 Whitehall, 1-2-1-2, quickly. For the first time, Scotland Yard opens its secret files to bring you the authentic true stories of some of its most baffling cases. These accurate records are drawn from the Scotland Yard files by special permission of Commissioner Sir Harold Scott. They're true in every respect, except for the names of the participants which, for obvious reasons, have been changed. The research has been done by Mr. Percy Hoskins, chief crime reporter for the London Daily Express, and the stories for radio are written and directed by Mr. Willis Cooper. Here are the participants in case number 498-MR381. Neville Hutchins, shopkeeper. Yes. I saw the man. Rafe Dibble, taxi driver. I drove into Charing Cross. Arthur Cunningham, the estate agent. I never saw the woman before. Mrs. Veronica Fanshawe, housewife. The woman was a most unsatisfactory housekeeper. Mrs. Leonie Fournier, housekeeper. Inspector Harold Lowe of Scotland Yard. One of these persons is a murderer. Which one do you suspect? Incidentally, if you're looking for what the Americans call cops and robbers with the goods in the bag shooting it out, or if you expect lean, pipe-spoking men in four-and-aft hats saying, follow that cab, you may be disappointed. The job of a policeman says Commander Rawlings of the Yard is 95% perspiration, 3% inspiration, and 2% luck. But we have our moments. We have our moments. Now, having concluded my little sermon for today, and if you're still interested, come along with me. This is Scotland Yard's Black Museum. I'd like you to meet Chief Superintendent John Davidson, the caretaker. Yes? It's Inspector Lowe, sir, and a friend. Maybe come in. By all means. Come along. Chief Superintendent William Davidson. Well, how do you do? I expect Lowe has told you all about this place, has he not? Well, frankly, no, sir. I was hoping... Well, these cases you see around the walls contain articles of all sorts which were important to us in the solution of crimes. In the other room, there are our murder weapons. Now, here are bits of evidence, each of which has played its part in the conviction of a criminal. Here's a bloodstained jacket, and a plaster cast of a dead man's hand. Well, what did you wish especially to see, Lowe? Case number 498MR381, sir, if you... Oh, the Farnier case. Right, sir. Oh, here in this corner. Come along. That's a trunk, rather large, old-fashioned, black trunk with a heavy lid. It served its purpose, admirable. Telephone call received by Inspector Harold Lowe at Scotland Yard, 2.55 p.m. Monday, 10th May, 1948. Inspector Lowe speaking. This is Bannerman in charge of the left luggage room at Taring Cross Station, sir. Yes? We've come across something queer here, sir, something that I'm afraid one's investigating. What seems to be wrong, Bannerman? I think you ought to see it, sir, really. Well, what is it, man? It's a left luggage ticket, sir, that was left by one of the station bullp-bullp-bullpacks. A left luggage ticket? Yes, sir. Well, don't you think... The days ago, sir. Oh, well, that does all to matters, doesn't it? I'm afraid so, sir. Well, I'll be right over. Bannerman, is it? You, Bannerman? Yes? Detective Inspector Lowe, you spoke to me on the telephone. Oh, yes, sir. Well, you just step inside, sir. I'll be away for a few minutes, George. Well, hurry back! Will you come with me, sir? I've the ticket in my desk, sir. Here, sir. Oh. What's wrong with it? It was found on the up platform by one of the bullp-bullpacks a few minutes after I issued it, sir. Well, the owner lost. It's exactly the way it was found, sir. All crumpled up in a ball. Yes, I see what you mean. I do, sir, ticket, sir, but it wouldn't throw it away just a few moments after he got it, sir. Do you remember the man? Oh, don't remember him at all, sir. Well, I remember if it was a man. What? He might have been a woman, sir. We handle so many people here. Well, is the trunk still here? You said it's for a trunk, didn't you? Yes, sir. It's right over in that bay, sir. Well, let's have a look at it, please. Follow me. There, sir. The black one. You note the numbers, check. Ah. It's very heavy, sir. Let me give you an hand. Yes. The lock doesn't look very strong. Well, I'll have it open. No. The cloth isn't that heavy. There's something else in here. Take the end of this piece. The trunk and its contents were removed at once to Scotton Yard for examination. The contents were taken to the pathological laboratory. Detective Sergeant Sheung Flannery and I examined the trunk itself. It seems to be very old. It's in good condition, though. They don't make goods like this nowadays. We shall have to have it tested for dabs, of course. Ah, fingerprints. We'll find millions of them, sir. Man of the left luggage rooms, our own people. The late occupants. From the edge of it. We're likely to find Oliver Cromwell's. Ah, Patak. What's this? What? I'm afraid our French have removed that. What? It's a label. Give us the magnifying glass, will you? Answer it, will you, boy? All right. Marry here. All right. Send me down here to watch, please. What is it? Report from the laboratory. They're sending it down. Report from the pathological laboratory, Scotton Yard, delivered to Inspector Low Tuesday 11th May 1948. Reference 498 MR381. The body found in the trunk is that of a Caucasian female about 40 years of age. Black hair and eyes, perfect teeth, high 5 feet 1 inch, weight 104 pounds when alive. Bruise on back of head, not cause of death. Bruises and superficial abrasions caused by fingernails on neck. Well, preliminary examination indicates death caused by manual strangulation. Outer garments missing. Body clad in under vest bearing laundry mark 316ADFA. Black nylon stockings, new, size 6 and a half. Body wrapped in cotton dust is slightly stained with blood, the same type, type away. As that found on neck. Body removed to mortuary, please advise disposition of other articles. See, schedule A attached. Ha. Pathology laboratory, please. Excuse me, Inspector. Yes, Flannery. Hold it a sec, please. Inspector Low here. What is it, Sean? I finally made out the printing on that label. And? Neville Hutchins. Secondhand articles, Brixton. Nip off and see the fellow. Does he remember the man he was in all that, you know. Best go at once. All right, sir. Hello? Hello? I'm sorry. Who is it, Gwynne? Look, Gwynne, suppose you take the fingerprints of the lady from the trunk and pass them on to the print file at once. Thus we can discover who she was. Oh, you have done that. Good, good. She might have been one of our former customers after all really nice girls aren't often found in trunks, are they? Thanks, Gwynne. Ask them to let me know, will you? Thanks. Oh, and get photographs of those laundry marks checked with our list too, will you? You have done so. Well, I should buy you a beer one of these days, Gwynne. Over and out. Three irons turning a dull red in the fire. Fingerprints, label, laundry mark. Not bad, Inspector Lo. Not too bad at all. Conversation between Detective Sergeant Sean Fannery and shopkeeper Neville Hutchins at the latter shop in Brixton. I'm Detective Sergeant Flannery of Scotland Yard, Mr. Hutchins. Well, what do you want? You carry second-hand luggage in stock, sir. Well, what if I do? Trunks, perhaps? If you're looking for stolen goods, I don't know anything about any. Anyway, I haven't gotten any trunks. I sold the last one I had something more than a week ago. Indeed. In bloody deed. So what? The ancient black leather one? Well, how do you know? Well, we found it. Yeah, where? I should say that's none of your business at present. It's the one they found the body in at Churning Cross. How do you know? Well, I read the papers. Percy Hoskins had offered column about it in today's express. Eh, that's the one. Well, how do you know? It's your label. No, when did you sell it? Well, let me look. Yeah, here we are, here we are. May the 2nd. You got the buyer's name? Now, this ain't Selfridges, mate. You remember what he looked like? Well, he was tall and thin. And complexion? Dark hair, dark eyes. Dressed? Eh, I don't remember that. What did he do it, you think? Would you recognize him again? Well, of course I would. If he walked in here in a year from today, tall, thin, dark. Well, we may ask you to identify him. Thank you. You're, of course, to say nothing but ever of this call. Ah, look here, Mr. Rape. If you do, we should be very seriously annoyed with you, Hutchins. I've got nothing to conceal. I'm an honest man. And if you're a tall, thin, dark man, hears of it, you might just find yourself out of your day. Yeah, just mind your eye, Mr. Hutchins. I shall be seeing you again. Yeah. Good day, sir. Report to the fingerprint division Scotland Yard to Inspector Low. And no record at all, sir, of the prints. None at all, eh? None, whatever, sir. Aye? No, nothing till I ask you. That'll do for the present. Thank you. The laundry marks on the dead woman's clothing were identified by a laundry in Shepherd's Bush as having been issued to a family named Fanshawe. Further inquiry disclosed the fact that Mrs. Veronica Fanshawe, the only woman member of the family, was alive and well. She was summoned to Scotland Yard by Inspector Low. These are your laundry marks, then? No doubt about it. But the clothing's not mine. That I'm quite certain of. Yes, I'm sure they wouldn't fit you. They're very small. They're very cheap, obviously. Vulgar. I should never wear things like those. Have you any idea how your laundry mark could fit? Oh, no idea. Unless... Unless what, madam? We had a cook-ass keeper a short time ago. She was one of those tiny women. And where is she? What was her name? Her name is Leonie Fornia. She's French. Is she still in your employ, Mrs. Fanshawe? She is not. I discharged her more than a week ago. I don't know where she is. Why did you discharge her? I did not approve of her. She'd been divorced and, well, you know these French women. Besides, she was the most unsatisfactory housekeeper. I see. You disliked her a great deal. I disapproved of her. Will you come with me a moment, please, Mrs. Fanshawe? Well, whatever for? Will you come with me, please? Where are we going? If you'll follow me, please. What is this place? This table here, if you please. This is awful, sir. This is our mortuary, Mrs. Fanshawe. Did you ever see this woman before? It's Leonie. Your former housekeeper? I always knew she'd come to this. Thank you, Mrs. Fanshawe. Other visitors to Inspector Lowe's office, Scotland Yard, between 12th May and 15th May, 1948, must conductor Simon Norwich of Hounsditch. I was reading at the Piper said about this year, black trunk that bloke married the woman head. Or I did, sir. Well, see, another was a fellow going on my boss at Brickson. The afternoon, about the 4th of the month, he had a large black trunk with him. You know, I was half a mile not to leave him aboard, sir. But the bus was empty and I said to myself, of course, sir, oh, with that great big everything, so I let him on. No, it is against the rule. Heavy, you said. Well, not heavy, after all. Said bulk is the word, but it was big and black in old fashion, like a Piper says. Would you recognize him again, Norwich? The only thing I remember about him is he had dark black hair, sir. Where did he get off your bus? I remember that, sir. Rochester Row in Westminster. I helped him off the truck. The last I seen was him staggered down Rochester Row with his great old kid, black trunk on his up in the ride. It wasn't either, mother, is it? Reef Dibble, taxi driver of Clarkinwell Road. Look at our ship, miss, sir. They said they had a notice from Scotland Yard, asking about any driver that had a fare to chairing cross station on Mully the Tenth, who had a large trunk as luggage. Had you such a fare? Yes, sir, I did. Would that be the murder trunk locks in all the papers, sir? Where did you pick up this fare, uh, Dibble? It was a very heavy trunk, sir. The gentleman says it's full of books, sir. It feels more like a dead body, sir, I says. And he just snickered. So I wrote it onto the luggage rack and took it to chairing cross. My books, he says. Dead body, I says. And that's what it was, wasn't it? Where did you pick him up? Oh, in the rain, sir. Rochester Row, right across the street from Westminster Police Station. See? Here's my trip card. Rochester Row. If he's the murderer, sir, I'd know him in a minute. He was tall and thin and had black hair like an Italian or an Irishman. Gracie of Case Number 498MR381, 13th May, 1948. Compiled by Inspector Low and Detective Sergeant Flannery, 14th May, 1948. Mrs. Fanshawe, number one. Her antipathy toward victim, highly suspicious, watching her closely. Two. Hutchins, the shopkeeper. Uncooperative, but possible suspect. Sir, could you pass the please? All right. Description vaguely like that of unknown suspect. Tall, thin, black haired, under constant observation. Myself. Number three, bus conductor Norwich and taxi driver Dibble state they can identify suspect. They've seen the shopkeeper Hutchins yet, son. Send them over there tomorrow, sir. Good. Number four, now the victim. No apparent police record. No fingerprint record in our files. Meager reports on... Yes, Meager. Reports on her indication she was quiet, industrious and of comparatively good deportment regardless of Mrs. Fanshawe's opinion of her. Well, how about the Rochester Roe coincidence, sir? Yes, yes, yes. Course. Number five, bus conductor says man with trunk alighted at Rochester Roe with empty trunk. Taxi driver says he picked up man with heavy trunk at Rochester Roe. Detail of constables and detectives under Inspector North, commencing search of all buildings in Rochester Roe. Very short street. Better put down that symbol tomorrow. Results will be reported. I think that's about all the momentum. Well, I can think of, sir. Very well, Sybil. Finish typing it and I'll sign it. Yes, sir. At eight o'clock the next morning, Inspector North in his detail of 20 detectives and constables arrived in Rochester Roe with a Scotland yard lorry fetching the trunk carefully covered with a tarpaulin so that it could be exhibited to the tenants for their identification. Followed by the lorry, they went from house to house, questioning every inhabitant. At six in the evening when operations were suspended, the trunk had not been recognized. The next morning at 10.15, Inspector North telephoned me, asked me to come at once to 9A Rochester Roe on the fourth floor of a business building. I puffed my way up the fourth flights of ancient moldy stairs 20 minutes later. What's up, North? North, this is Mr. Henry Elkinson. Inspector Low. How do you know? Good morning, Inspector. I was saying to Inspector North that I recognized the trunk at once. Good, good. I want to sit down. Before you fall down, old chap. Well, here you are, here you are. Now, go on, go on. Oh, I saw it in the hall outside this room one day last week. Ah, I was right. Whose room was this? Well, unfortunately, I've never seen him. My assistant rented this place to him on April the 11th. His name, Arthur Cunningham. Where is he? Skipped. What? I've not noticed. The sixth Thursday, that was. What was his business? Well, the stage agent, he said. Left this note on the table there. I got it out of our file. Ah, sorry, gone broke. Paid up to 11th. Please let typewriter people have a machine. Arthur L. Cunningham. Who has been and gone and hopped it. You don't know that there must be another way of making a living. I can give you the name of his bank. You should be able to find him quite quickly through him, sir. Almost excellent man, Elkinson. Now, who will carry me down four flights of stairs to a telephone? At the Camberwell address furnished by Cunningham's bank, the landlady reported to Inspector Low that Cunningham had left the place on the fifth, leaving no forwarding address. But she remembered a letter addressed to Cunningham had been delivered to the house two days after he had departed. She gave the unopened letter to the inspector, who opened it legally at Scotland Yard and read it eagerly. It was a form letter from the Post Office telegraph's department. We regret that your telegram dated 3rd of May to Mrs. Harriet Cunningham, Greyhound Hotel Hammersmith was undeliverable because... Ha ha! Inspector Low here, put me through to Hammersmith, the Greyhound Hotel, Mrs. Harriet Cunningham at once. I'll wait, yes. The innocent Mrs. Cunningham was only too glad to tell the inquiring friend where her husband was to be found, of course. The Hammersmith police picked him up in a pub that night, and the next day he confronted Inspector Low at Scotland Yard. He was quite at ease. No, I'm sorry. I never saw the woman before. You know, I'm that old-fashioned character faithful to my wife, Inspector. Well, that's very commendable, I'm sure. Well, I admit, I've been about the country a bit since I was demorbed last year, but I assure you all my travels were in quest of that illusive thing, a job. I gather they're rather difficult to come by. I found it. I thought I had a good thing in this estate agent business, but I found myself possessed of nothing but my fair to Hammersmith to my wife. Fortunately, she has a good job at the Greyhound there. Wonderful woman, Harriet. It was her ninepence I was buying my gin and it with at the pub where Chaps found me. You say you didn't see that trunk at the place in Rochester, Roe? Yes, I think I'd seen it. I didn't take any special notice of it. It's a horrible thing. Quiet. Well, you've been quite open with me and I appreciate it, Mr. Cunningham. You won't mind if I check up on the statements you've made. Oh, of course not, of course not. Just as a matter of formality, do you mind having those two chaps who said they'd remember the man with the trunk, the shopkeeper and the taxi driver? Do you mind having them look you over? Oh, of course not. I do think, though, that you should parade one or two others with me to see if they can vote for one. Isn't that the proper procedure in detective circles? Of course. I'll see to that. If I get them now and bring in one or two others to stand inspection with you... Well, let's get it over with by all means. I'll get them all at once, then. All right, on with the show. Oh, excuse me, sir. Flammery. Go on in. You can help me. I'm just... Just a minute, sir. I was checking on relatives of the murdered woman. Yes, yes, in a moment. This is her former husband. Afternoon, sir. You were married to Leonie Founium? Yes, sir. Have you been in the mortuary? We just came from there, sir. He recognized her. Bloody awful, sir. Tell the inspector why you divorced her. I didn't divorce her. I just left her. Tell the inspector why? She was running around with another man. Tell the inspector his name. Arthur Cunningham, sir. I was very happy as I ushered sergeant Flammery, sergeant Anstrotherm, inspector North and Constable Fletcher into my office. Stand along the wall there, I said, in the bright light with Mr. Cunningham. I picked up the telephone. Will you please send in those three men in the waiting room? Come in, gentlemen. Now, if you will look at this group of gentlemen very carefully, please, and tell me if you recognize one of them as the man you saw with the black trunk. Now, take your time. Yes, Mr. Hutchins, you sold a man the trunk. Is he present? No, I don't see him. Are you sure? Positive. Well, you assured me you could recognize him. Not one of these. Mr. Norwich, do you recognize the man who boarded your bus with the trunk? Well, that tall one with the glasses. That's Inspector North. Well, if they don't have any ideas, sir. You devil. Is the man who hailed your cab among these gentlemen? No, sir. He had a moustache. Nobody has got a moustache. You're certain that you do not identify any of these men? Then I take it, Inspector, that none of us are criminals, sir. Thank you, gentlemen. All of you. Inspector Low's office, 11.30 that night. Only one lonesome light burning. The two men silent, thinking. Oh, must you always be lighting that stinking pipe? Oh, I'm sorry, sir. Sorry, Sean. I didn't mean to speak so sharply. I know. I'm just as upset as you are. I was so sure. Teach me a lesson, I hope. Those chap's were so certain they could identify him. They couldn't. The taxi driver. They talked to him afterwards. That tall chap, he says. He might have been the one, except he had no moustache. I know. And his hair was the wrong color. A man can shave off a moustache. Yes, and dye his hair. Dye black hair? Well, you can make it lighter. I suppose. Well, I don't know whether Cunningham did it or not. But I'm definitely of the opinion that the murder was committed in that place in Rochester, Roe, where the trunk was. An ideal setup for a murder. Tenant gone, place empty, the renting agent, that Elford Stone chap. Well, he didn't even miss Cunningham till the next morning. A woman's husband said that she'd been running around with Cunningham. She might have gone there to see him and found him gone. A friend's husband could have been following her, caught her and cracked her neck. Quite cranky. He was tall and thin. He had dark hair and a moustache. Well, we're not in such bad shape after all. Look, North and his crew are over there at Rochester Roe taking the place apart, brick by brick. They're going to work all night and perhaps they'll find something. I devoutly hope so. Anyway, I'll have this husband fella picked up and printed in case he left any marks of his parries about over there. Well, we'll start all over again. I'll go home and get a night's sleep and we'll have our little group of talented identifiers in here early in the morning to tell us that's our boy. You know, you're an extremely clever man, Sergeant Flannery. I'll have them all here first thing. Yes, Inspector Low? Who? Oh, yes, Mac. Well, we were just leaving, but... Oh, not really. Of course we'll wait. Come on down. Mac, up on the laboratory, says he's been working on the contents of the trunk. Oh, not the lateness for Nia, the other things that he wants to show us something. Did he say what? I don't know the chance. He's fetching it down to us, whatever it is. Well, I hope he hurries. Come in. Hello, Mac. Glad I caught you. There's enough chance, but... What have you got? Well, this is the dust that was in the trunk with the lake lamented. That looks awfully clean. I just washed it. I wanted the blood stains. Look here under the light. You see it in the corner? Blood stains covered it up before and it's pretty faded. Greyhound Hotel, Hammersmith. The hotel where Cunningham's wife works. Is it an important inspector? It's rather small for a hangman's new smack, old boy, but I fancy it will serve. It will serve. Now, Sean, you get friend Cunningham out of his comfortable bed at about the time Dorn is mucking about with their rosy fingers. And you grasp, Mr. Cunningham, between the thumb and forefinger of the right hand and fetch him here to the waiting room. And watch him wait till I consent at last to see him. Yes, sir. And then watch her. And then you and I'll make a short visit to the mortuary. What for? To see if the unfortunate lady on the slab is there is still smiling. 7.15 the next morning, a rather tousal, bleary eyed Cunningham arrived at Scotland Yard with Sergeant Flannery and was seated to wait for my arrival. When I arrived at 9.30, he stopped me. What's up now, Inspector? Oh, just wanted to talk some things over with you. See you in a few minutes. But look, I've not had my breakfast. Well, I'll be with you in just a few moments. Oh, Inspector Lo. Oh, yes, North. I've something for you to look at at once. Just wait a bit, Cunningham. I'm sure you don't mind. But Inspector, what do you want? Nice going, North, I said. A very good act. But North looked at me quite seriously. Not an act, Bobby said. We found something. He handed me a little bottle cap. What's this I asked? Read it. We found it in the far base of Cunningham's place last night. Alongside these hairpins. Ah, you read what it says on the bottle cap. Madam Dumaria's golden hair rins. Why, North, I think Mr. Cunningham will be delighted to see that. After he's waited and sweated another hour or two. I let him in after two more hours. I'm afraid he was a rather pitiable sight. Flannery's cryptic remark to him as he passed by something about new evidence had ruined his sorely tricomposure. And the waiting and speculating and wondering. I let him speak first. I decided I'd better tell you the truth, Inspector. I let him wait. What I would like to know is this. I did kill her. But it was accidental. I didn't mean to do it. It was purely an accident. She came to my room. You did know of them. I knew her slightly. She came to my rooms and she demanded money. She threatened me when I told her I had none. How did she threaten you? How did she threaten you? She struck at me and I automatically struck back and she fell and hit her forehead on the fender of the fireplace and then... Wait, wait. The bruise was on the back of her head. And I got panicky and I stuffed her body in a truck. When did you bleach your hair? What? But I tell you I didn't murder her. I killed her accidentally. I tell you I accidentally... Listen to me, Cunningham, before you say any more. What? Arthur Cunningham, I arrest you on a charge of willful murder. I warn you that anything you say will be taken down in writing and used in evidence against you. Now, go on with your story, if you like. The crime. Cunningham's admission at the trial that he had lured his former inamorata to his office to put an end to her threats of exposure together with his eventual identification by the shopkeeper, the taxi driver and the bus conductor, the stolen duster from the Hammersmith Hotel in which the body was wrapped and other evidence produced by Scotland Yard were of great importance at his trial. The verdict. My lord, we the jury find the prisoner guilty of willful murder. The sentence. To be hanged by the neck until you are dead and may God have mercy on your soul. You have heard the true story of Scotland Yard case number 498 MR 381. The names of all participants have been changed for obvious reasons. The research on Whitehall 1212 is done by Percy Hoskins, chief crime reporter of the London Daily Express and the stories for radio are written and directed by Willis Cooper. Next, listen for tales of the Texas Rangers.