 Whitehall 1212. For the first time in history, Scotland Yard opens its official files to bring you the true stories of some of its most baffling cases. These are the true stories. The plain, unvarnished facts, just as they occurred, re-enacted for you by an all-British cast. Only the names of the participants have for obvious reasons been changed. The broadcasts are presented with a full cooperation of Scotland Yard. Research on Whitehall 1212 is furnished by Percy Hoskins of the London Daily Express. The stories for radio are written and directed by Willis Cooper. Chief Superintendent John Davidson acts as custodian of the Black Museum. He will tell you now about Scotland Yard case number 630612, which began on the 20th June 1946 and was concluded the 26th October the same year. Here is Chief Superintendent Davidson. Good afternoon. Aside from our collection of weapons of murder, of which we have a great many, there are many more objects here which seem highly incongruous among the knives and the guns, the battered bullets, and the conventional blunt instruments. Now I could show you a hat, a left boot, a folded five pound note, and a writing crop, a copy of the Book of Common Prayer, all of which have figured in their various times in one murder or another. What I have to show you from the file of case number 630612 is this very small thing. I assure you there are other things in that box, but this, this artificial pearl from a girl's necklace aided enormously in hanging a man. You know, if you're contemplating murder, a look at our exhibits here at the Black Museum would almost make you lose your enthusiasm for it. Now this is Superintendent Thomas Meredith, who had a great deal to do with this case. I find myself becoming more and more impatient with murderers, John. I suppose I should ask why. They're so stupid. None of them ever learns that he can't get away with it. Well, we could get murderers to come to a school perhaps. Well, they come to school, John, but they're always late. And I don't think that they like the schoolmaster very well. Oh, the judge? No, old boy. The hangman. I was unable to accompany Inspector Cecil Daley of the CID when he went down to the Pembridge Court Hotel, Notting Hill, that Friday morning in June 1946 to investigate the reported death of a guest. When I finally arrived there two and a half hours later, I was glad I hadn't got there before. Inspector Daley told me all about it, though. She was lying there on the other bed with one arm cramped under her body on her face. Shot at what? Died of suffocation, the doctor says. The face was buried in the pillow. Matter of fact, a good bit of the pillow had been stuffed into her mouth like a gag. You'd think she'd have got herself up. She was tight to the bed. Ankles tied together with a bath towel, head fastened to the frame of the bed with the belt of her coat, face down on the pillow. That stands here on the bed. She'd been beaten. What with? From the marks on her back, I imagine it was a riding crop of some sort. A riding crop? Haven't seen one for years. And they took her over to the Hammersmith mortuary. You didn't go and have a look at the marks, if you like. What about her clothes? She had all her clothes on, except her shoes. The back of her dress was ripped, stuck to her back. Blood. The beating didn't kill her. So the doctor said. Fancy he'll be doing a post-mortem though, just to be sure. Know who she was? Identity card and Russian book on her purse. Name of Marjorie Tate. Smurter, of course. I don't think it was measles, sir. You haven't any idea who did it? I think a bloke named Neville George Clevelly King. Oh, that's the name this room was booked under. He's had this room booked since yesterday morning. Had a front door key. The way they run these places, that's a spot careless, isn't it? All the staff goes to bed at midnight, leaving the place locked up. So nobody saw them come in, then? Not a bloody soul. You don't even know he was here, then? Somebody was. Well, looks as if we'll have to find him. The manager has gave me his home address. I expect it's funny, though. Let's have a try. Where is it? Seven Oaks and Kent. I'll get the Seven Oaks police on the telephone. Well, I think I'll run over there if you don't mind. If you like, but the telephone's cold. Ah, I'd rather go in person. I'd like to bring him in myself. But why, when the telephone? You didn't see that poor girl's body. Inspector Daly was a little surprised to find that the address was correct. Nobody, however, was much surprised to find Neville George Clevelly King gone from there. Daly brought back a photograph of a man who was a remarkably good-looking young man of about 30, dressed in the uniform of a flight sergeant of the Royal Air Force. We contacted them. What about him? Snafu is the American satyr. What? Posted as a deserter three months ago. I knew it looked too easy. As a matter of fact, it didn't look quite so difficult, as Inspector Meredith seemed to think. The press men had got hold of the story, and every newspaper in London, as well as the great many in the rest of the country, were carrying lurid stories about the sadistic murderer and his victim for one thing. Another thing? The photograph of the young Air Force sergeant had been given general circulation amongst all the police stations in England. And with the RAF looking for him as a deserter, it seemed certain to me that he'd found it once. But he wasn't. He did communicate with Scotland Yard, with me rather. It was on Monday the 24th, three days after the battered body of Marjorie Tate had been discovered. True, my name was in all the papers, but he didn't have to demote me to the rank of Inspector. Dear Inspector Meredith, he wrote, I feel it to be my duty to inform you of certain facts in connection with the death of Mrs. Marjorie Tate at Notting Hill Gate. Kind of them? Quite. I looked in at the hotel last Sunday, but not with Mrs. Tate, the first time last week. She had asked me if she could use my hotel room on Sunday night, and I gave her my keys, asking her to leave the door open when she left. She said she would be leaving the room about 2 a.m. It must have been about 3 a.m. when I returned to the hotel and found her in the condition of which you are aware. She had told me that she was to meet a man there whom I have seen. I will give you a description of him. Aged about 30 dark hair, black with small moustache, height about 5 feet 9 inches, slim build. His name is Jack, and I gather he was a friend of Mrs. Tate's of longstanding. Does he say why you left the place? I realized I was in an invidious position when I found the body, and rather than notify the police, I pecked my belongings and left NGC King. The man think we're idiots? Oh, here's a postcard. I'm in possession of the instrument with which Mrs. Tate was beaten, and I'm forwarding it to you today. You will probably find my fingerprints on it, but you should also find others as well. NGC King. What are you daydreaming about, Deli? I'm just wondering why he killed her, sir. You think he did? Sir, I'm not an idiot. I sometimes wonder whether I am. I watched the post eagerly all day for the instrument King had spoken of, of course it didn't arrive, but on Monday or Tuesday or Wednesday. On Thursday, Marjorie Tate was buried. The coroner's jury had not found out anything except what we had already known, another victim of a person or persons unknown. That same day, I had a full report of what a squad of detectives and laboratory men had discovered a hotel room at Notting Hill Gate. They discovered nothing. No fingerprints, nothing. Oh, yes, yes, blood. On Friday, I had a visitor at Scotland Yard. Who is it I asked Inspector Deli? A young woman, a young woman, liar. Ask her to come in. And here, please, Miss. How do you do? Yvonne Higgins, Inspector Meredith. Superintendent Meredith, Miss Higgins. Oh, I'm sorry. Never called you Inspector. All right, Miss. Who called me, Inspector? My fiancee, Inspector. Superintendent, you know him. You've spoken to him. Well, I mean it. Who is this man? Why, he says he knows you, sir. He came in here to see you. Isn't he here? Who is he? What have you done with him? Is he in jail? Why would... No, he isn't in jail yet, Miss Higgins. Now, tell the Inspector... I'm sorry, the superintendent, his name, please. Oh, no, I think he knows... I'd like to hear the young lady tell me. Hi, it's Neville George... Hello there, Lady King. Oh, then you do know him. Don't you? We have heard of him, Miss Higgins, is it? Higgins, yes. But I expect to become Mrs. King one day soon. Neville was visiting me and my parents, you know, just Monday. He told us about the fight for murder that happened in his hotel room whilst he was away. He said you called on him and showed him the body. There, gruesome, he said it was. He had to leave to come to London because you wanted his advice... His advice? ...and a response when you're... Why, isn't that right? Neville said... Isn't he here helping you? My dear young woman, I... I mean, I... What I think superintendent Meredith is asking you, Miss Higgins, is, uh... Are you telling us the truth? Of course I'm telling you the truth, Officer. I demand to see my fiancé at once. He told me he didn't trust you and didn't want to come. I'm sure of that. Well, where is he? I don't know. You're lying to me. You've got him hidden away somewhere. Oh, make us stop that, daily. Oh, well, I... Now, look here. I can't do anything with this. You're holding him prisoner. Well, that's a thanks that he gets for doing... Stop that, daily. I say... That's better. Now, listen to me. Oh, look here. I'm old enough to be your father. Will you believe me? Yes, sir. Well, then, listen. We want your Neville just as badly as you do. But you... No. No, I think I can assure you that we're not. What we want is to ask him a few questions about the murder of Mrs. Tate. He had nothing to do with it. You asked his advice. Madam, I have never seen the man in my life. He said you knew him well. I do not. Neither do I. But he said you asked his advice. He lied if you said that. Oh, I don't understand. How long have you known this man? A month. Are you aware that he is a deserter from the RAF? He's a lieutenant colonel in the Air Force. There aren't any lieutenant colonels in the Air Force, much. I was going to marry him. Do you still want to? He didn't murder... murder that woman, did he? Did he, mister? We think he knows who did, miss. That's why we want to find him. What am I going to do? How old are you? I'm 25. Then you were certainly old enough to know the difference between right and wrong. I suggest you go back home and make up your own mind. Now, look here. Young woman, I would point out to you that you are dealing with the police now. Yes. And if you hear anything further from him, you are to advise us at once. Yes, sir. And after we are finished with him... I'm the RAF. Yes. After we are all finished with him... I don't think I shall want to marry him. You will probably find that course much safer. Goodbye, Miss Higgin. This way, sir. Tat-tat, Miss Higgin. Aren't I fancy I handled that quite well, daily? Ah, but you didn't find him so profane. No, you'll turn him up for us. He doesn't beat another woman to death first. Doreen Reid's body was found three days later near Bournemouth in a deep, narrow ravine in Langston, Chine, quite near the centre of the town. Chief Constable of Soup of Southampton, who had the authority, calls Cotland Yard at once. And it was quite natural that Daley and I were sent down to Bournemouth. Quite a group was assembled at the Bournemouth police station when we arrived. Detective Constable Ted Aladise of Bournemouth. We've got the body in the mortuary if you'd like to see it, superintendent. You go and look at it, Daley. Yes, sir. I'll take you over there presently, Inspector Daley, if you wish. Ah, thank you. Who are these other people? The fat gentleman there's the manager of the Norfolk Hotel where this Miss Reid was staying, sir. The deaden. The other one's the hotel manager too. The Tullard Royal Hotel where Miss Reid was last seen alive. The other man's the whole port of the Tullard Hotel. I don't know what he's doing here. Shall I throw him out? Oh, that's where she was last seen. Let him stay there. I say, Daley, you go to the mortuary with Constable Aladise. I'll have a talk with these fellas. Yes, sir. Did one of them find her? No, sir. This is the elderly lady found the body. She's at home. Shocked with too much for her. Well, you pop along to the mortuary, inspector, and come back as soon as you can. Yes, sir. I'll talk to the fat one, the one where she lived. Right, sir. Come over here, please, Mr. Golden. Come along, Inspector, if you please. It isn't far, sir. We'll be back directly. All right. Here, this gentleman. And Superintendent Meredith of Scotland Yard, sir. Eli Golden, sir. Managing director of the Norfolk Hotel here. How do you do? How do you do? I understand. Miss Reid lived at your hotel, sir. That is great. The most charming young woman. She's been ill in fluenza, I believe. Born with an X-men place to recuperate as you know, Superintendent. Yes, sir. I was very fond of the young lady. When did you last see her, Mr. Golden? On Friday afternoon, May 5th. She was starting out for a walk. I remember I said to her, don't get lost, Miss Reid. Did Miss Reid have any visitors during her stay at your hotel, sir? No, sir. Not that I know of. Oh, yes. Her father did call her on last Sunday, the 30th of June, but he returned at once to his station. He's a major in the Guards Armour Brigade, I believe. He know about his daughter's death? The body was found only last night, sir. No ideas about it, I suppose? Me? I have my own ideas, sir. Am I telling me about them? I think she was murdered. And who murdered her? I would not care to impugn the rectitude of a guest at a competing hostel reser. You what? To be suspicious of the customer of another hotel. What are you talking about? The person with whom Miss Reid was last seen is a guest of my colleague, Mr. Appelston Levitt, there. Of the Tollard Royal Hotel. Levitt. Come here, Mr. Levitt. Yes, sir. This is Inspector... Superintendent. Excuse me. Superintendent, Meredith of Scotland Yard, Appelston. I was just telling him that the late Miss Reid was last seen alive with one of your guests. Thank you, Eli. I'm afraid that is true, Superintendent, unfortunately. Who is the guest? Group Captain Rupert Brooke. Rupert Brooke? I'm under the impression that he's a relation of the late lamented poet, sir. Is he still staying at your place? He's still a guest at the Tollard Royal, yes, sir. I'd like to see him. Surely you don't suspect Group Captain Brooke, sir? He is a guest... I'd like to see him. I shall ask him to come down here, sir. Please. By the way, did you see Miss Reid the day she disappeared? I saw her with Group Captain Brooke in the lounge that afternoon and evening, sir, yes. You saw Brooke start to accompany Miss Reid to her home, the Norfolk Hotel, sir, where she never arrived. I did not. You said you did, Appelston. I said I saw him start away with her, but he came back and she walked home alone. Or started to. Did I quarrel? I don't think so. Tell the Superintendent the best of your story, Appelston. Will you please stop prompting me, Eli? If you'll please, gentlemen. Go on, Appelston, go on. Eli. Oh, that's for intended. Group Captain Brooke had a drink in the lounge. I think he drank a pink gin. A gin in it, you said, Appelston. What? Does it matter what he drank? A gin and... Gentlemen, please. Whatever he drank, he presently went out through the front door alone, looked around a few seconds. Appelston always watches his guests so closely. I learned the art from watching you, my dear Eli. Well, why? Your guest was looking around. Oh, yes, yes. He went for a stroll in the dark. Be quiet. Did he follow Miss Reed? No. Well, at least I don't remember. Well, what happened? He didn't come back, Superintendent. Who then, Joe? No, I came back, but, uh... Well, it was rather unusual. Group Captain Brooke came back to his room through a window. Why? He told us to live it here, but he was playing a joke on the whole quarter. Peter Lynn over there. What sort of a joke? He told me he knew Peter'd be on duty all night, and he'd think he hadn't come in. Who? Group Captain Brooke, sir. So he took a ladder the builders had been using and stuck it up against his window and popped in the hotel that way. And when he hadn't been seen coming in, he'd been there in the morning and, uh... Peter wouldn't know it. Very funny, Superintendent. Yes. I want to see this Group Captain at once, Mr. Levine. Yes, sir. Oh, uh, Superintendent, marriage it. Oh, hello, dearly. I've seen it. Yeah. I'd like to speak to the Superintendent privately, if you'll please, gentlemen. Oh, quiet, sit. Get that fella down here, Levine. Oh, here's comes from Aladise. Aladise, go to this gentleman's hotel with him and bring that Group Captain Lord Tennyson or whatever his name is. Group Captain... Bring him back here at once, I want to see. Yes, sir. Uh, now, Mr. Levitt. What's up, dearly? I saw her. Well, talk to her. And in my present opinion, it's the same man. The same fella that killed the other one, you mean? No, she's been beaten, too. The marks look like the ones on the woman that nothing he'll get. Like a riding crop, you said, then? I take my oath that this was a riding crop, too. She's suffocated, too. One of her stockings had been rammed down her throat. Oh, her face was quite blue. Does look like the same bloke. Yeah, there's only one thing that was different. What? He cut this one's throat, too. After he'd beaten her. Something else different, too. Sir? It was an Air Force sergeant that was mixed up in the other affair. It looks as if he got promoted. There's a Group Captain mixed up in this one. Group Captain's in the next room. Uh, who, Aladise? That fellow from the Tollard Royal, sir. Have you been there and back? Well, sir, that's Mr. Levitz. He didn't want me to go into the hotel. Because everyone knows I'm the police officer. So he fetched him down himself while I waited here. Did I, or did I not give you a direct order, Constable Aladise? You did, sir. Which you didn't obey. I'm sorry, sir. I'll deal with you later, my lad. Come along, daily. Yes, sir. That went you, Constable. You stay outside this door here and wait until I call you. Do you understand that? See that you do. In here? Yes, sir. I bought Group Captain Brook down here, sir, as you requested. You may step outside, Mr. Levitz. You too, Mr. Golden. Outside, both of you. And that. Please wait. Come on, now. Well, Group Captain Brook, you're not in uniform. My dear man, I'm on leave. If you knew anything... I'll have a look at your papers, please. Oh, it's quite all right. I'm Superintendent Meredith, CID, Scotland Yard. So understand. And your papers, please. Well, look, old chap. They're in my jacket, back at the hotel. Good Mr. Levitt rushed me down here in such a hurry. Levitt? Yes, sir. Get this man's jacket from his room down here at once. Yes. Aren't you just a trifle high-handed, old man? I merely want to be sure you are, who you say you are. Well, I'm sure my papers will prove who I am. I hope so. Now, you knew Miss Doreen Reid. The young woman who was murdered Friday night. How do you know her? What do you say, Danny? I said, I wondered how you knew Peter was murdered Friday night, good Captain. Well, I thought everyone knew that, old boy. It seems you were the last person to see her alive. Afraid, sir. Oh, please, sorry. She was rather a nice girl. Shocking thing, isn't it? When you tell me why you entered your rooms that night by means of a ladder, instead of in the normal manner, good Captain? Oh, there. Miss Old Levitt told you about that. I told him you know. And big joke on Peter, the whole porter. We were always ragging each other. He was a leading aircraftman in the early days of the war. Dropped a hundred pound bomb on his foot. That was a dummy one. Loaded with earth, you know. Was that the only reason why you crawled into your rooms by the window, sir? Huh? Oh, well, of course not, but what other reason would there be? That's what I'm wondering, sir. Well, I assure you it's just... You'll see who it is, daily. Captain Brook's jacket, sir, from the hotel. Thank you, Aladise. Excuse me, sir. What? Is that Group Captain Brook? Yes. No, it ain't, sir. What? Do you know him? What's going on there? That ain't Group Captain Brook, sir. Now, what sort of nonsense is this? Now, look here, Aladise. I've had about enough of this nonsense. I said he ain't Group Captain Nothing, sir. Constable. Who is he, Constable? Yes, who he is, sir. Right here, in my pocket. Here's his picture, right here on this bulletin you sent out yourself from Scotland Yard another week ago. Look here. For murder. Wanted. For the murder of Marjorie Ruth Tate. Neville George Gravelli King. That's who he is, sir. Aren't you, Group Captain? In the pocket of the jacket, we found no papers at all. Only a cloakroom ticket from the Bournemouth West Railway Station for a suitcase. Aladise went and fetched it, and we opened it up. Group Captain Brook watched us with his pleasant smile. Inside the suitcase was the name of the owner, Flight Sergeant NGC King R-A-F. Inside it, too, were several other things. One, an old-fashioned riding crop stand with blood. Two, a blue, full-arred scarf. Also slightly stained with blood. Three, the single artificial pearl broken apparently from a necklace. This reed had been wearing an artificial pearl necklace from the last scene. 47 pearls were found alongside the body. There are 48 in a necklace of this type. The blood on the scarf was his. There was a small scratch on his neck. Blood of the same type and bits of skin corresponding to his was found under the dead girl's fingernails. Blood type O-A, margaretette type, and blood type B, doreen reed type were found on the riding crop. A blood stain on the clothing of doreen reed corresponded exactly with the pattern of the platting of the riding crop shaft. And Flight Sergeant Neville George Clevelly King, who had tried being a Group Captain, made a statement. I do not hate women at all in general, but I'm afraid that I have a very short temper where women are concerned. Margaretette was a bad woman. She needed to be punished, and I punished her. It's quite easy. So when doreen reed refused my company, I decided to punish her. But when one gets the habit, it's so easy to go a little too far, isn't it? I must say that Yvonne Higgins, whom I intended to marry, was always quite nice to me. It was as well from his Higgins. A jury found Neville King guilty of murder at Old Bailey, and he was added to the casualty lists of the Royal Air Force at Wandsworth on the 26th of October 1946. Death, by process of law, is the last entry in his record. Heard in today's reenactment of Scotland Yard case number 630612, where Harvey Hayes, Guy Spall, Morris Dallymore, Gordon Stern, Evan Thomas, Lester Fletcher, Bula Garrick, and Pat O'Malley. Whitehall 1212 is written and directed by Willis Cooper. In these uncertain times, it's pretty hard to plan for the future, but more and more American girls are discovering a career that offers both opportunity and security, and that career is in modern nursing. There are new and greater opportunities in this job now than ever before, and the demand for nurses is continually increasing. To become a student nurse, you must be a high school graduate or a college student of good health and character. You can qualify, get full information at the nearest hospital in your community. 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