 Whitehall, one-two, one-two. For the first time in its history, Scotland Yard opens its official files to bring you the true stories of some of its most baffling cases. Research for Whitehall one-two, one-two is from Percy Hoskins, Chief Crime Reporter of the London Daily Express. The stories for radio are written and directed by Willis Cooper. Here is Chief Superintendent John Davidson of Scotland Yard, custodian of the famous Black Museum. The exhibit I have to show you today from our Black Museum files is neither more nor less unusual than anything I've shown you. But, like many other of these intrinsically unusual objects, it has acquired a certain interest because of its association. Now, you've seen thousands of these. It's a string of very colored plastic beads made by cutting plastic tubes of various colors into short lengths and stringing them together to form a woman's necklace. The string has been broken, but it's been re-tied, you see. The man who tied it together is here beside me. He was in charge of the case number 696966. This is Detective Inspector Herbert Case of the CID. Herbert? This case is one of the few in which the press was able to be of considerable assistance to us. Not to I assure you, by usurping the functions of the police, as so many fictional newspaper men do so fictionally successfully, but by passing on to us was remarkable celerity everything they discovered and leaving the dirty work to us whose job that is. On the 9th of August last year, the Criminal Investigation Department of Nottingham received a trunk telephone call from London. The call was routed to me. The caller identified himself. Inspector Case here, Mr. Marshfanks. May I ask who you are, sir? I've seen your paper, sir. Well, that's very good of you, sir. Did the man give his name and his name? You're going to talk to him at that number, sir? Thank you, sir. We'll be there with him. Goodbye. It was, of course, simple to determine the location of the telephone kiosk from the number. I proceeded there at once with Detective Sergeant Victor Mann to find a young man with excessively long hair talking rapidly into the phone. We moved closer to listen as best we might through the closed door. Nobody knows about it except Victor. Would you say that, same Inspector? I expect you'd better find out, Sergeant. All right, sir. Well, 150 pounds, then. I'll need them. Your name, George Brown? Excuse me, there's some... I'll have that telephone, please. Look here, who are you? C.R.D. Koch, give us the phone. Hello, hello, are you there? Hang on a sec, please. This is the police. You want to talk, Inspector? I say. Are you George Brown? I am. I was... It's him, Inspector. Thank you. Yes, wait, you Brown. Hello, is that Mr. Marshfanks? It is. Good. Was that your man? Right, we're here. We'll have a talk with him. Eh? Oh, yes, yes, yes, yes. Of course, I'll remember. Thanks very much, sir. Now, Mr. Brown. Who are you, the police? We are. Not C.R. Koch. I was going to call you at once, officer, just as soon as I got finished with my London call. I suppose you tell us now. You're right here. May I sit down, please? On the bench there. Leg feels better when I sit down. Murder with your leg. It's always been that way. Sit down, Sergeant. Now, what's this Brown about the murder you know about? Well, I don't know if it's a murder or not, sir. You told the editor of the news of the world it's a murder. Well, I think it's a murder. Where? It's in an old derelict orchard about half a mile from here, sir. It's a woman, you told the editor? Yes, sir, a woman. Is the body still there? I'm sure nobody'd find it. Why hasn't it been reported to the police? Well, I found it just yesterday, you see, and I thought I'd try to make some money out of it before I told you, chaps. Can't blame me for that, you know. No, can't we? Do you want to take us there? Well, under the circumstances, sir, I suppose there's really no choice, is there? There is not. Come along. Mama, leg, will you, you great-oaf. I felt sorry for young George Brown when he told him to long with us in the direction of his derelict orchard. Down Edward Lane, past the Roxy Cinema and the Metropole Hotel, jabbering about his bad luck at every step. Had you, chaps, get on to me. I'd have stood to make 250 pounds if you hadn't butt it in. 150, the bloke on the telephone was saying to you? Or you were saying to him, cock? Well, a hundred and a half is an A, you know, to a fellow's out of work. Now, I shall never see it. Thanks to you. Sir, is you right to want to make fools of the police? Don't come a greasy field, honest. How much further is this place, Brown? Down the hill, there. There's a path. I don't see a path. You've never have found it. I'll show you. Here, see? It's all grown over, but there's your path. Where's this body? See, down there, at the bottom? That collar rang? It's a coat. Been thrown over. Who threw it over her? Do I know? The murderer very likely. How'd you find her? Saw beads lying on the path here. Oh, I'd better give them to you, hadn't I? You had? Oh, sorry, I forgot them. Here. Better tie them together, hadn't I? How do you know their hers? I don't know. Seems probable, though, don't it? Well, see, well, come on. Oh, I'm not going down there again. I've seen her. Yeah, come on, pal. I won't do it. He was tough enough climbing up and down yesterday with my leg. I'll stay here. You go on. To what art you'll stay here? Shall I climb down, sir? I'll go. You stay here with the prisoner. Prisoner? I'm... I'm not arrested, am I? You are now. I arrest you on the charge of willfully concealing evidence of a violent death. And I warn you that anything you say will be taken down in writing and maybe used in evidence. That is for your coke. What are you going to do with me? The body was that of a woman about 30, I judged. She was lying on her side, fully dressed. The coat carefully placed over her. There was no immediate means of identification and the only obvious wounds were the bruises about the head which had caused the face to become quite black. The body was removed to the mortuary at Leanside for examination by Dr. Croft and the police surgeon and by Dr. John Little of the Home Office Forensic Science Laboratory. Man and I took Brown to a justice of peace on the charge we had made of concealing evidence. It was allowed to go after being bailed under the Criminal Justice Act of 1925 which permits the police to go bail themselves in such cases. In the meantime, a card found in a pocket of the coat which had covered the body had provided the first identification. The card bore the name of Mrs. Anne Battersby of 97 Long Mead Drive, Nottingham who had been reported missing on Friday, the 3rd of August, six days earlier. Lodgers at the Long Mead Drive address identified the broken string of beads, the coat itself and certain other articles as the missing Mrs. Battersby's. I talked with Sergeant Mann. Yes, sir. That's who it was all right. This Battersby woman. The body has been identified. Who identified her? Her husband and these other people, sir. What about her husband? I've talked to him, sir. You all right? Well, I brought him along with me, sir. You're here now? Yes, sir. Have a look at him. All right, sir. Mr. Battersby. Yes? Come in, please. Inspector Case, Mr. Battersby. Sit down, sit down, Mr. Battersby. I was wondering if you can tell us anything, sir. I've tried to think. I can't imagine. Your wife's acquaintances. Is there anyone at all? I don't know of any. The ones I know are other women. No woman did that, Inspector. No. How do you account for her being found in that particular place, Mr. Battersby? I don't know. Except near the Roxy Cinema. That's where she was going when she left. She told Tommy. Tommy? Tomasina Jane, our daughter. She was home when Anne left. Where were you, Mr. Battersby? At work. What's your occupation? Advertising copywriter. For an advertising, sir? No, I'm self-employed. My office is in St. Peter's Gate. I see. And when did you discover your wife missing on the 3rd? She wasn't there when I came home. At 10 o'clock at night, I notified the police at once. What time did you leave your office? At about 9.30. I see. That's your usual leaving time, sir? No. What is your usual time? About half past five. I was working that night on a new advertising. Are you... You could prove that, of course. I'm afraid I can't. I was alone. I had no office employees, and I was... I was quite startled when I realized how late it had gotten. I hurried home. When you found your wife absent, where did you think she was? I didn't know. Tommy woke and said she'd gone to the cinema. I'd telephoned there, but there was no answer. I called several of her friends. Women friends? Of course. Well, only one of them was at home. Daniela Pui, and she was... What did you expect to find out, Mr... That was me. Why, poor Anne, used once in a while to stay the night with Daniela... Without leaving you a message? Well, I thought you'd forgotten to call Tommy, or perhaps Tommy had been asleep and hadn't heard the telephone. But your wife was not there. No. Daniela said she'd seen her that afternoon. Where? Near the Roxy cinema, about 4 o'clock. And where were you at that time? I was in my office working. Where you stayed all evening? Of course. Going without your dinner? I'm afraid so. But that you can't prove. Can you? Look here, are you accusing me of my wife's death? Not yet, sir. Now, let me tell you what Dr. Little, the home office pathologist, said to me. I called on him the next morning, the 9th at his laboratory, and had been taken for a more complete examination. He'd been working most of the night, and he was tired. Well, I've discovered several things, Herbert. Any progress? I'll let you decide. First, she's been dead for about a week. That with the bruises on her face, which I think were made by someone's fist accounts for the dark color of her skin. Almost black? Yes. She was murdered about the time she disappeared then. I think I can say so. How quickly would the discoloration set him? Almost at once. A day or so, let's say. I'll keep my eyes open. I'm sorry. That's my job. Second, she died of strangulation, suffocation. I think, remembering the bruises, it was manual strangulation. Yeah. By the condition of the stomach contents, she died about four hours after her last meal. Ah. If we can discover when she ate last, then we'll know almost the exact time of her death. The day and the time. I'll try to find that out. All right. Now, we use my little laboratory vacuum cleaner on her clothes. What did you find? Nothing much. That piece of hair. Longish. Black? Yes. Recognize them? And on her husband, he's almost bald-headed. What hair he has is sandy. Traces of grease on this. Can it be identified? You suppose? I doubt it. But we can compare it with samples of brille cream and other messes people put on their hair and identify it that far. Will you do that? Of course. Probably the murderers. I'm sure. On here. This is what we found under her fingernail. Oh, excuse me. More hair? Shreds of fiber. From her coat or dress? From somebody else's coat or dress. You think another woman, Doctor? Can't tell. Bring me the garment she clawed these bits from. And I'd prove that's what they're from. How? A person might have scoped my boy. Ah. I'd like to see those beads you were talking about, too. Sorry. What for? I want to see if they fit into these marks on her neck. Marks? I think the boy has strangled her with her own beads. Now, do you mind tearing it out and letting me get a few in for sleep like a good man? You going to sleep here? The lady won't store. Leaving Doctor Little to his well-earned rest, I sought out Sergeant Mann for a conference. He listened attentively to my instructions. All right, sir. I've got it all, I think. The beads. To take them to Doctor Little. Right. That is me. Ask him for samples of his hair. What else? Look over his wardrobe and get samples of fibers from everything and bring them to the four scenic laboratory. Oh, yes. And find out from him how to reach the Stanisle du Puy. I admire your pronunciations, Sergeant. Well, the girlfriend of Mrs. Battersby. And ask her to come and see me. Ask her? There, sir. I hope she's pretty. She's French. On his walk, he mally pulls. What? French. She'll speak it like a native. Well, try it on Mademoiselle du Puy. Try what, sir? Get out of here. Send in that man that's waiting. Man, sir? The newspaper follower. Oh, the little fat man from London. Send him in. Yes, sir. You can come in, sir. Oh, thank you. Excuse me. I am addressing Inspector Case. Am I not? You are, sir. I take it you're Mr. Marshbank. For all the news of the world, London. I was speaking to you yesterday, sir. Very glad to see you, sir. Oh, thank you. May I sit down? By all means. Well, you uncovered a real one, Mr. Marshbanks. What brings you to Nottingham? I came down to see this murder story merchant, Brown. He telephoned me again last night. Oh, did he? Tells me that you've arrested him. Oh, teach him to conceal evidence. He's on bail now, but he'll get sent down for a few months when his trial comes up. What did he tell you? Tell me. When he telephoned you. Oh, well, I promised to give him 70 pounds for his story, provided you have no objections. It's our type of thing, after all, you know. I'm down on his price, isn't it? No, that was my doing. We're not in business for our health, you know. It's all right with you. Provided, of course, that I show you the story first. I see no harm in it, as well. Oh, good, good. Thank you. Ordinarily, I'd let our staff man here in Nottingham handle it, but I wanted to get away from my desk and then I confess this intrigues me. Yeah. I say, I was thinking of something. Can't put down an old newspaper man any accountable. Inspector. Oh, I am sorry, of course, Inspector. Right, there are many bloody things about constables on the paper, you know. Oh, I am sorry. Do forgive me. What are you thinking of? Oh, I was just thinking, what if this young chap turns out to be the murderer himself? Wouldn't that be jolly? Would be quite interesting, Mr. Marshbanks. I know what I should do. What? I should give him an extra 50 pounds. But only if his story is exclusive, sir. Only if it's exclusive, mind you. You're very generous, sir. It'll be worth it. Oh, it'll be worth it. Well, sir, if I allow you to leave me upon your lawful occasions now, I trust you will leave me to mine. I shall see you again before the day is over, sir. With my exclusive story, I promise you, sir. Good morning. Before the day was over, I'd said, a great many things happened before that day was over. First at about three in the afternoon, Dr. Little telephoned me from his forensic laboratory. Well, I'm glad to hear that, sir. Oh, they don't. I expect it as much. Good, thank you. I'll be here. As I sat down the telephone, there was a knock on the door. Yes? Come in. The Inspector Case, n'est-ce pas? I am the Inspector Case, yes, ma'am. This is ma'am Zeldupui, sir. Daniel Dupui. Oh. I'd like to ask you a few questions, please, Mr. Dupui. The Sir Jean Mann. Mann? No, he has already asked me questions, monsieur. What have you been asking her, ma'am? Oh, not about the case, sir. I mean... He asked me, do I know Anne Wattelsby? Yes, I say, and I do not. She is dead. Oh, he lost my poor Annie. You saw on the day she disappeared. Oh, I see her two times. Twice? I see her twice. Oui. Twice? Once when she is about to leave for the cinema. The Roxy to see une lettre pour trois époux, ettre pour trois wives. But I am making luncheon for me and my friend. And I am desolate. I cannot go with her. Oh! What's the matter, sir? If I go with her, I am dead, too. Well, cheer up, Mr. Pouet. Pouet, you didn't go with us. Excuse me, sir. So, what did you do then, please, Mr. Pouet? I give her my lunch with my friend. Harry Covert. She means green beans. Oh, 15 hours. Why? Wait, wait a second. Put me through the doctor a little at the forensic laboratory. Doctor. Who is it? Nothing new yet, case. Look, I've found when Mrs. Battersby had her last meal. You have? When? At three o'clock on the third. You know what she ate? Green beans, for one thing. For now. Thank you. And when was the other time you saw Mrs. Battersby that day, Mr. Pouet? It was about just before five minutes to six. Where, Mr. Pouet? Hold it, hold it, Sergeant. Are you sure of the time, Mr. Pouet? I am always sure, Monsieur the Inspector, and it was on Edward's lane only just past the Ruxi Cinema. And of that, I am also certain. Did you talk with her? I did not. How am I to know who is this man she is talking with? Man. She is walking down the street, Edward's lane, toward the old orchard with the man and he is talking to her. Would you recognize this man again, Mr. Pouet? Oh, I am not sure I would know his face, for sure. Did he have a lame leg? How do you know that? Did he? Why? I wish you had asked Mrs. Battersby to go with you. But I could not, Monsieur. I had a very important appointment. Why do you wish so? Because I think you saw the man who murdered her about half an hour later. And that was not all that happened before the day was over. I turned Mr. Pouet over to the matron who applied cold cloths to her head. Fifty minutes later, Marsh Banks of the News of the World returned and came cheerfully into my office. It is wonderful. What is wonderful? The story. Brown story? Is it written already? I have got the first paragraph here, and as soon as we have looked it over, we are going over to the Black Boy Hotel. I have a room there, and he is going to finish it on my portable typewriter. Ha! Never traveled without the portable, made in Switzerland, you know. Used by correspondents everywhere. May I see the story? Of course. Wonderful idea. He calls it... I saw something white. Isn't that a ripping title? What does it mean? Well, let me read it. As I slowly walked up the rustic path in the derelict orchard, I saw something white on the path before me. What could this be taste through... er, raced through my mind? I hurried forward and bent over the white object, and my heart almost stopped. It was the white face of a dead woman. That's enough. Don't you want to hear the rest of it? No, I want to hear the rest of it from Brown. Oh, how fortunate. I asked him to wait for me in the empty room. Isn't it? Now just a second. Sergeant Man! Yes, sir? Get Mr. Dupuis and ask her to come to the anti-room at once. Petra, if she has any objections. Yes, sir. Miss Dupuis? I think Mr. Brown has met her. Oh, Frenchie. Come on, let's find Brown. Oh, er... Do you happen to have an extra 50 pounds on you, Mr. Marshbang? 50 pounds? I think you're going to owe it to Mr. Brown. Eh? Your proposition, you remember? Come along. Here you are, Brown. Oh, how'd you do, Inspector? Have you been reading my story? The first paragraph, I mean. I found it very interesting. I like it very much indeed. Well, thank you. You said you saw her white face. Well, I thought that it was rather a good touch. It was if you'd seen her face within an hour or two after you'd killed her. What are you saying? The combination of the blows she had received in the face and the strangling with her beads and the hot weather. Her face has been that ghastly black color since a few hours after she died. Mr. George Brown. Black, that's what I meant. I didn't... Marshbang, I... Oh, here you are, Mr. Puy. Have you ever seen this man before? And this time the warning was a trifle different from the first time. George Brown, I arrest you for the wilful murder of Anne Bathersby. I warn you that anything you say will be taken down in writing and may be used in evidence. This is a little of the testimony of George Brown of the Nazi sizes when he was tried for murder. Yes, I killed her. No, there was no reason for it, no reason, except I hate everyone. Everyone hates me in my cripple leg. I'm glad I thought so many times about a perfect crime. She laughed at me once as I dragged my way down Edward's lane. I promised myself she'd be the first to die and after I'd murder her, I'd seek out the others who laughed at the poor cripple. And so I... I asked her to help me over the road in the rough orchard. She laughed and she said, if I'd have any, she didn't know she was going to die. I hate her, I hate you, I hate everybody. Perfect crime if I hadn't tried to make money for the races out of it. I should have been satisfied with her life, straying in the lofts and smiles out of it with her own portrait beads. I hate her, I hate her. There was a great deal of that. He was found guilty, but they didn't hang him. He was sent to the asylum for the criminal insane at Broadmoor. He hanged himself five months later. Poor demented boy. His appearance were Harvey Hayes, Maurice Dullamore, Carl Haubord, Lester Fletcher, Glenn Farmer, Gerard Burke and Patricia Courtley, Lionel Rico speaking. Whitehall 1212 is written and directed by Willis Cooper. This is NBC, the National Broadcasting Company.