Black Museum-14-Four Small Bottles

This is Orson Welles speaking from London. The Black Museum. The famous repository of death. Here in the grim stone structure on the Thames, which houses Scotland Yard, is a warehouse of homicide. Where everyday objects, the northern where parts are silver, shilling, or typewriter ribbon, all are touched by murder.

First more bottles. Are there familiar objects, medicine bottles, Shining glass, cork, stompered, the labels in neat, clear handwriting, such bottles are in the medicine cabinet of almost every home. But these were found... Found one inspector, two on-size.

The others can't be far. Yes, here are two more. One ons capacity, these. Here's the fourth. In listen, little things, aren't they, sir? Well, today, those four small bottles have a place, a very honored place, 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. Yes, he lies death.

In these hundreds and hundreds of objects large and small is the means to death, a thousand methods of killing all neatly labeled to indicate who and what and where is a kitchen month. Long handle, gray with youth gray where the red brown stain fails to cover the grains.

Look closely at the harsh metal binds the strings of the utensil. Yes, this blade struck, and struck again before the mop itself removed the traces of the crime, the four small bottles, three of one-ounce capacity, one-holes, two-ounces.

They mark a strange story, a story out of the Edwardian era when man was still lord of all his surveyed and women were just beginning to demand equality. Through the ladies' reverend, although I would prefer tostrain them in something slightly stronger than tea.