 This is Orson Welles speaking from London, the Black Museum, a repository of death. Yes, here in the Grimstone structure on the Thames, which houses Scotland Yard, is a warehouse of homicide, where everyday objects, or teapots, or sewing needle, folding camera, all are touched by murder. Now, here's a handkerchief, a khaki handkerchief, soldier's handkerchief, common enough sort of thing during the war. A handkerchief's stock, fairly clean, if a bit moly. That would be from exposure, Thompson. Looks like army issue. It is, but no hero used it. You can bet on that. Well, that handkerchief can be seen today in the Black Museum. Canals 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. Here we are at the Black Museum in Scotland Yard. Just come to this silent room. Outside, the Thames is busy with London's river traffic, and just upstairs, police communications tap from the teletypes ring from the telephones. But here, as I say, is silence. Now, here's a length of garden hose. Once it was connected to an exhaust of a car, from there up through the floorboards. The time was winter. The driver rode with all the windows closed, and the car crashed. The man died. It wasn't exactly an accident. No, it was murder. Here's a German Mauser, more trophy-heavy gun. Strange, a tiny woman held it with two hands, smudged her own fingerprints. She was found out. Her hands gave her away. The paraphernal test, you know, for gunpowder smoke. Ah, here we are. Here it is, the cocky handkerchief. Originally it was intended for camouflage. Fairly shouted for recognition at the right time in the wrong place. Yet the trouble first appeared as the commonplace ringing of a telephone. Yes? This is Liz Hart. How are you? Fine. And you? All right. I'm a little worried, though. Kathy's so late getting home. Is she with Doris? Well, they're not here. I thought Doris was with Kathy at your house. Or probably stop at one of their friends' houses. Now, don't you worry. Kathy'll come home with my Doris, and both of them will be full of story. So ordinary, so commonplace. One mother worries the other dozens. And later, around six, the warrior, Mrs. Hart, Kathy's mother, speaks to her husband. You'll have to speak to Kathy when she gets home. Isn't she home? It's practically dinnertime. I thought she was in her room. She's off somewhere. Oh, John, I'm so worried. To call the places where she might be? Hours ago. No one's seen her. Well, we'll have to wait until 6.30. Then I suppose we'll have to start looking for her. Oh, when will Kathy learn to let us know? 6.30. No Kathy. No word from Kathy. This time the telephone rings in the Hart household. Mrs. Lyons is calling Mrs. Hart. Yes. I assumed you'd call me if Doris turned up with Kathy at your house. Oh, dear, I wonder where they can have gotten to? Well, frantic, Mrs. Hart cradled the telephone looks to her husband. Together they leave the house go under the darkening street to ring doorbells. I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm trying to find my girl. But the carters haven't seen Kathy. It's you, sir, old man, but our Kathy seems to be among the unaccounted four. No. Bradley's haven't seen Kathy. Sorry to bother you. Have you seen anything of Arlo? No. The Corbett's haven't seen Kathy. Oh, please. I'm almost frantic. Where's my arlo? No one. No one has seen Kathy. No one's seen Doris. Word is getting around. Now the rumours spread. The time grows later. All of Penn, Rustic, Penn, and Buckinghamshire is buzzing now. At the end, the tap room is crowded. Closing time draws near. Still, no word. Oh, Penn Inn landlord speaking. Oh, this is John Hart. Look, Lyons and I are together at my place. Do you think some of the men would help us start a search? Well, I'll ask them, Mr. Hart. I'm sure they will. Now you stay right where you are. We'll be along very soon. Can I have your attention, men? Your attention, men. Hart and Lyons need help. They want to start a search. Now, how many of you fellas will help? After all, neighbours and neighbours, and if we can... So it begins. The long-hired search continues. It's six hours now. They've been missing. It's dark, very, very little moon. The lanterns of the searches move around the village of Penn through the fields and the clumps of trees. In ever-widening circles, the men beat the fields. At the heart home, two mothers wait and wait. Nothing yet. The sun rides high above the fields and wards of Buckinghamshire. The sun passes its course, descending behind the hills to the west. Already the search is hundreds of them now, but moved outward from Penn some four miles out through. The night is coming on. The doorbell rings. Yes? Just on my way to the inn, ma'am, from all entrances. Just to tell you, we'll keep at it all night, if need be. And there's nothing yet? Night again. Now the police are in the search, with a group of soldiers from the nearby camp. Suddenly, monotonously, the men work their voices subdued, the lanterns barbing and weaving over the countryside. Outward, always outward from Penn, five miles now, six miles. As the radius lengthens, there's more ground to cover. False dawn greys the sky to the east, and the morning starlow in the west begins to pale. I found something. Covered up the leaves they were, just behind me here. A tragic news back to Penn. And the little wood with its running stream and the bodies were found. Two of Scotland Yard's inspectors, Thompson and Stark, took over together. Now is the time for professionals at manhunting. I don't think they were killed here, do you? No, chances are against that. One of the men brought me this. A handkerchief, Stark, fairly clean, if a bit moldy. That would be from exposure, Thompson. Looks like army issue. It is, but no hero used it. There are tire marks and an oil patch over to the right. Truck tires, double rear wheels, army truck it looks like. Plastic casts. The men are making them now. Army truck, army handkerchief. Anything else? Not yet. All right, let's get out of here. We've got a killer to find. I mean these two. Grimly, they said about the work. Stark takes the gas mask container, the plastic cast, the handkerchief to the experts at the yard. Thompson stays on in Penn. He visits a different kind of yard. Doris and Kathy were once my pupils, Inspector. I have a very personal reason for wanting to help you. But just how can I? It doesn't need me to tell you, Miss, how observant children can be. Now, it occurred to me that some of the kids in your school who live near the heart's home might have noticed something unusual on their way back from school. Of course, it's only a shot in the dark, but a child might remember something that a grown-up would forget. I see what you mean, Inspector. Right then. Now, who in your class lives near the heart's? Let me see now. Linda Carter. Oh, yes, and Kenneth Bradley. They're playing just over there. Come with me. Now then, what's your name, young lady? Linda. Linda Carter. And yours, Milad? Kenneth Bradley, sir. I understand you two both live in the same street as the heart's. Yes, sir. I live next door. Kenneth's a couple of houses down. Right, Kenneth? Yes, sir. Now, I know you'd like to help me if you could. I think your teacher told you I'm from the Scotland Yard. She sure did. You don't look like a detective. Detectives usually don't look like detectives. Now, let me tell you something. We're looking for a truck, a large, heavy truck. An army truck, maybe. Maybe? Why? Did you see one, say, a day before yesterday? Yes, sir, at the crossroads. Just standing there. Well, I saw it too. It was a big one. Oh, any one in it? Just the driver. He had an awful red face. And he had glasses on with silver rings. He was sitting there smoking. Can you tell me anything about the truck? No, I just remembered the man in it. It looked like a wireless truck, but it didn't have any aerial. There were those big double wheels on the back and a number 44 on the door and a red and blue square on one side and a tailboard had some letters. J, B, I think. And on the front bumper, there was bat, C, B, M. Batteries C prime mover. Anything else, Kenneth? Not that I can think of, sir. No, sir. How old do you think the driver was, Linda? Oh, 26. You seem very sure. Did you ask him? No, sir. But he looked about my father's age and daddy's 26. I heard him say so. Thank you, Linda. You too, Ken. You've been very helpful. When you come to London, I'll see to it that you're shown through the yard. You're like that, I'm sure, eh? Inspector Thompson sought out his colleague Stark at Scotland Yards. I've got good descriptions. The truck and the driver. How about you, old man? Lawn remark and the handkerchief. Print on gas mask container, that's all. Anybody seen them in the truck? A man and a woman, about a mile apart, along the line from the school towards where they were found. Any numbers on the truck? Battery, regiment and division insignia. That laundry mark's going through the mill. H-2503 has been checked in every laundry in the county of Buckingham. Good. I'll get on to Army Intelligence. We'll find that truck, the outfit that uses it, and the man who drives it. A leaky axle drips oil, does it? We'll see about that. Well, that handkerchief can be seen today in the Black Museum. It was routine, except for the unforgettable side of leaf- shrouded bodies in the wood. The mechanics of tracing a laundry marker, routine. Preservation of plaster casts of tire marks, that's routine, grim routine. With an inevitability about it, pursuing a routine, Inspector Thompson called Army Intelligence and spoke with a colonel whose main function was liaison with the civilian police. Those are the details, colonel. Well, four, four. That's it. Sounds like one of those fours and six-by-sixes we've been getting for our field artillery. I'll call you back in a second. Thank you. Like war, crime detection is largely a matter of waiting, waiting for information, waiting for results when the wanted alarms are sent out, waiting for a suspect to appear at a certain place. And now Thompson and Stark waited for answers to the inquiries in a matter of hours. The answers began to come in. There's a report on the laundry, Mark Thompson. Ties in with a series, giving an army outfit stationed about five miles outside of Penn Village. It begins to fit. It begins to fit. Patiently and grimly, the two men went along, waiting. Once again, the telephone. Inspector Thompson here. Colonel Gardnight. Here he comes, Stark. Good. Go ahead, colonel. That truck apparently belongs to the 44th Battalion, Devonshire Blues, a battery-sea prime mover. Where is that outfit, sir? The south coast of further field training. Thank you, colonel. Shall I advise the Sierra down there to expect it? If you would, it should take us about... about two hours. You move fast, don't you? Thank you, again, sir. If he's still with that outfit, we'll get him. If he's still alive, we'll get him. Oxford, Stark. Get a car and a driver. We're going to the country. Traffic was light and gasoline rationed England. Some two hours later, Thompson and Stark conferred with a major, commanding the battalion. Yes, we do have a prime mover with a leaky axle, gentlemen. As a matter of fact, it's in the shed just outside. May we see it, major? Yes, of course. This way. Has the tyre cast, Stark? Good. Our accommodations are still a bit primitive. No proper garage facilities. We just moved into this setup day before yesterday. We understand, major. You've been having much trouble with that truck? Yes, yes. A few days ago, just before we broke camp near Penn, that's over in Buckingham, sir. Yes. We know the plan. We've released the truck to the maintenance depot. Apparently, there isn't much they can do with it. But eventually, there's a problem. Ah. Well, there we are. J.B. on the tailboard. Have a look at the inside, will you? I'll take the tyres and the markings. Check. 44 on the door, yes. Big enough. The leg can hardly miss it. Red and blue square. Our battery should have patched, Inspector. Yes, I thought so. Markings all checked. Let me see now. The tyres. They are falling in here, Thompson. Yes, tyres checked with the cast, Stark. Well, we expected that. Here's something on the tarpaulin. What do you make of these stages? Want a guess, old man? Well, your guess is as good as mine. And it'll be confirmed by pathology. Blood. I think we're through here, Major. May we go back to your office, please? Blood on the tarpaulin. Crumpled up and tossed into a corner of the truck. I don't think there were kill here, do you? No. Chances are against that. No blood around here. But blood on the tarpaulin of the truck. The two detectives in the major went back to the ordinary room. I think we'd better see the driver of that truck, Major. Oh, yes, of course. Sergeant Cattle. Yes. Do you know who drives the prime mover for Battery C? Oh, that'll be Triscoll, sir. Oh, where is he now? I expect he's in the battery day room, sir. Oh, bring him over, will you? With his gear. Duffel bag, the whole outfit. Yes, sir. Sergeant turned and left. The major with Thompson and Stark waited silently. Each busy with his own thoughts. An army is a cross-section of the population, they say. If this Driscoll did this thing, part of that cross-section, I suppose, let blood stain. I hope there's enough for pathology to type it. Lawn remarks. If shirts and underwear all have the same mark as the handkerchief. If he's the man. In the day room of Battery C, the situation is normal. The sergeant walked in without attracting too much attention. Oh, here you are, Driscoll. What's up, Sarge? You are. Major wants you. What's wrong now? He didn't tell me. Let's get over to quarters first. What for? Major wants to see your gear. All of it. Oh. Let's go. Was the waiting over? Out of the seeming anonymity of the army, had they found their man, and so quickly? In my office, Sergeant. Yes, sir. Driscoll, Major. Thank you, Sergeant. Dismiss. Please, Driscoll. Thank you, sir. This is Inspector Thompson and Inspector Stark, Scotland Yard. They have some questions, Driscoll. Answer them. I'll try, sir. Oh, he's all yours, gentlemen. May I examine your duffel bag, Driscoll? Of course, sir. Blood is rather wet, isn't it? Caught in the rain, sir. Must have been quite a rain to go through the pockets like this. It was, sir. You're sure you didn't wash it yourself and pack it before it was dried? No, sir. It was the rain, sir. How do you explain the shirt? The cuffs cut off like this. Came back from the laundry with the cuffs all frayed. I cut them off and used a shirt around the tractor. I see. Driscoll, does this handkerchief look familiar to you? Like any other handkerchief, Inspector? Thompson. The laundry marks. Here. Colour of the shirt. I see it. We'll try again, Driscoll. Look at the laundry marks on the shirt and on the handkerchief. Seems to be yours, doesn't it? I wouldn't know about laundry marks. They're identical. Aren't they? Have you had a handkerchief like this recently? All the army issue is the same, sir. We get a lot of trouble getting things back from the laundry. Someone else could have had this handkerchief. Rather a careless laundry, Driscoll. Sorry, sir. Yes, sir. Have a look at this tarpaulin, Driscoll. Yes, sir. What's your guess about those stains? Grease, sir. That shape? That colour? Might be blood, sir. This tarpaulin comes from your truck, Driscoll. I never saw the stain, sir. Might be someone swapped this one for mine. Driscoll, where were you on the 19th? Three days ago. Maintenance depot. Repairs. Leaky axle. Did they repair it? They couldn't. Not in the time we had before we moved down here. I see. Anything else, Stark? Not at the moment. Major, we'd appreciate it if you'd hold this man and Rescott. There are still a few inquiries to be made. Yes, of course, Inspector. Sergeant, in here, please. There were still the loose ends on identification on the laundry problem. Driscoll wore horn-rimmed glasses. Inspector Thompson asked some more questions. I see, Corporal. He wore army issue and suddenly bought himself the horn frame. You joked with him about it, and he didn't like it. You were angry, didn't you? Inspector Stark visited the regimental laundry depot. No complaints from Gunner Driscoll about losing things for him. Never tore off Freddy's shirts. I see. Thank you. Stark stayed with the shirt. A battery made of briskles had noticed the missing cuffs. The night you rolled in here, you noticed the cuffs missing. That was the night of the 20th. Very good. Inspector Thompson turned up an interesting item. Say that again, Sergeant. The night we came in here, we heard about those two in the woods. We were shooting the breeze about it in the day room. All at once, sir. Driscoll looks around and says, 10 to 1 is a murderer in here. That's what. And once again, a telephone. Oh, it's for you, Inspector. Thank you, Major. Inspector Thompson speaking. He did? I see. It's been checked at criminal records. Good. Very good. Yes, of course, I wanted the word at once. Thank you very much. May I find something? The crew we left at Penn turned up the second gas mask container. Metal, this one, had a print on it. They checked in criminal records. The fingerprint belongs to an Oscar Driscoll. It served a term eight years ago for molesting and impairing the morals of a minor. Oscar Driscoll, you're under arrest. The charge is willful murder of Kathy Hart and Doris Lyons on the afternoon of October the 19th. Well, that handkerchief can be seen today in the black museum. The defense, of course, was insanity. The defense tried to prove that Driscoll suffered from schizophrenia, spread personality, that he had no recollection of what he'd done and therefore no legal responsibility. A jury brought in its verdict, and finally this man died with the hands of the public executioner. There was apparently no doubt in the minds of the jury that this man had known and planned exactly what he'd done. At any rate, the khaki handkerchief remains in its usual place. In Scotland Yard, in the black museum. And now, until next time, till we meet again in the same place. And I tell you another story of the black museum. I remain as always, obediently always.