Black Museum-29-The Open Ended Wrench

This is Orson Welles speaking from London, black museum. Here in the glimpse of the structure on the Thames, which houses stuff in the yard, is a warehouse of homicide. Well, every day objects, an ink bottle, a child's raincoat, a silfapillo, all are touched by murder.

Here's an open end for Wrench, the familiar object. If you own an automobile, you'll see a mechanic use one. The steel shaft about eight inches long. The shaft bulging into a curve shaped like a horseshoe hold exactly. Simple tool, slim efficiency.

Well made, isn't it, Inspector? We are familiar with these things, Doctor. They are quite common, the weapon. Yes, of course. One skull could be cracked rather deliciously if this was brought down hard on it.

In the black museum. 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 manufacturing repair of modern machines and their circumstances and that revolve no thought of scratch, unlike the new clean green of fields and rising hills.

The road curved ahead, not the edge of the embankment, embankment returning to the left. Huh, I'd a view. Keep God's, to not be careful. To not awake. There's a wreck on the curve about a mile south of here.

You have anything to do with it, Miss Sir? No, no, no, of course not. I know it's the broken fence and for the car down the hill. I'd say there seems to be a woman in it.

Look, you better come. Bring help. The doctor, who was also the local coroner, needed little time to determine which of these functions functions would call for at the wreck. He's been passed half an hour, must have gone off the road during the night.