 This is Scotland Yard. For the first time, Scotland Yard opens its files to bring you the unvarnished, true stories of some of its most celebrated cases. This is an accurate record, authentic from start to finish of the most famous criminal investigation organization in the world, compiled from the files of Scotland Yard by Percy Hoskins, chief crime reporter of the London Daily Express, written and directed for radio by Willis Cooper. Quarters of the Metropolitan Police is situate near the embankment on Whitehall. Here also are the headquarters of the CID, the Criminal Investigation Department. The body of men whose exploits for more than a hundred years have made the name Scotland Yard synonymous with the brilliant detection of crime, the unrelenting pursuit of the criminal and the presentation of the painstakingly acquired evidence that assures his eventual punishment. Police officials of every nation in the world are constant visitors to Scotland Yard. Some of them come as observers of Scotland Yard methods, others on official police business, and many remain as students of Scotland Yard's crime investigation. It was raining in London the second day of my visit to Scotland Yard. It practically always rains in London. I got out of my taxi and walked through the gates of Scotland Yard shivering, and the red-faced young constable at the steps of the building was very polite. But he was also very firm with me. I said, good afternoon, constable. Good afternoon, sir. Commander Rawlings is expecting you. You're the American gentleman, aren't you, sir? That's right. From where? Minnesota. Commander Rawlings will be in the Black Museum, sir. Where is that? It's inside, sir. You take the stairway down to your left, third door on the right, sir. Right out, constable? Right, sir. Up the stone steps through the heavy doors into the big, bare, outer corridor with a musty old smell, and every copper in the world can recognize with his eyes shut. Look in through, sir. Deputy Commander Rawlings, sergeant. Oh, you're the American gentleman, sir. Down the stairway, third door on the right, sir. Down the stairway, third door on the right, sir. Sir, the light comes. Well, third door on the right, sir. Right. One, two, three. Come in, please. Good afternoon. Good afternoon, Mr. Rawlings. Do come in, old boy. Glad to see you, Mr. Rawlings. Mind if I smoke a cigar? Not at all. You're welcome to our little chamber of horrors. Quite a place. Who's that? That? A chap took him in, you know. He was a trifle too quick with the boysen. What's this? Gunny sacks. A bloke named Manton wrapped his ex-wife up in it 1943. A place called Luton. What happened to him? Took the eight o'clock walk. Execution time was always eight o'clock. Bloody early. Mrs. Rachel Dubkin. Lost property, eh? What is it? Looks like a burnt chicken bone that somebody busted. That is Mrs. Rachel Dubkin. It was a gang of navies that found the skeleton. Navies? Laborers, you know, pick and shovel workmen. All over London at the time, that was in July 1942, workmen were tidying up the bombed-out wreckage, the blitz, you know. They did quite a good job. This gang was working on a Baptist chapel in Kensington, piling up bricks and mortar, digging into the ruins for buried victims and whatnot. They uncovered a good many, incidentally. Well, they called a nearby police constable and reported it as they were required to do. The constable took the routine notes as the navies gave him the facts. I priced up this here stone slab, and there he was, just like he is. Lord Stone, the crow's eye says, like, he looks a natural down there. You know, he looks a dain, an eye says to Sammy, yeah, Sammy, eye says, what's a skin engine and down in the basement of a Baptist chapel, eye says. That's so deadly, eye says. What you think, constable? Well, not knowing, I can't say. All right, then, I'll call the yard and pick him up. What's the poor Skillington done, Scotland? The yard won't see. Identify the poor fellow, Caspus, like we always does, so we can see if he's to be charged to it as a count or was murdered or something. You know, Baptist chapel, constable. Not neither. For the yard men get here. He's burnt and broke up enough as it is. The laboratory'll have a time not off with him, finding out who he was. Mine now. Who does he think he is? A bloody prime minister. Muck a bad with a Skillington indeed. I wouldn't even brush the plaster dust off the poor thing. Yeah, that ain't plaster dust, mate. All right. What is it? It's, mate. I know quicklime when I see it. Quicklime won't destroy your body, Rowling. That's a myth, a superstition. You know that. But murderers don't usually know it, old boy. I see what you mean. Keith Simpson, the hallmark of his pathologist, walked into my room upstairs the next day. Skeleton was a lady, Commander. Huh? Yes, about 5 feet tall, I should say. Between 40 and 50 years of age, probably wore an upper dental plate with seven teeth. Four other teeth had fillings. Oh, found two or three strands of grey hair also. Well, pass it on to Edward. She's got to be identified. There's quite a job, I should say. Has to be done. But that all? You said something about quicklime. Yes. No trace of quicklime in any other part of the rubble of this chapel except near the skeleton. Suspicious of murder. The thing the skeleton talked with. Talked? When she was alive. The trachea, voice box. Look here. See these things? These little wing affairs? Very fragile. Now the upper horn of this wing. Yes, it's been broken. This, my dear Commander Rollins, is one of the most significant fractures in the whole field of forensic myths. Assume that I've asked the question. It is almost always caused by one means. Manual pressure. Strangulation. Checking the missing persons register occupied several weeks. And the odd men found 281 names of missing women between the ages of 40 and 50, around five feet tall and with grey hair. I think they were. Then we were faced with the problem of finding which one of these women wore an upper dental plate of seven teeth and also had four other teeth which had been filled. On the 85th personal call, Detective Constable Charles Barré reported that a woman in Bayswater, whose missing sister's name was on our list, had told him this sister had worn false teeth, an upper dental plate. The woman who had disappeared on Good Friday, 1941, 16 months previous had been married, but living apart from her husband. Her name was Mrs. Rachel Dopkin. Something clicked in my mind. I had seen that name on that date before somewhere. That was at the time of the Great Easter Bits of 1941 when the Luftwaffe really poured it on us. I sent the files for a copy of the Police Gazette of April 11, 1941. The Police Gazette? They are daily police newspaper. We got a police Gazette in the States too. But it's kind of different. Yes, I do say. Well, I found the item I wanted, a very brief one under Lost and Found Articles. A woman's purse had been found in the post office at Guilford and Surrey by the Postmistress when the office was closed on the evening of Good Friday, 1941. Well? It was Mrs. Rachel Dopkin's purse. I don't get it. Well, neither did we. I assigned Detective Inspector Lewis Hatten to work with me. We agreed it was most baffling. Most baffling? No question that this was her purse. Ration card. In the name of Mrs. Rachel Dopkin. Identity card. Same name. Tenshilling note. Levinson coin. Lipstick, cone, mirror. Two tram tickets. A hers, all right. Curious. There's no return ticket to London. Perhaps she was running away. She'd not get far in England without her ration and her identity card. No inquiries were ever made for the purse. And we find her skeleton in Kensington 15 months later. Sure it was hers? No doubt at all. We found her dentist almost at once. He positively identified the jaw and the fillings in the teeth. Charts? He did the work. They checked. When was that chapel place destroyed? The day before Easter, Saturday. It wasn't a bomb hit, knocked down by concussion. No hit. But she was reported missing the day before. Good Friday. No fire either. The skeleton was burned, charred. Baffling. Where are you going, Hatten? Oh, I thought I'd take a run up to Kensington again. I'd like to see the Kensington Fire Brigade to Currentsville. And there wasn't any fire? No, not on the night of the raid to Saturday, but we don't know about the other days. We'll wait. What? A telephone, if you find anything. A hunch. A hunch, that's right. Sometimes they... Pay off. That's right. Sometimes they pay off. Hatten didn't telephone me. He came bursting unceremoniously into my room upstairs two hours later. Oh, I'm sorry, sir. There was a fire. Really? I saw the occurrence book at the Kensington Fire Brigade. The fire was on Tuesday, the 15th at 11.31. That was when the Kensington Police Station telephoned it in. One of the constables had discovered it. Police constable? Didn't the ARP Fire Watchers have... No, no. The Fire Watchers didn't report it at all. Maybe there wasn't a Fire Watcher there. Oh, yes, there was one, sir. Don't you want to know his name, Commander Rawlings? What? The name of the Fire Watcher who didn't report the fire in the chapel where the skeleton was found is... Harry Dubkin. I called for a meeting of all those who were concerned in the case. Keith Simpson, the Home Office pathologist. Detective Inspector Hatton. Sorry to be late, sir. Station Sergeant Andrew C. McLeod of Kensington. Yes, sir. And myself. McLeod was there to tell us what he knew. The others to lend me a hand in taking stock and determining what should be done next. At first I asked Hatton, have you discovered Harry Dubkin? Unfortunately, not yet, sir. Why? It is true, sir, that he was employed as a Fire Watcher by the firm of manufacturing chemists whose buildings had joined the chapel in Kensington, before me that his services were unsatisfactory and he was sacked on 14th September last year. He wasn't an enrolled ARP member then? No, sir. He was employed as a private Fire Watcher. We've checked the address he had given. The place was destroyed by enemy action on the night of... night of 21-22 February this year. There has been no trace of him since. A new inquiry is being made, however. Oh, naturally, sir. And it is certain that he was on duty the night of the fire on Tuesday 15 April 1941. Yes, sir. It's a matter of record in station Sergeant McLeod's occurrence book. Yes, sir. According to the occurrence book, PC Ivor Lam of Kensington Police Station saw him, recognized him and spoke with him after the fire was extinguished by the fire brigade. I've brought with me the paging questions, sir. Third entry from the top, sir. Thank you. Nothing much we can do until we see Dupkin. We'll find him, sir. Unless he's gone for a burden. Unless he's dead, yes, sir. Oh, um, let's see what we have. Keith Simpson says the woman was murdered. Yes, I am strongly of their opinion, Commander Rollins. You believe that she was murdered by her husband, Harry Dupkin? I have no opinions whatever on that subject, Commander. That is a detective matter, not a medical one. However, I believe that you'll find that she was murdered. One moment, Sergeant McLeod. Sinsen. You are convinced the skeleton was that of Mrs. Rachel Dupkin? I would testify to that effect. There is the matter of the deduced description tallying with that of Mrs. Dupkin. The teeth have been positively identified as hers, and I have here what I consider highly important corroborative evidence. Now, this is a film copy of Mrs. Rachel Dupkin. And I have here what I consider highly important corroborative evidence. This is a film copy of a full face photograph of Rachel Dupkin. Oh, I didn't see it. And this is an X-ray photograph to the same scale of the skull of the victim. Now, I superimpose that. And you observe that there are at least five points of coincidence. Observe. Size, height, and width of the eye sockets. Height and width of the nosepiece. I should say there is no doubt that the victim was Rachel Dupkin. As I stated, I suspect murder. Well, as the uncalled for purse and the post office at Gilbert for one thing. If the woman were alive, she'd certainly make inquiries about a lost purse. She couldn't live without her identity card and her ration book. Yes, and that broken bone and the voice box of the skeleton is almost unmistakable evidence and manual speculation. Sir. Yes, Sergeant McLeod. Sure, this man Dupkin was living apart from his wife. It was a legal separation. Yes, we know that. Something you don't know, sir. Dupkin had been contributing to his wife's support for several years. But it was very irregular about it. You know, she had him in court for it. So? Yes, sir. Well, now, up to the end of his weekly 20 shillings. How do you know? He had to make the payments of the Kensington Police Station, sir. Either to me or my assistant. Oh. And he hadn't paid anything in since the 18th September of 1940. Well, that may... Yes? Excuse me, sir. There's an urgent telephone call for Station Sergeant McLeod. Kensington Police Station calling. Will you excuse me, sir? Well, thank you, sir. Very good, Constable. Interesting at least, sir. You might have something to do with a motive, though. Yes, of course. It's good to have a record of it anyway. Your friend Dupkin hasn't been blown to bits. Yes, if you have enough evidence to charge him with murder. Good thorough chat, Miss Kensington Man. Sergeant McLeod, all the best and all guardsmen. Oh, sir? CSM, 4th Battalion, Scots Guards in the First War. Yes, sir. Sir, that was Detective Constable Sanderson from our house. Yes? He's spoken to the parson of that judge. Parson tells him nothing and flammable was ever stored in that cellar where the skeleton was found. But when he went to view the damage after the fire, on the morning after, that was on Wednesday, 16th April 1941, he found a half-burned straw palliass in there. It had been torn open and set on fire, I see. Obviously, it did not belong there. Didn't the parson see the skeleton at the time? It was under that rock slab, sir. Yes. Well, very interesting. Oh, you didn't finish telling us about Dupkin and the money he wasn't paying his wife at your station. Oh, aye, sir, that. Well, it's quite curious. You know, on the morning of the 16th of April, he showed up in Bigger's life and paid in his 20 shillings. I did. Until the date when he was sacked by his employers there in Kensington. And Mrs. Dupkin never appeared at your station to collect it. How could she, sir? She was dead. That was the way it all ended, then. Or to find the murderer after all. Or was it murder after all? That bit of the late rather unlamented Mrs. Dupkin there would hardly be here in the Black Museum at Scotland Yard if it wasn't murder, oh, boy. You know, that broken bone there is real good evidence of strangulation, isn't it? It was good enough. Well, go on, go on. What did you do when you found out that Harry Dupkin was dead too? You didn't find out that he was dead, but the bomber merely found out that he had disappeared. Oh. It would be rather a coincidence, wouldn't it? A woman apparently murdered under circumstances that involved her husband so deeply a little too much to swallow, a little too simple. Yeah. If I'd been in your Harry Dupkin spot, I'd be tickled silly if people thought I'd get pumped off. And if the opportunity offered, you'd be glad to walk away and say nothing to anyone. Let people think so. That was one of the several mistakes Dupkin made. If he could have taken another name, there's the matter of identity cards. Oh. I'll have an identity card and a ration book in the name of Sam Small or Bonaire, just Blitz and Junior. They ask embarrassing questions, you know. Spies, huh? Spies, they'd be thinking of. Right. And a few questions would discover the fact that your name is Harry Dupkin and there are more embarrassing questions than first thing, you know. I get it. So we reasoned that Harry Dupkin and all we had to do was to find him. Uh-huh. Oh. And did you? Detective Inspector Hatton had the idea. On the first day of September, he walked into an establishment on Edgeware Road, a shop that sold men's cheap clothing. It was the 39th place he had visited and other yard men had made similar inquiries and about 400 other similar shops all over London. He asked for the proprietor and was ushered into the man's little cubicle of an office. He identified himself. Good afternoon, sir. I'm Detective Inspector Hatton of Scotland Yard. Here are my credentials. What's the matter? There's nothing. I merely wish to see your records, sir. Records? I'm looking for a name, sir. A purchaser of clothing of any sort will... You know, you are required by law to take the name of any purchaser of clothing who presents the proper ration coupons for the article's purchase. Or perhaps you sell articles without the proper coupon. An actionable offence. Oh, no. No, no, no, Inspector. May I see your books? Of course. I have them right here. More up-to-date and correct. Thank you. Tape. Henry. Meredith. Oliver B. Babasio and Jim. Authorist, Thomas. Dubkin. Harry. And the address. Did you find him? I thought he'd have to buy new clothing eventually. Thank you very much, sir. Good afternoon. Yes, come in. Oh, Hatton. I found Dubkin, sir. Well, that's very good work, Detective Inspector. Thank you, sir. Where is he? Outside, sir. Well, shall we have the gentleman in? By all means, sir. Come in, Mr. Dubkin. This is Mr. Harry Dubkin, Deputy Commander Rawlings. Come in, Mr. Dubkin. Have a chat. Thank you. Be seated, gentlemen. Might I ask what... why Scotland Yard is interested in me, Commander? Mr. Dubkin, you were a fire watcher near the chapel in Kensington where a fire occurred on the night of Tuesday, 15 April, 1941. I was. Why did you not report that fire? Well, it's rather a surprise. We should like to hear it, Mr. Dubkin. Well, I was supposed to report to the Fire Warden at Neville Place. And... Did you do, sir? Well, no, sir. I didn't. Why, if you please. No, you wasn't there. Where was he? Oh, I don't know, sir. I suppose he nipped around a corner or some way for a smoke or a mug up or something, and, well, you understand, sir. I knew him quite well. What was his name? Do you know? His name slipped my mind completely. Gordon? Gresh? Gresh? No, no. No, I'm afraid I've completely forgotten it. I did report it to post number seven, though. After the fire brigade had come and gone? Yes. I didn't want to leave the premises here. You see... Why are you so interested in this, after all this time? May I ask? Certain things happened that night. They must have happened whilst I was gone to report to post seven, sir. You saw nothing suspicious at all? No, sir. Nothing at all. What happened? At any time that night? No, sir. The skeleton of a woman was found astray. The skeleton of a woman was found destroyed by fire in that cellar. There has been no fire in that place either before or since the 50th of April last year. Oh, dear, how dreadful. The woman... was your former wife. I'm very sorry to hear that. I did hear that she had disappeared. I'm sorry, I'm... I dislike the woman, Intent. You are surprised to hear of that? Naturally. But we'd been separated for some time. I'm afraid I've no tears for her as she was so... Well, never mind. And that's what became of her. And you have no knowledge of whatever the circumstances? No, none whatever, sir. Very well, Mr. Dupkin. Thank you. We may perhaps call on you later. Is that all then, sir? Quite. Thank you for coming in. I'm terribly shocked, gentlemen. You have our sympathy, Mr. Dupkin. Good afternoon, sir. Well... Thank you, sir. Well... He's a liar. Yes? Excuse me, gentlemen. Was there anything else found in that... that place? What sort of thing? Oh, why, uh... Apaleus, uh... A straw mattress. Why, uh... Why do you ask? Why, uh... You see, I had an old straw mattress on the roof of the building where I was fire-watching and, you know, it disappeared that same night. I thought perhaps someone could have stolen it and used it to stop the fire. I'm sure I don't know. Well, I was just thinking back. Well, I can be of help in any way. Thank you, Mr. Dupkin. Thank you very much. Thank you very much indeed, Mr. Dupkin. Asking for it, eh? We watched him quite closely for a week. Dupkin was puzzled, we discovered, and by the simple mindedness of the odd people who had accepted his explanation so readily. I think he would be. But then he decided, apparently, that our ready acceptance was much too suspicious. Not smart, eh? Not so awfully smart. He called on me again. Hatton was with me. We were so genial and guileless we listened so politely. I just thought I'd stop by and inquire what progress you're making. Oh? I remember that Fire Warden's name. Ah, Greenbaum's name was, Greenbaum. He told us his name was Gregory. Did he tell you our report to him? Oh, yes, yes. Although he said his post was only two minutes away from the chapel, and of all the things that occurred, placing your wife's body in the vault, doing all the other things, were done in the four minutes you were absent, well... I told you, I don't know anything about my wife's murder. Why, Mr. Dupkin, nobody has said anything about murder. Well, I don't know anything about it. I tell you, I didn't strangle her. I didn't, I didn't, I didn't... Harry Dupkin, I arrest you on the charge of willful murder. No, I didn't... I must warn you that anything you say will be taken down in writing and may be used in evidence against you. And what happened? He was brought to trial and with the evidence that Scott and Yard was able to supply, the Crown found no difficulty whatever in convincing a jury of his guilt. There were out 25 minutes. The verdict was guilty when he was sentenced to be hanged. On the evening of Thursday 10th September 1942, he made a final and complete confession. The following morning, Friday 11th September at 8 o'clock... The story you have just heard was transcribed from the files of the Metropolitan Police, New Scotland Yard. Dates, names and places are real. The story is true. The information came from Mr. Percy Hoskins, Chief Crime Reporter of the London Daily Express, and the true story was written and directed by Willis Cooper.