 This is Orson Welles speaking from London. Gremstone structure of the Thames, which houses Scotland Yard, is a warehouse of souvenirs. A warehouse where everyday objects, a hammer, a suitcase, a shirt button, all are touched by murder. You take this canvas bag. This canvas bag might give us a letter. Eh, what's that writing on it, Sergeant? It's the name of a local merchant, Jay Gregory, Northampton. The canvas bag can be seen in the Black Museum. The General Investigation Department of the London Police. We bring you the dramatic stories of the crimes recorded by the objects in Scotland Yards' Gallery of Death. The Black Museum. Other simpler objects. Now, this gold trophy. A famous sportsman climaxed a great career by winning this. Later it was an exhibit in his trial. It was proved he had used it to batter a man to death. He has a knitting needle and friends for children not yet born. And it was put to more lethal use. To end a life, the canvas bag. It was once a bag used to hold provisions in a Northampton grocery store. Later on it became more famous, but we anticipate. Let's begin the story, not with a canvas bag. But with a certain young woman who at her home in Birmingham was packing her suitcases. Here's another dress, Mary. Oh, thanks, Mother. And your slippers. Well, I think that must be all. Let's just have another look round. You don't want to forget anything. No, that's right. Oh, here you are, just as well I looked. Some stockings. Well, I think that's all. Yes. I'll just lock my suitcase. Mary. What, Mother? Are you sure you'll be all right? No, of course. It seems such a strange arrangement, you going all the way to London alone. But that's strange about it. Tom's working in London, saving for our passages to Canada. He can't come to fetch me. You travel all that way alone. Oh, Mary, let me come with you. No, Mother. I'm not a child. You're an almost married woman, but that doesn't mean your mother still can't worry about you. Oh, Mother, really? Look, I'll be perfectly all right. Tom and I are getting married when I reach London. A month later, we'll be on our way to Canada. And we'll lose you. It's so sad. You'll write as soon as you reach London, won't you, darling? Yes, of course I will. And don't worry. Please, I'll be all right. A girl leaving home to get married, an anxious mother, nothing very new about that. Except that the girl never went to London. The following day, her train arrived in Northampton, where she was tenderly greeted by a charming man, some years older than herself. Hello! Hello! Why did I have Mary? My dear Mary. Oh, darling, I've been waiting here for a moment. I thought you... What did I might have deserted you? Hardly, my sweet. Did you have much trouble with your family? Yes, a little. Dad was anxious and you know what mother is. She worries terribly. Yes. You told them the story about meeting Tom in London. And they believed it. Oh, good. Oh, darling, it's wonderful to be with you. Come, Mary, I found lodgings in St John Street. Oh, good. But listen, since you've told your parents you were meeting Tom Reynolds in London, we might as well continue the deception, eh? How? Well, to the landlady you'll be Mrs. Reynolds. And I, of course, shall be Mr. Reynolds. It might be better if you called me Tom. They found Mr. Mrs. Reynolds a charming couple, so devoted, so very much in love. Good afternoon. Good afternoon. I'm Mr. Reynolds. I wrote to you about a role. Oh, yes, Mr. Reynolds. I was expecting you today, just like you said in the letter. And this is my wife, Mary. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Reynolds. I expect you'd like to see the room right away. Yes, I would. Well, if you'll just follow me, there's only one flight upstairs. Let me carry the bag, dear. It's too heavy for you. All right. Have you any idea how long you'll be staying, Mr. Reynolds? Well, I can't tell you at the moment. It depends on circumstances. Doesn't it, sweetheart? Yes, dear. I didn't know it was so late. Well, my wife's asleep, Mrs. Marsh. I thought I'd just pop in to tell you that we're leaving next week. Leaving? Well, isn't that rather unexpected? I was talking to Mrs. Reynolds only yesterday and she said... Yes, but, you see, I've had some news from friends of mine in Canada. In Canada? Yes. We're going to Canada, Mrs. Marsh. Oh. We're leaving from Liverpool next week. Oh, that will be nice for you, Mr. Reynolds, and for your sweet wife, too. Yes. Oh, but there is one other thing. Huh? I'd be very glad if you wouldn't say anything of this to my wife. You see, she's not quite sure that she really wants to go to Canada and... Well, I think it'll only upset her if anyone talks to her about it. Oh, of course. I wouldn't breathe a word, particularly since you've asked me not to. Thank you so much, Mrs. Marsh. Well, be given up our room on Friday. I'll arrange for a car to call for the luggage early in the day. So considerate the landlady thought, such a gentleman. On Friday morning, she said goodbye to the couple with reluctance. At least, she said goodbye to Mr. Reynolds, who explained that his wife had gone ahead to the railway station. But even the nicest of lodgers are only a passing memory on a landlady's mind, and she might never have thought of the young couple again, if it hadn't been for the events that occurred some weeks afterwards. On the high road from Rugby to Northampton, two men were walking home after work. Well, Beth, what do you think of the chances on Saturday? There once would be better than last week, eh, Sam? Eh, I should say so. Hey, look down there, and it's beside the road. What do you see? Oh, wait a minute. Oh, it looks like a canvas blank. Ah, well, there's something inside it. Ah, well, what's that all over it? Larm, isn't it? Oh, probably a dead dog. Come on, I'll buy you a pint. Eh, hey, hey, hey, no dead dog. But, look, will you? An arm. I can see it plain. Oh, carkey, come on, Sam. This is for the police. Police recovered the body in Scotland Yard was summoned. Inspector Courtney, accompanied by Detective Sergeant Finlay, arrived in Northampton. They met the doctor who had conducted the post mortem. The body was that of a woman, Inspector. Have you any idea of her age, Doctor? Youngish, I'd say in her twenties, in height, a little over five feet, slight build. And in, uh, what state was the body? Dismembered, and partially decomposed. And the, uh, cause of death? Have you any idea about that? There's no way of telling, Inspector. The only thing you can take for granted is that she was murdered. To track down the murderer, but first and foremost, they had to find out who had been murdered. They set out to examine the evidence. This canvas bag might give us a liter. Eh, yes. Now what's that writing on it, Sergeant? It's the name of a local merchant, J. Gregory Northampton. Yes, the name's clear enough. Uh, luckily the lime didn't rot it away. As I'd say, it was meant to, sir. Yes, I'd say so too, Sergeant. I think we'll call on Mr. Gregory. Was this a lucky break early in a difficult case? It seemed not. For when the London Detectives interviewed J. Gregory in his Northampton warehouse, the merchant could give them little help. Yes, uh, it's my bag, all right, Inspector. No mistaking that, but how did it get in there? Well, we thought you might be able to tell us that. Well, I assure you I can't. These canvas bags are used for transporting groceries between this warehouse and my several shops in the town. And, uh, what, handled by your employees? Yes. Are they ever coming out of the public? Oh, no, they're not. Were you aware that one was missing? Well, hardly, Inspector. I have upwards of a hundred of these bags and a lot more to do than count them. Yes, of course, yes. But now, you understand the gravity of this situation. Yes. A woman has been found dead, murdered, murdered, her body wrapped in one of your bags. Inspector, I can only assure you I know nothing whatever about it. At this stage, Mr. Gregory, not knowing the identity of the murdered woman, the bag is our only clue now. You do appreciate that. Yes, yes, of course, sir, that I'd like to talk to one of your employees who might have handled these bags and who might have been in the position to take one or even give one to somebody else. Inspector, I'll see to it my staff are available. Thanks. As a matter of fact, you can begin with my warehouse manager, my own brother. Oh, yes, thank you, yes. Wait, I'll get him. Presently, the obliging Mr. Gregory returned with his brother, the warehouse manager. He too was courteous and polite to the detectives and only too ready to answer the questions they asked him. Now, uh, where do you live, Mr. Gregory? In Birmingham, 7 High Street, Birmingham. And, uh, are you married? Yes, wife and two children. And you live at home? Well, sometimes I stay here at the warehouse, you know, because of the distance involved in travel, do you understand? Oh, yes, perfectly, perfectly. Now, tell me, have you ever lent or given anyone outside the firm one of these canvas bags? Well, I don't like to mention it, but... Well, God, George, tell the inspector whatever he wants to know. Did you give away one of these bags? Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I did, John. I know it was against regulations, but, well, a tramp came in one day asking for some scraps of food and... Yes, and... Well, sorry for him, you know, it is. Yes, quite, quite. I gave him a couple of tins and, well, a canvas bag to carry them in. Sorry, John, but that was the only occasion I have given one away. Now, could you tell me how long ago would this have been? Oh, I suppose about six weeks, perhaps a bit longer. I can't remember the exact date. Well, thanks very much, Mr. Greger. I suppose you can help us in this matter of the murdered woman. I mean, you've no idea who it might be. And whatsoever, Inspector, I'm sorry. Well, thank you very much indeed, gentlemen. Good day to you. Good day. The inspector left the warehouse deeply disappointed. It seems that the trail led nowhere. For the inspector believed this story of the tramp that George Gregory had told him. There's no reason why he should not have believed it. Today, evidence that proved the lie can be seen in the Black Museum. The man reported missing every year throughout England. Now to the local police stations throughout the land. The messages went out in a long and slow search to find the identity of the murdered woman. Desire information on any woman reported missing within past two months. Special attention to young woman about five feet in height of slight build. Well-dressed. In answer to your inquiry, we've checked all missing persons approximating to the description given in the Glasgow area during the last two months. There are three missing persons whose descriptions might fit the one given and further investigations being made in each case. I shall report further within the next seven days. Hello, sir. This is Scotland Yard. We've been looking into your inquiry and we find that in the London area there are 27 cases of missing persons. That would seem to justify investigation in relation to your inquiry. From preliminary inquiries, 13 of these cases can already be discounted. On the remainder, further inquiries are still being made. We'll be in touch with you later, sir. Goodbye. The reports came flooding into Scotland Yard. The leads faithfully followed. Dead ends. All of them. The investigation into murder was bogged down because nobody knew who had been murdered. Here's another one, Inspector. People by the name of Wilson and Birmingham worried about their daughter. Oh, I never knew there were so many youngsters who'd run away from home. Well, still, have it checked, Sergeant. Roger. The investigation inquiry begins. When did your daughter leave home? Where was she going? Have you heard from her? The questions were asked. The answers were written down and the result was sent to Scotland Yard. Hmm. Wilson, yes. Number 9, High Street, Birmingham. Left for London to marry a young man named Tom Reynolds. Seems like she didn't get that, sir. Yeah. The family had a letter from Reynolds, just a sort of friendly note, no mention of the girl. I understand young Reynolds went to Canada, sir. He was once engaged to the girl, but they broke it off. Oh, yes. The next thing, when he was in London, the girl had a letter from him, asking her to marry him and go out to Canada. Yes, but did the family see the letter? No. It was all pretty hurried. They were upset, but she seemed to be able to get her own way. Oh, I've heard this kind of thing before. Now, I wonder who the man was. Well, Tom Reynolds, that's certain. His letter to the family is enclosed there, sir. Oh, let's see. Yes, all right. Now, Ralph Crossing. How is everyone? Miss Mild Neighbours. No, no, no. He doesn't mention her. Now, what was her name? Mary, sir. Mary Wilson. Nine High Street, Birmingham. Sergeant. Sergeant, that seems familiar. To me, too, sir. I can't quite place it. Wait a minute. Wait a minute. I've got it. What, Inspector? George Gregory, that warehouse manager. His address is Seven High Street, Birmingham. Number seven? Well, that means he lives next door. He paid off again. Careful and painstaking methods had given them a new lead or rather the renewal of an old lead. For the canvas bag had first led them to the Gregory Warehouse. The detectives went back to Northampton. Back to interview George Gregory. Mary Wilson, Inspector? Well, of course I knew Mary Wilson. Now, tell me, when did you last see her, Mr. Gregory? Oh, some time ago. She went to Canada, you know. She married a young chap named Reynolds. Yes, but did she marry him? To the best of my knowledge, she did. You said, I knew Mary Wilson. M-hm. Miley past tense. I don't know. Well, don't you always use the past tense when you're not likely to see a person again? Oh, you don't think you'll see her again? Well, Inspector, with her married and living in Canada, that'd hardly be likely, Inspector. George Gregory seemed at ease. His answers rang true. It could be nothing but a strange coincidence. Inspector Courtney gave certain instructions. I want a cable sent to Tom Reynolds in Canada. Find out if he married Mary Wilson or not. The odds are he's still single. Ben Courtney went to Birmingham, to No. 9 High Street, where he talked to Mary's mother. I don't want to alarm you, Mrs. Wilson, but I'm from Scotland Yard and I want to make certain inquiries. Scotland Yard? Oh, my Mary's done nothing wrong, has she? Of course not. No, no. Now, tell me, Mrs. Wilson, do you really think your daughter might have gone to Canada with her young man? Oh, I don't know what to think, sir. I was always puzzled. I mean, the way she seemed to patch things up with Tom. Yes? Did you question that? No, I didn't say much. I was glad, really. About her marrying the young man? Yes. Well, you see, for a while I was worried there was another man she seemed to like, but too much, if you know what I mean. Oh, you disapproved. Oh, Mary was never one to take criticism, but I didn't like it, I can tell you. Was the other man older? He was, old enough to know better. Him were the wife and two children of his own. I tell you, I was relieved when I thought Mary was going away to marry Tom Reynolds. Now, there's one more question I must ask you, ma'am. Yes, Inspector? The name of this attentive gentleman. Well, I don't like to make anything of it in mind. No, but I'd like to know his name. Well, he happens to live next door, and his name is George Gregory. Better reply to your Canada cable, sir. OK, Sergeant, go ahead and read it. Tom Reynolds is living in Ottawa. He's a bachelor. Last time he saw Mary Wilson was in Birmingham three months ago. What about his letter from London? There was no letter from London. It's beginning to add up. I think a chain of circumstantial evidence was being forged. Forged by the patient police. I think he's our man, Sergeant. And imagine it, sir. He's been here under our noses since the very first clue you picked up. Yes, the canvas bag led us right to him, but we haven't tied it up yet. What's the next move, sir? Mary Wilson left for London to meet Reynolds. Oh, so it seems, she told her parents. Yes, it seems more than likely, sir, that they came here. So they must have lived somewhere. She and the man she met. Now, the detectives went through the town, front streets and back streets, fashionable hotels and cheap boarding houses. They went wherever there was a sign, rooms to let. Well? We're from Scotland Yard, ma'am. And we're inquiring about a young couple who might have stayed here some, oh, six weeks to two months ago. No, not here. Only tick, Regulus. Add all my borders for the past twelve months. Thank you ma'am. Sorry to trouble you. They ran the whole gamut of landlades. The suspicious landlades, the mean, the garrulous landlades, the kind, the generous, the curious. Then in a lodging house in St John Street, their work paid off. A young couple? Yes, I've had a few. What was their name? We're not sure what name they might have been using. Oh, you mean crooks. Well, let me see. Oh, it couldn't have been that nice young couple, Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds. What was their name? Reynolds. Tom Reynolds? Yes, I believe it was. Such a nice man. Oh, and his young wife was named Mary. She was awfully sweet. Mrs. Marsh, can you give me a description of Mary Reynolds? Well, yes, I think so. Short, about five feet tall, brown hair, rather pretty. Not much help, I'm afraid. I can't remember any other details. Oh, you helped a lot, thanks. And the man? Tall, dark hair, and a small mole on his left cheek, older than her. Oh, but he was very nice, indeed. Oh, surely they couldn't have done anything wrong. Mrs. Marsh, can you, I want to attend the police station tomorrow morning at 10. Really? Why, sir? Well, we'll be having an identification parade at 10 sharp. There are a group of eight people, Inspector. Oh, thank you, Sergeant. Mrs. Marsh, I want you to try and identify the man you knew as Tom Reynolds. All right, Inspector, but really, I know he and his wife went to Canada. Nevertheless, if you don't mind, just walk slowly down the line and examine each man. Two men taken out of the cells, one recruited off the street, and in the middle of them, a protesting indignant George Gregory. It's not this man. No, this. No, not him either. Why, Mr. Reynolds! Gregory! Granny! A man to overpower the hastily departing Mr. Gregory, who was immediately arrested on a charge of having murdered Mary Wilson. Today, the evidence that brought about his downfall, the canvas bag that first directed police attention to him, occupies a place of honor in the Black Museum. George Gregory killed a woman, he said, because she was too much in love with him to let him go, but he couldn't afford the scandal that might arise if he continued his association with her. Not a very nice reason, but then, the reason for murder is Sildomar. Anyway, George Gregory was tried and convicted and paid for his crime one morning at eight o'clock. Now, until we meet next time in this same place for another story about the Black Museum, I remain as always obediently yours.