 This is Orson Welles, speaking from London, the Black Museum. Here in the grim stone structure on the Thames, which houses Scotland Yard, is a warehouse of homicides. For everyday objects, a magazine, a cigarette lighter, a student's lamp, a paper weight, all are touched by murder. It's a letter. It's a familiar object handwritten with a good bond paper, no imprint on the top, merely a date, a simple single initial for the signature. Do you notice the same thing about this letter that I do, sir? Rather a well-formed handwriting? More than that. This letter was written by an educated person, a very well-educated person, but for what a purpose? Well, today that letter can be seen 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. Scotland Yard's Museum was murdered. He asked him, third, in this place are countless memories, represented by the objects he showed in his cabinet. Memories of terror, horror and the night of the ultimate cruelty between man and man, the killing of one human being by the man. Yes, here lies death. In serious endless ranks, pitiful instruments, not only guns and knives and poisons and the cords of the garages, but the simple things, spoons and cups and even, yes, here, for instance, is a baby's pacifier, complete with the ivory ring. Well, it was dropped in a bedroom. It led to a woman who was a nurse. Dropped in a bedroom, it took that woman up to 13 steps to Hangen's Noose. Here's the letter. The letter, I told you about. The letter of today's story. This one begins innocently enough in a bank as a man steps to a teller's window. Will you cash this for me, please? Do we know, sir? I have an account here. You can check the signature. Yes, sir. That'll take just a moment. It's so normal, so much in the ordinary course of daily business. The cashier goes to the file, compares the signature and the check with that on file, returns to his wicket. Everything seems to be in order, sir. How do you wish the money? Two fives, the rest in one pound notes. Very well. Very well, sir. If you'll count. The customer counts the bills, nods that they come to the proper amount and walks away out of the bank. A week or so later in the office of the manager of that bank. Of course, we understand how you feel, Mr. Holt. The cashier in question will be here in just a moment. One would expect a bank to protect a deposit with more care. Three forged checks, each one successively larger. Apparently the forger felt himself safer each time. Apparently. If I hadn't requested my statement and the voucher ahead of time this month, this might have gone on almost indefinitely. Mr. Holt drumps his fingers angrily on the manager's desk. Both men sit silently, awaiting the arrival of the cashier. You sent for me, sir? Yes, Hollingsworth. Your initials are on these three vouchers. Do you remember the men who cashed these? Yes, sir. A quiet thought. Very dark. Single on the tallish side. Nothing at all like the gentleman sitting here. Oh, not at all. Ah, I see. Oh, this gentleman is Mr. Holt. But if I compare the signatures, sir, our usual routine. Is this a case for the police? It certainly is. And I intend to feed with that the police find the perpetrator of this forgery. Forgery. An apparently quite a clever job of it. After all, the cashier did compare the signatures and the cashier was honored. No question about that. What then did Scotland Yard have to say about it? May I ask, Mr. Holt, if you've written any letters recently to anyone you don't know? I'm a solicitor, Inspector. I have a great deal of correspondence. Of course. Let me ask you something else. Have you made any debt collections within, say, the past six weeks? Well, now, let me think. Yes, it was that Mr. Arthur. He'd had a bit of a difficulty with Mr. Harry. Asked me to write a letter. A lawyer's letter, you understand, Inspector? Yes, of course. Go on, sir. I wrote the letter. Mr. Harry's paid his debt at once. About 50 pounds it was. I deducted the usual fee and remitted the balance to Mr. Arthur, that was all. But you signed the letter yourself, of course. It's not a new trick, but it's been used quite often lately. I've written him following, Inspector. That's how the forger obtained your signature to trace our copy. What? But that's... Quite simple? Yes. And the chances are that neither your Mr. Arthur, whom you saw, nor Mr. Harry's, whom you did not see, neither one of them was the forger that we've come to call him. Then you had similar cases? Many of them. And no trace of a culprit? Never a trace. Nor any link. He knows what he's doing, this fella. Clever. In a diabolical sort of way? Clever. In a diabolical sort of way. Well, you can fight this sort of cleverness with only two weapons. Patience and vigilance. Sergeant Berkey of the Yard was both patient and vigilant. Station in a bank is one of the searches for the forger. The sergeant heard. Will you cash this, please? The name is Forsythe. Big pardon? Aren't you James Olsey? My name is Forsythe. Sorry, I saw you identified in the Mason case. Your name is Olsey. I'll have to ask you to come with me. The sergeant took Mr. Halsey to the yard. There, Inspector Dodson proceeded to the questioning. You, that check, was a forgery, didn't you, Halsey? No, sir, I didn't. I see. You were just doing a busy man of favor, running to the bank to catch a check for him. That's it. Exactly right, Inspector. He promised me half a quid. He did for me trouble. I can hardly believe that. You, with your record, trust it like that. Some folks trust me? No doubt. Any questions, Sergeant? Yes, sir. Look here, Olsey. Where were you supposed to deliver the money? Carter and Company Limited. Queensbury Building to Mr. Forsythe. Same name as was on that check. That's all I know. Except I'm out half a quid and in trouble besides. No, you sergeant. There'll be no besides of Carter and Company. Let this fellow go. He's telling the truth for once. The man we want is the forger. Another blank. No link to the man whose mind was planning all this cleverness. Of course, they did learn one more fact about his operation. Just before we close the file, I think we might check up and see if we can learn anything from the real Mr. Forsythe. I'm a police officer. My credentials, ma'am. Oh, I expect you wanted me, my husband. Well, if you please ma'am, we're making a few inquiries. Yes, come in. Thank you. We've had nothing but visits from the police ever since this forwarded your business. As if it wasn't bad enough already with a burglary in its last month and all that. What was that? A burglary, did you say? That's right. There's a policeman for you there. Oh, good evening. What can I do to help you? Oh, I think your wife was already supplied the answer to the question I was going to ask you, Mr. Forsythe. I understand you had a burglary last month. That's right, but there was nothing much stolen, except you'd take it. Nothing valuable. Oh, anything else? Why, yes. Don't remember there. They took your ticket. Oh, yes, yes. Rather silly things, you know. No, sir. Not so silly as you'd think. Oh, here are the particulars, sir. Thank you. Have you compared them with the information we have already on the forgery case? Yes, sir. The check that Forsythe tried to cash came from the stolen book. Who was this forger? This mind which covered all trails to itself. Somewhere, somehow, the correct thread which would lead to the center of his web must be picked up somewhere. I believe some money has been placed in my credit here for my bank in London. The name is Harrison. Charles Harrison. I'll see you, Mr. Harrison. Just a moment. You know how this is done, of course. You deposit money in one bank in, say, London. Notice the draft is sent at the depositors' request to a branch of the same bank in another city. You arrive in that city, identify yourself, receive your money. Actually, it's a fair amount too large to travel with. How much is this draft, Mr. Wilson? Two hundred and fifty pounds. Yeah, that's correct. It was deposited in our London office by Mr. Harris Thompson. That's right. With instructions to pay to him in person. I'm here. Wish identification, I have it. But you're Mr. Harrison. Charles Harrison. You said so a moment ago. I'm...Harris Thompson. I see. Perhaps the London branch made a mistake. I'll get in touch with them and come back tomorrow. Sorry to have bothered you. I caught your signal, Bartlett. There's something wrong. He came out the door, gave me two different names while he was trying to collect on his class. I'm kind of swindled. I can't say so. The order came down from London in perfectly good order. There are two hundred and fifty pounds up there. It's a bit strange. And he behaved oddly, gave his name to Harrison. It's quite simple. Quite simple, really. Money had been deposited in London. The man who was to draw it in Yarmouth would thereby acquire the appearance and reputation of wealth and honesty. When he returned with a new forage draft, it would be honored. He'd ski. But the fellow mixed up the name. The Yarmouth Bank reported to the Yard. Dr. Dodson came calling. We'll get out of pickup order. It might be well worth our while to talk with this Harrison Thompson, whatever his name is. Yes? There's Mr. Harris Thompson live here. What name? No, just live here. Oh, that's a pity. I had something for him. What was that? Could you leave it? Well, no, I've got to give it to him in person. Confidential, you see. Oh, well, wait a minute. Yes? What do you want? Are you Mr. Harris Thompson? Who are you? Never mind who I am, Mr. Harris Thompson. I have a warrant for your arrest. My name isn't Harris Thompson. That's something we know already, Mr. Rafe. All right, Rafe, you took yourself. You know that now. Stop it, Rafe. Your fingerprints are in file and criminal record. We know your name. My name is Harris Thompson. He'll go a lot easier with you if you admit the truth. My name is Harris Thompson. That's all you'll say? My name is... All right, we've heard it before. Lock him up, Sergeant. The charge will be attempted fraud and last. Come along, Rafe. With Rafe, Harrison Thompson, safely away in the armist jail, he'll visit the man's lodging. I must say, Inspector, when you search a place, you are quite thorough. Just a routine, sir. Does this make any sense to you? Dear friend, there is no doubt your error at the bank while understandable was quite grave. However, I expect to rectify it shortly. The bank has requested that Mr. Thompson come there personally to sign a new bit of paper giving Mr. Harrison permission to withdraw the money in Yarmouth. I will explain later exactly what I want you to do. In the meanwhile, do not come up to London. Caution has always been and always will be my what-word. Trust me sincerely in your jail while this fellow is describing our regular procedure where identification is in doubt. I see. Do you notice the same thing about this letter that I do, sir? Rather a well-formed handwriting. More than that, this letter was written by an educated person. A very well-educated person. But for what purpose? Yes, the phrasing is simple, but the words he uses it's a little difficult to understand, isn't it? Why someone with education would involve himself in something like this? Well, when we find Jay, we may have an answer for that. In the meantime, I think we may have our first direct link to the forger. Well, today, as I told you, that self-same letter can be seen in its place in the black museum. In the letter, signs simply Jay told nothing new. The manner and style of its writing told many things. This Jay, possibly the long-sought forger was a man of education and intelligence. A shadow figure using many other men to further his own designs. Seemed a kind of devil. But within a very few days they learned he was at least a man. So my cousin Rafe is in trouble again. And we would like to know the occasion of his visiting you. I haven't seen him in ten years. My own aunt's son, and not in ten years. Most of which he spent commuting back and forth in and out of prison. Why do you suppose he turned up now? He wanted something. First I thought he turned a new leaf, but he wanted something, a convenience. Taking a room in Yarmouth. Would I, he says, receive his mail for him. And you did? Yes, Inspector, I did. A friend came and asked for all his mail. His friend? Yes, sir. And how a man like that came to be friends with Rafe, I'll never understand. Well-dressed, nice-looking and with a real refined manner. Could you describe this man, Mrs. Webster? I had a good look at him. Even talked to him. Fair as she was. Brown hair, nice blue eyes. About, well, my husband's size and his price was eight. Ways about a hundred and seventy pounds. And our wager, his hands, never held a pick or shovel. The second link. A description. Apparently a man of some means. Not particularly individualized, of course, but still he was someone who could identify this J when he'd been found. As for Rafe, his fate was settled quickly. Rafe Martin, you have been convicted of fraud, attempted fraud and conspiracy to commit fraud. Have you anything to say that your sentence is pronounced? Not far, Your Lordship. Your mind's made up. Nothing I will say can change it. Very well. As you seem to be the dupe of someone with a great deal more intelligence than yourself, I've been tempted to lighten your punishment. However, your intransigent attitude toward the law enforcement officers in this case, your attitude in court and your past record removed all such temptations. You are about to be committed to prison for the maximum time the law allows. Twenty years hard labor. That is all. An underling, a dupe, went to prison. Shortly after his arrival there, Dartmoor, Rafe had a visitor in his cell. Surprised, Rafe? Only if you were to be my cellmate. Hardly that. But I may have the key which will unlock that door before you expect. I make no deals with coppers. Twenty years is a long time. What of it? In fact, twenty years may be a life sentence for you. Nothing I can do about it, isn't there? I think you know exactly what you can do about it. I don't talk. Your friend, Jay, didn't help you much in court, did he? Why should he? I don't think you owe him anything. Chances are he had the lion's share of all your little dealings and now he's free to go right on while you are in here. Think about it, Rafe. If you change your mind... Race thought about it. To a point, perhaps. But the cold, bleak winter, Dartmouth was beyond that point. At least for Rafe. All right, Inspector. But what's in it for me? I think your sentence will be considerably reduced. You were convicted and three can't, Rafe. The time for each might be made to run concurrently instead of consecutively, without too much difficulty. Is it a deal? I can't promise. You know how such things are, Rafe. All right, I'll chance it. I'll never get him otherwise. He's too smart. He's a lawyer. What? That's right. Knows all the ins and outs he does. Laughs all the time when another fella's being fooled. He's laughing at me right now. You've seen him, then? I've seen him. What's his name? Or don't you know? Oh, I know all right. But he doesn't know. I found it out. Followed him home one night at his name on his doorbell. I can be bright at times myself. Yes? Mrs. Seaforth? Mrs. Joseph Seaforth? Is your husband at home? I'm sorry, no. Would you care to leave your names? We're from the Scotland Yard, madam. We have a warrant for your husband's arrest. Arrest? Joe? But what can he have done? That's a long story, ma'am. It's taken us quite some time to track him this far. When do you expect him back? That's it, sir. I don't know. He went out of town on business a week ago. I haven't heard from him since. He's never done anything like this before, never. Gone. Joseph Seaforth. The forger disappeared. But there are certain rules of thumb the police follow in situations like this. They know what happens when the wanted notices appear in the post offices all over the country. Now, remember, I want every lead that comes in followed through. We're dealing with a very tricky customer and every piece of information, however small, may be helpful. Yes, I knew him all right. He used to come into the bar for a drink often enough. He was a real gentleman. Distinguished looking. Oh, have you seen him recently? No, I haven't seen him for months. That's his face all right. Recognized it anywhere. Took a room at our house for a couple of months. Not to be sure much of him. When did he leave? About six months ago. And you haven't seen him since? No. I know so far well, I'm confident that somewhere, sometime, somebody who's seen that wanted notice is going to meet up with Seaforth again. Hello there, Mr. Seaforth. But my name's not Seaforth. It's Sander. It's Seaforth, all right. And mine's Olsey. Jack Olsey. One of the fellas you put in there got into trouble like you got Ralph Martin into trouble. I'd appreciate it if that were... Don't waste your breath. Your picture's up, see? And a right good likeness it is, too. Oh. All right. I am Joseph Seaforth. And now that you know, how do you like to make some money with me? Money? How? I have a chick. It's a good one. Will you cash it for me? What kind of knock do you think I am? Once burnt, twice shy. That's me every time. We've reason to believe, Olsey, that you've seen Seaforth. What if I haven't, Inspector? We want to know where. Why should I tell you? I would if I were you. We have enough of you to make you rather uncomfortable for a fair amount of time. All right, I saw him in a pub in Whitechapel. He hangs about down there a lot, I hear? Pass the word, Sergeant. We know Seaforth in Whitechapel somewhere. Circulate his description to all stations. And Sergeant? Yes, sir. Put the pigeons onto it, Sergeant. They'll know a lot more about him a lot faster than we will. Seaforth seems to frequent two places more than others, Inspector. The dancing bear in the monument. Well, he's getting a trifle careless, isn't he? With all his cleverness, he ought to have known better than that. The search had narrowed now. Two pubs in Whitechapel. The Inspector and Sergeant Berkey dropped in at the dancing bear for a quiet pint. Do this again, will you, landlord? Very well, sir. We seem to be drawing a blank here, Inspector. So far, yes. We'll wait a bit. There you are. Well, there you are. Thank you, sir. By the way, we happen to be waiting for a fella. Perhaps you know him. His name is Seaforth. Never heard of him. We don't ask names in here. One man's money is as good as another. As long as he don't cause trouble, that's the only way to stay in business. The Inspector and the Sergeant finished the rave. They lingered briefly then. All right, Sergeant. We'll go now. They left. Outside the door, the Inspector turned back. Watch the landlord, Sergeant, through the window. I see him, sir. He's heading for the back room. Come along, Sergeant, before our man gets out of the back door. Come on, Dawson. On the right-hand side. Good enough. And take. I'll be on my way. Oh, are you Mr. Seaforth? You're barking up the wrong tree, couple. This man's name is Sanders. Stay out of this, landlord. If you want to stay in business. My name is Sanders. And if you are the police, it's hardly necessary for you to molest decent citizens. It's no good, Seaforth. I think you know that. We have a warrant, and your fingerprints from your own apartment. All right, Seaforth. It's finished now. Perhaps one day you'll tell us why you did it. The law can be very dull. When you know it and turn it on itself, they're excited to the sort. Perhaps one day you'll tell me how you picked up the proper thread. It doesn't matter very much at the moment. And the silent witness to that whole story is today in the Black Museum. Orson Welles will be back with you in just a moment. The trial of Joseph Seaforth was swift. Once a much strange incident did occur strange in the light of the man's background previous experience. Throughout the trial, he made no effort to defend himself. He seemed quite ready to accept whatever punishment was determined. And then, as the judge was about to pronounce sentence, Seaforth requested the record of his case. He wished, he said, to enter objections to what he felt was inadmissible evidence. The judge denied the request on the grounds that the objection should have been made before the verdict was announced. So Joseph Seaforth went to prison for 20 years. And it was never determined why the lawyer in him awoke only when it was too late. And now until next time, till we meet in the same place and I tell you another story about the Black Museum, I remain as always obediently yours.