CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
EIGHTH SESSION, HELD JUNE 10TH, 1872.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND, BY
JAMES DROVER BARNETT
Short-Hand Writers to the Court,
ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
THE POINTS OF LAW AND PRACTICE
REVISED AND EDITED, BY
EDWARD T. E BESLEY, ESQ.,
OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW.
STEVENS & SONS, 119, CHANCERY LANE.
On the Queen's Commission of
OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
The City of London,
AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX, AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY, WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
Held on Monday, June 10th, 1872, and following days,
BEFORE THE RIGHT HON. SIR SILLS JOHN GIBBONS, BART., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; Sir WILLIAM FRY CHANNELL, Knt., one of the Barons of Her Majesty's Court of Exchequer; Sir COLIN BLACKBURN , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's Court of Queen's Bench; THOMAS CHALLIS , Esq., WARREN STORMES HALE, Esq., Sir THOMAS GABRIEL , Bart, WILLIAM FERNELEY ALLEN, Esq., and Sir JAMES CLARKE LAWRENCE , Bart., M.P., Aldermen of the said City; The Right. Hon. RUSSELL GURNEY , Q.C., M.P., Recorder of the said City; DAVID HENRY STONE , Esq., THOMAS SCAMBLER OWDEN, Esq., and CHARLES WHETHAM, Esq., Aldermen of the said City; Sir THOMAS CHAMBERS , Knt., Q.C., M.P., Common Serjeant of the said City; Her Majesty's Justices of Oyer and Terminer and General Gaol Delivery of Newgate, holden for the said City, and Judges of the Central Criminal Court.
Sir FRANCIS WYATT TRUSCOTT, Knt., Alderman.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
GIBBONS, MAYOR. EIGHTH SESSION.
A star (*) denotes that prisoners have been previously in custody—two stars (**) that they have been more than once in custody—an obelisk (†) that they are known to be the associates of bad characters—the figures after the name in the indictment denote the prisoner's age.
LONDON AND MIDDLESEX CASES.
OLD COURT.—Monday, June 10th, and Tuesday, June 11th, 1872.
Before Mr. Recorder.
450. ALFRED PEACHEY (17) , to stealing three pairs of trowsers, two aprons, and some bread and cheese, of the Guardians of the Poor for the Holborn District*— Nine Months' Imprisonment. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
451. WILLIAM SUTTER (23), and ROBERT HANDLOW (43) , to stealing 10 lbs. of lead, the property of John Tomkins and another, their masters. SUTTER.— Six Months' Imprisonment. HANDLOW.— Nine Months' Imprisonment. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
MR. PLATT conducted the Prosecution.
DANIEL JACCARD . I live at the White Horse, Fetter Lane, and am a servant—on Tuesday, 21st May, about 11.30—I was in a public-house, in Dean Street, with the prisoner—we had some words about the French war—I said I did not want his company, and tried to get away from him many times—he wanted to fight me three times—he "went out of the house three times, and wanted me to go out and fight—I did not—at last when I went out he was waiting for me, and as soon as I got out he gave me a blow on
the chest with his fist—it did not hurt me much—I returned the blow once—a policeman who was standing close by told us to go away—I did so, and the prisoner followed me to King Street, about 20 yards from the public-house, when he came behind me and gave me a back-handed blow with a knife in the chest—I did not see what he had in his hand, but I immediately saw some blood coming down, and found I was stabbed—I had not affronted or annoyed the prisoner at all, except by giving him a blow after he struck me—I went to the hospital.
Prisoner. Q. With which hand did I strike you with the knife? A. With the right-hand—you came behind me on my left side—I know you had a knife, for some women who were there cautioned me and said "Go away, the man has a knife in his hand"—I gave you in charge to the policeman.
CHARLES REDGRAVE . I live at the Golden Lion, in Dean Street—the prisoner and prosecutor were quarrelling there about 9 o'clock on this night—the prisoner went out several times—when they were both outside, talking to the policeman, the prisoner struck at Jaccard (the prosecutor) twice—the policeman told Jaccard to go away, which he did—he had not proceeded far before the prisoner followed him, and when in King Street, I saw him strike Jaccard, I can't say where, and he struck him in return with his hand—I could not see anything in the prisoner's hand—the prosecutor called out, "Murder! Police!"—I did not see any blood—the prisoner was very violent—when he was laid hold of he tried to get at Jaccard again, they were quarrelling in the public-house, but it was in a foreign language, and I could not understand them, they were excited.
SAMUEL BOND (Policeman C 228). I was outside the Golden Lion, in Dean Street, on this evening—the prisoner came up to me and complained of somebody—I afterwards saw him come out with the prosecutor, and I saw him strike the prosecutor—I could not see where—about five minutes afterwards I saw him strike him again in King Street—the prosecutor did not return the blow then, I was between them, not till after two blows were given, one outside the public-house, and one in King Street—I got the prisoner away and he went into a restaurant—shortly afterwards the prosecutor came up and said he was stabbed—I took him to the hospital and another constable took the prisoner.
Prisoner. Q. Was it not you who brought me to the restaurant? A. No; I was outside the public-house door when you came out and talked about a man in the public-house; you were out there waiting for him an hour and a half, and you said "I will follow the b—, and you went up to him and knocked him; you first gave him a back-handed blow in the chest and he returned it—I walked away—I saw the blood on his waistcoat afterwards.
JOHN WATTS (Policeman C 113). I took the prisoner into custody in the restaurant, about 11.30—I told him it was for stabbing a man in King Street—he said "I will go with you as you are a friend of mine"—at the station he said "I did it, and if I can get hold of him I would murder him"—he was very violent.
ARTHUR HENRY SAVORY . I was house-surgeon of Charing Cross Hospital on the night of 21st when the prisoner was brought there about 12 o'clock—I found a punctured wound on the upper part of the left side of the chest,
extending from 1 in. to 7 1/2 in in length and in an oblique direction—it might have been inflicted by such a knife as this.
Prisoner's Defence. I had nothing in my hand when I gave him the blow in the face. I did not stab him at all with a knife; he insulted me in the public-house, and said I was a man of no education, because I could not speak English, and because I am a Hollander. He said they were low fellows and were put out of Belgium. That vexed me, and I asked him to go out with me. He would not, and I struck him in the face, and he struck me again, and that was all. I did not strike him with a knife.
GUILTY of unlawful wounding — Nine Months' Imprisonment.
MR. COOPER conducted the Prosecution; and MR. HARRIS the Defence.
CHARLES VANT (Policeman N 128). On 2nd June, about 4.30 in the morning, I was going down a mews at the back of Lyon Terrace, Seven Sisters' Road, and discovered the prisoner in the act of putting down the kitchen window of 3, Lyon Terrace—I am quite sure he is the man—it was quite daylight—I could see his features distinctly—he immediately left the window and ran the way I was—I went towards the house and saw another man looking over the garden wall, I also saw another man on the wall—I gave chase over several walls, the prisoner took to the fields—with the assistance of Waltham I chased and captured him, the other two got away—I found on the prisoner some matches, a comb, a key, and a pocket-knife—the matches corresponded with some that were found in the house.
Cross-examined. I saw his features well—his back was to me when he was closing the window, but then he turned round towards me to run from the window, and got over the wall—I ran half a mile before I caught him—he told me he was a painter—he said he was coming home from the Jolly Butchers, and went into a gateway to ease himself, that he heard a cry of "Stop him," and as he was trespassing he thought he had better make off.
JAMES WALTHAM . I am a drover, and live at 8, Albert Place, Holloway—on Sunday morning, 2nd June, about 4.30 I heard a cry of "Stop him"—I saw that my sheep had been disturbed, and saw the prisoner running across the fields towards me—when he saw me he turned in a different direction—I ran after him with my dog and caught him.
EDWARD MUDGE (Policeman N 439). On 2nd June, about 4.30 a.m., I met Vant with the prisoner in custody—I went to 3, Lyon Terrace, and in the garden found these two umbrellas—the kitchen window was open 5 in. or 6 in.—I called up the inmates.
FANNY WADSWORTH . I am servant to Mr. William Paton, of 3, Lyon Terrace—on Saturday night, about 10.15, I went to bed—I shut down the kitchen window, drew down the blind, and closed the shutters and barred them—next morning I was called up by the police and found the window open, and the shutters thrown back—I had a box of lucifers that night on the kitchen mantel-piece, three-parts full, and in the morning I found it on the side cupboard, and the matches strewed about the kitchen—these umbrellas belong to my master.
GUILTY — Nine Months' Imprisonment.
MESSRS. SLADE and COLLINS conducted the Prosecution.
JOSEPH RIVERS . I am an overseer of letter-carriers at the Holloway sorting-office—the prisoner has been employed in that office as a letter-carrier since the middle of February—his district of delivery was a portion of Barnsbury and the neighbourhood round there—each of the letter-carriers have a cupboard in the kitchen if they require one—the prisoner had one which he kept locked—I have a duplicate key—on the 8th May, I went to his cupboard and found upwards of 300 letters and packets—they were all addressed to persons residing in the prisoner's walk, and bore post marks from 10th March till 4th May—it was the prisoner's duty to deliver those letters at their owners on the dates with which they were stamped—the first six in this packet are dated 19th March, 4th April, 12th April, 23rd March, and 16th April—it was his duty to deliver them to the persons to whom they were addressed on those days—he must have known that was his duty—he has a copy of the rules, and there it is stated—the postmaster, Mr. Wilson, and Mr. Gardner, spoke to the prisoner in my presence on 8th May—he was asked how he came to detain those letters—he said he had kept them in his bag several days, and was then afraid to return them to the office—these are some of the letters—I delivered some to the persons to whom they were addressed—there was no difficulty in finding them out—I have got some few of the covers back—none of the letters had been opened—there was no appearance of their being letters of value.
GEORGE ADOLPHUS HYLAND . I am inspector of letter-carriers at the Northern District office—on 8th May last I received some letters from Mr. Rivers—I delivered about twenty-five at their addresses—I received some of the envelopes back—I have them here—there is one addressed to Mrs. Gordon, 4, Grove Road, bearing the post-mark of April 4—that should have been delivered on the same evening—there is one addressed to Mrs. Chambers, Hollingsworth Street, posted on 12th April, and should have been delivered the same evening; two addressed to Mrs. Hanson, 66, St. James's Road; both posted on 23rd March, and should have been delivered the same evening.
THOMAS LURTON . I am assistant inspector at the Northern Office—I delivered about twenty letters to the various addresses, and I received some of the envelopes back—this is one, addressed to Mrs. Venables, bearing the post-mark of 19th March—it should have been delivered on that day.
Prisoner's Defence. I did not wilfully detain them for any purpose; but the reason why I put them in my locker was because they were half not known; and I put them in my locker as I could not find them.
GUILTY — Six Months' Imprisonment.
NEW COURT.—Monday, June 10th, 1872.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
457. JOHN RICHARDS (18) , to a like offence—He received a good character, and MR. WOOD, for the defence, stated that he would give information to the Police, and that his master would take him back— Judgment respited. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. CRAUFURD conducted the Prosecution.
SAMUEL HENRY TEBBUTT . I keep the Green Man, Little George Street, Westminster—on 6th May, about 10.40 p.m., my sister-in-law served the prisoner with a glass of ale—she gave me a shilling—I said that it was bad, and the prisoner threw down a good shilling—I asked him how many more he had got—it was then bent, and the prisoner broke it in two, and gave me part of it—I asked him where the other piece was; he said he had not got it—he had had a glass or two, but was not the worse for liquor—I gave him in charge, and saw the other half of the shilling taken out of his mouth at the station, bitten in two.
THOMAS PARSONS (Policeman B 274). On 6th May I was on duty near Westminster Sessions House, and saw the prisoner stooping down near the National Society's Repository—he seemed to be hiding something—I walked towards him, and he walked away hastily—I followed him, but lost sight of him—I was afterwards called to Mr. Tebbutt's house, and the prisoner was given into my custody—I told him the charge; he said nothing—I received from Mr. Tebbutt this half of a bad shilling, and asked the prisoner for the other half—he said he had not got it—I took him to the stat ion, searched him, and found three good sixpences, a threepenny piece, and these two pieces of a bad shilling, which match the other part, but do not quite make up the whole shilling—I then examined the spot where I had seen the prisoner stooping, and found a bad shilling between two penny pieces, placed by the scraper of the National Society's Repository.
Prisoner's Defence. I had no idea the shilling was bad; if I had, should not I have put it by the scraper with the other? I received it in change for a half-crown.
PLEADED GUILTY**— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. CRAUFURD conducted the Prosecution.
RICHARD BARTLETT . I keep the Robert's Arms, Devonport Street, Commercial Road—on Saturday night, 4th May, my wife brought me a half-crown—I went into my bar, and saw Carter with a man—I told him it was a bad half-crown—he said "It is a bad job, I must take it back" I put it into his hand, and he put it in his pocket and paid me with a good shilling, and treated me to some drink—they then left, and I followed them and saw them join Daniels at Stepney Church, where I gave them in custody, but the man got away—Davis said she did not know it was bad, that Carter gave it to her—Daniels took a purse out of her pocket, and Carter tried to snatch it from her—the constable took it, and it contained nine bad half crowns.
Daniels. I did not know whether there was anything bad in the purse; the man said "Will you hold it for me?"
Carter. Q. Did not you decline to give me in custody because you
knew the man? A. No; but I did know him, he had worked on my premises—I gave him back the coin.
WILLIAM ACKRILL (Policeman K 561). I saw the prisoners detained by Mr. Bartlett—I took Carter—I asked her what she had got—Daniels said "I have got the purse, but I did not know the money was bad"—when we got to the station, Carter snatched the purse from Davis's hand—I took it from her, and found in it eight bad half-crowns, wrapped up in separate papers, and one not wrapped up, also some coppers and a sixpence—I found on Daniels two good shillings and 6d. worth of coppers.
Daniels' Defence. I am innocent.
Carter's Defence. It is very hard that I should be locked up. The man is the person who should be taken.
GUILTY — Nine Months' Imprisonment each.
MESSRS. COLERIDGE and DE MICHELE conducted the Prosecution.
EMMA TUFFEY . I am barmaid at the Royal Standard—eight weeks ago, between 6 and 7 p.m., I served the prisoner and another man with some beer; the prisoner gave me a florin—my mistress drew my attention to it, and I found it was bad—there was no other florin in the till—the florin Mrs. Bailey found was the one the prisoner gave me—on 10th April I picked out the prisoner from ten men.
Prisoner. Q. Did your mistress point me out to you? A. No—eight or nine men were round you—the date was after the Thanksgiving Day—my mistress said "Can you identify anybody in the bar?" and I pointed to you as the young man who gave me the florin.
Re-examined. I afterwards went to Marylebone Police Court, and picked the prisoner out from half-a-dozen others—nobody pointed him out—my mistress took the coin out of the till a few minutes afterwards—I had not been serving in the interval; nobody had come in, and nobody else was there who could have taken it.
ELIZABETH BAILEY . I am the wife of James Bailey, who keeps the Royal Standard, Camden Town—in the beginning of March, about 6 p.m., the prisoner and another man came in, and I saw my barmaid serve them, and not more than a minute afterwards I looked into the till, and took out a florin and found it was bad—there was no other florin there—the prisoner had then gone; the other man had not, but he went immediately afterwards—I had examined the till a few minutes before—I put the florin in the fire, and it melted—on 28th April, in the evening, the prisoner came again for a glass of ale, and gave me a florin—I weighed it in my hand, and could tell that it was bad—I told him I could bite it if he chose—he said "Don't do that, I can take it back to where I had it from"—he paid me with a good florin—I recognised him as the man who had given the bad one before, and called Tuffey, who came down into the bar, and called the prisoner out to her in the passage—I told him he was the young man who gave us one before, and it was a shame for him to come again—he said he was not the man, he was a commercial traveller, and was at Grove's End at the time, and could bring his lawyer to prove it—I gave the florin to the police.
COURT. Q. Had you named it to him when he was there? A. Yes, between six and eight weeks before.
Prisoner. Q. Do you mean to say that it was six or eight weeks previous to your first appearance at Marlborough Street, or your last appearance? A. It was eight weeks from the time you changed the second one—I said it was six or eight weeks; I did not say it was eight—I was making a window curtain in the parlour at the time; that required my sight.
Re-examined. I have not the slightest doubt the prisoner is the man.
JOHN REED (Policeman). On 28th April Mrs. Bailey gave the prisoner into my custody—he said he was not aware he had any bad coin; he had changed a 5s. piece of an omnibus conductor—she said in his presence that he had passed a bad florin on a previous occasion—I found in his trowsers pocket a florin, a shilling, a sixpence, and 3d.—I asked him where the bad money was, and he gave me this bad florin from his coat pocket—I bit it, and broke it in pieces.
Prisoner's Defence. Not being able to get any proper account of the date of the occurrence, I am unable to bring any witnesses, or I could prove that I was not in the shop at all. I have a letter here from a gentleman at Winchester, offering his evidence, but he cannot get the date.
GUILTY — Six Months' Imprisonment.
MESSRS. COLERIDGE and DE MICHELE conducted the Prosecution; and MR. ST. AUBYN defended J. and E. Pollard.
ELIZABETH BRICKNELL . I am barmaid at the Blackstock Tavern, Seven Sisters' Road—on 25th May, about 10.30, the male prisoners came in, and Kuypers called for a pint of ale—he gave me a half-crown, and I gave him the change, and laid it on the edge of the till by itself—I afterwards gave it to Mr. Wells, who came in—they both drank of the beer.
Cross-examined. I did not see the female prisoners—no money passed between me and John Pollard—there were a good many people in the bar.
WILLIAM WELLS . I keep the Blackstock Tavern—on 25th May, about 10.30 at night I saw Pollard and the other man come in—I received this bad half-crown from the last witness—I told the men it was bad—one of them, I do not know which, said that they took it in change, and Pollard pulled out a shilling, and said he would be a shilling towards it—Kuypers then gave me 1s. 6d., and I threw down the bad half-crown—one of them took it up—I went out before them, and they came out two or three minutes afterwards—Pollard was watching—he came round the side of the house where I was; it is a corner house—the other men joined him, and they went away together—they crossed the road, and joined the two females some little distance up the road—Kuypers went into a tobacconist's shop, and afterwards joined them again—they separated several times—I pointed them out to a policeman.
Cross-examined. Pollard said that the other one took the half-crown in change for a half-sovereign—he did not mention his name—they both said so.
WILLIAM CLARK . Mr. Wells pointed the prisoners out to me and I watched them with Richards, all four walking down Seven Sisters' Road—the two women were forty or fifty paces down Medina Road, and then Kuypers stooped down and threw her hand towards the iron railings opposite No. 3
—there are small, narrow gardens to those houses—I heard the rattle of money, Pollard was there, eight or ten paces from her—he did not know her before she stooped down—we took the two women, and took them along Isledon Road, where the two male prisoners came up, and Pollard asked us what we were going to do with the women—I said "You will see directly, and seized Pollard—he struggled, and I had to let the woman go—I took him to the station—Kuypers followed, and when he got there he was taken into custody—I afterwards went to 46, Isledon Road, and in the garden there saw the other constable pick up a purse—I then went to 3, Medina Road, where Kuypers stooped down and found this bag, containing two florins and eleven half-crowns in tissue paper—Pollard gave his address 114, High Street, Stoke Newington—Sarah Pollard was searched at the station, and there was found on her six shillings, five sixpences, two 3d. pieces, and 1s. 11d. in copper, and on Jane Kuypers a good florin and 1d.
Cross-examined. All the money found on Jane Kuypers was good—it was dark at the time—this is the purse I picked up at No. 46—it was eighteen or twenty inches inside the garden—there was no bad money in it—there was a bill in it containing Pollard's address—nothing was found on Pollard—Mrs. Pollard did nothing at any time.
Re-examined. When Kuypers stooped down Mr. Pollard was by her side—they were both on the pavement.
WILLIAM RICHARDS (Policeman Y 422). I assisted Clark to take Jane Kuypers—the two male prisoners came up, and Pollard and Clark had a struggle, during which I saw Pollard throw something out of her hand over into a garden opposite 46, Isledon Road—I afterwards went there and picked up this purse, containing a half-crown, a florin, and three shillings, all good, and a bill, on which was "John Pollard, 10, James Street."
THOMAS LUKE (Detective Officer). Richards gave me this bill, and I made enquiries at 8, Lindsey Cottages, Morton Road, Essex Road, Islington, on Monday, 26th May—the door was on the latch—it is a small cottage, one room down stairs and one up—I found in the up stairs room this white metal, this basin of silver sand, wet, and this glass of white liquid, which has dried up—this saucer with powder in it, and this bag of plaster of Paris, some melted white metal, and some parings of white metal—this rag and these scissors, also two rent books, one relating to James Street and the other to Lindsay Cottage.
Cross-examined. There was a bed in the house which appeared as if only one person had occupied it, but there was a bed for children as well—I think from the appearance of the house that there had been a woman there—no children were there, they had been taken away.
JAMES GOAD . I am an auctioneer, of 287, Essex Road, and am agent for 8, Lindsay Cottage, and let the house to Sarah Pollard on 6th May, she said she took it for her husband, who worked for her father, at 4s. 6d. a week—this is the rent-book, and this is my writing in it—Mrs. Pollard paid some rent on 18th May, and I believe her husband was present—they made the observation that I had forgotten one shilling deposit, and that the balance would be 5s. 9d. for a week and a half—I have never seen Pollard at any other time—they were only there a fortnight.
WILLIAM WEBSTER . Here are eleven counterfeit half-crowns, of 1850, all from one mould, and two counterfeit florins of 1871—the leather pocket-book, said to have been thrown away by Pollard, contains three good shillings, and a good half-crown of 1850, the pattern for making the mould
from which the eleven counterfeits have been made—then there is a good florin of 1871, the pattern of these bad florins—all this bad money has been made from these two patterns—here are files, plaster of Paris, white metal, a tumbler which had acid in it, and everything necessary for coining, except wire and the moulds.
MR. ST. AUBYN contended that Jane Pollard was acting under her husband, and was therefore entitled to be acquitted. MR. COLERIDGE submitted that as Jane Pollard was not indicted as a married woman, the onus of proof that she was so lay upon her. THE COURT considered that it was a question for the Jury.
John Kuyper's Defence. How can they say that they heard these things jingle? the policeman was thirty or forty yards behind. I think you will find my wife not guilty.
Jane Kuyper's Defence. We get our living by hawking. He had two papers to sell, and sold one for 2s. and another for a half-crown; the half-crown was bad, and we were taken in custody.
JOHN POLLARD PLEADED GUILTY** to a former conviction for having house-breaking implements in his possession.— Two Years' Imprisonment.
JOHN KUYPERS Eighteen Months' Imprisonment. JANE KUYPERS and ELIZABETH POLLARD Twelve Months' Imprisonment each.
462. EDWARD LLEWELLYN, (21) , to a burglary in the dwelling-house of William George Read Carruthers, and stealing seventy-four yards of silk, four coats and other articles, his property.— Twelve Months' Imprisonment. And
463. WILLIAM SULLIVAN, (15), and WILLIAM PERKINS, (13) , to breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Jacob Lazarns, and stealing there in seven cloth jackets and other articles, his property.— SULLIVAN, One Month's Imprisonment, and Three Years' in a Reformatory. PERKINS One Months' Imprisonment, and Four Years' in a Reformatory.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, June 11th 1872.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
464. EDWIN CARPENTER (17) , PLEADED GUILTY to stealing two orders for the payment of 5l. 10s., and 50l., of the Great Northern Railway Company, his masters, who recommended him to mercy, and his father engaged to send him abroad.— Judgment Respited.
467. CHARLES WANDA (25) , to stealing in the dwelling-house of Harriett Edwards, two coats and other articles, the property of Herman Carl Wilke.— Three Months' Imprisonment. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. RIBTON conducted the Prosecution; and MR. THORNE COLE the Defence.
THOMAS TEW (Detective Officer M). On 19th March, about 11 o'clock, I saw the prisoner on Rheidal Terrace, Islington, about a mile and a half from Mr. Jackson's—Payne was wearing this coat, which was too large for him, and he had this pair of trousers under his arm—I stopped him and asked
him what he had under his arm, and where he got the coat from—he said they were his own, he brought them from home—Bartlett walked sharp across the road, and Payne called out, "George come back here"—he did not come back, but the Inspector fetched him back—I took Payne—the Inspector took Bartlett—I searched the trousers at the station and found in them a bill-head with the name of Perry on it, and "Mr. Jackson," which enabled me to find him out—he came to the station and identified the coat and trousers.
Cross-examined. He said he had brought them from Rodney Street, St. Luke's—it is about two and a half or three miles from the Eagle, in the City Road, to the prosecutor's house, and from the Eagle to Rheidal Terrace, is about a mile and a half.
THOMAS ATKINSON JACKSON . I am a plumber, of 12, Western Terrace, Green Lanes, Stoke Newington—I identify this coat and trousers—on 19th May, about 10.10 or 10.15, I closed my house and parlour door—about ten minutes afterwards my wife called my attention to something—I went up stairs and found the parlour door and the inner door of the front door open—I did not miss the property till the constable came, about 12 o'clock—it had been in the parlour behind the shop—when he came I searched and missed a pair of boots, the coat, with some letters in the pocket which were of more value to me than the coat, and a pair of trousers—I have never seen the letters since—I went to the station and found the clothes there, and a memorandum from Mr. Perry, in the trousers pocket.
Cross-examined. I was examined before the Magistrate, and said that it was from 10.15 to 10.30, that my wife called my attention, but I think I was off my guard—I am quite of opinion that it did not exceed 10.15.
Payne, in his statement before the Magistrate said, that he was taking a walk, and a man asked him to buy the coat and trousers, after which Bartlett spoke to him.
Bartlett's statement: "I met Payne and spoke to him, and the Inspector took hold of me."
Witness for Bartlett.
ELIZA SMITH . I live at 4, Picard Street, Frog Lane, Islington—I know Bartlett—I was with him on the night at the Eagle Tavern, City Road, about 10.30—we had been there about a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes—I live at his father's—I had had dinner and tea at his father's—I left the Eagle Tavern with him, and we went as far as the Packington public-house, just by Rheidal Terrace, and I left him there—I don't think it is so far as a mile and a half from the Eagle to Rheidal Terrace, but it is some distance.
Cross-examined. My husband is a coppersmith—Bartlett is my nephew—I am his mother's youngest sister—he is a basket-maker—this was WhitSunday night—I had asked him to see me home—I know his history—I never heard of his being in the House of Correction—he could not have been there more than once without my knowing it; not that I know of, but I did not very often go to see him.
MR. COLE objected to the witness being asked to prove the prisoner's bad character, he not having raised the question of character. MR. RIBTON contended that he could do so on cross-examination. THE COURT refused to allow the admission of the evidence; the defence being an alibi, the issue of bad character could not be raised—I know he was at work the day before in St. John Street Road, at Mr. Cockford's, I think the name is—I saw his master here yesterday, and he said he would give him a good character—I saw Bartlett every day in the week before, because I used to go to his mother's house, 5, Ironmonger Road—I used to see him at the dinner hour—I did not hear him mention the dinner hour just now—I was at his mother's house all Sunday—I went there to dinner and stopped till about 10 o'clock in the evening—I live at home, but my husband went out to enjoy himself and I did the same—I have one child—I asked Bartlett to see me home as I had a blot in my eye, which I am now getting rid of—we went and had something to drink—I can't say how long we stayed—he wished me good night, about 10.50—I know that because it was 10.30, when we left the Eagle—I said to him, "Will you please to look up and tell me what the time is," as I could not see, and he said "It is half past 10 o'clock'—I heard no more till he was before the Magistrate—I did not wish to come here, but his mother said I was in duty bound to come—I don't wish myself disgraced and my husband too.
PAYNE— GUILTY .— Six Months' Imprisonment.
BARTLETT— NOT GUILTY .
MR. LILLEY conducted the Prosecution.
JOHN COGAN . I live at 5a, Pye Street, Westminster—it is a lodging-house—on 4th June, a short time before 5 o'clock, I was sitting at a table in the kitchen, taking my tea, at the end towards the door, and the two prisoners came in together—there were several persons in the kitchen—they both came up to where I was sitting, one alongside me and the other opposite—Brown asked me for some tea—I said "I have got no tea to give you; I shall be obliged to you if you will keep your distance; you have no command of me, nor I of you"—a man sitting above me reached Jones a saucer of tea, which she drank, and flung the saucer at me—it broke on the back of my neck—they then called me names which I could not express; they called me out of character, all the bad names they could think of—I stood up, and put my hand like this, and said to Brown "Go away," and then Jones called me names, and Brown picked a knife up from the table, which I had been using, and stabbed me in the back of the poll, and then followed me up, and stubbed me a little below the ball of the left eye, near my nose—my other eye has been totally dark for a year—while Brown stabbed me, Jones caught hold of my hair, and pulled me—I said "I am stabbed; I must go to the hospital"—the blood was running out of my eye, in a stream, on my clothes and on the floor, and all the way from there to the hospital, where the surgeon bandaged my head and strapped up my eye—the blood continued after that till I went to Rochester Row before the Police Magistrate—I saw the prisoners together the same evening in Tothill Street, and gave them in custody, but the constable could only take one—Jones got away, but she came to the Court afterwards, and was detained.
Brown. Q. Was not I tipsy? A. You were both drunk, but you knew what you were doing and saying—I did not take indecent liberties with you, nor did you say "You dirty old beast, if you don't go away I will hit you"—nothing of the sort.
Jones. Q. Did not Brown take a saucer from the blind man, and was
not that what she cut your head with? A. No—I did not see it hit my elbow.
MOSES PEAK . I lodge in this house—on 4th June I was in the kitchen, a little before 5 o'clock, and saw the prisoners come in—one stood on one side of Cogan and the other at the other side of the table—they asked him for tea—he said "I have no tea, only what will do for myself; you have nothing to do with me; go away, and leave me alone; I am an old man"—a blind man who was sitting next him, said "I will give you a saucer of tea if you will go away and sit yourself down"—he gave a saucer of tea to Jones, who drank of it, and said "Here, sister, you have the remainder"—after that they called the old gentleman names not fit to be mentioned in Court—he put his hand out, and said "Now, go away from me"—Jones picked the saucer up after she had put it down, and sent it at him, and it was broken, but where it hit him I could not say—Brown then picked something up, and Jones was holding him by the hair and blood was flowing from the back of his neck—I pulled Jones away, and saw Brown stab him with a knife in the corner of the eye—I made a grab at her, and took the knife out of her hand—he said "Oh, dear! I am blind; I must go to the hospital," and blood flowed down his face on to the floor—I could not tell what sort of a face he had, for blood—this is the knife—he said "Entertain them; I must go to the hospital." and another one from the house went with him—Brown said "There, sister, see what execution I have done"—I allowed them to go, and as soon as they got to the door, away they ran, as if they were shot; they did not stop to walk—I afterwards went with Cogan to the Broadway, and gave them in charge, but the police-man could only take one—the other one came to the Police Court, and was given into custody—they were both sober; they could run as well as I could.
Brown. I was very tipsy; I only remember throwing the saucer. Witness. It was not you who threw the saucer; it was Jones.
Jones. It was not me, it was Brown. Witness. Neither of you sat down—the old man took no indecent liberties with you—he is as nice an old man as you will see in the room.
WILLIAM DIXON . I am deputy at this lodging-house—I was sitting in the kitchen just before 5 o'clock, when the prisoners came in—they went up to Cogan and asked him for some tea—I have heard what Cogan and Peek have said, they have accurately described what passed—I saw Brown with a knife, and saw her use it on the old man—Jones abused him, and used bad language to him, but I did not see her throw the saucer—there were about twenty people in the kitchen, and some of them obstructed the view of what was going on—the prisoners were the worse for drink, but they knew what they were about.
JOHN MURPHY (Policeman B 321). I was on duty in Tothill Street—the prisoner gave me information, and I took Brown—she was with Jones—she was under the influence of drink, but knew what she was about—she could walk and run—she kicked me several times and made several attempts to bite me—she threw herself down on the pavement and kept biting; on her hands and legs being kept down, I obtained the assistance of another constable, and she was taken to the station on a stretcher; she was very violent—Jones was afterwards taken at the station—Peak produced the knife to me; there was blood on it.
Hospital—Cogan came there, and I examined him, and found a wound on his face, just below the left eye, rather more than half an inch long and penetrating to the bone—that on the back of his head was an inch and a half long, penetrating to the bone—he came again some hours afterwards to say that his eye had been bleeding again, but I told him to go home I did not think much of it—if it had been half an inch higher, it would have blinded him for life, or deprived him of life—the wound on the back of his head was comparatively unimportant—I daresay it was painful—it healed remarkably fast—the wounds might have been inflicted by this knife.
Brown's Defence. I was very tipsy, and obliged to be taken on a stretcher. I am not accustomed to drink. I never used a knife. This woman had nothing to do with it. I threw the saucer.
Jones' Defence. I was not concerned in it.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding —BROWN Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
JONES Eight Months' Imprisonment.
MESSRS. STRAIGHT and METCALFE conducted the Prosecution; and MR. LILLET the Defence.
ELIZABETH EDEY . I live at Southampton—on 10th August, 1861, I was present at the Registrar's Office, when the prisoner, Mr. Cavendish, was married to Alethea Thomas, who I saw in Paris on 16th May last—I am certain she is the same woman who was married to the prisoner—I signed the register.
Cross-examined. I was living in the neighbourhood, and was fetched out of my house into the Registrar's Office—I saw the man and woman for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour—we were waiting for a few minutes—this was eleven years ago—I held no conversation with the lady or gentleman—I do not think the lady I saw in Paris on 16th May, 1872, was pitted with small pox, I cannot pledge my oath that she was not—I did not see her more than five minutes—Mr. Carrick, the solicitor, took me over there—I had no interview with Sergeant Ham before I went to Paris; I did not see him—I did not bring the lady away—there was a change in her, certainly, but I had seen her five years ago—if I had met her in the street, I might very likely have passed her as a stranger, but I quite recognised her as the same person—I had a gentleman with me.
Re-examined. When I saw her, five years ago, I was called as a witness on a former trial—she was alive then.
MARY BELL . I am the wife of Mr. Bell, of Southampton—I was present at the marriage of Henry Cavendish with Alethea Thomas at the Registry Office—I have compared this document with the original register at Southampton—it is correct—the prisoner is the man who was married that day in the name of Henry Cavendish—I saw the lady at Southampton about five years ago, and on 16th May at Paris—she was the same person who was married in 1861. (The certificate was here put in of a marriage at the Registrar's Office, on 10th August, 1861, between Henry Cavendish, bachelor, aged 63, and Alethea Thomas, spinster, aged 27. Witnessed by Elizabeth Edey and Mary Boyce)—Mary Boyce is my niece.
Cross-examined. In 1861 I resided at the Registrar's Office, and was called down by the Registrar to be present as a witness—I saw the parties three or four times—I met them in the street after the marriage—I wil
pledge myself that I met them more than once afterwards—I held no conversation with them on the day of the union, nor afterwards—the bachelor bridegroom was not 75 years old then, that is 12 years ago—I saw Alethea Thomas five years ago—I went to Paris with Mr. Carrick—he told me that he went for the purpose of identifying her—I recognised her by coming to the office—she came there three times—I had seen her twice before the marriage, but I do not know any of her relations—I did not see her husband till he came to the office—I saw the lady for about half an hour in Paris—I did not observe that she had suffered from small-pox since my first acquaintance with her—I saw nothing of that description—I should have recognised her if I had met her in High Street, Southampton, in 1872—I never saw a little girl with her, and if I had that would not have shaken my notion of identity at all.
Re-examined. I had known Mr. Carrick in 1867—I had then to identify Alethea Thomas in respect of some other proceedings—I then saw her alive.
ANN ELIZABETH PUGH . I live at 17, Hart Street, Bloomsbury—I made the defendant's acquaintance and married him on 9th August, 1869, at St. James's, Pimlico—he gave the name of Richard Edward Conway Seymour—I cohabited with him for some time, but ultimately I found out certain things which induced me to leave him, and institute these proceedings—he mentioned Alethea—he said that he met her one day—he did not mention her name—it was not to me he said it, but to somebody else—that was last summer, after our marriage.
Cross-examined. The marriage took place on 9th August, 1869, and we lived together till January, 1872, with the exception of his being in prison in Brussels—he treated me with affection and kindness, and we interchanged letters from time to time—it was in consequence of proceedings I instituted last January that these proceedings were instituted—he courted me about a month before we were married—I personally prosecute.
JAMES HAM (Detective Sergeant P). I was on the look out for some time for the prisoner since last January—on 30th May I saw him leave 129, Laurie Terrace, St. George's Road—I followed him, touched him on the shoulder, and said, "Mr. Seymour, I believe"—he said "No, certainly not, you have made a mistake."—I said "Cavendish, then?'—he said "No it is not, you have made a mistake"—I said "No, I think I had the pleasure of meeting you a short time ago in Brussels?—he looked up in my face and laughed, and said "Really, I should not have recognised you if you had not recognised me"—I said "Well, I am going to take you in custody for intermarrying with Miss Pugh, knowing at the time that your wife Alethea was alive"—he said "Oh, yes, very well; this is the second time you have had me; I should think you were doing pretty well"—I took him to the station—I was here in July, 1867, and heard an indictment read over to the prisoner in the Third Court—I then heard it stated in his presence that Alethea Thomas was alive—I heard no exception to that statement.
Cross-examined. I did not go to Paris in May, 1872—I saw the lady witnesses at Marlborough Street when the prisoner was committed—I had not seen either of them prior to the prisoner's apprehension this year.
HENRY AVORY . I am Clerk of Arraigns at this Court, and have the custody of all documents in the trials here—I produce an indictment charging Henry Cavendish with bigamy; also the minute-book relating to this indictment on the trial—I find that at the July Session, 1867, Henry Cavendish was called upon to plead—this is not in my writing—it is the
Record and the Minute-book—they have always been held to be sufficient evidence—he first pleaded not guilty, but afterwards, by leave of the Court, withdrew his plea and confessed himself guilty—it was alleged that he had been married to Alethea Thomas, on 7th May, 1864, and that in her lifetime he married another person, knowing his wife to be alive.
PLEADED GUILTY**— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, June 12th, 13th, and 14th, 1872.
Before Mr. Baron Channell.
MR. ATTORNEY-GENERAL, with MESSRS. POLAND, ARCHIBALD, and BESLEY, conducted the Prosecution; and MR. POWELL, Q.C., with MESSRS. GOUGH, W. WRIGHT, and MIREHOUSE, the Defence.
The prisoner being a Belgian, and not understanding English, the evidence was interpreted to her by Mr. Charles Albert.
ELIZA WATTS . I was formerly in the service of Madame Riel, as housemaid, and had been so for about four months before this matter occurred—the household consisted of Madame Riel, her daughter, the prisoner, and myself; the prisoner was the cook; she came into Madame Riel's service in January last—on Easter Sunday, 31st March, Mademoiselle Riel went to Paris—the prisoner cannot speak English; I was able to understand her, by motions—she told me that she was going to leave on 21st April—on Saturday, 6th April, Madame Riel dined at home; a friend dined with her in the evening—after dinner the food was placed in the pantry on the ground floor, on the same floor as the dining-room and parlour—Madame kept the key of that pantry—after I had placed the food there, Madame locked the door and put the key in her pocket—it was her practice always to keep that door locked—there was an iron safe in that pantry—before dinner was over, on this Saturday, Madame told me to go down and tell the prisoner to come up, she wanted to speak to her—I told her, and she went up and saw Madame—afterwards, the prisoner had her dinner and went out; I think that was at 9 o'clock—she did not tell me what she went out for—she returned just before 12 o'clock—at that time Madame's friend had gone, and she had gone to bed; I was sitting up in the kitchen for the prisoner—she let herself in with the area key—she brought in with her some articles of food for the next day—shortly after she came in, she and I went up stairs to bed—my bedroom was on the third floor, and she occupied a separate room on the same floor; Madame's bedroom was the front room on the second floor, and on the first floor was the drawing-room and Mademoiselle Riel's bedroom—Madame, the prisoner, and I were the only three persons who slept in the house that night—on the following morning, Sunday, the 7th, I got up at 7.30, and went down stairs into the kitchen; the prisoner was there—about 8 o'clock I went up to Madame's bedroom, to take up her breakfast, some tea and bread and butter—she was in bed—I lighted the fire in her bedroom and afterwards went down stairs—the prisoner and I were together in the
kitchen—I went up stairs again about 9.30, I did not go into Madame's room then, not until about 10 o'clock—I went in once or twice—at two or three minutes past 11 o'clock her bell rang, I went up to her bedroom, and she was then up and dressed—she told me that I might do her bedroom—I proceeded to do it—Madame put on her bonnet and cloak, and said she was going out into the Green Park for a quarter of an hour, and she told me if a lady called I was to tell her she would be back in a quarter of an hour—she then went down stairs—she had a little dog which followed after her—I should think it was about 11.20 when she went down stairs—I remained up stairs doing the room; I went down just before 12 o'clock—while I was up stairs nothing attracted my attention, I never heard the least noise—when I came down to the ground floor I saw the dog in the hall—I went down into the kitchen, and on my way down I called out twice "Marguerite, where are you?"—the prisoner made me no answer—I went into the kitchen and saw the prisoner at the kitchen window; out-side; the window opens on to the front area—it is about a yard or more from the floor; it is a very narrow area—the area railings in the street are boarded up—when I got into the kitchen Marguerite told me that Madame came and shut the door as she was out in the area, and locked it and took the key, and had gone out—Marguerite then came into the kitchen with some coals—she came in through the window, and brought some coals with her—I looked at the kitchen door leading to the area and to the coal cellar, it was locked and the key taken away—I said to the prisoner "Madame has not taken the dog," she made no answer—Madame's regular breakfast time was 1 o'clock, at 8 o'clock it was merely tea and bread and butter—the prisoner said that Madame had ordered no breakfast, and she had gone out—about 12.20 or 12.25 the prisoner wished me to go and fetch some beer—I told her I could not get it before 1 o'clock, because on the Sunday the publicans were shut up—she made no answer to that—she asked me once or twice before 1 o'clock to fetch the beer, and I told her I could not get it before 1 o'clock—about 1.5 or 1.10 she got the jug and gave it to me—I went up stairs, and she followed after me to see whether the publican's was open—I went out at the front street door—the prisoner looked out at the door in the direction of the public-house, and said "The public-house is open"—it is on the same side of the way as No. 13, next door but one, in the direction of Piccadilly—I went there and got the beer—I was absent five minutes—when I got back to the door it was shut—I rang the bell, and could get no answer; I rang and knocked again two or three times—I should think I was outside a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes—the prisoner then came to the door and let me in—I asked her why she did not come to answer the door—she said she thought it was Madame—I said if I had not been in the way she would have had to answer the door if Madame came to the door—she said nothing to that—we then went into the kitchen and had some beer—it was usual for me to fetch the beer on Sunday, I have to go for the beer—I did not notice anything in the kitchen, everything was in its place—I did not notice any difference from when I went out—I then went up stairs to dress—the prisoner followed me soon after to her bedroom—she remained upstairs a long time, an hour and a half—I went to the kitchen stairs, and called out and asked her what she was doing, why did not she come down?—she made no answer, she came down soon after—I asked her what she stayed up stairs so long for—she made no answer—in the afternoon, after she had come down stairs, a French lady, a friend of Madame
Riel's called; it was not the same lady who was there on the Saturday—she came before 4 o'clock; she came to dinner—she remained till about 7 o'clock in Madame's bedroom, and then left—the prisoner had not prepared anything for dinner, only the soup—I did not notice anything about the prisoner in the afternoon—she said that she should go out to church—there was a pair of gloves lying on the table, I picked them up, and said "Madame has not taken her gloves," but there was no answer—that was in the course of the afternoon—the gloves were lying on the kitchen table—when she said she should go to church I told her she had better not go out, because Madame would be very angry if she came in and wanted anything—she did not say anything to that—she had changed her dress before that—I should think she changed it between 5 and 6 o'clock; it must have been about 6 o'clock, I think—she changed it in the pantry; that is a pantry on the same floor as the kitchen, in the basement, next to the kitchen—she put on a green dress, and hung up the old one in the kitchen—the green dress was a satin cloth—I afterwards saw it before the Magistrate—after she changed her dress she and I went up into the dining-room, and sat down—later in the evening she went out, about 8 o'clock, or a few minutes past 8 o'clock—she then had on a waterproof, the green satin cloth dress, and a bonnet—she said she was going to church, and she should not be late, she should be in by 10 o'clock—I did not let her out; I sat in the kitchen—I afterwards heard the door go—I don't know whether she took any luggage; I can't say—I did not see anything wrapped up anywhere—I know that her box was left behind—she did not return—I remained up till 12 o'clock, and then went to bed—next morning (Monday) I got up just after 6 o'clock—I went into Madame's bedroom on the second floor on my way down—Madame was not there, and everything in the room was undisturbed—I did not go into the kitchen—I went into the drawing-room to move the things, and saw Mademoiselle coming—she returned from Paris that morning with a lady friend of hers—I expected her to return that morning; Madame had told me—the prisoner knew it—when Mademoiselle came I told her what had occurred—she was alarmed, and sent me out to get assistance, and shortly afterwards the police came—I did not see Mademoiselle open the pantry; it was opened while I had gone for assistance—Mademoiselle had a duplicate key of that pantry; Madame had one key and Mademoiselle the other—I afterwards went into the pantry, and saw Madame lying there—I did not disturb the body at all—Dr. Wadham came—I saw the body afterwards carried out into the back parlour.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. I had lived with Madame Riel five months—she had three servants during that time, one previous to the prisoner, no other—the other servant remained three weeks—No. 13, is in the narrow part of Park Lane, as you enter from Piccadilly—there are houses on each side, and opposite, and a public-house next door but one—the area of the houses is very narrow—the kitchen window looks out on the area, the cellar is under the pavement of the street—the area railings were boarded up before I went to live there—I remember the prisoner coming into Madame Riel's service—I was almost constantly with her when not engaged up stairs—I had not remarked anything particular, or out of the common, in her manner and demeanour, we got on pretty well together—Madame Riel was a lady of rather quick temper, a passionate person—she never used strong language I could not understand, she would speak very loud—she usually spoke in French—I do not understand French—her
manner and gestures were that of an angry and passionate person—I have not been present when she has addressed the prisoner in an angry and passionate manner—it always appeared as if they were angry words, French people always do speak so in talking—the previous cook left because she did not understand French cooking—she did not complain of Madame's temper—the prisoner has complained of it to me, and I have complained to the prisoner that Madame was of very bad temper—I did not complain without supposing that I had a cause—Madame was sometimes ill-tempered to me, very seldom—it was without a cause—men occasionally came to work at the house—I think Madame was once out of temper with a workman; I think that was on the Thursday previous to this occurrence, or about that time; she seemed very angry on that occasion—I only knew the man by sight, he was a painter, working for a Mr. Bernard—I do not know where Bernard's place of business is—I have seen the man since, he came to work on the Monday morning that Madame was found dead, he was going to paint the front of the house; I have seen him since this, I think he has called once since—I do not know where he is to be found, or anything about him—I don't understand French at all, whatever words passed between Madame and the prisoner I did not know what they were—the prisoner speaks very little English, only a few words—we communicated more by motions, by signs—I can't say whether on more than one occasion Madame and the prisoner had high words, I could not tell what was said—it appeared to me that Madame and the prisoner on more than one occasion had high words together; Madame was rather of a suspicious disposition; she suspected things that never occurred, and blamed persons unjustly in consequence, myself amongst others—when she was excited she was in the habit of gesticulating a good deal, she would throw her head up, and throw out her hands—I have observed that that was a habit of hers—she was rather short—I never noticed that when so excited, and throwing her head back, the muscles of the throat were very plainly discernible, and the working of them—on the Sunday morning I had been with the prisoner for some time in the kitchen, before I went up to Madame—I should think I had been with her twenty minutes or a quarter of an hour before Madame rang her bell; we breakfasted together—there was very little conversation between us—I did not notice anything remarkable in her manner or demeanour—Madame was not in the habit of going out very frequently in the morning—she would go out sometimes—I did not know that she was going out that morning, before she said she was going to the Green Park, and so far as I knew, the prisoner could not know it—I often fetched the beer on the week days as well as on the Sunday, not always at the same time, sometimes earlier and sometimes later, according to the exigencies of the house—the lady visitor came about 4 o'clock in the afternoon—about 6.30 in the evening I was in the dining-room with the prisoner—the lady was in the house at that time, she was sitting in Madame's bedroom, up stairs—I did not see the prisoner writing a letter in the course of that afternoon or evening, nor during any part of that day; I never saw her writing—the post-office is just at the corner, not very far off—the prisoner was out until nearly 12 o'clock on the Saturday night—there used to be a cord in the kitchen, over the hot-plate—I very seldom went into the prisoner's bedroom—I never saw any cord in her room—I don't remember whether she was out on the Friday night at all, she might have gone out, she could not have been out for half an hour without my knowing it—I
went out sometimes, and sometimes for soma time, it all depended upon what I had to do—I have been to church—I did not go on that Sunday—I did not leave the house that Sunday, except for the beer—on previous Sunday. I had gone out, either for a walk or to church, and remained out some times.
Re-examined. The Duke of Cambridge's stables are below No. 13—the houses opposite are inhabited—French people speak very loud, they always talk like as if they were having angry words; it sounds like it—that is what I mean by saying that Madame Kiel was passionate; she spoke in a high tone—the painter, from Mr. Bernard's, was cleaning the windows—he had been there three or four times to clean them—I have only seen him once since; he came fur some things he had left; that was the week before this happened—he was there on the Saturday—the rope that used to be over the hot-plate in the kitchen has not been there since the kitchen was cleaned—the kitchen had been whitewashed, and the rope was taken away at that time, and I never saw it after; I don't know what became of it—I saw the cord that was found about the body of Madame—I can't say whether it was the cord that had been in the kitchen—I should think it was five or six weeks before, since I had last seen that cord—I never noticed any cord in the prisoner's bed-room—we occupied separate rooms on the same floor—I have often seen the prisoner write—she could not have been out an hour or half an hour, on the Friday, without ray knowing it, but I don't remember whether she went out or not—the dinner hour was 7 or 7.30—she was at home with me at dinner that Friday—I did not sit in the kitchen very long after that meal; I went to bed very early, at 9.30, sometimes—the prisoner went to bed at the same time, I think, on the Friday.
JURY. Q. Was the prisoner a passionate woman, or not? A. Yes, she was a very passionate woman, and a woman who acted on the impulse of the moment; I have seen her put out, sometimes, very much, and throw herself back—I say she was passionate because she spoke loud, as her mistress did.
MR. POWELL. Q. Do you remember that Madame was out on the Friday, and remained out until 8 o'clock, or nearly so? A. 7.30, I believe it was—the prisoner and I had been working together the whole of that afternoon—I remember the day before, Thursday, dinner being ordered at 7 o'clock—the prisoner was not sent to get the provisions for that dinner till rather late—she used to go to Leicester Square, of that neighbourhood, to purchase French provisions—I can't say how long before 7 o'clock she came back with those provisions, it could not be long before 7 o'clock—I don't remember that Madame was very angry that dinner was not ready; I have no recollection about it—I don't remember that high words passed between them on that occasion; I might have been up stairs—when Madame returned, on the Friday, about 7.30 or 8 o'clock, she brought some mutton with her—we had had something to eat since breakfast; we had bread and cheese, and some beer, no regular meal—it was known that a lady was coming to dine with Madame on the Sunday—I did not know it before Sunday morning; I don't know when Marguerite knew—Madame told me, as she was going out, that a lady was coming, as she was going down into the kitchen.
MR. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Q. I do not understand about these high words; were they on the Thursday? A. Yes—the last time I had heard high words between Madame and the prisoner was once during the week, I think in the early part of the week—that was the last time I heard it.
MADLLE. JULE RIEL (Interpreted). I am the daughter of the late Madame Riel—I lived with her at 13, Park Lane—the household consisted of my mother, myself, and two servants, Eliza Watts and the prisoner—I can't say exactly the date when the prisoner came into our service, but about two months before my mother's death—about 20th March I gave her notice to leave; it was one week's notice, like in France—she said she wanted to stay the month, or to be paid at once—on 31st March I left London for Paris—on 8th April, I returned to London, and arrived in Park Lane about 7 o'clock in the morning—Eliza Watts opened the door to me—I asked her whether the prisoner was there, she said No, she had gone out the night before, and that probably she would return on that morning—she told me that mamma had said on the Sunday morning, at 11.30, that she was going out to the Green Park for a walk, and that since that time she had not seen her, and that she was in very much trouble about her—I fancied perhaps that she had gone to meet me some part of the way—I sent Eliza Watts out at once to fetch somebody to me—while she was out, I looked about the house to see whether mamma had left a letter for me—I first went up stairs, then I came down to the kitchen and the coal cellar, and at last the small place called the pantry, on the same floor as the dining-room; that pantry was always kept locked—there were two keys to it, one mamma had, and I had one—I had my key with me that morning; I always had it—I found the pantry door locked; I opened it with my key—there was an iron safe kept in that pantry; there were two keys to that, one I had, and one my mother had—she was also in the habit of carrying other keys about with her, on a keyring that she always wore—when I went to Paris, I took my key of the pantry with me; I always had it with me, and I had also a bunch of keys on a ring—when I opened the pantry door, the first thing I saw was the cloak of my mother, I lifted the cloak up, and then I saw mamma—I saw that the safe was open—I became very much alarmed, and ran out into the street, and then I recollected that 'Dr. Wadham was living next door, and I went to him—I had not disturbed anything in the pantry; I did nothing else but lift the cloak up, I did not move the body at all—Dr. Wadham did not come back to the house with me, but he came a very little time after—when I returned to the house, I heard that the police were there, but I did not go to see—I was sent for into the kitchen for the purpose of seeing whether I knew a dress that was there—I did know it; it was the prisoner's dress; it was shown to me by one of the police constables; it was a maroon brown dress, which the prisoner used to wear—before I left for Paris, I had given my mother some bank notes, about 30l.—I don't know whether they were 5l. notes; I did not look at them; I gave them to her either on the Thursday, Friday, or Saturday, I can't say the exact day—my mother kept her money in the safe—I had got the bank notes from Lord Lucan, perhaps only ten minutes before I gave them to my mother—after the body was removed to another room, I saw that the safe was open, and there was no money in it—there was no key in the safe, there remained in it a little box containing jewels, some gloves and shares—my mother always carried a porte-monnaie—she sometimes wore rings, not generally—on Friday, 12th April, I again went to Paris to accompany the body over there—whilst I was in Paris, I was shown by the French police a porte-monnaie and also some other things—the little box that contained the jewels was locked, I had one key of it; I am not certain whether I did not have both of them, there were two keys;
the key I had I took to Paris—besides the porte-monnaie, the French police also showed me some keys, a ring, and some gold, which they said had been found in the porte-monnaie, the porte-monnaie, the keys, and the ring belonged to my mother—the porte-monnaie was empty when I saw it—I was also shown the pantry key, and a key belonging to a little room up stairs—nothing was kept in that room but dresses—I also saw another key, which I at first supposed was the key of the railings gate, but which I found out was the one belonging to the kitchen-door—the key of the little room up stairs was one that my mother was in the habit of carrying—I had not a second one of that—Mr. Raviart and Mr. Hintschbeoger, of the French police, were present when these things were shown to me—Mr. Massey, the Commissary of Police in Paris, produced the keys to me—my mother's full name was Marie Caroline Besant Kiel—she was 46 years of age.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. I have been in England several times, not consecutively, sometimes six months at a. time—I have been here since the war, September—I have resided in Park Lane since January, at the time of the war last year, since January, 1871—I am not residing there now—my servant, Eliza Watts, resides there, and I go there sometimes—it is always the custom in France to give a week's notice only, to domestic servants—I know that perfectly well—the prisoner was willing to go when we gave her notice, if we paid her her wages—she was paid her wages by the month, and sometimes she asked for Borne money in advance—she required a month's wages or a month's notice—this pantry or closet contained a safe, in which the jewel-box was kept—I was in the habit of wearing valuable jewels and keeping them in that box—the box is not here—my mamma always carried the porte-monnaie about with her—she sometimes wore a ring of value—I do not know whether she sometimes carried a ring or rings in her portemonnaie—I received the notes either on Thursday, Friday, or Saturday, I cannot say which, before I left for Paris—I gave them to my mamma immediately—she was in the house when I received them—I do not know whether she had a key of the jewel-box, she had it sometimes and that is the reason I state that I do not know whether at that time she had it—I cannot tell whether I had two keys at Paris, I did not pay attention to that—if my mamma had the key she would carry it on the ring on which she kept her keys—I have not looked, and for that reason I cannot say how many keys of the jewel-box I have now—I have several keys coming from the same warehouse, and I cannot say—one key I always had, and have now, but whether I have a second one I do not know; both keys resemble each other—I cannot say whether I had both keys, because mamma was in the habit very often to return me the other key back—I cannot say whether I have more than one key to that box now, but if I saw the box I could tell you by trying the keys—since my return from Paris I have not seen the keys which my mamma used to carry.
Re-examined. The house still belongs to my deceased mother—I put a married policeman with his wife in there to keep it—I have not resided there—numbers of people came there, which made it difficult to live there—nobody can go in or out on account of them—the jewel-box is at home in my possession, it is a heavy iron box, about 12 in. by 8 in.—I will take care that it is here to-morrow.
COURT. Q. Did you keep any money, or jewels, or ornaments in that little box, or was it kept entirely for your mother's use? A. No, only for
my use, only for jewels—I put them in—my mother did not put what money she had into the small box—in the small box I put only my jewels, and my mamma put her money in the safe—I had one key of the safe, one of the pantry, and one of the small safe—I call that little box a small safe—I perform at St. James's Theatre, and the articles I used there were usually kept in that box for my use.
WILLIAM PEEK (Policeman C 194). On Monday morning, 8th April, about 7.45, I was on duty in Park Lane—I was called to No. 13—I saw a lady standing at the door, a friend of Madlle. Kiel's, who was with her—in consequence of what was said to me I went into a room at the end of the passage leading from the front door, and saw the dead body of a woman, dressed—her face was on the floor, her knees on the ground, and her legs sticking upwards so that you could see the soles of her boots—her head was against an iron safe fixed to the wall in one corner of the room, in the right-hand corner as you went in—I did not measure the room, but it was about 12 ft. by 6 ft., I believe—the feet were towards the door, as you went in—I removed the body about 18 in., as near as I can say, from the safe out towards the middle of the room—a rope was once round the neck, with a slip noose under the left cheek, the end round the neck was not loose, but there was about 6 ft. to spare, and the other part was hanging loose over the body, and the other end was twisted twice round the handle of the door of the safe, which was I suppose about a foot from the floor—the rope was tight round the neck, and was just put slack round the handle of the door, it would slip round—it was loose round the handle—I was there when Dr. Wadham came—I was sent to the station for the Inspector, and Sergeant Butcher came—we then, by Dr. Wadham's direction, removed the body into the back parlour—I had lifted the face off the ground before that to recognise who it was, and found it was the lady of the house.
CHARLES BUTCHER (Detective Officer C). On 8th April I went to 13, Park Lane, and found Dr. Wadham there—I saw Peek remove the body into the small parlour—when I got there the rope was still on the body—I have heard what Peek has said, it is correct—she was lying on her face, her feet were straight up, and you could see the bottoms of her boots plainly—I examined the pocket of her dress, there was nothing in it—she had one gold ring set with a diamond on this finger of her left hand—I do not mean two rings, she had not a wedding-ring on—I found some false hair in a bonnet, which is here, lying between her and the sofa—I took the rope off the neck, and then examined the safe, which was open, and there was a little iron cashbox in it—for a cash-box it was a large one, but it was a solid iron box and heavy—it would be a very heavy cash-box, but they call it a cash-box—it was about 8 in. or 10 in. long, and about as wide as this book—when I lifted it up I found it heavy—a key was produced—I did not find it there, but at the time I was there it was found—Madlle. Kiel had it—there were also in the safe besides the little box some papers, French bonds, or something like that, but no money, only the jewellery—that was in the small box—after the little box had been found Madlle. Riel produced a key which opened it, and some jewels were found in it—the key of the safe was found—I do not know whether Madlle. Riel had one—she produced a key of the pantry—there was no key but her, s—I was not present when the bunch of keys was found.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. There was not a gold wedding ring on the finger, as well as the ring which had a diamond in it—if I have said "On the
third finger of the left hand were a wedding ring, and a ring with a stone," that is evidently a mistake—my evidence was read over to me before I signed it, and I explained that there was only one ring—there was only a gold ring with one stone, no wedding ring—I do not think I signed that statement; if I did, it was an oversight at the time, an error, but I don't think I said it—I have a distinct recollection of explaining that there was only one ring—I have not got the diamond ring, it was left there—it is not customary to take possession of anything found on a body, unless it shows marks of violence—I left it on the finger—Dr. Wadham was in the room, and Peek, and Inspector Hambling, and Madlle. Riel—I did not see the body again till the day of the inquest—I do not know whether the ring was on then; she was then in the coffin, I have never seen the ring since—I saw the jewel box, I did not take an inventory of its contents—the minute it was discovered I went away to make enquiries out of the house, and left Hambling and another sergeant in charge of the case—I do not think it is the practice of the police in such cases to take a note of what is found, but only of property which is missing, things which are right in the house we should leave there—no inventory was taken of the jewel-case, to my knowledge—I can form no idea of the value of the jewellery—there was no sign of a struggle in the pantry—every thing was in perfect order, as far as I could judge.
Re-examined. I have been in the police fourteen years, and never heard of taking an inventory of things in the house, only of what is missing; I have never been present in a house where a jewel-box was found, where there had been a murder, but where robberies have been committed, I have—under the circumstances it did not occur to me to take an inventory—we should take it for granted that the jewel-box was safe, and everything in it, they were things that would speak for themselves.
HENRY HAMBLING (Police Inspector). On Monday morning, 8th April, about 9 o'clock, I went to 13, Park Lane—the body of Madame Riel had then been removed into the back parlour—I proceeded to make a search, and on a shelf in the pantry, near the safe, found some false hair and a bonnet—I examined the hair and found in it some cinders and small chips of wood, and a small fish bone—there was a fire-place in the pantry, but the fire had not been lighted—some small pieces of charred paper were in the grate, paper which had been burnt and thrown into the fire-place—I found a hair-pin on the mat in the coal cellar, and another on the stairs leading to the kitchen—when I got into the kitchen, I saw the kitchen door which leads to the coal-cellar, it was locked, and there was no key there; it locks from the inside, you cannot lock it from the outside—I unscrewed the lock, removed it, and opened the door; it leads into the area or the cellar—when I got into the cellar, I found a hair-pin on the mat—I was present when a lady's comb was picked up by Inspector Pay—the mat is just at the entrance of the coal-cellar—there is a dusthole there and cinders and chips—it is the ordinary dust-hole of the house—the chips were small pieces of wood, such as arise from wood, they were not burnt—I afterwards on that day received from the witness Watts, this 1 pair of gloves (produced) and I found in the kitchen this dress hanging up—I examined it at the time; it was not torn, it was in good repair, but I found on the left-hand sleeve a spot which I believe to be blood—it was just inside the cuff, other spots have been cut out by Dr. Letheby but I observed them—I examined the safe, and saw a railway bond found
there—I searched to see if I could find any keys, but found none at that time—I was examined as a witness at the Police Court—after the first day's examination, Inspector Druscovitch made a communication to me in consequence of which I went to the pantry where the body was found, and behind a beer-barrel, on a shelf, I found eight keys on one ring and two on another—I find that one of them fits the iron safe, and two are latch-keys of the street door—I also on that occasion tried four keys in the presence of Inspector Pay, which were produced by the French police, and found that one was the key of the pantry, in which the body was found, and the other, the key of the kitchen leading from the coalcellar, the door from which I removed the lock; another was the key of a sort of press up stairs, where Madlle. Riel kept her dresses, and which I found locked, and the fourth key fits the padlock on the prisoner's box—on the Monday morning I went to the prisoner's box, in her room on the third floor; it is an ordinary servant's box—I forced it open, and found several pieces of her dresses and boots and paper, and a book with her name in it—there was no rope in her box, or in her room—I saw no appearance of any struggle in the kitchen or pantry—the prisoner's box was not packed at all, her things were lying in different parts of the room, such as under linen, and dresses were hanging on the door.
Cross-examined by Mr. POWELL. I have had sixteen years' experience in the police—I applied that experience, and I found no trace whatever of any struggle—the floor of the pantry is stone, and of the kitchen brick—I only saw one ring on the deceased's finger—there might have been more, but I only noticet a diamond ring, which, at Madlle. Riel's suggestion, was removed from the finger by the Coroner's officer, and handed to her—I am not positive whether ther was any other ring—I think Madlle. has it still—I saw several letters in it, and some railway bonds Riel opened it—I saw the jewell-box open when I arrived—I think Madlle. and jewellery—I did not take a note of the contents—it was handed to her, and I have not seen it since—it was not produced at the Inquest, nor any of its contents.
JOHN TURNER . I am a cab driver and proprietor—about 8 o'clock on sunday evening, 7th April, I was with my cab at the corner of Park Lane, and a woman stopped my cab, and got on to the foot-board—she had no luggage whatever—she told me to drive to Victoria Station—she was a foreigner, and spoke English very badly—my impression is that the prisoner is the woman—I asked her, for lshortness, "Chatham and Dover?"—she had then got into the cab, and she spoke through the tra "Victoria Station"—I drove to the Brighton Terminus of the Voctoria Station—she got out there, and handed me a sixpenny and a threepenny pience—I had some difficulty lin making her understand and a fate was ls.—eventually she took the sixpence back, and gave me a shilling, and let me keep the threepenny piece—she asked me a question which I—I pointed in that direction.; and then she ran off—I got another fare from the station, land drove away—her dress was dark—I gave information on the Tuesday morning, form what I read in the newspapers.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. She did appear to know lthe value of English; money, but she appeared to make a mistake, and I had a difficulty in making her understand that she had given me 6d. and not 1s.
there was no rope in her box, or in her room—I saw no appearance of any struggle in the kitchen or pantry—the prisoner's box was not packed at all, her things were lying in different parts of the room, such as under linen, and dresses were hanging on the door.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. I have had sixteen years' experience in the police—I applied that experience, and I found no trace whatever of any struggle—the floor of the pantry is stone, and of the kitchen brick—I only saw one ring on the deceased's finger—there might have been more, but I only noticed a diamond ring, which, at Madlle. Riel's suggestion, was removed from the finger by the Coroner's officer, and handed to her—I am not positive whether there was any other ring—I presume she has it still—I saw the jewel-box open when I arrived—I think Madlle. Riel opened it—I saw several letters in it, and some railway bonds and jewellery—I did not take a note of the contents—it was handed to her, and I have not seen it since—it was not produced at the Inquest, nor any of its contents.
JOHN TURNER . I am a cab driver and proprietor—about 8 o'clock on Sunday evening, 7th April, I was out with my cab at the corner of Park Lane and a woman stopped my cab, and got on to the foot-board—she had no luggage whatever—she told me to drive to Victoria Station—she was a foreigner, and spoke English very badly—my impression is that the prisoner is the woman—I asked her, for shortness, "Chatham and Dover?"—she had then got into the cab, and she spoke through the trap "Victoria Station"—I drove to the Brighton Terminus of the Victoria Station—she got out there, and handed me a sixpenny and a threepenny piece—I had some difficulty in making her understand that the fare was 1s.—eventually she took the sixpence back, and gave me a shilling, and let me keep the threepenny piece—she asked me a question which I understood to mean "Is this the way to the Chatham and Dover Station?"—I pointed in that direction, and then she ran off—I got another fare from the station, and drove away—her dress was dark—I gave information on the Tuesday morning, from what I read in the newspapers.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. She did appear to know the value of English money, but she appeared to make a mistake, and I had a difficulty in making her understand that she had given me 6d. and not 1s.
Re-examined. The difficulty was her not understanding me, and my not understanding her.
RICHARD WERNER . I live at 2, Lansdown Terrace, Brixton—I am a clerk at the Victoria Station, and act as interpreter there—on Sunday evening, 7th April, about 8.20, someone tapped at the window of my office in the station; I opened it, and saw the prisoner there—she had dark clothes on, but it was evening, and I cannot say what colour—she spoke in French, and asked me when the next train was going to start for Paris—I told her the cheap service train had started before at 6.25—she asked when the next cheap service train would start, and I said "At 6.25 p.m."—there is only one daily—that was 6.25 on Monday evening—she asked whether a train would start before—I said "There is one in a quarter of an hour's time, but it is an express train, first class only; it goes at 8.35"—she said she should reach Paris sooner by that than by the cheap service—I said "Yes," and she said she would go by the 8.35—I accompanied her to the booking office, and asked for a first-class ticket for Paris, single; she paid with a 5l. note, and received two sovereigns in change, the fare being 3l.—I asked her whether she had luggage—she said "No"—I took her to the platform; the guard put her in a compartment, and I saw the train start—I saw something in the newspapers on 9th April, and gave information to the police.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. There are three trains to Paris, from Victoria, daily, two express, and one cheap service train—the morning express leaves at 7.40, the cheap service train at 6.25, and the night express at 8.35—I am the only person employed as interpreter, and am the only person to whom foreigners would be referred; except in my, absence there might be a clerk who knows French.
JACQUES BOUILLION (Through an interpreter). I am a silver-plater and burnisher, and live, with my wife, at 3, Passage St. Maurice, Paris—about two years ago, I was house-porter at 192, Rue St. Denis. (MR. POWELL objected to the reception of this witness's evidence, he not having been examined before, and no copy of his evidence having been delivered. THE ATTORNEY-GENERAL replied that the witness had come over from Paris, instead of his wife, who had recently been confined, and was unable to come. MR. POWELL stated that his objection was not that the husband came instead of the wife, but that neither husband nor wife had been examined before, and no notice had been given of the evidence of either of them; a letter, dated 11th June, had been sent to the prisoner's attorney, but it had only come to his hands that morning. THE ATTORNEY GENERAL stated that the Crown always carefully declined to give a copy of the evidence, and he would never be a party to anything else, Out a letter had been sent, giving the heads of what the proofs would be. MR. POWELL replied that he had not had time to read the document. THE COURT offered MR. POWELL the opportunity of deferring his cross-examination of the witness till to-morrow, if he wished it; and stated that in "Reg. v. Palmer" the Lord Chief Justice had said that when a witness could give important evidence, and was not on the back of the bill, he thought it was proper to furnish the evidence to the other side; yet it had not been decided that a witness could not be examined because a copy of his evidence had not been given. MR. POWELL stated that he would defer his cross-examination till to-morrow, if it became necessary for the prisoner's attorney to confer with her.) The first time the prisoner came to see us, she came to the Boulevard de la Garde, where we were living—my wife and the prisoner
are natives of the same village in Belgium—from 1868 down to September, 1870, I had seen her only once or twice—in September, 1870, she came and stayed with us some time, she being out of place—I cannot say the exact time she stayed—she paid nothing to me, at that time, for her board and keep, and after a time I told my wife to tell her I could not afford it, as I was out of work at the time, and she went to her cousin, No. 9, Rue d'ltalie—between the time she went away and April, 1872, I saw her sometimes, but not often—on 8th April, this year, about 10 o'clock at night, she came, alone; she had no luggage, only an umbrella in her hand—I did not expect her, and had not heard from her—she slept that night at my house—I had received a letter from her on 4th April—I cannot say what has become of it; it has been mislaid somewhere in the house—I have tried to find it—I last saw it on the Saturday before the prisoner arrived—I heard it read by some man employed by Mr. Gerling—I can't say what has become of it, I was taken into custody at the time when the house was searched, and therefore I don't know what became of it—before coming to England to give evidence, the letter was searched for at home, but could not be found—I looked for it personally; she stated in that letter that she was coming to Paris, in the first days of May, and would pay me what she owed me; she also said in it "If you want to be paid before that time, write to me and I will send you the money by post, and answer me the letter, "—knowing that she was coming in the first days of May, I did not think it necessary to answer that letter, and I did not answer it—when she came on 8th April, she said "Good evening," and sat down after a few minutes—she asked me whether I had answered her letter—I said "No"—I don't recollect telling her why—when this passed I was alone with her—my wife came into the room a few minutes afterwards, I called her; we then had some conversation together, and the prisoner said "I am going to pay you what I owe you"—I asked her how it was that she came so early, as she said her intention was to come in the first days of May—she replied that her master and mistress had decided to come at once, and that they lived at the Boulevard de Mazas—she paid Madame Bouillion, in my presence, 125 francs, in English gold—she asked my wife whether she preferred to take it in gold, or have a bank note—I saw a paper resembling a bank note in her hand—my wife said that she preferred gold, as she did not know whether the note was of value in France, and she said to her "Pay me the sixty-five francs which I lent you, and as to the board and lodging, I won't charge you anything for it"—Marguerite said "Take this, I know it is not all I owe you, but I will pay you the remainder at some future time"—she wore a green dress the first time she came—I saw that dress hanging up at the door of my room next day—I went to bed that evening, and left my wife and the prisoner sitting up together, also an employe, a young man—I saw her next day for a little time—she then wore a grey dress—she slept there two nights, on the 8th and 9th—I did not see her again after the 9th—besides the letter of the 4th, I saw another letter of the prisoner's in the hands of the police—this (produced) is it, it is her writing; my wife's name is Victoire—(Translation of letter read:—"London, 6th April. My dear Victoire. If you have not written, do not write, I leave this evening for Paris. Your devoted friend, Dixblanc Marguerite. No, do not expect me, perhaps I shall never see Paris again, nor even my parents; I shall try to leave for America, and if I arrive there I will give you my address; so good bye, my dear Victoire, and think frequently of me. I conclude by kissing
you with all my heart. Dixblanc Marguerite"). When she paid my wife the English gold, I saw her take it out from her porte-monnaie—the green dress remained there till the day she left, I did not know it was there afterwards, I only saw it afterwards at the prefecture of police; my wife handed it over to the police, I did not know that such an article was left behind—it was on the Sunday following that I saw it at the prefecture—I was arrested on the Friday, and my wife the Sunday following—I was detained in custody for several weeks—my wife and I were then examined, and discharged on 30th May—my wife was confined in St. Lazare Prison, on 21st May—she had a very bad time and is hardly up out of bed now.
LOUIS JULE FERDINAND RAVIART . I am an Inspector of Municipal Police at Paris—the first information that I had about this matter was from Mr. Druscovitch, the English Inspector of Police, who came over to Paris—on 11th April, at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, I went to 192, Rue St. Denis, where Bouillion was then living—that was the first time—I then saw Madame Bouillion—I took possession of this letter and envelope, the letter was in a little box which women use to put their thimble and cotton in, and the box was on a table in the lodging—I went there again the same evening, and then saw both Mr. and Madame Bouillion, and had a very long conversation with them—I did not take possession of anything then—at 7 o'clock next morning I went there again, and saw Mr. Bouillion, and arrested him, and an hour afterwards I went there again and took possession of a green dress—I did not take it, I received it from Madame Bouillion, and also a cloak and jacket, brown colour, maroon—I at once examined the pocket of the green dress, this (produced)is it—Mr. Massey, the Police Magistrate in Paris, bad it after me, and it was made up into a parcel, sealed up, and given to the Embassy—in the pocket of that green dress I found this portemonnaie and a book, or livret—the name of Margnerite Dixblanc is in the book—the porte-monnaie contained these eight English bank notes, I marked them—I at first thought they were all 5l. notes, but when we came before the Magistrate who had the matter in hand, there was one of 20l. and one of 10l.; however, I don't even know it now very well—I marked the notes and took them to Mr. Massey, the Instruction Magistrate—in the same portemonnaie I found an English pawn ticket, here it is, attached to the bank notes, with my mark—I also found this ring in the porte-monnaie—upon this I took Madame Bouillion into custody—that was on the 12th, in the morning, the same day as Mr. Bouillion—he had been arrested an hour before her—it was on account of finding these things that I arrested Madame Bouillion an hour afterwards—when I took her she handed me this little box, containing 125 francs in English gold, three sovereigns, and four half-sovereigns.
(At the request of MR. POWELL, the following translation of an entry in the livret was read:—"I the undersigned recognise that the named Marguerite Dixblanc has served me with honesty, entered on 8th June, left on 16th August, 1870—Paris." Signed "Wilhelm 54, Faubourg, St. Honore—I say she entered on 8th June 1870. Wilhelm.")
Gross-examined by MR. POWELL. I first saw the green dress on the morning of 12th April, it was then in the hands of Madame Bouillion, who was going to give it to me; the prisoner was not there then—I had been to Madame Bouillion's twenty or thirty times before I arrested her—I knew that she had a green dress in her possession before she showed it to me—I did not know it from her, she had not told me—I had had a telegraphic description of the prisoner, and also of the dress she wore, and it
was impossible to mistake it—I had seen Madame Bouillion twenty times before she handed me the dress; every time I saw her it was on this affair; when she handed me the dress, it had in the pocket the porte-monnaie and the pawn ticket, and also a pocket-handkerchief not belonging to Marguerite Dixblanc—it was Madame Bouillion's, she told me so herself, and it was given to her as her property—the ring was in the first compartment of the porte-monnaie in the first fold (replacing it there)—I discovered that the notes were not 5l. notes at the Judge of Instruction's, Monsieur Massey, that was I think on the Saturday, the day after—I had marked the notes immediately after taking them, but did not discover it then—I last saw Madame Bouillion on the Monday following 11th April—that is since she was discharged, it was when there was a question about Monsieur Bouillion coming to London—that was last Saturday—when you asked me the question before, I said that I had seen her some early day in April—I thought you meant while in durance vile, not when she had her liberty—when I saw her last Saturday she was at Passage Maurice, at her own house, or it may be her sister's—I do not know whether it was on the first or second floor—I am in the habit of seeing houses of six or seven stories high, and I do not count—she was sitting up, and dressed as women usually are—I saw nothing about her which looked as if she could not go out for a walk—her husband was present, I cannot say whether he lives there—that was not the house where I had gone to see her before—I brought the prisoner over to England; we talked about different subjects on the voyage, and occasionally the conversation turned upon Madame Riel, and she told me how the matter happened, and complained of Madame Kiel's conduct towards her—(THE COURT considered that Mr. Powell ought not to ask the effect of the conversation, because the prisoner's statement was not receivable in her own favour, although it would be evidence for the Crown)—I made no statement to her about Madame Riel—I did not tell her that I knew Madame Riel's antecedents; I want to explain, what I told her was when she complained of the treatment she had received from Madame Kiel, I said "It is very probable, if you were tried in France, there would be extenuating circumstances found," upon which she replied, "Yes, but unfortunately in England, one who has given death, dies"—I said nothing of the cause of death of Madame Kiel's husband—I did not tell her I knew he had died of grief at her conduct,—I swear I said nothing of the kind—I had not known Madame Kiel previously, and had never seen her—I have not made enquiries about her antecedents, nor was I ordered to do so—I belong to the detective part of the Municipal police.
Re-examined. Till this matter occurred, I never saw or heard of the deceased; the only thing I knew was the name of Madlle. Kiel as an artiste at the theatre—during the time I paid these visits to the Bouillions, I was always on the look out for the prisoner, and other French officers were engaged in the same business, nine of us—I was not present when she was taken in custody—I cannot say in whose house it was that I last saw Madame Bouillion, I know that her sister lives in the same house—I saw them both there, and I cannot say what storey belongs to either—I know that Madame Bouillion has been recently confined, and I do not think she could undertake such a voyage.
MR. POWELL. Q. You did not trouble yourself about the value of the bank notes, you only marked them? A. That was all, I simply marked them: I did not know the value—the Prefect of Police sent an Englishman
before the Magistrate, and when he had the notes handed to him, he said "They are not all 5l. notes, there is a 20l. and a 10l. note"—after I once heard that from the Englishman, I knew it.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. My wife had known the prisoner from her childhood—I had not seen her before she came to my house in 1868—she remained about five or six weeks with us at that time, and during that time she conducted herself in a perfectly proper manner—she seemed to be kindly disposed to those who treated her well—I always believed her to be of an amiable temper and candid—I had not the slightest reason to suspect her honesty—when thwarted she was of a passionate disposition, a person liable to strong and sudden impulses, but she had a good heart for all that—my wife was confined on the 21st May—she is not able to come herself to give evidence; she only just began to get up a little—the prisoner only stayed two nights when she came in April last—I did not see her after that till I saw her in this Court—I have heard where she was arrested—it was about two leagues or seven or eight miles from where I was residing in April—I was not aware that she had left anything in my house—I heard nothing of her from the time she left until I heard of this crime—I had no communication with her—I had been arrested when the green dress was given to the police.
THOMAS GERARD (Interpreted). I live at 18, Rue de Porte St. Denis—I am a coal dealer—I only know the prisoner since 13th April—I had seen her once last year, about June or July—I had not seen her again until I saw her on 13th April—I then saw her at our own door—she had arrived there whilst I was serving customers with coal—it was about 10.30 in the morning—I did not recognise her at first—after I had served two customers in the shop, I called to her and said "And you, Madame, what is your pleasure?—she answered me in patois, "So you don't recognise me; so you don't know me"—I recognised her then by her talk and the voice—I asked her how she was and what she came for to St. Denis—she said "Pretty well, and you?"—I said our house matters did not go very well as my wife was ill—she asked whether it was a long time since I had seen her father—she told me afterwards she had been looking for him, but she said first "Have you seen my father?—I told her I had seen her father between Christmas and New Year, that I knew he was looking after her and would like to see her—I asked her afterwards about Victoire Bouillion, but before that she told me she had been looking all over Paris for her father and could not find him—I asked her whether it was a long time since she saw Victoire—she said that she had seen her on the Monday and had taken some money to her that she owed her—by Victoire I meant Madame Bouillion—she said she had seen Victoire Bouillion on Monday, the 8th—the conversation about Victoire took place after dinner on the Saturday—she asked me whether I did not know of a servant's place in St. Denis—I asked her where she came from—she said she came from the Faubourg St. Honore without mentioning any address—I told her that at St. Denis there were no aristocratic people, and that she had much better have remained at the Rue St. Honore, as there the aristocracy lived, and I asked her the reason why she left—she told me she had had a quarrel with her mistress—I told her that that was no reason to leave a neighbourhood, simply on account of a quarrel with her mistress—some more conversation ensued—during this time I had to serve some more
customers, after which she said she had had a fight with her mistress—I said even that was not a motive for running away, because it depended who was in the wrong—some more conversation took place—I was always serving persons during this time, when she said "I have given her a good hiding; perhaps she is dead"—I asked her for what reason she had the fight in this way—she said her mistress wanted to send her away without paying her her month's wages—up to this time I understood her to be speaking of the mistress in the Faubourg St. Honore—after she had admitted everything to me she said it had taken place in London—she told me how it had happened with her mistress, and the details of it—I asked her how she had managed it and why it had happened—she said her mistress wanted to dismiss her, send her away, and would not pay her; that on Sunday at 11 o'clock her mistress came down into the kitchen and said "You must leave," to which the accused said that she would leave provided she paid her, otherwise she would not leave—to which her mistress said "If you like to stop you shall stop, or may stop, but I will make you suffer for it," at which the prisoner became angry and caught hold of her mistress by the throat and had thrown her down on the ground, but the mistress got up again and was going to take hold of some article in the kitchen; that she, the prisoner, seeing that, struck her a blow underneath the chin; that she fell down backwards and gasped twice; when she saw that she dragged her into the coal cellar; that when she was in the coal cellar the lady's maid came down stairs, and that hearing her come down she locked the door of the cellar and put her back against it; that the lady's maid came into the kitchen and asked her where her mistress was, to which she replied that the mistress had gone out for a little while; that then the lady's maid asked her for some coals, upon which she said there were none—I think she said after that the lady's maid had gone up stairs to a higher storey, and that whilst she was up stairs she, the prisoner, had taken the body and put it on her back, but that she could not do so as her strength began to fail; and as she could not put the body on her back, she had put a cord round the neck and dragged it into the pantry—I omitted to state that she told me that she had locked all the kitchen doors—she told me where it had all happened before this—after she told me she had killed her mistress she said it was not in Paris but in London—I asked her how she could have managed to escape from England, and whether she had her papers, to which she said "Yes"—she told me she was going to take the 6 o'clock train, but that she was too late, and that she was obliged to take the 8 o'clock train, and there was only first class—I asked her how she could have waited so long, and how she had passed her afternoon—and she said she had taken two bottles of wine, and also some beer with the lady's maid—I asked what it cost to come from London, and she said 3l.—and as I did not know the value of a pound, I asked her how much it was—she said "25 francs"—I said "So you have paid 75 francs to come from London?"—she said "Yes"—she told me that when she was crossing over from England to France her young mistress was coming the other way back, they were crossing each other by boat, the two steamers met—after she had admitted the crime she showed me some newspapers—neither I nor my wife could or would believe her story, and then she took from her pocket a newspaper, which I believe was the Petite Presse, and said "Look at this column"—the police came just at the moment, at the end of her story where she admitted the crime, they arrested her and took her away in a cab.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. I knew her father—I know nothing of his family—I don't know anything about his conduct or character—I don't know where he liven now—at the time of her arrest he lived at the Garde Matelst, between Versailles and St. Cyr—she spoke to me nearly all in French, and some of it in Patois—she told me many words in Patois—the statement about giving her a good hiding and perhaps she was dead, was in Patois—when she said her mistress was about to sieze something in the kitchen, I understood that it was to give her a blow with, and it was then she struck her under the chin, at once—she did not say anything about the general conduct of Madame Riel towards her—the police interrupted me from saying any more to her.
EMILE HINSCHEERGER (Interpreted). I am an inspector of police in Paris—I assisted Mons. Raviart in making enquiries about this case, it was on a Saturday, whether it was 13th April I can't say, I think it was—I went to 18, Rue de Porte, St. Denis—I had been there before several times that day—that was where Gerard, the last witness, lived—it is a coal and charcoal shop—the last time I went there that day was in the evening—I saw someone sitting on the door-step of the shop—I did not know then it was the prisoner, but afterwards I knew it—I had seen her photograph on that very day—I had not seen her before—I first spoke to Mr. Gerard—he came out to me—about half a minute afterwards I spoke to the prisoner—I asked her whether her name was Marguerite Dixblanc—she said "Yes, sir"—she did not know me—I did not tell her who I was, I was in plain clothes—I told her I would take her with me, that I was going to take her to her father—she said she did not know me—I said "That does not matter, I know you well"—she said "Where does my father live?—I said "At Versailles'—she said "I have here a parcel which. I want to take with me"—I went into the coal-shop with her and asked for the parcel, and I received one from Madame Gerard—I opened it and it contained a mass-book, a silk handkerchief, and a waterproof—this (produced) is the book—I then took her to Paris in a carriage; on the way a conversation took place about her father and Madame Riel; it was not a consecutive conversation on one subject only, she talked about her father, and I interrupted at times, talking about the other affair—I asked her whether she had been in London—she said "Yes," and commenced crying—I said "Why are you crying, there is no cause for it?—she said "I know what you came to fetch me for"—I said "It is to take you to your father's that I come to fetch you"—she said "Do you promise me that you are going to take me to him I"—I said "Yes," and then it was that she told me the story about Madame Riel, upon questions which I put to her—she said that she had stayed in London and had quarrelled with her mistress—I said "What I you have killed her I you have assassinated her! you have murdered her!"—she replied "They say more about the matter than really is the fact; if you knew how it had happened you could not condemn me"—I then said "Tell me how it happened"—she said "I had a quarrel with my mistress in London, who was a very bad person, and it very often happened that we quarrelled; she always called me abusive words, and particularly so on that day"—I think she said that on Sunday Madame Riel came down stairs in the kitchen about 11 o'clock, asking her why the soup was not on the fire, to which she replied as the dinner was only to be ready by 7 o'clock there was plenty of time—then Madame Riel got angry, and was going to put the soup on the fire herself, and then she, the mistress, called her a dirty bitch, and that she, the prisoner,
at that moment seized her by the throat, and held her very tight; that she cried out "Let me go" and she did so; that her mistress said "Now, you must leave my house at once;" to which the prisoner said "Very well, I will leave, provided you pay me what you owe me;" that Madame Riel replied "No, you shall remain your time, and leave afterwards, "saying "Where could you go to when you leave this house, you are going on the streets, like others;" and that the prisoner then replied "Perhaps you have walked the streets longer than I have," and high words again recommenced: it was to the same effect as before; that then the prisoner gave her a sudden, quick blow on the throat; that Madame Riel fell down on the ground from this, and that she looked at her and found she was dead; on seeing that she was dead she dragged her to a room adjoining; I think, from what she said, it was the coal-cellar, and then I don't know what happened, but she wanted to carry it up stairs; that she took a rope from the kitchen, which she placed round her waist, dragging her up to the staircase; that, having arrived there she could not get it up the stairs, because the body was doubling in two, and then she took off the cord from the waist and placed it round the neck, and that in this manner she pulled it up stairs, and put it into another room, which she shut—that was all that passed—she illustrated by my neck how she did it—she showed me to my own neck how she had given the blow—that was how she showed it, twice (describing it) a blow twice—I then took her to the Prefecture—before arriving there I searched her, and took from her three French newspapers, and a French bank-note of 25 francs—these (produced) are the newspapers, there are two Petite Presse, and one Petite Journal.
NATHANIEL DRUSCOVITCH . I am a chief inspector of the Metropolitan Police—on 10th April, I went with Inspector Pay, to Paris—and amongst other places I went to Madame Bouillion's—I was present there when four keys were found in a small box by Monsieur Massey, the Commissionary of Police, they are in the possession of Inspector Pay (produced)—I believe the prisoner was then in custody, but I did not know it—after we had finished the search at 2 o'clock in the morning, on Sunday 14th April, I went to the Prefecture, and there I found the prisoner—I asked her name—she said "Marguerite Dixblanc"—I had heard that there were some scratches on her hands, and I was examining them—on her right hand I saw three scratches;-while I was doing this, she said "Those occurred in the affair"—I had already informed her that she was charged with the murder of Madame Riel—I afterwards came over to England and went back again, and received the prisoner from the French police, at Calais—I brought her to Newgate—on the second day of the examination at Bow Street, while waiting for the Magistrate she commenced commenting upon the proceedings of the previous day—she said "Madame Riel has made a mistake about the keys, the key which she says belongs to the gate, actually belongs to the door leading to the kitchen; as to the other keys I threw them behind a beer barrel in the pantry"—I told Inspector Hambling to search, and they were found there.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. I have not got that bunch of keys—I was not the person who found them—I did not see them after they were found—during the time the prisoner was with me, she conducted, herself quite properly.
JOHN MILTON . I am postmaster at the Western district, Vere Street, Park Lane is in that district—" No. 7 "on the envelope denotes that the letter was cleared from some post-office receptacle in the Western district,
at 4 a.m. on Monday morning, 8th April—it is London "W. 7." and the date follows—"Ap." stands for April, and there is a figure "8"—that stamp would be used either for a pillar post, or wherever it was cleared from—the next clearing hour before that was 9 p.m. on Saturday, the 6th—there is no clearing on Sunday—a letter posted after 9 o'clock on Saturday would not be cleared till 4 o'clock, the Monday morning after.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. In like manner if it was posted at any time on Sunday, it would be cleared at the same time—from anything there was on the letter, it might have been posted on Sunday afternoon, or at any time between 9 o'clock on Saturday and 4 o'clock on Monday morning.
JOHN WILLIAM BARTON . I am a cashier at Messrs. Cox & Company's bank—Lord Lucan keeps an account there—this (produced) is a cheque of his for 80l., it is dated 30th March, I filled it up, he signed it and I gave him the cash, sixteen 5l. Bank of England notes, 01066 to 01081 inclusive—these are a portion of them (produced)—I gave them to him personally.
THE EARL OF LUCAN . I keep an account at Cox & Company's—on 30th March I went there—the clerk filled up a cheque, I signed it and got in return for it sixteen 5l. Bank of England notes—on the same day I gave to Mdlle. Riel six of the 5l. notes to hand over to her mother—that is the last I heard of them.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. I have had occasion to see Madame Reil occasionally, and have had opportunities of observing her manner and demeanour towards other people, but not particularly—she was like a good many French ladies, a little vive, that is all; I do not know an English word to describe it better—she was hasty, perhaps you would say—I never was a witness to any outburst of her temper—I have had no opportunity of observing her demeanour towards her servants.
MR. ATTORNEY-GENERAL. Q. We were told yesterday that all French people were passionate; do you mean she was a person of ungovernable temper? A. I have had no opportunity of judging—I do not even mean that she was a person who used more gesticulation than our colder English people are in the habit of using—if she was an Englishwoman I should say she was hasty and vive—I should not go beyond that—I did not observe anything in her which in the society of French people would have been observable—I only speak as far as I have had an opportunity of judging.
MR. POWELL. Q. The opportunities you have had of judging have been when she was in the presence of her equals? A. Yes—I have had opportunities of seeing her both with her equals and with her servants.
ELIZA WATTS (re-examined). This dress belongs to the prisoner (The green one found in Paris)—she had it on on the Sunday evening when she went out—this brown dress also belongs to the prisoner, it is the one that was left when she went away.
Cross-examined. Q. The prisoner desires me to ask you whether you knew her, while she was in the situation, buy anything or spend anything upon herself, of your own knowledge? A. No; not a great deal.
COURT. Do you remember going from the public-house, and being kept at the door? A. Yes; after that the prisoner and I sat down to eat bread and cheese—we had no wine then—I had no wine with the prisoner at any part of the day—we partook of the beer together, which she brought from the public-house—I did not drink a glass of wine all that Sunday.
the other is on my mamma's ring—this bunch of keys (Those found behind the barrel) on this ring belong to her; I cannot say without trying it, whether one key is a duplicate key of the jewel-case—yes, there is (Opening the case with one)—this porte-monnaie belonged to my mamma, and so did this ring—I said yesterday that my mamma used to wear some rings in a porte-monnaie—I made a mistake—I do not know, but the particular ring I think, was kept in a little box which was on a marble console, a marble corner table—this brown dress and this green dress belong to the prisoner—my mother was a person of hasty quick temper, but she was very good, and she never made use of abusive words.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. I saw that ring nearly every day, but I cannot give precisely the date when I last saw it before I went to Paris—there is no jewellery in the box now, it is still in my possession; those which were there before—I cannot say how many articles of jewellery there were; there were five bracelets, three or four pairs of ear-rings, but I cannot say, because some of them I had taken to Paris, when I went there; I took half the articles over there—my bracelets were valuable, but not of very large value.
Re-examined. The prisoner has no doubt seen those jewels when I was wearing them in the theatre, but she never saw them out of the theatre—I do not know whether she was aware where they were kept, unless she watched mamma when she went to the box.
DR. WILLIAM WADHAM . I am Fellow of a College, and Physician to St. Georges' Hospital—I live at 12, Park Lane—on 8th April, about 8 a.m., I was called to No. 13, Park Lane—I did not know Madame Riel at all—when I got there, I went into the pantry and found her body on the floor; her face and knees were on the ground and her legs so turned up, that you saw the heels and soles of her boots; her hands were placed under her body, a rope was placed round her neck, the knot of it was under her left jaw—the rest of the rope was twisted twice round the knob of the door of an iron safe, and the remainder was thrown over the deceased's body—it was just strained from the door to the neck, but not tight, no force; not enough to have resisted any effort to disentangle it, besides which the free end of the rope was loose—the room was perfectly undisturbed; there was no carpet in it, and not the slightest appearance of a struggle, as far as I could see—I waited, leaving things exactly as I found them till Butcher arrived, after which the body was removed by him into the next room, a parlour that is there—I first examined the body before it was removed, and took the rope off—I made no detailed examination, but merely to look for marks of injury on the body—when it was moved into the parlour, I examined it again; no change whatever could have happened between the first examination and the second—I made a few notes, it is scarcely necessary to look at them—I found the dress open in front, it buttoned in front, but no buttons were torn off; I looked to see—I found a reddish brown mark nearly all round the throat, with a reddish brown depression where the knot had been under the left jaw—there was a bruise over the right eye, and an abrasion under each eye—the eyes and mouth were firmly closed; I tried them—the right-hand was firmly closed, and the nail of the ring finger, the third finger, was broken back; there was no ring on that finger—a slight scratch under the right knee was the only other injury I observed—the third finger nail being bent back resulted, I suppose, from some struggle which she had made—I did not draw any conclusion from that—the dress was not torn, only open
in front—I saw no other signs of tearing—the pocket was examined in my presence, and nothing found in it—a little blood was coming from the mouth, very slight—the body was quite stiff and cold—it is very difficult to say how long a body has been dead, but there was nothing incompatible with the notion that she had been dead twenty hours—the safe was examined in my presence, and something was found in it, but no money—this examination was on Monday, and I made a post-mortem examination on the Wednesday, and found a bruise on the left-cheek bone, which I had not observed on the Monday; I ought to say on the angle of the lower jaw on the left side—two front teeth of the upper jaw were rather loose—I also found some slight scratches on the nose, which I had not observed before, and in the neighbourhood of the mark of the cord there were some reddish scratches, which I had not observed—the mark on the lower jaw was higher than the place where the rope was on the Monday; the rope was below the jaw—the membranes of the brain were healthy, but gorged with blood—the brain was healthy, except that it was greatly congested—the lungs were gorged with blood, but perfectly healthy, except a little empyema at the tips—that is a little rupture of the air cells, nearly everybody has it—the valves of the heart were perfect, and the structure of the heart was perfectly healthy, but it was nearly empty of blood because the blood was so unusually fluid that it ran out when the heart was removed from the body—the liver and kidneys were both gorged with blood, but healthy—the lungs, liver, and all the important parts of the body were gorged with blood—I naturally examined the throat and wind pipe, and found two fractures of the hyoid bone, also a fracture of the hyoid cartilage, and one of the cracoid cartilage, just at the left of the medium line—I should also say that there was blood poured out under the mucous membrane of the right vocal cord—that is what we use in articulation—these different bones and cartilages which I have described, are parts of the structure of the throat through which the voice passes, and the blood—they showed that some very great violence must have been applied to the throat—it comes to this, that the architecture, the frame of the throat was broken; the fracture of the frame-work of the throat, and the blood which I saw gorging the different organs, made me consider that she had been killed either by strangulation or throttling, the effect of which would be to gorge all those organs—strangulation would cause that flow of blood to the internal organs—the destruction of the throat which I have described would be the result of throttling, and throttling would also produce the gorging of the various organs which I have described—the mark by the neck, and the injuries to the neck, might have been made during life or after death, but the blood poured out under the mucous membrane of the vocal chord, showed that some injury must have been done during life—it might not have been aggravated afterwards, it must have been before death—in the healthy patient, when strangulation takes place, it would so interfere with the system that congestion would ensue—I do not think congestion would increase after life had ceased—I think the pouring out of the blood under the vocal chord must have been done during life; I should think it was probably done by the violence which caused the breaking of the part—in my opinion a single blow on the jaw would not produce the injuries—it requires very great force and strength to produce the breaking of the framework of the neck which I saw—I have made experiments two or three times to see whether it could be done, and it requires very great force indeed—a
rope might possibly have caused the two fractures of the hyoid bone, but not the others, for the mark of the rope was above those injuries—there was only one mark; such a mark could be made by a rope after death, but this was so very regular that I should hardly think it could be made by a rope dragging a body—still there was only one mark—looking at all the circumstances, my opinion is that she either died from being strangled or from being throttled; strangling with a rope or throttling with your hand—whether one or the other the gorging of the vessels would equally have taken place.
Cross-examined by MR. POWELL. It is consistent with my examination that the deceased might have been killed by grasping the throat, by throttling—cases have occurred where the throat has been grasped so suddenly and strongly that the windpipe was closed, and death followed almost immediately—I discovered on the Wednesday a fracture of the hyoid bone, and an injury to the cartilage of the throat—the fracture of the bone was not caused by the rope after death—my opinion is that the injury to the cartilage was caused during life, it might have been caused by a powerful grasp of the hand—I give it as my opinion that a blow could not have caused the injury to the cartilage—I have met with no case on record, and I think it would be an accident happening in prize fights, if possible, but it is matter of opinion—in the experiments I have made since I have fractured the bone—that was after the death of the subject—I succeeded in producing similar injuries to the cartilage, twelve or fourteen hours after death—I can give no opinion whether injuries to the bone and cartilage might be more easily produced during life than after death—I am not aware that injuries to the structure of the bone may be produced much more easily on the living than on the dead subject—I am aware that the German surgeons have experimented largely in that way, and Mr. Casper says that he has failed to break this thing—he was a very high authority—he is not living—his works are a very high authority—he says that he never could produce those injuries after death—it is very improbable that the injuries I discovered on this body might have been produced by a blow given under what for medical purposes might be called favourable circumstances—I have not made the experiment, and therefore I cannot say that it is impossible.
Re-examined. In the living subject there is power of resistance, but in the dead subject none whatever—in the experiments I made I chose my opportunity and carefully searched for the right place to put my fingers—I hardly think the hand could grasp all the parts at once, so that the various injuries could be the result of a single sudden act—in my opinion it is impossible for a blow to have produced all those injuries.
MR. POWELL having intimated that he did not intend to call witnesses, submitted that the Attorney-General was now bound in the ordinary course to sum up his evidence, and was notentitled to a general reply: Mr. Baron Martin had ruled in "Reg. v. Cox," 7 (Cox C.C. p. 506) with respect to the Attorney-General of the County Palatine, that he had no such right, but that it was confined to the Attorney-General of England in person, and that the practice was a bad one. Since that ruling the 28 Vict, c. 18 had been passed, which he contended expressly took away the right which before that the Attorney-General was supposed to possess, and placed him in the position of any ordinary Counsel conducting a Prosecution.
THE ATTORNEY-GENERAL was not aware that the right of reply had ever been seriously disputed; the opinion of Mr. Baron Martin had been set aside by the observations of the present Lord Chief Baron, in the case of "The Queen
v. Waters," see "Central Criminal Court Sessions Paper," vol. 72, page 566, and by Mr. Justice Hannen, in the case of the Welsh Fasting Girl, and in 7 "Carrington and Payne," p. 676, and the Statute re/erred to stated "that the practice, except as hereby expressly altered, shall remain as at present" it was in fact an immemorial privilege which had never been interfered with.
MR. BARON CHANNELL . "It appears to me that the Attorney-General's right to reply is in the nature of a prerogative right; it is a right on the part of the Crown, exercised by the officer of the Crown, the Attorney-General, and I do not see that that prerogative right is taken away at all by this Act of Parliament; whenever the Attorney-General not only appears in person, but makes a statement that he appears really on behalf of the Crown, he has a right to reply, and that right is not affected by the question of whether or no the Defendant's Counsel calls witnesses; he has the right if he chooses to exercise it.
GUILTY—Strongly recommended to mercy by the. Jury, considering that the case, so far as regards premeditation, had not been made out.
Prisoner. I never had the intention of causing the death.
NEW COURT—Wednesday, June 12th, 1872.
Before Mr. Justice Blackburn.
472. EDWARD BREWIS (33) , Unlawfully obtaining by false pretences three cheques for the payment of 150l., 150l., and 75l., and 375l. in money, with intent to defraud. The prosecutor, by the consent of the Court, withdrew from the prosecution, and the prisoner was discharged.
MR. HARRIS and MR. D. MICHELE conducted the Prosecution.
WILLIAM DRISCOLL . I live at 2, Baker's Arras Alley, Whitechapel—on 10th June, about 2 p.m., I was going in to my dinner and saw Mrs. Lordan coming down the court from her dinner—I live at No. 2 and she lived at No. 3—her throat was cut, and she turned round to me and told me to take hold of her husband, as he did it—he was coming out of their own door, following her—I took hold of him and held him till the policeman took him.
PATRICK NORMAN . I live at 5, Hayes' Court, Whitechapel, and am a scavenger—I was taking stuff out of a gulley at the bottom of Baker's Arms Alley, and saw Mary Lordan come out with blood flowing from her throat—she cried out "Murder!"—I saw the prisoner coming down with Driscoll, who asked me to take hold of him—I took hold of his arm—he asked me to let go of him—I said not till I gave him to a constable—he said "Let go of me or I will have the b thing's life"—I went with him and the constable to the station.
Prisoner. Q. Are you sure I made use of those words because I can prove I did not? A. Yes—Driscoll had hold of your arm at the time.
HENRY TENNANT (Policeman H 65). On 10th June I saw a crowd in Royal Mint Street—I went up and found the prisoner in custody of Norman and Driscoll—Norman said "I give this man into your custody; he has
cut his wife's throat"—I took hold of him—he said "All right, policeman, I will go with you," and he said immediately afterwards "I did it"—when he got about twenty yards he said "She tried to strangle me"—his wife afterwards came up and said he had cut her throat with a razor—he said he had done it, that she had tried to strangle him—I searched him at the station and found this razor (produced) in his right trowsers pocket, wet with blood—both the prisoner and his wife were perfectly sober.
MARY LORDAN —I am the prisoner's wife, and live at 3, Baker's Arms Alley—on 10th June, about 1.40 I went up stairs to make some tea, and when I came down my husband was in doors—I asked him if he had any news—he said "No"—I asked him to have some tea, and as he sat down to have some tea he gave me something out of a bottle, I don't know what it was—I told him to take the remainder, and so he did—he then threw himself on the floor—he got up, and I did not know at the time that he was using a razor—I asked him was he—he said "No," and then I perceived my own blood—we had had no words before that, only I asked him if he was at work—he was dressed; his boots were off, I don't know whether his stockings were—I don't know how he came to me, I was sitting in a chair—I did not see anything in his hand—I had not given him any blow; I had a scuffle with him—when I asked him if he was at work and he said "No," I said "It is a nice thing for me to be at work and you idle"—he did not say anything to that, nor did I say anything more—we did not struggle together—I caught him by the shoulder and gave him a pinch when he said he was not at work; that was all—he put his boots on outside in the court—I went to a doctor's shop, and then saw my husband in Driscoll's custody outside—I went after him, and said to Norman "That is the man that cut my throat"—he said nothing.
Prisoner. Q. When I took you into the court did not I say "Wait there until I get my shoes to put them on? A. Yes, I did pull you down by your hair—I do not know whether you took me by the arm—I did not hit you with the small dusting broom—I only struck you down to the ground when I saw my blood.
COURT Q. Struck him with what? A. With my fist—Norman took me to the doctor's, and when we came out the prisoner was about the length of the court from us.
LIONEL BEACH . I am house surgeon at the London Hospital—on 10th May I examined the prosecutrix and found an insised wound on her throat, about three inches long, transversely extending to the left side, across the windpipe—it was about a quarter of an inch deep—I could feel the arteries, it was such a wound as could be produced by a razor—it was about one-eighth of an inch from the arteries, and she would have died if it had cut the artery, as it was it was not dangerous.
The prisoner in his defence stated that he was cutting his corns with the razor, when his wife told him to go out and look after something to do, to which he replied "Go and tell that other young man you have got, to go to work" upon which she jumped up in a passion and struck him on the back of his head with a small broom; that as she did so he raised his hand to protect his head from a second blow, and the razor went against her throat, that she had thrown a chair at his head on the Sunday before, when he jumped out of the window, and she threw the chair after him, being a woman of a very violent temper.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. — Fifteen Months' Imprisonment.
MR. HOLLINGS conducted the Prosecution; and MR. BBINDLBY the Defence.
WILLIAM HENRY EVANS . I keep the Bevington Arms, Paddington Road, Notting Hill—I have known the deceased Sidney Smith, two years, as a customer—on Saturday, 27th April, he came in about 5.30—I left the house, leaving him there—my wife was attending to the bar—I returned between 7 o'clock and half-past, and found him in the private bar—the prisoner was in the parlour with Caroline Jenner, and her sister, Mrs. Judge, and three or four young men—Smith appeared the worse for drink, but I should not call him drunk—he could stand well—he was in that state when he came in—he only had one glass of beer in the house—I advised him to go out, because I was told something which he had done—the prisoner and his friends were about to leave the house; as they went out Smith followed—the sister of Caroline Jenner was standing at the door as he went out, and he pushed rudely against her—I Raw a little scuffle—I could not see exactly who it was between, because there are folding doors with embossed glass—the doors swung open as they went out—I went outside immediately and saw a scuffle, and saw the deceased fall on the flags—his head was towards the doorway as I went out—I could not Bay what caused him to fall—I picked him up—he appeared to he stunned; he could not speak to me—I dragged him into the parlour and bathed his face with water, and he came round a bit, and sat on a seat and said that would do, and took the cloth out of my hand—he laid his face on the parlour table—he sat there about half an hour while I was attending to my business—he then removed himself to the far end and laid down on the seat—he slid off on to the floor and I picked him up—he was then awake—the seat was about two feet high—I don't think he hurt himself—it was not a direct fall, he slid off—I carried him into the tap-room with another witness, to let him sleep off the effect of the drink, as I thought, as he was then snoring and appeared to be fast asleep—I carried him chair and all into the taproom, and shortly afterwards I heard him fall a second time out of one of the Windsor chairs—he was taken away by a man named Plum, about 12.30—I did not notice whether he had a black eye—I bathed his face after 11 o'clock.
Cross-examined. I know the prisoner to be a respectable, quiet, well conducted young man—I had seen the deceased before that day, but not on that day—he had drank pretty freely for some time—he had been pretty generally intoxicated since the Thanksgiving Day—I have seen him several days—when I saw him this afternoon at 5.30 he appeared stupid as men usually are when they have had a little drink—I could see that he was very strange, and there was a sort of vacancy about him—nothing took place in the parlour or bar that I saw—the table where he fell the second time has projecting iron feet, with iron curls and flowers, and a person who fell off the chair might possibly strike against them—he was lying in that direction—it was a very heavy fall, because I was in the bar and heard it—I picked him up and laid him on the floor, and he still appeared to be asleep—I saw no marks or bruises on his face, but I bathed his face several times and tried to wake him up—I went for his wife who came.
Re-examined. We carried him into the tap-room, chair and all, and placed him at the table, and to make it more secure I placed his coat at the back of his chair—we put him towards the table.
ELIZA EVANS . I am the wife of the last witness—on 27th April the deceased came in with Plum, about 5 or 5.30—I noticed his voice—it was different to what it used to be when I had seen him before—it seemed very thick—my husband served him—Smith was not in the house when the prisoner came in, but he returned—he remained after Plum a little while alone, and then went away and returned in half an hour—the prisoner had come in the meantime, and four men and three females with him—I did not see Smith go into the public parlour, or I should have tried to prevent him—I saw him in front of the bar once, and again in the public bar—he went into the parlour to the prisoner, and I heard words and went in to see what it was—I saw nothing take place between them, but only heard a few words—they were in the house together about a quarter of an hour—I advised Smith to come out of the parlour and go home, and he came out and returned back into the parlour again—I went in again and asked him to come out, and told him he had no business there—he came out with a man named Adams and stood in front of the bar, and about five minutes afterwards the whole party came out of the parlour and stood in front of the bar, in the same compartment with Smith, who behaved very rudely to the females, pushing against them in a rude manner—Smith told him to keep his own company, as he did not know him—the prisoner called the prisoner a boy for interfering, and put himself in a fighting attitude, but they did not fight—Smith talked about fighting, but the prisoner did not want to fight—they had a few words, and then they became very quiet—they did not remain in that compartment five minutes—the prisoner and his friends and the deceased rushed through the doors, and the deceased pushed up against a female, and half a minute afterwards I heard a fall—I did not go outside—Smith was brought back into the house by my husband—he seemed stunned—I saw him placed on a seat in the public parlour—I saw him while he remained in that room—my husband undid his tie and collar, and bathed his face—he moved to the other end by himself and remained in the house till 11.30, when he was taken away by his friend.
Cross-examined. I did not hear him fall in the tap-room—he seemed a little stupid at 5.30, but not so bad as when he came back the second time—he was accustomed to drink very much—he pushed rudely against a female who I was serving and said something to me which I should not like to repeat—he wanted to fight the prisoner, and he insulted several customers—the prisoner said he did not wish to speak to him—the prisoner is a respectable, well conducted, quiet man—I have known him six or eight months.
CAROLINE NICHOLSON . I live at 7, Blagrove Place, Notting Hill, and am a widow—my house is opposite the Bevington Arms—I can see everything that goes on there—on 27th April I was at home—I saw the prisoner come out of the house and stand on the pavement, and three females came out and rushed on him—the deceased then came out and stood outside, and the three females flew at his face and struck him—as soon as the prisoner came out he struck the deceased in the face and knocked him down and kicked him; he struck him twice, and kicked him when he was down twice on the lower part of his body—the deceased got up and stood against the wall, and the prisoner knocked him down the second time—he had not then recovered, he was quite helpless—it was not two minutes afterwards that the prisoner struck him again—I can't Bay whether the deceased spoke to the prisoner, because his back
was to me—he appeared bad when he was standing against the wall—he looked ill—his arms were hanging down—the prisoner gave him a blow which knocked him down with such force that his head rebounded—the prisoner would have used more violence when he was down, but Mr. Evans kept him back, and the deceased lay as if he was dead—Mr. Evans dragged him into the house, and his head fell and his arms dropped—Mrs. Caroline Allen, who lives in the house with me was with me and my niece Rosina Hill—I called Mrs. Allen's attention to it, but she did not see the commencement.
Cross-examined. The window was between me and the street—I am quite sure the deceased came out first—he did nothing—he was helpless—he came out by himself—the prisoner and a friend of his came out afterwards—there were two gentlemen—I did not see the deceased fighting with the prisoner—he never lifted his hands up—I did not say I saw Smith and the prisoner fight—I am sure I mentioned the kicking before the Magistrate, but I did not say I saw Smith and the prisoner fight, he was too helpless—it was Smith's head which rebounded, not his shoulder—the other women in my house saw it, but I saw more than they did, because I saw them come out—it was me called the others' attention in the house—it is true that he was knocked down twice—I have come here to speak the truth, and have been grossly insulted ever since I hare been a witness.
CAROLING ALLEN . I am the wife of Edwin Allen, and live in the same house as Mrs. Nicholson—about 7.15 on the evening of 27th April, she called my attention, and I went to the window and saw the deceased standing against the wall at the side of the Bevington Arms, quite helpless, he seemed either as if he had been drinking very much, or in great pain; his arms were straight down by his side—whilst he was standing in that position, the prisoner went up and struck him either in the face or neck, and he fell very heavily; his head struck the pavement, and rebounded when he fell, the prisoner stood back among the females, and Mr. Evans came out and dragged the deceased in.
Cross-examined. The females did nothing to the deceased—I only saw him fall once, and only saw him struck once—he fell backwards right on the back of his head—I did not see him try to strike the prisoner; I saw no kicking while he was down.
ROS INA HILL . I live in the same house as Mrs. Nicholson, and am her niece—I did not see the commencement of it; I was inside the house; my aunt called to me, and I went to the window and saw the prisoner strike the deceased twice—he was standing near the door; about seven other persons were there—I saw no women till afterwards—the prisoner struck the deceased two blows in the face, and he fell, and while he was down I saw the prisoner kick him twice in the lower part of his body; he got up and leant against the wall in a helpless condition—the prisoner went up to him again, and gave him two blows, and he fell with such force as caused his head to rebound on the pavement—Mr. Evans came out and took him in.
Cross-examined. I did not see the deceased square at the prisoner; he was too helpless; he could get up, but he could not fight—I have talked this matter over with my aunt, not about what I should say, but about what I saw—he gave him two blows the first time, and two the second time; that was four blows in the face with two hands. BENJAMIN PLUM. I am a painter, and live at 3, Paddington Road,
Notting Hill—on 27th April, about 4.20, I went with the deceased to the Bevington Arms, I had not been long in his company—he called on me at my house, which is about twenty-one yards from the Bevington Arms—I had known him some years, but more particularly for the last twelve weeks, when I saw him almost daily; he used to call—there was nothing in his manner on this day which struck me as out of the ordinary; he had a glass of cooper and I had a glass of ale—he had been drinking a little—I stayed in the house three or four minutes, and then went away—I saw him again about 12.45 on Sunday morning, lying on his back in the tap-room in a helpless state, with his arms by his side; he was very much puffed in the face, and round the back of the neck—I could not rouse him; I lifted him up; his head fell back; the landlord helped me take him to my house—I sent for a doctor, who helped me to get him to his own house in a cab—I remained there till he was put to bed.
Cross-examined. He was a little the worse for drink when I first saw him—he was not a man who drank heavily, but he did drink, because his occupation required it, knowing so many, and jobbing about for different masters—he had not been fighting that day to my knowledge.
ANNIE SMITH . I am the widow of the deceased, and live at 2, Carlton Road, Notting Hill—on 27th April, he went out at 12.30 in the day, and I did not see him again till 12.15 on the 28th, at the Bevington Arms—he left home in perfect health; he enjoyed excellent health; he had never had a day's illness since our marriage, which is twenty years—when I saw him at the Bevington Arms, he was quite insensible, lying on a mat in the tap-room—he was removed by Mr. Plum, and brought home at nearly 2 o'clock—we sent for a doctor—he died about 5.20 on the Sunday morning.
Cross-examined. I did not know whether he was drunk when I saw him at the Bevington Arms, I did not think he was sound asleep—I did not say to Mr. Evans, "It is nothing; I quite expected he would come home dead, for he has been drunk since Thanksgiving Day."
HENRY ARTHUR MIDDLEDITCH . I am a surgeon of Notting Hill—on Sunday morning, 28th April, about 12.40, I was fetched to Plum's house, and there found the deceased lying on the floor, totally insensible; I tried to rouse him—I went with him in a cab to his own house, and stopped with him till between 3 and 4 o'clock; I then left—I have since made a postmortem examination in conjunction with Dr. Finlay, the result of which was that he died from compression of the brain—the skull was fractured; there was a considerable bruise on the left temple, and echymosis under the right eye, a small bruise on the left upper lip, a bruise on the right shoulder, and a small one on the right arm, and echymosis on the left side of the scrotum; that was the result of external violence—three bones of the skull were fractured; the parietal, the temporal, and spheroid bones; it was one continuous fracture—on opening the skull, I found a considerable clot of blood pressing on the left hemisphere of the brain, caused by the rupture of a vessel; that was the cause of death, and would be the result of the fracture; the fracture might not be fatal—being knocked down would be sufficient to cause the injury.
Cross-examined. If he fell heavily on some hard substance, such as the iron leg of a table, that would be sufficient—the injury was at the side of the head—I should think if he fell and struck the back of his head it would produce injury of the frontal bone—the injury would not be so probable by a fall on the back of the head as by something from the other side—all the organs
were healthy—there was nothing in the brain to show excessive drinking—from the bruise on the upper lip there had probably been a blow on the mouth—I could not see from the face that there had been any other.
Re-examined. There might not have been time for marks from blows to become apparent—the room was very dark—I think the blow on the temple was the result of a fall—the skin of the head was not broken at all—it would take a great deal of force to break the three bones of the skull—I think he must have fallen very heavily to cause it, if he fell from a chair—I know nothing more likely to produce it than his being knocked down on the pavement and striking the back of his head—effusion is not instantaneous, snoring is a symptom of it.
HUNTER FINLAY , M.D. I live at 10, Belmont Terrace, South Kensington—I made, in company with the last witness, a post-mortem examination of Sidney Smith, on the Tuesday following the accident—I did not see him in life—I found a bruise on the upper lip towards the left aide and an appearance of bruising on the left temple, but this was not caused by an external injury, because it was just over the seat of the fracture, and it was caused by a small quantity of blood from one of the arteries, the skin was not abraded—there was a very slight bruise on the arm and a mark on the scrotum, and a good part of it may have been post-mortem—I examined the skull, and found a fracture of the temporal bone, extending slightly into the parietal bone, and very slightly into the spheroid bone—the fracture of the spheroid bone was so slight that it caused no bleeding—I opened the head and found an effusion of blood on the left hemisphere of the brain, under the seat of the fracture—that was in my opinion caused by the fracture—the pressure on the brain would be sufficient to cause death, but the fracture of itself would not—it was such an injury as would result from a fall on the pavement, and it must have been on the right ear, because the injury to the skull was at the opposite point to that.
Cross-examined. I think it would be impossible for a fall on the back of the head to produce those injuries—I have known cases in the hospital where a fall on the back of the head has produced black eyes—it might have been done from the man falling from his chair against the iron supports of a table, if he fell heavily—drunken men very often snore heavily, it is often difficult to distinguish the symptoms between drunkenness and injury to the brain—healthy people often snore, it is very often a symptom of sound sleep—the only indication of blows was a out on the upper lip—if there had been a heavy blow on the eye I should expect to find it bloodshot, and the echymosis to have come on much more rapidly—he must have been struck behind the right ear.
Re-examined. Some hard body must have struck him behind the right ear—falling on the kerb-stone or pavement might do it—some skulls are more brittle than others—I know one case where a person slipping off a chair caused such a fracture—portions of three bones were fractured—it was not a fracture which in itself Would cause death—whether a man falling on the pavement would be likely to produce such an injury would depend upon what part of his head he struck.
HENRY ANTICOT (Policeman X 368). I took the prisoner into custody on 28th April—I asked if his name was Scantlebury—he said "Yes, I know what you want me for, governor, that affair last night"—I then told him the charge, and said he would have to go to the station with me—he said "Very well"—on the way he said "I struck Mr. Smith, and he fell heavily on the path."
MR. BRINDLEY called the following witnesses for the defence.
CAROLINE JENNKR . I am single and live at No. 1, China Walk, Lambeth—I am engaged to the prisoner—I was with him and Frances Richards, and Rosetta Judge, Charles Cottle, and Enoch Adams, in the parlour of the Bevington Arms—we had not had any refreshment when Smith, the deceased, came in—as soon as we had got in, we had scarcely taken our seats, he came straight across to me and sat beside me, as I was sitting by the side of my sister, Mrs. Richards—he put his hand at the back of me; I did not take any notice of that, I felt rather frightened of him when he came in, he had such a peculiar look—I went on talking to my sister, and I found that he was insulting me again, he put his hand up my clothes, on my legs—I turned round and said "You wretch, if you do that again I will give you in charge"—I asked my sister to let me pass, and I passed by her to stand by the side of the prisoner—he asked me what was the matter—I said "Nothing"—he said he knew better, for he had seen the insult—I said "Take no notice of him"—he then spoke to the deceased and told him to keep his own company, that he was not wanted—there were rather high words in consequence of this, and Mrs. Evans came in and asked him what he wanted there, and told him to go home and leave our party by themselves—after a time he went out of the room, but came back again—we went to the bar to get so me cakes—I stood in the corner of the bar and Smith followed me in, and pushed rudely against me again, pressing his hand upon me in a most indecent manner, and the prisoner again cautioned him not to insult me—he said "I don't know you, don't insult me, you have no right to interfere"—he did not touch me again, I did not see him touch my sister—he called the prisoner a boy; he said it was not for a boy to interfere, and threatened to give him a punch in the mouth, and he squared his fist in his face—we then all left the house, and Smith followed me and my sister, and he put his hand in front of her in a most indecent manner, she spoke very sharply to him and said if there was a policeman about she would give him in charge—he repeated the offence and she gave him a slap in the face, and with that the fight commenced—the prisoner said to Smith, "You are no man to insult females in that way"—Smith put himself in a fighting attitude and called him a boy again, and I saw him on the ground, I saw no blow given.
Cross-examined. I am a servant, out of place, I have known the prisoner for some time, but we have not been engaged quite six months—I was not in the habit of going to public-houses with him; we had gone from Lambeth—he asked me to go in and have some refreshment as there were three or four of us together—the prisoner saw the deceased insult me and he, cautioned him, and he saw him insult my sister outside—I saw no blow given, and I did not see him fall, but I believe I saw him directly after he was on the ground; I was present all the time, but I was held back by someone, I think my back was turned to them, I was very much frightened—I did not see him knocked down, or leading up against the wall, nor did I see the prisoner knock him down a second time.
FRANCES RICHARDS . On Saturday 27th April, I was with my sister, the last witness, the prisoner, and other friends, in the parlour at this public-house—the deceased came in and sat down at the side of my sister—I saw him put his hand at the back of her, she took no notice at first, then I saw him place his hand right down under the table, but I could not see what he did; my sister got up sharply and asked me to let her pass—I asked her
what for—she said "Nothing"—she went over to Scantlebury, and he asked her what was the matter—she said "Nothing"—he said "Yes, I saw the insult," and he warned the deceased—Mrs. Evans, hearing high words, came in and told him to leave—he went out and came back in a few minutes, and went up to my sister in a very insulting way, and he was then very severely cautioned by one and all, and Mrs. Evans came in again, with Mrs. Adams—he went out again, but was not out long before he came in again—we then left the parlour and went to the bar and asked for some cakes, and stood there eating them; I saw Smith go and push against my sister in a very indecent manner; she went over to Scantlebury again, and he again warned him, he asked him to leave the young ladies alone, and to leave the company—we then went outside to go Borne, the deceased followed me, and while I was talking to Cottle, grossly insulted me by placing his hand in front of me and catching hold of me in a very indecent manner—I asked him to be careful who he was insulting, or I would give him in charge—he deliberately did it again, and I slapped his face and told him I would teach him better than to insult a respectable married woman—Scantlebury came forward and said he would prove that I was a respectable woman—the deceased told him not to interfere, and called him a boy, and said "I will give you a punch in the mouth"—I saw him put his fists in Scanttebury's face, and I saw no more, for I felt very faint and went back; I saw no blows struck, but I went to the door just in time to see the fall.
Cross-examined. I went just inside the public-house-door—I don't know whether my sister went with me, I felt very faint—as soon as I came to," I went to the door again.
ROSETTA JUDGE . I am the wife of Charles Judge, late of Alpha House, Talbot Road—I am cousin to Jenner—I was with her, the prisoner, and other friends, at this public-house on Saturday afternoon—the deceased came into the parlour, sat down by the side of Jenner, and passed his arm behind her—she told him to keep his own company, and not do it again, and he got up and went away—after a time he went and sat by her side again, and stooped, and put his hand down, but I did not see what he did—we then went to the bar, and there he rudely pushed against her—I went away then, and saw no more.
CHARLES COTTLE . I was with the prisoner and others when Smith came in—he was rather quarrelsome, and when we got outside, he very indecently assaulted one of the females, Mrs. Richards, while she was speaking to me—the prisoner said to him "You are no man for insulting a young girl"—there were blows struck, and the deceased fell on the kerb on the back of his head, and that was all I saw—there was only one blow by the prisoner—the deceased attempted to strike—whether he did strike or not I can't exactly say—they both made an attempt to strike, but I think the prisoner struck first—they both stood in a fighting attitude—I saw no second blow, and no kicking—he went into the public-house, and they bathed his head, and he came to his senses.
Cross-examined. Mrs. Richards was present when the blow was struck—I can't say whether she saw it—if she was looking the same way that I was she would have seen it—I am positive only one blow was struck—I was there all the time—I did not see the deceased leaning up against the house, or see any second blow struck—I am a carpenter.
shoving up against her, or putting his hand—the prisoner told him to keep his own company—we then went outside, and Smith very indecently assaulted her there—the prisoner said "You are no man, you are a beast, to insult females"—Smith said "Who are you, a boy, interfering? I will give you a slap in the mouth," and he put his hand in an attitude to do it—there was a blow struck, and he fell, and that was all I saw—he was taken into the house—there was no second blow, or any kicking—he fell backwards—he seemed to fall right straight back.
Cross-examined. I swear I only saw one blow—I did not see Smith leaning against the house; he did not—I remained there all the time till he was taken inside—I am a carpenter—I am not related to any of the parties—we were all together.
JOHN JAMES WYBURD . I live in Westbourne Grove—I was in the Bevington Arms on Saturday, 28th April, about 7.30, and saw the deceased there, sitting in a chair in the parlour—he appeared to be drunk and snoring, and I and the landlord carried him out in the chair into the tap-room—about five minutes after I heard a fall—I went to the door, and saw that he had fallen out of the chair on his face—I and a young fellow named Clayton, and the landlord, picked him up and laid him on his back on the floor, with his head towards the fire-place—when I picked him up his left side was against the iron leg of the table, about three inches from it.
The prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. ST. AUBYN conducted the Prosecution.
THOMAS DEWEY (Policeman K 311). Last Sunday morning, at 10 o'clock I was called to Blackwall Stairs, and found the prisoner and a boy with her—they were both wet—Waller, who was there, told me something, and I asked the prisoner how she accounted for it—she said that she would make an end of herself and the boy too, she would not be any trouble to anybody—I know the boy, he is her son—she smelt very strongly of liquor—she seemed to have been drinking, but was not drunk.
JOHN WALLER . I am a lighterman—last Sunday morning I saw the prisoner go down to the shore with a little boy, she had hold of his wrist and took him down to the water—there is no stair, it is a paving which goes to the water's edge—she dragged the boy into the water by the wrist, and both went under water and came up again—it was out of her depth—I was down in the water, trying to feel for the boy, and I pushed the woman back, so that she should not drag me in, and by that means she let go of the boy and I got him out, and then I got hold of her dress and pulled her out—she then said that she would drown the boy and herself.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I am very sorry, I was very drunk. I do not know what I did. The herring-boat was off the pier, and I don't know if I was going to it I went out to buy herrings. My husband lives with another woman, and drives me out of my mind. I am too fond of the boy to go and drown him."
Prisoner's Defence. I am very sorry. I did not intend to drown the boy. and I beg you will be merciful to me.
GUILTY—Recommended to mercy by the Jury — Three Months' Imprisonment.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, June 12th 1872.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. DOUGLAS conducted the Prosecution.
WILLIAM STEVEVS . I was a seaman on board the Echo, which is a British ship—the prisoner was an ordinary seaman on board—on 4th May, between 12 and 1 o'clock I was in the forecastle with the prisoner, having my dinner—some words occurred between us about cleaning out the forecastle—I asked him several times if he would clean it out, and he made no answer—I said "Silence gives no consent, you ought to say Yes or No, and then we will know what to do"—at last he said he would not do it at all—and I said "You never intended to"—and he said "No"—I said "Then you will have to do it, or you will go to the master, and you will know the reason"—he began to set up a lot of jaw to me—I asked him "Who he was setting up his jaw to"—and he says "To you"—I says "I want no noise, no jaw, or nothing from you," and I told him to hold his noise—he told me to dry up—I says "If you go on I shall have to give you a lift"—he kept on daring me strike him for four or five minutes—he said "Hit me, if you dare"—I did not want a row with him nor no one else, and then at last I got a little out of temper, and I got up, but not intending to hit him at all—the ship gave a lurch, and with the forecastle being so greasy I was on the top of him before I knew where I was—I believe I hit him with my open hand at the side of the head—I saw him then with a knife in his hand—I saw it across my right ribs—it cut my jacket—then we had a scuffle—I tried to get the knife away—we went under the ladder leading on to the deck—his hand escaped from mine and the next I know I was stabbed across the forehead—I held him under the ladder for a good while and I called for a man, and said "Will you take the knife out of his hand, he has stabbed me?"—the man did not come—I held him till I was that faint from loss of blood. I let him go and went up. the forecastle ladder to get the wound dressed—he said "You are a coward, you run away when you see blood"—I went and called the master, and he dressed my wound—it stopped about three minutes, and then it bursted out again, and lasted from 12 o'clock till 6.30—I bled till I went out of my senses—it was a severe wound—I have ne feeling in that part of my head—he was getting his dinner with the knife—this is it (produced).
ABRAHAM TAYLOR . I was master of the Echo—the prosecutor came to me with a cut on his forehead—it looked a very bad wound and bled a great deal—I dressed it—I afterwards sent for the prisoner and asked him to account for it—he said that they had done it in the scuffle, and he would do so to anyone that struck him; that Stevens struck him first—I made an entry in the log-book.
GEORGE WILLIAMSON . I am a seaman on board the Echo—I heard a row going on in the forecastle between the prisoner and the prosecutor—one was sitting on one side the forecastle and one on the other—I heard a word or two about clearing out the forecastle—I saw Stevens strike Nelson and they both fell, but I never saw the knife till Nelson got up and Stevens ran up the hatchway and said he was stabbed—I saw he was bleeding, and thought he had been cut across the nose; I did not think he had used the knife. The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "It arose about cleaning
out the forecastle; we had words about it. He said I should do it every morning, and swore at me. He threatened to strike me in the eye. We rolled on a stick. In the struggle I struck him with the knife as if I had a stick in my hand, it was not a stab. I was cutting my dinner with the knife. The captain sent for me and asked me how I did it, and I said "He struck me when I had the knife in my hand, and I struck him in the scuffle, and I would strike everyone who struck me."
The prisoner in his defence stated that he had been in the hospital with a bad eye, which the prosecutor struck; that he struck the prisoner back, but did not intend to injure him with the knife.
GUILTY—Strongly recommended to mercy by the Jury on account of the severe provocation he received — One Month's Imprisonment.
MR. HARMSWORTH conducted the Prosecution; and MR. W. SLEIGH
GUILTY of an indecent assault. — Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
MR. LANGFORD conducted the Prosecution; and MR. F. H. LEWIS the Defence. DR. PETER HINCKES BIRD. I live at No. 1, Norfolk Square, Paddington—the prisoner was in my service from October till 16th May last—on 31st May, after my family had gone to bed, I went out about 11.15 and returned about 12.15—I had turned the gas off in my library before I went out—when I came back I found the gas in the library alight, and there was a box on the table—I missed thirteen sovereigns from that box; 10l. from a little sovereign-box, and 3l. loose—a leathern purse which contained 2l. in silver was gone—I called in a policeman and we went down stairs, and we found the glass of the door leading to the front area was broken and the bolts withdrawn—I know the bolts had been fastened, because I heard the servant do it before I left—the front area has no steps, it is not used—when I discharged the prisoner on 16th May I paid him 1l. 10s., the balance of wages due.
Cross-examined. The prisoner came into my service from a lady named McCann—I understood that she did not require his services any longer—we received a character at that time—he remained in my service from October till 16th May—the night before he was discharged he went out without permission, and I locked him out about 12 o'clock—he gave me notice, but of course I should have discharged him—I believe that he reentered Mrs. McCann's service—she lives at 2, Southwark Place—I don't think he was taken there, but he was in her service—I have understood since that he went into her service on the day that he left me—I should say that the burglary must have taken place about 11.30—the servants had all gone to bed—the person who committed it, I understood, let himself out at the front door—the glass of the window of the area door was lying on the mat inside, there was none outside that I am aware of—I believe the prisoner's mother lives at Hemel Hempstead—I heard him say at the Police Court that he had received a 10l. note from his mother—I did not
hear him say that he changed a note with Mr. Grove—there were no marks on the sovereigns that I lost.
Re-examined. I did not find the street door open when I came home, but he was seen to go out—it took place on the night of the 31st—the inspector called next morning, with John Carter—I received a communication from Mr. Davis, two days after, on Sunday, the 2nd June.
JOHN CARTER (Detective Officer D). On 2nd June I received some information from Mr. Bird and Mr. Davis, and I went to Berkeley Street, Hyde Park, that is about a quarter of a mile from Mr. Bird's house—I met the prisoner there about 11 o'clock, in the street—I told him I was a policeman, and that I should take him into custody for breaking and entering into his late master's house, Mr. Bird, at Norfolk Square, on Friday night, 31st May, about 11o'clock, and stealing about 15l. in money—he said "Very well"—I then took him to the station and searched him—I found seven sovereigns, 8s. in silver, 10d. in bronze, a silver watch, and a plated chain—I asked him how he came possessed of so much money—he said it was his last quarter's wages—I then went to 2, Southwark Place, Lady McCann's—I searched his box and clothes, and found this receipt, which was paid on the Saturday, relating to clothing amounting to 2l. 3s. 9d., and this box of matches—these two matches were handed to me by Mr. Bird, he has got no matches in his house corresponding with them—they are common wax matches.
Cross-examined. I have been examined before—I have said before to-day that the prisoner told me that the 7l. was the result of the last quarter's wages—I heard him say afterwards that he had received it from his mother, from Hemel Hempstead—when I asked how he accounted for the money, he said it was his last quarter's wages—these are ordinary matches in the ordinary box.
DR. BIRD (re-examined). I found those two matches on the floor in the library, when I came back and found the gas alight—they are different from any we have in the house; two or three sizes larger—they appear to be the same size as those in the box—we have wax matches in the house, but not that size.
HENRY DAVIS . I am a glove cleaner, and live at 16, London Street, immediately opposite Mr. Bird's house—on Friday, 31st May, about 11.20 or 11.30, I was smoking my pipe and looking out of the first floor window—I could see Mr. Bird's house, and the whole of the square—I saw the prisoner at the corner of the square—he walked up to the first lamp-post, and then went back to the corner, and in about five or ten minutes, that would be about half-past 11 o'clock, I saw him run up the steps and get over the front area railings—I went and told my wife what I had seen, and then I went to the second floor front room and watched to see whether he came out—I saw him come out of the front door of Mr. Bird's house—he was in the house from twelve to fifteen minutes—I am quite sure he is the man—I had known him since 8th December last.
Cross-examined. I went from the first to the second floor, because I went to tell my wife, who had gone to bed—she was sleeping on the second floor—I did not suspect there was anything wrong, because I have seen him do the same thing before—I did not know that he had left the service—I thought the thing very suspicious—I thought probably he was going to see some of the female servants in the house—on the Sunday, when I heard Mr. Bird had
had a loss, I communicated with him—I did not suspect anything when I saw the prisoner go in.
Re-examined. I had seen him get over, about two months before, that was about 5.30 in the morning, when he came back, as I thought from the Serpentine.
DR. BIRD (re-examined). I believe the prisoner knew where I kept my money in the library—I used to pay bills that were called for from that source—the library is at the back of the house.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "The time they state seeing me, I was in bed at 2, Southwark Place. The money found upon me my mother sent me from Hemel Hempstead. The silver watch I bought while I was in the service of Dr. Bird; it has never been in pledge."
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Imprisonment.
MR. DOUGLAS conducted the Prosecution; and MR. W. SLEIGH the Defence.
JOHN TAYLOR (City Policeman 456). On the night of 2nd May, in consequence of information, I went to the granaries of Messrs. Muggeridge, in Thames Street, with three other constables—I posted them round the granaries, one in Thames Street, one in St. Andrew's Hill, and the other I was in the act of posting in the rear of the premises in Queen Victoria Street, when I saw the prisoner jump down from the roof of the counting house on to a piece of waste ground at the rear, which lies between Queen Victoria Street and the rear of Messrs. Muggeridge's granaries—he was within nine or ten yards of me—I got a distinct view of him—he ran up Queen Victoria Street, and I pursued him—he jumped over the railings on to the piece of waste ground, and across that into Upper Thames Street, over some railings again—he ran down Thames Street in the direction of Paul's Wharf—I followed him, crying "Stop thief!"—I saw him stopped by an officer named Snellgrove—I took him to the station, and charged him with breaking and entering the granaries—I afterwards went back and examined the warehouse; I found an entry had been effected by climbing up an old disused crane, and breaking a window on the second floor, and opening it—he could then come down and open the doors that were used for loading the grain out—I examined the counting-house where I saw the prisoner come out, and found two high office chairs placed one on top of the other, so as to be used as a ladder; immediately over those chairs was a large pane of glass broken, and the wire guard of the glass bent upwards—it was the sky light of the counting-house which was broken—I received some crow bars from Sergeant Heath—I am sure the prisoner is the man—I followed him all the way.
Cross-examined. I should say it is about 100 yards from Messrs. Muggeridge's to where the prisoner was stopped, but I have not measured it; it might be 150 yards—I will swear it was not 300—I won't swear, because I have not measured it—I had three constables with me at the granaries—the others did not chase the man—they did not see him jump off the granaries or the counting-house—I posted them in three different places—none of them are here—I saw the prisoner jump over the railings into Queen Victoria Street—the man that I was posting in Queen Victoria Street, was with me then—he is not here—in jumping over the railings he hurt his ancle, and was
not able to follow—he and I were joining in the chase—it was about 10.30 at night—there are lamps outside the enclosure of waste ground; there were no lamps there except the lamps which were in the street—the policeman hurt his ancle at the first railing—I afterwards took a gentleman, Mr. Ingram, who lives opposite Messrs. Muggeridge's, to see the prisoner, but he could not identify him—he gave evidence at the Police Court—I heard him state that he was watching three men for some time—he said he could not identify them—he only saw this one man—he followed us to the station—the prisoner was then in the dock for the purpose of being charged by me—I asked Mr. Ingram if that was the man he saw go in, and he said he did not know; he should not like to say.
Re-examined. Ingram is here—he gave me the information which induced me to go with the others to the granaries.
GEORGE HENRY SNELGROVE (City Policeman 455). I was on duty in Upper Thames Street about 10.30, close by St. Paul's Wharf—I heard cries of "Stop thief!" and saw the prisoner running—I stopped him—he said "Not me, I am running after him"—he was running from Messrs. Muggeridge's towards me—I said "We shall see"—Taylor came up as soon as I got hold of the man, and we took him to the station.
Cross-examined. As near as I can guess, it was about fifty yards from the granaries to where I stopped him—I should not think it was 100 yards I should say about sixty—Taylor was about a dozen yards behind him—(MR. SLEIGH here stated that he could not dispute the facts).
GUILTY*— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
FOURTH COURT.—Wednesday, June 12th, 1872.
Before Mr. Recorder.
480. CHARLES TIPPER (45) , PLEADED GUILTY to stealing one petticoat, three quilts, and one rug, the goods of Thomas Bartey Dean and another, his masters, and also to having been before convicted in November, 1871, at Rochester— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
481. EDWARD BURDEN** (20), and GEORGE SMITH** (26), to stealing from the dwelling-house, of John James Shephard, one coat and other articles, his property, having been before convicted, Burden in September, 1871, and Smith in April, 1871— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment Each. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
482. ALFRED SHEPHARD** (20) , to a burglary in the dwelling-house of John Burr, and stealing therein four table-cloths, and other articles— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. RIBTON conducted the Prosecution; and MR. HARRIS the Defend.
FREDERICK COCKERILL . I am the landlord of the Railway Hotel, Station Yard, Twickenham—Mr. Fearnley came into my house, somewhere about 9.30—there is no direct train from Twickenham to Hounslow—there were several men at the bar, and he was talking to them, and they had some drink—he paid a 2s. piece for what he had—I did not see the prisoner there previously—the prosecutor left my house about 12, 30—he had been there about an hour and a half—he then went to the Albany, and was turned out—he came back about 12.30, and remained until 1 o'clock—he had a dispute with two cabmen; they wanted to take him home; at first he would have them, and then he would not; they left with him and I saw
no more of them that night; next day I heard about the assault; I did not know him before; at the time he left, at a quarter to 1 o'clock, I did not observe any cuts upon him—he was perfectly safe.
Cross-examined. When he had a row with two cabman, he was the worse for liquor—I asked him for 3d. and he emptied his trowsers pockets out in the presence of the cabmen—this was about 12.30—he wanted to go away without paying, and he said he had got no money—I knew that the prisoner was working for the railway company—he was a fireman on the South-western Line, for a considerable time—I am glad to say from what I have seen and heard of him, that he is a quiet man.
Re-examined. I only know him as a customer—I saw the prosecutor empty his pockets out—he emptied his lefthand trowsers pocket out, and 4d. was found in it, of which he paid me 3d.; and then he had 1d. to carry him dome—I was anxious to get the 3d. that he owed me for the brandy, after be said that he had no money.
COURT Q. He put his hands into all his pockets, and said he had no money? A. Yes. I was satisfied in my own mind that 4d. was all the money he had.
ROBERT FEARNLEY . I live at 3, Aylesbury Villas, Hounslow—I am a commercial traveller—I had been transacting business at Surbiton, Kingston, and Richmond, a round which I have had about thirty years—I arrived at Twickenham, about 9.30—I had my money with me then, in a little leather-bag which I have carried about with me for years—there was 4s. 19s. 3d. partly in gold and partly in silver—I remember going into the rail way Tavern, which is near the station—I wanted to get to Hounslow, some way or other; but unfortunately I did go in; I saw a gentleman there who I had known for years, and we had sundry glasses together; previous to that I had been into the Albany, and I had a glass of ale there; that was when I just landed—I have no recollection of going into the Albany again—I left the Railway Tavern, about 12 o'clock or more, I am sorry to say—after that time I began to get a little better for liquor; I did not search my pockets for money; I paid it out of my waistcoat pockets; I am sure my bag was quite right when I left-the men wanted to drive me in a cab, but they asked too much money—I thought the men were rather impudent and they took advantage of me, seeing that I had had an extra glass—they asked me 6s. or 4s. as the cab fare—I repudiated it, and they offered to fetch me another cab, but I declined-eventually they all left me except one man—I was about to go to some steps that were pointed out to me, and a cab suddenly drove into the station yard—I thought I should like to engage it—I went across the yard, and all of a sudden they seemed to go away—the cab And all vanished—only one man was there and he said he knew me and where I lived, and that he would see me out and home—I am not able to say whether the prisoner is the man or not—I went along with the man and he led me the wrong way—I had not gone far with him before we met two policeman—they said to me, "Aint you going home," or something like that; and they said to the man that was with me, "Aint you going off home," or "going with the old gentleman"—the man then went along with me a little further and when we got down into a dark place, which I did not know, I was knocked down and kicked on the head with some instrument—I felt my bag dragged away from me, which was in my left-hand trousers pocket—I was afterwards lead to the station-house by a policeman.
Cross-examined. It was an intensely dark night, and there was no moon or stars tube seen—after I was knocked down I became almost insensible, but
I distinctly heard more than one—I heard two men, at least two, ran away—I only went into the Albany, and I think I remained there a few minutes; they were such respectable people that I did not like to stop there out of annoyance—I might have said, when I was before the Magistrate, that I was there a few hours—I do not know one house from the other—I was in the neighbourhood a few hours—I had my bag in my left hand trousers pocket—it was after 12 when I went into Mr. Cockerell's the last time—I might have taken out my purse in his presence—I owed him 3d.—I might have told him I had not got 3d. to pay him with, but I afterwards came back and paid him—I distinctly deny searching my pockets in the presence of Mr. Cockerill—the last I paid to him was 3d.—first of all I searched my pockets and brought out, I believe, 3d.—I had a word with the cabman, and I told one of them he was too old to drive me—I remember going through the station yard, but I do not remember falling over a chain, nor do I remember any one picking me up or putting me on my legs—there was a chain, but I did not fall over it—I walked alongside it with my hands and tried to find the steps, but I did not fall—I saw no woman except one that got out of the cab, and I did not know who she was—I remember seeing three men and two policemen, but I did not know them—I do not know that William Bushnell picked me up, or that I fell on my head—I have not a very clear recollection of what took place—I had met several friends on that day and had been drinking too much.
JURT. Q. Were you turned out of any public-house? A. No. ELIZABETH DARBIN. I live at Thames Ditton—I rode in a cab on Wednesday evening, the 8th, with three persons; Clapworthy, Humphreys, and another man whom I did not know—we called at a public-house, and I saw the prosecutor on that occasion—I afterwards saw him trying to get over some railings, and he could not—whether be fell or not I cannot say—after that a young man got hold of him and said he would walk him sober—I could not say whether the hat that was produced at Brentford was the one which the man who was with him was wearing; it was something like it.
Cross-examined. This was very late—it was near 1 o'clock—I was going home when I saw the prosecutor—I had been down to my sister's at Twickenham—I met the men I was with at the other public-house—I had two glasses of ale—I got a lift part of the way.
GEORGE HUMPHREYS . I am an engine-driver on the South-Western Railway—I remember this night—there was one of my mates with me, and Harrison and a woman—we drove from the Railway Tavern to the Albany—they are only about 100 yards apart—I had not seen Mr. Fearnley before he came across the station yard—when we got to the Albany we all got out—it was some few minutes before Mr. Fearnley came up to us—he came to me and asked me if he could get a train to Brentford, and I said no; but he could get a cab—Harrison was with him last when I left, but there were lots there.
Cross-examined. I am an engineer, and Harrison is a stoker—I have known him twelve years—he has always borne an honest and peaceable character, as far as I know—we had had a meeting of railway servants at the Railway Tavern that night—I know the chains referred to, and I saw the prosecutor fall over—I did not notice exactly where he fell—I saw them pick him up—there were lots of persons about there at the time I last saw the prisoner with the old gentleman.
Station, Twickenham, on the morning of the 9th—I saw a four-wheeled cab driven up to the Albany—three men got out of it, and one was standing outside—I saw a woman, but I did not see her get out—I know the prosecutor—he came up shortly afterwards from the Railway, Hotel—he had some conversation with the men, but I could not hear what it was—the three men went away and the prisoner remained—I am quite sure of that, because I spoke to him afterwards—he and the prosecutor were together—I asked him if it was not true they were going home—the prisoner spoke to me first—he said they were going home together—they then went away along the Avenue Road—there was no one else with them—there was another policeman in the station-yard at the time—about twenty minutes afterwards I heard them talking together under a wall in the Avenue Road—I went across to them—the prisoner was with the prosecutor, and I asked them if they were not going home?—the prisoner said he was going home along with the old gentleman—he then turned away and followed the prosecutor—I lost sight of them for two or three minutes—then I heard someone halloa "Murder," and "Police"—I immediately ran back—I saw a man leave the prosecutor—he was running away—the prosecutor was lying on the ground bleeding from wounds on the side of his head—I will not swear who the man was, because I was not near enough to see him—I am quite sure when I first saw the prosecutor his head was right—he was sensible—I picked him up and took him to the station—I do not know the prisoner—the first time I had ever seen him was that night, to notice him—next night I had some communication with Sergeant Payne—he took me into a room at the Railway Tavern—there were six or seven persons there—I picked the prisoner out from them directly—I had given a description of the dress the man wore—when I had identified the prisoner I took him into custody—I went to the house—I found this hat and scarf (produced)—they are similar to those I saw him wearing the night before—he had a dark coat on, a pilot or over-coat—I also gave a description of his trousers—about 12 o'clock on the night previously I had seen the prosecutor in the station-yard, and he was then the worse for drink—from the time I saw them go away from the station-yard till the time I found the prosecutor on the ground, I saw no other person about there at all.
Cross-examined. Before I went into the public-house on the next day, Sergeant Payne had been in—I do not know how long he was in—he came to me and asked me to come round and see if I could identify the man.
JAMES LAWRENCE (Policeman T 353). On the morning when this affair happened I was in the station-yard, Twickenham—I did not see the cab come up—I saw the prosecutor come away from the steps near there—this was about 1 o'clock—I saw four or five men standing near the Albany—I cannot say whether the prisoner was one of them—I saw the prosecutor talking to the men—the first I saw of the prisoner was when he was going along the Avenue Road from the Albany Hotel, he had hold of the prosecutor's arm—I think there was no one else going with them in the same direction—the prisoner wore a hat and coat similar to those produced—I saw the other constable—I did not follow them, I directed him to go round the Grosvenor Road with me—he went in a direction where he could meet them—I am sure the prisoner is the man.
said to him I had heard that he was at the station-yard last night in the company of several others at the time the old gentleman came across from the hotel—he said there was an old gentleman there, and he told me who was with him, Stevens and a mate of his, Humphreys and a woman—I asked him if he knew who the old gentleman was?—he said "No, I do not; he is a stranger to me"—I said "Cannot you give any account of him—he said "I saw the old gentleman, who appeared to be muddled, in the Avenue Road; all my mates went one way, and so did the woman, and I walked round the Avenue Road along with the old gentleman"—a description had been given to me by Charles—I told him that he answered the description of the man which had been given to me—the prisoner said he left the prosecutor in Chepstow Villas—I called in police constable Charles, and he walked direct to the prisoner, and picked him out, saying "That is the man"—I asked Lawrence if he knew him, and he replied that the prisoner was the man, but that he was not dressed the same as he was last night—I told the prisoner that he would have to go to the station with me, and that he would be detained for assaulting and robbing the prosecutor—as he went out of the room, he said "I did not rob the old man"—at the station, the prisoner said he never ran away from the old man—I searched him at the station, and found on him 11s. 6d. in silver, and 4d. in coppers.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner four or five years—I know nothing against him.
MR. HARRIS called
WILLIAM BUSHNELL . I am a porter on the railway—I remember the night this happened—I saw the three men and a woman and a policeman—the prisoner was one of the men—I saw the old gentleman fall over the chains and picked him up—he pitched right on his. head first—he put his hand to his head, and said "Oh my head."
THE COURT. Q. Was there any bleeding? A. I did not notice that, because he began abusing me; so I left him.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Thursday, June 13th, 1872.
Before Mr. Justice Blackburn.
MR. COOPER conducted the Prosecution.
JAMES MCALAVEY . I am the prisoner's son, and am nine years old—I live with my father and sister at 52, Tate Street, St. George's—one Saturday night, my father came home when I was in bed—my sister was out at place, and my father was in a long while before her—my father was drunk, and had a few words with my mother, he gave her 2d., and wanted her to get some tea, she said she could not get him any, and he turned her down stairs; she was going down stairs; she had hold of the banister, and he knocked her in the back of the ear, and pulled her by the hair of her head—he was standing on the stairs—when he got up stairs, he hit her on the forehead with his fist, and then he put his two hands round her throat, and she could not speak—I was in bed crying—he held her by the throat about half a minute, and then he let go, and she went down stairs halloaing out "Oh my head.",?
Prisoner. I don't remember anything of it; I was tipsy—on the Sunday morning I said to the little boy "Where is your mother?—he said "I
don't know; last night she went out after you beat her, and I have not seen her since."
COURT. Q. Did your mother go out? A. Yes, and she never came back; she was in the same hospital where my father was.
HARRIETT MCALAVEY . I am seventeen years old, and am the sister of the last witness—on 1st June, I came home at 11 o'clock at night—I did not go up stairs; I opened the door, and saw my father on the stairs, very drunk, dragging my mother up stairs by her hair—I said "Father, what are you doing?" and with that he let go, and she came down stairs—a woman up stairs then came in, and asked her up into her room, and my father stopped up stairs in his own room—I went up to him; he was sitting down; he asked me where my mother was—I did not tell him; I told him I did not know—I afterwards saw my mother sitting on the side of the bed in the woman's room, vomiting—she was put to bed in that room, and remained there till her death, on Thursday morning, at about 9.10—I was not with her up to her death; I was occupied at my place—her Christian name was Charlotte—she was not sickly, or in bad health before this.
ALFRED HANSON (Policeman K 65). On 2nd June, about 6 p.m., I was in charge at King David Lane station, and the prisoner came there and said to me "I fear I got tipsy last night; I beat my wife, and am afraid she is dying; what shall I do?"—I said "Have you been for a doctor?" or "Have you had a doctor to see her?"—he said "No, I have no money"—I told him to send for one at once—he then left—I went to the house an hour afterwards, and saw him in the street—he introduced me to a room where I saw the deceased—she appeared to me to be insensible—I told the prisoner I should have to take him in custody for beating his wife and endangering her life—he said "Very well, the Lord have mercy upon me; if she gets over this it will make a better man of me"—I had seen him many times before, but knew nothing of his conduct to his wife—he is a corn cutter.
GEORGE SUTCLIFF . I am a surgeon of 23, Colet Place, Commercial Road—on 2nd June, between 6 and 7 o'clock, p.m., I was called to the deceased and found her unconscious, comatose—I found no external marks of violence—I attended her up to her death on Thursday—I told the prisoner he had killed his wife; he seemed very much put about, and said he would give himself up—she remained comatose till her death—vomiting is a symptom of injury to the brain—I made a post-mortem examination and found on the back of the head an external bruise, between the skin and the occipital bone, and a smaller bruise behind the temple, on the left side of the head—on opening the head I found a quantity of coagulated blood, clotted, and the menbranes very much congested and inflamed; the brain was very much congested and the vessels full of blood—the clot of blood was all over the brain, not more in one place than another—the menbranes which cover the brain were congested and the vessels filled with blood; there were no other external bruises with the exception of a small bruise on the right thigh, about the size of a half-crown—I found the left lung quite adherent to the wall of the chest from old pleurisy, and the right quite congested, and there was matter in it; the right lung was healthy—I found fluid in the pericardium and a great deal of fat on the outside of the heart on the right side—I found coagulated blood in the left cavity of the heart—the spleen was very congested and easily broken, I could hardly take it out, it broke in my hand—I found fat in the kidneys—my opinion is that the woman
died from the injuries she received, and in the state I found the heart lungs and kidneys, and there being fatty disease of the heart, she was more likely to die from a slight injury—the external marks on the head, indicative of blows, were sufficient to produce the extravasation which resulted in death.
COURT. Q. I suppose the kidneys were of less consequence? A. No; the fat in the kidneys was of great consequence—she was not a healthy woman—from the fat on the heart and in the kidneys there would be likely to be fat in the arteries, and they would be more liable to rupture—unless there had been an injury there was nothing to account for immediate death—the two bruises on the head were between the skin and the skull—there was no mark externally, it was on the pericranium, the upper surface of the integument covering the head—there was nothing to show that the skin had been cut, or to ruffle the skin—it was only as if it had come down on a soft substance, contused the woman's head; bumping on the stairs for instance would cause it.
COURT to HARRIET MOALAVEY. Q. When you came home and saw your father, was he dressed or undressed? A. He was dressed, he had on his shoes.
COURT to JAMES MOALAVEY. Q. Has your father a wooden leg? A. Yes; when he kicked my mother he had hold of the banister with one hand, and of the wall with the other, and in that way he was able to kick her.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I was so tipsy I recollect nothing. Next morning I knew nothing of it till I was told I beat her, and that she was bad.
GUILTY — Fifteen Months' Imprisonment.
GUILTY — Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. ST. AUBYN conducted the Prosecution.
THIRD COURT, Thursday, June 13th, 1872.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
486. DAVID THOMAS EDWARDS (33), SARAH EDWARDS (28), ELIZABETH HOPKINS (46) , Stealing one iron box, and certain valuable documents, the property of Thomas Massey. Second Count—Receiving. Other Counts against Hopkins for harbouring the Edwards's, and against the Edwards's for harbouring Hopkins.
MR. POLAND conducted the Prosecution; and MESSRS. HARRIS and MEAD the Defence.
THOMAS MASSEY . I am a solicitor, and have offices at 5, Gray's Inn Square—I practice there under the firm of Stuart & Massey—the chambers are on the first floor, and no one resides there—after business hours the chambers were locked up and the key left in charge of the bead porter—that is not so now, it was at that time—I was at my chambers on Saturday, 17th February—I left a few minutes before 2 o'clock—I closed the outer door ass I went out, and left the place all safe—I had there a little iron box, 11 in. by 6 in., which contained securities to the value of over 5000l. United States Bonds, Great Western Railway Bonds, Metropolitan and other Railway Stock, and also my pass-book, cheque-book, and some loose papers—I did not go to the office on Sunday—on Monday, 19th, I came to business about the usual time, and missed my box—I considered that one of my clerks had put it in the safe—I afterwards wanted the box, looked for it, and could not find it—I then issued handbills offering a reward of 20l.—this is one of them—it is dated 20th February, that was the Tuesday, and says "Apply to Messrs.
Scott, Stratton, & Co.," as well as to ourselves—they are our brokers—I also advertised in the Times—the first advertisement did not mention Messrs. Scott & Co., and had no result—the next day, Thursday, 22nd, I inserted another, mentioning Scott & Co., and that brought this letter (prduced)—I received it from Scott & Co.
GEORGE CLARK (Detective Inspector). I have thirteen pieces of paper, which Edwards told me were in his handwriting—some of them bear his name—I got them at his lodgings—I have compared them with the various letters. produced in this case—all the letters bearing the initials H. W. to the best of my judgment are in David Edward's handwriting.
Cross-examined. I never saw him write—I asked him what the papers were, as I took them from a drawer, and he said "They are pieces of paper that I spoilt in making my report"—I said "Whose writing are they?—and he said "Mine"—he certainly alluded to all the papers.
Re-examined. I have no doubt that they are all in the same handwriting.
THOMAS MASSEY (continued). I have seen these thirteen pieces of paper, and have examined them with the letters signed H. W.—I have no doubt that they are in the same handwriting—I consider that I am an expert—I get over fifty letters a day—(Read: "Will Messrs. S. & M. pay the reward if the whole of the papers is restored to them without the box; if so, an answer in to-morrow's Standard will oblige. H. W.")—I afterwards inserted this advertisement in the, Standard: "Messrs. S. & M. have instructions to pay over 20l. on the contents of the lost box being handed to them"—I afterwards received this letter, which is in the same handwriting: "If Messrs. S. and M. will deposit 20l. at Scott, Stratton, & Co., Broad Street, they will receive the whole of the papers, that is if no particulars is asked, as the person who will bring them will have nothing to do with them. The papers will be left to-morrow at the above place, if you will answer to this in the Standard to-morrow. Do not think to get us in a trap, as all movements is watched in a way that you little think"—upon that I advertised: "Messrs. S. & M. desire to say that Messrs. Scott, Stratton, & Co; have instructions to pay over 20l. on the contents of the box being handed to them"—I received after that a letter, which is missing—the series of letters is not perfect—after I recovered my papers I burnt some of the letters—the letter was in the same handwriting, in which he said he was not satisfied to put himself in Scott & Co.'s power, and that he would not take the letters there; that I must send the money first, and he would send my papers, and that he meant to keep good faith—on 23rd February I wrote this letter—it was sent to the post by James Lambert, who is in COURT—(Read: "As H. W. objects to go to Messrs. Scott, Stratton & Co., Mr. Massey makes this proposition: that if H. W. will deliver here by parcel or otherwise half of each document in the box, cutting them evenly from corner to cross corner, so as not to deface them, Mr. Massey will send a 20l. note or four 5l. notes by post to H. W. to any address he may give, and he binds himself to do it at once, and before he gets the second halves of the papers, if H. W. will give him his promise to keep good faith and send the second halves of the documents to-morrow. Their numbers are all known, and they are all stopped")—The good faith was that I was to send the money if he sent me the papers, what intention I had rested in my own breast—I them received this letter: "As I do not like to spoil the papers by cutting them in two, I send you one half of the contents of the box, and as soon as I receive the four 5l. bank notes you shall have the remainder,
without fail, within two hours after receiving. Please address to the same place in Gray's Inn Road; I send you a list of remaining papers I still keep. H. W."—The list is an accurate schedule, containing about half the securities, bonds, and so on—it is a very accurate schedule, drawn by a man who was not familiar with the wording of such documents—I received half of the securities with that letter—on 26th February I wrote this letter, which was sent by Lambert in the ordinary way to the same address in Gray's Inn Road: "Mr. Massey acknowledges the receipt of the parcel sent by H. W., and encloses four 5l. notes in the confidence that H. W. will keep faith and send him at once the whole of the rest of the contents of the blue box—Mr. Massey will really feel obliged if he might have the box also, even if it be broken"—I enclosed four 5l. notes in that letter—the numbers were 09026, 7, 8 and 9—I did not receive the remaining portion of the deeds in two hours—my clerk waited till 10 o'clock at night—I stopped the payment of the notes, as H. W. had broken faith—on 29th I wrote another letter, but I advertised before that, offering an extra 10l. for the remaining half—I then wrote this letter to the same address as before and sent it by Lambert: "Mr. Massey wrote to H. W., enclosing bank notes for 20l., at 11 o'clock on Saturday, and did not stop those notes until noon on Monday—the interval was sufficient to allow H. W. to fulfil his promise and return the box with the contents, and had he done so he might have had the money. The stop shall be removed from the notes on Mr. Massey receiving the box and the papers which H. W. retains."—Neither of us trusted the other then—the securities then came in this envelope—the post mark is "London, W.C.," and it was delivered at 4.30 p.m.—in the mean-time I had taken off the stop, but I asked the bank to let me know who presented each note—on 5th March I received the remaining securities, addressed in an envelope to "Mr. Massey, 5, Gray's Inn Square," in the same handwriting—on 15th March I advertised in the Standard in say that there was a letter waiting for H. W. at the poet-office, Gray's Inn Lane—on 18th March I received an answer in the same handwriting: "In answer to your letter of 13th instant I write to say that I am deeply grateful to you for the interest that you take in me, and rest assured that your advice will not be lost upon me; dear Sir, I can assure you it was the first time of my being tempted to steal, and it will be the last, by the help of God, as I have not had a moment's peace since. The box you shall have without fail; I give you my word that you shall have it back before I leave this country, which I am trying to do to go to Australia; I have some friends out there, and if I succeed in going I will endeavour to forget and lead a new life, with God's help. P.S. If you wish to write to me again, address to the same place. H. W."—That was in answer to a letter I wrote giving him some good advice—I have not received the box—this is a letter which I received earlier in the proceedings—it is in the same handwriting: "Messrs. Stuart and Massey, your advertisement in to-day's Standard is not very plain, as you wish to have the papers without giving the reward, and I consider I should be a fool to send them; therefore, I have one more suggestion to make; if Stuart and Massey wish to get the papers back, and if they send four 5l. notes, to be left at the Post-Office, Gray's Inn Lane, as soon as you receive this, and upon receiving the same the whole of the papers that is in the box you will receive at Gray's Inn, even to the small key. I send the two cartes-de-visite to let you know that it is no hoax; this is the last time, and if Messrs. Stuart and Massey send the notes they will
receive the things that was in the box if no one is sent to watch. H. W."—That letter convinced me that I was dealing with the thief—the carte-devisite was my wife's, which was in the box—it was sent to me to show that he had the things.
Cross-examined. I got everything back with the exception of the box—the documents were all in that box, a bright blue box—the box and contents was all that was taken—I locked the outer door when I went out—the inner door was never locked—my laundress has a key, but it was left in the possession of the head porter.
JAMES LAMBERT . I am clerk to Messrs. Stuart & Massey—from time to time, I took letters addressed to "H. W." to the post-office in Gray's Inn Lane, which I left to be called for—I know the prisoner, David Edwards—I have noticed him since the robbery, as a constable in the Inn—I can't say that I noticed him before—he wore the ordinary Metropolitan police uniform—on the morning of 24th February, I took a letter addressed to "H. W.," to Gray's Inn Road, containing bank notes—on that same day, half the securities had been received by Mr. Massey—the first time I saw the prisoner was when I was taking the notes—I saw him in Verulam Buildings—he asked me if we still communicated with the thief at the post-office—I can't tell you the exact words, but they were to that effect—I told him "Yes," I said "I am going to take a letter there now;" but I did not tell him that it contained the notes—he asked me if we had the post-office watched, and I said "No, Mr. Massey does not have it watched"—he then said that he wished he could find the thief; that he would give 5l. out of his own pocket to discover the thief, and that if he caught him he would break his neck—he said we had had Mr. Lansdowne to find out the robbery, and he should have thought that Mr. Lansdowne would have been able to find it out, for he was a very sharp detective—I think that was all that took place; there might have been a few remarks more—he spoke about the woman having brought Mr. Massey's documents to the head porter's lodge that morning—he said he had followed her, and stated the reason he had lost her was because he was afraid to keep too close to her, being in uniform—he said it would be very different if it was anyone in plain clothes; but being in uniform, he was afraid to keep too close to her and so he lost her—on the same afternoon as "H. W." had promised to return the documents within two hours, I was to wait to see if they came to the head porter's, and when I was going over between 2 and 3 o'clock to gee if they had come back, so as to take them to Mr. Massey's bank before it closed, I saw the prisoner by the lodge, and then he said something about his being there to watch in case the remainder of the documents were brought back, and he asked me if Mr. Massey got all his documents back, whether he intended to prosecute the thief if he found him out—I told him I did not know—on the morning of the 24th, he said that he thought Mr. Massey had gone the wrong way to work to find out the robberies, they should have been kept a good deal darker than they had been, and if it had been his robbery, he should have called in a policeman from the Inn.
Cross-examined. He spoke to me like a policeman would—I did not say "Mr. Massey is so hot headed we can't do anything with him"—I deny that—if Mr. Massey was under excitement at all, it was because he had lost all his documents—the prisoner said we could not have a better man than Mr. Lansdowne for the purpose.
—the key of Mr. Massey's chambers used to be left at the lodge—on Monday, 19th February, I heard of this robbery, and on Saturday, 24th February, the prisoner Hopkins came to the lodge—she said "I have a parcel for Stuart & Massey"—I replied "They are over there "meaning at the office, which is at the other corner of the square—she said "I was to leave it here"—I said "Oh, very well," and took the parcel—she immediately turned away, and went out into the Gray's Inn Road—the packet was addressed to "Messrs. Stuart & Massey, 5, Gray's Inn Square"—my lodge is under the archway, close to the chapel—she went out by the archway, and came in that way—I told the warder, Comely, to follow her—I pointed her out to him—he followed her, and returned into the square—I saw Edwards on duty—he was in his constable's uniform—I said "Edwards, I believe there is a portion of Stuart & Massey's property been brought by a woman; Comely is following her down the Gray's Inn Road; you go and have a look at her, so as we shall all know her again"—he then went out of Verulam Buildings into the Gray's Inn Road, and I pointed Hopkins out to him—she turned down Liquorpond Street—I, and him, and Comely went to the corner of Liquorpond Street—Comely had got his uniform coat and hat on—I told him to take them off and give them to me, and told him and Edwards to follow the woman to see where she went to; I returned to the lodge—they went down Liquorpond Street—in a short time they came back and said they had lost the woman—I was surprised to see them back so soon—I did not see Hopkins again till 9th May, when she was in custody at Hunter Street police-station—I saw her with four or five other women, and I pointed her out as being the person who brought the parcel to the lodge—I have not the least doubt about her—I took the parcel afterwards to Stuart & Massey's—the windows at the back of the chambers look on to the gardens of Gray's Inn—there are a number of ladders in the Inn—the constable has the key in order to get the ladders in case of necessity.
Cross-examined. It was about 10 o'clock on the morning of 24th February, that the woman came to the lodge—it was a small paper parcel she brought, about 9 inches long—it was tied with a piece of string—it was directed, and there was a letter with it—she came to deliver it at the lodge—she said "A parcel for Stuart & Massey"—I took the parcel and she walked away—the lodge is on the east side of Gray's Inn Square—she stood with her face looking right into the square; it was not dark there—that is the woman—she was a tall woman—I did not notice whether she wore a chignon, or whether she bad a bonnet—she had a dirty white dress and a dark shawl—that was the only time I saw her, till I saw her at Hunter Street Police Station, on the 9th May—a policeman came and said I was required at Hunter Street, to see a woman, to see if I had ever seen her before—I saw four or five other women there—I could not say positively how many; five or six, including the prisoner Hopkins—I believe she was about the middle—I did not notice whether they were short or tall women—I did not notice that she was the tallest there.
Re-examined. I was conversing with the woman, face to face, and my suspicion was excited at the time—I speak to her now by her features—I have not the least doubt about her.
WILLIAM COMELY . I am a warder of Gray's Inn—on the morning of 24th February, I was at the porter's lodge—I saw a woman there hand a parcel to the head porter—Hopkins is that woman—I have no doubt about her—
in consequence of what Andrews told me I followed her to the corner of Liquorpond Street and Gray's Inn Road—Andrews came out at the end of Verulam Buildings, with Edwards, who was in uniform—Edwards said that he would follow the woman, and asked me to stop, and I did stop, and then I took off my coat and hat and gave them to the head porter—I followed and kept my eye on Edwards, and I supposed he kept his eye on her—I kept on by the brewery, and watched him up to the end of Eyre Street Hill, and then I asked him where the woman was, and he said he had missed her, and was looking about, and tried to catch sight of her again—he went on down Back Hill—I turned down Eyre Street, and then went back to the Inn and reported what I had done, and after that Edwards came back again—I was sent for to the Hunter Street Police Station, on 9th May—I saw Hopkins there with some other woman, and recognised her at once.
Cross-examined. I recognised her as being the same woman who brought the papers back to the lodge—she was under the arch in the square, and I was close by—one of the detectives fetched me to go and see her at the station—Andrews saw her first—I was there with him at the time he picked her out, and I said she was the one—I had not seen her since I saw her at the lodge.
MART ANN WELBECK . I am the wife of Richard Welbeck, who is a stationer, at 220, Gray's Inn Road—we keep a postal receiving office—I recollect letters being left at our office for "H. W," by Lambert, Mr. Massey's clerk, but I don't recollect what the dates were—two females used to fetch those letters away—the younger woman, Edwards, came the most—I recognise her although she is very much altered—I am able to say that she is the woman who fetched the letters addressed "H. W."—I can't speak to Hopkins—to the best of my belief she called for some of the letters, but the other one called the most.
Cross-examined. I said at Bow Street, I could swear to the younger one, but that she was very much altered—Hopkins I could not swear to at all—I did not see the younger one after that, till I saw her at Bow Street, and then she was much altered, very much thinner than she was.
Re-examined. I have no doubt about her, notwithstanding the alteration. GEORGE CLARK (re-called). On 7th May this matter wag placed in my hands for investigation—I went to Bow Street Police Station, where I saw Edwards—I told him that I wanted to go to his lodgings with him—on the way I told him I was going to search there, and asked him for the key—he said "Yes, you are welcome to make a search"—we went to 14, Harrison Street, and he opened the doors of the front and back room, on the top floor—he and his wife Sarah Edwards, occupy those two rooms—I found the thirteen pieces of paper, which I have mentioned—I allowed Edwards to return to the station—I afterwards compared those thirteen pieces of paper with the letters "H. W.," and in my judgment the writing corresponds—I have no doubt that they are written by the same person—on 9th May I went in the evening to his lodgings again—I found him there with his wife—I said "Good evening, Edwards." and he said "I suppose you have come to arrest me"—I said "Yes, I have, and your wife also"—he had been kept at the police-station more or less, but not in custody—he was not allowed to go on duty—Edwards said to his wife "Never mind, my dear, it will all be right" and he protested his innocence—the husband of Hopkins was also in the room—there was a little dog there, and the wife said "Take the little dog home and tell mother where we are gone"—I took them to the station and
they were charged in the ordinary way—I afterward* went to 86, Royal Terrace, Walworth, where Hopkins was lodging—I said "Mrs. Hopkins"—she was at the top of the stairs, she said "Yes "—I went into the room and told her I was a policeman, and that I had come to arrest her for being concerned in burglaries in Gray's Inn, with her son-in-law Edwards, the policeman—she said I should have to prove it, or something of that sort—she said she had not been over that side of the water since before Christmas, and she thought it was a great hardship to be arrested upon no evidence at all—I said "I have traced one of the notes paid for the restoration of the deeds that were stolen, to you, which was changed at the Canterbury Arms," which was close by—she said "Not by me, for I never changed a note there in my life"—I said "I suspect you to be the woman who took the deeds back to the lodge in Gray's Inn"—she again declared she had not been there for months—I think she said she did not know where Gray's Inn was, or where the porter's lodge was—I took her in custody to Hunter Street Police Station—she was placed with four or five other women who I got from the neighbourhood—Andrews and Comely were sent for, and they identified her—Harrison Street, is on the left hand side, a considerable distance down the Gray's Inn Road, six or seven minutes' walk from Gray's Inn, but only a few minutes' from the Post Office.
Cross-examined. I said "Mrs. Hopkins, I believe," and she said "Yes"—she said repeatedly she knew nothing about it—I did not know Edwards before, and can't speak to his character at all—I have learnt from inquiries that he bore a good character, no doubt he was placed in Gray's Inn, on account of steadiness and good character.
HENRY WILSON HAZLEGRAVE . I am a clerk in the Cancelled Note Department, in the Bank of England—I produce three 5l. notes, numbered 09026, 7, and 8—09026 and 7 were paid in by the London and County Bank—09026 on 4th March, and the other on 20th March—09028 came in through the London and Westminster Bank on 29th February.
LOUIS JAMES TURNER . I am a cashier in the London and County Bank, Southwark branch—we have a customer, Charles Harvey, the landlord of the Canterbury Arms—on 19th March the 5l. note 09027 was paid into hit account—I don't speak to either of the others.
CHARLES HARVEY . I keep the Canterbury Arms, Royal Road, Walworth—that is close to 64, Royal Terrace—I have known the prisoner Hopkins as a customer about two years—I knew she lived at Royal Terrace, but I did not know the number—some time in March I changed a 5l. note for her—I don't recollect the date—I paid that note into the Southwark Branch of the London and County Bank—I did not mark it—I don't remember ever changing any other note for Hopkins—I generally mark them, but on this occasion I was in a hurry.
Cross-examined. I should not like to swear that that is the note.
---- SALT (Police Sergeant E 16). Edwards was a constable in my division—he was on duty in Gray's Inn on 17th February, from 3 o'clock in the afternoon till 10 o'clock in the evening, and on Sunday, the 18th, from 9 o'clock to 3 o'clock in the day time, and on Monday, the 19th, from 6 o'clock in the morning till 9 o'clock in the morning.
Cross-examined. I have known him for four years—he was always well conducted in the force, and bore a very good character.
one and tried it against the first-floor windows—one man can use that ladder—it is about 40 lbs. weight—I carried it myself.
CHARLES CHABOT . I was an engraver, and for many years I have made handwriting a study—I am the author of the book about "Junius's Letters," and I have very often been examined in Courts before—I have had placed in my hands thirteen pieces of paper, numbered 1 to 13, and have also had a number of letters signed H. W.—in my judgment they are in the same handwriting—I have no doubt of it whatever—the letters are not written in a disguised hand, but the writing is a little more upright, which is very common, but is really no disguise at all when you come to examine the habits of writing, which are rather peculiar in this case—the capital letter "I" is very peculiarly formed in No. 2 of the letters of H. W., and in the thirteen pieces of paper—there is a capital letter "S" in the word "Stand" at the beginning of the document, and the letter "S "in the word "Station" on the fourth line—I confine most of the comparisons to the letter marked 2, and on the fourth line you will find the word "station"—in the document 7 the letter "D" occurs several times in the word "David," in the document 6 you will find the word "Dollars" at the second page, 7th line, and in the document I, the word "Dear," the lower part of the "D" is rather unusual, being joined to the next letter—there is a remarkable peculiarity about the small letter "d" which is formed very much like the letter "a"—in the word "David" the "d" is like a large "A"—the stroke does not go beyond the round part—there is an instance of it in the word "restored," it would be read for the letter "a"—there is a peculiar formation in the small letter "s," if you look at the word "saying," in the letter No. 2, and the word "same" which occurs in the letter "I" on the 8th line—it is detached from the next letter in both cases; then the letter "r" is formed with a loop at the top, so as to make it look like an "e"—in the word "Mr." in the letter No. 3, and in the admitted writing, the letter "r" is continually occurring—you will find it in the word "Norfolk "in the 4th line, in the word "rod "in the 7th line of letter No. 3, and "Port" in the first line; that form of the letter "r" pervades the whole—then the letter "f," the upper part does not extend above the top of the ordinary letters, it is not higher than the "o" in "of"—you will find that in the admitted writing, and in document 2, you will find it on the 5th and 11th lines—there is also a peculiarity in the crossing of the "t," which occurs three times in the letter No. 2, and you will find it also in document D—there is a peculiar formation in the numerical "7"—in document 5, in 1871 you will find that, and in several others as well—take "5l." which occurs twice in the admitted document No. 8, you will find that also in letters "I" and "G"—the general character is the same—take the whole writing of the word "going," it occurs in the 8th line of the letter No. 2, and in the letter marked "6 "on the 8th line—independently of the instances I have given, by comparing carefully the handwriting in the two sets of documents, I have not the remotest doubt that they are written by the same person.
Cross-examined. I say that "Junius's Letters" were undoubtedly written by Sir Philip Francis—I form that opinion upon the character of the hand-writing of Sir Philip Francis—I have certainly not been contradicted upon that point by an expert—I don't mean to say that it is not disputed who was the author of "Junius's Letters"—I know some persons think one way and some the other, you asked me whether experts did—anyone can call himself an expert; people do so, but they are not experts at all—it is not a
profession that you have to pass an examination in, neither do you pass an examination if you take the profession of an artist—the evidence of the Letters of Junius having been written by Sir Philip Francis is the comparison of the manuscript with writings that were admitted to be his—I believe that Lord Macaulay has mentioned that there are five or six different things which must all combine in one man, in order that that man must be the writer of those Letters of Junius—experts do not contradict one another in the witness-box constantly; very rarely—I was to have been examined in the Tichborne trial—I should have been against the claimant, but the claimant's side only has been heard, so that I was not called.
Re-examined. I say we very rarely contradict one another, and then, on a very difficult point—I have heard about doctors differing, and lawyers, they differ far more than experts.
JOHN WINTERBURNE (Detective Officer E). On 3rd May I saw Sarah Edwards in the Post-office in Judd Street—I took her into custody—she had a letter with the initials C. R. H.—I took her to the station, but as she was recognised as the wife of an officer she was allowed to go.
THE COURT was of opinion that there was no case against Sarah Edwards; that there was no evidence as to the harbouring; and no evidence against Hopkins of the stealing. The only points which were for the Jury were the stealing against Edwards and the felonious receiving by Hopkins.
D. T. EDWARDS— GUILTY .
HOPKINS— GUILTY .
SARAH EDWARDS— NOT GUILTY .
HOPKINS— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
DAVID THOMAS EDWARDS PLEADED GUILTY — Five Years' Penal
No evidence was offered against SARAH EDWARDS—
NOT GUILTY .
FOURTH COURT.—Thursday, June 13th, 1872.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. HORRY conducted the Prosecution; and MR. BESLSY the Defence.
JOHN MORAM . I am a porter at the London Hospital—on Saturday, the 1st of June, I saw James Patten walking out of the hospital into the drying grounds, where the prisoner was cleaning a bedstead—I heard him ask his father to assist him in with some bedsteads out of the drying ground, where they were washing them—he refused to do so—deceased said there were three or four bed-steads to be taken in—the prisoner's father said" I ain't going to help you "—with that deceased walked from where he was standing and struck the prisoner's father three times with his fist on the left ear—the prisoner was then about eight or ten yards from them—the prisoner left where he was cleaning the bedstead, picked up this bar of iron (producing an iron leg of a bedstead) and struck the deceased one blow, and he fell—I picked him up—he made two attempts to get at the prisoner afterwards, and I prevented him and advised him to go up to the receiving-room and get his head dressed—he walked there himself—I did not take him.
Cross-examined. I did not see the deceased having hold of the old man by the throat—I was about eight yards from them—the father's back was towards me—he is rather an old man—I saw the first blow struck—about ten or eleven seconds elapsed from the time the first blow was given by deceased and the blow that was given by the prisoner with the weapon—it all occurred momentarily—I did not notice that the prisoner tried to strike deceased's arm—at the time deceased was coming away from prisoner's father.
JOHN THOMAS . I am a surgeon at the London Hospital—on the 1st of June the deceased, James Patten, came into the hospital—the nurse told me that he had tumbled over a bedstead—I examined him—I thought at first that he was only suffering from a laceration of the scalp, and I sent him out—he walked about and showed no symptoms for some time—he was brought back speechless and paralysed on the right side, and I found a compound fracture of the skull—he was then trephined and the fragments were raised—he died in the hospital on the 5th of June—on the Wednesday I made a post-mortem examination—he had a depressed fracture of the parietal bone—there was effusion of blood at the base of the brain, on the right hemisphere—that might have been caused by a blow—the effusion of blood was the cause of death—the trephining would not increase the effusion.
Cross-examined. The arteries, or vessels of the brain were some what degenerated—I should think the wound was due to a blow—the effusion would be a natural consequence of the blow; it would not have taken place else—there was not disease enough to cause it; if there had been more disease it is possible that effusion might have resulted without the blow—I think I can say positively that effusion resulted from the blow—he was a strong muscular man.
JOHN COOKE (Detective Officer R). I took the prisoner in custody on 3rd of June, and charged him with a violent assault upon Patten—he said it was a very bad job; he did not mean to hit him on the head; he meant to hit him on the arm.
Witnesses for the Defence.
GEORGE CLARK . My son has been working at the hospital—I never knew him guilty of violence before—I said to deceased, when he asked me to take the bedstead, "No, Jim, I ain't going to take it up"—it was a very heavy iron bedstead—we had no words at all—he came towards me, and I said "B—you, come before me; stand before me," and he struck me on the eye—he afterwards held me with his hand while he struck me; my nose is sore now all, up this side—I could not see my son give him the blow—Patten had hold of me—as soon as the blow had been given, my son said he meant to hit him on the arm.
Cross-examined. The deceased had hold of me with his left hand; he seized me by the collar, and pulled the buttons off my shirt.
GUILTY—Strongly recommended to mercy — Four Days' Imprisonment.
NEW COURT.—Friday, June 14th, and
OLD COURT.—Saturday, June 15th, 1872.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
He received an excellent character.—
GUILTY — Two Years' Imprisonment.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. METCALPE conducted the Prosecution.
JONATHAN SAWYER . I am a hawker, of Elizabeth Gardens, Stratford—on 3rd May, I was going along the Leytonstone Road, and saw the prisoner, and John Swallow and Watts together, standing by the side of three lumps of iron—they told me there was two and a half cwt.—they are the plates which have been given up to the Railway Company—Watts asked me if I bought old iron—I said "Yes"—he said "I have got some here, could you look at them?"—I said "No, you bring them here; I am tired"—they each brought one to my barrow—I said "This is new iron, but it is rusty; how did you come by it?"—they all three said that they had had it in their possession nine months—I bought it for 10s., there were twenty-six plates, and I took them away on my barrow—I paid Swallow 9s., and Watts 1s.—they all stood together by my barrow when I paid the money.
Prisoner. Q. What is the reason you paid Watts and Swallow, and not me? A. Because they stood close against me—I did not pay you, but you brought the iron to my barrow—Swallow said "It is nothing to do with you, it is my money"—I have not said that you sold it, but you helped to bring it to my barrow.
Re-examined. I am sure he is one of those who said he had had it nine months, and he had one of the heaps behind him.
ARTHUR ELDRIDGE . I am the stepson of the last witness, and go about with him with his barrow—I was with him when he bought this iron—I saw the three heaps in the road, and one man standing at each heap—they brought one plate each to the barrow, and my father said "It is new iron, only it is rusty—they wanted 4s. a cwt. for it.
Prisoner. You were not there at the time the iron was bought.
JOSEPH RUSSELL (Police Inspector, G.E.R.) On 16th May I saw the prisoner near the Green Man public-house, within 100 yards of where the iron was bought—he is known as Jemmy the tinker—I said "Jemmy, I want you for being concerned with others in stealing a quantity of iron, the property of the Great Eastern Railway: I mean the iron you sold to a man across the way, "pointing to the spot—he said "Not me; I had nothing to do with it; I was standing here"—I called Sawyer and asked him, in the presence of the prisoner, if he was one of the three men who sold the iron—he said "Yes," and the boy identified him—he said "The other two men told me they picked it up on the flats"—I told him I should take him in custody—he then turned to Sawyer, and said "You know it was arranged that the iron should be got there ready by the time you got there with your barrow"—Sawyer said "I know nothing about that"—I sent the prisoner to Stratford in charge of a policeman—the plates are worth 1l. 14s.—a large
quantity of them are lying on a new line at Walthamstow, about half a mile from where they were sold—I have made every endeavour to apprehend the other two men, but they have left the country.
Prisoner's Defence. I was standing outside the Green Man and Swallow and Watts came, and asked me if I had seen Sawyer—I said "No—they said "He promised to meet us here with a truck," and at 7 o'clock Sawyer came with his truck—Watts's arm was tied up in a sling, and he asked me to help him—I did not take the iron.
GUILTY —, Six Months' Imprisonment.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. WOOD, for the prisoner stated that, having applied for a divorce, he had been deceived by a person who he employed, and who had shown him a document with the seal of the Court attached, purporting to be a dissolution of his marriage, and which turned out to be a forgery.— Judgment Respited.
MR. COLLINS conducted the Prosecution.
LEONARD TAYLOR . I am a student, and live at 180, Kenniagton Park Road—I was riding on an omnibus in the Blackfriars Road, about 6.30, and when near the obelisk I saw the prisoner, who had got up on the knife-board—I was beside the driver—after we passed the Surrey Theatre, the prisoner got on the near side of the knife-borad and tried to get down by the side of the driver—I should say he was drunk—the driver prevented his getting over, and the conductor came up and told the man to keep quiet, or he would call a policeman—he sat down behind the driver, and some time after, when the driver was hailing some one, I looked round and saw the prisoner with one foot over the seat behind the driver—the driver called the conductor, who collared the prisoner, and he was brought down on his back—the driver gave me the reins and whip, got out of his seat, and turned round to help the conductor manage the prisoner, who was on his back on the roof, and the prisoner gave him a kick, and he went over and fell to the ground—the prisoner was helped down and given into custody.
SAMUEL ALFRED MANSELL . I am conductor of this omnibus—I saw the prisoner get up in the Blackfriars Road—he knocked his foot on the step—did not stop for him—his hat fell off—I could see that he had been drinking—some boys picked up his hat, which I returned to him, and said "You are drunk"—he said "No, I am not"—I said "Where are you going?"—he said "King's Cross"—I said "If you ride quiet you will go to King's Cross, if not, you will come off"—I saw him stumble, and said "What are you going to do?"—he said "I want to get over in front"—I said "You will not get over in front, you will stay where you are"—I said "Jack, don't let him go over, the first policeman I find I will have him off," and when we got to Stamford Street I said "Jack, stop the buss, I will have him off," and I called to a boy to fetch a policeman—the prisoner was endeavouring to get over, and the driver stood up and gave Taylor the reins and whip to hold—I said "You shan't go over," and in the struggle he kicked the driver—I cannot say whether he did it intentionally—the driver fell to the ground, and I said to the prisoner "Do you see what you have
done to my mate?"—he said "Yes, you b—, and I will serve you the same"—he struggled with me, I got assistance, and a policeman took him—I put the driver in the buss and took him to the hospital.
JOHN BARLOW . I was the driver of this omnibus—the prisoner got up, and tried to get in front two or three times—he was the worse for liquor, and the conductor and I tried to prevent his doing so—the apron-strap around me, which keeps me in my seat, was undone, and I found him attempting to get in front—I put my hand like this to stop him, and at Stamford Street the conductor said "Hold hard, Jack, here is a policeman, we will have him off"—I asked Taylor to hold the reins and whip, to help the conductor—the prisoner was lying on his back on the roof of the omnibus, and kicked me in the bottom part of my stomach—I do not suppose he meant to do me any injury, but I was knocked off the omnibus and my leg was broken; the kick broke my thigh-bone, and one leg is now shorter than the other—I was lying on the ground, and the conductor said to the prisoner "See how you have served my mate"—he said "Yes, you b—, and I will serve you the same"—I was eleven weeks in the hospital, and feel the consequences now; I shall not be able to work for some time yet.
EDWARD SERJEANT. I am house-surgeon at St. Thomas's Hospital—I did not attend Barlow, and do not know anything about him, except from the books, and from the dressers who I consulted—I have casually examined him here—his thigh is fractured at the neck—it is a serious injury, and it will be two months before he is fit for work—he will always have a shortening of the leg.
Prisoner's Defence. I was the worse for liquor. I really had no intention of knocking him off. I never thought of such a thing. I leave it entirely to your mercy.
GUILTY — Nine Months' Imprisonment.
493. EDWARD WILLIAM HIGGS (19), WILLIAM BECK (16), and WILLIAM WINTERS (13) , Burglariously breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Samuel Wyman, and stealing therein a table cover, and writing case, his property.
MR. METCALFE, JUN., conducted the Prosecution.
ELIZABETH WYMAN . I am the wife of Samuel Wyman, of 19, Queen Street, Kenington—on Friday night, 10th May, I was sitting in my back parlour—about 10 o'clock I heard a noise which appeared to be in the front parlour—I listened and heard another noise, and while I was passing up the passage I heard it again, and saw my window open, and the table cover gone—I missed my writing-case, and a pot of musk was thrown down—my shutters were closed and the window fastened at 6 o'clock—it has the ordinary fastening—the table on which the things were, stood close under the window, and was the same height as the window—the upper sash was pulled down—I went outside the house and found my scissors, and two or three other things I had left on the table, outside—I saw a policeman and went with him—he ran down Milverton Street—I saw Beck with a hamper with something that looked like checkweed or groundsel—I found my table-cover inside his hamper, he dropped the basket, broke my hold, and ran away—I am sure he was the boy—I saw the constable take Higgs—these are my things (produced).
JOSEPH RANDALL . On 10th May I was in Grove Place, Kenington, about five minutes before 11 o'clock—I saw the three prisoners with two others—Beck was carrying a basket—they went through the court; they saw
a policeman coming up the court and ran away—the policeman ran after them, and Mrs. Wyman followed—she thought I had something to do with it—I said "That is one of them," and pointed to Beck—she put her hand in his basket and pulledout the table-cover—he ran away and I ran after him and caught him—he said "Leave go of me, you b—, for I have just come home from the country"—I took him back to Mrs. Wyman, and we gave him in charge—I saw the policeman take Higgs—he was one of the five I saw—I can't recognise Winter as one of them.
JOHN SHRIMPTON (Policeman L 59). On 10th May, about 11 o'clock, I was on my beat in Queen Street, Kenington—I passed the three prisoners, with two others, in the court—Mrs. Wyman came up, and from what she told me I ran after them—I caught Beck first and asked him what he had got—he had nothing then—he ran and fetched his basket, which was behind the rails—I followed Higgs and Winter—when I was about three yards behind Higgs, he threw this writing-desk into an area—I took Higgs—I hit Winters and knocked him down, but he got away—I apprehended him the Saturday after, at Peckham—I hit him on the left side of his face, and he had a mark on the eye when I took him on the next night—I can swear positively that these are the three—Winters said he was not there, he was with Shiels, at the circus, at Peckham—that is about three miles from Mrs. Wyman's.
Higgs's Defence. I heard someone running, and the policeman came up and past me, and caught hold of another one—I turned back and he took me.
BECK in his defence stated, that he put his basket down to go into a shop, and that someone put the table-cover in while he was away.
Winter's Defence. I went to the circus at 8 o'clock, and stopped there two hours and a half with Willy Shiels—I bid him good night and went to bed. Witness for Winters.
WILLIAM SHIELS . I live at 3, Park Street, Peckham—I know Winters—on Friday, 10th May, I saw him at 8 o'clock at night, and went to the circus with him, we remained till 10.30, and I saw him home to his door—we got to his house about 10.30—it is close to the circus where he lives, at Dorset Place—I don't know Queen Street, Kenington.
Cross-examined. I know it was 10.30, because I asked the time at a beershop.
WINTERS.— NOT GUILTY .
HIGGS and BECK.— GUILTY — Four Months' Imprisonment each.
MR. LOPES, Q.C., for the Prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Recorder.
MESSRS. COLLINS and ELLIOT conducted the Prosecution.
ANNIE HIGGINS . I am barmaid at the Surrey Gardens—on Monday, 20th May, between 7 and 8 o'clock, the prisoner came to my bar for a glass of sherry and a cake, which was 8d.—he gave me a bad half-sovereign—I bent it with my fingers—I showed it to another barmaid in the prisoner's presence—she said it was bad, and broke it in half—the prisoner then gave me a good one—he said he had taken the bad one in change from one of the of her bars—I gave it him back, and he went away.
EMMA PRENTICE . I am a barmaid at the Surrey Gardens—on 23rd May, about 5.45, the prisoner came and called for a glass of sherry—he gave me a half-sovereign—I saw it was bad, and told him so—he said "Oh, is it?"—I tried it with my teeth, and it nearly came in two—there is the toothmark on it now—I gave it to the waiter, and he took it to the office—the prisoner asked whether he should follow the waiter—this is the half-sovereign.
HENRY FISHER . I am a waiter at the Surrey Gardens—I saw the last witness serve the prisoner with a glass of sherry—I saw him put a coin down, and the barmaid showed me a bad half-sovereign—I heard the barmaid tell him it was bad—he said he had changed a sovereign for two halves, and that was one of them—he showed me a good one—I went for a constable, and he was given in charge.
JOHN DORREY (Policeman R 13). I was sent for to the Surrey Gardens on 23rd May—the prisoner was given in charge for passing a bad half-sovereign—I asked him where he got it from—he said he had been in several skittle-alleys playing skittles, and drinking, and he supposed he must have got it in change for a sovereign—the half-sovereign was given to me—this is it.
Prisoner's Defence. I was not aware it was bad.
GUILTY — Nine Months' Imprisonment.
MESSRS. COLLINS and METCALFE conducted the Prosecution.
MARGARET WYMARK . I keep the Young Prince beerhouse, Blue Anchor Road—on 17th May, about 4.30, the prisoner came in for a pint of half-and-half—he gave me a florin, which I put in the till—there was no other florin there—I gave him the change, and he left—I looked at the florin directly he had gone, and found it was bad—this is it—I gave it to Robert Stewart.
ESTHER BARBER . I am barmaid at the John Bull, Blue Anchor Road, about five doors from the Young Prince—on 17th May, about 5.30, the prisoner came in for a pint of half-and-half—he gave me a bad florin, which I broke—I told him it was bad; he made no reply, but gave me a shilling, and I gave him the change for it—he left his beer and went out—I saw him in custody afterwards, and gave the florin to the constable.
ROBERT FULLER . I am the proprietor of the Ancient Forresters, Blue Anchor Road, which is about twenty or thirty yards from the John Bull—about 5.45 on the evening of 17th May, the prisoner came in for a pint of 6d. ale; he gave me a florin—I put it in the till where there was nothing but sixpence—a constable came in and spoke to me—I looked at the florin and saw it was bad—the constable broke it—I marked it, and gave it to him—this is it—I charged the prisoner then—he appeared as if he had had a glass too much.
ROBERT STEWART (Policeman M 289). I was in Blue Anchor Road on 17th May, about 5.30, in plain clothes—I went into the John Bull, and the barmaid gave me a florin broken in two—I saw the prisoner at the bar, and saw him pay with a good shilling—he went out of the house, and I watched him—he went into the Ancient Foresters; I went in too, and spoke to the landlord, who gave me a bad florin—I took the prisoner in custody; and charged him with passing bad coins—he said "All right old chap"—he had been drinking—I received one florin from Esther Barber, and another from
Margaret Wymark—I searched the prisoner, and found on him 2s. in copper and 6s. in sixpences and shillings.
Prisoner's Defence. I don't know how I came by them. I had a great deal of drink, and did not know they were bad.
GUILTY — Nine Months' Imprisonment.
MESSRS. COLLINS and ELLIOTT conducted the Prosecution.
THOMAS JONES . I keep a greengrocer's stall at Peckham—on 4th May, between 11 and 12 o'clock at night, the prisoner came and asked for a pennyworth of spring onions—he gave me a bad shilling—I told him it was bad—he said it was not, and I said it was—he said "If you say it is a bad shilling again, I will give you a b—smack in the mouth"—I gave him the shilling, and he gave me the onions back—he said he would take it back to where he got it.
ROBERT WARRINGTON . On Saturday night, 11th May, about 12.30, I was selling whelks in Hill Street, Peckham—I have known the prisoner for years—he came up and asked for 3d. worth of whelks—I served him—there were two others with him—he had 3d. more, and gave me a florin—I gave him 1s. 6d. in copper—as soon as I gave him the change, he said "I must be off, I am going to some dancing to-night"—I put the florin in my mouth, and found it was bad—I went after the prisoner, and saw him with about three others—I pointed him and the two other men out to a constable—the constable went up and took him, but the other two ran off—he was charged with uttering the florin—he said it was some one else, not him—this is the florin—I put a mark on it, and gave it to the constable.
GEORGE STEBBINGS (Policeman P 367). I took the prisoner, and charged him with uttering a florin—he was given into custody by Warrington, about 12.30—I found 3d. in copper on him—he said he knew nothing of it; he was not the man.
Witnesses for the Defence.
ADELAIDE FLORENCE . I am the prisoner's mother—I remember him being taken—I think it was a month last Saturday—he was in that night about 11.30, and remained till 12.30, as near as I could say—I asked him if he would go to the top of the street and see if he could see anything of his brother William—he was down stairs, and I was up stairs between 11.30 and 12.30—I reckoned that it was 12.30 when he went out—I went up stairs about 11.15—I have a clock down stairs—I live in Blue Anchor Yard, Peckham—my son lives with me—he has been a very good son, and has supported us since the illness of his father—you can get to Hill Street in about a couple of minutes from Blue Anchor Yard.
Cross-examined. He came in about 11.30—I can't say where he had been—there are three rooms in my house, two up and one down—no one was with him in the kitchen—I went up at 11.15—when the prisoner came in I said "Is it James?"—he said "Yes"—I said "Is your father with you?" he said "No"—I said "Don't go to bed till he comes in," and he asked me if he should go out, and I said "Yes, don't stop long"—I went to bed—I heard next day, at dinner time, that he was charged with this—I went to
the Police Court, but I did not give evidence—I could not get in—the first time he was up I did not go at all, and the second time the case was just over.
NOT GUILTY .
JAMES WEBBER (Policeman M 199). I was on duty in the New Kent Road on the night of the 25th—about 1.45 on the following morning I saw the two prisoners standing loitering about, and looking to see if anyone was coming—I watched them five or six minutes—some people came along and disturbed them—they passed me—I followed them—when they had got about 200 yards past me they looked to see if I was coming after them, and I tried to get out of their sight—I ran them down Bland Street, and took them into custody, giving Keene into the charge of another constable—I found this key (produced) on Lucas—these keys were found on Keene (produced)—Lucas threw his key away while I was taking him to the station, and I picked it up—at the station I also found some silent matches upon them—they were charged with having skeleton keys in their possession—Lucas said he had just come from Manchester, and had no residence in London.
Cross-examined. I was on duty, and in uniform—I no not think they saw me before I ran after them—Keene gave me his address at the station and I found it was right—I should not call this a beer-barrel key—there are many latch keys in the neighbourhood where I arrested them like that—these are keys and matches such as are used, in my knowledge, as a police-constable, for housebreaking.
Cross-examined. I did not find any pipe or tobacco upon him.
LUCAS**— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
KEENE*— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
and MR. MATHEWS defended Overton.
ALFRED BACON . I live at 121, Southwark Bridge Road—on 4th May, about 12.30, I was outside the One Bell, Rotherhithe, talking to a friend, who I met by chance—three men came out of the public-house—they followed me out—one of them knocked me on the ear, and sent me spinning, and I was brutally kicked on the head and my right loin—I am suffering from my left breast at the present time—when I cough something catches me—I cannot say what was done to me when I was down, except that I was kicked on the nose—I know I staggered and fell—I cannot say who struck me, because they came up behind me out of the public-house—I had had no quarrel, with any of them or given them any provocation—the only thing I imagine this to be about is that one day while I was on duty down there I stopped a wagon that was loaded with grain, and found in it five sacks of maize, two bushels, and a nose-bag full—whether the prisoners were concerned in it I do not know.
Cross-examined by MR. MATTHEWS. I cannot say how many people were present at the assault—I was just about saying good night to my friend when the men rushed at me—I cannot say how they rushed at me—whether it was a man, a woman, a boy, or a girl that knocked me down, I do not know—I had never seen these men before, that I am aware of, and I had had no conversation with them—I will swear I never spoke to any woman on the occasion—I will swear I did not hit Overton, and that I was not the original aggressor—I cannot say what happened—I was sent spinning and knocked senseless from the kick on the nose—I never challenged any of them to fight—we did employ at one time 200 to 230 men, and discharged them at night.
Cross-examined by MR. GRIFFITHS. It was somewhere about midnight when I went into the One Bell—I am no drinker—I do not remember my coat being pulled off my back—I do not know a man named Lawrence—I went up the wharf for fish for the men's supper, more than anything else; they had been loading a barge—I did not offer to fight anyone on that day; I think too much about my position.
Fitz. Q. You say it was about 12.30 when you came out of the Bell; did not the landlord say "It is 1 o'clock, let's clear out"? A. He never said anything to mo about it—when I came out I was not speaking to a female—I did not pull my coat off and say "If no one will take her bleeding part I will"—I did not knock Overton down—I did not fight three or four rounds with him and knock him down twice—I was as sober as I am now—I was about three quarters of a mile from where I was on duty—a man who bad been working out, was with me.
Re-examined. I had been on duty at the King and Queen Granary, Rotherhithe—there had been a large fire there—I went on duty at 6 o'clock in the evening.
HORATIO BALLS . I live in Princess Street, Rotherhithe—I was outside the Bell public-house, about midnight on 3rd May, when this transaction took place—I know Mr. Bacon—I and he went into the Bell public-house that night—we had a pint of ale between us—we came out about 12.55—I wished Mr. Bacon good night—before I got to the corner of the street I saw a man strike him, but which of the prisoners it was I could not swear to—it was one of the three men—there were three men—I went round the corner to look for a policeman, and I then ran up the first court, afterwards, for one—I had been in the company of the prosecutor about a quarter of an hour before the assault took place—there had been no altercation between him and anybody—I brought back two policemen and a third came afterwards—the prosecutor was lying on his back on the ground, bleeding, and the three men were standing round him.
Cross-examined by MR. GRIFFITHS. There were not ten people in the Bell, but there were more than three—I believe Bacon's coat was lying on the ground when I came back—I had not the coat in my hand—I saw a woman outside.
Cross-examined by MR. MATTHEWS. I believe the woman was talking to the three prisoners; she was not talking to us—the first I saw of the three prisoners was outside the Bell; they were standing talking—when I came back with the policeman some one was attending to the prosecutor, supporting his head, but I do not know who it was—I know Thomas Gibbins, but I did not see him there at any time.
Deptford—on the morning of this transaction? was standing near the One Bell—I saw the prosecutor there, and the prisoners—I saw Overton laying on Mr. Bacon, and he was punching him in the face with his fists—Coe kicked him in the ribs twice and said "Kill the b—"—I assisted the man up, and told them he was helpless—Fitz said "We ain't going to hurt him any more"—the prosecutor's coat was off.
Cross-examined by MR. GRIFFITHS. I said, before the Magistrates at Greenwich, "I saw a party kick him in the ribs; I think it was Coe, but I am not certain"—I will swear Coe said "Kill the b—"—I told the clerk at Greenwich that I believed Coe kicked him in the ribs.
Cross-examined by MR. MATTHEWS. I was talking to two of my friends, Thomas Gibbins and Alfred Moore—there might have been a woman present.
THOMAS LLOYD GIBBINS . I am a lighterman, and live at 66, Black Horse Villas, Rotherhithe—on this Saturday morning I was at the One Bell—I had a pennyworth of fish there; I had to go across the road for it—I saw Mr. Bacon outside the Bell, and also the three prisoners—Bacon was talking to Balls—they were standing about twelve yards from the three prisoners—I saw Overton and Coe rush at the prosecutor and tear the coat off his back—Overton pashed him on the face several times—all three of them afterwards kicked him in the ribs—my friend said "He is helpless, don't hit him any more"—the tall man rushed at him again, and the other two rushed at Balls—Coe said to Overton "Kill the b—"—I saw Fitz kick the man in the side—Coe said also "We will settle the three before we have done"—I came up again just as the policemen got there—Corfmatt was supporting the prosecutor when they came.
Cross-examined by MR. GRIFFITHS. I and Balls had had a glass of ale each at the Bell—directly Overton rushed at Balls the policemen came up—the prosecutor was then laying senseless on the ground—I saw all three kick him.
Cross-examined by MR. MATTHEWS. I was standing about ten or twelve yards from them when it happened—I heard all that was said, but I was too much confused then to state what I heard, now—I heard Coe say "Kill the b—"—I saw a female there—she was talking to Overton—I saw the men rush at Bacon and tear his coat off in the middle of the road—It was just as I came out of the fish-shop—two of them rushed at Balls and the other rushed at me—I heard them say "We will settle the three before we go."
FREDERICK GEORGE LARKIN . I am a surgeon, of Mason Street, Southwark—on the Saturday in question I was called about mid-day to the prosecutor's house—I found him suffering from a very severe black eye—there was a swelling behind the right ear, and the eye was swollen up and filled with congealed blood—the left cheek was also bruised—both bones of the nose were broken, and the nostrils were plugged with congealed blood—there had evidently been bleeding from the mouth—he complained of pain about the left part of the chest, also about the right loin—his pulse was exceedingly slow, and he was altogether in a severe state of collapse—he had pains generally about him as from severe bruising—the wound on the skull behind the ear was not very severe, but it must have been caused by some hard substance—I have seen him almost daily since—he is now in the state I apprehended at first—in a very weak condition in his nervous system—I still doubt whether there may not be a fracture of the skull—I look at the case as one of very serious injury.
Cross-examined by MR. GRIFFITHS. If all the blows he received had been
given with the fist, they must have been excessively severe—I question whether the blows on the nose could have been caused by a fall, unless he had fallen upon the kerb.
Cross-examined by MR. MATTHEWS. I cannot say that he is going on satisfactorily—he is daily complaining of severe giddiness, and it is very questionable what might arise.
Re-examined. There was no displacement of the bones of the nose.
WILLIAM NESBITT (Police Serjeant). On the morning of the 4th May I met with the witness Ball—I went with him to the One Bell, and found the prisoner on the ground, being held up by Corfmatt, and bleeding profusely.
Cross-examined by MR. MATTHEWS. The three prisoner's were about two yards from the spot.
JAMES TOOLEY (Police Constable R 176). I took Overton into custody—he said "Don't hold me tight, I will go quiet; I have done nothing"—when I placed him in the cell—he said "You big b—b—, if I had got you in a field I would serve you a b—sight worse."
Cross-examined by MR. GRIFFITHS. Coe works at Mr. Timmer's.
ALFRED MOORE . I am a cheesemonger, and live at 6, Forsyth Street, Rotherhithe—about 1 o'clock, on Sunday morning, 4th May, I was standing about five yards from the Bell—I saw the three prisoners and the prosecutor—I saw Overton strike Bacon on the ground, and kick him with his feet—it was rather a dark night, but there was a lamp burning at the Bell public-house, sufficiently near for me to see.
Cross-examined by MR. GRIFFITHS. Bacon was knocked down—I was about five yards off when I saw Overton strike him—I saw a female there.
WILLIAM GARDINER . I keep a public-house, at Rotherhithe—on the morning of the 4th May last Bacon was in my house, about 12.40—he was perfectly sober; the prisoners were there also drinking—they and the prosecutor left my house, about one time—I called "Time," and they went out—there were five men in one compartment, and a female and another man in another.
Cross-examined by MR. MATTHEWS. The female came in with a man that I knew.
Witnesses for the Defence.
EDWARD FREEMAN . On the night in question, as I was passing the Bell a woman asked me if I would treat her, and I told her that I had no money—whilst I was there, three men came out of the house and began chaffing her—then a biggish man came out—he comes up and said "If no one else won't take her part, I will"—I stood on one side then—he chucked off his coat, and gave it to some man; I could not swear who it was now—he knocked the littlemost one of the three down, and when he got up he knocked him down again—the big man and the little man afterwards went down together, and after that the big man lay there—I said to him "Why don't you leave the job off, you have had enough of it now?—he said "I have been kicked"—I says "I can swear nobody kicked you"—some one else then came up.
Cross-examined by MR. W. SLEIGH. I did not give my name and address to anybody on the occasion—my wife was reading the newspaper; I said to her "I know a little about the thing, and I will give evidence about it"—I found the Overtons out by going to the Bell—the first public-house that I
went to about it was the Compasses, in the Bermodsey New Road—we had a good many singing matches with birds there—I never saw Overton at the Compasses—a person named Saunderson mentioned his name to me—I never heard the name of Overton before I got there—the Compasses is 3 miles away from the Bells, more or less—I am a hawker and a bird-fancier—I will swear I was not outside the public-house when this transaction took place—what I could tell the man by was his bushy whiskers—I was about five or six yards off him—I had my cage under my arm—I had been to Elephant Street that night—I went there about taking some things to a lady's house, that I had got—I had been at two or three public-houses that night, but I had only a drop of porter or four half-and-half—I was not tipsy—the Compasses is a house I use.
DAVID LAWRENCE . I am a beer-house keeper and furniture-dealer—on 3rd May, about 11.35, the prosecutor came to my house with a friend—he called for a pint of ale—I served him—he was rather personal in his remarks—I looked at him and said "Have you come in here to have a row?"—he wanted another pint, and I would not serve him, because I thought he was in liquor—he pressed hard for another pint of ale—from that time it became 12 o'clock, and he went away.
Cross-examined by MR. SLEIGH. He said to me "I suppose you are doing very well now, Mr. Lawrence?"—I said "Why I—"he said "Oh, I know all about it," and he mentioned the names of two people belonging to the Salvage Corps—I took offence, because I thought he came in to kick up a row—I could see he was drunk—I was subpoenaed to come here.
COURT. Q. What is the No. of your house? A. 313, Rotherhithe—I am not a bird-fancier—I may have a lark or a linnet—I take lodgers—we are registered for something like thirty, or forty—I think Balls was with the prosecutor—I should not like to swear it.
HENRY DAVID AYLING . I am a warehouseman, employed at the same place as Coe and Overton—all the three work for my master—I have known them for three or four years, or during the time they have been employed for the firm I represent—they were known as quiet and inoffensive men—I have never heard a word said against them otherwise—on the 2nd of June they were at work—they worked all day, and left off work about 6.30—the last time I saw them was at 12.10 in the evening—at that time they were perfectly sober—they left my house, and they had been there from before 10 o'clock.
Fitzs Defence. I have been 9 or 10 years in one service. Two years ago I lost the use of my right arm, and I am still employed to do what I can with one arm. About six or seven months ago I broke my right leg, which I am now only recovering from. I leave it with you whether I am a likely person to run into any danger. My leg is hardly strong enough for me to do anything. I have got a poor old mother eighty years of age.
FITZ— GUILTY .— Twelve Calendar Months' Imprisonment.
COE and OVERTON—
NOT GUILTY .
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, 8TH JULY.