 A receipt for payment for 10 gallons of gasoline. Familiar object you had many times yourself if you drive a car, but this particular receipt. Your receipt, Inspector. Tanks for oil and water, fine. Thank you. Quite a receipt, you hand out. My partner's idea. He likes it. Look at this, Sergeant. Stemped with a gala, complete with corpse, and marked, settled. Rather appropriate, eh? Well, today, as I told you, this receipt lies in its proper place, an honored place, 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. The Black Museum. Scotland Yard's Museum. A museum of murder. Here, here lies death. Arranged in grass cases, lined along the shelves on the tables, larger objects standing on the floor. Well, there's an old-fashioned trunk. Nothing in this trunk with small clothes. The clothes led to a furnace. The things in the furnace led a man to the gallows. Here's a teacup, it's saucer. Charming graceful, real-born shiner. But the contents were deadly. Here's the receipt, I told you about. Settled, it says, paid in full. Ten gallons of gas. From the evidence, Police Constable Matthews had anything but merger on his mind that very early morning, an hour before dawn, as he patrolled a quiet country road near his home in Essex. Summer must be almost over. Cold this time of morning. Not even false dawn yet. Nights are getting longer. Present enough this tour during summer, lonely a bit, I suppose, gives a man time for thinking. What do I think about? Ellen and the breakfast she'll have for me. Egg, bit of bacon, cup of tea, then some sleep. Ridiculous grown man sleeping in broad daylight when you come to think of it. Well, company coming. Seems to be traveling at quite a rate. Too fast, even this time of night. I know that car. Never saw him drive like I get before. I must have seen you. You're going hot at first. Oh, what's the idea, Constable? I'm in a hurry. Oh, it seems. Let me see your license. On a hard drive. Where'd you come from? Long Ridge Garrett. It's a long way from here. Called out on an emergency. I said I'm in a hurry to get back now. And this car is yours? Oh, it's mine. Oh, another of you in a back seat. Can't you keep that cashlight out of my eyes? What's the number of this car? See for yourself. It's on the plate. I know the number. Do you? What is this? An investigation? If you wanted that one... No! He's dead all right. I'm making sure. No dead man keeps my face in his eyes. Now he's got no eyes. Hurry! We've got to get out of here. In the ditch where he'd fallen, bloody face turned skyward. Policeman Constable Matthews didn't see the door. Later that morning another man dodged along that Essex Road. A nail sack on shoulder. Busy with his own thoughts. It's Matthews. Oh, what's left of him? Oh, what a rotten way to die. Here, I'll have to get out. The camp was very soon incoming. First the local police. Then the wires to London harmed with a word. Can you leave the body where it is? I expect so, Inspector. He won't worry about it, poor fellow. He will. I'll be down from the yard as soon as I can get a car. Inspector Manson and Sergeant Bright left Scotland Yard cleaning out of the gates on two wheels and rowed out of London and into Essex. They set a record reaching the scene of the crime. The two police men quieted in their plain clothes, asked the local constables to move the crowd of curious well back from the body. And the team from the yard went to work. A rotten killing, Inspector. That, as I've seen, four bullets where one would have been enough. It looks like a cop-hater, Inspector. Turn-cob killer. Lift the head a moment. Right, sir. Here they are. Two slugs. 45. Went right through him. Well, we never had a chance. The angle of the cheat wound, sir. From below and to the side. Back feet of the car he stopped. Tire marks, Inspector? In the shoulder of the road. And deep enough for cast. Still holding his pencil. It's what we're all afraid of on traffic duty. What's your number? And the shots. I still don't get the eyes, Inspector. Old story. Legend. When a criminal shoots a policeman, the criminal's image is supposed to be imprinted on the poor fellow's retinas. Just superstition. Let's go, Sergeant. Just superstition. Two, pointing to the habitual criminal. The police routine began. The tire marks were taken up in plaster casts. The bullets were turned over to ballistics. The search, the almost blind search, began. And, of course, in their duty, Inspector Manson and Sergeant Wright dropped in on the superintendent of the local police. Hey, the car served for my rounds. I can't afford to wait until the insurance company is satisfied, nor for my patients. I know you're busy with the murder and all that, but surely you can spare some time. You know what? Oh, Inspector Manson, come in. Sorry to intrude, sir, but the sergeant and I are about ready to go make some action. I see. This is Dr. Lewis, our resident practitioner. Dr. Inspector Manson and Sergeant Wright, Scotland Yards. How do you do, sir? Scotland Yards? About the murder of that poor policeman. That's right, Doctor. The doctor's car's missing. I've been explaining to him how he's been tied up and, of course, I understand. But I need my car, gentlemen. I almost missed a birth last night. Came out of my house, expected to hop into my car. No car. About what time was that, sir? About three a.m. First time I think it's like that's ever happened right here. I don't see. Rather interesting coincidence. Well, how does that take that? One of the familiar patterns in our work is to have a policeman attacked when he stops a stolen car. By the Lord Harry. May I, Superintendent? Sergeant Wright was on the telephone. Base station allowed. Dark Blue Morrister Dam, number TW 8529. Registered in the name of... Within six hours, he'd been abandoned on a younger subject. Dr. Lewis was taken for the automobile ride of his life. Sirens, screaming, tires squealing. Out on the west. Is this your car, Doctor? It certainly is. Give it a going over, Sergeant. Yes, sir. Let's have a look inside, Doctor. Hmm. Flash is on the outside of the door. Could be blood. Yes, it might, but it will be. You own a pistol, Doctor? What heavens now? What? Cartridge case on the floor. 45 calibre. Notice anything missing? Yes, my instrument bag. I lift it on the back seat as I usually do. Some quite valuable surgical equipment and all that. Hard to come by these days. I understand. Yes, sir? Curbside wheels front and back. Mudguard damaged on that side as well. And the tires, sir, I'd not want to state positively until we checked the cast. But they look the same as the marks on the road. Oh, excellent, Sergeant. Here's something that may help, Inspector. Sergeant. Yes, Doctor? The speedometer. I keep a trip record every 24 hours. Just a habit. When I left the car last night, the speedometer read 40.9 miles. It's 84.3 now. The car has come at 43.4 miles. That may be quite a help to us, Doctor. Perhaps more than you realize. The first point that came to mind was the inspector and the sergeant rolled back to Scotland Yard. 43 miles took a lot of back roads. Whoever it was must be no. No fingerprints in the car either. And next, as the car turned into the yard. He must know if it's all or well an angle worth working on. A little while later with a pile of dust is on his desk. The inspector said... What do you think of this one, Sergeant? Thomas Green. Also known as Greeny Thomas and Ted Grenville. Convicted 1920, possession of firearm. Convicted fraud and forgery. Convicted car theft. So? Known as Operator Garage in Eastwood Essex. Bought as stolen cars. No, they're hit, aren't they? These are possibilities, sir. Habitual, fits the rest of the characteristics. Shall we have Mr. Green in, Sergeant? Yes, sir. Operator, view and cry message to all stations. Photo for posting will follow shortly. Wanted for questioning, Tom Green. Also known as Greeny Thomas. So far, so good. Maybe they were on the right track. Maybe not. The alarm went out. Not every station house and crossroads in England. Every policeman from the south coast to the border of Scotland was alerted for Mr. Thomas Green. Also known as Greeny Thomas and so forth. Result? Nothing. Not a sign. Not a trace. Yes, something, Sergeant. Police in Lancashire picked up a fellow answering Green's description. He confessed to a burglary to prove he wasn't in Essex I imagine they know we don't like cop killers. No, they don't like cop killers. But they still have no trace of the suspect. None at all. For seven long weeks. That's all right, yeah? Wanna make something of it? Hey, hey, what's going on here? I'll have a report this, you know? This man forced me into the wall. You're Green. There's an order out for you. Keep that driver or you'll get it too. What a dirty rotten... Get the number, get the number of that girl. I can't see. I got it, lad. GR5607. Well, today, as I told you, this receipt lies in its proper place. An honored place. And the black museum. Another car number obtained. Immediate check, yes, and stolen car. A Voxel this time. Several times thereafter, in a course of ten days, that number appeared on the scarpen yard tiller type. Armed robbery, cinema cashier. Loaned thief seen leaving area in car number GR5607. That's Green, all right. He's broken color with a vengeance. It is again, Sergeant, same number. This time he held up a railway station. He's made another stop, sir. This time a bank messenger. Same car, same number, GR5607. Back to Manson here. Sergeant Wright, sir, report from Sheffield. They've got the Voxel Green was using. He sold it to a used car dealer. Man suspected of being a fendt. Meet me at the gate, Sergeant. We are going to Sheffield. Several weeks, in fact, but the wheels of vengeance for his unnecessary death ground on in Sheffield. Inspector Manson talked briefly into the point. Now, get this straight. The men who sold you this car wanted on suspicion of murder. Hold out on this, and you'll be an accessory after the fact. We'll see to that. They're resighted now, Inspector. He had owned his papers. They looked all right. I've paid him in good favor, sir. David, you received stolen goods. Now, then, what do you know about this man? Nothing, sir, nothing. Tell him, Sergeant. You know plenty. We happen to have checked. You were associated with him in a garage business in Essex. Now, talk. Oh, God, he started and done nothing. He told me he got the Voxel to a garage he's interested in, in Battersea. You can't... Back to London. The chase seemed getting warmer. Outside the garage in Battersea. Inspector Manson and Sergeant Wright sat in that parked car. We did. Car coming this way, sir. The lights in the rearview mirror. I see it, Sergeant. Patience, Sergeant. He's only turning in. A courty space in the lights, sir. It's green, all right. So far as outfit. Let's go. Take care. He's left the car on the ramp, sir. Yes. Probably going to change his clothes. Check the car, Sergeant. Side pocket of the door. Right, sir. A Webly 45, Inspector. Oh, 45. Let's get him. Listen to me a moment. He's in there. Take care of the door, sir. Yes, sir. What's the meaning of this? What do you want? You green. Let go of me. If I don't... Oh, thanks, sir. He almost had me. Put the cuffs on him. We'll take the Webly and get him back to the yard. Hello. What's this on the work? Medical case, sir. Initials on it, R.L. For Robert Lewis, Inspector. I wouldn't be surprised. Let's go, Sergeant. And you needn't be too gentle with him. Long last. Tom Green, alias Greeny Thomas, was in custody. And a non-to-present customer, this fellow. Hey, when do I get some in a week, Copper? We'll get to that. You're in for questioning on a possible murder charge. I must warn you anything you may say. Where were you on the night of October 26th? I was in London with my girl. What's more, she'll swear to it. Where did you get the revolver we found in the pocket of the car? I bought it from a sailor. Never got his name or number. We found another Webly in the doctor's case, Greeny. Where did he get that? I ain't talking. The first one's been certified as the gun that killed Constable Matthews. That's the gun that killed him. That's the gun you said you bought from the sailor in September. What? Oh, then I got him mixed up. Yeah, I must have bought the gun in the case from the sailor, and then when you say killed the copper, I picked up in November. So what, you got plenty of cops, haven't you, Inspector? How are we coming on the check of Green's friends, Sergeant? All accounted for and all with alibis, except the fellow Davis. Yes, it's funny about him. Yeah? Why? Well, he spent most of his life in stir, but the last time he got out, he upped and married in Sheffield. In Sheffield? And Green took that stolen voxel to Sheffield? Let's bring Mr. Davis in, Sergeant. I'm rather interested in it. Once again, the two police officers drove their car in the direction of Sheffield along the road. They stopped at a service station. Ten gallons of gasoline and a load of oil and water. They'd pay the attendant and ask for a receipt. vouchers left to be signed in the usual police routine. Your receipt, Inspector. Thanks for oil and water fight. Thank you. Quite a receipt, you hand out. Me partner's idea. He likes it. Look at this, Sergeant. Stamped with a gallows, complete with corpse. And marked, settled. Rather appropriate, eh? It might have been much better. It might have been more appropriate if they had no success in Sheffield. Too late, Inspector. Our bird flown? Yes, sir. Left town the day before yesterday. The day we picked up Green. Oh, I see. Well, we'll find him. I'm beginning to feel more like a tracer of missing persons in an officer on a murder case. The familiar police machinery went back into action. The underworld was watched. The hue and cry message went to all stations. Within a few days this time, word came through. Davis has been seen with his wife in Liverpool, sir. All right, Sergeant. We'll travel. They found the hideout well watched. Davis wasn't there. His wife was at home. The place was down at the heels, lodging house, disreputable, filthy. Inspector Manson made a decision. We'll wait for him outside, Sergeant. I found that most men will put up a much harder struggle when the women are present. They waited. Waited in the dark, shabby street. Far off, they could hear the far coins of the ships in Liverpool's busy roadstead. Eerie noise they make, isn't it? I don't mind it. Seems, um... Well, friendly. It depends, sir. Hey, someone just passed the second street lamp. Down that way, sir. Don't show yourself. Wait until he passes under the next one. We can be sure, then. That's our man. When he's closer to the sergeant. Right, sir. All right, Davis, please come quietly. Would you stay away from me? I said, come quietly, Davis. Cooper White, look me and don't take me. A barista, a barista! Never point a gun at a police officer, Davis. He'll come quietly now, Inspector. We're quite a pair, Davis. The inspector knew we had green on the evidence, but it had been fired from the back seat of the car. We're unexplained. Except by the presence of a second man. Was Davis the man? How to prove it? You haven't satisfied us, Davis. You've told us Green asked you to manage his garage. That's right. I don't know nothing about October the 26th. We think you do. Were you with Green that night? Oh, it was with my wife. And Green says he was with his girl. Did you shut up the garage? No. Yes, I did. It was a business that night, anyway. Yes, I'll note for you, sir. Thank you. I see. Thank you. All right, Davis, Green's talked. There's nothing to talk about. He says you pulled the trigger. He says he was already in gear. And Ridgway was going to let you go when you fired from the back seat. The corp had his foot on the running board on it, but did a civil... Nice timing, Sergeant. I think you'd better talk, Davis. You're foreign in any case. Speak up, man. What? Yeah, sure I was with Green that night. We picked a car to swipe down there in that Essex village. A doctor's car. We had to work fast. A dog started barking. We pushed a thing from in front of the house and got in. Greeny was driving. We'd have been fine with that dumb cop at the stoppers. He knew the car. Thought it was the doctor. But I didn't kill nobody. All the way it was Greeny. I never killed nobody, nobody. I didn't kill nobody, nobody, nobody. All finished, Davis? Would you like to see the note, Sergeant, right-handed me? No, I don't want to look. A receipt, Davis, for 10 gallons of petrol stamped with a gallows and marked. And today, as I told you, that receipt can be found in a place of special honor in the Black Museum. Orson Welles will be back with you in just a moment. There was no doubt, of course. From the angle of the wounds in Constable Matthews' face, it was clear that at least two bullets had been fired from the back seat of the stolen car. Davis' counsel tried to pin the blame on Green. Green's counsel tried to place it all on Davis. The jury found both men guilty. And both were sentenced to hang. Green tried to cheat the gallows, hiding a razor blade in his cell and cutting his wrists one night. But the guards discovered this in time, and the trap fell twice one morning. So the case of Constable Matthews was marked settled. And now, until next time, till we meet again in the same place. And I tell you another story of the Black Museum. I remain, as always, obedient for yours.