C (4:14)

Count von Howard. Howard?

B (4:17)

Yes. H O W A R D. How silly. Yes, my mother was German, my father English.

C (4:25)

Oh, of course. How silly of me. Tell me, Count von Howard, do you often come to a fair of this kind?

B (4:29)

I'm afraid I'm not very often in Paris. You see, my business takes me all over the place.

C (4:34)

Please forgive my curiosity, but that is your business. Such a distinguished looking man. I feel sure it must be something.

B (4:40)

Quite fascinating, Quite prosaic, I'm afraid. My dear lady, you might say I. I earn my living by my pen.

C (4:46)

How wonderful.

B (4:48)

Mainly, you see, it pays the best. Would it be presumptuous if I asked you to dance this waltz with me?

C (4:57)

Good heavens, no. I could be delighted. Such a distinguished man, a cunt and an author.

B (5:06)

Howard was a benevolent, distinguished looking gentleman. His plausibility was simply delicious. His impotence at facing a thing out in spite of immense odds against him was undeniably tremendous. He was a man of infinite capacity. Though like most of the rogues in his profession, he always tried the same trick once to. Perhaps his best known speciality was the forged will case. He usually began with a discreetly worded advertisement in a newspaper. Perhaps the match. The guardian of the time. Will any person related or having knowledge of living relations, the late Mr. W. Clark of London, a formerly resident in the north of England, supply to the undermentioned address when they will learn something to their advantage. Please supply full details of your presumed relationship to the deceased, etc. Etc. Yes, I think that will do quite nicely. Residents in the north of England apply to the unmentioned address when they will learn something to their advantage. Please supply full detail of your presumed relationship to the deceased. Well, I suppose there's no harm in writing after all. My name is Clark. Yes, yes, I'll drop in the line. Dear Mr. Clark, with reference to your letter of the 20th House. The information you supply, while interesting, is not conclusive. As you are no doubt aware, the late Mr. Clark died leaving some £105,000 to be divided among his pentanerous relations. I should in addition mention that Mr. Clark stipulated in his will that his fortune should not go to persons of afference, but to people of small means, obviously as executors of the late Mr. Clark's estate. We are not in a position to charge to this estate the necessary research inquiries. In connection with these people who claim to be his relations. If you desire to proceed further in this matter, I should be glad if you would forward by return the sum of two pounds, ten shillings. On account of the necessary research and inquiry fees. We look forward to receiving your further instruction. And who wouldn't be one of the 20 happy relations for the expenditure of a mere 50 shillings? A bargain if ever I heard one. Dear sir, turn as in my letter of the 23rd of August. It is now some eight weeks since I wrote to you in connection with Mr. Clarke. And enclosed a postal order for two pounds, ten shillings. In respect of research and inquiry fees. I should be glad if you could let me have some news of how this matter is progressing. No answer, Curtin. Mr. Howard was a great one for ingenuity, his clients. But it was in those terms that he always referred to his victims. Certainly got something for their investment. Even if we're only a momentary feeling of excitement. He was sufficient of a psychologist to know that a man is always at his most gullible. When he thinks that good fortune is with him. With reference to our correspondence on the subject of the late Mr. William Clark. Who departed this life on April 9, 1897. I attach a true and certified copy of the inscription on his tombstone. Which, as you will see, bears out the information which we supply to you. I should be glad to hear from you in due course with a further remittance. In respect to the preliminary legal steps to enforce your claim under his will. Your. Sometimes it was James Hill Cooper Clark who died worth a hundred thousand. Other times William Clark who left a mere 5,000. But old Howard obviously had an affection for the clocks. He was sufficient of an artist never to use a name like Smith, Brown or even Jones. There were plenty of Clarks. Plenty enough to provide a good living for old Howard. But it was a name that had a ring of authenticity. Not the sort of name you'd find in a hotel register under false pretenses. A good, sound, authentic name. All good things come to an end. Even the career of old Howard. His last fling took him back to his happiest hunting ground. High life on the continent. Same man, same profession, but a different name. Or rather a different version of an old name. My dear Donto Vadi. How nice.

C (10:21)

See you.

B (10:21)

The pleasure is mutual, I assure you. As a matter of fact, Monsieur Picon, you are the very man I have been looking for. And why is that? I can't really talk here. Let us go in the corner there. It's rather confidential. Now do tell me. I am so curious. You have no doubt heard of Ms. Annabel Wilton? Wilton? Wilton. I can't say that I have. Where does she come from? Australia, my dear Pico.

C (10:52)

And she's fabulously rich.

B (10:54)

It so happens that I am an old friend of the family. I knew her father extremely well. Miss Walton arrived in Paris last week with a letter of introduction to me. I promised to look after her.

C (11:04)

Oh, but how interesting.

B (11:06)

She's very rich. A million pounds. And beautiful too. And extremely impressionable. I should like to meet her. I thought you would. There's. There's however, a little formality. You see, I. I'm in rather a spot of bother at the moment. Purely temporary, of course. I. I was wondering if you could help me. For the small loan. How small? Ah, a man after my own heart.

C (11:31)

A willpower lifted down.

B (11:41)

An old crook with a new trick. But have you detected the flaw? The mistake that old Howard made? Dear, dear, dear, dear. Years in the business and still capable of making a mistake. You see, in the past all of Howard's victims had been honest, if somewhat gullible people. The trouble with Howard's final trick was that it depended on his taking advantage of people who might and probably were just as crooked minded as himself. But I tell you, this woman, she does not even exist. Annabelle Wilton.

C (12:11)

No such name.

B (12:12)

No such person. And you gave our money?

C (12:16)

Yes.

B (12:16)

Yes. Why? Well, I wanted to meet the lady. What then?

C (12:20)

I. I just wanted to meet her.

B (12:22)

I see. Well, Mr. Picot, thank you for the information. I am not sure that we can take any action against Mr. Harald. But in any case he is returning to England. I think you have told me enough of Ms. Howard's past life to make it worthwhile to pass this information to Scotland Yard. I protest. This is an outrage. Having a man arrested under false pretences. I shall write to the Times about it. I shall write to the crime. But the days of old Howard's letter writing were over. In future his correspondence was limited to two letters a month written on stationery supplied by a watchful government. But if old Howard was retired, his reputation, and as you shall hear, his profession lived on. Following in the footsteps of old Howard were a group of criminals whose speciality was the begging letter. Your true begging letter writer is certainly entitled to join the family circle of forgers. Though in most cases only as a distant cousin. What a begging letter writer Howard would have made. But there Are men and women whose talents in this direction are just as fine, if not so varied. Over here, in the corner of the Black Museum is a whole cupboard full of examples of this particular form of art. Let's take a look at some of them. Yes, sir. I am taking this opportunity of writing to you at your club, which I trust you will forgive me. As an old soldier, I feel that we have something in common. And having actually served in your regiment, I feel that you will appreciate my sad predicament. I attach a brief summary of my army career which will show you that I have some grounds for presuming to call you friend. I am in great financial difficulties and would appreciate your help. My situation is this. My small daughter, my member of Parliament, in the hope that you will appreciate the feelings of a young man on the threshold of life. Owing to family difficulties, it has not been possible to complete my education. And in my present job I cannot give sufficient time to study alone. The sum of ten pounds will tide me over my present difficulties and I would be prepared to give you my word of honor to faith. I am a widow with two.

C (15:27)

My husband is lying dangerously ill at home and I'm writing to you in desperation for assistance. As proof of my honesty, I enclose a receipt for last month's rent. Nothing horrifies me more than getting into debt.

B (15:41)

The receipt is a museum piece, but its value is somewhat lessened by the fact that the files of Scotland yard contain some 40 of these letters and each one of them contains a receipt for the same month's rent. Your begging that a writer is never at a loss for proof of his honesty. The memory of the greatest genius, the begging that a world has ever known, is kept green at New Scotland Yard. He's believed to be dead, but if he were out of prison, London would soon hear of him. We will hide his identity for the sake of his friends and relations who may have survived him under the unassuming name of Brown. Brown was an old fellow with a glorious white head of hair and always dressed in black clothes. His great forte was his ability to write in assumed hands. He could write in a hundred different ways, for which purpose he was aided by a variety of pen nibs and various colored inks. He was a man of great system. To those whom he trusted would proudly show his artist equipment. These little red books, you see are divided into various sections. This one, for instance, has names and addresses of members of the House of Lords. This one members of the House of Commons with some indication of their party affiliation and Financial resources. This set of volumes is entirely devoted to widows, subdivided according to place of residence and income group. You see, in every case I give a kind of progress report on results. Besides that, there's a little biographical background, age, history and etc. Etc. And where possible too, a few notes concerning character. Let me show you. Yes. Here we have the Marchioness of Westminster, 91 years old and a widow for 19 years. System. I always believe in system. It's so much safer that way. Yes, Mr. Brown certainly believed in system and so does Scotland Yard. For here, carefully preserved in the black museum are those same little red Mr. Brown's work. Here's rather a nice one. A heartwarming appeal to the generosity of a peer of the realm. This accompanied by a letter on black edged paper signed by a clerk. That Mrs. Ann Clark, widow, carried on business as laundress in this parish for several years and has hitherto supported a large family and respectability. On the afternoon of Saturday, the 14th day of December, while Mrs. Clark was delivering clean linen with her horse and van near the Streatham railway station, the horse took fright at the whistle of a passing train and started off at a furious pace when coming in contact with a coal wagon, the horse was killed, the van dashed to pieces and her eldest son, 16 years of age, was thrown from the van receiving such injury as caused compound fracture of the right thigh and now lies in St Thomas's Hospital in a dangerous state whereby Mrs. Clark has sustained a severe loss estimated at 45 pounds. No, Mrs. Clark, a respectable and industrious widow with a family of five children depending on her. Signed of course, by Mr. Brown, strange to say, not in his own name. Invariably the letter would be accompanied by a subscription list showing those kind hearted people who are already made a donation. Mr. Brown had a vivid imagination and the list was always headed by the same name. You'll recall that a coal wagon was the cause of the calamity. First on the list therefore came the name of a famous firm of London coal merchants who with remarkable generosity without fail could be counted on for a contribution of £2. System. System. But system, as you will hear, can in the end cause the destruction of its creator. Mr. Brown got his system mixed up and made the mistake of writing to the same person twice running. Here's a funny case came in the mail this morning. What is it, sir? The elderly gentleman living in St. John's Wood had a letter from an old friend asking for money. Nothing very strange about that, sir. No, I agree. Funny thing was he had Two letters in the same week from different people. Yes. Different names and handwriting. And here's the funny part. The wording is identical. Remarkable. I think we'll follow this one up. Yes, sir. And follow it up. They did exit. Mr. Brown. Cut it. I would not want entirely to spoil your faith in human nature. The next time you get a letter from a friend in need, don't be too cynical about it. All the same, make sure it is a friend and that he is in need. I began this program by talking not about begging letter writers, but about the more per se kind of forgery. Don't think that the forger is restricted to making authentic copies of His Majesty's currency. Have you ever heard the expression a flash note? No. Well, listen to this. Flash notes, sir, are they currency printed to look sufficiently like the real thing to deceive somebody who's just got a casual glimpse of the water notes? Now, when you take a look at the notes themselves, you'll find they have some silly wording on them like bank of common sense. Of course, the trouble is that all too often the mud doesn't take a look at them. He just sees them in the cook's wallet and takes it for granted that they're the real thing. And that simplicity, which is characteristic of not a few of the inhabitants of Britain and the readiness with which some people are taken in are well illustrated by New Scotland Yard's collection of flash notes. Flash notes are generally carried by members of that fraternity who delight in showing you what is known as the three card tricks. Or by persons who wish for some particular reasons of their own to inspire your confidence in them. You may recall from a previous program the classic incompetence tricks, the rosary. That's all right, old man. I trust you. I can see you're an honest fellow, but all the same, you can't be too careful. Oh, I quite agree. That's what you want. Before we do the deal, why don't you try each other out? How do you mean? Well, we're all strangers to one another. At least we were a week ago. Though I feel we're all pretty good friends now, eh? Yeah. Why don't you give your wallet to this gentleman here? Let him go for a walk around the block, say for 15 minutes. Well, all right. Although there's rather a lot of money in it. You mean you don't trust our friend? Of course I'll trust him. I say, you have got a lot of money in there. £500. All right. There you are. We'll wait Here for you. Don't forget. 15 minutes and 15 minutes later our friend the mug comes back with a wallet containing the 500 pounds. Needless to say, not so lucky when his friend takes his wallet for an airing. Admittedly there are only 25 pounds in it but the difference is that they are 25 real. Several hundreds of these notes at New Scotland Yard. It's not a punishable offense by the by to have them in your possession or even to print them but it'll go badly with you should you try to pass one as a ruin note. Now it's a certain fact that in the case of many of these notes they were never intended for any wrong purpose but were merely brought out as a novel and attractive advertisement. But your confidence man, your card sharper should any perchance happen to fall into his hands uses them to suit his own game. They're crisp, just like real banknotes and when rustled in the palm of the hand make that delicious sound which cheers the heart and leaves the face in mind. They're getting nearly the same size too with a real father. So they're used for a purpose which they were never intended. And the confidence man pulls out of his trousers pocket a handful of what? Banknotes. Nothing of the kind. But they look like them. Of course they do. But if you get hold of them yourself, you'd see that this crisp piece of paper with a big ten in the left hand corner was only bank of Engraving. I promise to engrave and print and letterpress etc on demand for the sum of ten pounds in the first style of the art of forfeit the above sum. London, 29th of April 1840 for Self & Co. Bank of Engraving J. Duck, Fitzroy Square. So there you are. Next time somebody flashes a roll of banknotes in front of you, just take a second look. Of course they may be real, but you never know. Yes, sometimes the pen is mightier than the sword, but not always. Well, that's all for now, but I'll be back again soon to tell you some more of the secrets of Scotland Yard. Meanwhile, this is Clyde Brooks saying goodbye and pleasant dreams it.

D (26:07)

This is Orson Welles speaking from London. Here in the grim stone structure on the Thames which houses Scotland Yard is a warehouse of souvenirs where everyday objects a broom, a vase, a lampshade, all are touched by murder. Now this tan shoe is a brogue. Good leather, expensive make, with a dark stain near the heel. Wasn't put there by the manufacturer.

E (26:45)

A tan shoe, sir. Left foot. What do you make of this stain? It looks to Me like blood.

D (26:57)

Today that shoe can be seen in the Black Museum.

E (27:09)

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 Yards Gallery of Death. The Black Museum.

D (27:38)

Well, here we are. The Black Museum. Scotland Yards Museum of Murder. Here lies death. Violent, unexpected death. Here, in the objects that line the shelves and fill the room, are the stories of murder. Here's a birthday card. To Margaret with love. A present went with a card. Of course, the present was death. This glass. A man was drinking from it. When he died. Most unnaturally, the glass fell from his hands. The murderer jumped forward instinctively to catch it. He caught it and left a fingerprint that sent him to the gallows. Ah, here we are. Here's the tan shoe. A left foot shoe. The darkish stain near the heel, inside and out, couldn't be disguised with polish, but there was no stain on it that morning of May 20, 1930, when the two men, one wearing this particular shoe, walked along the platform at Newcastle Station, it was a few minutes before train time as they made their way along the platform.

E (28:44)

I tell you, John, my firm regard me most highly. I'm sure they do, my dear chap. It's not that I care to boast, but their attitude speaks for itself.

D (28:53)

In what way?

E (28:54)

Well, as you know, they allow me to travel with the colliery wages each Friday from the bank in Newcastle to our office at Almond. It's a very responsible child.

D (29:04)

Come, my friend, admit the truth.

E (29:06)

What tr. Come. Well, they really don't allow you to travel unescorted with so much money in.

D (29:11)

That black leather bag.

E (29:12)

Oh, yes, they do. But there's no guard cunningly posted someone else on the train to watch you? None whatsoever. You see, they place great trust in me. They do indeed. Mark my words, I'm in line for a colliery managership one day. And you deserve it, my dear chap. Yes, it'd be a fine reward for 20 years work. Oh, morning, Collins. Good morning, Bernie. Fine chap. He's a clerk with a neighboring colliery. Now, come on, John. I think this is our carriage. It seems to be empty. Splendid. We can have a good talk during the hour journey to Almouth. Now, come on, sit down and make yourself at home.

D (30:00)

And with these few words, the friends smilingly took their places in the empty railway carriage. It was quite a change for Mr. Bennett to have someone to talk to on his usually lonely courier service. More often than not, he was alone with his small black bag, for it was not his habit to trust strangers when Carrying a large sum of money. But this chap seemed a decent thought.

E (30:19)

Then, John, you simply must come home to dinner and meet the wife. It will be very nice, old chap.

B (30:23)

That's good.

E (30:24)

Well, shall we say Friday night?

B (30:26)

Delighted.

D (30:30)

Yes, a very decent sort. Bennett didn't take easily to people, but this chap seemed to be his kind. Tony met him in Newcastle a week ago. But he'd warmed to him at once. And then away did with few people. And so the train sped along the northeastern line. Heaton, Stannington, Morpeth. Small station stops along the line. At Morpeth, the train took up water. A few people got out to stretch their legs. Some passed through the barrier and gave up their tickets. Among them was a man in a gray overcoat.

E (31:02)

Tickets, please. Tickets, please. Say what? Say your tickets for armour. Oh, yes. I've changed my mind. I'm getting off here. Thank you, Arthur.

B (31:15)

Ticket?

D (31:16)

Four minutes later, the train left Morpeth and went on its way to Almouth. There the passengers alighted. The journey was over. A porter then proceeded to clean the train as was usual. But in one of the empty carriages, he made a gruesome discovery.

E (31:36)

Hey. Hey. What's this? Blood in the floor.

D (31:40)

A stream of blood running from under the seat. He bent down to look and found the carriage not so empty as he'd imagined.

E (31:47)

Help, please. Somebody's been murdered.

D (32:07)

Somebody had indeed been murdered. And the next logical step, after the local police had been hurriedly brought to the scene of the crime, was to send for Scotland Yard.

E (32:28)

Inspector Morton, sir. From Scotland Yard. Ah, Inspector Kelly. Glad to renew your acquaintance. Aye, sir. Oh, thank you, Sergeant. Aren't we all? Yes, sir. Sit down, sit down. Well, in answer to your question, I'm worried. Deuced worried? About the murder, sir? Yes. They all come to the chief constable of the county.

B (32:50)

Who?

E (32:50)

The railways. Telling me that no one will travel by train unless the killer's caught. I see their point. Yeah, but that's only one of them. Then there's the colliery, insisting that we find the murderer of their employee.

D (33:01)

And the.

E (33:02)

The man's wife, of course. Yes, I know. Well, you can handle that sort of thing over to me now and I can't, Sir, I'm sorry. First of all, sir, would you supply me with some preliminary facts? How much do you know about the murdered man?

D (33:15)

The chief constable explained it all to the London detective. The dead man's name was Wallace Bennett, a meek and faithful little man. For the past 20 years, he'd worked with a leading collier in the district. For the Past five years, he'd been their paymaster, traveling with his cash bag to pay the miners wages each week in Al.

E (33:33)

Well, there it is, Inspector. He took the train as usual this Friday, but he arrived at Al dead. And the bag in which he carried this money, sir, it was missing.

D (33:49)

The inspector wanted to find out first about that missing bag. Most of all how much money it contains. He went to the colliery manager.

E (33:58)

Now, sir, I'd like to have your help in connection with the murder of Bennett. Well, anything I can do to help. You can count on me. Well, first I'd like to find out how much the bag he was carrying with him contained. The person who can answer that question is Ms. Robertson in our accounts department. Well, Ms. Roberts, I expect you have a record of the amount that Mr. Bennet drew from the bank on the morning of his death.

C (34:24)

Oh, yes, Inspector. I have a note of it here. The amount is exactly £400, eight shillings and fourpence.

E (34:33)

And how was the money made up?

C (34:35)

In various denominations, Inspector. You see, it was required for paying the men at the colliery, but the greater part in pound notes. And, Inspector, I thought that you'd be making inquiries, so I was in touch with the bank this morning. Yes, the money was paid out in used notes and the bank has no trace of the numbers.

E (34:57)

Oh, bad luck. Well, thank you, Ms. Robertson. You've saved me a disappointment and a wasted visit.

D (35:05)

Now, there were other things and other people to see. Among them the doctor.

B (35:11)

Yes, Inspector.

E (35:12)

I was called in by the local police when the body was discovered. And what did you determine as the cause of death, Doctor? There were four bullets in the body, one of which entered the left lung and one the heart. Yes, the other two were lodged in the brain. Our killer took no chances. None at all. The skull was also fractured by a heavy blow, such as might be made by the butt of a revolver. I see. Well, thank you, Doctor.

D (35:36)

The motive was clear enough. Robbery somewhere was a bag and £400. And there also was a murderer. But where? Who was it? Morton found it hard those first few days. Hard because there were no leads. There was a body, a missing cash bag and four bullets.

E (35:52)

That was all.

D (35:53)

The bullets were duly tested and traced.

E (35:56)

Nickel cap bullets are unusual style. Five from a.32 revolver. Any hope of tracing that gun, Morton? Well, we're working on it now, sir. The train was thoroughly searched. No sign of the gun. But I'm having a very thorough search made along the railway track to see if we can uncover anything there. Good. I think it likely that the killer might have thrown the gun out of the window. Well, let me know as soon as you end report, won't you? Inspector Morton. What's that? You found the gun all right. Send it along as quickly as possible and we'll have it examined by the experts. Yes, sir. It's the murder weapon all right. I've compared it with the bullets and they were fired from this same revolver. I suppose there's no means of identification on the revolver, number removed and all the usual precautions. Oh, no, sir. The number can be distinguished. What's more, I've made inquiries and we've traced the owner. Good. Sounds a little too simple though. Where is the owner? Well, he's a foreign gentleman, sir, living here in Newcastle. They are getting hold of him now. Now, Mr. Rossini, I want you to identify this revolver according to the gun license. It's one that belongs to you.

B (37:11)

Let me see.

E (37:12)

Yes, that's my revolver all right. Oh, I can't tell you how grateful I am to you, Inspector, for getting me back. Oh, my wife will be fleet. I never expected to see it again. You mean it was stolen? Yes, over three months ago. I must phone my wife and tell us back. Oh, she was so upset. Poor Annunciata. You see, my house was burgled and this was missing among other things. I reported it to the local police. I see. Just One other question, Mr. Rossini. Can you give me some indication of your movements during the last seven days? Oh, that's very simple, Inspector. I only arrived home this morning on a business trip from the continent. You see, I've been in Paris for the last fortnight. But please don't let my wife know that. If you want any witnesses. That's very easy. I've been working in the Paris office of my company all the time. Don't be suspicious of me. All right, Mr. Rossini. Just as a matter of routine, we'll check your statement, but I don't think we'll need to see you again.

D (38:07)

Dead ends. Wherever they looked, Dead ends. With the inquest pending, it looked as if a verdict of murder by a person or persons unknown would be certain. And yet that was not to be. A twist of fate. A new chance witness was to revive the investigation, set it back on the trail which led to the murderer and the blood stained shoe. That same tan shoe which can be seen today in the black museum. The witness came in on the third day, the morning after the funeral. He was a short dark haired man whose name was Collins. He asked to see the inspector in charge of the case.

E (39:01)

Come in here, Mr. Collins. We can talk without interruption. Thank you, Inspector. Now, what was it you wish to see me about? About Bennett. About his murder? Yes. I met him on Newcastle Station that morning before he boarded the train. You saw him then. Was he carrying his cash bag? Yes, he was. I've seen Bennett travel down to Almouth every Friday for years, but this morning I particularly noticed him. Why? Because he usually travelled alone. Wasn't he alone last Friday? No. He had someone with him. They were walking along the station together. I saw them get into the same compartment.

D (39:44)

Now, for the first time, Bennett's train companion entered the case. Inspector Morton wanted to know more, a lot more. Was the man a friend of Bennett's? Did he, Collins, know him?

E (39:57)

No, I didn't know the man, Inspector. He was a stranger to me. And it's unlikely he'd be a close friend of Bennett. I think so. Of course, his wife, I mean widow, would be the one to tell you about that. I'll check with her. Now, Mr. Collins, you've been very helpful, but can you help a little more? Yes. How, Inspector? Can you give me a description of this man? Well, I noticed he was shortish, about my height. That's five foot seven. Yes. Anything else? He was fair. Small moustache. Good. And his clothes? He was wearing a grey overcoat, a grey soft felt hat and a dark grey suit. Pleased? I. I could see his dark grey trousers. A red tie, I think. Oh.

B (40:45)

Oh, yes.

E (40:46)

And tan brogue shoes. You're very observant, Mr. Collins. Did you by any chance notice when he left the train? Yes, at Morpeth. You're sure of that? Certain. I got out to stretch my legs when the train took up water there. I saw him go through the barrier.

B (41:02)

And give up his tick.

D (41:05)

Out of the blue. A witness and a lead at last. It happens that way. A person remembers some incident, some unusual detail, and the trail begins.

E (41:21)

Mrs. Bennet?

C (41:22)

Yes.

E (41:23)

I'm from the police. I'm sorry to trouble you at a time like this, but Inspector Morton, I'd like you to answer a few questions.

C (41:31)

I'll do it.

B (41:32)

Thank you, Mrs. Bennet.

E (41:34)

Now, your husband left home at the usual time on that particular morning?

C (41:39)

Yes.

E (41:40)

Carrying the black bag containing the money?

C (41:43)

Yes. I was always worried about that bag.

B (41:47)

Yes.

E (41:48)

Do you recall, on this particular morning, whether your husband was planning to meet a friend or anybody in particular?

C (41:54)

Well, if he would. He never mentioned it to me. He always travelled by himself, as far as I know.

E (42:02)

Ah. Well, amongst your husband's acquaintances, is there any man you can recollect shortish, 5 foot 7, fair hair, small moustache.

C (42:14)

No, no, I can't think of anybody like that. He definitely wasn't a close friend of my husband's. Of that I'm sure.

D (42:23)

Inspector Morton hurried to Martha's and interviewed the ticket collector.

E (42:27)

A man in a grey overcoat. Last Friday, you said, sir? Yes. A short, fair man, dark grey suit and a small moustache. Do you remember him? Funny, I do remember he had a ticket to Ormouth, but he gave it up here. Yes, he said he changed his mind or summit. Did you notice if he was carrying a small black bag? I couldn't say what it was. See, he had it inside his coat. Cover up. It looked bulky inside his coat. Thank you. Thank you very much.

D (43:00)

A casual question had brought an encouraging, unexpected answer. The man who had left the train at Morpeth was concealing something bulky beneath his overcoat. The black cash bag was missing. And this man had traveled in the same train. According to a witness, in the very same compartment. All he had to do now was find him. The thought was not too comforting. Find one man who might be anywhere in England. One man who had left almost no trace behind him. And then fate, strange, incredible fate intervened. Or was it fate? Perhaps it was stupidity, or the unconscious urge to brag that lies hidden in every murderer. Anyway, it happened that same week at a hotel bar in London.

E (43:45)

Come on, have another, George. No, no, thanks, matey. I gotta be going.

C (43:48)

Come on.

E (43:49)

Monotony. But you've already paid for three. What's that matter? I've got money. Look. Blimey. One pound notes. Hundreds of them.

C (43:58)

I tell you, I'm rich.

E (44:00)

Come on, have another.

D (44:02)

Two men drinking in a bar. Two casual acquaintances. It might never have happened. But it did happen. And when one of them, his mind filled with misgivings and doubts, went to the police the next morning, Scotland Yard was speedily informed.

E (44:15)

Now, let's hear the story. Your name's Blakey, is it? That's right, sir. I'm a bus driver. This fellow I was drinking with, he used to work for our company once. Do you know him well? Well, no, hardly at all. I met him in the pub last night, and he kept on buying me drinks. Then he brought out this great fistful of money. How much money would you say? Oh, two or three hundred quid, I should think. Well, maybe I'm misjudging him, sir, but. Well, I heard about the murder in Newcastle and the money being pinched. You did the right thing, Blakey. Don't worry about that. What's the man's name? Linkman. John Linkman, I think it is. Do you know where he lives? No, I've not the faintest idea about that. But you'll find him most nights down at the Roundhead Arms, sir, in the bar there.

D (44:56)

The Roundhead Arms. A small pub on a London side street a long way from the scene of the murder. But here that same evening went. Inspector Morton.

C (45:07)

What'll it be for you, sir?

E (45:08)

I'll order in a minute, miss. Thanks. I'm waiting for a friend.

C (45:11)

Okay.

E (45:11)

You might happen to know him. He's one of your regular customers. John Linkman.

C (45:15)

Johnny Linkman. Oh, yes, I know him.

E (45:18)

Funny thing, I came in here last Friday to have a drink with him and seemed to miss him.

C (45:22)

Oh, that's no wonder. You should have asked me. Johnny was away. He was away about a week.

E (45:26)

Oh, that explains it.

C (45:27)

Yes, some business trip he said. Must have done all right too, cos he's pretty flush now.

E (45:32)

Nice to hear of an old friend doing so well.

C (45:34)

There he is now. Just coming in. Hello, Johnny. Loud.

E (45:38)

Hello, Ruby. Find it?

C (45:39)

Better make it too. You've got a friend waiting for you.

E (45:42)

Oh, never mind the drinks. Ms. John Linkman? Yes. Who are you? Inspector Morton from Scotland Yard.

C (45:50)

Scotland Yard?

E (45:53)

What do you want with me? One or two questions I want to ask you outside.

D (45:58)

With a firm grip on his quarry's arm, Morton left the hotel bar. Outside a car was waiting. Morton and Linkman were drift.

E (46:09)

In here. Mr. Linkman, I dare inspect to you. You must be out of your mind. What's the meaning of this treatment? Where were you last Friday, Mr. Linkman? Minding my own business. Come, sir, that attitude's only wasting our time. I was on a business trip, if you must know. Where? In the Newcastle district. I'm a salesman. What firms did you deal with there? And what firm do you represent? I'm a private trader. I saw no firms while I was there.

B (46:32)

None?

E (46:33)

No. My trip was a failure. Then where did you get the very large sum of money you've been carrying with you lately? Money? What money? I think you know to what I'm referring. May I see the contents of your pocket? Certainly not. Then you'll force me to go through the formality of a search warrant.

B (46:48)

Oh, all right.

E (46:51)

Here. A pen.

B (46:53)

Yes.

E (46:54)

Some silver and this £1 note. At a guess, about 300 of them.

D (47:02)

Linkman was held in custody. Meanwhile Morton and the sergeant went to search his home.

E (47:08)

I'm sorry, ma', am, but we have a search warrant. Shall I start on the bedroom, sir? Yes, Sergeant.

C (47:13)

What has my husband done? Why are you here?

E (47:16)

We're just making a preliminary investigation, ma'.

B (47:18)

Am.

E (47:19)

There's no cause for alarm yet.

D (47:21)

They searched the bedroom, the cramped lounge room with its fading wallpaper, the bathroom, the kitchen, pursued and harassed by a destroyer. Mrs. Linkman. Then in the second bedroom.

C (47:33)

But what has he done? Inspector, you've got to tell me.

E (47:36)

I'm sorry. There's nothing I can tell you yet, Mrs. Linkman. It's awful. Awful. I've got something, Inspector. A tan shoe, sir. Left foot. What do you make of this stain? It looks to me like blood. We'll take it back with us and have it tested.

D (47:57)

In the laboratory at Scotland Yard. They found out it was blood. The bank in Newcastle identified the notes in a police lineup. Collins identified Linkman as the man who had shared a compartment with Bennett that fatal Friday morning. And then the game was up.

E (48:14)

Well, Mr. Linkman, have you anything to say? This is all a ridiculous mistake. I can explain everything. Can you explain this? Why, yes. You must have found it in my flat. It's one of my shoes. And can you explain the stain here? Just by the toe cap. Somebody seems to have been trying to cover it with shoe polish. Not very successfully, I'm afraid. Oh, come along, Mr. Linkman. Can you explain that? I've never noticed the stain before. It's probably some oil or something. No, Mr. Linkman, it's not oil. I have the laboratory report here. It's a blood stain, all right. You know everything, don't you? Not everything, Mr. Linkman, but enough. Would you like to make a statement now? Very well. I'm glad it's over. Glad I can tell somebody the truth at last.

D (49:04)

Confronted with all this and the evidence of the stain on the shoe he'd vainly tried to cover up with shoe polish, Linkman confessed to his crime. And today that same shoe can be seen occupying a place in the Black Museum.

E (49:23)

Orson Welles will be back with you in just a moment.

D (49:28)

The trial was held at Newcastle with an eminent counsel retained to defend the prisoner. But inevitably, the sordid details of the crime emerged. Linkman, being out of a job and needing money, a chance to make the acquaintance of Wallace Bennett in Newcastle. Learning his new friend carried large sums of money by train every Friday, Linkman carefully planned his crime. But he learned much to his eternal sorrow, that care must be preserved both before and after murder. A moment's lapse, a few drinks, and it meant the 13 steps and the rope. One morning, not long afterwards, as the Lord justice said in sentencing the prisoner. The scales of justice are now balanced. Now, until we meet next time in the same place and I tell you another story about the Black Museum, I remain, as always, obediently yours.

A (50:32)

That's Case Closed for this week. You can find more from Secrets of Scotland Yard, the Black Museum, this podcast, and all of the other relic Radio shows at the website relicradio.com There's a shoutcast stream there as well, streaming 24 hours a day, seven days a week, with even more old time radio lots to listen to. They're all made possible by your support. If you'd like to help out, visit donate. Relicradio.com or click on one of the support links on the site. Thanks to those who have thanks for joining me this Wednesday. Be back again next week with a another hour of mystery and crime on Case Closed.