 Stories and content in Weird Darkness can be disturbing for some listeners and is intended for mature audiences only. Parental discretion is strongly advised. Welcome, Weirdos! I'm Darren Marlar and this is Retro Radio Sunday on Weird Darkness. Each week I bring you a show from the Golden Age of Radio but still in the genre of Weird Darkness. I'll have stories of the macabre and horror, mysteries and crime and even some dark science fiction. If you're new here, welcome to the show and if you're already a member of this Weirdo family, please take a moment and invite someone else to listen. Recommending Weird Darkness to others helps make it possible for me to keep doing the show. And while you're listening, be sure to check out WeirdDarkness.com where you can find me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Mines, Miwi and more along with the Weird Darkness Weirdo's Facebook group. Coming up, it's an episode from the Black Museum, a radio crime drama program produced by Harry Allen Towers in London. It was broadcast in Europe on Radio Luxembourg, a commercial radio station and eventually made its way to the BBC many years later in 1991. The Black Museum was based on real-life cases from the files of Scotland Yard's Black Museum, later renamed the Crime Museum. The actual museum the radio show is based on is a collection of criminal memorabilia kept at New Scotland Yard, headquarters of the Metropolitan Police Service in London, England. Known as the Black Museum until the early 21st century, the museum came into existence at Scotland Yard sometime in 1874. Initially unofficial, it had become an official, albeit private, museum by 1875, with a police inspector and a police constable assigned to official duty there. Not open to the public, it was used as a teaching collection for police recruits and was only ever accessible by those involved in legal matters, royals and other VIPs. Now cited in the basement of New Scotland Yard, the museum remains closed to the public, but it can be visited by officers of the Metropolitan Police and any of the country's police forces by prior appointment. Individual objects have been loaned to exhibitions at other museums though. In 2019 and 2020 that included objects from Leather Slade Farm in a great train robbery exhibition at the Postal Museum and a cigarette lighter with a hidden compartment from the Krogers in a GCHQ exhibition at the Science Museum. Back to the Black Museum radio show. The program was transcribed, which is an old time radio show term for recorded, back in 1951 and it was then rebroadcast in the United States in 1952 on the Mutual Radio Network. More than 500 of the network's stations carried it, which makes it an incredible success as it matches today's popular coast-to-coast AM program originally hosted by Art Bell, but back when there were fewer radio stations in existence. Ira Marion was the scriptwriter for the Black Museum and music for the series was composed and conducted by Sidney Torch. Interesting side note, this music was also used for the opening credits of the 1955 film They Can't Hang Me starring Terence Morgan. Orson Welles was both host and narrator of the Black Museum for stories of horror and mystery. The show's opening always began the same way, with Orson Welles introducing himself, the sound of chimes from Big Ben and then a brief description. Here in the grim stone structure on the Thames, which houses Scotland Yard is a warehouse of homicide where everyday objects, a woman's shoe, a tiny white box, a quilted robe are all touched by murder. Of course, I can't do it justice. Nobody does Orson Welles like Orson Welles. In 2002, the Black Museum was brought to television as an anthology series and even used the original narration by Orson Welles. The TV adaptation, however, did not capture the popularity of the radio series and it only ran two seasons. In this episode, I present program number 22 of the Black Museum, an episode entitled A Lady's Shoe, which aired in 1952. Now, fold your doors, lock your windows, turn off your lights, and come with me into the weird darkness. This is Orson Welles speaking from London, the Black Museum, a repository of death, a repertorium of violence. Here in the grim stone structure on the Thames, which houses Scotland Yard is a warehouse of homicide, where everyday objects, a teacup and its saucer, a lady's parasol, a surveyor's chain, all are touched by murder. Now you take this lady's shoe. It's a familiar object, high of heel, neat cross straps, daily design on the toe, an excellent sample of the art of the modern bootmaker. Like my new shoes, Henry. Lovely, my dear. Shoes of your instep perfectly, and the way it breaks away from the curve of your arch, enticing, definitely enticing, my dear. Henry, you're impossible, and I love it. A nice couple talking about a pair of shoes. You'll hear more about that couple and more about the shoes. One of those shoes, by the way, is to be found today in the Black Museum. From the annals of the Criminal Investigation Department of the London Police, we bring you the dramatic stories of the crimes recorded by the objects in Scotland Yard's Gallery of Death, the Black Museum. The Black Museum, Scotland Yard's mausoleum of murder. Here lies death, entombed neatly with printed labels, with records of names, places, times, each white card, a kind of tombstone. Very interesting collection in this museum. Here, there's a garden as clippers. If you have a hedge around your property, you own one long, sharp triangular blades. They're fine for clipping boxwood. Fine, too, it was learned for clipping jugular veins. And here's a true weapon, a revolver, ladies' guns. This little 22. But the lady who used this one one summer evening made very short of her victim. She coated the tiny bullets with cyanide and the shoe. Oh, the pair of them, of course, charming, delightful. As the type of fragile footwear a lady of some means would be expected to own, Elizabeth Marlowe was just such a lady. And she bought the shoes to please Henry Higley, who persuaded her that her age of nearly 40 was not too old for marriage. And she wore them. She drove through the stormy night, which marked the beginning of her marriage. The storm seems to be getting worse, Henry, darling. Don't worry, my dear. Here's the inn. The light's just ahead. Too bad the house wasn't ready for us tonight. Our first night in our own house? I'd have loved it, dear. It's so charming, so Elizabethan, from half timbers to the moat. Imagine our house with a moat. I wanted something Elizabethan, darling. After all, it'll be a setting for my Elizabeth. Gay, happy conversation, honeymoon talk. Despite of the rain pouring over the windshield. Despite of the dramatic lightning and the rolling thunder. Henry helped Elizabeth out of the worst of the rain, had it at my little terrier named Patsy, which Elizabeth was insisted on bringing with her and then knocked on the door of Webley's inn. Sorry to keep you waiting. Come on, keys. I'm Henry Higley. This is my wife. You're Ramatha Webley. I've given you up. What, with a weather and all? We wouldn't have missed this for the world, Mrs. Webley. The storm. Well, it's almost romantic. Oh, the little dog. Oh, isn't he sweet? Are our rooms ready, Mrs. Webley? Of course. And the fire going against the storm. Oh, and may I take the opportunity, ma'am, sir, of wishing you all the happiness? The Higley stayed at the Webley and for several weeks until the house was ready. The Elizabethan house with the half timbers and the moat standing on the edge of the moor. As Martha Webley put it... They were so happy. Middle-aged, but happiest kids. If laughter and enjoyment of simple things is happiness, then Henry and Elizabeth knew happiness. They drove over to their house each day and each evening. They discussed its progress. Would you like the moat drained, dear? But the water is part of it. Without the water, it would be just a ditch. I thought perhaps you'd like to make a rose garden out of it. But there was a garden at the rear of the house. So the water stayed in the moat. A marked drawbridge was always down, and very soon Henry carried Elizabeth across the bridge and into their home. Home at last. It's going to be wonderful, dear. Glad you bought the place. We bought it, darling. Your money, sweet. What's mine is yours, ours, darling, always. Now, come along upstairs. There's always a lot to do in a ten-room house. Nobody with any sense tries to run a place of that size without help. So, Henry, with Elizabeth's approval, he interviewed several local young ladies. What's your name, young woman? June Godwin, sir. And here's my reference. Hmm, yes. I see. Upstairs made, also a parlor made. Any cooking? Just plain cooking, sir. My wife and I are plain people. We thought we'd try to get along without a regular cook, for a while at least. I'll do my best, sir. I'm sure you will. Then I'm hard, Mr. Wiggly. Why not? You've a good reference. That'll please your mistress, and you've your share of good looks. That pleases me. The way the wind blew was its. And so soon after the wedding. Well, well, well. Little June Godwin went about her business, dismissing a remark as the pleasantry of a new employer who wanted to fill his home. Now Henry established the custom in that household of giving his wife her breakfast in bed. June prepared the tray and took it upstairs. She'd been doing this for about a week. Oh, my. Don't we look fresh and neat and beautiful this morning? Mr. Higley, please, sir. Don't. Shy, are you, eh? With those eyes and that figure? Come here, little one. No, sir. Please. What do the boys here about to think of you? I wouldn't know, sir. If you'll excuse me, sir. I'll take the tray to Mrs. Higley. Handled herself well, didn't she, to her country girl? There's no nonsense about June Godwin. She needed a job. She was a loyal girl, loyal to her mistress and to herself in a way. Maybe that's why she spoke as she did. She deposited the breakfast tray in Elizabeth Higley's bedroom. Ma'am, if I can speak to you a minute. Of course, June. What's the trouble? It's about Mr. Higley, ma'am. Oh. Well, ma'am, it's not that I'm giving him my notice or anything, but I'm a nice girl, ma'am. Of course you are. Mr. Higley, ma'am, he tried to take privileges this morning. Perhaps you'd better try to tell him... June finally managed to tell her mistress the brief details. Elizabeth was hardly pleased, but she showed nothing of her feelings to Henry, at least on that score. Of course, there may have been something more than a slight edge to her tone later that day. She said to him... There's a notice from the bank, Henry. It says my account is overdrawn. Oh? How much? Almost 300 pounds. It's never happened to me before I added your signature to the account. Oh, but there was plenty there. I know. But there's a check here which I thought was for 30 pounds, and it turns out it was for 300. But I thought I told you, darling, it was 300. In any case, dear, your dividends are due in a few days, so let's not worry about it. It's very efficient and very smooth. Just the type of explanation an infatuated woman can be expected to accept, but for Elizabeth, the infatuation and the honeymoon were over. They came to an abrupt end. About a week later. June? It's June. I want to see you a moment. Can it wait till morning, Mr. Akely? Please. Impossible. I must see you now. I can't let you in. I'm in bed. I'm not dressed. That doesn't matter. Let me in, June. I have to talk to you now. I'll use my master key. Open up and let me in. Shut up, you little fool. Open the door. All right. But we'll settle this and soon. Soon. What's wrong, June? Are you ill? Mrs. Akely, Mrs. Akely. I understand, June. It was my husband again. Wasn't it? The end of the honeymoon. It came quickly after that. Elizabeth said simply... Henry, I'm leaving you. I'm going to London to talk with my lawyer. After your talk with him, you'll change your mind. Taking a servant's word against mine, really, my dear. What train are you making? I'll drive you into town. A little while later, Henry dropped into the kitchen and told June quite coolly. I'm driving Mrs. Akely into the station. She's going up to London. I'll pick her up on the 9.45 tonight when she comes back. At 9.15 that night, Henry told the servant to go on. I'm going in to pick up Mrs. Akely. We should be back a little after 10. At 10.15, Henry came back. Funny. Mrs. Akely wasn't at the station. She must have missed the train and decided to stay in town for the night. And then the next day? I've had a letter from Mrs. Akely. I've been staying with relatives in London for a few days. Nothing to worry about. But Joan did worry. And she took her worries to her mother. I'm sure he's lying, Moms. I'm sure of it. Now, June, don't be excitable. I'm not, Moms. I'm not. He told me he was going to the station to call for her. But I didn't hear the car. Perhaps you weren't paying attention. He said he had a letter. And the postman never called that morning. And last night, he tried to get into my room again. I won't go back, Moms. No, I won't go back. This was gossip. Only it was gossip, indeed. But Mrs. Goodwin restrained herself for a while. After all, there was only one other person in the village who knew the Higglers. That was Mrs. Webley at the inn. Yes, Mrs. Webley. Now, what's all that? Why, it's the Eagleton. Patsy. Oh, here, Patsy. What's the trouble, doggie? Mr. Mistress, is that it? Do you miss your mistress? If you love old-time radio, you'll want to visit our friends at ClassicRadioStore.com who provide all the shows for me to wear. At ClassicRadioStore.com, you'll find thousands of episodes available in pristine, digitally remastered sound. Every episode they offer at ClassicRadioStore.com has been transferred from the master recordings and digitally remastered for superior sound quality. That's why the episodes that you hear on Weird Darkness sound so clean. And the shows at ClassicRadioStore.com are all uncut, unedited, and are delivered to you as they were originally broadcast, including the classic commercials. 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Hey Weirdos, Weird Darkness has been nominated for a podcast award in four categories this year. Storyteller drama, society and culture, true crime and the coveted People's Choice category. You can vote for Weird Darkness in all four categories at the same time by visiting podcastawards.com. Once you sign up to vote, you'll find all four categories in the left-hand column. People's Choice at the very top and then bottom left-hand column for the remaining three when you scroll down. While it's still on your mind right now, please go vote. Only you, my Weirdo family can help Weird Darkness become an award-winning podcast this year. Visit podcastawards.com and vote for Weird Darkness in the Storyteller drama category, the society and culture category, the true crime category and the People's Choice category. And thank you, Weirdo family, for nominating and voting for Weird Darkness. Howls at the back door and whines with fear. Then it wags its tail and snuffles in appreciation of a pat on the head. But mention its mistress and the howling begins again. Is this a clue to a possible crime? Certainly it'd have no meaning in a court of law. Clever defense counsel and have it stricken from the records within minutes. But it would have meaning among plain people who were sensitive to many of the laws of nature. Another cup of tea, Mrs. Garwin. No, thank you, Mrs. Webley. June, dearie. I couldn't touch a thing. I'm so upset about the poor little dog. Oh, she's all right. I'm sure of it. But you said you called the moat house and he came for the dog right away. I feel hurt, the little animal. Because other things on his mind, dear, has with that one working for him. That Muriel, you mean? Exactly. And glad I am that my June up and left him when she did. Have you seen or heard of Mrs. Higley, dear? Not a word. No sign. But then maybe she knows about that Muriel. Three people knew about that Muriel by now. A new hired girl at Henry Higley's house. And before, very long others would know. But this held no foreboding for Henry Higley. Before that Muriel. Now, Mr. Higley, you mustn't. Why not, my dear? Who's to know except you and me? Oh, Mr. Higley, how you two go on. Oh, Mr. Higley. Give us a kiss, pretty one. But never say I told you away with a job. Oh, well, just one. Muriel, when are you going to stop calling me Mr. Higley? A kind of mean paradise surrounded by a moat filled with water. Reached by a mock draw bridge which was never raised. And into that pseudo idyllic setting across that bridge. There strode a caller. He rang the doorbell. Yes, sir? Is Mr. Higley at home? Who might be calling, sir? Inspector Sterrett, Scotland Yard. Three people knew. And so many more. Word spread. The police events. Some interest. The inspector called and was invited in. He was offered a drink. Tea. He refused politely. Oh, thanks, Mr. Higley. No, I've only a short while. May I ask the whereabouts of Mrs. Higley? Of course you may ask. As far as I know, she's staying with friends in London. I have some letters if you can't see them. Oh, we'll take your word for it, Mr. Higley. But there's been some talk, ugly rumors. You understand, I'm sure. Yes, I had to discharge a servant girl. We were given to understand she left of her own accord. Not at all. The girl seemed a trifle hard of hearing. Couldn't hear my car on the driveway. Missed the postman's whistle constantly. I see. And then there's the little dog. Seems to have been howling a bit. If you look out of the window there in the back garden, eh? Seems quite contented, doesn't she? Yes, yes, yes she does. Well, thank you very much for the courtesy of our... The inspector took his leave. Well, the door closed behind him. Henry Higley did some thinking. The next day he spoke to Muriel. How would you like to take a trip with me, Muriel? Oh, you mean close at the house? Why not? I'm not sure I want to go away. Oh, you're a sweet man, Henry, but I live here. You have no idea how we could live. What fun we could have. I can draw all the cash from the banks in ten and twenty-five pound notes. So it wouldn't take too much room. And we could have a time in London. A real time. So Henry planned a little trip. And he took the trip. Oddly enough, Muriel didn't go along. A permanent tie was none of her plans at the moment she stayed behind in the house with a little dog for company. Or with quiet after Henry went away. Quiet, he has. Inactive. Oh, no. Tell me, Mr. Malo, when did you last hear from your sister? Elizabeth wrote us just after she moved into the house with her husband. I'm afraid we never answered her. The family disapproved of Higley, you see. Oh, any particular reason? Well, he was penniless. Elizabeth, as you probably know, has a nice income from quite a bit of capital. She bought the house, you see. Yes, yes, we heard about that. That's one reason we sought you out, Mr. Malo. Are you intimating the possibility of trouble, Inspector? There's always the possibility when a grown person disappears without a trace. And there have been rumours and a few odd coincidences. In any case, we checked the bank. The manager showed us these papers. Oh, what are they? A deed transfer giving full title to the house and property to Henry Higley. Is this your sister's signature, Mr. Malo? Oh, let me see. I need my glasses, I'm afraid. Now then, oh, strange. Looks like hers. But she'd suddenly grown old. It wavers, though. There, for instance, the L and the W and the Malo. Elizabeth Malo Higley. Inspector, I want to compare it with her letters. But I think I can say with reasonable certainty that this is not my sister's signature. Thank you, Mr. Malo. Thank you. To all stations, alert for one Henry Higley wanted for forgery. Notify all banks. The following serial numbers are of 25 pound notes connected with forgery case. Appearance of any of these notes to be called to the attention of the local police at once in the usual manner. At long last, the hunt was on. The charge pending forgery. The days passed, nothing was reported. Though an occasional bank note with the proper serial number did turn up in the ordinary course of business, patiently the places where the notes appeared were charted. First Ramsgate, then Dover. A week later, Folkston. I imagine we'll find he spent a few days in Paris. After that, Kingston. I expect we'll be hearing from London itself, shortly? From London itself. How long does it take to change a mere 25 pounds? One would think the Bank of England had that much cash in small denominations lying about. Big pardon, sir. Are you the gentleman wanted to change this note? I am. Would you mind stepping this way for a moment, sir? I'm rather in a hurry. Is something the matter with it? With the note? No. A micro-dential, sir. I see. Detective Inspector Andrews. And you, sir? Higley. Henry Higley. Why all the mystery, Inspector? I'm afraid I shall have to ask you to come with us, sir. You see, the serial number of this bank note and several others have been published in a small matter of forgery. Forgery? What's that to do with me? I'm sure you had nothing to do with it, Mr. Higley, and that you will be most anxious to cooperate with the police. This way, sir, if you don't mind. Henry did mind. His sense of cooperation became stunted quite suddenly. He found very little to tell Inspector Sterrett and Andrews. Of course I drew the money. It was a joint account. I've had a right to. And what is your explanation of the transfer of the house? There's none I can give you now. When Elizabeth returns... Where is your wife, Higley? She didn't say. Just staying with friend. Any reason for that? We, um, well, we had a quarrel, a lover's quarrel. She'll get over it when she comes back. You seem very certain she will come back. Have you any reason, Inspector, to doubt that she will? No, not at the moment. Nor any reason to doubt that you will be here awaiting her. What do you mean to say you're thinking of holding me on charges? Frankly, we are. You see, Higley, we did little routine checking. We found that you'd been arrested three times, convicted once. In each case, the charge was swindling women who were old enough to know better. So we are holding you, Higley. And the charge is forgery. Now the direction of the search changed somewhat. Henry Higley was safe, and he'd remain so... Elizabeth Marlowe Higley was found. I've no right to take the house apart like this. Mr Higley will be... I am sorry, my girl. We have a warrant. I don't understand, sir. What are you looking for? Not what, my girl. Whom? We're looking for Mrs Higley. In the cupboards and under the floor and... No. No. Oh, it isn't true. It isn't. She went away and... They took the house apart and put it back together again. Nothing. They dragged the moat around the house. Nothing. Then they drained it. There it is, sterret. Try as it ever will be, and nothing. Not a sign. Mud looks mighty deep. It's a quagmire down there. Watch this. Takes that stone as if it were nothing. He couldn't have thrown a body that far out, and there's no sign of anything on the sides. He might have waded it out, Andrews. The water wasn't particularly deep. It'd have gone in up to his waist if he'd tried that. You know, it takes good soil to make mud like that. Yes, I notice. Funny the way they let the garden go to seed. Oh, it's not too bad. Except for that patch of stunted bush over there. There, where the dog's lying. Let's have a look at that, shall we? You never quit, do you, sterret? Human beings can't disappear without a trace. They just don't, that's all. Oh, that's a good dog. There we are. There, there, there. These aren't stunted, Andrews. These are new plantings. You're right. Look here, the whole area, straight to the moat. This earth was turned, and fairly recently, at least ten yards of it. That's a ditch, Andrews. A ditch that has been filled in. I think maybe we ought to start digging hereabouts. Eight hours now, and still nothing. Well, be nothing. Another good idea gone wrong. Shall I tell the men to stop? Yes, you may as well. Sterret, that dog, she's found something. Yes, something she's recognized. Get those lights over here, man. All right, they're coming up here. All right, get on here. All right, you can start digging again. But carefully now. All around that spot. It's pretty obvious, Andrews. There's a body attached to that lady's shoe. And as I told you at the beginning of this story, that shoe reposes today in an honored position in the Black Museum. Orson Welles will be back with you in just a moment. The medical examiner swore that a .32 caliber bullet had killed Elizabeth Marlowe. The ballistics expert testified the bullet had come from the gun in Henry Higley's possession the day of his arrest in the Bank of England. Another expert adjusted the noose, placed the white hood over Higley's head, heard the man whisper the admission of his guilt, and sprang the trap. Martha Webley has patsy now. And the little dog enjoys the feels around Webley's inn. A fit reward, I think you will agree, for the faithfulness which brought her mistress his killer to final justice. And as I told you, the dainty shoe remains in its customer reposition. And that big stone building on the Thames in Scotland Yard in the Black Museum. Now, until next time, until another story about the Black Museum, I remain as always obediently yours. Thanks for listening to this week's Retro Radio episode of Weird Darkness. If you like the show, please share it with someone you know who loves old-time radio. And a huge thanks to our friends at ClassicRadioStore.com for generously providing the old-time radio shows you hear on Weird Darkness Retro Radio Sunday. Remember, you can save 20% on all of the ClassicRadioStore.com shows by using the promo code Weird at checkout. The rest of the week, I narrate new stories of the paranormal or strange stories, true crime, monsters, and mysteries. So be sure to subscribe to the podcast if you haven't already done so. I upload episodes seven days a week. You can email me anytime with your questions or comments at Darren at WeirdDarkness.com. Darren is D-A-R-R-E-N. And you can find me on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Minds, Miwi, and the show's Weirdo's Facebook group on the Contact social page at WeirdDarkness.com. Also on the website, if you have a true paranormal or creepy tale to tell of your own, click on Tell Your Story or call the Dark Line toll-free at 1-877-277-5944. That's 1-877-277-5944. Weird Darkness is a production of Marlar House Productions. Copyright Weird Darkness 2021. I'm Darren Marlar. Thanks for joining me in the Weird Darkness.