

And the car behind him matched his speed, closing the gap between them. With one frantic turn of the wheel, Mike swerved his car onto a side row, narrowly missing the ditch. But the car behind him had anticipated his move and made the turn after him.

and then cut sharply into Mike's car, forcing him off the road. Come on, Mike, get out of the car. Okay, then, okay, I'll get out, I'll get out, but don't shoot. Don't shoot, Len. Listen, listen to me.

Shut up. Money, check the car, see if you can find it. Hey, let me tell you about it, Len. You see this? Shut up. Shut up. I'd have finished you off right now. Run out on me, will you?

I was going to come back, Len. Honest, I was. Yeah, I bet you were. Find anything, Money? Back in a bullet in a suitcase. Only ten grand here, though. I cut with fifteen. Come on, Mike.