 to want to. For the first time in its history, Scotland Yard opens its official files to bring you the true stories of some of its most badly cases. Search for Whitehall one to one to is provided by Percy Hoskins, chief crime reporter of the London Daily Express. The stories for radio are written and directed by Willis Cooper. And this voice is out of the custodian of Scotland Yards famous black museum chief superintendent John Davidson. Good afternoon. One was put this so far back on the shelf. Here it is. This is what is known as a Winchester bottle. This one is the 80 ounce size half a gallon. There are 20 ounces in an English pack. A Winchester bottle is frequently used in hospitals for the storage of liquids which are shortly to be used. Milk, for example. That's what this one was used for. You will know that there are two fairly clear fingerprints on it here. Here ring with a chalk mark. There were once a great many more, but all have disappeared except these two which have been covered with a plastic solution to preserve them. These are a murderous fingerprints. These are the clues which put Scotland Yard and the Lancashire Constabulary onto him. He was of course hanged. Now perhaps you'd like to hear what was done to find him. Chief Inspector Leslie Crawford here was in on the most of it. Four years ago I was a hardworking chief inspector at Scotland Yard. I didn't know how hard an officer could work before this case. I was roused at 3 a.m. by a telephone call from a town in Lancashire. The chief constable was calling. I'll take the first train, sir. Who's been murdered? I arrived from the town of Blackburn at an excessively early hour. I was met at the train by a police car of the Blackburn borough force and rushed at once to Queens Park Hospital. There were a great many people there. Hospital attendants and police officers. The body of the little girl whose name was Mary Margaret was in the hospital morgue. Her head had been smashed by a vicious blow and there were bruises on her bare ankles. Chief Constable explained that. As if she'd been held by the ankles and her head dashed against the wall. Is that a guess, sir? The wall is out there, Chief Inspector. Down the little hill there. Right on the hospital grounds. Yes. Your clues you spoke of, sir? Well, I think Nurse Rollins. Yes, sir. In here, please, Nurse Rollins. This is the sister that was on duty. Chief Inspector, Nurse Rollins. Yes, sir. Go on, please. Well, sir, that little Mary Margaret was asleep with the other children. How many of them? Four others, sir. Three girls and one boy. Go on, please. I was in the kitchen. I'm on night duty and we're short-handed. Preparing food for them for tomorrow. This is a small hospital. So far as we're able to determine now, no other nurses were about. The watchman? Well, go on, please, Nurse Rollins. Well, I was cutting bread and I had a sound in the children's ward. I went in and one of the other children was crying. I picked her up and took her out to the kitchen, gave her bread and jam. Worthy. Mary Margaret was in a bed when I come in and also when I returned with the other little girl after a bread and jam. I went over and kissed Mary Margaret. Yes. I thought Mary Margaret was asleep with the other girls. And the trolley with the empty Winchester bottles was standing alongside the wall. I saw it. And what's that? Weight. Then about ten minutes later. That would be at about fifteen minutes after midnight. Yes. I heard a dog barking and I was afraid I'd wake up one of the children. Why are the children here? Oh, various minor kids' diseases, influenza and so on. They're all very poor. As I glanced in the door, the first thing I noticed was that one of the Winchester bottles had been moved from the trolley. What's the trolley? Sort of a little table on wheels. Oh, yes. One of the Winchester bottles had been taken from it and I saw it lying in the corner. We have the bottle. Go on, Sister. Then I saw Mary Margaret was gone. I ran to her bed. Sure enough, she was gone. Had she been asleep? Oh, oh, yes. She didn't wake up even when I kissed her. Yes, Rowan's is tired. Oh, don't mind it, please. What did you do then? I run back to the kitchen through the switch that turns on all the lights. That's some of the watchmen in the main building, of course. I looked out the window. I saw what I thought might be a little nightgown. Then I ran into the wood again to see if I could have been mistaken. But it wasn't. She was gone. I cried out to the watchman Mary Margaret was gone. And he ran outside. Oh, he'd seen such a long time. He'd come back with us. It wasn't a nightgown I saw. Then what? Well, that's all, sir. I'd call the police. They're all there now, sir. The winches to Bortlet, did you see any fingerprints on it or anything? Well, I... There are two well-defined prints on it, which are apparently new. There are also quite a number of old ones, rather smudged. But the two are fresh. Why then? We think they're the murderous prints. This is from the murderous confession four months later. Of course, we had no idea of it at the time. I was outside the building. I admit I'd had something to drink. Investigations at the time of his arrest revealed that he had drunk six bottles of bitter beer, two double rums, a bottle of Guinness, and six or eight more bottles of bitter. But I wasn't drunk, really. I don't remember how I got to the hospital or why, but whenever I was looking in the window, I saw the nurse carrying the other kid to the kitchen and feeding her and bringing her back and kissing Mary Margaret and going out again. Then I thought I ought to go and see Mary Margaret. That's a nice name for a kid, isn't it? So I only laced my shoes and took him off, and I could hear the nurse singing to herself. And the outside door that leads to the ward was closed, so I just sneaked in and took her. She wasn't sure who I was, but she wasn't much scared at all, I didn't think. She started to laugh like, but I told her to stop. Or I picked up that Winchester bottle to see if there was anything you need to drink, but there wasn't. And I set it on the floor before I scooped Mary Margaret out of her cot. Nobody heard me, I'm sure. Oh yes, when I came back to get my shoes, I left them on the porch, there was a dog barking. I thought I'd make him stop, but he stopped anyway. I was halfway across the field when I saw the lights come on in the hospital and I hurried. Mary Margaret was still lying there by the stone wall. The sun was just rising when I went into the ward from which the child had been taken. The other children had been awakened and taken away, so I couldn't tell at that time which had been Mary Margaret's cot. The floor had been freshly painted a day or so before and the sun slanting across from one of the east windows showed me something that stopped me in my tracks. It was a collection of footprints and the fresh paint. Remember now, at this juncture I'd heard nothing of what you have just heard. I called Nurse Rowlands. Who's are those? I asked. I don't know, sir. I never saw them before. It's only because the sunlight's hitting them this way that they're too large to be one of the nurses. Stand away from them please. We'll have them photographed. Who's do you think they are, sir? Additional moves. I saw the Winchester bottle in question. There were two clear fingerprints on it. One of a left thumb and one of a left forefinger. The fingerprint photographer copied them at once after carefully powdering them with white zinc oxide. The bottle itself was a dark greenish glass. And we had our first collection of prints complete. But possessing a set of prints and placing your hand on a murderous shoulder are two different things. I talked with the Chief Constable. Yes, we have several thousand fingerprints on file here in Blackburn and the Lancashire Constabulary has a large collection too. I'll get copies of these prints down to a laboratory at once. And as soon as their prints are ready I'll pass them on to the Lancashire people. I've already passed the word to send them to the CRO at the moment. CRO? Or the Criminal Records Office? We ought to be of help. We've got a million or more prints all indexed. All I hope is some of us have the right one. If he's a habitual criminal who has any kind of record. Yes. But what else can we do? You've looked at the grass out there in the field where she was found, of course. Early this morning. Nothing there. The dew's taken care of that. And no fingerprints on the child's cut or anywhere else so far as we can find. You think it was a local man? No way of knowing or even guessing now. Yes. What are you going to do? Ask everyone did you murder a little girl last night, sir? Not very satisfactory. Not very. The bottle. What about the bottle? The fingerprints. Oh. Yes. Meaning what? The other fingerprints only. I've been thinking of that. Things positively gummy. Probably nine million other prints on it. Well, we'll have to check them all, sir. All of them. Well, we can't get very far till we find out who made the others. Have to do it. It'll take years. It has to be done, sir. Of course. Well, it has to be done. Checking and identifying is... What was it the American staff officers used to say? It's of the essence. Of course, but... Cheer up, sir. I'm asking for a crew of fingerprint technicians to be sent up from Scotland Yard. They'll make short work of it. I hope. I wonder how many there'll be to check. Millions, I'm afraid. Every nurse in the place that might have touched it, every workman... Every patient. Not only the present ones, but everyone that's been here since the bottle was washed last. Doctors. Technicians. Blacks. Watchmen. Deliverments. Cleaners. Relatives. Every one that's been here since this bottle was last washed. We checked them all. There were no fingerprints on record at Queen's Park Hospital, so we checked everyone. It was grueling work. And we were obliged to take more than 3,000 prints before we were satisfied that we had everyone. Some of them required journeys as far away as Blackpool and Lancaster, but at last... It took a month and a day. We were satisfied that we knew all about the owner of each print on the bottle. That is all except the newest pair, the thumb and forefinger of the left hand of a person unknown. I give it to you as my considered opinion that those are the murderous prints. I must agree with you. No, the only ones that we don't know about. I'm very likely his all right. All we have to do is to identify him. Yes. There aren't any other clues yet. None. I understand the whole turn of Blackburn's upset. It's been a good deal of, shall I say, unrest. Yes, I know. One of my sergeants was hit by half a brake last night. He hurt badly? No. He was cycling back to the town and he heard someone mutter something about lazy corpse. That was all he heard. Good thing he was wearing his helmet. One of my men had a telephone call from a woman he didn't recognize at his home this morning. They want action. You've passed the word? To whom? Institutions and so on. To every police force of any size in England. I asked them to print every drunk, every unaccounted for dead man, every suicide, every tramp. And no results? None yet. Of course they're still coming in. They have much confidence in it. You think it was a local man? Well... I wonder. Well, I think you'll agree that whoever it was knew a great deal about the hospital here and its layout. Seems reasonable. I wish we had fingerprints of everybody if they're having some of those places on the continent. No, I don't either. No, we just got rid of it, like we can only have things like that with another hitler. Which God forbid. I mean... Well? I don't know. How? Let's fingerprint everybody. You are listening to Whitehall 1212, which is written and directed by Willis Cooper. The story today, like all the stories heard on Whitehall 1212, is compiled from the official files of Scotland Yard. And is true in all respects except the name to the participants. Inspector Crawford of Scotland Yard has just made an unheard of suggestion to the chief constable of the city of Blackburn in a desperate effort to unmask the murder of the little girl Mary Margaret. The chief constable is speaking. But you can't do that, my dear Crawford. Can't do what? Why force everyone? Force anyone to be fingerprinted? Not in England? Yes, you can. How? Well, not order them to do it, because if I know Englishman, you won't get anywhere. I should say not. They'd mob you. If I order them to? It's never been done before. Fingerprinting a whole town? I'm afraid it'll have to be done, sir. Crawford, look here. This town has a population of 130,000. And one of them is a murderer? Yes. Particularly atrocious, no? Well... And everyone in the town wants to turn him out? I don't think it can be done. It's never been done. That's true. No. That's not to say it can't be done. Would you print everyone? Every man. Yes, I'm sure it's a man. Try all the men first and then... Oh, I don't think it's a woman, Crawford. Those prints are obviously a man's. And that footprint we found. That's a man's footprint. Well, shall we get started then? I never heard of that. Have you any alternate suggestions? Well... Have you any alternate suggestions? But... What's to be gained by waiting? Haven't enough policemen. We'll get them. Don't you think the people of Blackburn want to find this fellow chief constable? Well... Well, indeed. We fail. We? Everybody's failed up to now. Yes, I know. I realize it's an unprecedented thing, sir. I know, I know, but we have an important set of fingerprints, which we all suspect to be the criminals. If we can find the duplicate of that set here, we'll be doing no more than our duty, sir. I know, but to... To fingerprint a whole town? I else will be found him. But... But in England, sir! I can't believe that an Englishman will stand aside when it's his obvious duty to lay a child's murder by the heel, sir. I'm afraid I can't explain to you how unheard of it is to set such an enterprise in motion in England. The Englishman is perhaps the freest man on earth. To indulge in such a thing as freely handing his fingerprints to the police is most incredible. Even for such a cause. But the Englishman is also an unusual being. While we had expected opposition to the scheme, we were amazed at the response. The mayor of Blackburn spoke to the townspeople. Ministers and their pulpits urged everyone to cooperate. The wives of the citizens urged their men to give their fingerprints. I got 20 more men from Scotland Yard. The chief constable of Blackburn supplied 20 more. The Lancashire Special Constabulary sent volunteers, boy scouts, girl guides. Everyone cooperated. In order to eliminate trips to the police stations, we sent pairs of constables and others to every house on the electoral rolls to urge every man to give us his prints. The first man to be printed was the mayor publicly. His example was a good one. Many women volunteered to give their prints also. But it was not as easy as I expected. A few Englishmen at first. No, you may not have my fingerprints, sir. I've lived for 77 years in this town and no man has ever seen my fingerprints. Am I a criminal, sir? It took three of us to talk that one out of it. What if when you find my fingerprints and all the others aren't the right ones, sir? We'll destroy them, sir. We'll put them all in a palping machine and chop them up into little bits and bury the bits. Nurse Rollins from Queens Park was one of our most devoted assistants. I only put her under this stubborn fella. Come on, Mr. Hodges. Don't you want the help? I ain't going to let anybody take my fingerprints like a dumb criminal now. Don't you want to help find the beast that killed little Mary Margaret, Mr. Hodges? Now? I didn't kill her. Of course you didn't. Neither did I. And I gave them my fingerprints straight away, Mr. Hodges. And so did the rector of St. Pancras. Why should he give his a rector? St. Pancras is the patron saint of children, Mr. Hodges. Oh, is he now? Don't you like children, Mr. Hodges? Being as old as I've got three, old enough to be your father, your mother either, and nine grandchildren. Jody would have been 47 from next Wittentown if he hadn't died of yellow jondish in America and fourteen great-grandchildren. Do you think I don't love children than nurse Maggie Rollins? Answer that. But I won't have no fingerprints taken and that there's the last word. I'm a Lankisherman, and a Lankisherman's home is his castle. Wouldn't your little great-granddaughter Sheila be just about the age Mary Margaret was, Mr. Hodges? How old was she? She was just four, Mr. Hodges. Sheila was four the day before yesterday. Oh, my... Now, just give me your left hand, Mr. Hodges. Here, we'll press your thumb down here on the ink. And then... My finger now. Don't forget my finger. Just the same age as little Sheila. I wonder if I could buy Sheila a little box of sweets over there at Yon Counter. Are you wondering about the murderer? Well, I know about all the fingerprinting, of course. Everybody did, but somehow or other, the cops missed my house. They come the next day and I said, No, you've got my dabs, I said, and you've thrown them away because I wasn't the one. And I laughed. Well, it was a great hulking young constable from Scotland Yacht itself, and he'd never been outside London yet and so he believed me. And anyhow, you can't make an Englishman give the cops his fingerprints. And so we missed him. We missed a few others, too, although we had a pack of prints that would strangle a horse. Not there. And that was after two weeks of checking the cards. I'm afraid not. Those are the fingerprints of every male between the ages of 16 and 60 in Blackburn. No, they're not, sir. Hey, what's that? That isn't all of them, sir. Corresponding with the electoral rolls, Miss Rollins? They're 30,000 cards here now. I don't care, that isn't all of them, sir. Begging your pardon. Who've we missed? There was hundreds of servicemen on leave here in Blackburn the night Mary Margaret was murdered, sir. Soldiers, sailors... They've all gone back to their stations now. There's a record of them, sir. That might be... Well, they're all over the world. They're a lot of work. Let's get the circulars out. Circular letters to every organization from which any man was known to be on leave in Blackburn on the night of May 15 to 16, 1948. And about 190 letters with the question fingerprints and an urgent request for reply. Then on the chance that there might have been one unaccounted serviceman in Blackburn that night, letters to the police departments in every section of the world where British servicemen were stationed. Letters to the police of Canada, South Africa, Germany, Japan, Denmark, Italy, and a score of other places where the criminal might be. 261 letters. We didn't find him. All the fingerprint cards had been destroyed. We didn't have anything. And the town was muttering again. Three months had gone by, not a trace of the murderer, except the anonymous fingerprints had been discovered. No wonder they muttered. We had nothing. We thought of another thing. There were some 600 men living in Blackburn, BPs. Displaced persons who'd made their way to Blackburn in one way or another. There were records of them. They all marched into the borough hall together and asked to be fingerprinted. We didn't miss one. We didn't find anyone out. The murderer must have laughed to himself. They didn't look in the right place. A new issue of ration books was about to be made. The old ones were to be turned in with their fingerprint identification. Each one was examined and compared for the copies of the prints on the bottle. It was another hopeless task. But if we had to do it the hard way, that man should be caught. Nurse Rowland's found him. On duty in the borough hall, the fourth day of the examination, on the 46,253rd book. I've got him! In the next morning, exactly 90 days after the crime was committed, the Chief Constable and I walked together to 21 Marfield Terrace and arrested the owner of the prints. One Lionel Tomlinson would have been discharged from the army as a soldier with character indifferent a week before Mary Margaret was murdered. We took away with us one of the prisoner's wool army socks. The forensic laboratory matched fibers from it to fibers found on the footprints on the floor of the ward. And the fingerprints matched perfectly. We found out why he did it. Why he murdered for you old Mary Margaret? Quite simple, gents. She's my niece. Don't laugh, gents. I was sorry for the poor little tack. I was home about two days when I hurt my half-brother and my sister-in-law talking about her. They hadn't any money. Not a father in. They said they'd have to send Mary Margaret away when she'd come back from the hospital. Give her up. You know, mates. I loved Mary Margaret. I... I didn't want to have that happen to my darling little niece. I loved her. So that night when I got squeaked out into the hospital and got her and killed her... I... I hope it didn't hurt her. What else was that to do? The trial attracted a great deal of attention throughout the British Commonwealth. Many thought he should be released. But determination of the insanity of a criminal is judged by laws which were passed more than a century ago. Thus, after the greatest exposition of the infallibility of the human fingerprint as a clue in British history, Lionel Tomlinson was brought to trial at Castle Lancaster on the 15th of October, 1948. Five months after he had murdered little Mary Margaret. Four days later he was sentenced to be hanged. And the sentence was carried out in December of the same year. You have heard another true story of Scotland Yard told on Whitehall 1212. Heard today Lester Fletcher, as Chief Inspector Crawford. Others in the order of their appearance, Harvey Hayes, Winston Ross, Catherine Hines, Gordon Stern and Guy Spoff. This is Lionel Rico speaking. Whitehall 1212 is written and directed by Willis Cooper. Whitehall 1212 was presented from the NBC studios in Radio City. This is NBC, the national broadcasting company.