 This is Orson Welles speaking from London, the Black Museum, a repository of death. Here in the grim stone structure on the Thames, which houses Scotland Yard, is a warehouse of homicides. Where everyday objects, a package of cigarettes, a length of string, a linen napkin, all are touched by murder. The Gladstone bag is a familiar object. Every railroad train carries several inevitably useful compact and expandable. They always hold more than they seem. Perfect for vacations. Perfect also for... If you look inside, Inspector, just try the two halves apart at one end, as I did. Yes, I see. All objects to heaven of the lease. Not if one had every intention of disposing of them, Inspector. Today, that Gladstone bag can be seen in the Black Museum. From the annals 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. In just a moment, you will hear the Black Museum starring Orson Welles. It's almost every instrument of the foul deed called messier lies death. But you feel it in the dull oppressive atmosphere. You see it first marked calmly on the neatly-ledded cards. So-and-so died by this instrument at the hands of so-and-so dated and so forth. Your glance passes to the thing itself. You almost feel the blood. There's a camera. So you think you know... Or a torus snapshot taking camera. Ever in the blackness of this box, the film registered two faces. A third person saw a print. And from that recognition, three people died. One by a hangman's rope. There's a briar pipe. A well-smoked. Thoroughly discolored. A pleasure to a pipe smoker, but no pleasure to the man who inhaled hydroceanic gas with his tobacco. Nor to the killer. Trapped by the pipe itself. Ah, here we are, the Gladstone bag. Piece of luggage for a man. It looks so commonplace, so much as if it belonged to a traveling salesman, not to Jim Hudson. Of course, in a way, Jim was a traveling salesman. He certainly had a sales talk. And he was quite successful at it. Sally, I've never seen you looking lovelier. Oh, Jimmy, you always do that. What, sweetheart? Say things like that, just when I want to pick a fight with you. That's one of the reasons I love you so much, despite your wife and everything else. Everything else? That's what I wanted to fight you with you about. We... Well, we just can't go on like this, Jimmy, darling. Why not? We're as happy as circumstance is. Don't you see, Jimmy, a woman wants at least a snatch of domesticity, not just clandestine meetings with the clock ticking away her happiness in the background. It'll come, darling. It'll come. The girl was right, of course, from her point of view. Granted that the relationship between her and the man she loved was well outside the recognized bounds. Granted that they found each other when it seemed too late. Still, the girl was right. She wanted a certain sense of security which can come to a woman only through the small things of making coffee in the morning while a man was shaving with an ear shot. And Sally James was the kind of girl who took action when she wanted something badly in her. Jim, what about the week we planned together for this spring? Probably it could get away, darling, if we had a place to go. I have the place. Anyway, the ad about it. You are something, aren't you? Yeah, darling, I found this in the Sunday paper. Go on, read it. Porrent, bungalow, the beaches, Pevensey Bay, East Spawn. Reasonable by the week. You've got your heart set on this, haven't you, sweet? Can we do it? A week of kippu-tooth. All right? All right. Oh, Jimmy, it'll be heaven down there by the sea. Heaven by the sea. Poor girl, one of those human beings who believes with all her heart that dreams can become reality. Perhaps it was just as well that Sally didn't see her Jim some two evenings later in a quiet little restaurant not more than three blocks from the place she'd given Jim her precious clippings. Rhoda, my darling, I've never seen you looking lovelier. Oh, come off it, Jimmy. That kind of reminds me of my stuff. You're a woman, aren't you? Well, you ought to know Jimmy Boy. And how? Thanks. Look, Rhoda, I've taken a cottage at Pevensey Bay. Oh, how inconvenient to have to travel all that distance. Not for weekends, it isn't. Inconvenient? Well, the daring young man on the flying trapeze. Would you like weekends by the sea, Rhoda? I'm not. I think this is fun. Nice place. It's called the beaches. Old garden, private bathing beach. Sounds marvelous. I thought you'd like it. Well, I can't make it this weekend. Neither can I. How about the weekend of the 16th? We'd go down Friday afternoon, come back early Monday morning. There's a very early train. It's a deal, Jimmy. It really is a deal. A clever rascal, Jim Hudson, not a doubt. Knows his way with the ladies. But he cuts his margins rather close, doesn't he? Not the dates. April 12th, the week with Sally. Friday the 16th with Rhoda. An alternative for a week with Sally. Well, of course, Sally doesn't know about this on Friday noon the 9th as she stands in the doorway of the railway carriage in Waterford Station. You will be down by Monday, won't you, Jimmy, dear? Sooner than that, if I can. You know that, darling. I guess I feel like a little girl on her first trip home. I'm sorry it has to be this way. Oh, I don't mind, really. I'll have a chance to put the cottage in shape. Have it all clean and comfortable for my man. When I saw it, there weren't any tools there. And there's always something to fix. I'd better add tools to my shopping list. Oh, and don't forget the traveling armor after four, dear. And please hurry to get down and... Oh, kiss me. Quick, Jimmy, the train's leaving. Oh, Jimmy, dearest. Monday it'll be. Take care, darling. More Jim as he walks up the platform. The train is already disappearing from the track. Jim has his hands in his pockets. He's whistling merrily. A man with nothing on his mind, except his love affair and the prospect of the week ahead. He leaves the station, walks up the street away, pauses before a hard-wish. What was it he added to his shopping list? Oh, yes, tools. He enters the shop. May I assist you, sir? Yes, yes, I think you can. What do you wish? You've got some fine-looking knives in the window. May I see them? Any particular blade size, sir? I think, Jim. Yes, yes, the 10-inch cover will be about right. Very well, sir. There we are, sir. Best Sheffield steel hollow ground, razor sharp and guaranteed hold temper. It will take very little honing to keep the head, sir. Very efficient looking. Do you prefer the bone or the plastic handle? Bone, I think. Very good, sir. Is there anything else? I think, Jim. Yes, sir, a small crosscut saw. Small, about 18 inches? Perfect. Excellent quality, as you can hear. Good. Would you wrap them, please? Then that would be six and four, sir. I'll just make up the slip. You all have your package in a moment. Jim Hudson took his package on the train with him on Monday morning. And tea time at the beaches. Pevensy Bay. Promise to be exciting and wonderful. Wonderful, Jimmy. I discovered the path to the top of the cliff on Sunday. Oh, Jimmy, it's paradise. It is a nice view. Oh, and so alone. So private. This is our private view, darling. It's like a honeymoon. You are a sweet little thing, Sally. That is sweet. I know. When you call me sweet, you think of me as a child. But I love you as a woman, Jimmy. I know. Shall we go back now? It looks like it may kick up a storm. If you want to, darling, whatever you want. Whatever he wants, Sally. But if he know what he wants, this man with a wife in London, he would the beaches and still a third woman waiting to join him just four days from now. It's too bad the beach isn't sand. Oh, I don't know. Shale isn't bad. Funny about this place. Funny? Oh, darling. Do you remember the dolly's clock case? Who was she? She's the reason the beaches was available. I don't understand. She lived here. Two men she knew came down. She was beaten. Get it alive in the shale. The men hung. Oh, horrible. They made a lot of mistakes or they mightn't have been caught. People shy away from a house with that kind of a story. I don't care. We'll change its reputation then with our love. Let's go inside, dear. It's getting chilly with the sun gone and the storm coming up. The storm came. The rain pounded on the roof. The wind lashing to the sea. And good in the cottage called the beaches. Always snug and warm. I love a fire in a fireplace. Don't you, Jimmy, darling? Yes. I suppose I do. Oh, Jim. Am I being too sticky, sentimental? Try for. What's wrong, Jimmy? You've been, well, far away today. Sally, let's face it. Things like this never go on for long. Jim. Jimmy, I don't believe you said that. I did say it. I mean it. Then why did you bring me down here? It was your idea. I went along with it hoping we could work something out. Well, look it out. Crying. Can't stand crying. I'll get about me. Stop it. Grow up. You can't be infantile forever. You want your cake and the heavy too. Say for one vital piece of evidence, a black Gladstone bag, which can be seen today in the Black Museum. In just a moment, we will continue with the Black Museum starring Orson Welle. starring Orson Welle. Jim Hudson made his way whistling as usual through the weekend-bound crowds of Waterloo Station. Here you are, my good man. Glad you think I'm a good man. I am. Thank you, Arr. By Monday morning, I'll know. Then let's make that train, baby. Pevensy Bay on number seven. The train to Pevensy Bay was none too fast for General Rodin's a fine spring day. It's a beautiful spring evening. Moonlight made the rollers on the beach gleam with a lovely phosphorescence. On the porch of the cottage, known as the beaches. Know something, Jimmy Boy? I know lots of things, our girl. What, for instance? Oh, this. If I were the romantic type, this place would make me go... all gooey. But you're not? No, I'm not. All your misconceptions of women notwithstanding. Then you want to waste all this moonlight and remains? Oh, come, darling. If you must, we'll spursweet nothings. Of course, I don't feel comfortable. I'll show you. Come along now. Please let the woman have her way, particularly after she's cooked a beautiful dinner. Here now? I've an only beautiful thing around. What a way you have. No, not in there. It's a spare room, not made up. I want to see it. Oh, nothing in there. Are you going to deny me anything, darling? It's locked, I... Oh, Jimmy. No. Say, what are you? Blue beard or something? Maybe I am. The door stayed locked. The weekend at Pevensey Bay was quite successful. But now, the scene changes. There was a London street, lined with somewhat shabby buildings, which house somewhat shabby offices. Into one of those buildings, a woman hurries almost furtively. She climbs the stairs, one flight, walks into an office, door of which announces in gold lettering, Cross Detective Agency. You are Mr. Cross? I am. What can I do for you, Mrs... Mrs? Oh, my ring. Yes, an old trick. You sit down, won't you? Thank you. Mrs. Lillian Hudson. I see. Well, how can I help you? I... I want some information on my husband, James Hudson. Go on, please. I saw your advertisement. Were you formerly with Scotland Yard? I was. Advancement seems slow. I'm working for myself now. Yes. Well, I have reason to believe that my husband has been well... seeing other women. Oh, and you want me to get the evidence? I think so. A divorce action? Perhaps. It depends on the results. And you want to stay in the background? For the present. Have you anything on which I can start? An address? A lead of any kind? I have this. A baggage check. Waterloo Station Baggage Storage. Stamped 10 a.m. Friday, April 16th. An innocent bit of place for. Where did you get this, Mrs. Hudson? I took one of my husband's suits to the cleaner. This was in a pocket. The cleaner gave it to me. And why should this mean anything? Because Jim, my husband, was away the entire week of the 12th until the morning of the 19th. It came to me. If he had told the truth, how could he have checked something at Waterloo on the 16th if he were out of town all that week? An interesting observation, Mrs. Hudson. Well, I suppose I go over to Waterloo Station and pick up whatever was checked there. Oh, and sorry to mention this, but it is customary to have a retainer. Private Detective Cross, once of Scotland Yard, went on over to Waterloo Station and presented the baggage check. A short while later, he arrived in the office of Inspector Henley at the Yard. Oh, yes, Cross. I remember you now. Oh, thank you, Inspector. You were without one, weren't you? Yes, sir. There are times, Cross, when I wish I had the gumption to strike out on my own. Too late now, however. And there are times, Inspector, when I wish I'd stayed on here. However. Yes, to each his own, and the Cross is always greener and so on. Well, Sergeant Anderson said you wanted to show me something. Oh, yes, sir. This Gladstone bag. Hmm. Looks perfectly normal. Locked, I see. Yes, if you look inside, Inspector, just pry the two halves apart at one end, as I did. Yes, I see. Art objects to heaven of the lease. Not if one had every intention of disposing of them, Inspector. You're probably right about that. Seem it like some silk or something. And badly stained. If I were a gambling man, I'd give ten to one the stains of blood, sir. And it wouldn't be much of a gamble. Any ideas on what the metal objects are? I'll flash my pen light in there, sir. One is a carving knife, and the other is a carpenter's saw. I see. How did you come into possession of this bag, Cross? Mrs. Hudson found the check for it in her husband's pocket. She says the cleaner found it. I doubt that. Divorce action, I assume. Correct, sir. I understand. Well, my suggestion is this. We'll give you another stub. Give it to Mrs. Hudson and have her place it in her husband's pocket. When he comes back for the bag, we'll have a man ready to pick him up. It seems to me this little matter bears further investigation. So simple, so quietly effective. Just place a check for baggage in a man's pocket. When he comes to claim his glass, don't bang. Here's your... Oh, here's my check. It's a brown Gladstone. Left it three days ago. Just a moment, sir. Sergeant Anderson, sir. Yes? It's the check you've been waiting for, that fellow there, whistling. Thank you. Give him the bag. I'll speak to him. Yes, that's my bag. Oh, that'll be two and six, sir, for overtime storage. Oh, here we are. Thank you, sir. Glad to oblige. Excuse me, sir. You, James Hudson? I'm trying. Who are you? Sergeant Anderson, Scotland Yard, my credentials. If you'd be good enough to come with me. What for? Inspector Henry would like to see you. He's waiting at the police station. Just a block or two from the station here. Well, I've got my bag here. Couldn't it wait tomorrow or...? That's all right, Mr. Hudson. I'll carry your bag. The squad room at the police station near Waterloo was very quiet. Inspector Henry sat behind a battered desk on the desk rest of the Gladstone bag open now, and next to it a file. A familiar dossier from the Criminal Records Office. Will you have your file as you see, Hudson? I see. Sif, burglary, five years for criminal assault. Does your wife know about these things, Hudson? No, she doesn't. I see. Hudson, how do you account for the contents of this bag? I, um, I was butchering half a steer for a friend of mine in the country. He has a deep freeze. Oh, that's rather thin, Hudson. Did you wear a silk dress size 10 to butcher the steer in? It was his wife's. I'm having it cleaned at a special place, I know. Yes, yes, of course. Better try again, Hudson. There was no answer. There were no further questions. Inspector Henry knew his man, ticked away. The clock was quite loud. For an hour it ticked in the silence, only the perspiration beginning to bead his forehead. Jim Hudson began to talk. All right, Inspector. I'll tell you. I guess I lost my head when she flew at me. Oh, size 10, and she flew at you, Hudson. I told her we were through, that I was going back to my wife. She heaped the coal scuttle. Then it was at the beaches at Pevensey Bay on April 13th, sir. She grabbed the poker. I defended myself. We had a devil of a struggle. She fell, struck her head on the and iron. She was dead. I must have gone completely crazy. I went into town, but that night, and the sore, I was afraid to tell anyone. I mean, my record. Sergeant, I've got something here, Inspector, in this biscuit tin. Yes, you have. Neat packing job, I must say. Not much left of the poor girl, is there? I want a check of every hardware store in the neighborhood where Hudson lives. Oh, yes, near the railway station. Got that, Sergeant? I want the sales, step on those implements, and the clerk who sold them, if possible. Here, Inspector, I remember the incident perfectly. The fellow came in whistling, asked about the knives in the window. He bought one, then asked for a small sore. Here's the slip, sir. Well, this says April the 9th. He claims he didn't buy these things until the 13th. If it's the 9th, Inspector, I'll stink my life on that. It's no good, Hudson. You bought that knife and that sore on Friday the 9th. You went to Pency Bay prepared to do exactly what you did do. If we ever had evidence of premeditation, we've got it now. You're under arrest, charged with willful murder, and I'll just warn you that anything you say may be used in evidence. Each clue in its place. The case was complete. Closed as tightly as that same Gladstone Bank. Which can be found today in the Black Museum. Orson Wells will be back with you in just a moment.