 Whitehall 1-2-1-2, quickly please! For the first time in history, Scotland Yard opens its secret files to bring you the authentic, true stories of some of its most baffling cases. These are the truth re-enacted for you by an all-British cast. Only the names of the participants have for obvious reasons been changed. The stories are presented with a full cooperation of Scotland Yard. Research on Whitehall 1-2-1-2 is prepared by Percy Hoskins, chief crime reporter of the London Daily Express. The stories for radio are written and directed by Willis Cooper. Here are the participants in Scotland Yard case number 505-MR-074. Donald Sims, the cabinet maker. I have some theories. Albert George Corcoran, the man who owned a gun. I try to get it back from him. Patricia Emmons, who married a stranger. To my sorrow. Chief Inspector Grant McCrimmon of Scotland Yard. I think that Chief Superintendent John Davison has it here in the Black Museum. The one bit of evidence upon which the whole case turned. Shall we go inside and ask him to show it to us? Come on in. Oh, it's not half as gruesome in here as people that have you believe. So don't be squeamish. Good afternoon, Meg. This is Chief Superintendent John Davison, ladies and gentlemen. How do you do? I expect you're glad to see that this is not a chamber of horrors, as this sometimes represented, and that I'm not a masked monster. This Black Museum, as we call it, is merely a repository for items that are figured in crimes of various sorts. It's regrettable that so many of those crimes were murder. These things are here for a purpose. It's a curious fact that criminals are seldom original in their approach. Here are informative, tangible objects that are often of enormous help to us. Hence, for your information, the Black Museum. Now, I think Chief Inspector McCrimmon here wants you to see what we have on our case 505-MR-074. And here it is. A brass cartridge case from a browning automatic pistol. You'll note it still has traces of a sticky tape on it. And some photo micrographs of this case and of another similar one. That's all there is, Meg. Well, they were quite adequate, John. Yeah, at the end they hanged in another ten pounds. I was quite astonished when I received the call. Chief Inspector McCrimmon here. His Majesty. His Majesty? Say, who is this? My name? Well, I say, sir, I mean... I am not. I have been in residence in London, however, for some time. Yes, sir. Your Majesty. I have just... Oh, now I know who you are, sir. Your King George of... Precisely. I went around to my new place this morning. Yes, sir. And I was unable to get in. Oh, some of your enemies, sir? From your own country? Oh, I'll have special branch get on to it at once. No, no, no, it's not that... I don't quite understand, sir, your Majesty. I can't get in. Oh, you mean there's no one in the house, sir? My harm. Your Majesty, do you suspect she has... I have no counter. Bombs. Scotland Yardmen are expendable, are they not, sir? I'll investigate at once, your Majesty. The address is... Thank you. We know the place, sir. Preliminary report of Chief Inspector McCriman's investigation dictated by himself to Miss Sheila O'Malley, Scotland Yards' denographer. A careful search of four of the ground room floors failed to disclose the presence of anything resembling a bomb of any sort. But upon entering the quarters, the sign to the housekeeper, Miss Jessica Holmby, an important discovery was made. The body of Miss Holmby, aged 41, was found seated in an armchair opposite the door. She had been shot in the head. The body was identified by the King's Equity, Monsieur Long-Glois, who accompanied us. Item. A brass cartridge case, apparently from a browning automatic pistol, caliber 38, was found on the floor near the door, thus establishing the probable position of the killer when the shot was fired. Signed Grant McCriman, Chief Inspector CID. There was but one other possible clue. The torn corner of a card, which was found in the corner of the room. There was nothing in the room where the housekeeper's belongings that it might have been torn from. We kept it. Sergeant Peter Monk had been assigned to the case with me, presented the most immediately useful clue. I just thought it might be worthwhile, Chief Inspector, to have a look in the mailbox. I was lucky. Well, let's see it, Peter. Hmm. Postmark Brighton. Well, she'll never open it. Hmm. My darling Jessica, won't you please write me your telephone me here? I've been trying to reach you by telephone for two days, but there is no answer. I am frantic. All my love. Poopsie. Poopsie. Look, what a frightful name. You suppose it's a man? A pet name, not that. It's revolting. When was it mailed? And there before your founder. Well, see if you can find Poopsie or Brighton, Peter. Perhaps he or it can talk as well as he can write. Quite a job, sir. I don't want you going up and down Brighton front crime. Poopsie! Poopsie! People will follow you with a butterfly net. I was thinking of that, sir. Telephone Jessica's sister in Kensington. She's probably heard of them. Yes, sir. Her sister knew Poopsie fairly well, she said. The man with the revolting pet name was Donald Sims, a cabinet maker, 39 years old, and he worked in a penny peep show in Brighton. She gave us his address, and Peter Munker and I took a trip to that seaside resort. We found the house, and we met Mr. Sims. I will not say that name again. It didn't fit this tall curly-haired fellow at all. He crushed my hand. How do you do, sir? And this is Sergeant Peter Munker. Won't you sit down? Thanks. I suppose you want to talk to me about the late Miss Holmby. You knew her quite well, did you not? We were to be married in a month. Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know that. Yes. We kept it a secret. We kept it secret. Not even her sister knew our plans. I suppose it was she who told you about me. Yes. I'm afraid she didn't like me very much. Why? I'm sure I don't know. Sisters are often like that. I was very much opposed to the idea of her becoming housekeeper to the king. So many odd people about you know. People with grievances and all that. I thought it was dangerous being there all alone and whatnot. Dealing with foreigners? Ah, she. I'm very much of the opinion that one of these foreign people is responsible. Aye, we considered that. We're making a thorough check of everyone who visited the place. I hope you are. How long had you known Miss Holmby, Mr. Sims? About eight months, I think. It was rather a case of love at first sight. We were very much in love. Away in the habit of visiting her often? All quite frequently, yes. But I've been very busy recently and I tried telephoning her instead. As you know, I was quite unable to reach her for several days and then things happened. If I'd only gone up to London, I might have been able to prevent it at least. I keep thinking so. Well, I'm just doubt you could have done anything. I would have given my life for her. Well, I loved her, gentlemen. Your wedding plans were almost completed, then? Yes. I'm most terribly depressed about all this, gentlemen. I can sympathize with you, sir. Could I offer you a small libation, gentlemen? I have a fresh bottle of Glen Livet in the cupboard. Well, thank you, no, sir. Never touch it, sir, thanks. You don't mind if I do, then? I've done nothing but sit here in my room and drink. All alone, since I heard of this. I'm a little surprised that you have not yet been up to London, Mr. Sims. Sir? I couldn't bring myself to go to that place where she died. Are you sure you won't have a small libation? Thanks, sir. We must be getting back to London. Surely you won't have to go at once? I'm afraid we must. Thank you for your time, Mr. Sims, and let me assure you again of our sympathy. I wish you'd stay a little longer. I have some theories. I should very much like to pass on to you. Well, we should be talking to you again, sir, I fancy. What? If we discover anything more... We may need your help. Oh, well, slanted more, gentlemen. Slanted. Eh, come along, man. I'm sorry you gentlemen won't join me in a small libation. Well, thank you. We shall undoubtedly be seeing you. Find the assassin of my love. Eh, we shall try. Good afternoon, sir. Good afternoon, Mr. Sims. Goodbye, gentlemen, and thank you. Pupsie. He's red-full, isn't he? Well, he's an impressive woman. Let's walk over to the seashore and see how he impresses some of his fellow workmen. You're suspicious of him, aren't you? He had not to be suspicious of a monk's old boy. We cramped along Brighton Front with the din of the dance band in our ears for a good while before we came across anyone who knew Sims well enough to discuss him with us. At last, a Brighton Rock huckster at whose place of business we stopped admitted knowing him well. Yes, I know, Johnny Sims. I know him well enough that I don't want never-know dealings with him. Not no dealings whatsoever. What's he done to you? Brighton Rock? Who led Brighton Rock? Take a bit of Brighton Rock home for the kids, Mrs. Only a bobble stick. Ah, Chip. Plenty enough, mate. What? Well, I can't prove what he'd done to me, but I can have me suspicions, can't I? He won't pay me, and I don't hold with fellas what commits bigger me anyhow. Bigger me? Well, it ain't no secret, I'm telling you, Mr. He got out of the Stoney Lonesome for marrying a bit of floppy nottingham when he was already the husband and father of three kids and living with him right here in Brighton. Yeah. Take home a bit of Brighton Rock for the family. Here you are. Only a bobble stick. Only a bobble stick. He was in prison? That bigger me, as I said. Ain't no secret around here. Are you sure? Well, ask anyone around here about poopsie. He's a bad lot, mate, if he asks me. That's very interesting. That's indeed. Him and me used to be friends thick as thieves. We was, but not anymore. Take my word for it. Not since he stole my gun. Stole your what? My gun, mate. My browning hoarder, Maddie. Oh, it was quite legal. I still got the license. That's all I have got. He took a fancy to it, he did. The stinker borrowed it from me. Last I ever seen of it, the dog's body. Claimed he lost it. Didn't pay her for it? Not poopsie, not him. Claimed he ain't got no money. What caliber was this gun? Oh, 38. Interesting. I bought the gun because I rather fancy target shooting. Had a chance to fire it only twice down at my place over there on the downs. He was with me. He liked it, so he borrowed it from me. Last I seen of the thing, I bet he still got it somewhere. Opened to sell it. My gun. Well, thanks very much, Mr. Corker and Sir Albert George Corker and later the loyal regiment now reduced to sell him bright and bloody rocks carved into bleeding to death. Well, I'll take a stick, Corker. Oh, here you are, sir. Cue. I'll have one, too. Thank you, sir. Here you are. I say, sir, and why was you so anxious to know about poopsie sins? Does everyone call him by that revolting name? He calls himself that, sir. The odd, fair-tonged stomach, doesn't he? He certainly does. Was you thinking of employing him, sir? They say he is a good cabinet maker but Christ, what a stinker. Well, I don't think we shall employ him now, Corker. Oh, you'll come to a bad end, sir. You know, I'm inclined to agree with you, Corker. We walk to the nearest telephone box and I call London, Whitehall 112. The criminal records are first, please. Hello? Hammond? Chief Inspector McCrimmon here. Oh, yes, sir. Who are you? Hey, what do you have on a fella named Donald Sims of Brighton, sometimes known as poopsie? Why, how very delightful, Sergeant. Hi. I'll wait. What's up, sir? Oh, poopsie's a bad boy, it seems. Worst than we think? Well, I'll tell you in half a moment. Hi. How is that? Oh, that king that's just taken a new house in Belgravia? Say no more. Monks and I will fetch him in, full of due of Glen Libet and three hours' time. Accompanied by a slightly social poopsie, Monks and I returned to London and deposited him for safekeeping on a charge of fraud. He probably went to sleep on the floor of his cell in Bow Street. And Monks and I departed for a well-earned dinner of bubble and squeak, of which I'm inaudibly fond. Oh, I also had two bottles of Guinness, I remember. Oh, the next morning, our prisoner safely incarcerated on his fraud charge. Monks and I departed again for Brighton. Monks armed with a such warrant went on to Sims' rooms, whilst I paid a visit to Cochrane, the Brighton Rockman. Well, good morning, sir. I'm most happy to see you again, sir. I mean, need a further information this morning, Cochrane. What kind of information, sir? Thou poopsie. Oh, don't see that name so early in the morning, Cochrane. It makes me ill. We took him back to London yesterday. You did, sir. I am a charge of defrauding by Chek. Good. Who are you, sir? I'm Chief Inspector McCrimmon of Scullin Yard. Oh, I thought you was Tex, I swear, I did. Well, we are. I look here, Cochrane. You know, we may be able to get your gun back. No. It's especially easy, you know. I know. It'll be very hard to identify, you see. The number was, um... Oh, I don't remember the number. Oh, that's too bad. I wonder... Would you possibly have an empty cartridge case that was fired in the gun? Our Ballistics Laboratory could probably identify it that way. How? Of course, the firing mechanism always leaves marks on a cartridge case that are quite different from those fired by any other gun. Sort of their mechanical fingerprints, eh? Exactly. You see, no two guns in the world leave the same marks on the base of a shell. Let me see. Now, I did have one, I know. I only fired two rounds with it before Pupsie borrowed it. I had one, but now what did I do with it? You got it at home, perhaps? No, no, no. I had it here. Now, what did I do with it? Oh, come on, man. Think hard. I am thinking, sir. It's in your pocket, perhaps. No, I carried it for a long time, then I had some use for it. Let me see now, uh... Oh, I know where it is. Good. Ah, let's see it. Here it is. See, I used it for a spool to wrap this ear-sticky tape around. It was just the right size. I see the marks she was talking about. Here, where the firing pin struck the primer. Are you sure that's from your gun, then? I swear to it. Hope to die, sir. Eh, you may have to swear to it. All right, no doubt about it. I'll match the gun all right. Every little mark it will. Here, sir. Let me take the tape off first. Oh, never mind. It's all right this way. No. I wonder. One more thing. Yes, sir. Could you possibly find one of the bullets you fired with the gun? Well, I don't know, sir. I could find the spot where I fired them. It was in a chalk pit. Uh-huh. But whether them bullets are still there and whether I could dig them out... Well, we only need one. Sir... Eh? I know why you want that bullet. Uh-huh. You do. I know every gun leaves marks on a bullet so you can prove it comes from that gun and not no other. All right, that's right. And what you want to do is compare one of my bullets with a bullet you think's been fired from it, too. Well, uh... Sir, um... Did, um... Did Poopsy murder somebody with my gun? I don't know, Cochrane. Oh. No, sir. But you can help us find out. Sergeant Munk's painstaking such as Sim's rooms failed to discover the missing browning pistol. But in a pocket of a jacket and his cupboard, Munk's discovered a torn crumpled card. It was the announcement of a marriage between Donald Simms and the Miss Patricia Emmons of Nottingham. So we telephoned the Nottingham police asking them if it would be possible for Miss Emmons to come to London to see us. She was waiting for us at Scotland Yard when we returned. Yes. I married him. To my sorrow. And you did not know that he was married at the time? No, I did not. His wife died during his bigamy trial. Did you know that, Munk? Yes, sir. I discovered it today. I discovered a great many things about him. Oh. He's a bad man. Let it rest at that. This is one of your wedding announcements, is it not? Oh, I thought they were all destroyed. Oh, I do wish you'd destroy that one. I'm sorry, Miss Emmons. He was money crazy. He said he loved me, but I discovered he thought I had an income. When he found I had nothing, he deserted me. It was while I was trying to find him that I found he'd married me bigamously. We know about that. Now, did you ever see a pistol in his possession, Miss Emmons? Pistol? Yes, of course. Could you describe it? A .38 caliber Browning automatic pistol. I know about pistols. My uncle James is a retired warrant officer in the Royal Army Ordnance Corps. He was at the Woolwich Arsenal for years. And you'd testify in court that you saw that pistol in Sim's possession? Oh, I would indeed. Can I ask why, please? I don't think you'd like to know why, Miss Emmons. You escaped with your life. The cartridge case that Cochran had given me, you know, the one that you saw in the Black Museum with the remains of sticky tape still on it, had been sent to the Ballistics Laboratory when we returned to Brighton. Kenneth Ogilby, the technician, telephoned me asking me to come up, which I did, and he sat me down before a binocular microscope. I hope your eyes are normal, Chief Inspector. I've adjusted the eyepiece to mine. Well, I'm 20-20. Good. Now, this is a comparison microscope, you know. Here on this side. No, don't look in the eyepiece yet. This one is the cartridge found at the King's house with the victim. And over here is the one you got with the tape on it. Now, look. You see? Just let me turn it a wee bit. How the mark of the firing pin is exactly the same on both shells. And the tiny scratches at the upper right. And these down here at the bottom, too. The ones that look like an H. That's right. Well, I'd say they're from the same gun, all right. But will it convince a jury? Don't worry about that, sir. When we get our photomicographs prepared and labeled, if we only had the gun, I think it only fair to warn you in advance, sir, a jury can believe just so much. But if they can't see the gun, only the cartridge case and the bullets that match the missing gun. If we're in worse shape than I thought, what can I do? Sir, as one good Scots presbyterian to another, have you tried prayer? I'll not tell you whether or not I prayed. You can judge for yourself by the results. But on the theory that the greater crime is the more important, Donald Sims was sent to my office but instead of the police court where he was to be examined in the forgery case. He sat before me at my desk. Monk was in a chair beside me and Miss Virginia Airman sat in the corner of the room. Now, Sims was quite self-confident. You can't cross-examine me. You know better than that, McCrimmon. I'll overlook your rudeness, Mr. Sims. I have no intention of cross-examining you. I have no questions to ask of you. What about your pal there? You, I don't want to know anything, Sims. What's she here for, then? Who, Miss Evans? You've got nothing on me any longer, Virginia. I paid for it. She'll ask you no questions. McCrimmon here. Who? Cochran. Oh, he has. Good. Good. Well, send it up to Ogilvy in the Ballistics Laboratory, please. Aye. All right. Thank you. He's found the bullet, Monk. Oh, Cochran. Now, look here, Mr. Sims. This is a scrap of paper found alongside the body of Miss Jessica Homeby. This scrap exactly matches the torn wedding announcement Sergeant Monk found in your jacket pocket in your rooms. These comparison photographs show two cartridge cases. One was found at the scene of the crime. One was fired in a pistol which formerly belonged to the man Cochran. A pistol which is known to have been in your possession. I will testify to that. Well, you've observed that I have asked you no questions, Sims. Is that correct? Yes. Sergeant Monk and Miss Emmons are witnesses to that. That's right. What are you trying to do? I am relating certain facts to you, Mr. Sims. Ah, here's another. The forgery case in which you are at present involved concerns the King's equity. Now, I do not refer to his present Majesty of England, but, uh, you know who I mean. Yes. Now, finally, our ballistics laboratory has in its possession a bullet fired from that pistol by the man Cochran. They have also the bullet with which Miss Jessica Homeby was murdered. And they're about to compare the two to demonstrate that both bullets were fired from the same gun, which is known to have been in your possession. Well, what are you going to do about it? I'm going to do exactly what you expect me to do. Donal Sims. I arrest you for the willful murder of Jessica Homeby. And I warn you that anything you say will be taken down in writing and may be used in evidence. Now, I'll take the liberty of asking you one question. Do you wish to make a statement? What will happen to me? I don't know. Will they hang me? You're not required to make a statement of any sort, Mr Sims. Well, if you have nothing to see. Sergeant Monk. I killed her. Will you take this down, Sergeant? Yes, sir. I was talking to her at the King's house in Belgravia. She'd heard about the check. What check do you refer to, please, Mr Sims? The one I signed with the name of the King's inquiry. It was for £400. The inquiry had shown it to her. When it came back from the bank, marked RD, she'd recognised my handwriting at once. She said he'd already lodged a complaint against me, but that she could find forgiveness in her heart because she loved me. She offered me £400 of her own savings to make restitution and said we would forget about it and be married anyway. She loved me, so come on. Please, Miss Evans. We talked for a while, and then, as I took the money from her, the card fell out of my pocket as I took out my wallet. Oh, sorry. I started to pick it up. She'd evidently seen my name on it and asked, what's that? Reaching for it at the same time, I snatched it away from her, tearing off the money. After the card you mentioned was the announcement of the wedding between you and Miss Evans? Yes. Well, that's all there is to it. A frightful scene occurred between us. She became angry, and I became violently angry. I found myself standing at the door with a pistol in my hand. I don't know how he got there, but she was dead, and the pistol was in my hand. Hmm. It's your opinion, then, that you killed her. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. Is that the whole of your statement, Mr. Sims? They'll hang me. They'll hang me. I'll die. If you'll read over your statement, Mr. Sims. They'll hang me. Do you think they'll hang me? Can you read and sign the statement, sir? There is still plenty of time, Mr. Sims. Time ran out on Donald Sims. He was brought to trial at Old Bailey three weeks later. His statement to the Scotland Yard men, the statements he made in court, caused the jury to bring in a verdict of wilful murder. He was hanged on a Friday morning at eight o'clock, still weeping. You have heard the ninth in the series Whitehall 1212, adapted from the official files of Scotland Yard. Research is prepared by Percy Hoskins of the London Daily Express. The stories for radio are written and directed by Willis Cooper and produced by Collie Small and Jack Goldstein. Three chimes mean good times on NBC.