Summer Thunder

Signal gasoline. Let every traffic signal remind you. You do go farther with signal gasoline. 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, summer thunder. 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. There is a curious connection between an entry in the records of the British Weather Bureau, and a corresponding item in the annals of the Police Department of Plymouth.

The first indicates that at 9 p.m. on the night of August 18th, 1937, tourists and vacationers on the southern channel coast of England were disturbed by a radio warning. Attention all vessels in channel waters between lands and Cornwall and beachy head Sussex.

Low pressure area approaching rapidly from the southwest, low and storm and prospect. Put into the various port immediately. I'll repeat that. Attention all vessels in channel water. The heat was oppressive deadly. The atmosphere was so heavy and damp that breathing was an achievement.

People at the watering places of Torquay and Brixham couldn't sleep and tried to pass the night over tall drinks and sodden bridge games on their verandas. So much for the weather report. The police records indicated on the same night, a night when the heat had put everyone in southern England on edge.

Murder was taking shape in the mind of at least one human being. It began in Plymouth in the second floor apartment of Perry Elliott. I haven't said where have you been. I've been calling all over town for you.