 Good evening. This is crime classics. I am Thomas Highland. I'm going to tell you another true crime story. Listen. The man in the striped pants and red galluses and celluloid collar is master of arts and doctor of medicine at Harvard University, as well as Irving professor of chemistry and mineralogy at this institution. Quite an educated man. A scholar. He has just turned on the faucet for a reason. He has just dissected the collie and he needs to wash away the blood. This is Thanksgiving week in the year 1849. The disector's name, John W. Webster. The disectees, George Parkman. Dr. Webster has just committed murder because Dr. Parkman was a stubborn man to the very end. And tonight my report to you on the terrible deed of John W. Webster and his crime that shocked the nation. Crime classics. A 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, Thomas Highland. The place is the Massachusetts Medical College on Grove Street in Boston in the year 1849. The college was a three-story building, the top two floors of which were reserved as offices and studies for the faculty. Dr. Webster occupied two high-ceiling rooms on the second floor, just below the suite occupied by Oliver Wendell Holmes. On the afternoon of November 23, Dr. Webster had a visitor, a man much taller and heavier than him, a man of scholastic bearing, a man whose spectacle ribbon touched lightly his mutton-chop whiskers. His name, Dr. George Parkman, doctor, lecturer, creditor. A man with a purpose. I want my money. You'll get it. When? When I've got it. I must tell you something, Dr. Webster. Oh, can't you just drink your tea and enjoy the afternoon? No. Very well then. Tell me something, Dr. Parkman. You're a dishonest man. Lovely autumn afternoon. A cheat. No surgery to do. A thief who beguiles his friends. I'm not only speaking for myself, you know. You mean you've been commissioned by my other creditors to come here and insult me? Now, doctor, can't we just chat? Of course we can. Gentleman to gentleman. Doctor to doctor. Of course we can. Lemon, sugar. Money. And what to chat about? Hmm, I know. In surgery, yesterday morning, a most peculiar thing. You're an amazing man, Dr. Webster. You combine your great skill with being a great rascal. Oh, come now. I lent you $450 as mortgage on your property. And you turn around and mortgage it again. Someone else for $600. How can you do such a thing? Quite simply, I need a sum of $1,000 and my property is not worth that much. Good day, doctor. Dr. Parkman. Yes? Are you going to the police? Yes. To disgrace me. I don't care about the results. I do. Dr. Parkman. Don't plead with me. Of course not. I've something in the kitchen I want to give you. It's about time. Quite. I should not have waited this long. Come along. Dr. Parkman, you couldn't give me an extension of a few weeks on- Certainly not. Certainly not. Just give me my money now. I have no money to give you and you want to disgrace me and I see no other way. No other way? And so Dr. Webster killed Dr. Parkman and as I have indicated, Dr. Parkman died hard. At this precise time the murderer must have observed several moments of contemplation and reflection on what he had done to consider it, to assess it, and being an intelligent man, an evaluation of the mess he had gotten himself into. Such moments of intimate musings we cannot know, nor as gentle folk should we intrude upon. So give Dr. Webster his moments and let us perform a superficial examination upon the man biographically. I have here a copy of the Boston Herald of the day. It gives Dr. Webster a neat spread on the front page and says, among other things, this. He was born in Boston about the year 1788. He came from a family of considerable wealth and respectability. He received the most liberal education and adopted the profession of medicine. In 1833 he visited the gay metropolis of Paris, France, and afterwards went to the Azores. In 1837 he was elected Irving Professor in the University at Cambridge, Massachusetts. When his father died he inherited forty thousand dollars. I would just like to depart from the paper for a moment to tell you that when he inherited this money, eggs were twelve cents a dozen. Forty thousand dollars which he wasted, which he threw heedlessly away into the vortex of fashionable life. Money went, debts came, and so on. Nothing novel. Money went, debts came. So did a wife and two children. So, having given Dr. Webster his moments, back to him now and observe him. Instrument of death still in hand. Pale. Still laboring for breath. Suddenly a murderer. Instrument of death no longer in his hand, but no less a murderer. Hello Dr. Webster. Well, I'm here. You haven't forgotten have you? Uh, what? The tea. You said come to tea. Oh yes, yes, yes. I remember. Well, aren't you going to ask me in? No. But you said come to tea and you said you would sell me a ticket to your lectures. Oh, I'm sorry. Come in. Come in. Sit down, my dear. You were teasing. The tea things are already and you've already poured. Miss Montgomery, my dear. Yes, doctor? Drink your tea and the tickets are five dollars for three lectures. I know how much the tickets are. And you know what? What? You've forgotten the cream. I know where the cream is in the kitchen. Miss Montgomery? Yes, doctor, dear. You don't want tea, do you? Not really. Then pay for your tickets and get out. Are you serious? Yes. There will be a vacant seat in the front row for your next three lectures. Goodbye. Hello, Mr. Littlefield. Mr. Littlefield, I said... I heard what you said, doctor. How are you? I'm all right. And how are things with you, Mr. Littlefield? What do you mean, doctor? Well... In the janitoring line, you mean? That's right. It seems it's been for the last seven years. Janitoring in a medical college like this, things don't change much. Oh, I see. One day is... Just like yesterday, except today. Oh? You did something strange today. How could... You came down here in the basement and talked to me today. First time in seven years you've done more than say hello to me. Oh, I am sorry. I've been rude. You're a doctor. So many things on your mind. I'd like for you to help me with something, Mr. Littlefield. What? Well, if you were to play a prank on someone, hide something from someone so that someone would never find what you hid. Where would you hide it? You mean around here? Yes. Oh, lots of places. Just a minute, I'll look to the furnace and I'll be glad to help you. I need some coal. The furnace? What? It needs some coal. I just heard that, Doctor. No. I'll be glad to show you some nice hiding places, Doctor. Come on along. Yeah. What are you figuring on hiding? Now that would be telling, wouldn't it? Big, small. Oh, kind of like this? Medium, huh? Yes, I would say so. Fine, just follow me, Doctor. Here's where I come whenever one of you doctors tells me the store has all the records. It's a large room, isn't it? Let's go inside. Up here in the attic, no one ever disturbs these old storage crates. Time for me to be going home, Doctor Webster. A few more places, Mr. Littlefield. And so forth. A lot of places. Good hiding places. Rarely visited, if ever. So, Doctor Webster shook the hand of Ephraim Littlefield, thanked him and bad him good night. Come on, Doctor. Don't mention it. And Doctor Webster went back to his apartment on the second floor of the building. No melodrama. The body of Doctor Parkman was still on the kitchen floor. And there was work to do. Light the candles. Turn on the faucet and get to work. Man at work. Doctor John W. Webster. Master of Arts. Doctor of Medicine. Surgeon. Doctor Webster by candlelight. Finish making the tour. Downstairs. Upstairs. Further upstairs, the attic. At two o'clock in the morning. And so forth. Work done. And the next morning, about 10. According to the records. Good morning, Mr. Littlefield. Good morning, Doctor. How are you? Same as yesterday. Well, tomorrow's Thanksgiving, isn't it? Same as last year. So, what do you plan to do to celebrate? Same as everybody else. Dinner? Oh, sure. At home? Same as everybody else. Here is something for you, Mr. Littlefield. Why? Oh, go on, take it. It's $10. Yes. Thank you, Doctor. And I want you to buy a nice, fat turkey and everything that goes with it. Yes, you will. Thank you again, Doctor. Very much. Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Littlefield. Happy Thanksgiving, Doctor. And they shook hands again and bad each other goodbye again. And the Thanksgiving season was upon them. You are listening to crime classics and your host, Thomas Highland. Molière wrote a delightful comedy about a man who was not a doctor but whose wife kept telling everybody he was. It's a position in spite of himself. Hear it later tonight on the summer theater with screen actor Robert Young in the starring role. Remember, it's the summer theater on most of these same CBS radio stations later tonight. And now once again, Thomas Highland and the second act of crime classics and his report to you on the terrible deed of Dr. Webster. Let's talk about Boston for a moment. A city of genteel culture and tradition. And in 1849, the bookstores were advertising a cultural tome entitled The Runaway Wife, A Tale of Intrigue and Passion. And during the Thanksgiving week, Boston was enjoying the festival that it had practically invented. Here and there in Boston, a man named Dr. George Parkman was missed. But to take his place in the minds of men was Salary, Turkey, Oysters, Pumpkin Pie, and Quints. I would like to add parenthetically that Dr. Parkman was dead and the only person who was sure of this fact was Dr. Webster, his killer. The same Dr. Webster, who at this moment, cold steel in hand, carves surgically from the Turkey sternum and passes then the second helping of white men. This is them the second helping of white meat to Mrs. Webster. Now you may pass your mother the salary, Mary Ann. Martha? Yes, dear. The oyster stuffing is succulent. Oh, thank you, dear. You and I and the children, we have much to be thankful for. You're a kind husband, that's why. You provide. Pass the squash. Mary Ann, pass your father the squash. Hmm, I'll get it. Yes, sir? Good afternoon, doctor. I'm sorry to disturb you. Yes, what is it? Oh, I'm from the police, sir. Cliver, Daniel Cliver. Oh, please come in. Well, I see you're having a Thanksgiving dinner. I don't want to disturb you. Oh, do come in, come in. Won't you join us? Well, thank you, no, sir. What may I do for you? Is Dr. Parkman here? He seems to be missing from his usual haunt, sir. Oh, John, what is it? Dr. Parkman is missing from his usual haunt. And I thought you might give us some information as to his whereabouts. Me? Two days ago, he was seen going into your study at the college. Two days ago? Two days ago, that would be Tuesday. Oh, yes, yes, yes. Tuesday he visited with me and we had tea. Stayed for perhaps an hour and then left. You're sure of that, doctor? Well, sir, in situations where it is important to be certain, physicians such as I can be counted on to respond with accuracy. Well, I... Tuesday, Mr. Cleaver. Since that time I have not seen Dr. Parkman. Will you have some sherry? Thank you, sir, no, I... Sorry I disturbed you, sir. Dr. Parkman not seen in his usual haunts? I wonder where he can be? I can't imagine. Mary Ann, pass the yams. Homey scene in Boston Thanksgiving Day, 1849. Typical festive scene. And I suppose typical too. For Boston men whose deeds of murder are two days old. And janitors have holidays too. And families and groaning boards. Mr. Littlefield, for example, in his small brick house in Cambridge, near the college. Care for more dark meat, Mrs. Littlefield? Well, don't mind if I do. Yeah, there you are. Juiciest bird we've ever had to table. Juiciest. What did you say, Mrs. Littlefield? Juiciest. You know, Mrs. Littlefield, it still worries me. About the turkey? The sudden generosity of Dr. Webster. I... it bothers me that he should have given me the money for this dinner. Eat, Ephraim. Thinking is a bad sauce for a tasty dish. Still, a man who hasn't spoken a civil word to me in seven years to give me a gift and to ask me of hiding places. Eat, Ephraim. And the thing now of Dr. Parkman, each year for the last seven at Thanksgiving time he hands me a dollar. This year he did not. I haven't seen him. Not for two days now. I wonder... What are you imagining? Mrs. Littlefield. Yeah? I'd better speak to people. That's what. That's right, Dr. Jackson. Me and my wife were talking and over. And I'm happy you came to me, Mr. Littlefield. Kind of putting one and one together we were. Over Dr. Webster's turkey, so to speak, if you know what I mean. I know very well what you mean. Webster's asking about those hiding places. And Dr. Parkman's disappearance. Both happening at the same time. One and one together, I see. What do you think, Doctor? Time for action, Mr. Littlefield. Let's call on Dr. Bigelow and the three of us will seek an answer. Forces gather. Forces conspiring to destroy Dr. Webster. The furies, the fates. The names, Dr. Jackson, Dr. Bigelow, and the man of the gratuitous turkey, Mr. Littlefield. And, as is common in classic tragedy, the pursued senses are feeling in the air. All is not right, something is amiss. Forces are gathering. Dr. Webster felt it. He tried the air the following morning, sniffed at it, sensed it immediately. Oh, my. What's wrong, dear? Nothing. You look so pale. Nothing wrong. A kiss, dear. I'm going to work. Oh, something's wrong. I'm sure of it. And, having kissed his wife and sniffed the air again to make sure, Dr. Webster didn't go to work at all. Instead, he called a handsome, gave the driver an address, and was driven to a more or less fashionable part of town, gave the driver his fare, received a wink in return, and knocked on a door. What, Dr. Webster? Hello, my dear. Well, I'm honored. Please come in. I really didn't mean it, you know. Mean what? About not coming to your lectures. I wouldn't miss them for the world. I've come to give you your tickets. Here. Thank you. They're free. Miss Montgomery. Yes. When Dr. Parkman left my apartment the other day, Tuesday... What? When you came in, didn't Dr. Parkman look... Dr. Parkman? Didn't he look nice, in good health, robust, springy step? You recall you remarked on his springy step? I? Yes. Oh, you've done something, Naughty. What have you done? First tell me what happened when you came to my study at the college Tuesday to buy tickets. Well, I knocked on your door. Very good. You opened it for me. Made me enter? Yes. Introduced me to Dr. Parkman who was just leaving. Oh, excellent. We watched him go. And you said... My, what a springy step Dr. Parkman has. Bravo, bravo. Don't be troubled, Dr. Deer. I'm your friend. Your very good friend. Which was nice, because if ever a doctor needed a friend, his name was Dr. Webster. Because let's not forget the furies, the fates, the two physicians and the curious janitor who have gathered and discussed a certain hypothesis and came to an agreement. Let's take a walk around the building. And they did. Downstairs. Upstairs. Further upstairs, the attic. Three o'clock, gentlemen. I guess we know all we need to know. To Jackson and give this intrusion upon your study, Dr. Webster, we've been waiting for you. I have the keys. I'll let these gentlemen in. You... I didn't give you permission to do that, Mr. Littlefield. You know Dr. Bigelow, of course, doctor. And I've heard you've met Mr. Cliver of the Boston Police. Gentlemen, will you take over, Mr. Cliver? Thank you, Dr. Jackson. Dr. Webster... Yes, sir? We found Dr. Parkman. These gentlemen did, and they called me. They showed me where Dr. Parkman was. I see. How is he? Come now. The last time I saw Dr. Parkman, he was the picture of health, a man with a springy step. You are under arrest, Dr. Webster. And they took Dr. Webster away, and they locked him up and held a trial for him. And in spite of his protestations, found him guilty. I must tell you, too, that Miss Montgomery, shy girl that she must have been, completely disappeared in the face of adversity. While waiting for final sentence to be pronounced by the governor and counsel, Dr. Webster maintained his usual good spirits. Park took heartily of the food afforded him by his friends and, generally, behaved himself. Then the sentence was handed down. He was to be hanged... Oh, no. ...by the neck until he was dead. I confess that I killed Dr. Parkman. There. That makes up for something, doesn't it? On August 31, 1850. Doesn't it? And that's when he was hanged. For a deed of blood, for a murder most foul. In just a moment, Thomas Highland will tell you about next week's crime classic. Dr. Webster, tonight's crime classic, was adapted from the original court reports and newspaper accounts by Morton Fine and David Friedkin. The music was composed and conducted by Bernard Herman, and the program was produced and directed by Elliott Lewis. Thomas Highland is portrayed on radio by Lou Merrill. In tonight's story, J. Novello was heard as Dr. Webster. Featured in the cast were Paula Winslow, Martha Wentworth, Jean Howell, Herb Butterfield, Junius Matthews, and Larry Thor, Bob LeMond speaking. And here again is Thomas Highland. Next week, St. Joseph, Missouri. On a hot April day in 1882, the time, the exact moment when Jesse James turned his back on Charlie and Bob Ford, and my report to you on the death of a picture hanger. Thank you. Good night. The profitable end of the rainbow is always in view of Bill Cullen's lively quiz show, Walk a Mile. Contestants have four opportunities, each representing a quarter of a mile, to make good on this fun-packed show. If they can walk a mile, they're in line for the jackpot. I'll tell you what, instead of us talking about it, why not listen for Walk a Mile later this evening on most of these same CBS radio stations? Stay tuned now for Gary Moore with Arthur Godfrey's Talent Scouts, which follows immediately over most of these same stations. And remember, there's action as a policeman really finds it in 21st Precinct, Tuesdays, on the CBS Radio Network.