 The sound you hear is that of a grave being dug on a hillside in a lonely section of England in the 17th century. And that was English thunder of the era. And that, a soft English drizzle. Water, earth, sky, elementals. Surrounding James Alsop. Money clipper, high woman, father-in-law, grave digger. It'll take him about another hour to finish and about another hour to give it a corpse. For in that time, James Alsop will add murder to his other attributes. And tonight, my report to you on the Alsop family, how it diminished and grew again. Crime classics, a new series of true crime stories 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, 1673, and the place, Ham, a small village about four miles from London situated in the county of Essex. Now, the month is March, at the tail end of a wild winter. A winter of great snows, much poverty, and much returning to the earth of the folk of Ham, young and old. Never was there such a winter within the memory of what villages were left alive. And now that the snows had melted and the first warmth blew across the heath and into cold stone rooms, there was stirring among the hamlings who had survived. Man and wife smiled on each other where yesterday had been chill. Life must go on. But what of those whom the ravages of the season and starvation had made lonely? What of, say, a widow? What of, say, widow Ursula, who lost her husband to the wild dogs two days after Christmas? What of her? Well, let's see. You be lonely, are you widow? Aye. Ah, it was a cruel thing as happened to your husband. Cruel. Then now it is the springtime. Aye, and March is soft on the moors. April is a good time for marrying, widow. When I married last, it was in April. It was April after a soft winter when my husband built this house that we married. It was a good marriage. April is soon and you should have another husband. You're a widow of good credit and competent estate. You make a young man a cumbly bundle. Daddy? Aye, you're welcome, widow Ursula, a cumbly bundle indeed. How long has it been since your wife passed on, James, also? Ah, six years, come next blooms every day. I heard she was a shrew. A witch, a shrew, a gollygog. But a woman of fervor and she fruited me with two sons. Aye. I have seen the younger one. He said to me the widow Ursula had looked upon him. Aye, a robust lad, sinewy. Will you marry my son? What do you call him? Christopher. Christopher. A likely name for April. Your nurseula will make a likely bride. Aye. Marlon. Oh, Father, what did the widow say? Will she marry my brother? She will. To us, William. Aye. So, my brother Christopher will take a bride. Your brother is not like us. He needs a woman to take care of him. He is a douch. Perhaps. And cowardly. Maybe. For instance, he needs his father to propose for him. He has a shy matter. Cowardly. For instance, down there, where the carriage will roll soon. Would he have the courage to stop it and point a knife and aim on money or life and mean it? No. Not Christopher. There. Around the ill's curve. The carriage. Father. Aye. So, the two of them, Father and son William, galloped down the hillside, donned masks and stopped the carriage. And with a welladay and cocked pistols, they robbed the driver and the passenger. History records that the passenger, as coincidence would have it, was none other than Dame Maggie Chavez. It may be assumed, was even then on the first leg of her mad dash to Lisbon. Galants that they were, the high women, took from the lady only her gold coins. Her jewelry, the famous mementos from the thy count of Gluster, was not touched. This might have been, however, because of the hiding places for gems that the Dame is famous for. And with another welladay, James Alsopp and William rode down to the town of Ham, and to home, and to their workshop. Here, they divested themselves of garments necessary to robbing on the road, placed them in a trunk, took out a pair of shears and went to work. This year's mintage is harder than last year's. Work, meaning clipping off small edges of the gold coins, decreasing the diameter, in other words, without decreasing the face value. So, when you were finished, you had the original gold coins and gold clippings as a bonus. Else the shears are doled. Else you, Father, are growing older and weaker. Aye. Aye. Aye. I said it. Did you? Now! What do you say now? Would you have too much blood in your mouth, son, William? Aye. I meant a gist. I asked your partner. Get back to work. There's a pointless sovereigns on the table to be clipped down. Clippings taken to London to be sold. Aye. Oh, be it. Christopher. Come in, son. Hello, Father. Hello, William. Did the day go well for you, son? I dreamed how it would be to take a wife. You like the taste of blood, William? I dreamed how it would be to take a wife. And it was a fine dream. Yeah, I spoke to the widow Ursula. And asked her what I told you, Father. Aye. Will she have me? In April. I'm grateful to you. Christopher, you make your father proud. Did you have a good day on the road, Father? No, that's thoughtful, you asked. Are you a good day indeed? A carriage with a rich lady. Ah, and much gold, I see. One thing, son. When you're with wife, no talk of this and what happens on the road. Not a whisper on it. Not a whisper? Yeah. We have to do much clipping, you brother. Take our handful of coins, lad. Buy some things for April. When it came, it was the mildest April in years and the good town's folk of Ham wore homespun linen of most feathery weight for the nuptials. The widow Ursula to Christopher all saw. There was much gaiety. Laughter spilled as did the cooling spiced mead. And as sometimes happens at such festivals, a group of the younger set thought they spied a druid and ran off into the woods to give a chase. But the older set, the ones who had already chased their druids, stayed and they smiled kindly upon the bride Ursula. She took the hand of Christopher and led him into the warm stone cottage. My husband. My bride. You dance well, the Saraband husband. Do you not have a good word for my jig? In the Saraband you well and lifted me high. You are comely, bride Ursula. You are young and handsome. I love thee. And you will gentle me and be ardent. Aye. And I to you. Christopher. Aye. Your father is rich. He is. He has told me I do not need to employ myself at anything for a year as a wedding gift if I wish it. He must be very rich then. What does he do for his riches? I cannot say. But you are husband. Then come to me. Yes. Which was the talk in April and in May when the bloom was on the sedge. Come, dearie. Tell your wife what your daddy dear doubts for his riches. And in June when the drone bee danced for its queen. If you do not tell me, dearie, I shall be unhappy and you shall be sorry. And for the rest of the summer, love and curiosity and a Christopher who wouldn't talk about his father. But in September when the first leaf dropped. Now what does he do, your father? Come here. I will not. Bride. Wife now. And I ask you, what does your father do for his riches? What curiosity is yours, Ursula? And who would not be curious? The way your father is hardly home, nor your brother. The way they ride the road so often and after lock themselves in that room. What do they there? And why am I not permitted there in their work room? And why does your brother journey to London so often? Come here. When you will answer me not before. I will not answer you. I'll tell you this only. It is September and you have become a shrew. You will rue the day you called me that name. You will rue it. Take a fresh horse. After we'll clip the coins and you will go down to London. What hails you, father? There's no humor in you anymore. You worry about Christopher? He's not happy with his wife. As I said it. He says she is a shrew. And what woman is not? That she's curious. As the woman Alice is. That she needs to know what we do. You and I. So she would gossip about it. We are all women. And money clippers. She would gossip and the law would hear of it. And we would jig for my gullows. It grieves me. It would be a terrible thing. Hello father-in-law. Brother-in-law. I had never been here before. In the workshop before. I thought to clean it. To dust a bit. What are these clippers for? Get out of here. Get out of here before I kill you. She will gossip father. I. And the law will hear of it. I. The gullows. And death. Not for us. To work William. They clipped a pile of sovereigns. And William took the clippings to London town. And the rest of the night James Alsop sat with his thoughts. In the false dawn he came to a conclusion. His daughter-in-law had to go. Good. You are listening to Crime Classics and your host Thomas Highland. All America is in CBS Radio's 21st Precinct. Tuesday nights every week the stars address brings you gripping and suspenseful stories of behind-the-scenes police work in the world's biggest city. Here 21st Precinct on most of the same stations tomorrow night. And now once again Thomas Highland and the second act of Crime Classics and his report to you on the Alsop family how it diminished and grew again. England in the 1670s. It was a mess. First of all the English didn't like the Dutch and the Dutch felt the same about the English and they were constantly sending each other's frigates to the bottom. The King of England was Charles II. Fain for being a member of the Stuart family and marrying with Catherine Burganza and for appealing the oranges of one Nell Gwyn. It was as I have indicated a yeasty time for meant everywhere. Colonists were going off in every which direction to America, to India and to the Caribbean. It was the decade two of the great Feathergill hoax and it was the decade of plague and fire. Let's look again at a corner of it. 1673. The place, the village of Ham and the woman named Ursula walking through a meadow at dusk. I think only Midland. What are you talking about? I saw the woman Ursula walking through the meadow as you said she would be. And did you kill her as I said you should do? I am not sure. Therefore? Therefore what? I am willing to take with half the amount of money which you promised me. I promised you a fee, assassin, for the killing of Ursula. I hired your sword for a death. No half payments for work not completed. Well, no fault of mine. I stuck her with my sword which she moved quickly away. Then I saw some people who were coming attracted by her cries. And my son, William, who sent you to me from London, said you were the finest of assassin. Another day and I will try again. Go back to London. My pay. That be your pay and knock about the head. What you deserve. Get you back to London. Your wife is a fortunate one. That the wounds are not grey. The villagers who saw the attack set a rider in a cloak and mask chased her about the meadow with a sword. For what reason? For what reason I cannot conceive? A mystery. Who would want to do murder on such a fine woman? Huh? Yesterday you called her. I even worse. But I did not mean it. As I said, what has happened? A mystery. Who would want to kill her? Your wife is a provoking woman. She walks alone in the meadow at dusk. If she ever recovers, I will tell her to do so no more. While I'm gone for the surgeon in Yorkshire, you will take care of my wife, father. I that I will. I'll watch over her. I will. I will. I will. I'll watch over your wife. One young Christopher rode off to Yorkshire and what with William in London selling coin clippings, James Alsot was left in his house with Ursula, his daughter-in-law. September nights and a gathering storm and this... What? Ursula, thirsty as a body is wont to get when it has been stabbed. And the man who could slaker's thirst moves but not toward Ursula. Toward the tool shed for a shovel then toward the hill. You know why. That's right. To dig a grave. And while he was digging, you remember it started to rain and James Alsot lifted his mouth to it because the body is wont to get thirsty when it is digging a grave. But, Alsot finished his task, took shovel back to tool house and did what quite a few grave diggers do even to this day. Marky! Another. Good evening, Judy. By a hollyhock by one. You're the father you keep your ock. Wear it yourself. You may finish on me if you like. Ock. Ock's become you. I have only two more to sell and I have nothing to do and no one to sing my song to. Oh. Tonight I'm busy, Judy. And what could you be busy with in such a storm? To help my daughter along a journey. A journey to where? To her cousin in Scotland. If I had a drink, Mr. Alsot, I would drink to her safe return. Ah, Marky. Three drinks. One for me, one for the lady and for yourself, Marky. Yeah. Well, now we will drink to the safe journey and the safe return of my daughter in law, Ursula, who goes to visit her cousin in Scotland and who probably will not return for a year or so. You had to go and find out I was a thief, did you not? I can't stand to see you suffer, girly. You'll never suffer again. Yeah. There's a burying to be done. Pastoral scene in England under Charles II. Cutthroat carrying victim through big storm to grave. A few more details. Darkness torn apart by lightning. Silences shattered by thunder a sea of mud. It was perhaps 300 yards to the hillside and when James Alsot got there, the graveyard dug was gone, washed away. So what we've got now is the same pastoral scene in reverse. Cutthroat carrying victim through big storm back to scene of crime. Sure. Cutthroat in a quandary. The plan was a very unique rehearsal. Now what? Proving that things gang after glee. Yeah. I told everyone you were going for a visit. The question. What shall I do with you? Seeking the answer. The answer? Not quite. This time the answer. Change everybody into warm dry clothes and having done this, the stroke of genius. Remove the glass from a window frame into the room. Light it. And set up a cry. Murder! Murder most foul! Help! Thieves of common aid murder! Help! Yesterday a man tried to do it while she walked the meadow. I've heard. And now you succeeded. Are you to cry for merciless? I came quick to her, but only in time to see her attack her flea. Flea? How? Through the window, sir. Which window? That one. That one? With no glass in it? Of course that one. You're sure of it? Aye. Come here. If the thief and murderer escaped through this window, how did he get through the cobweb which covers the opening? Sir. It's a cobweb, as you see. From side to side. So? From top to bottom. So. Sir, then how did this thief of yours get through it? Sir. You're under arrest, James Alsop. Arrest. For the murder of your daughter-in-law. Charlie? That's James. Alsop was committed at Manchester Jail. His sons William and Christopher were not to be located. Justice was swift and sure. James Alsop was sentenced and led to the gallows. And, as he mounted them, a thing happened. A messenger with good news, especially if your name was James Alsop of Ham in the year 1673, and the hangman had just indicated that you stick your neck in a noose. New evidence from London. A man who calls himself Topham says he can prove that James Alsop is no murder. He saw thief lead the place of murder through the door. That's the way it was. I forgot. Bring down the accused from the jeep. But our story still has a Dolores end. Mr. Topham from London turned out to be none other than the missing William Alsop, son of James. He could have stayed in London safe and alive, so he must have loved his father dearly and loved his friends. But the only way he changed history was this. Father, son, William. What happened to Christopher? Well, he had heard what happened to his wife, so asked himself why return to Ham. He stayed in Yorkshire, where he met the widow Patricia. She was comely, and the next April they were wed. She made puddings and was an uncurious woman. And gave to the world eight Alsops. In just a moment, Thomas Highland will tell you about next week's crime classic. The Alsop family, 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 is produced and directed by Elliot Lewis. In tonight's story, Ben Wright was heard as James. Thomas Highland is portrayed on radio featured in the cast were her Butterfield, Ellen Morgan, Betty Harford, Terry Kilburn, Richard Peel and Raymond Lawrence. Roy Rowan speaking. And here again is Thomas Highland. Next week, Rome, Italy in the year 62. My report to you will concern a young chap who wanted to murder his mom. It's listed in my files as your loving son, Nero. Thank you. Good night. Later tonight, CBS Radio brings you to an hour of sprightly romantic comedy as the Lux Summer Theatre stars Anne Baxter in The Affairs of Susan. Lovely Anne has the most difficult time making up her mind over her very assortment of suitors until... But suppose you're here at all for yourself later tonight on most of these same stations when CBS Radio presents the Lux Summer Theatre. 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