Murder Is Legal

Signal gasoline! Let every traffic signal remind you, you do go farther with signal. Yes, you do go farther with signal. The Signal Oil Company and your neighborhood signal dealer bring you another curious story by the Whistler.

Tonight, murder is legal. 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 stepped into the shadows.

Yes, I know the nameless terrors of which they dare not speak. This is a strip. Playland of Hollywood. Here are the most elegant gaming houses and nightclubs in the Western Hemisphere. Here are the sumptuous apartments of the greats and near-greats.

the idols of a million adolescent girls. In the apartment of David Parede, hero of costume, epics and courtroom scandals. Mr. Parede, wake up, Mr. Parede. Time for you to go to Mr. Caster's party. Come on now, Mr. Parede, just me, Jenny O.

I know the poor is here. I hope we're not bored. Both, I'm coming in. I know you're tired boss, but you just gotta get up. Trials all over. Boss, are you all right? That's not fair.

Oh lord, help me. Mr. Fairday, you've been shot. You're dead. Yes, in the elegant apartment of David Paraday on the Sunset Strip, The body of the screen's swashbuckling hero grows colder. Only two blocks down the street and the guests are arriving at a party given in his honor.

A party given by the most important man in Hollywood. A man who's never been in front of a camera. The third darling, am I late? I'll put you with an angel of patience where I spoiled the last three takes of my hurry to get here.