 For the first time in its history, Scotland Yard opens its secret files to bring you the true stories of some of its most celebrated cases. Research for Whitehall 1212 is from Percy Hoskins, chief crime reporter of the London Daily Express. The stories for radio are written and directed by Willis Cooper. Now this is the voice of the custodian of Scotland Yard's famous black museum, chief superintendent John Davidson. Good afternoon. This is a man's handkerchief. I doubt you've ever seen a handkerchief so stained with blood. I don't believe I have. I just like to touch it. They should really wash these things, shouldn't they? If the young man who owned it had washed it, he wouldn't be where he is now. No, I don't know exactly where he is, but I've been led to believe it's an unpleasant place. His body is buried, as Mr Justice Coburn said, within the precinct of a prison in which he had been confined. That was Pentendale Prison, where a great many murderers are buried. Now here is Chief Inspector Godfrey Alan Rouse, who had most to do with the case number 8-42426. Yes, I'd been on duty all night. No, I'd had no adventures at all, except an interview with a sad fat man who accidentally set his bed on fire, and his landlady was annoyed with him. I don't believe the poor man who smokes cigarettes in beds, and I was shambling sleepily along a certain street in the West End, thinking how nice it is to go to bed at the height of the full fresh fragrant morning when my arm was rudely seized. My thoughts of bed vanished with a minor popping sound as I recognized the features of Mr Alistair Crumbine, proprietor and chief clerk of the nearby Forensia Hotel. I gathered for Mr Crumbine's gobbling that someone was violently dead in his hotel, sighed and followed him. There a functionary conducted me by means of a frighteningly creaky lift to the top floor of the Forensia, and preceded me into a room, the door to which was standing open. Across the neat bed lay the body of a dead woman, a pawlingly battered about the head and upraised arms. She was a thin middle-aged woman and there was no sign of blood on her. She'd been carefully washed off, although the bed linen was spattered freely. There was no sign of a weapon in the room, except for the carnage on the bed was quite tidy. A door leading to what I assumed was a private veranda was closed, locked, I afterwards found, from the inside. The functionary and I stood and looked silently, and then I heard the lift creak again, and Mr Alistair Crumbine was there. Who is she, I asked, Mr Crumbine? She's dead, isn't she? It was no doubt she's dead, is there? I reassured him and he burst into lamentation. Oh, my poor hotel! What's my poor hotel going to do with people getting murdered in it? What's to happen to me? What happens to your guests, Crumbine? He's a guest, isn't he? Who is she? Oh, the poor lady, in my hotel. She's dead. There, she's dead. Who is she? Who is she? It's Lady Mads Johnston. She's dead. I knew her, Lady Johnston. Lady Mads Johnston, a well-known philanthropist, widow of Sir Lawrence Johnston, a former member of London County Council, reputed to keep a large box of crisp, one-pound notes for handing out to indigents at all times. What are you doing, Alistair? The box of money is here at all right. Mean there is a box of money? Look. You may believe it or not, but there was a great, sweats, ginger beer case still bound with iron straps under the bed, and it was absolutely running over with fresh, crisp, bank of England-pound notes. Wonder if it's all there. Wonder if he took a fistful. Who? Chapter Ditherin. Wonder who did it? In my hotel. When did it happen? The maid found her when she brought up a cup of tea at seven o'clock, like she always does. Darjeeling tea, she always drank the poor thing, nasty, strong stuff. At seven in the morning. Yeah. And then the maid came and woke me up, and I did her, I did her at home at once. At a seizure, she said. Elsie Weed from St. Louis, USA. The maid, I had a seizure. She say I? Only if she was going home. I know, I know, a seizure. Anybody else been here? I don't think so. No. Who was that man who brought me up here? He's been here. Oh, the fellow's the porter. He operates the lift. He here? Eh? Was he here? Oh, he must have been, wasn't he? Has he any ideas? What does he know? I'm afraid I didn't ask him. Get him, I want to talk to him. Oh, oh yes, of course. Get him. Yes, yes, of course. Fellow's, I say fellow's. Isn't there a bell on that lift? Oh, yes. Well, use it then. Oh, he'll hear me. Fellow's. So will everyone else in the hotel. Oh, do you think so? You'll have everyone up at the place here, and I don't want them. Ring the bell. Oh, yes, of course. He'll be here at once. Where does, where does that door lead? What door? Oh, to the veranda. Wonder if he got in that way. Don't open the door. Oh, don't be careful, you'll fall. Be careful. What on earth happened here? Oh, I should have told you. Oh, I hope you didn't fall. Oh, no, you're still there. There's no floor on the veranda. What? We have the carpenters here. You know, they'll make a few changes and new floors in the veranda, isn't you? A man could break his neck here. It is quite a fall, wouldn't it? Where are these carpenters? Have they got ladders? Ladders? Yes, of course they've got ladders. I don't think they'd get up here. Do you suppose it was a carpenter that did it? Oh, but they all go home at night. They leave the tools and... I say. She might have been struck by a hammer, wouldn't she? Let's see. Might very well have been. What about their tools? I was saying, they leave them in a stardom locked down on the ground floor. We shall go down there and look presently. They're sent to these carpenter chats. Do you suppose? I say, do you suppose one of them could have done this? Gwen, they do use hammers, don't they? We shall see. I think we should have them here at any rate. By all means, old boy. Oh, here's the lift. I'll tell the fellows to ring up the carpenter foreman and head him. Oh, fellows, would you... Oh, he didn't tell us, is it? Good morning, Sipoli. Where's fellows? Good morning, sir. He went home. His time was up. I'm on duty now, sir. I'm here. Oh, oh dear. Who is it? Sipoli, sir. I'm the day man. Fellows went home. Get him back here at once. Yes, sir. But I don't know where he lives, sir. He's south-end, I think, sir. Amherst me? Oh, perhaps it's Shippet Bush. I'm not sure, sir. Houston? Well, do you know where that carpenter foreman lives? Get him at once. Yes, sir. So I'm not sure... Here, here, here. Wait a second. Yes, sir. Sipoli isn't as bright as he might be. No, sir. What's this, Lady Johnston? Morning, Lady Johnston. She's sick. So what's the matter with Lady Johnston? Please go, Sipoli. Oh, I'm all right, though. Yes, sir. Shall I, sir? Oh, is something wrong with Lady Johnston? She hurt. Is she...? What shall I tell the boy? He'll find out sooner or later. She's dead, sir. Oh. What's the matter with her? She's been killed. Who killed her? We don't know, Sipoli. Now, please go on. I know. I know. It's one of them carpenter's that's killed her. That's why you want me to go find them. I know what you're talking about. I know. I know. Be quiet, Sipoli. Well, who did they? Tell me who did. Tell me. Now, go on, Sipoli. Yes, Mum. Sir. Poor Lady Johnston. I know. I heard him. I heard him talking in the night. Well. Well, indeed. Do you have many like that? Poor Sipoli. Still, the boy may be right, you know. About what? About the carpenter, of course. Why? Well, who said she was battered to death for the hammer? Hammer's a carpenter's tool, isn't it? Weapon? I said she might have been beaten with a hammer. She might have, I said. Well. I don't know other hammers in your hotel. The carpenter's has the only one. They're the ones who did it. They must be. They did it. Now, wait till we get them here. Don't you think so, Chief Inspector? I don't know. Well, who could have? I don't know that either. You wait till we get them here. You will see. Look here, old chap. Eh? Just run along to a telephone. We're going to bring up Scotland Yard. It's Whitehall 1212. Tell them there's been a killing here and ask them to send some people. And send who? The whom. They'll know whom to send. And tell them I'm here too, will you? And I want someone to relieve me. Yes, sir. What can I do then, sir? Then I suggest you go talk to Cipilli. Perhaps he and you can think up some good ideas together. I'm your man. Poor Lady Johnston. Whilst crumbine dashed down the stairs, which also creeped abominably, I sat myself down with Lady Johnston's corpse of think. These are the things I thought of. A, the good charitable lady had been killed in the night. Whoever did it had with the good lady, made a great deal of noise. Knows. Who heard the noise? And when? Did they recognize any voices? Someone who was familiar or had become familiar with the arrangements at the Farenti Hotel did it. Else, how had he known about Lady Johnston? How had he got in the room? That's sure to be outside that the veranda had been lost. And the veranda five floors above the street had no floor anyway. How did he improve to get in? Or had he not had to get in? Had he been inside all the time? And what has the night porter been doing? Suddenly, I must have a little talk with that night porter, and I remembered his name. Fellows. The man who had been relieved by the boy Cipilli and gone home to South End, or Hammersmith, or Shepherds, or perhaps Houston. The night porter would have a lot of questions to answer, I could foresee. Lady Johnston said not a word to me, but grinned horribly. There were a couple of spots on her face, the person who had washed her up at misch. Excuse me, my lady, I'm uttered, and went to look at the outer door. The key which had locked it was still in the lock where I had left it. The inside, my angel. I opened the door. The flawless veranda yawned above the five-storey to the street. Could it, could a ladder, I wonder, a carpenter's used ladder? I must see if that form and carpenter or his mates had been reached yet. I closed the door, locked it, went out, and ran to the lift. After a moment, it started up. Well, I reflected that would at least save time. I could ask Cipilli some of the questions that played me. Perhaps he might know something. I waited as patiently as I could. At last, it holded in sight. Hello, Cipilli, I said. I could see Cipilli staring up at me. Hello, Cipilli, I said. Well, you remember. But my name, sir. Well, thank you, sir. Hardly anyone remembers my name, sir. Joseph Adoniram Cipilli, it seems, sir. From Blackpool. Way up in Lancashire, sir. I don't know your name, sir, though. Well. Oh, no, don't tell me. I'll find out. Poor Lady Johnson. She didn't remember my name either. She always called me boy. I hate being called boy, don't you, sir? Yes, sir. Do you want to see Mr. Crumbine, sir? He's on telephone. He's calling the foreman carpenter, sir. Mr. Morris, like you said, only he can't get Mr. Morris on the telephone. And so he called Fellers. Fellers is the night porter, sir. And he lives in Kennington. Not south end, or half north, of course. Or Houston. No, Kennington. Kennington isn't far away. And Fellers will be right here in a minute. And maybe you'll know who killed poor Lady Johnson. She was so nice. But she always called me boy, instead of my right name, Joseph, I don't nire him. Don't you feel dreadfully sorry about her? I'll take you to the cellar, sir, whilst Mr. Crumbine's on the telephone. This is the cellar, sir. There. Nothing down here. Storm, sir. Will we keep the guests' trunks and boxes and everything, sir? Excuse me, sir, I beg your pardon, sir. Excuse me, sir. I'm always bothering the guests, sir. Mr. Crumbine tells me, and look here, Sir Belie, you're not bothering me. And besides, I'm not a guest, my man. Well, sir, I want you to know that I'm really not such a simpleton that Mr. Crumbine thinks I am. Now, look here, Sir Belie. He thinks I'm not quite right, sir. But I'm right all right. And I have the equivalent of a high school education, sir. Oh, really? Oh, yes, sir. I know elder by sir, up to binomial theorem, sir. And I'd wager Mr. Crumbine doesn't know that much about algebra. And I know Latin. Cosquitanemabutera catilina patiensianostra. That means how long, oh, Catiline, are you going to continue to try our patience? And I know Kipling quite well. Oh, there was a great student of Kipling. Excuse me, sir. There's a widow in Sleepy Chester, a week for her only son. There's a grave on the Popping River, a grave that the Burmans shun, and there's superdup proctivory to tell how the day was done. That's the grave of the Hundred Head. I know it all, but excuse me, sir. I forget so much. I think that's why Mr. Crumbine thinks I'm not quite right. I can't remember things. I tried for me to play test in the water, but right in the middle of the examination, I forgot. I've forgotten what I forgot, but they made me go away. That's the room there where they can't keep their tools. Wouldn't you like to look at it, sir? Oh, Mr. Crumbine's on the telephone. Well, goodbye, sir. I wonder if he heard anything last night, or has the poor beggar forgotten it. Well, I suppose you'll never know, poor kid. Hello, Chief Inspector. How did you get down here? The lift. Oh, simply take the little wrong place. I'm going to stack that. Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no. This is quite the right place. Did you get your people? The carpenters? No, but they'll be coming in. The fellow, yes, he's on his way. Turns out he lived in Kennington, noticed in the tall. What do you mean about the right place? The ones who'd be down here? I thought I'd have a look at this place where the carpenters store their tools. You do think it was the carpenters that did it? Where's this place? Just a step. Not locked up. Well, they go in an hour full day. Come on, I'll show you. Here they are. The carpenters? No, Chief. The tools. I'll have a look. Sores. Whatever these things are. Plains. Levels, drill braces, mitotoxic, hammers. I say let's have a look at these. Suspicious, eh? Suspicious, eh? Yes. Well, let's have a look. Look, sir. So is this one? There's only three. Three what? Hammers. Oh, hammers. Better. This one's clean. Beautiful. These carpenters, yeah? I mean it's clean. Oh. You mean like the old lady was. Carpenters don't usually wash their hammers, do they? I don't know. I'll tell you, they don't. Look at the others. See? Sawed us. Rust here. Paint. I see, but I know. Maybe it's new. I don't know. But I don't think so. Well, have you found them or the wedding, gentlemen? Whitehall 1212, to which you are listening. As compiled from records of authentic cases from Scotland Yard. The research is prepared by Percy Hoskins, chief crime reporter of the London Daily Express. The stories for radio are written and directed by Willis Cooper. In today's story, Chief Inspector Rouse has just discovered what may be the murder weapon in a cello storeroom. Now, back to the story itself. The people from Scotland Yard, for whom I had asked photographers, Singaporean men, all the rest, including a relief for me, had now arrived and I sent an earnest young constable back to the Yard with the extraordinarily clean hammer. The instructions to take it to the forensic laboratory people for a thorough examination. I sat down the corner of the cello with Alastair Crombein and fellows, the night portrait, held grave discussion. Good thing you got me before I got in the bed, sir. Why is that, fellas? That's how I got my eyes shut, sir. You'd never have worked with me up till Monday, sir. Good hand. Is today Sunday? As ever was, sir. We all ought to be in church, singing hymns or praying or going on like they do, sir. As I say, sir, it's a good thing you found me. He's sitting there eating the last of my liberal onions and my Sunday night shirt. All right, you'd never have waked up until eight o'clock Tuesday night and Monday being my night off, sir. At which time you'd have been sacked? Because you're due on the job at Hofstost Six, my dear fellows. Sorry, sir. That's why we weren't able to reach those carpenters. All at non-conformist, careful, sir. Well, you can arrest them Monday, Chief Inspector. Why should I arrest them? Well, it was their hammer that Lady Johnston was murdered with, wasn't it? We don't know that yet, you know. Wait like here for a little while, sir. That should be certain, you know, sir. You know what, Sippley's been saying that. Oh, that's nonsense. What's Sippley been saying? If you listen to everything Sippley's been saying, what's Sippley been saying? He said he recognized them, sir. At least three or four times, he told me, sir. What's Sippley been saying? Oh, a lot of nonsense. What, fellows? Well, sir, excuse me, Mr. Cumberland. He's been hearing voices. Voices? Voices? What kind of voices, fellows? Well, may I tell him, sir, what Sippley's been saying? If you want to make a fool of yourself. I believe him, sir. Lachlan, I wouldn't tell a lie. There's some brains enough to tell a lie. Well, what's he been saying about voices? He's been hearing them, sir, nearly every night for a week. What sort of voices, fellows? Sebelette, let's have him in here and ask him. He's gone, sir. I met him when I came in. I sent him out for some coffee for all these Scotland Yard-tellers. Oh, thank you, sir. We're all very grateful. Wonder where all my men are. All over the place. Well, sir, Sippley's been telling me... He sleeps here at night, sir, on the other end of the cellar. That's three times. I think it says he's been... He's been waked up by strange men and voices whispering. He's bummed. Now, wait, sir. I thought I heard them, myself. And Sippley and me being... Oh, he'd gone hunting for them all over the hotel. Fine. Well, no, sir, but I believe, sir, that one stole at Emma, if they did, and killed poor Lydie Johnson with it. Sippley swears he's heard them. Unless it's a... What is it, a hallucination? Might be, you know? He's been waking me up every night, practically. You don't believe it. Well, clues sometimes come from the strangest places. It might have been somebody planning, too. Yeah. Still, but he's never found anybody. It'd be extraordinary if you did, fellow. Make a phone, sir. Isn't that simple? But, sir... But it's interesting enough to make me want to know more. I can assure you of that. Yes, please, sir. Nonsense. The man's dark. Well, we'll see. And at that moment, the earnest young Constable, I'd sent to the laboratory with the two clean hammer arrived. Well, Constable, I said? Yes, sir. They've examined it. There's a preliminary report, sir. I was being a little too shallow at home. No, sir. And? No, sir. Why? Well, should I be for the gentleman, sir? Eh? Oh, crumb, I'm... Well, it's your hotel, and fellows. Perhaps we may find your whisperer. It really is, sir. Speak up, Constable. Well, sir, first the laboratory said the hammer looked too clean to be true. Ah, it was. It had been wiped clean. Exactly what I said. Yes, sir. Well, when they started to examine it under a low-power microscope, sir... What did they find? A drop of blood. A blood stain, sir. Wow, wow, wow. Yes, sir. Under one of the claws here, where the cleaning rag missed it. The type? A, B, sir. Under what type, Lady Johnston, sir? We got a sample, sir. That's what took me so long. What type? That identical, sir. This is the weapon she was killed with. Constable, I... There's something else, sir. What's that, Constable? Well, sir... Will you, gentlemen, excuse me for a moment, please? Oh, yes, yes. Well, Constable? I stopped by the CRO, sir. The criminal records, I was, hmm? Well, that's quite right. There should be a check made of every person concerned and every crime investigated, of course. I have some checks, sir. Good. Here. Both these people? Yes, sir. Let's see. Better turn your back to them, sir. Yeah. Combine the other stuff. No record. I'm glad of that. Yes, sir. Read the other. Read the other. Follows George. No record. Well... The other one, sir. Sipply, Joseph Atteniom. Oh, no. Read it, sir. I needn't need to more than glance at the card. Sipply, Joseph Atteniom, has been convicted twice. Once for robbery, once for causing grievous bodily harm, both of them is not quite right. And when Sipply returned with the coffee for the scoffing yard men, the earnest young Constable and I called him aside. In Sipply's own room we showed him the card containing the notation from the criminal records office. He looked at me with something of a sneer, and his voice wasn't the same. Well, Cop, I suppose you want to search me? I turned away while the Constable frisked him, as the American put it. Nobody said anything. When I turned back, Sipply was grinning at me. The Constable looked at me in horror. There on the little table before him lay a bloodstained handkerchief. It was in his pocket, sir. Don't let that give you any ideas, Chief Inspector. I was boxing the day before yesterday with good old fellows, and he bloodied me naws. Ask him. Get him Constable, please. Yes, sir. Mr. Fellowes? Fellowes! Come in here, please, Mr. Fellowes. All right! Come in! Ask him. What's wanted, sir? Fellowes, were you boxing with Sipply here the day before yesterday? Yeah. Oh, yes, sir, I was. Say? Did you? Give you a bloody nurse, didn't I, sir? And he is the handkerchief I softed it up with. You've been carrying that wretched thing about in your pocket all this time? But when we sent the bloodstained handkerchief to the laboratory, they found the blood on it was not Type A, Sipply's own, but Type AB, which was Lady Johnson's. Confronted with this anomaly, Sipply made a statement. Yes, it's her blood. Yes, I killed her. I'm sorry, I didn't get all of the blood of the hammer. I made up the story of the people whispering, so if I couldn't blame it on the carpenters, there'd be somebody else. They'll find the handkerchief I used for my blinos on floor of my room under the rug by my bed. I just pocketed the wrong one. They both looked alike. It's no good I give up. I'm mad at the old fool. Why? I'll tell you why, because everyone said I wasn't quite right, because nobody would bother to learn my name. Joseph had a nirom Sipply. They called me boy, just like the old lady did. Boy. So I killed her. I wish I could kill all of you. Didn't get any of the money though. Fellows came along too soon, looking for the people that whispered. So I went along with him. We didn't find anybody. Boy. Boy indeed. Not quite bright indeed. Well, I almost got away with it. Didn't I? Almost. Joseph had an irons full he was hanged at Penteville prison, and his body's buried in the precincts of the prison. The boy who was not quite bright. He wasn't a boy though. He was 27 years old, so he looked much younger, as the prison surgeon who made the post mortem examination said. Paired today on Whitehall 1212 was Horace Brian, as Inspector Rouse. Others in the order of their appearance were Harvey Hayes, Morris Dalamore, Gordon Stern, Evan Thomas, and Lester Fletcher. This is Lionel Rico speaking. Whitehall 1212 is written and directed by Willis Cooper. This is NBC, the national broadcasting company.