 Good evening. This is Crime Classics. I am Thomas Highland. I'm going to tell you another true crime story. Listen. The sound you hear is that of a man having his right hand hook filed. It's Saturday night in London Town, and he wants to be gleaming and presentable. The year is 1739, when a well-sharpened hook in London Town was considered prudent. And Captain Rath, that's R-A-T-T, besides being a drunkard, a scoundrel and a smuggler, was a prudent man. The young man handling the file is named Charles Drew Jr., and he is performing this intimate little iron mongry because he needs a favor done. Captain Rath can help him out. He can supply the youngster with an alibi, and Jr. badly needs one, for he has just shot his father dead. And tonight, my report to you on the shrapneled body of Charles Drew Sr. Crime Classics, a new series of true crime stories taken from the records and newspapers of every land from every time. Your host each week, Mr. Thomas Highland, connoisseur of crime, student of violence, and teller of murders. Now once again, Mr. Thomas Highland. The year, as I've told you, is 1739, and the place? Longmelford in the county of Suffolk. Longmelford was a small quiet town near London, and in it, a manor, and in the manor a high vaulted room of roaring fire, great shadows, and flying buttresses. Directly beneath the buttress that flew toward the west, two men, father, son, Charles Drew Sr., Jr. Son? Yes, father? The time has come for you and I to have a talk. I'm grateful. There are things vexing me. Perhaps what I have to tell you will answer your vexation. I'm very fortunate. I've tried to be a good father. A most excellent father. There's no one richer than you in Longmelford. Which is what I want to talk with you about. I know. I've drawn my latest will. This. What a gentle and most excellent father I have. Have you ear to what they say of you in the square? No. What do they say? That you are gentle and most excellent. What of the will? I'm leaving everything to your five sisters, and to you sixpence, to lend, to spend, to start your fortune. But the last will, the one before this, you left me everything. Not only a kind word to my five sisters. That was when you were eleven. Now you are nineteen. And to good, son? To whom good? To you good. No. To the cutthroats and smugglers with whom you cut. It is not so. This is so. I know it. You can sort with people of ill-fame. And also with Mr. Richardson's housekeeper. Shall I explain this of Mr. Richardson's housekeeper to you? Could be well. She is a most excellent housekeeper, and I wish to employ her for our own household. And this you have been trying to do for the last year? She demands high payment. A family can afford high payment. But I personally cannot, father. Not until I inherit your fortune. And which with this new will will never be. Father. I don't scare, son. Wave that gun or... A smattering of intelligence concerning seventeen hundred and thirty-nine ballistics. Ammunition was chiefly of two types. Round or irregular. The former was manufactured by dropping chunks of molten lead from a great height. And when it reached the vat of water at the bottom of flight, it was round. Due to centrifugal forces and gravity. Among men who puttered with this sort of thing, round shot was considered pretty fancy. Mostly guns were loaded in this era by whatever iron junk was to hand. It should be recorded that Charles Drew Jr. had stopped at a small junkyard on his way to talk with his dad. This is the reason the coroner found numerous pieces of irregular junk iron in dad's corpse. Let's see what dad's son is up to now. Seen Ye Olde Bunnery. A rundown bake shop on Abernathy Lane. The time? Two hours later. Principles? Charles Drew Jr. and Mr. Humphrey. Bun Baker. That brings you to Ye Olde Bunnery, Charlie. I want to know a thing. And that is what? Humphrey. How would you like a hundred pounds? You ever say a hundred pounds? All you must do is say you killed a man. I killed a man? I killed a man. My hundred pounds, please. You must say you killed my father. I killed your father. My hundred pounds... To the police. She aren't me. Two hundred pounds now and two hundred pounds after you've been to the police. You killed your poor old dad, Charlie? With this pistol. Leave you to be a very rich man? If someone were to go to the police and said he killed my father, he would be rich too. With his neck in the jibbit. I would guarantee that the man would be released. Inside of a week he would be released. There are jailers who would release such a man, persuaded correctly, with enough money. A guarantee, eh? I know a guarantee. Write me a confession that you killed your poor dear old dad. I will hide it. I will go to the police and confess the deed. If I'm still in jail in a week, I will tell the jailer there to find your confession. Wrap me up for half a dozen of your excellent buns, Humphrey. And I will give you two hundred pounds, plus the price of them. Thereupon Humphrey plucked a quill from his favorite goose in the back goose coop, sharpened it, and presented it to Charlie. With it the lad rode out his confession, paid up, and left. Humphrey waited for his wife, got permission to leave the shop, stopped at his house for a moment, then walked into the local constabulary, and made history with this statement. If you boys are looking for a corpus, try 26 Bloom Street. If you're wondering what his name is, it's Charles Drew Sr. If you're wondering who did the murder on him, it's me, and my name is Humphrey. The police, upon arriving at the appropriate room at 26 Bloom Street, understood immediately that foul play had been done. One of the constables was assigned to look in on the household of Mr. Humphrey, and there saw the Humphrey children at play, at Thistle-de-Doux, a game usually played with marbles, but by the Humphrey children played with pieces of iron junk, which latter were of a size that could easily be rammed down the muzzle of a gun. The gun was there too, under a pillow on Mr. Humphrey's side of the bed. Mrs. Humphrey, who in the meanwhile had returned home, shook her head philosophically when apprised of the situation. It is recorded that Mrs. Humphrey's parents had both been put away as confirmed smugglers, a felony against the Crown. The next day, in jail... Nice of you to visit me, Charlie. Yes. What news do you bring? When am I to be released? I went to see Sir Roger Fireplace. Wow, he's Sir Roger. He did. It is a pity too, for he would have gotten your release in an ounce for a few hundred pounds. Don't forget, laddie, I've got your confession. You've got till Sunday. The youngster, however, knew another man of note, Sir Chauncey Fenwick. Sir Chauncey was compassionate and understood the situation exactly, but unfortunately had just had one of his periodic fallings out with the magistrate's wife. But, Sir Chauncey did not send the lad away empty-handed. He suggested an old sea dog named Captain Rhett, with two teeth. What's the file, Mr. Drew? You'll be missing me, you can be scraped and merished. I'm very sorry, Captain Rhett. What have I been to? I travelled here to London to talk to you. You see, Sir Fenwick sent you to me. Sir Fenwick took five hundred pounds and said he could do nothing with it. You're my last resort, Captain Rhett. We bid dear, Mr. Drew. Aye. No. What can old Captain Rhett do for you? Do you have any influential friends? What be you needing? An alibi. For yourself? For a friend. Aye. It is always for a friend. What about him? He confesses he killed my father. And he be your friend? By killing my father he made me rich. I bear him no malice. And for him you wound an alibi. Why? Why not let him rot? Why, Zanny? You see... You kill your daddy, Zanny. Keep the hook, Captain. You almost stuck me. Pardon, young gentleman. An alibi you wanted it. For a friend. You see what? That my friend is making a mistake. But he is having hallucinations that he did not kill my father because he was with you the night my father died. And where, Mr. Drew? Will that leave you? Since one has confessed to the crime it is doubtful whether I would be charged with it. A sly one. Be into a sly one, young gentleman. Be into it. I'll travel down to the jail with you and have a talk with your friend. How's that? Very good. I... I'll need 500 pounds for expenses. Oh, yes. Now? Yes. Let this waste in the Saturday night and all coming down here to the dungeon speaking to you, Mr. Humphrey. But I don't mind. And you're going to furnish me an alibi, Captain. This be a strange one. I explained it all to you, Captain. You kill your dad. This one here says he'd own it. Now the both of you want me to see he couldn't have done it because he was with me. That lad thought it up. He's the bright one. Not me. My plan will work. By the time you get Humphrey out of here and the police begin to dig a bout again I'll be in Paris. Lost. I will change my name and with my fortune I can... For your fortune I will do it. I gave you 500 pounds. Ah, the pittance. Your fortune, Mr. Drew. Except what he's promised to me. What about it, lad? What? I know. Hey, lad! Listen, talking to both of you. It's Saturday night, Charlie. What will you do? It's Saturday night, Charlie. I've got your confession hidden away. And tomorrow is Sunday. What will you do? And they looked at each other there in the dungeon. The jailed and the young visitor. And the question hung there. What would Charlie do? It's Saturday night. And tomorrow is Sunday. What will you do, Charlie? You are listening to Crime Classics and your host, Thomas Highland. Tomorrow night hear the premiere performance of 21st Precinct. A new hard-hitting mystery series revealing the inner workings of the world's largest police force. Precinct produced by CBS Radio Team that gave you gangbusters. It's a program you'll want to listen for every Tuesday night on most of these same stations. Premier performance tomorrow night on CBS Radio. Now once again, Thomas Highland and the second act of Crime Classics and his report to you on the shrapneled body of Charles Drew Sr. It's a short, dusty road from Longmelford to London. Not only that, but these days it's hard to find. In its day, however, it was remarkable for two things. The brothers' shoe spooner, Dick and Harry, who embarked on a career of high-womanship on the morning of June 3, 1735, were hung on the eve of that same day from the highest branch of an elm at a fork on Longmelford Road. The other historic feature of Longmelford Road is the fact that on a Sunday morning, a young murderer, Charles Drew Jr. and his lady love rode a coach down its ruts. Oh, he's a renting, roving lad. He is a brisk and a bonny lad. He tied what may I will be with and follow the boy with the white cockade. Liz, what is it, dearie? Shut up. Everyone's singing that song, dearie. It's the rage. Please, shut up. Oh, duck, what's the matter? You're the cause of it all. Of what, all, duck? My killing, my father. You wanted a way to have all his money? I told you a way to do. That's all. Yes. Oh, duck, dearie. You'll see when we get to London what a time I'll show you. Make you forget. Since I've killed him, I've done everything wrong. Will you listen to Liz again? Will you? Surely I'll listen, poodle. Oh, duck. You're a monkey. Will you listen to Liz? Surely. When we get to London, we change your name and you forget about Humphrey. But if I don't get him out of jail tonight, he'll show the police my confession. But you'll be in London. Stop forgetting about him right now. All right. And so they fled to London town, little knowing that they had made a road famous. In London, they located a little-known hideaway called Bonhomme Carter's Thornie Bull Inn on the corner of Asquith and Chiswick. The lad registered under an alias Thomas Roberts. Liz, however, registered in her own name, Elizabeth Buthall. As this was going on back in Longmelford jail where Mr. Humphrey was, they transpired this. In one hour, Dorothy, I'm getting out of here. You be a fool. How a fool? Would you ever have so much money? What fun are you baking, Dorothy? This bun. The lad's given you money. Or let money, and he's good for more. Or we want. He's a rich one, that's true. We can get more money before you show his confession. How? You said he fled. His Liz told me they were off to London town. You could write him a letter and say as long as he paid you 20 pounds a day, to stay where you are. 20 pounds a day. That's a robbery. I will go to London and find Master Drew and present him with a letter. How will you find him? I will ask you in a part of him. London, eh? London. What of the children? Mrs. Nicolrod says she will talk out of them. In view alone in London. So Mrs. Humphrey went to London. A few observations about Mrs. Humphrey. Wash away the flower and the excess dough, put on long sleeves to hide the muscles made prominent from needing bundle, comb the hair, exchange shoes for boots, and Gertrude Humphrey was rather presentable. When she went to London Mrs. Humphrey did all of these things. Plus making a metal note not to laugh too much. Not only because of the horrible sound she made, but also because of the mischievous twitch it brought on which she could not control. So off she went to this place, to that, to this pub, to that, asking for a Mr. Drew. I should like to comment here that in 1739 the gin was of an excellent Holland distillation. However, its chemistry had a peculiar reaction with Gertrude Humphrey. Though she fought it, and though she laughed not at the most hilarious joke, including the historically famous one about Lady Mumbly in the troubadour, the gin caused her to twitch mischievously. This attracted to her London dandies who plied her with more Holland gin and who promised her help in finding Mr. Drew. And who never did. But Gertrude never lost sight of her mission. And one night in a pub in Covent Garden. Mr. Mr. What's your pleasure, dearie? What now, dearie? I want a gin. Gin for the lady. What's your name, dearie? Gertie. Gertie? Aye. Is your gin Gertie? Pick up. Where now, dearie? Is your name Drew? Is that what you want my name to be? I'm looking for Mr. Drew. Mr. Drew. Is there a Mr. Drew? Yes. Oh, now, Gertie. I've the one who's bought you the gin. Yes. My name is Drew. You like the Drew I'm looking for. Why do you say that? I'm the fellow who's bought her the gin. Here's a guinea-malade. Find another lady who likes gin. I will, like Governor. Thank you. Now, now, why do you weep, pretty one? Always cry and beautiful things. Gin for the lady. Now, now, now, stop that weeping. Here's your gin. I say, Mr. for Swink, you have? Is that truly your name? Truly Lady Bird. It is. Lady Bird. And you were looking for me? My name is Drew, and you shouted for Mr. Drew. What do you want of me? I've a letter for a man named Drew. Really? Oh, I want you there, but I really do. Then give it to me. You must turn your back now. Right you are. Yeah. You are a conniver, you are. His name really was Drew, Timothy Drew. It's one of those coincidences in history which gave rise to the old saw, truth is stranger than fiction, as they say. And he was a curious man and a proud man, jealous of his name, Drew. He had heard his name mentioned and he was forced to find out why. He read the letter then and there. He read it again a little later, and he was allowed to the police. And my Mrs. told you have gone to London with Liz Bathall. But Charlie, my lad, you shall pay me 20 pounds a day. Else I will tell that you have murdered your poor daddy. I have your paper which you confessed you did right where nobody but me knows where. So when my wife hands you this letter, you better give her money and find a way to keep it, giving it to her, your faithful servant, Mr. Walter Humphrey. Gentlemen, here in London is a man named Charles Drew. He has murdered his father and he bears the same surname as I. I cannot permit this deed to go unpunished. Even in 1739 the London police were thorough. And goaded by the enormity of the crime and spurred and accompanied by a man whose name had been besmirched, they combed the alleys, hostelries, pubs, dens. It was late on a moist Thursday morning when Timothy Drew happened into Bonhomme Carter's thorny bull inn on the corner of Asquith and Chiswick. Bonhomme Carter denied the presence of a Mr. Charles Drew but affirmed that Elis Bathall was most certainly a guest there. He directed Timothy to Elis's chambers. Open the door. A representative of the police. I didn't just say. May I come in? If you'll be the police, you can do anything, ain't that so? Thank you. I ain't done nothing. Is your name Elisabeth Bathall? It is. You know a man named Charles Drew? What's he look like? I don't know. Then how can I tell if I know him? What do you take me for? There's no one in my closet. What is this young man doing under your bed, madam? A man? What's he... Quiet woman. Is your name Charles Drew? I'm talking to you under the bed there. Is your name Charles Drew? Yes, sir. Come out from under there, sir. That's right, sir. My name is Charles Drew, sir. And did you kill your father? It would be a small life living as I have been. Yes. Yes, I killed my father. I have the original issue of a Gazette dated January 22nd, 1740, from which I'd like to read. The melancholy proof that when a man has abandoned all religious principles and has suffered his depraved passions to govern his reason was shown yesterday when Charles Drew Jr. was hanged in Longmelford. Since the hanging Elm on Longmelford Road had recently been demolished to make a keel for the British Navy, a new gibbet was erected. This gibbet was equipped with a new mechanical device invented by Mr. Douglas Langford of Eastburn. Mr. Langford is to be congratulated. In just a moment, Thomas Highland will tell you about next week's crime classic. The shrapneled body of Charles Drew Sr. tonight's crime classic was adapted from the original court reports and newspaper accounts by Morton Fine and David Friedkin. The music was adapted from themes of the period and conducted by Bernard Herman, and the program is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. Thomas Highland is portrayed on radio by Lou Merrill. Charles Drew Jr. was played by Terry Kilburn and Liz by Betty Harford. Featured in the cast were Paul Freese, Ben Wright, Irene Tedrow, William Johnstone, and Anthony Ellis, Bob LeMond speaking. And here again is Thomas Highland. Next week, the office directly below that occupied by Oliver Wendell Holmes is the scene of the catastrophe. The place? Harvard Medical School, the time, 1849. My report on the terrible deed of Dr. Webster. Thank you. Good night. It's big news when a former publisher, soldier, and congressman, the famous son of a famous father, stars in a new radio series. In this Wednesday night, you'll want to listen with all your might when CBS Radio stars Will Rogers Jr. as Rogers of the Gazette over most of these same stations. Rogers of the Gazette tells the story of a small town newspaper editor, what he stands for, and also what he refuses to stand for. Premier performance this Wednesday on CBS Radio. Stay tuned now for Gary Moore with Arthur Godfrey's Talent Scouts, which follows immediately over most of these same stations. And remember, America now listens to 110 million radio sets and listens most to the CBS Radio Network.