 And now the Lola Mystery Theater, presented by M-O-L-L-E. Lola, the heavier brushless shaving cream for tender skin. Good evening. This is Jeffrey Barnes, welcoming you to the program that presents the best in mystery and detective fiction. The story I have selected for tonight's program was received with so much acclaim when we first presented it last year that we are bringing it to you again this evening. It is the story that deserves to be ranked with the greatest classic mystery stories of all time. Thomas Burks, The Hands of Mr. Ottermoor. It concerns a Jack the Ripper sort of character who in the year 1890 terrorized the city of London with a series of brutal murders. Arnold Moss, star of the recent Broadway presentation of The Tempest, will narrate. Pardon my ignorance, Mr. Barnes, but what is a Jack the Ripper sort of character anyway? Well, Dan, he's a fellow who just can't help murdering. Oh, I know, like a man with tough whiskers or a tender skin. You know, he can't help murdering himself every time he shaves. That is, unless he uses mole, the heavier brushless shaving cream. Yes, sir, man, with mole, it's smooth, so smooth. It's slick, so slick. It's a smooth, smooth, slick, slick shave you get with M-O-L-L-E. M-O-L-L-E, the heavier brushless shaving cream for tender skin. That's right. M-O-L-E is the cream you need if you have a wiry hard to cut beard or a tender skin. Because it is heavier, M-O-L-E not only softens your whiskers, it stands them up straight, lets your razor take them right off. So you get a smooth, slick shave every time. Yes, you shave faster, closer, easier, and you shave painlessly with M-O-L-E, the heavier brushless shaving cream for tender skin. And now for tonight's M-O-L-E mystery starring Arnold Moss, the hands of Mr. Ottermore. Have you ever thought you might like to kill someone? Have you ever thought someone might like to kill you? Not murder for the usual motive, you understand. Not murder for greed or hate or frustration, but a killing without reason, without motive. Murder of this kind happens so simply and so unaccountably. Two ordinary people are walking down the street minding their own business, even as you or I, and suddenly why no one knows. One becomes a murderer, and the other becomes a victim. Take Mr. Wybrow, for example. Mr. Wybrow doesn't know it, but he's about to be murdered. Oh, he's just an ordinary fellow. Hello, Mr. Wybrow, walking home from work at the present evening, strolling casually through the cobweb alleys of London's East End. It's the spring of 1890, and Mr. Wybrow has nothing more important on his mind than buying the evening paper. Think, James, you're a fort, Mr. Wybrow. Things are pretty quiet. No murders or anything in the paper, sir? One or two last knees, but don't kill him, sir. It's a shame they can't schedule a good murder every two or three weeks. That's a sale of papers, it does. People sure likes to read about murder. For my part, I'm just as happy there aren't any murders. It's a good thing when people respect law and order. Well, is your paper, Mr. Wybrow? I'll see you tomorrow night. But murder isn't something you just read about in the papers, Mr. Wybrow. Murder is something that happens to people, something fine and violent. Tomorrow night, other people coming home from work will find your name in the paper. And your death will help the sale of James' newspaper. For at this very moment, as you walk down Largo Street, a man has begun to follow you. This man following you, Mr. Wybrow, he isn't a bad man. In fact, he passes everywhere as a respectable man, as most criminals do. But the court has come into his mouldering mind that he'd like to kill someone. And being without conscience, he's going to do it. And then go home to tea. Yes, Mr. Wybrow, murderers do eat. The same sort of food you and I eat. Even the same sort of fish you've stopped in to buy on your way home from work in accordance with Mrs. Wybrow's instructions. Evener, Mr. Wybrow, what'll it be tonight? Is the Mrs. not a little addict, would be nice. How's this one, yes, sir? And it's small, but I guess it'll be all right. Wrap it up for me with you, right away. Now you've got company, Mr. Wybrow. A man who's about to kill you is just coming into the same feast. Don't turn away, look at him. That's right, there's nothing unusual about him, is there? You've seen him before. Nice night, isn't it, Mr. Ottomore? Haven't seen you around in some time. I guess it's because I've been coming home from the shop earlier. Here's your attic, Mr. Wybrow. All wrapped and ready. Very speedy of you. Just charge it, huh? I'll be in to pay you the first to next week. Oh, and good night to you, Mr. Ottomore. Quiet, but friendly sort of fellow, your murderer, isn't he, Mr. Wybrow? Yes, it's a friendly world, so take your fish and leave the market and go on to your rendezvous with death. Let's go home now, Mr. Wybrow, but don't hurry so. Take a look around, Joe. It's your last look at the world, and if you knew it, you'd look at it more closely. The more slowly you walk, the longer you'll enjoy the fragrant air of this evening, the longer you'll see the dreamy lamplight of the little shop. Pause a minute before you cross Loyal Lane. Pause. Among the houses that shelter the useless and beaten of London's camp hollowers, hear the music of the people in the streets. It's the last time, Mr. Wybrow, the very last time. There's only a minute or two on Earth left for you. You've turned into your own street now, and right behind you is your murderer. Listen. Can't you hear something in his footfalls? Can't you hear something that cries out for where here comes death, here comes murder? Footfalls? They're neutral. The foot of villainy falls with the same note as the foot of honesty. Go into your house. Yes, it's me, all right. Did you remember to get the fish? I remembered, all right. Stay from that door, don't touch it, get as far away from it as possible. Go out of the back door, run to the garden over the fence, call the neighbors, but don't touch that door. On the other side is death. Oh, hello. I didn't expect to see you again tonight. Something wrong? Come in. I'll get a chair for you. I say, what are you doing? Just, what are you doing? You want to find out about the Wybrow murder? I've edited this paper. Well, it's... Very well, strangled to death and absolutely no one around could have done it. Oh, now, now, Mr. Crane, somebody must have been there. Well, if you think it's so easy, let me be the editor for a while and you'll be the reporter. Now, whoever did this murder disappeared like magic. Mr. Wybrow was seen by the neighbors to enter his house at the usual time. A policeman at the end of the street. He saw no one else enter only the house, but suddenly screams were heard. Then the policemen whistled. Well, the criminal must have got there some way. They must fly in and out. You better go over to police headquarters and see what they know. Very well, sir. It certainly is a baffling case. But this is only the beginning. Even now, Mr. Crane, as you're on your way to police headquarters, the killer you seek is stalking another victim. The murder of Mr. Wybrow has only whetted the appetite of our killer. He wants to try it again and again. Pleasure in killing. And his conscience doesn't bother him one little bit. Curtain falls on act one of tonight's volley mystery. A mysterious killer is at large on the streets of London and where he will strike next, nobody knows. Why, Mr. Barnes, don't tell me you can't see a murder coming. Well, no, Dan, that's practically impossible. Not all the time why some men can see murder coming every time they stand before the mirror to shave. And say, man, if that's how it is with you, far you have wiry whiskers or a tender skin. But you know shaving needn't be painful, not if you shave with mole. The heavier brushless shaving cream. That's right, mole is the heavier cream that gives you a smooth, slick shave. Because mole is heavier, it not only softens your whiskers, it stands them up straight and lets your razor cut them off close and clean. With mole, you shave faster, closer, easier, and you shave painlessly. Try it. See if you don't say. It's smooth, so smooth. It's slick, so slick. It's a smooth, smooth, slick, slick shave you get with M-O-L-L-E. Mole, the heavier brushless shaving cream for tender skins. And now this is Jeffrey Barnes returning you to act two of the hands of Mr. Ottermore. Mr. Fyverow in London of 1890 was called the London Strangling Horror because it was something more than murder. It was motiveless and there was an air of black magic about it. For no one had seen or heard the killer and it was as though he'd disappeared into thin air. And now as the sun fades and night deepens on a strange dark street the killer prowls again and victim number two has run out of time. Now listen to that. I've no notion it's reached that hour. I've kept you out too late again, Johnny. Oh, God, no. It's you that should be getting to bed what was your work to go to, Sir Whirly. Let's put you on the tram car here. I've only off a block to run home. You'll be all right. Why shouldn't I? Only off a block to go home, really. Oh, don't you worry about me. Oh, listen, it comes to tram car now. Oh, it's all right to say good night. No, but I'll see you tomorrow. Don't forget same time. Oh, Whirly, oh no, get on board. Good night, Johnny. Good night to you. But your last goodbye, Janie. Your very last. But down the street in the shadow of the doorway is the strangler. Even as you walk down the street his footsteps have begun to echo along with yours. You're menacing about the next day. And why do you feel frightened all of a sudden? Why have you started to walk faster? Are you afraid of a pair of footsteps? Well, you're right to be afraid of him. So put your head down and run. Don't look back. Don't look back. Janie, don't stop. Don't even speak to him. I don't know what's wrong with me. I started to walk fast. Scared, I guess I was. I don't know. I say it's right. My newspaper is demanding action. The strangler must be found. And you feigned him, Mr. Crane. There's absolutely no clue. Once again he's disappeared like a whiff of smoke. Don't worry. I'll find him if I have to spend the rest of my life doing it. Let's only murder number two, Mr. Crane. There are to be more of these stranglings and each will be committed at a time when the streets are empty and there's no possible murderer. Wherever people meet in the street's market shops they discuss the one-topic murder. They bolt their doors and windows at the first fall of dusk and they yield to apprehension this May. But by the whim of one man with a pair of powerful hands through their daily life is shaken. You mark my words, Alf. It's them gypsies what's responsible for these murders. They're Eastern fellas. They know plenty of tricks. They know how they make themselves invisible. How they have potions that make anything possible. The only way to stop these stranglings is to drive them gypsies out of London. And so panic, panic rules the population. And no one in London feels safe unless there's a policeman somewhere around. But policemen are only human. The same as the rest of us. It's possible to strangle a policeman too and then then where does safety lie? That's right. Victim number three is Constable MacDonald who stops to talk with an old friend. Right. It's only you. Give me a start. All night long I've been walking this hill deserted street. Every once in a while the streams are approaches the same as you've done. And I tighten my grip on my night stick. I kept looking around so much I've got a crick in the back of my neck. Maybe if you just run your hand a little it could help some. Right here. No easy. Yeah. What you doing? The strangling horrors reach three are almost over. But there's to be one more, one more. And no one is ever to know the identity of the murderer. That is no one but two men. The murderer himself and our young newspaper friend Mr. Crane and fate is a strange trick to play on Mr. Crane as fate sometimes does. Sergeant. Oh evening Mr. Crane. I've a few questions I'd like to ask you sergeant. These three stranglings you discovered all the bodies didn't you? No not exactly. I discovered Mr. Whybrow's body and I discovered Constable MacDonald's body. The girl I got there just after she'd been found. You didn't see anything I didn't see anybody. I swear on my life there was no one around. But how could the killer get away so quickly? Is it possible that he could have hidden right at the scene of the crime? No sir. We went over every bit of the Whybrow's no one could have hidden there. MacDonald was killed in the street no one could hide there of course as for the girl it was unlikely anyone could hide nearby with the crowd around. That's what I want to know sergeant. Did a crowd form immediately after each murder? Police means whistle and they all come running to see what's up. Do you think that is something to do with the murders sir? Might have and it might not. Thank you very much sergeant. I'll commend you to the inspector. These questions you're asking Mr. Crane what are they leading to? What ideas trying to shape itself in your mind do you think you're going to uncover the identity of this strangler? Men with more intelligence than you have been trying to solve it and failed and the closer you come to your own death Mr. Crane so don't think about it. Walk down the street go into the music hall where you can forget all these questions. Sandwich in a glass of ale. Just a minute waiter. Look at this hair white. Nothing but fat. Well I didn't make the sandwich sir. Oh now look here are you trying to tell me that this establishment isn't responsible for its food? After all the ham is there somebody had to put it there Mr. Crane. Oh it's you Mr. Editor. I think I've solved the mystery of the strangling murders. Yes I just saw a vision in my ham sandwich. A vision? How did the ham get into this sandwich? Somebody put it there. Precisely and three persons have been strangled therefore somebody had to be there to do it. You have a genius for the obvious. Yes and it's obvious the only way the murderer could escape was either by running away or by standing still. Standing still? Standing still so he wouldn't be conspicuous. Yeah yeah wait a minute where are you going? Out into the streets sir. Out into the streets to discover the man who could stand still the best. This is Jeffrey Barnes again. In just a moment we'll bring you act three of The Hands of Mr. Ottermore. When you have dandruff you might just as well try to combat it with plain water as with many ordinary hair preparations. You can just simply remove loose dandruff and you can do that with plain water. To do more to fight dandruff effectively use double dandering. For double dandering is a scientific product that does what most ordinary hair preparations can't do. It goes to work on your scalp and actually kills on contact the germ that many outstanding authorities contend is a cause of a common type of dandruff. Even in severe cases results with double dandering have been remarkable. Now the reason for double dandereens is that it contains a special ingredient called alzan an active antiseptic so amazingly efficient many hospitals use it. So stop trying to combat dandruff with preparations that can't compare with double dandering. If you're not completely satisfied return the empty bottle and get your money back. Buy double dandering at your druggist. I told you a good deal about the strangler Mr. Crane you're getting very close to him now. If you leave the music hall and stand still best and attract the least attention the answer comes to you. Why are you being so heroic Mr. Crane? You're on a dark lonely street now it isn't necessary for you to bring the murderer in single-handed. They look at the police station across the street run over to get help. All right then go on by yourself be a hero snuff out your own knife miller to prove that a vision you saw was the correct one. Go ahead turn the corner now and confront the strangler. Have you dug up any new evidence about the murders since I spoke to you the other day? No, nor has anyone else. Really? Now as men to men tell me why. Just why did you kill all those innocent people? You can't believe I did it. It couldn't be anybody else. And there wasn't time for anyone to escape the scene of the crimes. Therefore the strangler escaped by standing still. And who could stand still? Who could be more inconspicuous in a crowd than a policeman? You think that's pretty clever, don't you? You won't tell anybody about this? And back. I thought you might get robbed so I brought along this gun. Try anything and I'll use it. All right. I'll try to get away, Mr. Crane. I know when the game's up. But there's still one thing I've got to know. Why? Why did you do it? I don't know exactly. But I've got an idea. Everybody knows we can't control the workings of our minds. Don't they, Mr. Crane? So they say. That's right. Ideas come into our minds without asking. We're supposed to be able to control his body. Why? We get our minds from Lord knows where. Maybe from people dead. 100 years before we were born. Yes, yes, God. Well, might we get our bodies in the same way? Can't ideas live in nerve and muscle? Couldn't it be that parts of our bodies aren't really us? And couldn't ideas come into those parts all of a sudden? Take my hands. Look at them. See how big and strong they are. Well, couldn't hands like these suddenly get the idea to choke things? Like this? Like army. Like army. I told you they could ideas. Ideas to choke things. Give me that gun, Mr. Crane. You're breaking my wrist. Drop that gun. Big beast, I've shot you twice. Why don't you die? But it's my hands that shanger you, Mr. Crane. My hands. No, thank God. My hands. Mr. Crane. The next morning, two men were found in the same street. Mr. Crane, the reporter. Mr. Ottomo, the police sergeant. But very much the same in one important respect. They were both very dead. Yes, the strangler has been found out. But that's not the end. For fate still has its ironical prank. For fate still has its ironical prank to play on Mr. Crane. Poor Mr. Crane. Six months after his death, a proclamation was made by the Lord Mayor of London. Whereas the strangling in London's East End suddenly and strangely came to a halt, it can only be concluded that the strangler died or was killed. In consideration of certain evidence, it has been decided that the strangler was undoubtedly a certain reporter named James M. Crane. And it is poetic justice of the most exalted kind that this strangler himself finally met his death by strangling. Therefore I have ordered a special bronze medal struck in memory of the man who freed London of this horror and gave his life in so doing. Police Sergeant Ottomo. In memory of police sergeant Ottomo. Now this is Jeffrey Barnes again inviting you to be with us next week. When we present, Patricia Wentworth's In the Balance. Starring Jim Amici. The original music for the Molle Mystery Theater is composed and conducted by Alexander Semmler. The hands of Mr. Ottomo was written by Thomas Burke and adapted for radio by L. K. Hoffman. Arnold Moss was featured in tonight's program. This is Dan Seymour saying good night until next Friday at the same time when the Mystery Theater presents In the Balance. This is NBC, the national broadcasting company.