Black Museum-20-A Jar Of Acid

This is Orson Welles, speaking from London, she's a puppetry of death. The answer in her grim stone structure on the Thames, which houses scuff and yard, is a warehouse of homicide. Here, everyday objects of twine, a child's toy, murder, fabric with...

You can prove a body without leaving any tracing. Exactly, Sergeant. You'd better take a sample of it. Very well in the sector. The jar on the shelf here are you set? In the whole investigation department of the London police, we bring you the dramatic stories of the crimes recorded by the objects in Scotland Yard, Gallery of Death,

the Black Museum. On the shelf. I don't miss giving you up the law. Sorry if I kept you waiting my dear.

But just as I was leaving my room, I ran into Mr. Hart. You're such a lovely man. I think we couldn't resist stopping to have a few words with him. Mr. Hark. When I stood him, when I pointed out you at lunchtime, a hoist yes of course. He really is the sweetest thing to feel free me.

I thought you looked rather intriguing. He was introduced. I will, my dear. And sooner than you think, I've arced him to join us when he comes down. You don't mind, I hope. Oh, but comfort.

I'm so glad. I know you'll like you. It's making me mad now. So it is. Oh, Mr. Hart. Oh. Oh, forgive me for keeping you so long, Mrs. Regan. I had a little bollow at my next time.

Oh, please don't apologize. I only got to ride this minute myself. Oh, I'd like you to meet a very dear friend of mine, Mrs. Landbury. Agnes, Mr. Hart. How do you do, Mr. Hart? Mr. Hart. Delighted Mrs. Landry. I do hope I'm not intruding.