Murder on Margin

The signal oil program, the Whistler, whistle, is your signal for the signal oil program, the Whistler. I'm 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.

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 tops in popularity for a longer period of time than any other West Coast program in radio history.

And Signal gasoline is tops too, tops in quality. It takes extra quality, you know, to give you extra mileage. And Signal is the famous go-for-other gasoline. So look for the Signal Circle sign in yellow and black that identifies friendly dealer-owned signal stations from Canada to Mexico. And now the Whistler strange story, murder on margin.

It was three in the morning when Edward Jamison became himself again. He was sitting on a bench at the edge of a park. He couldn't remember coming there. It didn't matter. Because the whole nightmare was coming back to him rapidly. His mind hurling frightening pieces of memory the memory of a blinding rage, the gun flash, murder.

He wondered if he'd been walking to escape. If the thought of hiding had brought him here to the park, and he told himself that it was foolish, there wasn't any escape. Her husband Barney knew the whole story.

He was probably telling it to the police now. Edwards stood up, shook his head, started to walk again. This time toward the police station. Seventh-Preasing Sergeant Burke. Oh yeah Dave, happened over on East 54th Street.