 For the first time in its history, Scotland Guard opened its official files to bring you the true stories of some of its most baffling cases. These are the truth. Research for Whitehall 1212 comes from Percy Hoskins, Chief Crime Reporter of the London Daily Express. The stories for radio are written and directed by Willis Cooper. Now here is the custodian of Scotland Yard's famous black museum, Chief Superintendent John Davidson. Good afternoon. Now here is what rejoiced under the name of a wireless set. It doesn't look a great deal like one, does it? As a matter of fact, I never did hear that this wireless set ever brought in any programs. Of course, it's true that there were no radio programs for it to bring in when it was constructed. But I never heard that it brought in any wireless messages either, although I'm told that there were plenty of them. Now I'm afraid this invention was completed with the sole intention of selling it, whether it worked or not. And it is true also that it did something. It helped start a man on his way to the hangman. You see, he was a murderer as well as an inventor. I shall ask Inspector George Wells, who knew him quite well, to tell you about him. Yes, I knew him. Tom Adamson, the first time I ever heard of him, was when he died. I mean to say, I never knew him when he was alive and I never saw the man, but I got quite well acquainted with Tom and his habits, of course. I must agree that that's not uncommon with many of the professional acquaintances of a man in my job. They're either dead when you run across them or sometimes dead soon afterwards. Tom had Adamson was an innkeeper. He had the blue anchor of Byfleet many years ago. Tom was what might be described as a hearty man. He was a hearty eater, a hearty drinker and a good companion. He had a wife, Nancy, who survived him for several years. Tom had a good deal of money, too, at one time, although there wasn't a great deal left when he died and Nancy spent that in various ways. They sent me to Byfleet from Scotland Yard one night at the end of March in 1924. A chap named Harry Coombs, a newspaper man I knew in London, was sitting there when I came in. Oh, Coombs, I said, what are you doing here? I had an innkeeper, been poisoned, Inspector. Such a difference from the usual state of affairs, they thought it'd make a good story, so they sent me up. Are you here for the same thing? Do you think there'll be any necessity for me now you're here, old boy? Well, that's quite sporting of you, sir. But stay, do. Thank you. I'll let you see my notes. Good. Innkeepers seem to be a good fellow by all I heard, like for everyone. Who poisoned him, then? I haven't found out yet. Let you know when I do, though. Excuse me, I've got to see a superintendent, Brady. He's having a suffer. I'll tell you all about it. I know more than he does anyway. He's dead man's name was Tom Adamson, aged 41, good man with a bottle, gave up the ghost in honorable agony this morning at our past ten. How do you know? Had a glass of fruit sauce, it seems. Said, strike me pink, and almost immediately was struck pink. Whatever colour one is struck by, strike me. Strike me? That's what the medical gentleman said. How do you know? Superintendent Brady told me. And the medical gentleman name of Orkin Klaus. Orkin Klaus? Orkin Klaus. He also confided in me. Better listen to me. The superintendent said this moment up to his eyebrows in bubble and squeak. Ooh, something equally horrible and won't talk. Can't talk with his mouth full. You say, strike me in the fruit sauce? That's all I don't know. There's never been any in the fruit sauce I've drank, and I've consumed my share of the nasty stuff. Well, I must agree as I said before, that fruit sauce is an excellent remedy for the morning after. That was the purpose for which the late lamented drank is. Oh. Seems there was rather a celebration of the blue ankle out night for the landlord's 41st birthday. It was also his last. Man come a forth like a flower and it's cut down. I've heard that somewhere. Is that what happened? Isn't the superintendent... He's eating his supper, remember? Bubble and squeak. You need fruit sauce too, preferably without sprinkling. Yes, and that's what happened, Inspector. Good old Tom walked into his own bar, somewhat unsteadily, poured himself off a glass of the fruit sauce, whilst one of the guests watched him, drank it off, staggered once more, made his classic suggestion. And what classic suggestion? Strike me pink, I told you. Lurched off to his own fair white bed, howled loudly, causing the guest to abandon his breakfast and summon Dr. Orkincloth. Dr. A arrived, heard Master Tom howl once more, and watched him expire. Ah, exactly what I said. Dr. Orkincloth, also being a police surgeon, is a suspicious man. He summoned a local constable who helped him carry Tom away. Tom weighed 16 stone, no small feat. And presently took a look at Tom's interior economy and bald ass snake. I mean, strickening. Further examination proved to him that he was right. And Tom, with certain portions of his innards, removed lies now in the local mortuary, combed, stalled, stoned, coaled, well... Oh, I see. I'm staying at the Blue Anchor myself. Why not come and have a drink with me while the superintendent finishes his loafs and supper? I think Tom drank most of the strict men. I declined Mr. Coombs' offer with some degree of alacrity. It was obvious that he had been looking on the contents of the Blue Anchor's Bar without fear of either fruit, soul, or strict men. And after all my appointment was with Superintendent Brady, that worthy officer returning from his supper assured me that Kuhn's story was largely true. He had talked to the other guests at the previous night's party, was in fact still engaged in talking with them with no visible results. He recommended that I see the guest who had seen Tom Adamson drink the fatal fruit salts, and I made my way to the Blue Anker. I found the guest in question, a foreign appearing man named Aristide Forel, who wore a carefully groomed black beard and had the brightest eyes I've ever seen. I sat down beside him as he ate ham and eggs. Will you share my ham and eggs, monsieur? I didn't get an opportunity to explain that I'd already eaten. You are the agent of police, no? The detective from London, from Scotland Yard, no? I didn't know how he knew that, or I'd guessed it. Madame Nancy is such a very good cook. So? The food's very good tonight, but unfortunately not so good as when a good Nancy is here. The husband is dead. Oh, but you know that, that's why you are here. I understand you were with Mr. Adamson when he drank the poison fruit salts this morning. It was not pleasant, monsieur. I'm sure it wasn't. It quite spoiled my breakfast. Huh? Oh, yes. Well, life is like that, as you said. Oh, yeah. Uh, did you, I mean, were you aware he was dead? Huh? Oh. Oh, Lord, I thought he was suffering from the drinks he'd taken last night. I've never suffered, me. I'm strong. Uh, where is Mrs. Adamson, do you know? Ah, the dear Nancy. Well, last she has retired. I was in the hope she might be here, but I suppose it's silly to hope to see her. Oh, I will go up to the grave, sir. Why? Yeah, why not, monsieur? Well, it's hardly. Ah, but we are old friends, monsieur. It wouldn't be a living. Well, you're not that good a friend, sir, if you don't mind my saying so. Oh, you don't think so, my friend? Uh, you've known the Adamsons a long time, I mean. I have not known Tom Adamson very long. Oh. Only since I have been a guest here with a blue anchor. Oh. But the charming Nancy, I haven't known her for a long time. Do you understand, monsieur? I don't understand French. Ah, no. C'est dommage. Talk English. What's funny? Well, I do not think monsieur Tom was such a very likable person. Is that funny? I do not think Madame Nancy thinks so either, monsieur. He's dead. What are you trying to say to me, monsieur, um, uh... For real, for real, for real, monsieur. Aristide, Paul-Marie, for real. Nancy, I mean Madame Nancy. What does that mean? I don't understand French. It means for real. Aristide, Paul-Marie, moitié par, monsieur. Me, for real, the old friend of Madame Nancy. Speak up. Your service, monsieur, your scuffle yard. What do you mean? Bien, monsieur. It is my duty to speak. Well, speak. Bien, bien, monsieur. I met Madame Nancy Adamson many months ago. Yeah? In France, monsieur. How was she doing there? She said she was visiting some relatives of hers. Pierre-Gaud, in the province of Picardie. Yeah? My town is four kilometers away from Pierre-Gaud, Moliens-Bouins. Well? I met her. And? Oh, I flatter myself that we understand each other. Oh. Yes, monsieur. You'll have to talk much more plainly than that. Monsieur. I'm waiting. Nancy asked me to come and visit her here. She did? Oui, monsieur. Pierre was not asked for a payment. I'm a real guest without pay. I must ask you why. Think, monsieur. I said Madame Nancy and I had come to an understanding. You're in love, is that what you're trying to say? Will you answer me, sir? We once were. Well? Speak up, please. We once were. Mind telling me what that means? I am not in love with Madame Nancy now, monsieur. Why not, may I ask? Because her husband is dead. Well, why should that discourage you? I mean because her husband has been murdered. Because he has been poisoned. Well, I should think that that would have the opposite effect. No. Well, I don't understand it. I'm sorry. How did you and Tom Adamson get along, Mr. Frodo? Well, we were on the best of terms. Oh, were you? Yes. I think you have something to tell me. Tom Adamson was going to invest money in my invention. Oh, you're an inventor. I am. I have invented a wireless set. A very good one, the best. Did Tom Adamson have money then? He had. Now he's dead. Madame Nancy will have the money. Of course, natural. She did not wish the good Tom to give me money to invest in my invention. You are amazing. I shall never be a rich man. I'm sorry. But Madame Nancy will. She will have poor Tom, my friend, all his wealth. Well, good for her. She will not invest in my invention. No. She tried to prevent poor Tom from investing with me. Why? Monsieur, she wanted poor Tom's money for herself. Well, she's gone. Oui, poor Tom. You saw him drink the poison fruit salts, didn't you? I was sitting in this very chair eating my breakfast when he came in. He said to me, for El, my friend, I'm going to give you a check now. How much did he say? Oh, I think it would have been a very substantial amount. Despite what my wife thinks, he said. And then he pulled the bottle of fruit salts out of his pocket, mixed a little in a glass, drank, and gave me... He had a great fall, and he cried out of his pocket. What was he doing carrying a bottle of fruit salts in his pocket? He said he had brought it from his room. Oh? That the rooms occupied by Madame Nancy and him. Look here, he brought it from his room where he and Madame Nancy lived. The poison must already have been in the bottle. It would appear so. But how did he get in there if the bottle had been in the rooms where he and his wife... Who could say, monsieur? You say she opposed his giving you money. She wanted Tom's money for herself. Look here, do you think... That is all I know, monsieur. Look here, for El, for El, I want to talk to you. Monsieur? Monsieur, the deodorant detectives have told me that I must remain here in this place. I wish to ask you, as one man of the world to another, I wish to ask you a question. Go on, then. Can you help me get out of here? Why? I wish to return to France at once, monsieur. Why? I am in mortal fear for my life, monsieur. The bearded little inventor had put a new thought into my mind. He was obviously a very frightened man, despite his look of cheerfulness, or else he was a very good actor. But I'd seen a mask slip away from his eyes. I knew what I should do. But the widow was not in her room. Let's talk with someone, though. I remember that I hadn't yet talked with the medical examiner, Dr. Ockincloss. I telephoned the police station. He was there, hoping to see me. And he came at once to the blue anchor. Good evening, Dr. Ockincloss. I said this. He sat down. Good evening, sir. I had hoped that you could have fought a little time with me, at least. I'm sorry, sir. I haven't had an opportunity to see anyone official yet. I've been very busy. You've had your supper. Yes. Thank you. I've had mine, too. Superintendent Brady and I were waiting for you. I'm sorry, sir. No matter. I've been speaking with the man who saw Adam some take the drink of the fruit salts, the one that apparently killed him. A strange little man. He's been here for some time. Yes. He goes to London occasionally on business for some invention or other of his, but he's been here for some time. I know about the invention. Did you know about Nancy Adamson, too? He mentioned her. The Frenchman's been here as a guest of Nancy. He met her in France. He told me. Quite friendly with Nancy. So he said. Not with Tom, though. I gathered he was. Wasn't Adamson going to invest in some invention of the man's? Tom wouldn't invest in anything, not even non-paying guests. No. He's a friend of Nancy's. Well, I must check into that. Yes. What about the poison? I've had an analysis made of the contents of the bottle of fruit salts. There's strickening in it. Tom didn't get it all. And mercury perchloride, as if one poison wasn't enough. How does he get there, I wonder? I wonder. What? I mean, I don't know. I'm a doctor, not a detective. There were traces of both poisons in the glass Tom drank out of. I analyzed it myself. Do you know where that bottle of fruit salts was? No. It was in his rooms. Food? Tom Adamson's, Nancy Adamson's. It was there just before he brought it down to the bar here. How do you suppose the poison got into it? I'm a doctor, not a detective. You said that. So I did. Well, well, Tom had drank from the contents of the bottle before with a great hand for fruit salts. I wonder why he wasn't poisoned before. I don't remember, too. You're accusing... I'm not accusing anybody, not yet. I've known Nancy more than five years. I've always rather liked her. Stupid, but harmless enough. Harmless? Well... Where is Mrs. Adamson? Do you know? In her nursing home, she said quite a shock. Shock, indeed. I beg your pardon, sir. She has had, regardless of what you think, a severe shock. I want to see her. When she has recovered from the shock. I'm sorry if she's a friend of yours. She is my patient. Oh. She is, huh? And you're the police surgeon, also. I have my own practice, too. On which side is your sympathy lie, Dr. Offingford? The police, to whom you're legally and morally obligated? Please, Mr. Wells. Her husband's dead by poisoning. I'm aware of that, sir. She had the bottle containing the poison in her hands immediately before his death. But... And you know this, sir? That this Mr. Forell, whom you suggest is also here at her invitation, is also in mortal fear for his life because of her. What kind of a woman is this? Well, sir... I demand that you take me to her at once, sir. You are listening to Whitehall 1212, to another true story taken from the official files of Scotland Yard. Whitehall 1212 is researched by Percy Hoskins of the London Daily Express, and the stories for radio are written and directed by Willis Cooper. In this story, that of the case of the poisoned innkeeper of By-Fleet. Inspector Wells of Scotland Yard has just demanded that he be permitted to see the woman about whom he has heard a strange story, the wife of the murdered man. The inspector speaks. But Dr. O'Hing-Clurston, his capacity as a private practitioner, said no, exercising his professional prerogatives, which often outweigh those of a detective, especially one who merely wishes to question one of his patients who currently was suffering from shock. Now, I say nothing about his regard for his patient, which he had mentioned. Before us, I had to give up for the moment, and I went sulkily to bed. Walking for my health in the spacious yard of the Blue Anker the next morning, I ran head on into my reporter friend Coombs. Coombs was brandishing a camera. Well now, Inspector, well met, old fellow. Morning. Oh, just up. I've been up since the track of dawn. Didn't know you were a photographer. Oh, the best, old boy, a genuine master of lens, shutter, and whatever else there's in this thing. Filmed, possibly. How interesting. No, it makes me ever so much more valuable to my devoted employer, as they tell me. Stand, sir, I'll have your portrait. Thanks, I don't like being photographed. Oh, quite all right, sir. I shall not publish it. A smile, if you please. Now, look at the birdie. No, no, I say. Still, I'll send you a print, Gratis. And if you want more, which of course you will, they can be supplied at our usual professional rate. Did you take my picture? Yours and that of another distinguished individual a moment before you. He posed quite nicely. I thought his beard was most expressive. Better you haven't a beard, Inspector. Oh, none other than our distinguished, oh, I mustn't repeat myself, our scientist, our inventor, Mr. Forell. Oh, sending it to my paper along with the sort of views of the quaint yard of the blue anchor scene of the tragedy and other interesting scenes in and around Byfleet. Mr. Forell is an important personage in this murder. He is the witness of good old Tom's untimely taking on. I set the fly, I saw him die with my little eye. Although it's true that Mr. Forell resembles a beetle rather than a fly. Ah, there comes the excellent Dr. Orkincloth with a fair companion. I must photograph them. Dear, there's no more film. Oh, well, another time then. Anyhow, excuse me, I must get these films off in the morning post. The presses are waiting. Oh, my goodness, look at the fair companion. You know her? You don't know our fair but bereaved hostess? Who is it? Huh? Well, it's none other than the poor dead Tom's wife, the excellent Nancy. Hi, Nancy. I'll come round and see you later. I must run. And that left me alone. Mrs. Abanson came on toward me much to my surprise. Dr. Orkincloth stopped, watched for a moment and then went away from there. Oh, Inspector, whatever your name is, you want to see me? I gawked at her, I was that surprised. I thought the woman was in a state of shock. Here she was, and if my eyes deceived me not, it was anger that animated her, not grief and shock. She stalked across the yard toward me. No wonder the doctor ran away, I thought. And I want to see you. There's a bench there, sit you down. Yes, well, um... Now, look here. What's this fellow been telling you? And where is he? Are you talking about Mr. Forel, madam? I am talking about that black bearded person. I will not please. He's saying that I murdered poor Tom. That nasty little... Madam, please. I know what you want to see me for. You want to tell me that Forel's accusing me. And I'd give my soul if poor old Tom was alive again. He murdered Tom. He poisoned Tom, and I'll tell you why he did. Because Tom wouldn't give him his money to finance that worthless invention of his. But Mrs. Adams... Tom had been saying no to him all the time the man's been here. Eating our food and drinking our beer. And Tom, poor dear Tom. He told me he was going to give him his final no. Make him get out of here. And that's what Tom did. And Forel poisoned him, sir. Madam, madam. I know, I know. He ate his Tom, and he ate his mead. Madam, you'll pardon me, but was not Mr. Forel in love with you? Inspector, if you are an inspector... I am, madam. I'll not permit you to insult me. Excuse me, madam. Wait! Has that man told you that he's in love with me? Well, he said he was at one time. I suppose he also said that I'm in love with him, the filthy brute. He said that you invited him to come at us at your ear. Oh, you may stop, Inspector. I'll do the talking now before you insult me anymore. But I... Be quiet. I'll tell you the truth. I met that man in France. That's what he's... I said be quiet, sir. I met him in France, and I heard about his wireless set. And he learned, oh, I was, that my husband, poor Tom, had some money. Poor Tom. Oh, that's what he called it. Be quiet while I talk. Only two weeks after I came home, he showed up here. Didn't you invite him, madam? I did not. He came here to try to get money out of Tom, and Tom wouldn't give him none. And he stayed on, and he stayed on, and poor Tom wanted to put him out. There he is! There he is! Stop! Who? Who? Your husband? Stop! Stop him, someone! Wait! Who is it? Wait! It's that man, Pharrell! Stop! Stop him! Pharrell! Pharrell, come here! Stop him! Stop him! Pharrell disappeared as well, he might. Mrs. Nancy Adamson fainted when he was put in bed in her own room, under the expert care of Dr. Ockincloth. All day long, we searched the countryside with the Frenchman, but it was not to be found. I gave up about six o'clock, and with Mrs. Adamson safe in bed, under the care of the good doctor, I sat down in the bar of the Blue Anker for a much-needed glass of beer. I just finished my second, when a telephone call was announced for me. I found the telephone was some difficulty unanswered. This was from Scotland Yard in London. Is that Inspector Wells? Yes, Wells here. Okay, I'll just talk. Yes, sir. I'll say hello. No, sir, they haven't arrived yet. Well, look him. Yes, sir, I know about it. There are others who know about it, too. What's that, sir? About 10 memes. Yes, sir? Yes, sir. What, sir? What? I mean, what? Wait, I ran out, straight into the arms of Coombs, the reporter photographer, who thrust one of his newspapers into my hand. Isn't it a fine, juicy photograph? Look at his beard, Inspector. You should have heard him when he saw it in a vain blighter. Where did you see him? Have you seen him? Where is he? He's down at the railway station, waiting for the London train, of course. Do you want to see him, Inspector? I did. I found him. Two minutes before the train arrived, and which he would have escaped. After he'd been arrested and brought to trial, we found out the rest of it. He told us how he had been refused money for the final time by Tom Adamson, and told to get out. He saw Tom reach for the bottle of fruit salts. Tom had always kept in a drawer back of his bar, not in his own quarters, incidentally. And he had offered to mix Tom's pick-me-up, surreptitiously adding the contents of the two-packet of poison he had bought, of all things in London, to use in improving his wireless set. How? I don't know. The wireless set never did work. And we gave it to John Davidson at the Black Museum. For real? He was convicted of murder, and the hangman was very careful to lift his beard so he could get the rope under it. You have heard Whitehall 1212, with another true dramatization of a case from the official files of Scotland Yard. Here today, Horace Brown as Inspector Wells, others in the order of their appearance, Harvey Hayes, Lester Fletcher, Francois Grimard, Guy Spall, Catherine Hines, and Carl Hopford, Lionel Rico speaking. Whitehall 1212 is written and directed by Willis Cooper. This is NBC, the national broadcasting company.