This is Orson Welles speaking from London. The Black Museum. Here in the grim stone structure on the Thames, which houses Scotland Yard, is a warehouse of homicide. A warehouse where everyday objects, a tallow candle for example, a mounted cat, an andion. All, all are touched by murder. A bed sheet. It's a familiar object. You see them every night, except on rare occasions when you're roughing it. Linen is the usual material. Sometimes they're made of silk. This one is linen. It bears the imprint of the steamship Bengal Tower. May I make a bid, Miss Parsons? I certainly, Styrdys. We're on our way, aren't we? Yes, Miss. That's the last we'll see of Cape Town. I'll just change your sheets, Miss. Thank you. Fresh ones for the first night out. Today, that bed sheet can be seen 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. Well, here we are. The Black Museum. Scotland Yard's very special, very particular museum of murder. If you're a student of criminology, a student with some imagination, I don't think you'll be alone here in the Black Museum. Each small card meant solely to identify crime and criminal will bring to life for you a sinister ghost. You'll walk here, attended simultaneously by killer and killed. Here's a long-necked chemist flask. It was meant to hold life-giving medicine, but somebody intervened. There was acid in this flask. A few pellets dropped in, dissolved. The flask was smoky with lethal vapor. The sleeping man died. Here's a bicycle made for fun, but notice the wheels, the crumpled spokes, crushed tires. A girl rode this bike downhill, and the wire was stretched across the roadway. Ah, here we are, the sheet. A common everyday bed sheet stamped in one corner, SS Bengal Tower. That's a luxury liner on the route between Cape Town and Southampton. It's a nice ship and a voyage to enjoy, particularly when you're young and homeward bound. Natalie Parsons was young and homeward bound, and very lovely. The first night out, there were two gentlemen friends to dance attendance. Thank you, Ms. Parsons. You make even a lieutenant's life a pleasure. Why, lieutenant, I thought the navy was the life for a young man with adventure in his soul. That's just the legend, but all legends come to an end, just like the dancing tonight. Mr. Morrow, holding the fort at our table all alone. Let's be nice to him, lieutenant. I hear he knows the captain of our ship. The dancing was over in the main cellar. The orchestra retired for the night. High above the brilliantly illuminated decks on the dim, binnacle-lighted bridge, Captain Booth had his own thoughts as he paced away his watch. It ought to be all right. Full passenger list, decent crew, engines in good shape, ship all squared away, topside and below. You never know. That's the worry and the fascination of it. You never know. No, Captain. You never know, do you? You never know. Ah, but such thoughts are ridiculous. Look at the three people at that table nearby in the first-class lounge this minute, the Parsons girl. Actress, the passenger list says. The naval lieutenant, what was his name? Jeff Hennessey, that's him. And Noel Morrow, past middle-aged but quite distinguished. Heavy stockholder in the line which owns your Bengal tower. Nice people having a fine time. And this gentleman concludes our performance for this evening. But it's early yet, Miss Parsons. I'm not used to the sea air, Lieutenant. I'm tired, so I'm going to bed. And thank you both for a lovely first night at sea. May I see you to your cabin? Hold on, I claim that privilege. You dance with the raw evening sun. Now it's my turn. Don't fight, gentlemen. Well, not the first night out, anyway. I think we'll exceed a nerd's wish tonight, Jeff. He has some basis to his claim, you know. There you are, young girl. Well, I surrender. There's plenty of time to Southampton and lots of moodle... He has plenty of time for fun and enjoyment and even playing at love. As the great ship knifes through the tropic seas northward, homeward bound. So Noel Morrow walks Natalie Parsons to her cabin and returns to the bar for a nightcap with Lieutenant Jeff Hennessey. To Natalie, a nice girl. I'll drink to that. A fine talent, I hear. Yes, I saw him play in Johannesburg, Three-Cornered Moon. Very amusing. That's so. I never heard of him. Still, I'm glad I heard of Natalie Parsons. Nice girl. Good-looking, too. Yes, all of that and more. Well, here's to a pleasant voyage. Two gentlemen converse over whiskey and soda and then repair to their respective quarters and fall asleep. 2 a.m. Four bells. On the bridge, the watch is changing. First officer reporting we're leaving, sir. Thank you, Mr. Poseidh. We're making 15 knots, course 348. All quiet below. Thank you, sir. I took a little bit of checking before I came, topside. The watchmen are ringing their stations, sir. Stewards and stewards his turn-in, sir. Very well, Mr. Takeover. Carry on. North-northeast roughly is the course. The ship moves on. The captain goes to his cabin. First officer Forsythe and the quartermaster stand, too, on the bridge. All quiet. Below on V-deck, the watchman makes his rounds. Hmm, that's a funny one. B-24 ringing for steward and stewardess both. We'll have a look. What is it, man? Is something wrong, sir? Nothing's wrong. Why? Both your buzzers are ringing, sir. Fear steward and stewardess both. There must be a mistake. Everything here is fine. The watchman is puzzled. He goes back. The buzzers have stopped. He checks the cabin list. B-24. Miss Natalie Parsons. He hesitates back to the cabin or up to the bridge. Was it a mistake? He chose the bridge. What is it, Peter? B-24 is a ladies' cabin. A single occupier, Mr. Forsythe. Is it now? Buzzers was ringing. I answered. A man came to the door. All I did see of him was his trouser leg and shoe. Black, both of them. Well, strange things can happen on shipboard on a cruise like this, you know. Just go on with your rounds and fill out your report when you go off watch. Yes, sir. Very well, sir. In a few moments I'll go and check. You want to make sure, meet me at B-24 at five bells. Aye, aye, sir. Thank you, sir. What is it? Strange things do happen on shipboard. Even without tropic seas and a voyage home, quite strange things. Five bells. Half past two. First Officer Forsythe, with watchman Petrie at his elbow, knocked discreetly on the door to B-24. Unlocked, is it? Careless. So it seems, sir. Come in here, Petrie. Aye, aye, sir. Nobody here. Cabin's empty. All right, Petrie. Make a report. I'll enter this on the log. We'll let it go at that. Girls will be girls, Petrie. I trust you haven't forgotten, then. Discreet fellow, that first officer. But then he'd had plenty of cruise experience. He noted the matter in the log. After all, he had left the bridge for a few moments. And that was all. Now, it happens that one of the duties of the first officer is to call the roll a boat drill. You know how that goes. The bells clang all over the ship. The passengers joke as they reach for life bells dusty with disuse and scramble to the boat deck at the stations noted on their cabin doors. And after a bit, the first officer comes around and checks the roll. Yes, I know. I quite agree, yes. Answer to your names, please, ladies and gentlemen. This is a boat station for cabins B-18 to B-45. All passengers and crew assigned here will answer. Mr. Ainswell? Here. Alan Birch? Here, sir. Miss Lawrence? Here. Mr. Leary? Present. Nancy Meadows? Yes, sir. Major Morton? Here. Miss Parsons? Miss Parsons? Miss Parsons! The first officer reported to Captain Booth. Captain Booth thought it might be courteous if Miss Parsons were under the weather to pay her a courtesy call. Captain knocked. Empty. Strange. Miss Juris? Miss Juris! Yes, sir? You wanted me, Captain? I do. You see Miss Parsons this morning? No, sir, I haven't. She's a little queer, rather. How so? She wasn't at boat drill either, sir, and at night things are missing. You laid them out last night, did you? Yes, sir. Pretty things, too. Just right for her. But not a sign of them this morning and stains all over the sheet. How's that? Where? Here, sir. Sort of red and a few black ones, sir. Streaks like. I see. Just a moment. There are times when I'm glad first-class cabins have telephones. This is the captain speaking. I want Dr. Stout in B-24 at once. Thank you. You don't think something's happened, do you, sir? She's such a nice girl. That's what everyone says. Funny goings on in here last night. Watchman's report? A log? Notice anything else peculiar here this morning, Juris? Well, yes, sir. When I first came in to straighten up, first off I noticed the portal, sir. Swing and open it was all by itself. I fastened it before anything, sir. Yes, that's right. You call for me, Captain? Yes, doctor. Take a look at the stains on that sheet, will you? Right. All right, Juris, you can go, but stay on call. Yes, sir. I'll be right outside. And send in the watchman. Yes, sir. Well, doctor? These are probably lipstick. The other red spots, they look like blood, I'm afraid. I'll talk better after I've run a test. The black marks beat me. Not a very pleasant prospect. Blood on the sheet and an open porthole. Watchman Petrie, Captain. Ah, yes. Don't go, doctor. Now, see here, Petrie, this man you reported speaking to last night, did you see his face? Sorry, sir, I didn't. Only his trouser and one shoe, like I told Mr. Forsyte. I see. It's too bad. What about his voice? It was muffled, sir, by the door. But he did have, well, a kind of accent, sir. What kind? American, Welsh, Scots, Irish? If anything, it was Scotch, sir. All right. Dismissed. Thank you, sir. Well, doctor? I don't like the looks of it. I'd seal this cabin and notify owners if I were you. I'll do that and more. This is the captain. Give me the bridge. Watch, officer, please. Hello, Mr. Matson? Captain Booth here. I want a complete search of the ship at once for a passenger. Natalie Parsons. Close, nest, a block hole. And, uh, put the ship about, mister. We're going back on a sea search as well. Calculate our position at four bells this morning. I'll be topside, directly. We're not going to find her alive, you know, doctor, but we've got to have a look. I know. If this girl went through that porthole alive, the sharks have got her by now. If she went through dead, we have a murderer aboard. As I said before, not a very pleasant prospect, doctor. The Horton looks so pleasant. An empty cabin. An open porthole. And blood on the sheet. And I'd remind you that that sheet today can be seen in the Black Museum. Do you gentlemen have anything to add? Have you gentlemen? Neither of them did. But in Southampton, the Criminal Investigation Department did have a few items to add. All right, Hobson. What's the report on this Parsons girl? Well, exactly what she said she was, Inspector. Actress. Apparently quite well accepted in Jo Berg. Plenty of men at the stage door, so to speak. Age, 25. Never a touch a scandal. Two points. She was in the Army Intelligence during the war. Had languages. Good actress. Quite a help. Possibly in Secret Service nowadays. No, I call the Special Branch on that. Positively no. She's back in civil life completely. Well, that's a possible theory down the drain. Yes, sir. Well, you had two points, Sergeant. Yes, sir. The other is, she said she left Jo Berg for a theatre job here. Well, there's no sign of it, sir. No manager in England has signed her. Though some of them knew the name. Well, keep after that. Oh, how about the passenger and crew list? Anyone familiar? No, not a criminal record in the lot. And we've checked all 368 of them. All right, Sergeant. Well, keep after that theatre job angle. Meanwhile, alert the technicians and the harbour police. We'll be going aboard that ship before the pilot takes her over. The ship with a sealed cabin drew nearer to home. Somehow the festive quality of a voyage home was missing. Tensions settled over the Bengal Tower from the bridge to the boiler room. At long, long last, the anchor dropped into Southampton water. The passengers gathered to watch for the pilot boat. That's no pilot boat, is it, Halsey? Ah, police launch. I expected as much. Funny. You dance with a girl, you know her for eight, ten hours out of your life. She stays with you. It happens, son. She was a lovely thing. Don't fall in love with a ghost. Wind up rather lonely, you know. Thanks. I remember that. Oh, quite a few of them coming aboard. Yes, we're in for a going-over, apparently. The captain spoke to the passengers and crew of the public address system. Ladies and gentlemen, as you know, representatives of the Southampton police have come aboard to proceed with the necessary inquiry into the tragic disappearance of one of our fellow passengers. Until this inquiry has run its course, it'll be necessary to lie off and not to proceed ashore. Your cooperation will be greatly appreciated. And I'm sure you realize that all which can be done is being done to place you ashore as soon as possible. Thank you. I wish them luck. How I wish them luck. On B deck, Inspector Rice took over from a greatly relieved captain booth. No time was wasted. Set up a lab in the ship's pharmacy and get at those stains. Compare them with a girl's lipstick and get the blood type. And find out what's in those black markings. Yes, sir. Now strip the bed and go through her things top to bottom. Now, I want to talk to the watchman, the stewardess. And from what you say, Captain, the man in here that night had a Scots accent. That's correct. Well, how many Scotsmen aboard? Have you checked that? We have. 26, Inspector. 18 passengers, 8 in the crew. Oh, very good, sir. You have been thorough. Now, you, I take it, are the watchmen. They work quickly, but they work thoroughly. The watchman and the stewardess has reasserted their statements to the captain with one addition. Oh, yes, sir. I cleaned the cabin thoroughly, wiped everything. That was too bad. No chance now for fingerprints. In the improvised laboratory in the ship's pharmacy, they did better. The lipstick stains match the lipstick in her luggage exactly, sir. The blood type on that spotted sheet? Type O, sir. The girl's army record gives the same type. Meanwhile, information arrived from ashore. She had a job waiting for her, Inspector, at the Abbey Theatre in Dublin, sir. And then the police chemist came up with a long-awaited answer. A black streaks on the sheet, sir. Lamp black wax and petroleum oil. That's shoe polish. But there's a trace of silver polish mixed in, sir. Ah, now we've got something, Hobson. Yes, sir, but what? Well, who'd get silver polish on his boots aboard ship, Sergeant? Well, it's a weird combination, sir. A ship steward, Hobson. A steward with a Scots accent. Now let's see the captain, shall we? I'll cooperate in any way I can, Inspector. But even if it is one of my men, there's not a thing to tie any of them to the incident. Well, sir, I have an idea. We can let the passengers ashore now, but hold the crew. Then you invite the police detail and the ship's officers to luncheon. Set up four tables well apart, weighted on by the four stewards who say are Scots-born. At the end of the meal... Thank you, steward. I will have some more coffee. Now, as I was saying, gentlemen, it's practically over. That one fingerprint on the glass of the porthole will hang the man. No question about it. They always forget something, make at least one silly mistake. There'll be a ship's mechanic from our harbor for his support. All right, young fella, you can stop polishing that porthole cover now. What's the meaning of this? I'm doing my job. There's no fingerprint on the glass. You fell for the inspector's plan. I'll have to take you in charge. Willful murder on suspicion. And I must warn you, anything you say may be taken down in one of these... They smoked him out all right, but he refused to give in without a struggle. It was interesting to watch his mind work as they questioned him. You're Alan Burt. I am. Your first trip aboard the Bengal Tower? A round trip. Won't doubt in her. This is the return. Like the ladies, do you? They seem to like me. Ever had any trouble with one before? No, never. What do you mean before? Your forearms, Birch, and your neck, all scratched. No dame ever scratched me. Where did you get them then? Ship's cat. I tried to pet her. She let me have it. It won't wash, Birch. No cat's claws ever scratched like that. Ship's doctor will certify to that. And those scratches aren't old enough to have happened to Shaw. All right, then. It was a woman. A stewardess. Which one? I'm not saying. She'd lose her job. Nonsense. Who are you protecting, Birch? Nobody. Stop it, Birch. You're only making it harder for yourself. You were on duty for that cabin, among others. She rang. From the watchman's story, the buzzer was stuck. But you didn't realize it until he knocked on the door and spoke to you. You went to B-24, forced your way in, attacked the girl, and when she resisted, you killed her and pushed her through that porthole. Wasn't that the way it was, Birch? I never attacked nobody. We say you did. There's blood on the sheet. Her blood. We'll find it on your clothes, too. I never attacked her. We had a date. After she ditched the two jokers she was dancing and drinking with. Be careful what you say, Birch. It's all being taken down and may be used in evidence. I'm telling the truth. I didn't kill her. I was waiting in the cabin, like she said. When she came in, she changed her mind or something. She tried to push me out. I don't take that from no woman. I grabbed her. She fell against me. She was foaming at the mouth in a sort of fit. She collapsed. I put her on the bed, tried to give her artificial respiration. That's how the black got on the sheet, maybe. Probably. Go on, Birch. When that fool Petrie came to the door, I lost my head. She looked dead. I didn't know what. I locked the door. I couldn't find no heartbeat. Nothing. I figured Petrie would report to the bridge. I picked her up and pushed her out of the porthole. Why did you decide to tell this tale, Birch? Because she'd pin it on me anyway. I know coppers. So better than have yous cook it up, you got it my way. I did not kill nobody here. I did not kill nobody. Stanley Birch had told his story. Not a very good story. For there in contradiction was the testimony and evidence, including that bloodstained bed sheet, which you can see today in the Black Museum. Stuart Birch was a ladies' man. There was no doubt about that after the evidence was in. The jury had little doubt either. They convicted Mr. Birch of first degree murder, despite his protestations, and despite the fact that for the first time in 200 years a jury had been given a homicide case without a corpus delicti. This was a major aspect of the case. A very interesting one, I think. And further, just after the conviction, the House of Commons suspended the death penalty in England. As for Stuart Birch, you'll find him spending the rest of his natural life in Dartmoor Prison. And as for the spotted bed sheet, it remains in its customer place, in Scotland Yard, in the Black Museum. And now until we meet next time, the same place, I tell you another story about the Black Museum. I remain, as always, obedient for yours.
