 This is Orson Welles speaking from London, the Black Museum, a repository of death. Here in the grim stone structure on the Thames, which houses Scotland Yard, is a warehouse of homicide. Where everyday objects, a milk bottle, a woman's hair net, a bit of fly paper, all are not touched by murder. Here's a doctor's prescription. It's a familiar object. You don't think twice about it. You have a cold, sore throat. The doctor comes, gives you a prescription, a piece of paper with a symbol scrawled on it. Here you are, nurse. I've used a different compound this time. Number 1778, in place of 2032. Is this one strong than what you think it is? Yes. There's a bit more of the mafia in this prescription. You know, today that same piece of paper, that prescription, is 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. In just a moment, you will hear the Black Museum starring Orson Welles. So vile, so unavoidable. Blood celled this Toledo blade ever, but this was the arrow of a pointing finger which led to death. The traditional corkscrew of the doctor's penmanship and marked in the chemist's writing, like the true, almost as ironic as the beginning of the story, because the beginning is an arrow of affection and kindly care. You see, John Begley was a nephew and cousin who did his best for his family. And so, if you don't mind, Miss Smith, I want to be certain that my aunt, she's well-parted, you see, and my cousin will have the best of care. I understand perfectly, Mr. Begley. I've been taking care of patients in my house now for almost five years. I can show you letters of reference, but I'd prefer you to be inspected my house first. To May Smith, a routine call. A routine inspection to John Begley, a matter of some importance, but apparently Mr. Begley was quite satisfied with what he saw. I must say, Miss Smith, you do well by your patients. I'm a nurse, sir, and I've dedicated myself to the proper care of the sick. Oh, to be congratulated. May I ask what the charges will be? Your aunt is, I take it, a hopeless invalid. And has been for a good many years. My cousin, June, has a progressive nervous disorder. Sometimes she's quite completely paralyzed. Then she has remissions. Oh, I see. Would it be multiple splerosis? I think that's the name of it. In any case, she can care for her own needs to a great extent, except when she has these seizures. Would 15 pounds per week for each of them be within their means? With board and so on included. Oh, yes, they have means. You see, my uncle, by marriage, that is, Mr. Dawson, he left them a comfortable income. No problems there. Everything perfectly respectable and not a thought of trouble in the mind of anyone concerned. Martha Dawson and her daughter June came to stay in the care of nurse May Smith. Not a registered nursing home, you understand, but a nice place and a competent nurse in charge of the good doctor on call. All of which was borne out the afternoon some months later when John came to visit his aunt and his cousin. May is sweet. So considerate. Oh, it's May already, is it? Oh, by not, John. She's as good to me as June would be if she were able. I wish I were able, Mother. But you're not, poor dear. And May is a fine substitute. One of the family, eh? Yes, John. John. Yes, my dear? I'm not getting any younger. Yeah, no, none of that kind of talk. I mean it. I'm getting on. 55 is well into middle age. I've been thinking about my will, John. As you're mixed of kin, I think you ought to discuss it with me. I'm serious, John. Listen to her, John. In all probability I shall go first. June will have everything her father left. All right, Aunt Martha. Go ahead, June. Well, I've been watching May, you see. She has practically nothing of her own except this house and the rather precarious income from her patients. I've been thinking of making her a partial heir. But since you're the main one, John, I thought I'd ask you first. I'm doing all right, dear. No worry on that score. Only take my advice. Be sure before you leap. Money is a strange thing, you know. June listened to her cousin, John. But what she thought she was advising. Well, I'll do something else again. May, I'd like to talk with you. Of course, my dear, go right ahead. I'm making my will over again. Now, that's fine talk. You and the will, whatever for. To make you my principal heir. June, you mustn't do anything with kind. I'm sure your nice cousin won't like it a bit. Oh, I've discussed it with him. He doesn't mind in the least. In any case, people with their lives ahead of them mustn't think about dying. Then it's high time I began to think about it. June, dear, let me tell you something. You're going to live so long. And pay me 15 pounds a week for so many years that you won't have anything to leave anybody. That's not so. My income will take care of me as long as I live. And John said it doesn't need the principal. You will. You see, May, I know about the real nursing home you've always wanted. And the cottages and house that are the basis of what father left mother and me will be just perfect for you. When the time comes, you stop this kind of talk, June Dawson. That's nurse's orders. I don't want to hear it. I simply refuse to listen to you. A word can be like a stone in a pool of water that splashes the first ripple. And wider and wider go the circles. The stone disappears. But it's there, lying at the bottom of the pool. Even when the surface has become still again. This box of candy. Johnny sent it. Will you have some? Thank you, mother. Now, now what shall I have? Luka or whole cream? You've had three already. Oh, no sweets aren't really good for you. June is right, Aunt Martha. Now you let me have that box. I'm going to save you from temptation and keep the box in my office. And you may have a piece after dinner and one after lunch and each day. But the way you've bossed me, you'd think you were twice my age instead of the other way round. You're a good person, May. You really are. Am I? Just because I do my job. Yes, the care was good. And the three women, obviously, were very fond of each other. But did you notice the phrase, save you from temptation? What do psychologists call that, a Freudian slip of some kind? I wonder now. And who was saving whom? And from what? Certainly Dr. Lew and the attending physician thought nearly the people were being saved from pain and with conscientious care. I've been in to see Mrs. Dawson-Nurse. I'm glad. How do you find her, Doctor? She's failing rapidly. Oh, it's too bad. She's a splendid old lady, despite her bad physical condition. Does Miss Dawson realize her mother's condition? I'm sure she does. She's a brave woman. I'm a self-sacrificing daughter, if ever I saw one. No question about that. Well, it must come to all of us one day. Death, I mean. Now then, have you the final reports on the terminal care for Mrs. Wrightson? Yes, sir. Right here in the file. And for Mrs. Richter. Ah, thank you, Nurse. You know, you really ought to qualify as a proper nursing home. You know your business, Miss Smith. Thank you, Doctor. Pro-regulation was strict and expensive to fulfill. Now, in these two cases, Doctor, you prescribe morphia towards the end, you remember? And you let me have a supply. I, uh, keep the dangerous drugs in here. I have some of the tablets left. I'd like to return them, if I may. Very well. Dangerous drug, morphia. Just as well not to have it around, even under lock and key. A dangerous drug. Tempting. But there's another drug, or... so it may be called at times a temptation, certainly. Things to have the power to dull the perceptions and the consciences of people, not just morphia does at a time. This drug is money. There it is. My will, remade. Johnson, will you sign here, please? Er, just a moment. The papers were signed, put away. A will and inherited suggest you from a grateful woman to a friend in need, that was all. An incident over, closed. Well, the period put to others, the pen stopped it scratching as in a few weeks. A heart stopped beating. At least she died without pain. In her sleep, doctor. Around midnight. How is Miss Dawson taking it? Quite well. Would you like to see her? Perhaps I'd better. Her sedative may be indicated. She's in her room. This way. Can I expect any reaction in June's own trouble? A disease of the nervous system like hers? There may be some trouble now, even when she's taking Miss Rosa well. I know. Here you are, sir. Ah, Miss Dawson. May I express my sympathy? Thank you, doctor. Mother suffered enough in this world. I pray she has peace in the next. I trust she will. Miss Smith is worried about you now. I do feel a bit upset. I hope I'm not going to have any after-effects. Have you noticed any signs? My legs feel so heavy. That's usually a sign. And my fingertips on my right hand, they seem to have lost the sense of touch. Well, you just let me prescribe a sedative, my dear. With some sleep, you'll be fine. Even when we expect something like this, it's still a shock. Thank you, doctor. Now you lie down, Jewel. As doctor says, even when you expect something, it's still a shock. Yes, a shock indeed. Perhaps not unconnected with a piece of paper, a prescription, which can be seen today in the Black Museum. In just a moment, we will continue with the Black Museum starring Orson Welle. They carry many connotations and end to pain and easing off from weary illness a quiet kind of death. However, they do not mean a helping hand to death. Promise Dawson doesn't seem to be getting much relief from the sedatives you gave her. I'm afraid the funeral and all the details have been too much for her. They've been expecting that. She's worse then. The outside is paralyzed. Doctor, Jewel's become more than a patient. I... I don't want to lose her too. I understand, Miss Smith. Now don't worry about that. Chance's arm, Miss Dawson, will live for quite a few years yet. Now, in the meantime, here you are, nurse. I viewed a different compound this time. Number 1778 in place of 2032. Much stronger than what she's been getting. Yes, there's a bit more to the morphiade in this prescription. Yes, let us ease the pain and relieve the suffering. This is a great career, the comfort and aid the sick. One does many things to help us suffer it. Dr. Lohan, Miss Dawson has asked a peculiar question. I don't like it. What is it? She wants to know how one can be committed. Oh, she's thinking about that, is she? Well, she... well, she hates her body. She wants to feel it will be completely destroyed as soon as she is gone. Can't you get her mind off this? Well, I try. I've been spending as much time as I can with her, but she keeps coming back to that same question. I've had to satisfy her, I'm afraid. Well, you tell her she can put the direction in her will if she has one, or she can leave a letter properly witnessed, or they're in disposal by cremation. Then, when she dies, whoever is left behind applies to the registrar of deaths for permission. The rest will be taken care of by a licensed mortician. What thoughts on such a pleasant day? She seems so terribly depressed. What can I do, doctor? Just do your best to keep her mind. June Dawson, depressed, half paralyzed, and facing several years of a kind of half-life. Not pleasant. No, definitely. Cousin John Begley was very upset about it. I don't like it, Miss Smith. June shows no improvement at all. I'm upset by it as much as anyone. Yes, I suppose you are. What do you mean by that, Mr. Begley? If she dies, no more 15 pounds per week for you. I resent that, Mr. Begley. Yes, I suppose you should. Particularly since my cousin made that new will. Do you know its content? She hasn't disclosed them to me, but I can guess. Do you know them? I can't say I do. Why is it my cousin to keep her will a secret? Particularly since her estate will be worth at least 4,000 pounds, if not more. A large amount of money, and a small lie. Interesting combination. Of course one can hardly blame this. It's not Cousin John's business. What's in that will if June doesn't care to tell him. In any case, other events in pen, which will have a bearing on the matter. We have to. Oh, Mr. Sips, she'd wished us out to death. Why didn't you call me? And it was one in the morning. She seemed to be sleeping, except her breathing was peculiar. I tried to rouse her and she answered me. I left her no 15 Johnson. I was on the night desk this week called me. She'd run for help and I rushed in. She still had the cord in her hand. And she was... Well, it happens that way. Something gives up. This was a cerebral hemorrhage, as far as I can judge without an autopsy. I'll state so on that it's difficult. Then you'll talk to her. Oh, I feel sorry for this picture at the moment. You see, she was more than a patient. She was my friend. I understand. Now, you'll be all right in a day or so after the internment. Oh, doctor, she wrote a letter. I missed it on it after I told her what you said. What I said? About the cremation. Oh, there. Oh, yes, I remember. Yes, very well. You'll need the form request if you like. I'll send one over. Now you can make it out, attach the letter and take it to the registrar. He happens to be the health officer in Nottingham as well. Now then I'll make out the certificate. No problems. Just a grief over a lost friend. Call in Johnson, a faithful servant. Johnson? Yes, Miss? I have an errand for you. Dr. Lewin sent this form over. It's all filled out. Now I want you to take it to the health officer. You know where, don't you? Yes, of course, Miss. And be sure you file this letter with it. Now you remember witnessing Miss Dawson's signature on this letter, don't you? Oh, yes, of course I do. Johnson did as he was told, as was his job. No questions asked. However, the registrar at the health office did have a question or two. You work at this place for this Smith woman, do you? Yes, sir, I do. The form here says Nursing Home. Is that what it is? I suppose so, sir. Don't you know? There's only a few patients and it's Smith's own house. Oh, one of those, I see. I thought there was no registered Nursing Home at that address. I happen to be in charge of those records myself. She never called it a Nursing Home before, sir. She always wants one, of course. Talks about it a lot. Says it costs a lot of money. Yes, it does. Will it be all right for me to tell her to go ahead with things now, sir? No, no, no, not just yet. I want to get confirmation of this commission request from a relative, too, if possible. I imagine the family will claim them bodies. Tell your employer we'll be in touch with her. Strange, isn't it? An ambition and desire so near fulfillment. And Miss Smith fills out an official form as if the ambition had already been fulfilled. Two words. The wheels begin to turn. Miss Smith has an unexpected caller. You wanted to see me, sir? Yes. My name is Liggette, Inspector Liggette, Scotland Yard. Sit down, please, Inspector. Thank you. What can I do for you, Inspector? Did you know there's been a post-mortem on Miss June Dawson? No, I didn't. Who gave permission? An extra-kinder, John Bagley. Oh. You know him? He's been a visitor here. I see. The death certificate says cerebral hemorrhage. Dr. Lohan told me. Would you tell me the type of medication you gave the patient? I have the record book right here. Yes, here it is. Patient in pain in afternoon. Gave two tablets as prescribed by Dr. Lohan at 4 p.m. And here's the 8 p.m. entry. Usual dosage of sedative. What was in those tablets? More, sir. Dr. Lohan left them with me. Two on September 5th, four more on September 12th. They'll find the entries in my drug book. And in the sedative? There was more to it than that, too. Dr. Lohan had prescribed an additional dose. He'd increased the compound. You seem to have all the facts. I keep careful records. But nevertheless, Miss Dawson died quite unexpectedly of a stroke. So the doctor certified. That is not in my problem. No. And the doctor made out the certificate without an autopsy. He's quite a competent physician. No doubt. But the fact remains that Miss Dawson did not die of a stroke, Miss Smith. No? No. She died of an overdose of morphia. Quite a large overdose. That's why I'm afraid we shall have to take you in charge until further investigations have either cleared you or brought you to trial either for manslaughter or homicide. When death masquerades as mercy, when murder hides behind friendship, there's little sympathy to the accused. In this case where one required to heal stood accused of killing and was only anger. Nonetheless, justice was well ordered and the evidence was made quite clear. First, the motive. Mr. Big Day, what do you know of the occasion of your cousins drawing up a new will in favor of the prison? My cousin disgusted with me. What did she tell you? That she felt so grateful to Miss Smith that she wanted to leave her entire estate to this woman. What is the amount of the estate? Something over 4,000 pounds. To the best of your knowledge, did the prisoner know the size of the quiz? I told her myself on what occasion. When I asked if she knew the contents of my cousin's will, what did she say to that? That she did not know. At a subsequent visit with my cousin, I learned that she did know. In fact, her own assistant or helper witnessed the document. Thank you very much, sir. And finally, opportunity and access to the drug. Dr. Lewin, a tragic though innocent figure in the case, was the witness. Doctor, it has been alleged that you gave the prisoner two tablets of morphia for the deceased on the 5th of September and four more on the 12th. Is this true? It is not. I never prescribed morphia in that form for this patient. Did you prescribe it in any other form? In a sedative, yes. I must confess a slight error, however. The patient had been receiving compound 1778. I later prescribed compound 2032, thinking at the moment that it contained more of the drug than 1778. Later, I discovered it contained less. However, as it seemed to be equally easing to the patient, I did not correct the situation. Were you urged to add to the morphia? I was, but I mis-spent. Have you any idea where the prisoner may have acquired the drug which was used during the past year? I have given her small quantities of the drug for use at fair discretion, but never more than eight tablets at a time. She has returned a few from time to time. On checking my records, I find I have given her almost a hundred tablets. Is this normal? In the situation where terminal care is the norm? Yes. However, it is perfectly possible that some of the unused tablets were not returned to me. Now returning to your prescription, doctor, do you remember the occasion of your right eat? And why? I do. It was just after the patient's mother died while under Miss Smith's care. Miss Smith was most anxious for a strongest additive for the patient and inquired specifically concerning its comparative strength after I wrote the prescription. She also inquired of me concerning cremation. The crown rested its case. The sentence was death by hanging. Today that same piece of paper, that prescription, is in the Black Museum.