Black Museum-21-The Khaki Handkerchief

This is Orson Welles speaking from London the black museum Repository of death As here in the grimstone structure on the Thames which houses cup and yard He's a warehouse of homicide What everyday objects or teapods a sewing needle folding camera all?

I touched my murder. There's a handkerchief a khaki handkerchief Soldiers, anchor chills, common enough sort of thing during the war. A handkerchief's stark, fairly clean, if a bit moly. That would be from exposure, Thompson.

Looks like army issue. It is, but no hero used it. You can bet on that. Well, that handkerchief can be seen today 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 in Scotland Yard, come to this silent room. Outside, the Thames is busy with London's river traffic and just upstairs, police communications tap from the teletypes ring from the telephones.

But here, as I say, is silence. silence. As a length of garden hose, once it was connected to an exhaust of a car, from there up through the floorboards, the time was winter. The driver eroded all the windows closed and the car crashed. Man died. It wasn't exactly an accident. No, it was murdered.

As a German Mauser, watch over your heavy gun, strange a tiny woman held it with two hands, much to her own fingerprints. She was found out her hands gave her away, the paraffin test you know for gunpowder smoke.

Ah, there we are. Here it is, the cocky handkerchief. Originally it was intended for camouflage. Fairly shouted for recognition at the right time in the wrong place. And the trouble first appeared is the commonplace ringing of a telephone.