 I suspect the muddle plug of Scotland Yard knew that all those drownings were not accidents, but they had no evidence. It was an easy way for a man to make a living, murder his wife and collect insurance. Yes, I said twice, but I was more than one murderer. This is Peter Laurie with an invitation to join us at the Mystery Playhouse. Tonight I bring your story by Roy Vickers. It's the unusual tale of a man who first murdered in rage and all the witnesses for it was an accident. Then he murdered coldly, deliberately, for profit. And each time the victim was his own wife, listening to the man who murdered in public. The story of the murder starts on the afternoon of June 5th, 1920. George McCartney was celebrating his 21st birthday with a stroll in Ilta compote. When he caught sight of a young girl named Elsie Natalie on one of the park benches. Elsie had been a servant in the McCartney home five years before. George wasn't likely to have forgotten her. Elsie, Elsie Natalie, I say, imagine meeting you here. Oh, it's Master George. Oh, oh, do excuse me. Calling you that when I ought to sign this to McCartney. Let's just leave it at George, shall we? Mm-hmm. My, you've changed, Elsie. Well, it's been five years. Since you've thrust me with the back of a closed brush and caught me in ugly little brooks. Oh, no, really, George. I used to be afraid of you, Elsie. You looked so dreadfully muscular. Now you're rather pink and white. Well, you're, you're nice. Thank you, George. Of course, I'm taking all a drive before I look round for another job. Tell me, George, what appeals do you do it? Well, I left Cambridge by request, of course. I'm afraid I didn't do well with my schooling. Got nothing out of it at all except a swimming cart. Now I'm touring with a theatrical company, doing a bit of acting for them. Oh, thanks, is that an actor? No. Yes, and on my way to a rehearsal this afternoon. Oh. I say, could I meet you again sometime, Elsie? Oh, I'd like that. Well, how about tomorrow this time? Perhaps we could go boating. That would be four things. Right, further, Elsie. Just to a mile or so. Oh, you're not frightened, are you, Elsie? Don't forget I want a swimming cup. Frightened, whatever. A matter of fact, you know, I jolly well love to row a bit, Mr. Do let me try it, George. I'll row towards shore. Well, if you really want to, Elsie. Here, chances with me. Only be careful. Oh, wait a moment, here. Would you take my bracelet? Put it in your pocket for me, George. Oh, it looks like a valuable bracelet. Well, rubies, they are. Why should I have to lose it? Now, here I come. Oh, Elsie. Yes, I know. I can't, I can't. Lean on this side, you're going to tip the boat. Elsie, Elsie. Elsie, are you all right? I'm coming. Now, don't struggle. Don't, don't stay away from me. Turn the boat on your back. Little pooch. You called me that five years ago. And you struck me. Poot, have I? Poot, eh? Why, you fellow said that, my girl. Poot, poot, poot. Poot, poot, poot, poot. You, you soop. White, me little poot. Don't, don't, don't. She, double. George McCartney hadn't meant to murder Elsie, but she hit him and called him a brute, as she had when he was sixteen. And somehow it had all come back to him, the hate and the hurt. So before George knew what he was doing, he collared Elsie by the head from behind and put her under. At the colonist's inquest, George took the risk of implying that he could hardly swim at all. And no one could deny it. Well, I came up under the upturned boat and when I got out, I looked around for Elsie. After a bit I saw her hand come up. I caught hold of one of the oars and splashed up to it. I'd seen her and I got her. I can't remember how I got back to the boat because, well, I'd swallowed a lot of water myself. Obviously, an unfortunate accident, Mr. McCartney. But I trust, Mr. McCartney, sincerely trust that you've learned a terrible lesson which will stay with you the rest of your life. Yes, sir. One does not stand up in small boats, Mr. McCartney. George walked away from the coroner's inquest a free man, not a care in the world, not even the burden of a guilty conscience. And a few days later, look into the coat he had worn the afternoon of the drowning. George discovered, Oh, what's this? Well, I say, the price list, Elsie's Ruby Price List. Within a year, George was in financial difficulty. George wasn't very successful as an actor. In fact, after trying numerous other jobs, he discovered he wasn't very successful at anything. With one exception. And George made a career of that exception before he was through. I've committed murder and gotten away with it. What fools murderers are to be caught messing around with poison and guns and knives which always leave clues. But if you have a boating accident which lots of people can witness, it doesn't matter if you do contradict yourself a bit. If you expect to be flooded, unless they can show that you're deliberately upset about, there's no possibility of approving anything. On May 5th, 1923, George McCartney married a pretty little pal and made name Violet Mastel. And a notable gift from the bridegroom to the bride was the Ruby bracelet. On May 9th, he insured her life for 2,000 pounds. And of course, George and Violet made their wills out to each other. And by the middle of August, George was ready to take Violet on their deferred honeymoon. That's a long clock. I say, I say, Mrs. McCartney, come along. Don't leave me, George. It's Sunday. Yes, Violet, Sunday. Sunday, remember? Sunday. Oh, Sunday. Oh, now tell me, George. Now you're not going. What's the surprise? Tell me. No, no, no. Thank you, things, Violet. I know. We're going to Wagner for a fortnight on our honeymoon. Wagner. Yes, darling. Wagner, where we can go venting. It was murder all the way. It was some cold, nonchalant murder. Poor Violet never had a chance. And for the benefit of some 200 bathers who had witnessed the accident, George wore his best state of collapse expression. At the inquest, he made a very dejected picture as the local coroner spoke to him. There's a little I can say, Mr. McCartney, other than to point out to you the obvious lesson his most cruel experience teaches. Listen, Mr. McCartney, a sincerely trust you will always remember, one does not stand up in small boats. In September of the same year, when the £2,000 had been spent, George became interested in a sharp-witted little cockney named Ledge Turnham, and soon he had arranged, one, his marriage to Ledge, two, a £10,000 accident policy on her life, and three, a vacation at the Seaside Resort at Payton. However, Madge had an aversion. Oh, and George was forced to play his cards carefully. You know, George, I do believe this is the first time we've been happy together. You're precious. I wish we could go boating. Madge, it's such fun. Oh, George, you know I hate boating, I do. I should be so sick of no time. Come, come now. I have it. You've been after me for a fiver. Well, I'll wager you a fiver. You can't stay in the boat with me for an hour. Just one little hour. A fiver? Yes, a fiver, old girl. What say? It'll buy you that sporting suit you've wanted. It would. I'll say. I'll go it. Come along. Oh, wait. Shouldn't it leave me real good brash at the iron? Oh, silly. Of course not. It won't be lost. I'll see to that. The skin quest following the accidental drowning of Madge went off without a hitch. And George went free. For neither the coroner, nor the local police kept indexed news tippings of other boat infertilities in other years and in other places. But George didn't know that Scotland Yard kept a voluminous file cross-indexed of such accidents. And George hadn't reckoned on Detective Inspector Martel's plugs. First, the town of Ilfacoum. Then Bogner. Now it's painting. All some miles apart, yet all the same way. And the same man. Well, Inspector Martel's still studying those stuffy accident files. Whatever do you see in them? Murder. Murder? Oh, I see. Now, if you doubt it, look. These three reports. Identical. Three women, all seven girls, drowned. All with a man named McCartney. So there are hundreds of identical accidents every summer. Two other women insured. First one is insured. Their wives is a matter of course. Perhaps. But I think this McCartney bears talking to. Yes. And Mr. McCartney? Yes, I'm George McCartney. And Mr. McCartney. I'm Inspector Marvel Plugger Scotland Yard. May I come in? Oh, well, I was about to do. However, Scotland Yard comes first, I'm sure. I'll come straight to the point, Mr. McCartney. Our records reveal that you have had the singular misfortune of being the sole survivor in three drowning incidents. Oh, dear, dear, dear, dear. I'd rather hope to forget about them. I shouldn't wonder. Can you shed any light on the, uh, coincidences? Oh, it's fairly bit me, Mr. Marvel Plugger, that's a fact. You'd think that after a thing like that happened once, it just couldn't possibly happen again. True. And it used to haunt me. That's why poor man persuaded me to go out again to overcome my awful horror of water. Oh, dear, well, why talk about it? That's why I've come. To talk about it, Mr. McCartney? Oh. Oh, I see. But I do not care to talk about it, Inspector. It's too painful. Not nearly so painful as a rope. I tell you, I cannot discuss it, Inspector. If you don't like that, why don't you arrest me for murder? Why, I... I'll tell you why, you dunce, because you've got no evidence. You'll never hang me, Marvel Plug, because you haven't any evidence, and you can't get it! Inspector Marvel Plug set to work to prove George guilty of deliberately drowning three women. But he soon discovered that there was no real evidence, just coincidence and suspicion. And that made no case. So Marvel Plug can find these activities and check on George's whereabouts. In 1924, George met May Tolar outside his servant's registry in Piccadilly and began keeping a steady company. And he never did. Oh, May, May, darling. Why not chuck it all in Mary, May? Well, I'm not sure, George, that I should leave my parents and chuck me job. You tell me you've got money, but... But I've no employment. What matter? I have enough to care for you, May, and your parents. And I have a surprise for you tonight. A surprise, George? Yes. Something I've kept all these years for just such a girl as you, May. Here. By goon. What a beauty. You have always loved bracelets. And George, it's rubies. Where did you get it? It... it belonged to my mother. So they were married. And George took out a 10,000-pound accident policy on May and set up their new quarters in Theobald Road. There, before very long, Inspector Martelplug arrived one day to let the new Mrs. McCartney in on a deadly secret. Oh, sorry to trouble you, sir. I want to see the McCartneys. I understand they have rooms here. Why, I saw Mr. and Mrs. McCartney leave early this morning. Oh, do you happen to know where they went? Why, yes. Mrs. McCartney was very excited. She told everyone. They've gone boating at Grandsend. Boating? Boating? Quickly! How do I get to Grandsend? Inspector Martelplug arrived at the bathing beach in time to see a crowd gathering as the beachkeepers ran up on shore, carrying the limp form of a young woman. I saw it all. He did his best to do it. Oh, I'm still alive. I tried to save her. Her husband there. Poor man. Look, he's weeping. Oh, tell him it's true. What happened? I think a woman's getting in at lunch. Nearly done. You mean she's still alive? Oh, yes. They're pumping the water out of her now. They'll be in there. Coming up. Let me through. Let me through. Whatever. Mrs. McCartney. Mrs. McCartney, can you hear me? Now, tell me. Not your head. Were you held under? How dare you question my wife? Look what you. Mrs. McCartney. Did he hold you under? Hey. Hey. Too late, Inspector. She's gone. Yes, too late, McCartney. She had a few bad moments. Oh, how can you say such a thing? Poor May. Oh, my poor dinners, darling May. The inquest for May told her McCartney proceeded as usual until it came time for the coroner's closing speech. Then George got the shock of his life when Inspector Martelplug took the floor. Just a few routine questions, Mrs. McCartney. Was your wife insured? Oh, yes. Yes, I... I believe she had taken an accident policy for 10,000 pounds. And did your former wife match her on a meet with a similar accident at Payton's? Yes. Yes, sir. And did you not collect a 10,000-pound policy in her name? Yes. Yes, I did. And did you not have two other similar accidents? Part of that. One with Elsie Natley at Ileprecum, and one with your first wife, Violet Leistel at Bogner? I weren't on to that. No matter. We know you did. We'll arrest you for the murder of your wife. Anything you would say from this moment on may be held against you. But George had enough money to hire one of England's most promising young lawyers, Ernest Quilter. Quilter had no use for his client, but he made a brilliant case against the Crown. In, uh, in this case, there's no assumption of guilt, whatever. There is only the overwhelming assumption of an accident. The Crown's barrister has something to say. Yes, the deceased was drowned admittedly within a dozen or so yards of the upturned boat. Is it to be believed that the prisoner, who was a very able swimmer, having won a cup for swimming at Cambridge, is it possible that he was unable to affect her rescue, as he stated? I object, my lord. It is no part of my case to deny that my client could have saved his wife from drowning, had he wished to do so. My learned friend has forgotten more law than I ever knew, so he will not object to my reminding him of the principle enshrined in the doggerel. Thou shalt not kill, but need not strive officiously to keep alive. Now, I admit that George McCartney did not strive to keep his wife alive. I'm not here to defend his moral character nor his conscience. I'm still waiting for my friend to show that any action of McCartney's betrays evidence of Thelonious intent. At the judge's direction, the jury found George not guilty. There the case ended, with no one in England doubting George's guilt and no one able to do anything to him. And then, one day, a certain Mrs. Hastiffon, just returned to England from Canada, telephoned the local police to report. A burglary, yes. They've taken not only all our silver, but my jewels as well. A lion crouching. That's right, it's our family crest. Yes, and it's stamped on every piece. What's that? Yes, the crest is on both the silver and the jewelry. And a few days later, at Scotland Yard... Inspector, Inspector Martelplug. Yes? What is it, Morton? I have a pawnbroker outside, to cover the stolen ruby bracelet. The bracelet bears the Highstaffin crest. Stolen jewelry? Are they my department, Morton? But, but, but, wait. The pawnbroker says the bracelet was pawned by George McCartney. And that same afternoon... That's why we called you, Mrs. Highstaffin. You want to get this thing straightened out? I'm so sorry you've had this trouble with the bracelet, Inspector Martelplug, but it's not one of the stolen pieces. I gave it away as a present when I was in England six years ago. I'm very sorry she had to pawn it. Huh? Who had to pawn it, Mrs. Highstaffin? The girl I gave it to. She was one of my maids, and I gave it to her because she saved my life. Her name was Elsie Lackley. Both is in session. We are ready to hear the grunts cancel. Mollard, we wish to introduce troops that George McCartney is guilty of murder. Mrs. Highstaffin, will you take the stand, please? Mrs. Highstaffin, you swear to sell the truth to the whole truth, but the truth will help you, God. I do. Mollard, the defendant claims that none of the four girls who went voting with him could swim. These are his sworn statements. Now, Mrs. Highstaffin, is this the bracelet you gave your maid Elsie Lackley six years ago? Yes. Mrs. Highstaffin, why did you give Elsie this ruby bracelet? Because she saved my life. Mrs. Highstaffin, how did Elsie save your life? It was at our summer home. I was in bathing and had been caught by a strong current. Elsie heard me cry for help from the house some 200 yards off. She swam to my rescue. Outstripping other would-be rescuers who were much closer to me. She was a magnificent swimmer. She swam to my rescue. She swam to my rescue. She swam to my rescue. She swam to my rescue. Elsie Lackley Mollard was a magnificent swimmer. She drowned because she was held underwater by that foolish little fiend. This. George McCartney, who thought that public murder was foolproof. On June 6, 1925, just five years to the day after he started on his career of crime, George McCartney was hanged for the murder of Elsie Lackley. George McCartney, murderer. You see, George McCartney didn't save money. And to his twisted mind, the only means to a fortune was death by drowning. Oh, but a wise man doesn't get himself into that kind of a spot. He skins the cream off of his pay and stashes it away in soldiers' deposits at the office of his CO. See how simple it is? You don't have to marry for a while. Just save your money. We isn't Don't murder anyone. Please. Now, about our next production in a mystery playhouse, it's one of those great stories by Craig Rice concerning the adventures of John G. Malone, the lawyer who conducts the major proportion of his criminal investigations at Jody Inzelsbar. Let's visit the green room where the actors are preparing a scene for our next attraction. Follow me. Hmm? Never lost a client. That's around the corner here. Hey, women, I got it. What's the word? Some of them anyhow. When they hanged him in the morning, his last words were for you, then the sheriff took his shiny knife and cut that old rope through. I've never heard that song before. This is Palmer's cell right here. Hey, Palmer, you're late. Holy mackerel. Malone, look. Palmer's hung himself. What? With me for a lawyer? Oh, my lord. Get the door open. Come on, hurry it up, will you? All right. All right, now cut him down. Cut him down quick. Look, he's still breathing. Palmer must have been out of his mind. What do you want to go and hang himself with a new trial coming up and everything? Easy. That's it. All right. That's about it. Put him on the bump there. Palmer, Palmer, this is Malone. What happened, kid? Trying to take him? Palmer, Palmer, it's Malone. Yeah, you go on. What wouldn't break? Uh, well... Palmer, Palmer. He's gone. Dead. Hanging himself in the death house. Just when maybe he's going to be set free. What? Oh, but was it suicide? It seemed very strange that a man who was going to inherit two million dollars would hang himself, especially when he was to be freed from the death house the next day. Helping himself freely to the content of a bottle at Jody and his bar? John G. Malone considers the problem his conclusions are stopping and his hand over is terrific because John G. Malone mixes his ride with Jim. Who said this wasn't a horror program? Until next time then this is people all closing the doors of the mystery playhouse. Good night. It's the armed forces radio service.