A Case for Mister Carrington

The signal oil program? The Whistler. That whistle is your signal for the signal oil program? The Whistler. I am the Whistler and I know many things or I walk by night. I know many strange tales Hidden in the hearts of men and women who have stepped into the shadows. Yeah

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 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 Farther gasoline. So look for the Signal Circle sign in yellow and black that identifies friendly dealer-owned Signal service stations from Canada to Mexico. And now the of Whistler's Strange Story, a case for Mr. Carrington.

Outside a gathering of black clouds that turned the blue waters of Kingston Harbor to a leaden grave. The breeze blowing in from the Caribbean was heavy with moisture, and on the sugar plantations and the grinding and boiling houses, Jamaican natives sweated and muttered that a summer storm was on the way.

And as usual on Saturday afternoon, The veranda of the Myrtle Bank Hotel was a gathering point for men in white linen suits, whose only talk was of sugar, 24 hours a day. Men who grew it, men who shipped and sold it, men who, by some mysterious alchemy, transformed it into an inspired concoction famous throughout the world as dark Jamaican rum.

But Gordon Stone, for once, wasn't thinking of sugar. The girl was too charming. The cool wind-blown American beauty of her too irresistible. He was admitting it to himself now. This wasn't just a passing thing with a summer tourist.