Black Museum-03-The Bath Tub

This is Orson Welles, speaking from London. The Black Museum. A repositive of death. Here in the Gramstone structure on the Thames, which houses Scotland Yard, is a warehouse of homicide, where everyday objects, a piece of wire, a chemist's flask, a silver shilling, all are touched by murder.

Here's a bathtub. And it's a familiar object. There's no fashion, when a ball and claw footed bathtub without plumbing connections. It's kind of fathers and mothers knew about. You know, if they poured the Saturday night water by hand, some liked it cool, others liked it hot.

There we are, yeah? Is that hot enough? If you think so, darling. Oh, yeah, the sweetest. I wonder how I had the luck to marry you. What am I, John? I'm here, taking care of you.

And one day soon we shall have a tub with daps, one of the new ones. You'll see. And today the bathtub can be found 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. In just a moment you will hear the Black Museum starring Orson Well. The museum starring, awesome world. The mausoleum of murder, he allies death.

The military's symmetry of white cards, and the black printing line, the silent shows, the cabinets, the crowded floor, each card identifying crystal. Yet in that sound was terror. In this glass was poisoned in death, a foundation for laughter circa 1910.

No plumbing attached to course, to course, one poured the water in from buckets and pitches to an effort. The use of such tub as this. Definitely a matter for an interior, not for an exterior, not for a garden like this, where in the peaceful year of 1910 Edward Jones read aloud to his wife, Evelyn.