CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
NINTH SESSION, HELD JUNE. 28TH, 1880.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND, BY
JAMES DROVER BARNETT
Short-hand Writers to the Court,
BOLLS 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, E.C.
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 PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY, WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
Held on Monday, June 28th, 1880, and following days,
Including certain cases committed to this Court under order in Council, pursuant to the Spring Assizes Act of 1879,
BEFORE THE RIGHT HON. SIR. FRANCIS WYATT TRUSCOTT, Knt., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; The Hon. Sir HENRY HAWKISS, Knt., one of the Justices of the Exchequer Division of the High Court of Justice; Sir WILLIAM ANDERSON ROSE , Knt., Sir JAMES CLARKE LAWRENCE , Bart., M.P., sir THOMAS DAKIN ., Knt., DAVID HENRY STONE , Esq., and Sir. CHARLES WHETHAM, Knt., Aldermen of the said City; Sir THOMAS CHAMBERS , Knt., Q.C., M.P., Recorder of the said City; JAMES FIGGINS , Esq., SIMEON CHARLES HADLEY , Esq., and ROBERT NICHOLAS FOWLER , Esq., M.P., other of the Aldermen of the said City; Sir WILLIAM THOMAS CHARLEY , Q.C., D.C.L., Common Serjeant of the said City; and ROBERT MALCOLM KERR , Esq., LL.D., Judge of the Sheriffs' Court: 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.
HENRY KELLY BAYLEY, Esq.,
HENRY HOMEWOOD CRAWFORD, Esq.,
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
TRUSCOTT, MAYOR. NINTH 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 he 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 28th, 1880.
Before Mr. Recorder.,
MR. J. P. GRAIN. Prosecuted; MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS. Defended.
THOMAS STONES . I am a licensed caiman and Custom House agent, of 4, Upper East Smithfield—I keep an account at the head office of the London and Westminster Bank—the prisoner has been in my employ as a clerk for some years—his duties were principally outdoor, collecting accounts, paying bills, etc.—he did not keep a petty cash book—he had to account for what cash he received—on 10th April I gave him notice to leave on that day fortnight—this (produced) is my cheque-book—on 1st January last I commenced to draw a cheque, and put the date on the counterfoil, and then discovered that the cheque itself was missing—this (produced) is it—I made inquiry about it of the prisoner and my son, and looked everywhere for it without success—on Saturday, 24th April, the men were paid, and practically the work of the office was done about 8 o'clock that evening—I was only waiting to have the petty cash settled up—the prisoner said, "You need not wait for the petty cash sir, I will come in on Monday morning and settle it"—I said, "Very well," and left—I was there between 10 and 11 on Monday morning, and found the prisoner there—I said, "Alfred, will you settle up the cash)"—he said, "No, I can't now, sir, I left it in my coat at Bow (that was where he lived), but I am going home to dinner and I will bring it up in the afternoon"—he did not do so—I understood he did call on the 27th, but I did not see him—I first saw this cheque on Thursday the 29th—the signature "Thomas Stones and Co." is not mine—it was not drawn by my authority—to the best of my belief the whole of the cheque is in the prisoner's handwriting, with the exception of the signature, I cannot speak to that—after I had received the cheque I sent for the prisoner's father and showed him the cheque, and also this order-book in the prisoner's handwritings which he compared, after which he made a communication to me—on the following Monday the prisoner came to the office—he said, "My father
tells me that you say I have forged a cheque for 40l"—I said, "I have not said you forged a cheque for 40l, some one has, because 40l. has been drawn out of the bank, which I did not draw a cheque for"—he said "Well, I know I have never done it"—he said he was going to Kingsclere; and he could be found there if he was wanted—he has not accounted to me for 9l. 3s. 6d. received from Harrison and Johnson on 24th April-no such sum was entered in the book as having been received—nor 7l. 18s.2d. received from Austwick and Webb, or 6l. 1s. from T. and D. Henry—this paying-in slip is the prisoner's writing.
Cross-examined. This case was heard at Guildhall three times, first before Mr. Alderman Fowler, and subsequently before Sir Thomas White, and Sir Benjamin Phillips came in afterwards and Sir Thomas White conferred with him—the charge was dismissed—the counterfoils and cheques bear the same numbers—this one is No. 166,173—I did not stop the cheque at the bank—I sometimes carry a blank cheque in my pocket, and so does my son—it is part of our business to do so—I have always thought that the whole of the cheque except the signature was in the prisoner's handwriting—when I was first examined before the Magistrate I said the date was in the prisoner's writing—on the second occasion I said to the best of my belief the words "forty pounds" were his writing, and the figures also—I did not then include the word "self"—I wanted to get away on the Saturday evening—I said before the Magistrate that I only showed the prisoner father the date of the cheque, that was for him to compare with the writing in the book—I said to the father that I would let the matter rest for 48 hours—I did not say I would settle the matter for 40l.—I said, "Will you give me 40l. for this cheque"—he declined to do so—my son kept the petty cash book—at times the petty cash was short—I have had to complain of it—the book is here—sometimes I filled up cheques, sometimes my son, and the prisoner—I believe my son was in the habit of carrying the petty cash about in his purse—I have heard that he was sometimes in the habit of spending the petty cash for his pleasure—I did not know it then—I know it now; he has said so—the cheque-book was kept in an open drawer in the office—there were no other clerks—there was a little lad a messenger—there were persons to clean the offices—there was always some one there—the office was never left—Mr. Johnson was not in the office at this time—he was there some part of the time with the prisoner—the prisoner was between seven and eight years in my employ—I am not prosecuting any indictment against him—I am here as a witness—I have given no authority to prosecute him for embezzlement—there was no committal by the Magistrate on any charge whatever.
Re-examined. I have nothing to do with this prosecution—the bank are prosecuting—immediately I found this cheque was passed to my dehit I communicated with the bank authorities, and they at once took the matter in hand.
THOMAS VICTOR STONES . I am the son of the last witness, and assist him in his business—on the afternoon of 27th April the prisoner came to the office—I spoke to him about some accounts, those of Harrison and Johnson, T. and D. Henry, and Austwick and Webb—I asked him if he knew anything about them—he said yes, he had collected them and paid them in on the 24th—I asked why they were not through the bank—I then had the pass book before me—he then said he did not pay them in
on the 24th, it was the 26th—I then asked if he could explain why they were not through the bank then—he said he could not—I took down the accounts at his dictation on this paying-in slip—he then paid me the balance of 3l. 13s. on account of petty cash—in consequence of what was said to me the pass-book was taken to the bank and it was returned to us, and I found we were credited with the 23l. 2s. 8d., and the forged cheque was in the pocket and put to our debit—I believe the 27th April, 1880, on this cheque to be the prisoner's handwriting, also the word "self" also the word "pounds"—I cannot say as to the "forty" or the signature.
Cross-examined. I have spoken to a little more to-day than I did at the police-court—I there spoke to the date and the word "pounds—I said nothing about "self" there—I say now I believe it to be the prisoner's writing—I won't speak to the "forty"—I have sometimes been short in my petty cash, about four times—I did say I thought it was six times—I said before the Magistrate, "Sometimes I carried the petty cash about in my purse, and the prisoner has taken care of the purse for me that I should not spend it"—I was sometimes so fearful of myself that I was obliged to trust some one else with my purse—the cheque-book was kept in the office accessible to all in the office—I sometimes carried a blank cheque in my pocket, not always.
Re-examined. Mr. Johnson left us about two years ago.
EDWABD NORMAN DENNANT . I am a paying cashier at the London and Westminster Bank, Lothbury—on 27th April I paid this cheque with 35l. in gold and 51. in silver—I should say it was paid between 3 and 4 o'clock—I cannot recognise the prisoner.
HENRY CASMAN . I am one of the receiving cashiers at the head office of the London and Westminster Bank—on 27th April, between 3 and 4, I received 23l. in gold and 2s. 8d. in silver with this slip—the slip bears date 24th, but I did not notice that at the time—I placed the amount to the account of Messrs. T. Stones and Co.—I cannot recognise the prisoner.
CHARLES CHABOT . I am an expert in handwriting—I have had this cheque and other documents placed before me by the bank authorities for the purpose of comparison—among other things this order-book—to the best of my belief the "27th April, 1880," on the cheque, is in the same writing as that in the book—I say that the whole cheque is in the handwriting of one and the same person.
Cross-examined. I say that of the whole cheque, signature and ail—my belief as to handwriting has not always been right—I don't know that. I was wrong in Sir Francis Truscott's case—Mr. Netherclift and I have differed perhaps in one case out of 50—I have looked at the "f" on the top of the cheque and that in the book—they are not the same, and for a very good reason—they are written by the same person but in a different hand—the in "hundreds and these in "pounds" are as different as can he—these in "hundreds" is such ans as the defendant frequently makes—the 8 in "pounds" is the habitual 8 of the prisoner, exactly as he forms it—the handwriting of the cheque is not like the prisoner's—some of the letters are like his—the prisoner makes some letters like the prosecutor and his son, and he makes certain letters alike—with a little distinction there is a family resemblance in some of the letters, not in all—I do not think these is a letter in which there is a likeness.
Re-examined. I have taken this page in the order-book as the undoubted
handwriting of the prisoner; I have also had acknowledged hand writing of the prisoner placed before me—taking the order-book as the basis, and looking at the cheque, I still say it is in the handwriting of the prisoner—I it is a very careful imitation of the prosecutor's handwriting; it has first of all been drawn in pencil, and must have been copied from a cheque written by the prosecutor—whoever wrote the cheque must have had possession of it for some time; it is a servile copy; every letter, every figure, is formed precisely in the same way as the prosecutor forms his, with perhaps one exception, the 7 in 27th April; I don't find a 7 formed in that way either by the prosecutor or his son—I find in the order-book several instances of a 7 like that, by the prisoner—then the "I" in "April," and the "d" in "pounds" has all the characteristics of the prosecutor's I and d—those are the things which lead me to give my opinion to the best of my belief—I cannot in such a case as this cheque give an absolute opinion that it is the prisoner's handwriting, but I give it from certain minute particulars, and from the general handwriting in this book.
FREDERICK LAWLBY . (City Detective Sergeant.) I received a warrant for the prisoner's apprehension—I went down to Kingsclere and found his there in custody—I had telegraphed to the police there—I read the warrant to him—he said "Oh, I thought that was all settled while I was in London; I know nothing about any forgery; when I get to the other end no doubt it will all be explained."
Witnesses for the Defence.
STAKER KENDRIOK JOHNSON . I live at 7, Foxberry Road, Brockley, and am manager to John Grove—I was in Mr. Stone's employ at the same time as the prisoner for about five years—I am well acquainted with his handwriting—to the best of my belief this cheque is not his writing—I saw it at Guildhall.
Cross-examined. This order-book is in his handwriting—I left Mr. Stone's about two and a half years ago, but I have had several opportunities of knowing the prisoner's writing since then; he has written to me—I see a difference in the p in April on the 15th and 19th of April in the book—there is a similarity in the p in April on the cheque to the p in April on 19th in the book; they are turned in the same way—if I was shown the word "forty," I should say it was Mr. Stone's writing—the whole cheque resembles his writing, signature and all—if it was presented to me, I should certainly say it was Mr. Stone's handwriting.
JOHN NOBLE . I am a blacksmith, and am the prisoner's brother—I am well acquainted with his handwriting—to the best of my belief this cheque is not in his handwriting—I remember on Sunday, 24th April, that my brother had a sum of money in his possession, I should think from about 20l. to 95l.
Cross-examined. I saw it, it was in sovereigns—as he was going upstairs to bed he showed us his purse and said "Look here, how would you like to have this lot?" and my mother said "You had better put it into my lap," and she held out her dress for it—but he kept them in the purse—my father was there, coming upstairs behind—I was already in the bedroom at the top of the landing, standing just inside the door—I saw the purse containing the sovereigns, we all saw it, all that were coming upstairs, my eldest brother, and two sisters, and father and mother—my sisters are not how, nor my mother—my father is outside—I saw the gold, it was in a
yellow purse; the writing in this book is my brother's—it is not like the writing on the cheque.
JOHN NOBLE, SEN . I am a ship's smith, and am the prisoner's father—I know his writing—to the best of my belief this cheque is not his writing there is a similarity in the A, and that is the only thing—Mr. Stones sent for me and showed me this cheque turned down, and said "This is a forged—cheque;" and he got down a book and pointed to it, and said "Look at that A and look at that, are they alike?"—I said "Yes"—he said "I can't afford to lose 40l., if you like to give me 40l. the matter shall drop."
Cross-examined. I could not swear to the book he placed before me; he showed mo one page—I don't believe I had the cheque in my hand—the letter A was pointed out to me, nothing more—I am not aware that I admitted that the cheque was my son's handwriting—I have not the slightest recollection of saying so.
Re-examined. My attention was called particularly to the A in April—my son's name is Alfred—I have been in business about 23 years—my son has always borne a respectable character.
Two other witnesses deposed to the prisoner's good character.
NOT GUILTY . There were eight nther indictments telating to the same transaction, upon which no evidence was offered.
MARRIOTT PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. LLOYD. Prosecuted.
CHAELES HENRY BROAD . I am foreman to an ironmonger of 6, Broad Street, Bloomsbury—on 19th March, about 1 o'clock, Davis came for a bolt and nut, for which he tendered a bad half-crown—I asked him who sent him—at first he said his landlord, and afterwards some one who lived in the house—he was taken before the Magistrate, remanded, and discharged.
ALBERT GREGORY . (Policeman E 155). On 14th May, about 7.15 p.m., I was on duty in Queen Street, Seven Dials, and saw the prisoners standing talking together—I spoke to 293, and followed them to the Crown—I told them I should search them, as I suspected they had counterfeit coin in their possession—I found no bad coin on Davis—I saw Mearing find 10 counterfeit shillings on Marriott—I had had Davis in custody on 8th May, and then found on him one counterfeit shilling and one good one—I have seen the prisoners together and with a man named Saunders, who is now undergoing punishment for passing bad coin.
Davi's Defence. I was not with this man, I never saw him before. I had been selling papers, and went into the public-house to hare some beer.
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Imprisonment each.
NEW COURT.—Monday, June 28th, 1880.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
JAMES HILTON . I left the police in 1871—I produce a certified of the conviction of William Batchelor at this Court of feloniously uttering counterfeit coin, after a previous conviction for uttering—I was present and had charge of him after his sentence—the prisoner is the man—he was with a number of others when I picked him out.
Prisoner. I was not in London at that time, I was at Hartlepool.
GUILTY.— Seven Fears' Penal Servitude.
MESSRS. CRAUFURD and LLOYD. Prosecuted.
ROSE LEWIS . I am barmaid at the Cheshire Cheese, Mount Pleasant, Holborn—on 7th June, about 7.45, I served the prisoner with half a pint of beer, which came to 1½d., and he gave me a shilling—I gave him a sixpence and fourpence change, and then showed the shilling to Miss Johnson in the bar parlour and went back to the bar, and the prisoner called for some tobacco, and put down another shilling—I gave him tenpence change and took the shilling to Miss Johnson, who tried both the shilling on a slate—bad shillings mark a slate like a lead pencil, but good ones scratch it—she went into the bar and said to the prisoner "Do you know you have passed bad money?"—he said "No," and was given in charge.
JULIA JOHNSON . I am barmaid at the Cheshire Cheese—the last witness brought me a shilling—while I was trying it she brought me another—I tried them on a slate, found them bad, went into the bar and said to the prisoner Did you pass two bad shillings?"—he said "I passed two shillings, but they were good ones"—I gave him in charge with the coins.
GEORGE SKINNER . (Policeman G 126). I took the prisoner—he said that he got the coins in change for a sovereign at the Duke of York public-house, King's Cross—I found on him two good shillings, seven good sixpences and 15¼d—he gave his address, Fitzroy Chambers, St. Martin's Lane—I can find no such place.
Cross-examined. You said you got them in change for a sovereign, not a half-sovereign.
The Prisoner in his statement before The Magistrate, and in his defence I denied knowing that the coins were bad, and stated that he got them in change for a half-sovereign at the York public-house.
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Imprisonment.
MESSRS. CKAUFURD and LLOYD. Prosecuted.
ELIZABETH LAKE . I am barmaid at the Angel public-house, "Warwick Street, Regent Street—on 5th April, between 11 and 12 o'clock, the prisoner came in with another man, and tendered a florin—I tried it with my teeth and gave it to Mr. Little, who gave it to a constable, and they were given in charge—I gave evidence against them on 6th April, and on the next Thursday they were discharged—when I said that it was bad one of them put down 2d. for the liquor.
JOHN HODBON . (Policeman C 236). I was called and took the prisoner and Richard Allen—the prisoner said that some friend gave him the florin to help him, as he had a broken hand—he gave his name David Donovan—there was no other case against them, and they were discharged on the Thursday.
EMILY SPURGEON . My husband keeps the Old Bound Table, St. Martin's Court—on the evening of 29th May the prisoner and two others came in, one of them asked for a pot of beer—Kieff put down a florin, and I gave him 1s, 8d, change—I put it in the till, where there were only a few sixpences—my husband took it out about a minute after, showed it to me, and sent for a constable, and the three men were given in custody outside.
WILLIAM SPURGEON . After looking in the till I served the prisoner with half an ounce of tobacco, and anticipated receiving another florin, but he paid me with 2d. and went away—I went out after him, and gave them all three in custody—they separated when' they saw the policeman, and Kieff remained in the court.
THOMAS PICKLES . (Police Sergeant C.) On 29th May I saw the prisoner and Allen and Adams in St. Martin's Court—I was in plain clothes—I spoke to Kieff and he said "Good night, Mr. Pickles"—at that moment Mr. Spurgeon came up and said "This man has passed a bad two-shilling piece in my house"—the other men ran down Castle Street, but they were brought back—Kieff said that he did not know good money from bad, and he said "You are fairly set on to me, Mr. Pickles"—he took two florins from his pocket at the station—I took them from his hand and said "One of these is bad"—he said "Well, you don't suppose I knew they were bad, or else I should not have kept them on me; I went to Epsom on Friday and they were given to me there, if I had known they were bad I should not have kept them"—the other two men were discharged by the Magistrate.
Prisoner's Defence, My hand was broken, and I had just come out of hospital, and a gentleman gave me 2s.—the barman said that one of them was bad—the other coin I got at Epsom, when I backed an horse.
GUILTY .*— Fifteen Months' Imprisonment.
MR. CRAUFURD. Prosecuted.
April, after 11 p.m., I served the prisoner with threepenny worth of rhubarb pills; she gave me a bad half-crown—I said "Where did you get this?"—she said "A gentleman gave it to me in the Strand, what is the matter with it, is it a bad one?"—I said "Yes"—I sent for a policeman, she endeavoured to leave the shop, but I detained her and gave her in charge with the coin—she was remanded and discharged.
SIDNEY TAYLOR . (Policeman E 122). The prisoner was given into my charge—she said that a gentleman gave her the half-crown in the Strand—she handed me a purse containing a good sixpence and four pence—she was remanded till the 12th and then discharged.
RICHARD BANKS . I keep the Crown, Green Street, Leicester Square—on 24th May, a little before 10 p.m., I served the prisoner with a glass of ale—she gave me a florin—I doubled it and threw it under the counter, but gave her change—I showed it to a constable who was in the bar, and then told the prisoner it was bad, and gave her in charge—she said "Oh it is all nonsense, you cannot give me in charge"—I said "But I shall do so"—she handed a purse to the policeman—on the way to the station she had her hand clenched, and refused to open it—the constable opened it and found some money, some of which dropped on the pavement—this is the bad florin (produced).
MARK CHITTOOK . (Policeman 99 C.) I was in Mr. Banka's house—I have heard his evidence and confirm it—the prisoner handed me a purse containing two sixpences and 4d.—I picked up two sixpences and 3½d, and afterwards another halfpenny—she was quite sober, but she pretended to be drunk and commenced singing—I gave her the purse back and the put it in her pocket, and kept the money in her hand.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. I gave no false address. I did get it from a gentleman, and so I did the other".
GUILTY .— Nine Months Imprisonment.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, June 29th, 1880.
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
MR. POLAND. for the prosecution offered no evidence on the Inquisition; the Grand Jury had ignored the bill, and the prosecution was satisfied from inquiries that there was not sufficient evidence to support the charge.
MESSRS. POLAND. and MONTAGU WILLIAMS. Prosecuted MR. WARNER
THOMAS DYSON . (Policeman B 268). On Monday evening, 10th May, about 8.15, my attention was called by some boys to No. 20, Clarendon Street, Pimlico—it is a private house—the first floor window curtains were in a very great blaze—the street door was shut and the area gate wide open—I went down the area steps and into the house—the door below was open—I went up into the first floor front room; the door was open—I did not
see any one in the house—I found the window curtains alight, and the blinds and sashes were smouldering—there was a dense volume of smoke arising from the bed, which was about four yards from the window—it was an iron bedstead without curtains—I shut the room door, and then rushed downstairs into the street—there was a large crowd of men in the street I got water, and with assistance put out the fire in about a quarter of an hour—I then examined the house; it is a six-roomed house—I think all the doors were open—I found no one in the house—there was no fire in the grate that I noticed—the gas was burning full on in the kitchen and in the hall—the firemen came when the fire was out—I reported the matter at the police-station, and Sergeant Fennessy came, and we examined the house together—I had remained in the house in the meantime—I saw nothing of the prisoner.
JOHN FENNESSY . (Police Sergeant B 2). On Monday night, 10th May, between 10 and 11, I was sent for to 20, Clarendon Street—I made a careful examination in the front room first floor—the curtains and blinds were all burnt down, two panes of glass were broken, and the frames scorched and burnt—the bedclothes were partly scorched and partly burnt—the cellar or cupboard door under the stairs in the basement was fastened with a button—I opened it and found this box containing a quantity of newspapers partly burnt, the lid was partly open; there were three other boxes there and a lot of lumber and papers smouldering—I went right through the house—the gas was burning underneath the front door steps—I found a small piece of paper smouldering on the table as if it had been lighted at the gas and thrown down—I found nothing to account for the fire—I left two men in charge of the house—I saw nothing of the prisoner till 2.30 next morning, when I saw him at the corner of Clarendon Street—I followed him to the door of No. 20—he was stopped by a policeman—I said to him "Are you Mr. Amor?"—he said "Yes; what is the matter?"—I said "Your house has been on fire, and you have been going away from the place"—he said "If anybody has been seen here, it is the man that has been taken for me before, who is very much like me; it is not me"—I called his brother-in-law, Mr. Edward Gosling, who was standing close by, and I asked him if the prisoner was Mr. Amor—he said "Yes"—I then asked the prisoner if he knew Mr. Gosling—he said "No"—I allowed the prisoner to open the front door with his latchkey, and he went down into the kitchen—I told him again that he was Been going up the area steps at 8.30 by the potman at the White House—he said "I have not been here since Saturday; I left on Saturday evening and went to Salisbury, which I can prove; if anybody has been seen here, it is another man that has been taken for me before in the streets—I then told him I would call up his next door neighbour, Mr. Atkinson, to see him as he had been seen in the neighbourhood—I sent one of the constables to call Mr. Atkinson—the prisoner got up and shut the door and said "I don't want any more witnesses, I will speak serious; the fact is I set the place on fire myself; I was in a rage at the time; I have tried to do it before"—Mr. Atkinson came in just afterwards—I then told the prisoner I would show Wm what had been on fire—he said "I don't want to see it; I know all about it, I set fire to it myself—Mr. Atkinson said he had seen him about during the day—the prisoner said nothing to that—he was taken to the station, and was there seen by Mr. Webb, the surgeon, and was sent to the
workhouse—he remained there till the Wednesday morning, and next morning he was taken before the Magistrate—the prisoner had been drinking; he smelt very strongly of drink—he seemed to be just recovering from the effects of drink, and he appeared to understand what I said to him—he walked steadily.
FRANCIS HILLYER . I am potman at the White House, in Sutherland Street, Pimlico, about 150 yards from the prisoner's house—I have known the prisoner by sight about six months, going in and out of his house and in the neighborhood—on Monday evening, 10th May, about 8.10 or 8.15, I was passing the end of Clarendon Street; my attention was attracted by the cry of fire—I looked up at the house and saw signs of fire in the first-floor front room; it was a very bright fire; the curtains were all in a blaze—I went to the front door, but could not get admission—one of the witnesses knocked at the door—no one answered—I saw the prisoner come up the area steps—he had his hat on and was dressed in the ordinary way—I said "Man, your house is on fire"—he said "I know that, it is all right"—he walked away towards Sutherland Street and I lost sight of him—I did not notice whether he walked steadily—I then went down the area steps into the house—some of the people got into the house—I went upstairs to the first floor—the door of the room was open—there was smoke and flame; you could not get into the room for it—I assisted in putting out the fire.
WILLIAM DOLAND . I am a ship's steward, and live at 133, Alderney Street, Pimlico—on Monday, 10th May, between 8 and 9 o'clock, I was in Cumberland Street with my brother and other persons—I heard a knocking at the door and went into Clarendon Street—I saw the fire blazing at the first-floor front window—I got through one of the adjoining houses and went into the house; I and my brother were the first to enter—we partly put the fire out before anybody was there—there was no one in the how when I got in—we went all over the house.
EDWARD HENRY GOSLING . I live at 131, Alderney Street, Pimlico—the prisoner's wife is my sister—on Monday evening, 10th May, between 7 and 7.30, I was in Clarendon Street, and saw the prisoner leave the house—at that time the house was all right—he was dressed in the ordinary way; he walked down Cumberland Street—I did not speak to him; I was in a house opposite—about 8.45 the same night I heard of the fire; I went round to the house and found the police in possession—the prisoner was not there—I do not know that any one was living in the house but the prisoner and his wife.
HENRY AMOR . I live at 13, Queen's Road, dotting Hill—I am a builder and decorator—the prisoner is my brother—on Monday, 10th May, a little after 4 o'clock, I went to No. 2, Clarendon Street with the prisoner's wife; she had come to me about 8 o'clock that morning—I waited outside while she went in—I heard her cry out "Help," and I thought "Fire"—the street door was partly open and I went in and found the prisoner and his wife there; they were very excited—I saw no one else in the house—the prisoner came up to me to put me out—I went outside the door and placed my foot between the door and the door frame so that he could not close the door—his wife called out "Harry, help"—I burst the door open, and as soon as I got inside the prisoner said it was his house and I was to get out—he then attacked me and tried to put me out—instead of his
putting me out I put him out—as soon as I got him out the people in the street cried shame over me and told me I was killing the man—I was merely holding him—he was mad drunk—I noticed a smell of burning paper in the house; I did not see what it was—I released the prisoner and he went in the house and shut the door, and his wife went away with me—I went with her to her brother's, at Clapham—she returned to my house that night and remained there—I did not hear of the fire till next morning—I saw no servant there—the prisoner is a professor of music—I have seen him intoxicated several times, more so since he lost his only child about three months before; he has taken more to drink since that—he rented the house of Mr. Wills, the furniture was his own.
Cross-examined. He is one of the chief violinists at Her Majesty's Theatre—when free from drink he is of a very talented and amiable disposition—he was entirely prostrated by the loss of his child—he is of a year excitable disposition, and that has increased since the loss of his son—he is esteemed and beloved by all his friends and neighbours—my father is dead—he was of a very excitable disposition; for all I know he was in his right mind when he died, but he was of an ungovernable temper.
EDWARD POLAND . I am a commission agent, of 33, Cumberland Street, Pimlico—on 10th May I was with my brother, and went with him to the house—a fortnight before that I was passing the prisoner's house and heard a noise—there was a little confusion; two policemen were passing at the time and they saw flames—I went into the house with them and saw the prisoner and his wife in the front parlour—the window curtains were in a mass of flame—one of the constables put it out.
THOMAS CROSS . (Policeman B 320). On 27th April I was passing along Sutherland Street; I heard a land knocking and a shout of fire—I went to No. 2, and found the window curtains in the front parlour all a mass of flame—I knocked at the door—Mrs. Amor opened it—on going into the parlour I found the prisoner there, standing on the hearthrug in front of the fire, holding an umbrella or stick in one hand and a lighted cigar in the other—I put the fire out—I then went towards the prisoner for the purpose of speaking to him, and the wife stepped in between us and said "I will speak to you, constable; it was only caused by a match that he lighted his cigar with that the curtains caught on fire"—he did not take any means to put the fire out—he appeared quite sober.
JOHN GASCOIGNE WEBB . I am a surgeon, of 9, St. George's Road, Pimlico—I was called to the station between 3 and 4 on Tuesday morning, 11th May, and saw the prisoner there—he was sober then—he smelt of drink—he was suffering from the effects of drink.
Cross-examined. I thought at the time that he was not in his right mind—I did not think his mind was in such a state that he could realise all his actions, that he could realise the responsibility of all his actions.
Re-examined. I did not know him at all before—I was with him about & quarter of an hour—he seemed in a state of mental anxiety—he was in custody at the time—if you asked him a question he considered it and then answered—he stated that he had just walked to St. Paul's and back; he said "lam always fond of the City; I take that walk whenever I feel in a sentimental mood; I have an attachment to St. Paul's, being an old cathedral boy, I mean Salisbury Cathedral"—I know nothing about that—his skin was hot—he was not excited; he sat still—he had a quick pulse, and his
tongue was covered with a thick creamy fur; and ho was in a contion which appeared to me might at any time become confirmed delirium tremens, and not in a condition to be placed in a police-cell—I wrote a certificated to send him to the workhouse—I thought he was in a state of commencing delirium tremens, and if not treated it would terminate in confirmed delirium tremens—I knew what he was charged with—I talked to him about it—he said, "I set fire to the house to spite my wife".
JOHN ROWLAND GIBSON . I am surgeon of Newgate, and have been so 25, years—I have seen the prisoner from day to day since he has been in gaol—I examined him on his admission on 19th May—I have no doubt that he is quite of sound mind—he is a very good musician, and has conducted the service.
the Prisoner received a good character
GUILTY Strongly recommended to mercy on account of his affliction.— .— Six Months Imprisonment in Newgate without hard labour.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, June 29th, 1880.
Before Mr. Recorder.
593. GEORGE SWAIN (40) PLEADED GUILTY ** to two indictments for forging and uttering an endorsement to an order for 10l. and a receipt for 10l., after a previous conviction.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
PEEK also PLEADED GUILTY . to stealing a locket and other articles of Emma Alice Gore, also to breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Sarah Kemp and stealing two coats and other articles her property;
ROBINSON. having been before convicted— Twelve Months Imprisonment each.
MR. EVEREST. Prosecuted; MR. FRITH. Defended.
JOSIAH SMITH . I am a grocer of Cornwall Road, Paddington—on Saturday, 20th March, Madame Ricca, who I have known as a customer for 7 or 8 years, brought me this cheque for 7l. 5s. and asked me to change it—I had not got sufficient money, and gave her 3l. 5s.—that was about 7.30 p.m., and she called again a little after 10 o'clock, when I gave her, I think, 3l. more, and on the Monday morning I took a bill of 4s. 6d. which she owed off it and sent the remainder of the change to her—I paid the cheque to my banker, and it was returned marked "No account".
Cross-examined. She endorsed it, but I should have cashed it without that—I have cashed lots of cheques for her.
MABEL RICCA . I live at 45, Lancaster Road, Notting Hill, and am an actress—I know the prisoner; he gave me this cheque and asked me if I had a banking account—I said, "No"—he asked me to cash it, and if I could not get it all, to bring him 5l.—I gave him six half-sovereigns and two half-crowns, and he said he would call for the rest on Monday, but he
did not—I met him and he was very violent and rude; he came to my house, and I gave him the rest—I handed the cheque to Mr. Smith, who gave me the money in three sums, and I gave it to the prisoner in two.
Cross-examined. I acted last on 9th February—my real name is not Pitt because I am married—the prisoner came to my house twice to look at some papers for me—I did not go to the Metropolitan Music Hall with him or meet him there, or went there with any man in my life or come out with one—I never go there—my last engagement was at King's Cross Theatre—I do not see gentlemen at my rooms—I will not swear I never had any one there, but not for any purpose—I am musical and am a composer of music—I have a bedroom and a dining-room adjoining, where I have lived for three years—I stay out till 11 or 12 o'clock at night if I feel inclined—I do not bring gentlemen home at that time of night; not strangers—I am a great musician—I met the prisoner at Mr. Hill's, the Metropolitan public-house, a great friend of my father's, and I asked him to come and look at my papers for me.
Re-examined. There is no truth in the suggestion that I am a person of immoral character—I have an income to live upon.
JAMES WILLIAM MARTIN . I am clerk to Glyn, Mills, and Co., bankers, 67, Lombard Street—this cheque for 7l. 5s. is drawn on their bank it was presented on 25th March—we have no such account, and it was returned marked "No account"—I recognise it by the number—the book from which it came was issued to Mr. Fook on 30th December, 1872, who then had an account at the bank, which has been closed a long time—this cheque for 5l. 5s. from the same book was also presented some time ago, signed "Charles Fouger," and my cheque is signed "Charles Fouger and Sons"—the 6l. 5s. cheque was presented through the London and South Western Bank, and was returned marked, "No account please state on what account drawn.
ADELAIDE HARDY . I am the wife of Harry Hardy, of Cambridge House, Woolwich—15 months ago I wag living in Pimlico in the name of Stringer—I was not married then, and I let apartments—a widow named Fook lodged with me, and on leaving she left a writing desk and a deed box behind—the desk contained a cheque book—I noticed what bank it was issued from and I believe this cheque came out of it—in December, when I was going to be married, my husband met the prisoner, who said that he knew a great deal about law, and he came to the house to advise about my marriage settlement—the writing desk was on the table in the dining-room on one occasion when the prisoner was left there—while Mr. Hardy went to get a bottle of brandy he was left there at different intervals for half an hour or three quarters—I had seen the cheque book in the desk that morning; it was not locked, but the room was locked till the prisoner was let into it by a servant—I missed the cheque book next day, because the desk would not close before that—I was known to the prisoner by the name of Stringer—I know no one named Charles Stringer.
Cross-examined. My first husband's name was Spannier—I did not quarrel with Mr. Hardy about the settlements till after our marriage—I had money and freehold property—my husband and I were not anxious to obtain a loan of 100l.—I charged him at the police-court with assaulting me, and while he was under remand I removed the furniture—he never paid the prisoner any money to get a loan—I was not in the habit of asking people into that room—only a little servant girl was living in these
house—the prisoner called a long while after I missed the cheque book to ask for some woman who was living there—we do not have gay living there—the house has been let to one gentleman, Mr. Moore—I have let apartments to lots of ladies.
Re-examined. I am speaking the truth.
Cross-examined. I had lived with Mrs. Stringer for a short time for years before I married her, but had not seen her for three years—we did not pass as Mr. and Mrs. Stringer—I never used that name in my life—I have been charged with assaulting her—the furniture in the house was not included in the marriage settlement—my wife and I did not quarrel about money matters—I was not anxious to obtain a bill of sale on the furniture—I was not negotiating for a loan of 100l.—I do not know why my wife removed the furniture, except that she wanted to get out of the house—we did not agree—I did not employ the prisoner to raise 100l. for any purpose—the furniture was not mine till I was married—my father allows me some money.
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. COWIE and BAGGALLAY. Prosecuted; MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended.
NICHOLAS KERSWELL . In February last I was traveller to Cunnington and Co., paper manufacturers—I was at Lowestoft, and wrote a letter to them, enclosing the 5l. Bank of England note, 69/D 00330, and the second halves of four 5l. country notes—I had sent the first halves the night before—I closed the letter, and posted it between 6 and 7 p.m. for the night mail.
GEORGE HENRY COOPER . I am postmaster at Lowestoft—a letter ported at the Norwich Post-office between 6 and 7 o'clock would be in time for the night mail, which is made up about 8.40 p.m., and sent in a bag by what we call the Norwich Sorting Tender No. 2—a letter addressed to Chelsea, S.W., would go to London by that bag in the South-Western bundle.
Cross-examined. Four sorters are employed in the office sorting the night mail—I made up the bag myself and sealed it.
ALFRED GEORGE RUMBALL . I am employed in the Norwich sorting tender—I open all the bags and sort the letters, but I do not open the bundles—if the bundle for the South-Western district was made up I should not open it, but I pick out the South-Western bundles and put them together—I made up the South-Western bag that night.
Cross-examined. About three hands besides myself are employed in the sorting tender—we do not begin to sort until the train has started, and we always complete it before we get to London—we are sometimes pressed for time, but never so much that we cannot get through—a letter has been missorted into a wrong district, but that is not frequent.
CHARLES BONNY . I am junior sorter at the South-Western district office—on 19th February, about 4.52 a.m., I opened the Norwich sorting tender—I merely opened the bags and bundles and put them ready for sorting by the usual letter-carriers of the office.
Cross-examined. After they leave my hands they do no not pass through
anybody's hands before they come to the sorters—I leave them on the table, and the sorters come about 4.52 and three inspectors; there are about seven men on the staff.
Re-examined. I was there at 4.52, when the mail came in, and there was one inspector there, and the men were engaged in opening other mails.
FREDERICK SAMUBL WILSON . I am an inspector of letter-carriers' at the South-Western District Office—the prisoner had been a letter-carrier nearly 25 years—a letter posted at Lowestoft between 6 and 7 o'clock in the evening, addressed to Chelsea would come to the South-Western office at 4.52 a.m. on 19th February in the Norwich sorting tender, and would be stamped and sorted by the letter-carriers—the prisoner was on duty in the office from 5 till 7.40 a.m. in sorting next to one of the Great Eastern sorters, at the same table—these circulars produced are addressed to persons in the same district in which the prisoner has to deliver—the mail was in good time that morning, and there was no necessity to employ extra hands—before this time there had been numerous losses of money passing through the South-Western office; something like 500l.
Cross-examined. I have a record which shows that the prisoner was on duty that morning—he had a bag to attend to—he does not attend to the Lowestoft mail—ho might have to sort about 900 letters; 30 or a minute—18 men are employed at that table, including him—when the sorting was completed the letter would go through three other hands "before it was despatched to West Brompton; about seven hands in all—any person could see that these are circulars—they might be kept back for an hour if there was great pressure, but not for a day or two—if I knew that one of the officials was engaged in betting I should consider it my duty to report it to my superiors—the prisoner suffers from deafness—he is entitled to a pension of 15s, a week—the suspicion attached to the whole of the men at the table.
WILLIAM CUNNINOTON . I am senior partner in the firm of Cunnington and Co., Park Walk, Chelsea, paper stainers—Mr. Kerswell was our traveller in February—we did not receive a letter from him containing a 5l, note and the halves of four country notes, we had received a letter containing the first halves of the country notes.
Cross-examined. There are two partners in the firm—my partner was in London at this time—our clerks have no authority to open letters.
WILLIAM LORD. I am a policeman attached to the General Post-office—on Thursday, 20th May, in consequence of information, I searched the prisoner at the South-Western district office, and then went with him to his lodgings, 65, Abingdon Street, Kensington—he had previously told me that he lived there—I searched and found the box locked, which he said contained his clothes—he said I have the key"—I took it from him, opened the box with it, and found a canvas bag containing 18 sovereigns, and these two 5l. Bank of England notes, 00330 and 57994—he said "It is my money, don't take it"—I found 11 circulars under a hat box on a shelf, and asked him what he said about them—he said he could not account for them, he did not know anything about them—they are, I believe, addressed to persons in his delivery—I took him to the General Post-office, and on the way he said "You have got nothing against me but the circulars"—I said "What about the two 5l. notes?—he said "oh, that is my Christmas boxes"—when we got to the post-office he said that
he got. one of the notes at the Kempton Park Races on Easter Monday which'was 29th April, and the other at the City and Suburban, at Epsom which was on 22nd April.
Cross-examined. He made the statement about the notes being obtained for betting transactions to the solicitor in my hearing, not in answer to a question, out when he was told that he would have to go to Bow Street—. he only occupies one room with his son; ft is their sleeping apartment; the furniture is scanty.
HERRERT WILLIAM CUSTINS HEWKE . I am an assistant in the, secretary's of the bank of England—I received a communication on 25th February from the General Post-office, in consequence of which I stopped a 5l. note (00330, dated 25th May, 1879—I received another communication from the post office on 14th April and stopped a 5l. note 57994, dated 21st July, 1879—there are no two notes in circulation bearing the same cypher—whenever a note is paid into bank in England it is cancelled.
Cross examined. The communications were addressed to the secretary—The letters were handed to me, and I acted on them—I have them here.
Re-examined. The number and the amounts are stated in the letters—had refers to a, letter sennit room Lowestoft the February one—the other note had been previously stopped by Messrs. Cunnington.
WILLIAM WARD . five at Jay's Buildings, Church Street, Brompton—on 16th march I was at Lincoln—I wrote a letter, in which I put a 5l. Bank of England note, no. 57994, which I wrote on a piece of paper—I secured the envelope, and addressed it accurately to Sir John Ray Reed, Albert mansions of Victoria. Mansions, S. W.—I handed it to my nephew to post—I some tim.6 afterwards communicated with the Postmaster-General—the party lo whom the letter was addressed is in America.
Cross examined. I cannot tell you whether I directed it accurately or not, But I know that 'I directed it to the right name—Albert Mansions'are in the south-west district—I don, 't know Victoria Mansions—I am not certain whether I directed it victoria Albert Mansions.
Cross examined. If the letter was addressed to Victoria Mansions it would I believe, be returned to returned to the dead letter Office.
Cross examined. I cannot say whether it would make any difference if it was addressed to a gentleman having the title of a Baronet.
Re-examined. I cannot say whether it would make any difference if it was addressed to a gentle man having the title of baronet.
WILLIAM LORD (re-examined). since the prisoners arrest a man named better has absconded—he is a betting man I believe.
By MR. COWIE. I was present at the post office when Barter and the prisoner were confronted together—the prisoner said that he did not know barter, and that he had never seen him before—barter said nothing in my presence—they were confronted together in consequence of a test letter being given to the prisoner for delivery containing a large cheque. which was afterwards presented to the bank—it was done up for the prisoner to deliver, and was never delivered, and the next day it was presented by Morse with a forged endorsenment.
GUILTY Strongly recommended to mercy by the jury on account of his long service.— . Five years penal servitude.
MR. HURRELL Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. MORICE Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WAITE Prosecjuted.
HENRY BRYANT . I am a waiter, and live at 95, Great Suffolk Street, Borough—on 22nd May, between 7 and 8 p.m., I was on Tower Hill marching with the volunteers, but I was not in uniform—I stopped back by the officer's desire, and saw the prisoner in front of me—he kept treading on my toes—I felt a sudden jerk, and missed my watch and saw the chain in his hand—I said, "Please, sir, give me my watch"—he said, "What watch?"—I said, "My watch"—he tried to hit me, and I let go of him—he ran away about 200 yards—I callen "Stop thief"—two gentlemen stoppen him, and I gave him in custody—I have not seen my watch since, but I have got the piece of chain which was in his hand; it is mine.
Prisoner's Defence. I was standing by his side, and he accused me. I am not guilty.
GUILTY .** He also PLEADED GULITY to a previous conviction.— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
THIRD COURT.—Tuesday, June 29th, 1880.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MESSRS. CRAUFURD and LLOYD Prosecuted.
EMILY EELS . I am the wife of Henry Eels, a bootmaker, of 427, Commercial Road—about 5.15 on 19th May the prisoner bought a pair of boots which came 7s. 3d.—she tendered in payment this Hanoverian medal (produced)—I turned it over, looked at it, and gave it to my husband—I said to the prisoner "It is no good"—she said "I fancy it is a foreign coin, and that she had taken it at the railway station, that she had just come from Margate, and that she would take it in to the jeweller's and see whether it was good or not—the jeweller's shop was three or four doors lower down—she said she would not pay for the boots because she had only a little money.
MABEL EELS . I shell be 10 years of age this autumn—I was with my mother in the shop when the prisoner came in—when she left, I looked after her in consequence of what my mother said—she went down Jamaica Street—she came back and went into the pawnbroker's—his name is Fisher—I saw her come out of the jeweller's—that was before she went to the pawnbroker's—I saw her come out of the pawnbroker's—she then went into Mr. Ludlow's.
ALFRED LACHMORE . I am a jeweller's assistant, and live at 447, commercial Road—the prisoner came to our shop five or six weeks ago, between 3 and 4 p.m.—she brought a medal similar to this—she asked if it was good, and put it down on the glass case—directly I saw it I said "It is no use at all, it is not gold, surely you have not taken that brass for a halfsovereign"—she said "Yes, I took it at Margate railway station"—I "Could not you have got it corrected at the time?"—she said "No, there was such a rush of people"—she left the shop and took the coin with her—our shop is seven or eight doors from Eels's shop, on the same side—any one standing at Eels's door could see our shop.
ELLEN LUDLOW . I live at 577, Commercial Road—it is a drain's shop—I am the manager—the prisoner came on the 19th May, about 5.45—she selected a hat which came to 1s. 1½d., and tendered a Hanoverian coin similar to this—I said "I cannot take that, it is not good"—she said "Yes it is"—I said "Where did you get it from?"—she said "At Cannon Street railway station"—I said "You had better go and see about it"—she bounced it on the counter and said "It is a foreign coin"—I said" It is no good here, it is bad altogether"—she snatched it out of my hand and ran out of the shop—my shop is about 100 doors from the boot shop.
GEORGE POOLEY . (Policeman K 595). About 5.45 on 19th May Mr. Eels pointed the prisoner out to me in the Commercial Road—we followed her—she turned round and then went into the Stepney railway station—I went in—I saw her standing by the barriers—I said "Have you any bad coin on you?"—she said "Not that I am aware of"—I said "I shall take you into custody for trying to pass a bad coin at two or three shops in the Commercial Road"—she said "This is all I have," handing me a Hanoverian medal—I have had the medal ever, since—I asked her where she got it, she said her husband gave it to her at Ramsgate—she also said she took it out of her husband's pocket when he was drunk asleep—I took her to the policestation—on searching her she had 6d. in silver, and 5¼d. in bronze, and a pawn ticket for a pair of boots pledged for 4s.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I got it given me and I was passing it by mistake."
GUILTY .— Six Months Imprisonment.
MESSRS. CRAUFURD. and LLOYD. Prosecuted; MR. FILLAN Defended.
AGNES READ . I am barmaid at the Marine Restaurant, Ramsgate—on the 12th November I was at the Middlesex Music Hall—about 11.30 pm. I served the prisoner with a glass of ale—she tendered 1s., which I bent, and found was bad—I sent for a policeman—Webster came—I gave him the bent coin, this is it—I gave my evidence at the police-court—the prisoner was remanded three times, and then discharged—she gave the name of Mary Ann Dunovan.
JAMES WEBSTER . (Policeman E R 46). Read gave the prisoner into my custody—she said "This woman has passed a bad shilling over the counter"—the prisoner said she had it in change from one of the waiters serving in a part of the hall—I said "I shall take you to the station at once—the
waiter was not to be found—I received the shilling from Read—the prisoner was searched at the station, and 3s. in silver and 5½d. in bronze found on her—she was remanded on three occasions, and discharged on 1st December—she gave the name of Mary Ann Dunovan—she refused her address—she said "I have no home."
MARY ANN SMITH . I am barmaid at the White Horse Tavern, Southend Green, Hampstead—the prisoner came to our bar between 5 and 6 o'clock on 17th May last—I served her with a glass of 6d. ale, she tendered this half-crown, which I tried in the tester, and found bad—the inspector marked the coin at the station—I showed it to Mrs. West the landlady—she gave it to the constable Walker—the prisoner then gave me a good shilling—she said she had taken the bad one in selling flowers—a man and woman came in with the prisoner—she introduced the man as her husband—when I said the coin was bad, the man and the woman walked out—Mrs. West sent for a constable and gave the prisoner in charge.
Cross-examined. The prisoner did not go out—the policeman told the man he should take him into custody, and he walked off directly—from the time I said the coin was bad, till the policeman came was about two minutes—the prisoner had no chance to go out, because the policeman was just outside—she gave me 1s., and I gave her 10½d. change—It was holiday time.
ELIZABETH WEBSTER . My name was West—I have been since married—I have heard Miss Smith's evidence—it is quite correct—I gave the half-crown to Walker—I saw the man and woman—it was holiday time—the house was crowded—there is always a policeman stationed about 200 yards away—one minute and a half elapsed from the time I sent for a constable till he came in.
Cross-examined. It was under two minutes—I should think there were 1,000 people inside and out—I held the prisoner—she had no chance to go—the man and woman did not attempt to rescue her—they slipped off—I did not see them afterwards—I cannot say whether they waited till the policeman came.
JAMES WALKBK (Policeman S R 19). I was on duty outside the White Horse on 17th May, Whit Monday—I was called in—Mrs. West said, "I will give this woman into custody"—the prisoner was standing alongside—she said, "I took it in selling flowers"—a man came up at the time—he said, "That is my wife, she would not do such a thing"—I said, "I shall take you to the station too"—while Mrs. West hesitated to charge him I lost sight of him—Mrs. West told the barmaid to go to the station with me, and the prisoner was charged—Mrs. West gave me this half-crown (produced)—at the station the prisoner said she was a prostitute and had got no home—she denied that nobody was in her company at the White Horse—that was when I told the inspector about the man saying he was her husband—she was searched—nothing was found upon her.
Cross-examined. I did not say anything about the man's statement at the police-court, because I was not asked—I did not think about it.
GUILTY .** She also PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction in February, 1878, of uttering counterfeit coin.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
402. ERNEST DU VERGIER (25) PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully, abducting Florence Garbutt, an unmarried girl, under 16 years of age, out of the possession of, and against the will of her father.— Eighteen Months Imprisonment.
PLEADED GUILTY to former convictions.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. A. B KELLY Prosecuted.
CHARLES BARNARD (Policeman T 456). On the night of the 29th May, when in bed, I heard screams, and I went to 5, Priory Road, Acton Green, where the prisoner and his wife live—I found the wife lying on the doorstep with her face covered with blood and bleeding from the mouth and left arm and partly insensible—I lifted her up, and from what she told me I went to the room occupied by the prisoner, where I found the prisoner lying on the bed—his wife said, "That is the man who done it; that is my husband; he has stabbed me in the back as well as the arm with a knife"—I told the prisoner I should take him into custody for assaulting his wife—he had been drinking, but knew what he was about—he said, "What, me? I couldn't do it; I have got no knife"—I then took him to the police-station, and the charge was read to him—he then said, "I tell you how it was done; she is in the habit of cutting up fire-wood with a knife, and in doing so she must have cut herself"—she said, "You did it; I could not stab myself in the back and kick myself in the mouth—he made no reply.
MART ANN DONOGHUE . I am the prisoner's wife—on the night in question I had been to the public-house for my husband, and met him in Church Road, Acton—he had taken away some things belonging to the children, to sell I suppose—he went into a public-house and I said, "What have you done with those things of the children's?"—ho struck mo and knocked, me down and kicked me in the mouth—he got home before me—when I got home I went in-doors—there was no candle—when I lit a candle I saw my husband sitting in a chair—I said to him "Look what you have done; look at my mouth"—he struck me again and I felt a kick and the candle went out—I rose and received a stab here and there (pointing)—then I turned round and gave my husband a blow and he fell down, and I got out and sat on the door-step until the constable came—I received five stabs—two in the arm and three in the body—he had been drinking lately—he is a very good husband when he is sober, and a good father.
HENRY CLAUDE WRIGHT . I am house surgeon at the West London Hospital—the prosecutrix was brought in about midnight on the day in question—she was suffering from four wounds—two in the back are a little to the left of the heart, and one on the arm—she had a severe bruise
on the left temple—a severe bruise on the lip and a severe bruise on, the arm, and another very severe one on the left-side which fractured the tenth rib—she remained a week in the hospital—the stabs were thrusts and could be inflicted by a knife—three of the wounds were in a dangerous region—if they had gone a little farther they would have penetrated the lung or the heart—her life was not at any time in actual danger while in the hospital.
The Prisoner in his Defence said he met some mates who asked him to go and have a glass of ale, and they mustered up 3s. or is. for him, being out of work; that afterwards his wife met him and abused him; they he offered to go home aim get some grub for the children; that his wife accused him of being with another woman; that eventually blows followed, but that he never injured his wife willfully.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding.— Eight Months Imprisonment.
407. CHARLES VICKERY (26), FREDERICK VICKERY (21), and MARGARET SCARSBROOK (30) , Stealing two coats, one jacket, two pairs of trousers and other articles, and 3l. 7s., the goods and moneys of John Blacker, in his dwelling-house.
FREDERICK PLEADED GUILTY —Judgment Respited. .
MR. A. B. KELLY Prosecuted.
JOHN BLACKER . I am a farrier of 15, Church Row. Batteren—on the 18th May Frederick came and lodged at my house and occupied the same room with me—this coat is mine (produced)—it was in a box in my room. that night—I went to work about 6 o'clock the next morning and left him in bed—about 10 the same morning I received a message from me landlady—I went back and the coat and other 'clothes were missing—about 10l. worth—I saw Frederick about a week after at Rose Cottage—I afterwards saw Charles with this coat on, and Frederick had this suit on, which is mine—they were stolen the same night.
ELIZABETH STUDD . I am the landlady of the room where Blacker lives—he went out about 5.54 a.m. on the 18th May, and I heard Frederick go out between 6 and 7 o'clock—I went up to the room about 10 o'clock, and found his clothes lying on Blacker's box, and when I removed the clothes I saw the box had been cut open and the young man's clothes were gone—then I sent for him and went to the police-station and gave information.
EDWARD OLDFIELD . I am assistant to E. A. Barker, 277, King's Road, pawnbroker—this pair of trousers and waistcoat were pawned in the name of James Vickery by a woman, on the 21st May—I cannot identify her—this is the duplicate (produced).
HENRY CLOUGH (Policeman). On the morning of the 23rd May I went to 9, Strewan Square, occupied by Charles and the woman, where I found 23 pawn tickets, and amongst them the ticket sworn to be Old field—I found in a box a number of scars and other things—Charles Vickery wore a coat which at the police-station the prosecutor identified as his.
The Prisoner Charles. The coat I had on was lent to me by my brother, the duplicates left in my room were some belonging to him.
CHARLES VICKERY and SCARSBROOK NOT GUILTY . FREDERICK VICKERY also PLEADED GUILTY to four other indictments,
and CHARLES VICKERY to two.—Judgment Respited. There went to other indictments against SCARSBROOK, upon which no evidence was offered.
For Cases tried in the Old Court on Wednesday, see Surrey Cases.
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, June 30th, 1880.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. BESLEY Prosecuted; MR. GRAIN Defended. LUDOVIC LEVASOUR. I am a glass and china merchant of Great St. Helens—the prisoner was my traveller in 1877, and in consequence of some irregularity I came to an understanding with him in November, 1878, to give him wages—in January, 1879, his account was overdrawn about 55l., and on 24th May, 1880, when he was given in custody, it was 60l. to 70l, overdrawn—he had 30s. a week wages, which was paid to his wife when he was travelling—he was allowed 1l. a day for his expenses when he was in the country, which was remitted to him as he wanted it, and he was furnished with money when he started—on 2nd September, 1878, I wrote to him saying, "You have so to remit at once all moneys you receive on my account, however small they may be, without any excuse for delaying such payment; my object in doing this is that you so come under the Master and Servants Act; and know for yourself that any sum you may appropriate to your own use will be no less than embezzlement"—he was then in the country, and he sent me this letter, dated 6th December, 1878, stating, "I agree to your terms, only you must make the salary 2l. a week instead of 1l.—he afterwards sent me this draft agreement. (This stated that all accounts should be remitted to London the same day)—I have never varied that obligation—he never remitted to me 6l. 1s. received from Julia Francis, or 8l. from Mr. Brooking, or 7l. from Mr. Beaumont.
Cross-examined. On 1st January, 1878, he had overdrawn his commission 112l.—I called his attention to it, and he said that he would work very hard, which he has done to the beginning of the year, and would repay me 5l. a week—he has turned over within the last twelve months it may be about 5,000l., but I have discovered since that there are a great many fictitious orders from Manchester—I had been about two years in the trade when he came—he has not worked up the greater part of my connection—I had three travellers at the beginning of the year, but afterwards the prisoner was my sole traveller—he had to go to Manchester and Liverpool, as well as to Isleworth and Brentford—he had a horse and trap and my man, for which I paid—the stable is in London, and I paid for the keep of the horse when there, but when out the prisoner had to pay for the baits—he had not asked me this year to make up his commission account—he may have done so once or twice last year—he made it up himself to the end of November last year, and it has not been made up since—it could not be made up frequently, because he had no commission on bad debts or on fictitious orders, and he was not paid till the orders were paid for—he gave from six to twelve months' credit, and if he sent an order in January it might be the following December before he was entitled to his commission; but some customers pay cash, and take advantage of the discount—most of the orders are on credit, but many customers pay once a month, and
some at three months—in November he had 113l. to the bad—he has not paid 60l. of that, but it has been credited to him as commission—he always remitted cheques on his journeys and kept cash; he has not afterwards put Against that money which he has paid, such as his 20s. a day—he took four or five days' pay with him, according to how long he was going for—what I call fictitious orders are where the persons have written to me since saying that they never gave any such order; but some were refused because they were not in time, or not according to sample.
Re-examined. He has never complained to me that he has been under-paid; he always acknowledged that I was very kind to him—he has never complained with regard to the forage of the horse—on June 1 he was behindhand 74l. 1s. 11d—he received on June 3rd, 1l.; 14th, 1l. 16s.; 18th, 10s.; 28th, 27s.; and on 29th, 1l.—in July he was behindhand 81l. in spite of those drafts; he did very little business—on July 4th he had 7s., 7th, 10l., by cheque, because I was going on the Continent; 11th, 10s; 16th, 5l.; and 28th, 4l.; and he was constantly asking for more—he went on drawing—he went into the figures himself in November, and roughly brought out that he had overdrawn, his commission some hundred pounds—as to his being the creator of my business, I have one customer who has done more business than he has ever done for me.
HENRY BROOKING . I am one of the firm of Brooking and Son, of South Street, Manchester Square; we deal with Mr. Levasour—on 14th July we paid the prisoner 15l. 14s. 6d., the balance of our account—he called again a fortnight afterwards and got another order.
JOHN RICHARDSON . I am manager to Arthur Bowman, of 15, Camberwell Road—on 22nd July I paid the prisoner 7l. in cash for the prosecutor, and have his receipt (produced)—there was an allowance to us for two pairs of vases smashed.
LUDOVIC LEVASOUR (Re-examined by MR. GRAIN). I knew of Mr. Bowman's account in Nov.—I did not know of the 15l. to Brooking till 6th March this year, and sent him a letter saying that I was going to give him in custody, and he sent his wife to me begging me not to do so—I placed some accounts before him, and he admitted having collected Bowman's and Francia's—that was before ho arranged to pay off.
By MR. BESLEY. When I heard of Francia's account I told the prisoner in the office that he could not expect to go on for ever, and he had better be careful in future—I never debited him with any of these embezzlements—I told him I should give him in charge if there were any more, and he said "If I touch another penny lock me up"—he wrote me this letter from Margate. (Stating that he was thoroughly penitent, but complainiug they his commission account had not been balanced monthly as agreed, which would have saved him)—he has been 25 days in the country this year, for which I have allowed him 25l.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
MR. GILL Prosecuted; MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended Hanbury.
The prisoners received good characters.
JONES— GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
HANBURY— NOT GUILTY .
MR. PURCELL Prosecuted; MR. EVEREST Defended.
WILLIAM ETOX . I am assistant superintendent of the London General Omnibus Company, and am chairman of a committee which investigates all applications to the Company for employment—this letter came to the company. (This was an application from the prisoner for employment) Two other letters were enclosed in that, in consequence of which I saw the prisoner and drew his attention to the one marked B, which commented with a small "t," and had a small "i" for the singular nominative—I asked him if the document marked A was his writing—he said "Yes"—I asked him if those were his testimonials—he said "Yes"—I said "Are you quite sure?"—he said "Yes, you can make any inquiry you like, and you will find that they are all correct"—I drew his attention particularly to Morley and Powell's, and said that it was utterly impossible for a thing like that to come from a business house in London, and asked him who wrote it—he said Mr. Morley, junior—I said "Are you perfectly certain!"—ho said Mr. Morley stood by him, but the clerk wrote it—I asked him if Gerald Smith's document was genuine—he said yes, and that he had lived in the firm six years as a porter—I said that he had better be careful, for he was placing himself in a peculiar position, and I must make the necessary inquiries—he said that ho was prepared to accept the position on those conditions, and I gave him a situation in the company's service—I saw Mr. Britton, and then went to Warwick Street, but could not find such a firm as Gerald Smith—I then gave instructions for a warrant to be obtained.
Cross-examined. I had some suspicion at the time he presented the certificates, but notwithstanding that I took him—I should not have done so if I had not thought he was honest, industrious, and sober, as the certificates represented him to be—he did one day's work, and I had not time to think him otherwise than what the certificate represented—he prodnced his conductor's license, to obtain which he would have to produce a certificate of good diameter at Scotland Yard—the thing having been practised before, we probably wished the prisoner to suffer, to make an example of him—the Company is prosecuting this case in connection with another gentleman—I did not tell the prisoner that we should not prosecute him, but that Morley and Co. would, because it was I who applied for the warrant—if there had not been a certificate from Morley and Co. I should not have taken him on his certificate from Scotland Yard—I have never taken applicants for a short time without characters—there is nothing to show that the prisoner is not a respectable man apart from these proceedings.
GEORGE POLE BRITTON . I am a partner in the firm of Morley and Powell—I have been in the firm 40 years—Mr. Morley has never been called junior, though I remember his father—I do not know the prisoner—this document is written on our firm's paper, but not by my authority or my partner's—the prisoner certainly was not in our service from November to February, 1874, but sometimes when there is a pressure of business we engage a man from the corner of the street to help us.
The COURT considered that although there was evidence of an intent to deceive, there was none of any intent to defraud.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. BEHLEY Proscuted.
JOHN RUSSEL BISHOP . I am a clerk to Munns and Longdon, solicitors to the London and Provincial Bank, Limited—on 11th May this letter (A) was received by the firm, accompanied by this document (B)—the prisoner afterwards called for the document and took it away.
JAMES HAREBOOTH GRESHAM . I am chief clerk at the Mansion House—on 4th May the prisoner applied for a summons against Mr. Garden for perjury—I produce the application—it was refused—he took one portion of this affidavit—on 25th May he came again and applied in the ordinary way, and was refused.
ROBERT GARDEN . I was formerly secretary to the Provincial Banking Corporation, Limited—I was with them seven years, from 1864 to 1871, and was then changed to the London and Provincial Bank, to which I have been secretary from that time—my first knowledge of the prisoner was his coming to the bank as a client on 14th June, 1875—I have an entry in the minute book "Mr. Mitchell appointed at a salary of 130l., and to give guarantee of 200l. "—his salary was increased the next year to 155l., and in 1877 to 180l.—he was accountant at the head office about a year and a half—on 6th March, 1877, I have an entry in the minute book, of which I gave him a copy the same day—it says that "it appears he is not satisfied with his remuneration, therefore the Directors dispense with his services, and pay him three months' salary. He is directed to hand over his keys and books and leave the office this day"—about 10th March I got this letter from George Rose Innes and Son, Mitchell's solicitors.
HAROLD CRICK . I am managing clerk to George Hose Innes and Son, solicitors—I signed this document by the authority of the firm—the prisoner is the person referred to in it—we acted on his behalf. (This was dated March 9th, 1877, slating that Mitchell had been induced to give up his business with the understanding they he should have hire position at the bank permanently, that he found the books in a very unsatisfactory condition, which he had remedied, and stating that the Directors would do well to avail themselves of his services, and requesting them to reconsider their determination, or make such compensation as would meet the circumstances of the case).
ROBERT GAHDEN (continued). That letter was submitted to the directors, they adhered to his dismissal, and wrote this letter to Inns and Son. (This stated that it was competent to the Directors to dispense with Mitchell's services without reason, that it was untrue they he had been promised the situation permanently, and that they adhered to their resolution and Offered three months' salary in lieu of notice.)—he came on 4th April, 1877, and I paid Mm a cheque for his Balary up to that date and three months in advance, for which he signed a receipt—Inns and Sons never brought any action or made any further communication to me—Mitchell came to the bank in 1877, before the circulars which were the subject of proceedings in Chancery, and asked to see the register of shareholders—I was present on several occasions when he made offensive observations in the bank—there were no customers in the office, but the clerks could have—he asked for other books besides the register of shareholders, but he was not entitled to them and did not see them—that went on from time to time—he ordered
two copies of the register of shareholders; he took one away and paid for it, we have the other in the office still—after the printed circular came to the Directors' knowledge an action was commenced against the prisoner in the Equity Division—this is the writ. (Applying for an injure tion to restrain the defendant from further publishing or sending the circular to the shareholders, and to have all copies delivered up to be cancelled.)—I made an affidavit, but only for the protection of the bank—this restraining order was made on the prisoner on 25th March, and this (produced) is the Order of Court of 7th April—the prisoner then called at the office more than once, and he told me on one occasion that he was going to summon me to the Mansion House for perjury on my affidavit—I said, "Indeed"—the next thing was the leaving of this letter at Munns and Longdon's—my Directors then took up the matter and instructed the solicitor—these letters are in the prisoner's writing—(One letter, dated 11th May, from the prisoner to the Directors, stated that he proposed to-morrow to apply for a summons against-Mr. Garden; another, dated 18th May, acknowledged the receipt of the Directors letter, and stated that he had never sought to injure the bank directly or indirectly, that he had sacrificed his time at a low salary to obtain a high salary, and had been disappointed, and would call on the Directors next day; another, dated 20th May, stated that his antecedents entitled him to 1,000l. compensation if the Directors dispensed with his services, and that he intended to lay all the facts before the shareholders, as Mr. Garden, by making a perjured affidavit, had brought himself within reach of the law.)—the order was that of the Directors, not of Mr. Cross—the prisoner only referred to the perjury once when he came to the office.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You served me with a subpoena on 28th May—when you entered the bank clerks who were detained overtime had a small sum for tea money—Starling and Speed were clerks, and were paid 1s. 6d. each per night for overtime, but I had not the charge of that department—if you remained late you would be paid the same as the others—the payments to those clerks were made from money under my charge, but I have not brought the books which show it—I swore on 25th March that the allegations, "The bank letters were carelessly kept and the ledgers were in a disgraceful condition," were untrue to the best of my belief—Mr. Samuel G. Fluke was the chief accountant—I did not seo him in a state of hopeless intoxication in June, 1875—he was able to stand upright; he was under the influence of drink to some extent—it is perfectly plain from this letter that money is demanded from mo—you demand 1,000l. compensation—the letters of the 18th and 20th were submitted to the Board—the Directors were there daily, and the Board met on Tuesdays—any one who reads the letter would conclude that 1,000l. was demanded from the bank for the purpose of withdrawing the charge—there are no imputations against your character in the Directors' letter—the real cause of your being dismissed was that the bank did not appreciate you so highly as you appreciated yourself—I do not remember that on 5th March, the day before the Board meeting, Mr. Cross tried to induce the Board to dispense with your services the next day—I do not know that Mr. Cross and you were on very bad terms—it is evident from your letter that your object was to extort money under a charge of perjury.
Re-examined. There are a great many imputations against his fellowclerks in his letters, for which there is no justification, at the head office—there
may be fragments of truth in some of the charges, but everything is greatly exaggerated in the circular—all the Directors well knew of his application to inspect private documents at the bank—he also required to inspect the list of shareholders because he had not taken up the copy—he never told me that he had been to the Mansion House on 4th May, and had been refused.
EDWIN HENRY GALSWORTHY . I am a Justice of the Peace for Middlesex, and have been for two years a Director of this bank—I have to care for the interests of 1,300'or 1,400 shareholders, and a monetary interest of hundreds of thousands of pounds—it was with the full consent of the Board that proceedings in Chancery were taken, to prevent the prisoner sending out the circular—I first knew that he threatened Mr. Garden with perjury some time in May—the proceedings by Munns and Longdon had the absolute and entire approval of the Directors—as to the compensation, I read that to be from the bank, by the threat of charging their secretary with perjury.
Cross-examined. I do not know you personally, I never came in contact with you.
Re-examined. There is no ground for imputing that the accounts are irregular or the servants dishonest as far as I know during two years—I attend daily—the bank has no feeling in the matter, we only want to protect the shareholders.
The Prisoner, in his Defence, stated that he issued a circular on 19th March, 1880, describing the condition of the accounts when he came to the bank, and stating tliat he had worked very hard to bring them into the state of efficiency in which they then were, and had then been dismissed suddenly because he asked for a higher salary, which would seriously affect him in obtaining future employment; tliat Mr. Cross, the general manager, had behaved very badly towards him, and he proposed to ask the shareholders whether Mr. Cross was a fit person to be general manager, so as to enlist their sympathy; tliat he had given up an appointment of 300l. a year for 130l. a year on entering the bank, and therefore regarded the words of the circular as insulting and injurious to him, as from being dismissed summarily, people would imagine that he had committed some very serious offence; that the Directors were a very honorable body of gentlemen anxious to do right, but that they had been led away by Mr. Cross; that he intended to become a shareholder in order to expose Mr. Cross's conduct; that he had no idea of demanding 1,000l. from Mr. Garden, but he believed the Directors would have given him l,000l. if they had acted on their own impulses, and even if they did not, his character would have been cleared.
GUILTY .— To enter into recognisances to come up for judgment when called upon.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, June 30th, 1880.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant
MESSRS. MONTAGU WILLIAMS and PURCELL Prosecuted.
came in while I was near the fireplace stooping down—he said, "What the b—hell does this mean"—he did not give me time to answer—he kicked me in the right side—I called out a great many times—he shut the room door and continued kicking me on the head and on the body—my head was cut by the kicks—I have the marks now—he kicked mo a dozen times—my head was cut in two places on each side—I was about five months' pregnant—he went out—I went down stairs into the yard and sent for my mother—I became insensible in the yard—I cannot tell how I got there—I was taken to the St. George's Hospital—I had a miscarriage on the following Sunday afternoon—I shall have been married six years on the 3rd August—on the previous Friday, 1st May, he knocked me about and struck me with his fist about the head and made my nose and mouth bleed—he said, "What you have got in your b——**** I'll kick out"—I never brought any charge against him—I do not know what it is to be a fortnight without black eyes or bruises—I have been in the hospital once before in consequence of his ill-treatment—that was about 15 mouths ago—I have two children living.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. No man came out of my room when you came in—I was not five nights and five days away—I was away, but it was through your ill-treatment—I did not say I would get you to New-gate—I was not always drinking—you did not give me plenty of money—you gave mo half-a-crown on the Saturday when you went out—I had to work hard—I did not spend money in gin-shops—the police did not see me drunk on the pavement.
By the COURT. My husband works on the barges. Re-examined. I have not been in the habit of frequenting gin-shops and spending the prisoner's money—he sometimes earns 10s. a day—I had to keep the whole of the house, and very often I have not had a penny from him.
ELIZABETH WEIGHT . I am a widow, living at I, Waterloo Place, Church Street, Chelsea—the prosecutrix is my daughter—on 1st May, between 7 and 8 p.m., a little girl called me and I went to the yard of the house where my daughter was living—she was sitting in a chair—she was bleeding from both sides of her head and from parts of her body—when she became sensible show made a statement to me—I sent for a doctor—slid was removal to the hospital—I had seen liar on Saturday at dinner time and on the Friday—she complained of his ill-treatment—his conduct has been very violent towards her ever since she was three months married—she was not in the habit of drinking in gin-shops with me—lie has always been a had wicked man—I do not know that ho was jealous of other men—he had no occasion.
MICHAEL LEWIS (Policeman T 156). On 1st May, about 9 p.m., I was called to 9, Cheyne Row—I saw Mrs. Webb sitting on ft chair in the back yard—she was bleeding from a wound over the left temple—the side of her face was covered with blood—in consequence of what she said, I tried to find the prisoner—she was perfectly sober.
WILLIAM SMITH (Policeman T 387). On the 7th June I apprehended the prisoner on a warrant—I told him the charge—he said, "All right, old chap, I'll go quiet with you, it's only for life"—on the road to the police-station he said, "I don't care it I get 12 bleeding year"—at the police-station he said, "I have had great provocation; I saw a man coming
out of my room half undressed," and "She bad left me five days previously—I have lived in the neighbourhood 11 years—I know Mrs. Wright, the another—I never saw her the worse for liquor, nor her daughter.
ARTHUR MARMADUKE SHIELD . I am house surgeon at St, George's Hospital—the prosecutrix was admitted to the hospital on the 1st May about 9.30—she had two lacerated and contused wounds on either side of the head about one inch in length—on the left side the wound was exposed to the bone—a boot or some blunt instrument would do it—she also had extensive bruises on her back—her arms were covered with bruises—on the lower part of the abdomen there was an extensive bruise and blood was pouring in from one of the internal cavities of the body—there was concussion of the brain, from which she was just recovering—that would be due to injuries on the head—she was about three months pregnant—after remaining in the hospital about 30 hours abortion took place—she was in considerable danger of her life for two or three days—she progressed favourably and was discharged on 19th May at the convalescent hospital.
Prisoner's Defence. I went home on Friday afternoon and found no tea and my missus drunk. We had a row, and I went to the coffee shop. I got my money on the Saturday, and when I got home I saw a man come out of my room. I said, "What game is this." She said, "I was only speaking to the man at the door." I knocked her down. I do not know wheather I kicked her or not. She takes my money to the public. Many a bright pound she has spent.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding.— Five Years' Penal Servitude, and the Court made an order of judicial sepearation.
MR. RIBTON Prosecuted; MR. PURCELL Defended.
JOSEPH HILL . I am manager to Mr. William Heigham at the Hope and Anchor beerhouse, 9 Earl Street, Lisson Grove—on the 10th of May I closed my house at 12.30—I received information from the watchman—10 minutes previously to that I had seen the prisoner—he is a customer—he has not come to my house since the 10th of May—in consequence of what the watchman told me, I went with Inspector Clark to the first floor—the window on the landing was open and a pane of glass broken, by means of which the latch could be raised, and anybody could get in the windows and the staircase—a dung-cart was outside the window through which a person could get out of the bagatelle room—it is a lead flat—they could walk straight to the window—the blind had been pulled down—found it on the stairs—it was about 10.25, and about 5 minutes after I received information—I did not miss anything—I had seen the prisoner about 10 minutes before that time.
Cross-examined. Mr. Heigham has been proprietor for about four, months—Mr. Hartland was there before him—I did not then know the prisoner—I was not in Hartland's service—the entire staff is changed on
a new proprietor coming—the business of the house was going on in the usual way—there are three compartments in the bar—myself and another were serving—I know the prisoner very well—he is a customer—there were valuables in the room where the little girl was, on the first floor—there are two floors—the dung-cart is in the mews—it is a corner house—people pass frequently.
Re-examined. About 100l. worth of jewellery was in the little girls room—it was locked in a chest of drawers—the prisoner used to come two or three times a day—I never knew him go upstairs—the little girl did not serve.
MAUD WRIGHT . I live at the Hope and Anchor—I occupy a room on the third floor—I am 13 years of age—I have known the prisoner, having seen him very often come into the house, and spoken to him and he to me, so that I knew his voice—I went to bed on the 10th of May about 5 minutes past 10—I was reading in bed by the gaslight—the prisoner opened the door—he said, "Please is missus here; Joe sent me up to see if she is here; we cannot find her anywhere"—Joe is the manager—I saw the prisoner's face—I recognised his voice—I have no doubt he is the man—I said, "She is not here"—he closed the door gently after him—I next heard the blind roll down the stairs—I afterwards picked the prisoner out from seven people.
Cross-examined. My father and Mr. Hill came up to me afterwards—I was not frightened when the prisoner looked in—I thought Mr. Hill had sent him—the interview did not last above a minute—I do not serve in the bar—I can hear very plainly in the kitchen when people are talking in the bar, and I have often heard the prisoner's voice.
ROBERT BRITTON . I am a private watchman to Mr. Spencer, of Lisson Grove—on the night of the 10th of May I saw a man jump from a ledge at the back of the beerhouse on to a dung-cart in our mews, at about 10.20 p.m.—it is a flat roof which covers the kitchen—I ran after the man—he was carrying his boots in his left hand, and running on his stocking soles—he ran into Duke Street, through Devonshire Street and Exeter Street, where I lost sight of him—from his stature and build I believe the prisoner to be the man—I made a communication to Mr. Hill and I saw him go upstairs with the inspector.
Cross-examined. I did not see the face of the man—he was placed with three others at the station; I would not pledge my oath to his being the man.
GEORGE CLARKE (Police Inspector D). I was on duty on this night—from information I went and examined the premises, and found the window and the stairs broken, and broken glass lying on the stairs—there was a dung-cart in the mews at the back of the premises from which a person could climb on to the building—there were marks on the wall as if a person's toes had been scratching down it and getting up—I found Maud Wright sitting up in bed—she gave me a description of the prisoner—he was brought to the station on 4th of June, and she picked him out from seven other men without the slightest hesitation—I read the charge to the prisoner—he said "I know that I was in the bedroom, but I did not steal anything; I might have done so, as there was plenty lying about," or "plenty there"—I made this memorandum directly after.
Cross-examined. Hill and Maud Wright were present when he made
the statement—he said other things which were irrelevant, which I did not take down—I am positive he used the words "plenty there."(The deposition being read, stated: "I know I was in the bedroom, but I did not steal anything, which I might have done, there was plenty to steal") I am not certain that those were the exact words—I have given them to the best of my recollection—I did use those words at the police-court—I may have made a mistake.
Re-examined. He did not deny being in the bedroom—I am quite sure he used the words "There was plenty there to steal"—I have a great deal to do every day, and a great many words to remember—he was not brought in on any other charge.
JOHN EATON . I am a constable of the Criminal Investigation Department, D division—I apprehended the prisoner on the 4th of June in Pelham Street, Lisson Grove—I said to him "I shall take you into custody for having committed a burglary at No. 9, Earl Street, Lisson Grove, on the night of the 10th of May"—he replied "Take me round to the manager and it will be all right"—I took him to the police-station—Maud Wright identified him.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I did not say 'Take me back and it will be all right."
GUILTY . †— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
MR. CUNNINGHAM Prosecuted; MR. WAITE Defended.
EMMA SMITH . I am the prisoner's wife—I live at 16, Thames Street, Commercial Road—I have not lived with the prisoner for six months previous to the 11th May—on that evening I was coming out of 16, Thames Street—I saw the prisoner knocking at the door three doors off—he came to me and offered his hand—he said "Do you intend to live with me again?"—I said "No"—he said "I will follow you"—I said "If you follow me, I will give you in charge"—he said "You cannot give me in charge, you have nothing to give me charge for"—I said "I can give you in charge if it is only for threatening my life with a knife"—he said "I did not"—I said "You did"—I went on up the street—he said "I will go wherever you go"—I said "When I get to the top of the street I shall see a policeman and will give you in charge"—he said "I will follow you and I will do for you"—on the previous Sunday he had come to me and asked me for a bonnet and shawl, and I gave them to him—he also asked me for two rings and the earrings I am wearing now—I said I would not give them to him—he went away when I ordered him out of the room—I said "You have got all you want, leave the room"—when we got to the top of Thames Street, at the corner of Commercial Road, he caught hold of the back of my hair—he had taken a knife from his breast pocket—I said "Spare my life, do not do that whatever you do"—he ran the knife into my left breast, saying "Die, you"—I fell with the knife in me—I remember its being taken out—I fell with my face on the ground—I was taken to Dr. Cave's, and from there I was removed to the London Hospital, where I remained till the 27th of May.
Cross-examined. I was married to the prisoner fifteen years ago—I have lived with him twenty-one years—I lived with him before I was
married—I have had nine children—the youngest is two years and seven months old—I have two sons in the militia—I do not know the young man that travels with a circus that I am accused of going with—my son did not find me in bed with him, nor with any young man—when I left the prisoner I left a child two and a half years old, and another nine years old—I quarreled with him—he had been drinking all the week—I went away with the man I am living with—he was a lodger—I went to fetch the child away a fortnight after, and was told it was in the country—the children have been in the workhouse three times—I have not been in prison—I have been in prison for twenty-one days—I was ashamed to own it—I have never left the prisoner before except to run into a neighbour's house from fear—I was there three days—I was not with another man—I did not sleep with a man—I sat in a chair all the while, and came backwards and forwards to see my children—I dare not stop with him—my eldest son is twenty years of age—the prisoner's brother visited me in the hospital—I did not confess to him nor to anybody that I had the disease—his brother told me he had it—I had it; the prisoner gave it to me; he brought it from London—I have known the man I am living with about fourteen weeks—I have not said I meant to get my husband penal servitude so that he could not interfere between me and the man—I did not scuffle with the prisoner till he attacked me—I was so stupefied I did not know what he did—it was my marriage ring he tried to take.
Re-examined. He said ho would do for me before I left him—he said he said he had got another woman to do for him and his children—the wound could not have been accidental—he was quite sober—I was sober—I had just come from work—this is the knife he brought in his pocket the night he did the deed.
(A thoemaker's knife).
JAMBS SEVIER . I am a labourer of 9, Thames Street, Commercial Road—on the 11th of May, about 6.30, I saw the prosecutrix and the prisoner quarrelling—the prosecutrix said "I gave you on Sunday all you wanted, and cannot give you any more"—the prisoner said "Well, I'll follow you about till I do for you"—when they got to the arch in Thames Street the prisoner caught hold of the prosecutrix by the back of her nock and stabbed her in the breast with a knife—I was behind—I saw the knife flash in the air as it was held up in his right hand—I rushed to the woman—I saw the prisoner lying on his wife's chest on the ground—she got up and ran into a butcher's shop—I assisted in taking the woman to a doctor.
Cross-examined. It was daylight.
Re-examined. It looked to me as if it was done for the purpose.
JOHN MARSHALL (Policeman H 140). On 11th May, between 6 and 7 p.m. I saw a crowd in the Commercial Road—I took the prisoner into custody for stabbing the prosecutrix with a knife—this was the knife which was handed to me by one of the mob, who said in the prisoner's hearing "He has stabbed his wife with a knife"—when I told the prisoner the charge he said "I hope it will finish her, she will be done for then"—he was sober.
ALBERT EDWARD JONES . I am house surgeon in the London-Hospital—the prosecutrix was admitted on the 11th, between 6 and 7 p.m—I found a punctured wound in the left chest between the second and third rib, implicating the lung—she was suffering from the shock, and from loss of blood—she had also a small wound on the third finger of the left hand, the ring finger—she was under my treatment from the 11th to the
27th, when she was discharged—it was a dangerous wound—the prosecutrix's life was in danger for some days—it has now perfectly healed.
Cross-examined. It is difficult to say what force was used; it might have gone in with slight force; the danger arose from happening to hit a dangerous part rather than from the force used.
The Prisoner stated before the Magistrate that the prosecutrix went away and lived with another man.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding.— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
OLD COURT.—Thursday, July 1st, 1880.
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
MR. RAVEN Prosecuted.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
MR. PURCELL Prosecuted; and MR. WARMER SLEIGH Defended.
ELIZABETH RAPPERTY . I am the prisoner's wife—he was a foreman tailor—I now live at Hollywood Road, Kensington—on 17th March last I left him, and have since then been living apart maintaining myself—we were then living at 41, Sidney Street, Brompton Road—I left him at that house and did not see him again till I saw him at the Infirmary on the afternoon of 1st June—on the Monday, the day before, I received this letter—it is my husband's writing. (This was dated from the Chelsea Infirmary, and contained an urgent request for his wife to come and see him and bring his son Edwin, and complaining that a previous letter sent to her, enclosed in one to his son Frank, had not been delivered to her.) This other letter is also my husband's writing, and is the one sent to my son. (This also contained a request for his wife to come and see him.) In consequence of the letters I went to the Chelsea Infirmary and saw the prisoner—he said, "Have you brought Edwin?"—I said I had not—he then said, "Go"—I went half-way down the infirmary—he followed and caught hold of me and said, "Do come and talk matters over"—I went back with him and we had a conversation about different things—he asked me if I would live with him again—I said I could not think of doing so, as the life we had led the last few months, I could not live with him anymore—he asked me again and again. if I would live with him, as he knew that I had four rooms, and would I make him up a bed where I was living—I said they were not my apartments and I could not do so—ho importuned me so much, that I told him if he kept sober three months and came to me a different man, I might give him a different answer—with that he put his arm round me, and with the right made three stabs at me with this knife (produced)—he said something at the time—I don't know what—I was too excited—some one in the ward took hold of him—he stabbed me once under the heart and once here—that was only a scratch.
Cross-examined. I have been married to the prisoner over 20 years—he held a situation of foreman tailor in Bond Street for 11 years—he got very
good wages and kept a good home till three years ago, when he left Bond Street—I heard him make a long statement at the police-court—when he was in a situation he allowed me money for homo and the children—he was a good husband and father when he was a teetotaler, but when he was drunk he was anything but that—he was a teetotaler for six year—I have lived at 41, Sidney Street, two years—he said at the police-court that I was too familiar with one of my lodgers—he did not mention any name—there was no truth whatever in that supposition—the 17th of March was his birthday—he went out that day to the public-house, that was all—he was in and out all day from six in the morning, 10 minutes at a time—the last time he came in was about five in the evening—the furniture of the house was then in a van being moved—my lodger and my son and daughter were in the house—he was not locked up in an empty parlour while the furniture went away—he was never locked up at all—he went into an empty parlour and the things that were being moved blockaded the door—he could get out—I heard him say at the police-court, "They locked me in the empty parlour; except an old sofa, everything was stripped," but it was false—he was in the parlour, but it was not empty—I did not leave the house before he got out of the parlour—when I left the house at 10 at night he was in the kitchen—my son took me away from him because he was following me from room to room threatening me—he had the full scope of the house to go where he liked—it was my son Frank that he wrote the letter to—I left the prisoner on 17th March—when this happened he must have had the knife concealed on his person—I did not see where he took it from—he walked over to the window on the opposite side of the ward to look at the time—it was not in his locker, because I looked—I did not hear him say at the police-court that it was in his locker, nor did I hear him say, "I wanted to frighten her to get her private address; I had no intention of hurting her in the least; I thought by being locked up I would get her private address"—he asked for my private address when he was in charge at the police-station—I refused to let him have it—I had my reasons—I told him I could not think of living with him after his unmanly conduct and his threats to me—he had no cause to be jealous—I don't know whether he was jealous or not—I don't know that he was jealous of me and the young man lodger—he never complained of it—he was more intimate with him than I was—he was not jealous—there were no words between us about this young man—we had a frightful quarrel, which was the cause of my leaving him—he came home and abused me and struck me because I had not money to give him for drink; that was all—nothing was said about the lodger—it had nothing to do with that subject—am I compelled to give the young man's name?—It is Webber—I have two young men lodgers, Webber and Peel—I don't know which you allude to—Peel is outside—I mentioned Webber, because the prisoner has been going about to my friends and talking about that young man and me—he could not be jealous of him, he is a young man of 23, a friend of my son's—he is not here.
FREDERICK MANNING . I am a labourer, living at 67, North Street, Knightsbridge—I was in the ward on the afternoon of 1st June—I heard a noise and saw the prosecutrix and prisoner struggling together—he had his left arm round her neck and a knife in his right hand—I saw him make three or four plunges at her—he said "You b—, I will do for you"—I went and got the woman away, and took her to the nurse.
ERNEST FORTESCUE INGRAM . I am assistant medical officer of the Chelsea Infirmary—on 14th May the prisoner was brought there under an order from Mr. D'Eyncourt, as a person wandering at large—I saw him—he was suffering from the result of drink, delirium tremens—during The first day or two he was noisy and excited and very restless at night—he afterwards became quiet and rational—on 24th May he was admitted into the infirmary as a patient for general debility—from that time till 1st June he had not manifested any sign of lunacy—on that afternoon I was called to the ward and saw Mrs. Rafferty—she had a slight incised wound on the left side, about one-eighth of an inch or a little more in depth, and about a quarter of an inch in length, just the point of the knife—it had passed through two whalebones of her stays as well as her outside jacket and dress and other garments—this knife would cause a wound of that character.
GUILTY on Second Count.— Five Years' Penal Servitude
NEW COURT.—Thursday, July 1st, 1880.
Before Mr. Recorder.
417. HARRY PEACHEY (26) PLEADED GUILTY to five indictments for forging and uttering receipts for eggs and butter, with intent to defraud, and to embezzling 11l. 0s. 8d. and 4l. 6s. 3d. of Charles Brown, his master.— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
418. JAMES SMITH (52) to burglary in the dwelling-house of Alfred Copeland, and stealing two coats and other articles, his property.— [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] Six Months' Imprisonment And
419. THOMAS ALLEN HOPCROFT (21) to stealing a spoon and other articles of William Willis , also a sealskin jacket of John Henehaw , also six fish knives and other articles of Charles Edward Lambert— [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] Three Months' Imprisonment.
MR. WADDY, Q.C., MR. BESLEY, and MR. MEAD Prosecuted; MESSRS. GRAIN and CRANSTON Defended.
GEORGE VICTOR DROGO MONTAGUE, VISCOUNT MANDEVILLE . I live at 31, Wilton Place—I became acquainted with the prisoner in 1877—he was then a cab driver—he at first drove me casually and afterwards called for orders—he drove a horse and old-fashioned cab, which he represented as his—I lent him 25l. in 1877 on the security of his cab, and later on 10l. or 15l. more—on 9th July,1877, I bought a Royal Forder cab at the Baker Street Bazaar for, I think, 70l.—the prisoner was to keep that with the other cab, and it was to run in the street as a public cab—I gave him 4l. a month at that time to drive me, and he was to disburse the stable expenses out of the returns for the public cab, and put them down and account for them to me—in April, 1878, I bought two Forder cabs and harness at Wolverhampton for 226l.—they were bought to London and placed in the prisoners charge, and on 6th June I bought another Forder cab at Wolverhampton for 92l., and on 25th March, 1879, another for 91l.—I also bought a sufficient number of horses for all those cabs to be worked, and placed them in the prisoner's charge, first at the Man in the Moon stables and afterwards at the Rising Sun, which is sometimes called the Crown stable—when I increased my stock of cabs the prisoner was to have 6l. a month, for which he had to look after the cabs and act as a kind of foreman in the cab business—this book (produced)
was kept between us, and he produced it to me from time to time—besides his wages I have paid him 30l. or 40l. at different times—I afterwards told him that I was going to sell the cabs and horses, as they did not pay—he did not object—before I left town on 2nd December, 1879, he accounted to me for the seven cabs—he told me where they were and that he had 12 or 14 horses—I returned to town at the beginning of February, went to the stable and saw him, and as far as I know the cab business was then being carried on—I went out of town again, returned on the 1st May, went to the Rising Sun stable and found a bill on the door saying that the stables were to let—they were empty and the prisoner was not there—I had communicated with the police before that—on my way to the stable with detective Taylor we met the prisoner, driving one of my Forder cabs—we stopped him and I said that I was going to have him arrested for stealing my property—he said, "You cannot say I stole them because I made a bill of sale of them and you knew of it"—I said, "I knew nothing of it"—he said, "If you will give me time I will explain myself"—the detective and I got into the cab and the prisoner drove us to the police-station, where he was charged—I found one of my Forder cabs and two horses at Antelope Yard, Eaton Terrace—I had not given the prisoner authority to rent stabling there—I then drove to Mr. Appleby's livery stable, Goldhawk Road, Shepherd's Bush, and saw one of my Forder cabs there marked with my initials and coronet—I saw another of my cabs outside the police-court in the possession of Robert Bellett, and two more at a painter's shop—my initials and coronet in two places had been painted out from the cab I saw in Bellett's possession—I saw Mr. Cole driving my black cab in the street after the prisoner was taken—this is the prisoner's signature to this bill of sale, (This was dated 8th December, 1879.) The endorsements to these cheques (produced) are in the prisoner's writing—I am not sure about the writing on pages 3 and 8 of this book (a memorandum or betting book), but I believe pages 37 and 38 are the prisoner's writing—I believe this is also his-writing.
(An inventory of property accompanying the bill of sale).
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I believe these entries at page 37 are the numbers of the licences of my cabs—I know that licences have been taken out at Scotland Yard for each cab in the prisoner's name—I believe these are the licences (produced)—I know that ho was summoned as the owner for a horse being worked when he was not in a condition to he worked—I paid the fine—it was a few pounds I think—I was not present—I never knew till you told me on the last trial that an action had been brought against the prisoner in the County Court for an accident with one of my cabs through negligence, or that he was arrested for the damages and had to go to Hollo way Prison—the stables were taken in his own name and he was to be responsible for the rent—he was to pay all outgoings in his own name, but I have had several bills sent in to me—he paid the Inland Revenue licences in his own name—I paid him 6l. a year, for which he was to be at my beck and call when I wanted him to drive me, and occasionally her Ladyship—I paid him in cash once a week or once a fortnight the same as you pay a coachman—if I had not done so it would be in the book—he came to my house to receive it, or I gave it to him outside the club, or at any time when he asked for it—I started these cabs partly to make a profit and partly to introduce Forder's new cabs for the benefit of the public—the prisoner is a good driver—he was earning 72l. a year certain—I
have recovered all the cabs but one—I did not py for them—I seized one as my property, and Mr. Appleby sent mo one Lack; I believe he had bought it—I have not got any of the horses back—the prisoner did not tell it—in December that it was impossible he could carry on the cabs any longer, as it was a losing business, but I told him so, and he agreed—he may have told me that he wanted money to keep the cabs in repair—I know I gave him some money just before I started—he did not ask me again afterwards, and say that ho could not pay the expenses as the horses had to be fed every day, because I was in Ireland, and be would have had to write to me; I did not see him till February—I gave him some money in February, partly for his wages and partly for repairs—I kept no account of those payments—I paid them by cash, all but two, which were cheques—he did not tell me that he had to pay an instalment on a bill of sale, or I should have put it in the hands of the police—he may have said that he had bills owing for the cubs, but I do not remember, nor that he said that he had some instalments of a debt to pay—Wilkinson was my valet; he left me in Ireland about January—ho was not with we in London in February—I was not in London from 2nd December to the end of February—I do not recollect any occasion when Wilkinson was present when the prisoner came about money matters—the prisoner did not put down what he received except on one occasion; I took no memorandum or receipt from him.
Re-examined. It was not suggested on the last trial that the prisoner said to me in Wilkinson's presence that he wanted some money to pay a bill of sale—it is not true that he has asked me for money and I have refused—the only thing I refused him was a loan to let him go into the horse business on his own account—that was last summer—he wanted 100l., I think—I was frequently out of London, and I then used to pay his wages before I left or when I returned—this book is entirely In his writing—he never made any claim for wages in the book—this (produced) is a receipt for 13l. 10s., which I have paid for rent—it is down in his book as having been paid by him.
By the COURT. I paid his wages every week or every fortnight—I could have given him notice to quit at any time—I never made him a present of a cab or a horse, or assigned them to him—there are cab drivers here who when the prisoner could not drive me, came and drove me, and I paid them what I considered was their just fare, over what the cabs were earning.
ALFRED FORDER . I am a coach builder at Wolverhampton—my brother is the inventor of the Forder Hansom's cab—in April, 1878, I executed orders for Lord Mandeville for four of the cabs and harness, and he gave me these cheques, which bear my endorsement. (The prisoner's application for a loan of 50l. for two years, the bill of sale, a declaration that the horses and cabs were his own property, and several cheques on the Mercantile Bank endorsed by the prisoner, were here put in.)
HENRY HAMPSON . lam an auctioneer, of 117 and 118, Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury—on 6th April, 1880, I went to the Rising Sun stables, by the instructions of Mr. Cochrane, the manager of the bank, and distrained on five horses, three Forder's cabs, and three sets of harness, on which 120l. had been advanced, and 111l. was still claimed to be due—the goods were taken to Davis's livery stables, Waterloo Road—the prisoner called next day at my office and paid 50l. to my clerk, and an order was. given to him to recover two of the cabs.
Cross-examined. Four horses and five cabs were put in the schedule.
WILLIAM TAYLOR (Detective Officer). I was with Lord Mandeville on May I, when the prisoner was stopped driving a Hansom's cab—the fare was turned out, and he drove us to the station—I told him the charge—he said, "Stop a bit, and I can explain all"—he turned to Lord Mandeville, and said, "You cannot say I have stolen your horses and cabs, my Lord; you know I had borrowed some money, and they were seized under a bill of sale"—Lord Mandeville said, "I know nothing about it"—the prisoner was searched at the station, and two papers from the Mercantile Bank and these two letters were found on him—one of them was in an envelope which had been opened. (These letters referred to the sale of the cabs.) I told him to turn out his pockets, and he turned out the book with his printed address card in it.
JOHN CARPENTER . On 10th June, 1879, I entered the prisoner's service as hackney carriage driver 7842—I am now Lord Mandeville's coachman—I used to drive a Hansom cab for the prisoner—his stables were at the back of the Rising Sun, Fulham Road—he had at that time seven Hansom cabs, and about thirteen horses—the prisoner sent me to Lord Mandeville's house to drive his Lordship—I went with detective Taylor to different places to look at certain cabs and horses, which I identified as Lord Mandeville's property; first to Blanchard's, a cab proprietor at Woolwich, where I found a bay horse of Lord Mandeville's—I did not go to Cole's, but I saw a black cob belonging to his Lordship in Cole's cab—I also went to Aldershot and found a brown mare belonging to Lord Mandeville—I also found a hay mare belonging to his Lordship at Heath's—I found a cab in the Old Kent Road, which I identified as Lord Mandeville's.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I left off driving for the prisoner on 20th December—the bay horse which I saw at Woolwich was not in the prisoner's possession when I was driving for him—he bought it after I left—I knew he bought horses—I knew that the prisoner was not really the owner of the cab, but that he took out a licence in his own name at Scotland Yard for the plate numbers—I do not recollect his going to prison, but I knew he went away—I was told he was at his sister's at New Cross—I hired a cab every morning, and I had to pay my money to him or to the horsekeeper.
JOHN EDWARD FOSTER . I am in the service of Mr. Rymill, of the Horse Repository, Barbican—on 8th April I gave a cheque for 74l. 8s. 6d.—I am not prepared to say that it was given to the prisoner—it was made payable to Harrison—after that I received at the Repository six horses and one cab, and received instructions from the prisoner to sell them by auction—I sold a bay gelding to Mr. Blanchard, a brown horse to Mr. Cole, a black horse to Mr. Hooker, and another to Keighley, and one was sold to the prisoner himself for twenty guineas, and one to Mr. Heath, a cab to Mr. Bartlett, and some harness to Mr. Darling—I received a Hansom cab from Mr. Dee in May, which I sold to Mr. Bellett.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I have known the prisoner many years—his father was a cab proprietor—they are a respectable family—the prisoner has a cab or two of his own, and his brother had 40 or 50 horses when we sold him off—the cab business is a very risky one, and requires great attention on the part of the proprietor, otherwise it must go wrong; but it is carried on easily if you have nothing to pay for the horses and cabs.
WILLIAM JOHN APPLEBY . I am a job-master, of Goldhawk Road, Shepherd's Bush—I went with the prisoner to Mr. Harrison the auctioneer, I don't remember the date, from whom I received an order for two cabs which I presented to Mr. Davis, and took away one Hansoms cab to my premises, the other was taken by ray manager Mr. Dee—I think there was a monogram and coronet on it.
MR. GRAIN submitted that there was no evidence to go to the Jury, as the prisoner was clearly the owner of the cabs in the eye of the law. The COURT refused to stop the case, but would reserve the point if it became necessary.
MR. GRAIN, having consulted with his client, stated that he would waive the point of law.— Three Months' Imprisonment.
MR. DIXON Prosecuted.
ALFRED GEORGE LAWSON . I am a hosier of 58, Edgware Road—on the night of 10th June I went to bed about 11 o'clock, leaving my shop quite safe—I was called about 3.30 by a policeman, and found a hole in the window, and handkerchiefs and socks had been taken out worth about 1l. 11s. 6d.—these are them—I had put them in the window that morning—they could have been abstracted through the hole with a hook.
ELLIS SPURRELL (Policeman D 21). On 11th June, about 3.30 a.m., I passed Mr. Lawson's window and found a pane of glass broken, and some blood on the window—I saw the prisoner at the station at 6 a.m., on June 12th, and saw a recent cut on the back of his right hand—there was room for a hand to be put in at the window—I could get my hand in—he was wearing these socks.
ARTHUR HOWARD . I am assistant to Charles Cox, pawnbroker, of 79, Wardour Street—I produce two silk handkerchiefs pawned on 11th June, in the middle of the day, in the name of George Higgs, I do not know who by—the ticket I gave has been brought back.
THOMAS WHITING (Policeman D 279). I took the prisoner—I searched him at the station and found on him this ticket for a handkerchief, and a silk handkerchief, a pair of socks, part of a file, 5s., and some pieces of coin.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY* to a previous conviction in January, 1879.— Nine Months' Imprisonment.
MR. GEOGHEGAN Prosecuted.
JOSHUA PYLE . I am a porter, of 117, Louisa Road, Stratford—on 28th May, about 6.30 p.m., I was with, two men in the Two Brewers, Brick Lane, Spitalfields—the prisoner, who I had known before, came in and wanted to join us—we told him we did not want his company, and I offered him a penny to get half a pint of beer for himself—he did not take it; he said "One of you will get it before you go out of here to-night"—one of my mates said something, and I turned my back and felt him seize me by the throat two or three times, and I knocked a knife off my throat—one of my mates cried out "Look out, Jos., one of us will get it before we go out
here to-night"—he stabbed me three times in my throat—I was taken to a doctor—I afterwards charged him.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not push you down on the floor or call you a b—bold s—.
WILLIAM LAWLESS . I am a shoemaker, of 7, Brick Lane—I was with Pyle at the Two Brewers on the 28th May—the prisoner was there when I went in—they were arguing about his not drinking, and Pyle said "I will give you a penny, go and get half a pint of beer somewhere else"—the prisoner said "Some of you shall get it to-night," and he pulled a knife out of the tail of his apron and stabbed Pyle in the throat—I gave him in charge, with the knife.
HENRY BURGESS . I was with Pyle and Lawless—the prisoner wanted to join our company, and Pyle twice offered him a penny to go away, but he would not, and I saw him drop down on one of the chairs—he stooped down on the floor, and Pyle turned round and I saw blood running from his neck, but I did not see the blow struck—there is no truth in the statement that Pyle knocked him and hit him to the ground—he was not knocked down by any one—I took Pyle to a doctor.
THOMAS GEORGE BECKETT . I am a licentiate of the Apothecaries' Society—Pyle was brought to me with a superficial cut across the windpipe, through the skin—it was not a stab, it was a cut—it did not bleed much—I stitched it up; it was not dangerous, but it was in a dangerous place.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. Your face was red but there was no mark of violence.
Prisoner's Defence. This is an old grievance which the prosecutor had with me eight months ago. I went to the Two Brewers and asked than for a drop of beer, and they chucked some water over me. I went there afterwards to get half a pint of ale, but did not interfere with them, but he said "You tried to get the bread out of my mouth, did not you, and if you were not an old man I would knock your head off." I took a knife out of my pocket to get some tobacco, and he struck me when the knife was in my hand, but I did not do it intentionally. The knife was shut; there was no blood on it.
GUILTY of unlawfuly wounding.— Six Months' Imprisonment.
OLD COURT.—Friday, July 2nd, Saturday, 3rd, and Monday, 5th, 1880.
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
MESSRS. POLAND and MONTAGU WILLIAMS Prosecuted; MR. ATHERLEY JONES Defended.
CHARLES JAMES GAY . In May last I was assistant to the prisoner, who carried on business as a baker at 7, Junction Koad, Holloway—I worked in the bakehouse—on Saturday, 22nd May, at 6 o'clock a.m., the prisoner came to me and said "Have you anything to drink?"—I said "No"—he said "Fetch me some, a half-quartern of gin," for which he gave me the
money—I fetched it, and he drank it—about a quarter of an hour afterwards he sent me again for a half-quartern of gin, and live or ten minutes after that I again fetched another half-qunrtern, all of which he drank—on each occasion he gave me money for it, and I brought him change—at first he gave me sixpence—it came to twopence-halfpenny, I brought him the change—the second time he gave me a two-shilling piece, I brought him the change—the third time he gave me sixpence—when I returned the last time I saw a half-pint bottle on the table with more gin in it, and half of that I saw him drink also—I then went on with my work, and about five minutes after I looked into the parlour and saw the half-pint bottle lying on the table empty—the prisoner was there—he then ran upstairs and came down again and went across to Mr. Nice's shop—he shortly after came back into the shop and began throwing the bread about in a wild sort of manner—some customers came in, and he served them, some right and some wrong—this was about 6.45, and I went downstairs to my work—about 7.45 I was packing bread in the shop, and about eight, or five minutes past 8 I heard the report of a gun from the parlour door at the back part of the shop—I turned round and saw the prisoner with the gun to his shoulder—Mrs. Sweetland then ran through the shop into the street shouting "Murder!"—that was after the second shot had been fired—the first and second shots were instantaneous, one after the other, bang, bang—before I had time to get across the shop he fired two more shots in rapid succession, one after the other, bang, bang—he was then standing behind the counter—I did not notice in which direction the gun was pointed—he fired over the mistress's head—he then walked out through the shop on to the pavement and said "Where is there a policeman? where is there a policeman?"—then as I walked through the shop I saw the guns standing in the corner, near the parlour door, about as far as I could reach—two men came up who are witnesses, and took the prisoner away to Highgate—I went back into the shop, and then it was that I saw the deceased, Mr. Buckler, staggering in the road, and I saw him fall—I had not seen him that morning until then—he was a provision merchant, living at No. 2, opposite the prisoner—sometimes the prisoner would drink gin and sometimes half a pint of beer in the morning between 6 and 7—on Friday, 21st, he went to Harpenden races—I did not see him that night.
Cross-examined. I slept in the prisoner's house—on this Saturday morning he came down with nothing on but his shirt—I never saw him More like that—I thought his manner was strange, and he went to the trough and lifted the lid and fetched out a great handful of flour and threw into his mouth and began to eat it—when I returned with the haif-quartern of gin he had got some bags of flour half full, rolled up, not in the ordinary way—I did not see him fill them—I remember hearing that the prisoner met with an accident in April, 1879—I saw him brought home insensible, and he was put to bed—he was cut at the back of his head—he was laid up for about a week, and after I noticed that his temper was short, and if he Had a little drop to drink it used to take effect on him; it made him irritable—I did not notice any want of memory or incoherence—I noticed that after the accident his manner was changed; if he was to go and have a little drop to driuk he would come home, and there was nothing ever right with him; that is what I mean by peculiarity of temper—he would quarrel at times with his wife, and I have heard his wife tell him about putting him
into a lunatic asylum—he would talk to his wife and others in a wild gay at times; that was when he was under the influence of drink—when sober I saw strangeness of manner—I remember in October last his meeting with another accident in Camden Town—doctors attended him and bandaged his head; ice was applied to it—since that accident I have heard him complan of pains in his head, and he would sometimes forget what he had been doing, and stand and think a minute or two—that was when he was sober.
Re-examined. I have been 12 months in his service the week before last Easter—when he was brought home in April, 1879, he was not sensible, he was not sober—I can't say whether he was drunk or not, he might have had a little drop to drink—of course when he was brought home like that you could not tell whether he was sober or not—a doctor attended him—I can't say what doctor it was—he afterwards attended to his business in the usual way—in October,1879, I saw him come home from Camden Town—he was not sober then—he drove the horse at a walk—I went to meet him—the stepson was driving him—I could not tell whether the prisoner was sober or not—he laid up for about a week then—he attended to his business as usual after that—all the time I have been with him he was at times in the habit of taking too much to drink—he had not been attending to his business every day during the week before this occurred—he had been out every day at races and pigeon shooting—I can't say whether he took his guns with him—I understood he had been pigeon shooting—on the Friday he was at Harpenden races—I can't say where he was on the Thursday—he has complained of pairs at the back of his head, holding his head—that was not when he had been drinking, when he had been sober—I can't say whether he had been drunk recently before—on the Saturday morning when he came down in his shirt he came right into the bakehouse—I was up at work, looking after the bread—we were putting one batch in the oven—ho said he wanted somthing to drink—we said we had got nothing—that was when he first sent me out to get some drink—he had nothing on but his shirt—he had just come downstairs—his bedroom was on the second floor—it was before he had the gin that he put his hands in the flour, and put it to his mouth—I am quite sure of that.
By the COURT. I had only about two minutes' walk to go and get the gin, at the Lion—when I came back with the first half-quartern he only had his shirt on; he was standing in the bakehouse waiting for me—he had been filling the bags of flour while I was gone after the first gin—I said nothing to him or he to me about the bags of flour; he took them up in his hand, and took them upstairs with him—I don't recollect anything else that he said to me except telling me to fetch the gin—after he had drank the first half-quartern he went upstairs into the shop, leaving me in the bake-house—I next saw him when I went in the shop—I was going to fetch some beer for ourselves, and I had to go through the shop to go out—it was there that he gave me the order for the second half-quartern—he was still without his trousers—he was not doing anything then—when I returned with the second half-quartern he had his trousers on, but no slipperc—when he was taken to Highgate he was fully dressed—he was dressed when I saw him with the gun to his shoulder—I first saw him dressed whnn I opened the shop at 7 o'clock; he was fully dressed then—he then appeared to be the worse for liquor—I have seen him strange at times when he was sober; I
say so from the way he has carried on—when he came into the bakehouse to us I have said to my mate, "What is the matter with the governor? he I seems so strange"—he has said things to us; I could not now tell you what things—we have not known what has been the matter with him, whether he has been angry with us or not, we have not known—my mistress kept the books; the prisoner looked after the books at times—I know the half-pint bottle contained gin, because when I returned with the third half-quartern he swore and said, "God, I have got half a pint of gin hero;" that was how I knew it was gin—when I heard the first report I was standing behind the counter by the window of the shop, and when I turned round I saw a gun to the prisoner's shoulder, and I saw it go off a second time—it was done in a moment—I don't know what I was looking at before I heard the second set of reports—I should not think there was time for the gun to be reloaded—I was so much frightened at the time—I did not see what he did with the first gun—I was looking at him when I heard the second bang, bang—I saw the gun to his shoulder—after that I saw him throw the gun down in the corner of the shop, and walk through the shop and throw up his arms and say, "Where is there a policeman?"
GEORGE FREDERICK WARLAND . I live at 44, Vorley Road, Holloway—I am a tram car driver—I have known the prisoner four or five years—I knew Mr. Buckler—on Saturday morning, 22nd May, I was in the Junction Road about 7.15; I was passing the prisoner's shop—I saw the prisoner on the opposite side of the road with Mr. Buckler, on the pavement in front of Mr. Buckler's door—the prisoner had on his usual everyday grey suit; his waistcoat was unbuttoned—he had his left hand on Mr. Buckler's collar—Buckler was standing leaning on his "long arm" that he puts his blind up with—the prisoner seemed in a very excited state having an altercation with him, throwing his right arm about—I did not distinctly hear what was said, being on the other side of the road—the prisoner then left Mr. Buckler and came across the road; I met him just on the edge of the kerb of his own shop—Mr. Buckler went inside his own shop—as the prisoner came to the kerb I said to him, "Sweetland, Sweetland, what, are you going mad? If you cause a disturbance like this you will get yourself into trouble, and get locked up"—he made no answer; he walked straight through his shop into the back parlour—his wife was in the shop behind the counter—there were several persons about the street standing at the corner of the lion—I did not notice any one in particular, only Mr. Buckler's son; he was standing close to his father at the time of the altercation—that was all I saw—I went on and did not see the prisoner again—later on in the same morning I heard that Mr. Buckler had been shot—the prisoner seemed very excited; I did not know whether he was sober; he stared at me vacantly.
Cross-examined. That was when I spoke to him as he crossed the road when he left Mr. Buckler, when I said, "Sweetland, Sweetland, what is the matter, are you going mad?"—my attention was first attracted to him by seeing him have hold of Mr. Buckler's collar in an excited manner, and throwing his arm about—his manner was very unusual indeed, more than I should expect in a person merely suffering from drink—he had hold of Mr. Buckler with his left hand, and throwing the other about; waving it about—it was not merely brandishing it or threatening a person, but waving it about—as he crossed the road after leaving Mr. Buckler he was throwing his arms about and seemed in a very excited manner—Mr. Buckler
seemed quite calm and quiet—he looked white while the prisoner was talking to him—the prisoner's waistcoat was unbuttoned right down—I have known him for some years, and have had a great deal of talk with him—I have been out with him and so forth at times—I have noticed that lately he has been somewhat irritable and short-tempered, especially when he had a little drink not such a quantity as would be likely to unsettle a man generally speaking.
Re-examined. When he was waving his right arm about he had got hold of Mr. Buckler with his left—I could not hear what was said; it was an altercation—he was not threatening, but gesticulating.
HENRY CHARLES BUCKLER . I am the son of Samuel Warr Buckler, and was living at No 2, Junction Road, Holloway, there with my father and mother-my father was 45 years of age-about 12 o'clock on the Friday night, before this matter occurred, I heard a knocking at the door—I was in bed—I could not hear who it was—my father got up; I saw him go downstairs to the door—he did not open the door—I did not hear him say anything—he then returned upstairs—he did not tell me anything—about 4 o'clock in the morning I heard another knocking at the door—I did not get up nor did my father—I did not see him up—that was all I heard that night—I heard somebody in the street on the second knocking; I could not hear who it was—I got up about half-past 6 that morning—about 7 o'clock I was on the pavement outside our shop with my father—the shop was not open—the prisoner came across the road to my father—I did not notice how he was dressed—I did not notice anything particular about him—he spoke to my father but I could not hear what he said—my father made him some answer; I did not hear what it was—the prisoner said something I did not hear—my father said, "Please, Mr. Sweetland, don't knock at the door in the night, it frightens my wife"—the prisoner said, "I shall do as I like"—he got hold of my father's coat-collar by the left hand when he first came across, and he moved his right hand rapidly up and down—he kept waving it up and down all the time he was crossing the road—he seemed rather wild—I don't remember anything more that was said—there is a corn chandler's (Mr. Hazell's) near there—when my father asked him not to knock at the door, the prisoner said he should do as he liked, and pointed to Mr. Hazell's door and said, "Why don't you keep yourself quiet like this man?"—nothing more was said—the prisoner and my father were together about a quarter of an hour—I don't think other things were said that I do not remember—they were talking together quietly—I did not hear any more than I have stated—when the prisoner left my father he went across to the other side of the road and went into his own shop—about five minutes' afterwards I saw him leaning across his own counter reading the newspaper—that was between half-past 7 and 8—the prisoners shop was open at that time; the shutters were down then—I don't think they were down when he first came across to my father—my father was then standing outside his shop—it is not an open shop—it has windows to push up and down—I saw nothing more of the prisoner till he was being taken up to the station—on the Wednesday evening in that same week I saw my father put up the shutters to the prisoner's shop—there was a crowd there—I did not see the prisoner then—that was about half-past 9 at night—I did not see the prisoner's wife there—no one asked my father to put up the shutters; he did it of his own accord—there was a noise inside the house; I could not tell what sort of a noise it was.
Crsoss-examined. I heard the knocking at the door twice in the night, at 12 and 4 o'clock—my father and the prisoner were on friendly and good terras—my father used to deal at the prisoner's shop, and he used to deal at ours now and then; not regular customers, but dealing occasionally with each other—I did not say that he was throwing his arms wildly about when he crossed the road first; it was when he was talking to him and holding his collar—it was only by his way of waving his arm that I say he was wild; that is what I mean by wildness—I did not notice his eyes or the way he was looking—he was reading the newspaper for about 20 minutes, leaning on the counter—my father's shop has a flap board outside, on which things are put.
Re-examined. Our family and the prisoner's did not visit at each other's houses; we only knew each other as neighbours.
EMMA BUCKLER . I have been living with my late husband for about four years in the Junction Road—the prisoner and my husband were on speaking terms as far as I knew—on the Wednesday evening before this matter occurred I remember my husband going over to the prisoner's shop about 9.30—there was a disturbance there—I was putting my children to bed—I did not actually see my husband go over; I saw him when he came back, about 10 o'clock, and he told me when we were having supper that there had been such a scene—on the Friday night about 12 or a little after, when I was in bed, I was disturbed by a very loud knocking at the door—my husband went down at my request—I don't know who it was that was at the door—my husband came back after a little time—he told me that ho did not open the door—I afterwards again heard a knocking at the door—I did not look at the clock, and don't of my own knowledge know the time; I should think it was about break of day—we did not get up; it was Saturday, and I did not think it worth while to disturb my husband again—on the Saturday morning ho got up about the usual time and left me asleep—he usually got up to open the shop—I heard nothing unusual until I heard the report of the firearms—I was then in my bedroom, dressing; that is a front room—I suppose it was just about 8 o'clock as near as possible—I heard a very loud report of firearms; it was like a double report, one after the other, very loud—I went to the window and looked across the road—I kept my eyes fixed there, wondering what I should see, and I saw Mr. Sweetland walk deliberately out of his shop—he had a gun—I saw him level it and take a very deliberate side aim across to our shop, where my husband was standing—the gun was to his shoulder for some time, pointing slanting across the road to our shop—he was outside his shop—there is a flagstone that just forms a step to his own door, and he was just outside that—he took a deliberate aim; I could not believe he was shooting—he fired just the same as before, a double report—I could not see my husband then, because there is a blind to our house—the prisoner then went indoors—I was so agitated that I could not say whether he took the gun with him—I then heard my son calling to say that his father was shot—I at once ran downstairs and saw him being carried into the shop—he was frightfully injured—a doctor was sent for, and my husband died at 2 o'clock on the following Monday afternoon—I saw nothing more of the prisoner—my husband had compounded with his creditors and paid 5s. in the pound two years ago last April
Cross-examined. As far as I know my husband and the prisoner were
on neighbourly terms—the prisoner was nothing more than an occasional customer—if there had been anything unpleasant Mr. Buckler would not have troubled me with it.
THOMAS TWITCHETT . I am the prisoner's stepson—Mrs. Sweetland is my mother—I shall be 14 years old on 19th July—I was living with the prisoner and my mother at the baker's shop in the Junction Road—I was at home on the Wednesday evening before this occurred—I should say the prisoner was drunk that night—he had been out during the day—he said he had been to Whetstone, shooting—he came home drunk about 8.30. or 8.45—after he came home he was noisy inside, and a crowd came, and Mr. Buckler came and put up the shutters—I helped him-—I handed the shutters to him and he put them up for me—I could not tell whether Gay was at home or whether he was gone to bed; he was not present—the place was shut up and the prisoner remained in the house, but he went out afterwards—I did not go out with him—on the Friday night I was at home when he came home, about 10.30—he was very excited—he had told me in the morning where he was going, and that was where he had been, to Harpenden races—when I went to bed that night I left him up and indoors—he was very excited when he came home; he seemed as if he did not know exactly what he was about; he was in such a state I could not say whether he had been drinking or whether there was anything the matter with his head; but he was very excited, running on about his horse and the races—he had been with his own horse to the races, driving—he had been driving very fast to all appearance, from the state the mare was in—I knew that he had two double-barrelled guns, breech-loaders—he usually kept them in a recess on the stairs, in a cupboard that was fitted up for harness specially; the guns were generally kept there—I could not say when I had last seen them there; the cupboard is upstairs on the first floor—they were not a ways kept there, sometimes he has left them in the parlour sometimes at the bottom of the stairs, sometimes in the kitchen—the last time I saw them they were in the parlour, standing in the corner of the room; that was on the Thursday to the best of my recollection—he had not been out shooting that day—I don't remember seeing them on the Friday—on Saturday morning, 22nd, I saw the prisoner in his shop, standing at the door, with his hands behind him; I had not been up long; that was when I first saw him—the shop was open then and he was dressed as usual—I was standing behind the counter; he went into the parlour and returned with a gun in his hand, put it up to his shoulder, and fired two shots in rapid succession, instantaneously, bang, bang—he fired out of the door in the direction across the road, as it looked to me—he had the gun to his shoulder in the ordinary way—my mother ran out when she saw the gun, she is frightened at firearms—I don't recollect her calling out—she ran out of the shop into the street—I followed her after he had fired—when I got outside I heard two more shots fired—I had then got very near two doors off I should think, but I was confused, I don't exactly remember—my mother was away from the shop in front of me, a little lower down the Junction Road, that would be to the left—I then turned round and saw the deceased stagger and fall; he was a little way off the pavement, near his shop, in front of it—I heard the prisoner say something about police or policemen; it sounded like that; I very indistinctly heard it—I turned round to see where he was aid two men
were taking him across the road towards the Highgate Station—that was all I saw—I don't know where the prisoner usually kept his cartridges.
Cross-examined. Besides my mother and myself, there were living in the house my two sisters, and one child of the prisoner's, hardly three years old yet—the prisoner had been in my father's service as manager—he has been married to my mother about three years—I remember his losing some money after his marriage; that was in a flour speculation, in baying flour; he lost something over 300l.—up to that time he had been a quiet, steady man; that loss seemed to affect him very much; his habits changed, he took to drink after that—I should think he had been married about eighteen months when he had that loss—we were all on good and affectionate terms with him—I remember a blow that he had on his head in April, 1879—I was not with him at the time—I went down the Junction Road to meet him from his rounds, and saw him coming up the road, driving at a very furious rate, and when I came back my little sister met me and said my father was dead; he had been run over—he was indoors when I returned home, on the sofa, unconscious; ice was applied to his head—he was not able to attend to his business for some few days—he had a second accident in the October following—I was with him on that occasion; he was driving—it happened in Camden Town, opposite the Cobden statue; the mare fell down on her knees and he was thrown out—my back was to him and I could not see how he fell, but when he got up his head was bleeding very badly from the back—I was not thrown out, I was strapped in, and my little brother—my mother was in front; she had one of her ribs broken, and a bad place at the side of the face—my father was taken into Dr. Claremont's, exactly where he fell—since the first accident I have frequently heard him complain of pains at the back of his head, and worse since the last one, and he has been very much more irritable—he would show that irritability when sober; he would be very impatient—when he was standing looking at anything he was continually twitching his fingers or rubbing his nose—that nervous habit was since the accidents; I had never seen him do it before—his memory was defective; he would forget things soon after having done them—he was on good terms with Mr. Buckler—as far as I know there had been no quarrel whatever between them—he dealt there; he had all his things there till Mr. Nice opened his shop; he is a cheesemonger close by, and was a customer, and of course the prisoner had to "serve all round alike," as the saying is; and he then dealt with both—I have heard him speak about Mr. Buckler watching him; he was always under the delusion that Mr. Buckler was watching him—I had not heard him say anything about him previous to the accidents, but since that very frequently—our parlour-door opens into the shop; it is partly glass and partly wood—the upper part is glass and has a wire blind—it is not straight in front of the shop-door; it is a little to the right—this (produced) is a plan of it—when you are outside the shop you can't see through the wire blind into the parlour; you can from the inside see out into the street—when my father spoke about Mr. Buckler watching him he used to hang things on the blind, anything that came to his hand; newspapers, coats, anything that came to his hand first, and say that Buckler was watching him, and he would prevent it by putting his coat over it—we used to say it was silly of him and ridiculous, but he insisted on doing it—I saw him the
night he returned from Harpenden—I helped him put the horse away and then I went to bed—he was in a very excited state; he appeared to have been drinking, from the excited state he was in—there was hardly half a minute between the first two shots and the last two—I got up about 20 minutes to 8 that morning—I had not seen the prisoner before that, that morning.
Re-examined. After the first accident he laid up for a few days before he was able to attend to business; he got dressed, but did not attend to business—after that he attended to business, but sometimes the other man would have to do it for him, for he would come over queer and go to bed—he never attended much in the shop, only in the bakehouse—sometimes he would say he could not do it—sometimes he used to take too much to drink, but sometimes he would come over like that when he had not been drinking—he drank spirits; sometimes one thing, sometimes another—after the second accident, in October, he laid up for about four days I think—he did not get about exactly as usual, but he attended to his business in the bake-house—he was rather fond of going out to pigeon shooting and race—he very often came home the worse for drink—I think he was the worse for drink on the occasion of the first accident, but on the second moderately so—I could not swear he was drunk and I could not the other way; he had been drinking a little—he has been putting things up against the blind for some time—he did it to prevent people seeing in, as he thought, but they could not see in: they could in the evening if there was a light inside, but he used to do it in the daytime as well—they could see over the top of the blind, but I don't think they could see through it at night even If there was a light inside—he was sometimes sober when he did this, and sometimes not; he would do it at any time.
By the COURT. I can't recollect when he did it first; I should say it was five or six months ago—nothing had happened that I know of to make him think that anybody was looking in at him; I did not hear him say anything about it.
GEORGE ATKINS . I am a milkman, and live at 13, Whittington Grove, Holloway—on Saturday morning, 22nd May, about a quarter past 8, I was in the Junction Road, and saw the prisoner at his shop door—he had a gun in his hand up to his shoulder—I had heard two reports about 20 seconds before then—I heard him say, "Where is he? Where is he?"—he then fired two shots across the road in the direction of Mr. Buckler's shop—the prisoner was just at his door at the time he fired; between the two door, posts—as soon as I heard the reports I looked across the road and saw Mr. Buckler stagger and fall—I was on the same side as Mr. Buckler and close up against him when he fell; he was in front of his shop and he fell just by the kerb—I went to fetch a doctor—I saw two men taking the prisoner away up Highgate Hill.
Cross-examined. It was after I heard two shots fired that I first saw the prisoner—I did not see the deceased until after ail four shots were fired—he was on the pavement when I got up to him; he was in the centre of the pavement staggering about; he staggered off the pavement and fell down on the side in the gutter—the prisoner called out "Where is he? where is he?" in a loud tone of voice, and fired directly.
one—I heard two shots fired; the reports came from the prisoner's shop—I saw Mrs. Sweetland come out of the shop and her son after her; I then saw the prisoner come to the door with a gun to his shoulder, and saw him fire two shots directly, one after the other, across the road, and I saw Mr. Buckler stagger and fall—I had not seen Mr. Buckler till the last shot was fired; I then looked across the road, and I went and helped to carry him indoors.
NATHAN LACK . I live at 5, Grovedale Road, Upper Holloway, and am by trade a joiner—on the morning of Saturday, 22nd May, about 5 minutes past 8, I was in the Lion public-house, at the corner of the Holloway Broad and Junction Road—it is next door but two to the prisoner's—while I was in there I heard two shots fired, one immediately after the other—I immediately ran out and looked all round—I saw smoke coming from the prisoner's shop-door—as I was going towards it the prisoner walked out of his shop door with a gun in his hand up to his shoulder; he stepped just off the step and fired twice immediately without taking the gun from his shoulder—it was pointed across the road—I turned my back when I heard the third shot, and when I turned round the prisoner had gone into his shop—I walked towards his shop and met him on the doorstep coming out; no had put down the gun—I said "Sweetland, what have you done?"—(I knew him by sight)—he said "I have done it, and I want a policeman"—I said "There is not one here; you must come with me"—he said "I will"—I turned round and saw Sims standing outside the house, and I said "Charley, you had better come with me"—I laid hold of the prisoner by the collar and eleven, and Sims laid hold of his arm, and we took him to the police-station—on the way the prisoner said "I saw him (meaning Buckler) come to the door with a knife in his hand, and I thought I would have first chance; he has done me harm; he has spoken against me, but I have never been so bad as him, for I never had 5s. a week to pay"—that was all that I know—he said to Sims "I have something in my pocket; I will give them to you, Charley," and he pulled out four bags of flour, and said "I meant them for him"—they were four half-quartern paper bags, with about a pound of flour in each—I asked him whether he had anything else; he said "Yes, I have two cartridges; I will give them to you"—he gave them to Sims, and Sims passed them to me—he said "You need not be afraid; I won't hurt you"—nothing further passed—we took him to the police-station and charged him with firing off a gun in the public streets—the four bags of flour were given to the police at the station, also the two cartridges; these (produced) are the Cartridges; one has been since opened in my presence, and I saw the inspector take out some shot—it was in the same state as the other one is now; the other has not been interfered with.
Cross-examined. The first I saw of the prisoner was when he came out after firing two shots; it might be a minute or a minute and a half, as near as I can say, between hearing the first shot fired and the last—it sounded like random firing; in fact I was afraid he would shoot me—the prisoner's appearance struck me as wild; he appeared to me like a man not knowing what he was doing; that was the impression it produced on my mind when I saw him firing—the bags had flour merely put in and doubled up anyhow—he made no resistance to going with us to the station; he wished to give himself up.
Re-examined. He had the gun to his shoulder, and fired across the road—by "random" firing I mean I could not see what he was shooting at; he seemed to be shooting anywhere; I did not soe Mr. Buckler till afterwards—the prisoner spoke to me in an excited state; I could understand what he said; I suppose he understood me; he walked with me to the station, but he seemed to be staring with his eyes, excited—I could not tell whether he had been drinking; he did not seem to have that appearance; he seemed to walk straight; he did not appear to have been drinking.
CHARLES SIMS . I am potman at the Lion—on Saturday morning, 22nd May, I was there at work in the back; I heard some shots fired; I heard one first, and I ran out—I heard the four shots fired—I saw Lack; he had got hold of Sweetland by the collar on the right aide—I went and assisted him, and took him by the left cuff; the first thing I heard him say as he went along was "I have kissed my dear babe before I left," or something to that effect, and in going a little farther up the hill I fancied he had got something in his breast-pocket, and I said "Hare you a revolver in your pocket, Sweetland?" because I had known him some time—he said "No, I have not, Charlie; I will give you all I have," and he gave me four small bags with a portion of flour in each; I should say about a pound and a half altogether, or it might be two pounds—he pulled them from the back part of hit pocket—he said he had got them to throw at him to aggravate him—I then said "What have you here?" that was in his right-hand waistcoat pocket—he said "Two cartridge?"—I said "Give them to me"—he took them from his right-hand waistcoat pocket, and placed them on my hand, and I passed them to Lack—the prisoner said "I have done what I meant to do, and I don't care if I swing for it"—that was after I had handed the cartridges to Lack—I said "Hold your tongue, hold your tongue"—after he had given me the bags, he said "Here is a letter I wish to be carried to home"—I said "You had better put it in your pocket, and give it up at the station-house"—he put it in his pocket, and he had it in his waistcoat pocket in the station-house—he also said "He has done me an injury, and I have not done the dirty action that he has done, to pay 5s. in the pound"—that remark about the swinging was mentioned three different times during the transit up to the station—he appeared to be rather excited—he appeared like a man that had been drinking the night before—he was able to walk steadily, as well as I could—I think he appeared to understand what he was doing.
Cross-examined. This is the first time I have given evidence—I did not give evidence before the Coroner, or before the Magistrate—Lack accompanied me and the prisoner to the station; he was with us all the time—I made a communication to the Solicitor to the Treasury—I only saw him once—I gave a little abstract of my evidence; I wrote it down in my own hand in pencil; I only wrote it once—I did not gave it to any one; I have it here (producing it)—I wrote this on Sunday afternoon, the day after, the 23rd—I have had it in my possession ever since—in this piece of paper I communicated all I recollected as near as I possibly could—I saw the Solicitor to the Treasury on the 7th June—that was the first and only time—I did not see the Solicitor, merely the Clerk—I road to him from my paper; I neither added to it or diminished from it—what I have said to-day is precisely what is on that paper—I do
not say that I put down everything—I can't say why I did not put down that the prisoner said "I have not done the dirty action he has done, and paid 5s. in the pound"—perhaps it is omitted, but I am sure I have spoken he truth. (The memorandum was read as follows:—"Between 8 and 8.15, Saturday, 22nd May, I heard two reports, I ran from my work, before I got to the door I heard two more. I looked out, and saw Mr. Bnckler rolling in the road, about eight feet from the pavement. Mr. Lack called me to his assistance; he then had him on the right side collar. I took the prisoner by the cuff, and said, 'Come along.' In going up Highgate Hill I thought he looked bulky; I said, 'Have you a revolver in your pocket?' He said, 'No, you shall have all I have got.' He gave me four bags with flour in them. I said, What have you here?' He said, 'Two cartridges.' On three occasions he said, 'I have done what I meant to do, and I do not care if I swing for it.' He went quiet from his shop to the police-station at Highgate, and we gave him in charge to the police. 'He has done me harm; I never done dirty actions, and paid 5s. in the pound. I meant to throw the flour at him to aggravate him.'" He made that remark just after he offered me the flour bags—I put that in afterwards when I recollected it, but on the same day, within a few seconds between 3 and 4 o'clock, after we had shut our house up; the whole of it was done that Sunday afternoon—I have not heard Lack's evidence—I did not hear the prisoner say "I saw him come out with a knife, and I thought I would have first chance"—I have heard that it was said, but I did not hear it—I and Lack were with him all the time—I was walking on the left side of him and Lack on the right—the prisoner was very much excited—I cannot say whether his eyes looked wild, like a man not in his senses—I took more particular notice in looking after his body, in case of an accident on the road—I think what he said about, his coming out with a knife, and his having first chance, was said previous to my taking hold of him—I took hold of him before he was being moved along to the station, perhaps some seconds after Lack—Lack had him by the collar when I came out—Lack called me—I have never given evidence before in a case. Q. What caused you to take this down; it is rather an unusual thing, is it not? A. Perhaps it is a way I have, like all old gentlemen, taking notes of anything, any little occurrence that happens; if you were to die to-day I should take that down, I should make a little note of it. I keep a diary of all the events of my life, no doubt this will be a leaf out of my diary. I have not written it in my diary yet, but I shall do. I am the potman at the Lion, I have seen the prisoner there. I have been there eight years and a half.
Re-examined. When I wrote this in pencil on the Sunday afternoon I had heard that Mr. Buckler was very seriously ill—it was all written on the same occasion—the part that the counsel has referred to I thought of afterwards and then added it, but it was all written at the same time, within a few minutes.
WILLIAM GOODWIN (Police Inspector Y). On the morning of 22nd May I went to the Highgate Police-station, about an hour after the prisoner had been brought there—I found him there—he then seemed calm and collected and sober—I said nothing to him, except to ask him two or three questions to enter on the charge sheet—I asked him his age and his name, and a question as to his education—those were the only three
questions I put to him—he gave his name correctly, James Sweetland, and his age as 33, and I entered it on the charge-sheet—when I searched him I asked what he had got about him—I found a small sum of money; there was no letter, and I could hear of no letter having been seen at the station—Lack gave me these two cartridges—this one is in the same stats as I received it; the other I opened—before opening it it was exactly similar in appearance to the other—out of the one I opened I took some shot and a wad—I returned them again to the cartridge—I weighed the shot in company with the gunsmith, and the charge weighed an ounce and a quarter—on that morning I went to Mr. Buckler's house and examined the shop—I made a careful examination—I found marks of shot on both doorposts, something like 100 altogether—there were some shot marks on the goods in the shop and on the wall of the parlour at the back of the shop—the greater number of those on the doorposts were between five and six feet from the ground, and those on the wall at the back of the shop were about a dozen in the space of half a yard square—the front window of the shop was broken, and an inner window separating the parlour from the shop was also broken, apparently by the shot—I picked out about 10 or a dozen of the shot—they appeared to be of the same size as those that were in the cartridge—I have shown them to Mr. Sturman, the gunsmith—I also examined the prisoner's premises—I found no marks of shot there—on the morning of the 28th I received from the prisoner's wife a paper bag containing about half a pound of shot, or a little over—she got it from a safe in the back parlour—that appears to be shot of the same size as those in the cartridge and those taken from the doorposts.
Cross-examined. It was about 10 o'clock when I saw the prisoner—he had not been put in a cell, he had been put in a waiting-room till I came to the station in the company of constable Instance—I think two officers were with him—he did not bear the marks on his face of any great recent excitement; nothing at all that struck me—I looked at him for the sake of marking his condition and demeanour, and it struck me as being remarkably calm, I was surprised at it—I searched him myself, as I thought, thoroughly—I found no letter on him—I have heard of no letter.
JOSEPH INSTANCE (Policeman Y R 35). On Saturday morning, 22nd May, in consequence of what I heard I went to Mr. Buckler's shop—I got there about a quarter past 8—I saw the holes in the window where the shot had damaged it—I then went across to the prisoner's house—his wife handed me this double-barrelled gun, which I produce—it stood in the corner of the parlour, behind the shop—I examined it, and found it had been recently aired, and there were two empty cartridge cases in it—they are in it now—it is a breech-loading gun—they are just like the cartridges produced.
FRANCIS ROBINSON (Policeman Y 523). About 9 o'clock on Saturday morning, 22nd May, I went to the prisoner's house—a young lady who I understood was his stepdaughter handed me this double-barrelled gun, which I produce—she took it from a recess at the bottom of the stairs, about a yard and a half from the shop door opening into the parlour—I examined it, and found it had been recently fired—I found in it two empty artridges similar to those produced, and the hammers were down.
JOSEPH GALE . I live at 1, Sutton Place, Upper Holloway—my master is an oilman—it is next door to Mr. Buckler's—on Saturday morning, 22nd May, a little before 8, I was in the shop—the prisoner came in—I
knew him before—he said "What is the largest shot you keep?"—I said "I will show you, sir"—I got a canister of No. 2 shot, that is the largest shot we keep—I tipped a few into my hand, and showed them to him—he said "They will do fine, let me have a pound of them"—I weighed out a pound and put it in a brown paper bag—the price was 4d.—Mr. Lee is my master—this is one of our bags, similar to the one I put the shot in—I could not say it is the same—he said "How much are they, 4d.?"—I said "Yes, please sir"—he paid me in four penny-pieces—he then left, taking the shot with him—he had been in the habit of buying shot of me, we don't sell cartridges—the shot he had previously bought was No. 6; that is a much smaller shot—the larger the number the smaller the shot—I noticed nothing whatever in his manner or demeanour to attract my attention—I did not notice anything particular about him—about a quarter of an hour after, I was behind the counter weighing up, and I heard two sharp reports, one directly after the other, instantaneously—I immediately went to the shop door to see what was the matter—I looked across the road and saw the prisoner standing at his shop door with a gun levelled at the shoulder, and he fired two more shots in rapid succession—he was standing about on a level with the shop doorway, neither outside nor in—the gun was pointed straight across the road—directly after that last shot was fired I saw Mr. Buckler run from the side blind—I could not see whether he was inside or outside the shop—he staggered across the pavement, with his right hand on his left shoulder—I saw him fall in the road—he was assisted into his house—I saw the prisoner taken away—I have been shown the shot by the police—it is No. 2 shot.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was in the shop just time enough to serve him, that was all—I noticed nothing particular in his manner—I did not pay particular attention to him, it being a common thing for him to buy shot—sometimes I served him and sometimes others served him—I never shot a gun in my life—I know the different sizes of shot—we don't sell bullets or cartridges, or wads, only shot, powder, and caps—he never bought No. 6 shot before to my knowledge.
GEORGE STURMAN . I am a gunmaker at 70, Seven Sisters Road, Holloway—I know the prisoner—he has been in the habit of dealing at my shop—I have sold him cartridges, but not for something like over a twelvemonth—I have sold him cartridges in more ways than one, generally containing No. 5 or No. 6 shot; that is the sized shot generally used for pigeon footing—I have seen him at shooting matches—he was in the habit of footing at matches—he was a very good shot, I should think—these two Cartridges have been shown to me—I have examined the wad and the shot on the one that has been opened, they are No. 2 shot, the wad indicates No. 5 shot—it is wrongly marked—the shot that was in it when the police showed it to me was No. 2—I have been shown the shot in the brown paper bag, and some shot in a pillbox, that was No. 2 shot—the cartridge that has not been opened is not nicely turned over; not as it would come from a manufacturer; it has No. 5 on the wad—(opening the cartridge) I should consider this is No. 2 shot—I have weighed the bag of shot, it weighed just a little over half a pound, and the cartridges contained fall an ounce and a quarter.
Cross-examined. I am not able to say whether the shot had been Previously in these partridge cases—it is a very ordinary thing to buy loose
wads—you may buy them with No. 5 marked on them, for convenience of sale—it does not show any different size of wad—the wad is the same whether it is 5 or 2—a person having No. 5 wads might put No. 2or No.5 shot in a cartridge case—I sell a considerable number of cartridge cases and loose wads—I have known the prisoner for 18 months or a little more—I have not seen him so much quite lately—I always thought he was a very excitable man—No. 2 shot may be used for pigeon shooting; some people like them large—I have sold a great deal of No. 2 shot—we don't always know what it is for—I don't remember selling any for pigeon shooting, I have for rabbit shooting many times.
By the JURY. I have some idea that I have sold the prisoner a machine for making cartridges, a good bit ago—I hare not sold him individually any empty cases lately, he might have sent for them—these are not my cases—I can tell them in a minute—I don't use that colour—I knot I have sold him cartridge cases, and I think I have sold him a machine—I sell cartridges with powder in them; we make them to order, but they are mostly sold empty—this is badly turned over; no finger could turn it over, it might be done with a knife, or something; it is not well done.
HENRY EDWARD NICE . I live at 10, Junction Road, Upper Holloway, on the same side of the road as Mr. Buckler—I have known him for the last 20 years, and the prisoner about 10 months—on the Friday night before this matter occurred I was in the Archway Tavern about half-past 10 or a quarter to 11—the prisoner came in afterwards, about a quarter-past 11—he was in another compartment, facing me—I said, "Good evening, Sweetland"—he drank his glass of ale and came round—I said, "Have you enjoyed yourself to-day?"—he said, "Very well"—I said, "What a fool or a madman you were on Wednesday evening last!"—he said, "Oh, what was it?"—I said, "I took you home out of the Archway drunk, and I got you home after a little persuasion"—he said, "I don't remember it; when I am drunk I am like a madman"—I said, "When I took you in you said to your wife you did not know what you would do without her, one of the best creatures in the world"—I said, "What a foolish way you are going on, before long you will be out of your shop, you have got a bill of sale on your things"—he said, "Who told you?"—I said, "I know it myself, also Buckler"—he said, "I have never been as bad as him, I never paid 5s. in the pound"—I said, "I had to come over to your shop after I took you in on Wednesday night: you wanted to come out without your boots on, only your stockings, shirt, and trowsers, and Buckler shut np the shop for you"—I said, "Buckler says it ain't the first time; he shut it up for Hamilton, Twitchett, and you"—he said, "Mind he don't have to put his shutters up," and he mentioned again, "I have never been so bad as him, paying 5s. in the pound"—I don't think anything more was said—he said if he had offended me on the Wednesday night he was very sorry, he was not accountable when he had been drinking, in fact he did not remember anything about it—I don't remember seeing Joseph King there at this time—there was only the prisoner and me in the compartment—he did not appear to me the worse for drink, I could not say that he was, he was very much excited.
Cross-examined. After saying, "Mind he don't have to put his shutters up," he said, in the same sentence, "I have never been so bad as him, having to pay 5s. in the pound"—his manner on that Wednesday evening
struck me as entirely different from that of other persons—he was intoxicated but beyond that his conduct struck me as peculiar—on one occasion, I think it was on a Monday in March, he came over to my shop and said he wanted some butter for pastry—I showed him some—he said, "That butter won't do for me"—he stared about—I showed him the other half tub, and he said, "That will do fine," and I sent it over to him—it was precisely the same butter, the other half tub—on the Friday night he was very much excited indeed; he had no hat on, he was in his shirt-sleeves—he generally came in with his hat and coat on—on the Wednesday evening when I was in his parlour he spoke about Buckler watching him—he said, "That his watching me, put something up to the window," and his stepson did so—there was a wire blind to the window; I should not think any one could see through it from the outside; you would have to go very dose up to it—I should think Buckler's shop is as long as this Court from the parlour where the wire blind was—I don't remember hearing him speak about being annoyed by Buckler watching him on any other occasion—I have noticed a peculiarity in him when sober; if I have looked across the road from my shop, he has looked down and walked away; if I have been outside the door and he has happened to see me, he has walked right away, round by the Lion—on one occasion I happened to look across, and he saw me and walked right away from the shop door with his head down and his arms swinging, and walked round by the Lion—it appeared as if he wished to avoid me—that was about Christmas—we had always been on the best of terms, only when he was what I call mad, or something, I suppose from drink—I have said, "That madman will break his neck some time going round the corner."
Re-examined. He used to drive ratner recklessly sometimes coming home—he would whip the horse up—he drove home recklessly on Friday night—I could not say whether he was sober or not at Christmas time when he tried to avoid me, I was too far away Lorn him; I did not speak to him—on the Wednesday night when he said Buckler was watching him, Buckler did not put his shutters up till after that—he was decidedly drunk that night.
By the COURT. The butter I showed him was not good enough to send to a customer, but it was fit for pastry; there were two half-tubs—I should have thought he would be able to tell the fellow half-tub—I have known people look at two samples of the same bulk, and say one was good and the other not—I have often done it; I did it yesterday with two separate half cheeses; they would not have the first, but they would have the second; it is only a matter of business.
JOSEPH KING . I am a fishmonger and live at 4, Archway Place—on Friday evening, 21st May, about 11.40, I was at the Archway Tavern—I saw the prisoner go in at one door, I went in at the other—I had no conversation with him myself—I heard a conversation between him and Nice.
FREDERICK WILLIAM WILSON . I am a B.M. of the University of London and a M. R. C. S.—on Saturday morning, 22nd May, shortly after 8 o'clock, I went to Mr. Buckler—he was wounded on the left side of the head—they were shot marks—at that time I only noticed about forty—I afterwards found that he was wounded on the left shoulder and the back, on the left side—there were two or three shots in the front part of the body and the front lower limbs—I attended him until the Monday; he died
about 2 o'clock on that afternoon—on the 26th I made a post-morter examination—I found altogether about sixty or seventy shot wounds, principally at the side of the back, the left shoulder, and the left side of the head; none in the front of the chest; some in the head and face, and I think one in the great toe of the right foot, one on the knee, and one in the left thigh—I took some of the shot out of the body and out of the head—I have some of them here—I have seen the No. 2 shot, they appear to be the same sort of shot—one shot had penetrated the brain, causing severe injury to the brain, and one had penetrated the lung; the skull was fractured in one part into several small pieces—the injury to the brain was the cause of death.
WILLIAM GOODWIN (Re-examined). I made the plan produced—I have measured the street from the shop door of the deceased to the shop door of the prisoner; it is 55 feet—I searched the prisoner's house—I found no cartridges there, or any shot.
WILLIAM GUEST CABPENTEB . I am a Fellow of the R.C.S., and am surgeon to Her Majesty's prison of Clerkenwell—I was at the prison on Saturday evening, 22nd May, about 6.30, when the prisoner was brought there—I saw him as soon as he was brought out of the van, and had a conversation with him—he seemed perfectly calm and collected—I could not see anything in his appearance of having been drinking—I saw him daily for five days—he appeared to be quite sound in his mind.
Cross-examined. I saw-him about 6.30, when he was remanded from the police-court, he was then quite calm—I conversed with him, but not with the object of testing his sanity or insanity—it is a well ascertained fact that a person may be perfectly rational in his demeanour when talking of ordinary topics, and yet be labouring under a delusion; therefore, unless I had examined him in reference to that particular delusion under which he was supposed to be labouring, in order to search out that delusion, I should not be able to ascertain the state of his mind—I did not on that occasion endeavour to find out the delusion—it is perfectly consistent with medical experience that a man may commit a murder in a state of delusion, and yet be within a very short time afterwards calm and collected; they act on sudden impulses—he did not present the appearance of a person who was suffering from drink, that was my object in seeing him—I discovered no traces of recent drink, or of the state of a man who had recently recovered from drink—he had then been in custody tea or twelve hours; still, if there lias been a good deal of drink they do recover themselves in six or eight hours—in some cases a man can drink a great deal without showing it, and then he would soon recover himself; it depends very much upon the condition of the patient; some drink slowly and never show the effects of intoxication—if a man drank to great excess, not being accustomed to it, I should expect to find traces remaining.
JOHN ROWLAND GIBSON . I have been medical officer of Newgate for 25 years—I have seen the prisoner daily from June 4 to the present time—he has always boon calm and rational—I was not able to discover any traces of iusanitv—I was present when Dr. Bucknell and Dr. Tidy examined him on behalf of his relatives—being charged with murder I examined him to discover whether there wore any traces of insanity, but I did not arrive at it—there are two scars on his head; the upper one is
about an inch and a half long, and the lower one about an inch long, both taking a direction from behind forward, and about a quarter of an inch apart—they seemed superficial injuries; there was no apparent injury to the bone—I saw him last night and examined him on the subject of his being watched; I had no clue to that—I was in Court yesterday and heard the evidence—I asked him whether ho believed he had been watched—he said yes, he believed he had—I examined him again this morning, and he still seemed to have a very firm belief that he had been watched—I may observe that in our interviews he never said anything except in answer to questions; he answered questions, and perhaps would lead oft' a little, but he never proffered anything—he never before last night hinted anything to me about being watched.
Cross-examined. It is frequently necessary to have a clue to a delusion before I can examine a man—it is sometimes necessary to take him over the general ground before it peeps out—in this oase I had no due to the alleged delusion—it is quite consistent with his having a delusion that I did not discover it—he was extremely reticent on all occasions, and he never suggested anything; he never originated any remark—he said that he felt that the deceased had injured him, but he did not say in what way—I cannot recollect what the expression was—I could not get anything very distinct from him—I cannot tell you what he said about injuring him; I collected that he thought the deceased had injured him in some way, but he could give me no account in what way—he exhibited no excitement when he said that he was watched; he spoke in his usual manner—that is not an uncommon form of donation, but I think it is a delusion of a dangerous nature, I think violence is very often committed under the influence of it—his present calmness and rationality is I think perfectly consistent with his having laboured under that delusion—the fact that by killing this man he had released himself from the watching might operate to calm him—the subject matter of the delusion having gone he would perhaps be more likely to have equanimity than he had before—I have heard all the evidence in this case, and that the prisoner has suffered money loss to what is not uncommonly a considerable amount a man in his position—a loss of that kind certainly does tend tonhinge a persons mind, and they very often give way to habits of ✗ temperance—a man who has trouble of mind will very often give way drinking; that is to say his character becomes changed—the wounds his head were of a somewhat serious character, but of a common enough ✗ ture—I have heard that they arose from being thrown out of a trap on 0th occasions—they might or might not be of a serious character; it would depend a good deal upon the condition of the body at the time of the injury—we are meeting with wounds of that nature in this town every day, some of which prove innocent and some not—serious brain disturbance may arise from a blow to the head, even though it may not appear so—it does not depend altogether upon the wound, it depends upon the concussion, and on the injury the brain has suffered internally—great injury to the brain may be occasioned by a trifling injury apparently—I have known persons half scalped without injury to the brain, and yet from a small injury severe mischief follows, both mentally and physically—in injuries of this kind I think the brain disturbance would be immediate rather than postponed—irritability would be a characteristic no doubt, but I do not that a tendency to drink would be a characteristic—I think drink
would affect the brain more if it was damaged than if it was not damaged, it would be more susceptible of disturbance—I do not think a delusion that he was watched would be likely to be the outflow of injury to the head; that delusion frequently arises without any injury or cause of that sort—I have known such cases, but if there was a predisposition to illusions it would probably promote it—I have heard the testimony as to his loss of memory, and to his excitement when sober, and to his irritability of temper—strange conduct is more or less indicative of mental disturbance—a man who does not act with perfect consistency in all his actions is more or less disturbed—a man's memory is more or less perfect—I do not think I can form any opinion from his reading the newspaper for a quarter of an hour alter having been across the road to Buckler and gesticulated and shown general excitement—we have no proof that he was reading the paper at all; it was stated that he was leaning over it, or leaning on it; I think it was on the counter at the time—I do not think that conduct characteristic of a drunken man—I heard that he said when taken "I saw him come out with a knife in his hand, and I thought I would have first chance;" assuming that to be untrue, I should look upon that as an hallucination and delusion; he saw what really did not exist, and he believed that it existed—if the deceased came out with a knife and performed his duties, it would be a delusion to suppose that he came out with it for any other purpose, but the assumption is that he did not come out with a knife at all; it has not been proved that he came out with a knife—if he said "I saw somebody there with a knife going to attack me," and there was nobody there at all, and no knife, that would be a delusion—if you said that the Emperor of China was entering that door to make an attack with a sword, that would be a delusion pure and simple; but if a man came in with a sword, and you were under the impression that he intended to attack you, and he did not, that would be imagination on your part—supposing Buckler came out with a knife in his hand, and the prisoner supposed that he came out to kill him, that would clearly be a delusion if the man had no such intention—I think if one neighbour seeing another neighbour with a knife, they not being at any particular enmity, the assuming that he is going to attack him is a most unreasonable idea—there may be a number of concurrent predisposing causes of insanity, and they need not all proceed from the same source—there is mania which arises from drink, not delirium tremens, but some fixed delusion—another predisposing cause is losses in business, and there may be blows on the head, and if it is shown that in the man's family there is hereditary taint, it is very likely that all those predisposing causes together might lead to insanity.
Re-examined. In a case of a man in mature life, 33, who becomes insane, it is very often quite impossible to trace the cause; I should avoid expressing an opinion on the sanity of a man who has an altercation in a passion and five minutes afterwards calms down and reads the newspaper—if a man is thrown out of a cart and has a cut on his head, and after three or four days he is able to attend to his business as usual, I should probably not consider that there was brain disturbance; hundreds of cases of that kind occur in the metropolis—it is not so much the thickness of the skull, but the constitution of the individual and his habits of life—one must take everything into consideration in the judgment of the case.
Company, 118, Great Russell Street—I produce a bill of sale dated 8th March, 1880, signed by the prisoner, and I am the attesting witness—it is for an advance of 50l. on his effects at his shop in Hollo way—70l. Is to be paid by monthly instalments of 5l. 16s. 8d.
Cross-examined. It is registered, but it is not open for all the world to know—any person can see it who pays for a search, and a number of trade papers distribute bills of sale, and most tradesmen would subscribe or take an opportunity of looking at them for their own protection.
HENRY CHARLES BUCKLER (Re-examined). I was on the pavement with my father about 7 o'clock—I am positive he had no knife in his hand, but he had a knife in his hand just before he was shot, when he was dressing the window for the day, with his back towards the prisoner's shop—he was engaged dressing the window with the knife in his hand for about a quarter of an hour—when the prisoner first came over and spoke he took hold of my father's collar; he held it about 10 minutes, and then went across the road again—he never ceased to hold my father's collar till he went across the road again—I am positive my father had no knife when the prisoner took hold of his collar—I did not hear the subject of their conversation at first, not till my father asked him about knocking at the door—that was towards the end—I did not hear the rest.
HENRY EDWARD NICE (Re-examined). I did not see the prisoner at my shop on the morning this occurred—I had not left my dressing-room when the shots were fired—the shop had been opened then—they took the shutters down about 7.30—I did not see the prisoner before the deceased was shot.
Witnesses for the Defence.
MADELINA HURREN . I am the wife of John Hurren, and I am the proprietor of a coffee and dining-house at 15, Junction Road, Upper Holloway, on the same side of the road as the prisoner; his house is No. 7—I have known him for quite five years, as both journeyman and master—Mr. Twitchett died about four years ago; the prisoner was in his service as journeyman—he used to use my house as a customer—I had opportunities of seeing him prior to Mr. Twitchett's death; he used to take his meals at my house—his character as far as I knew was very good indeed—I never saw him the worse for drink—I am aware of his loss about 18 months or two years ago—he mentioned it to me many times, about the loss in flour—up to that time, as far as I knew, he was a man of quiet and steady habits—I had many opportunities of observing him—after that time I believe he gave way to habits of intemperance; I believe somewhat on that account—I have heard him say so—I have heard him many times speak about the loss of flour—that was the first of his downfall—he was naturally excitable, I think—that has been within the last two years—prior to that, when I first knew him, he was a steady young man—I never noticed the excitability before his loss—on Wednesday night, 19th May, about 9 o'clock, I saw him in his shop in a most excited state—he was standing with his back against the back of the counter—the shop was not closed then—I afterwards saw him in the mews adjoining my house for about an hour and a half, from 10.30 till 12 o'clock, or after 12 o'clock, without boot or stockings on or coat or hat—he was walking about to and fro, and then standing with his back to my door, and knocking at my door and asking me to let him in—my side door opens into the mews—I begged of him
several times to go home—on Friday night, the 21st, about 10.30, he came to my house and had a bit of supper—he was very excited; I think I can tell you why—he went out, and came back in an hour still more excited—I might term it wildness; he was very, very excited, and stamping about my place and halloing very loudly, rather furiously—I begged him not to, in case of disturbing my lodgers—he was in my house about a quarter of an hour or 20 minutes—he left about 12.30, and I saw no more of him till the next night.
Cross-examined. I don't think he was very drunk on the Wednesday night; he was very excitable; I can't say he was drunk—I hare seen him excited so many times—I should not like to say he was or was not drunk—I did not know that he was so drunk that he could not put up his shutters—they were not up when I saw him at his shop—he looked as much like a madman as a drunken man—there were a dozen or more persons outside the shop—I left him there; I was obliged to on account of my business—the next I saw of him was in the mews—I said to him "Will you please to go home, Mr. Sweetland?"—he said "No"—my place was shut up; he wanted to come in at the side entrance; I objected—he said no more, he walked away; I kept the chain on the door—I had no conversation with him then—I could not see whether he was drunk or sober—I know he had been to Harpenden races on the Friday; I occupied his trap with his wife there—I did not see him take any drink there; there was some lemonade and ale in the trap—I did not leave the trap—he did not stay with the trap all the time—I did not drive back with him—me and Mrs. Sweetland went back by train; I think that aggravated him rather—we were both of us frightened to go with him—he was not drunk; we had been out with him on several occasions, and were frightened to go with him; therefore we went by train, and he was to take the provisions in the trap—we went and returned by train, and my husband as well—I think he called for his brother on the road—his brother was with him when we got there—we came a way from the races as soon as they were over, about 5 or a little over—he drove off the course at the same time we walked down the course—when he afterwards came in and had supper he was stamping and halloaing and throwing his arms about—that was all—he did not tell me whether he had been betting at the races—he had been driving very fast; I thought it was to try to get home as soon as we did—I did not see where he went when he left my house.
Re-examined. We were not frightened to go home with him on account of his drunkenness, but because he drives rattier furiously, and we thought it was a long distance to go.
By the COURT. I did not see any signs of drink in him—the lemonade and ale was all the drink I saw; I saw him drink nothing else—I saw nothing at all in him to indicate that he had been drinking, either on the Wednesday or Friday night—his conduct on the Friday night was that of a man who was either mad or drunk—if I had had no reason to think him mad I should not have concluded that he was drunk—he was very excitable indeed, but I don't think he was drunk—I don't remember the words he used, but he was raving and halloaing; I said "Don't make too much noise, please, Sweetland, in my house; I have the lodgers to study," and he said "I won't, Mrs. Hurren," and he then left—I thought his excitement was caused because Mrs. Sweetland and myself did not drive to Harpenden with him; I thought he was annoyed about it—my
place is a very short distance from the Archway Tavern, about two minutes' walk.
GEORGE GABRETT PARKINS . I am a wholesale and retail wine merchant at 49, Junction Road, Upper Holloway, on the same side of the road as the prisoner, and about twenty doors off—I have known the prisoner since the first day he came in the Junction Road, and I was particularly struck by his businesslike, clean, smart, active manner, which continued for some time—his employer had been in the habit of supplying me with bread for some years—I am not able to fix the time of his loss of 300l. in business—I noticed a change in him about a year and a half ago—I had frequent opportunities of seeing him; for some time past he has been, very dejected in his appearance—I have seen him walking past my door very dejected, looking down on the pavement—when I first knew him, when I spoke to him he always answered in a very bright, clear, respectful manner; latterly he has answered very snappishly, and I chose to avoid him; I thought it best to do so—I was not aware that he was a drinking man—I have seen him morning, noon, and night, and I have not seen him the worse for drink; I have heard that he drank—latterly there was something about him which I did not like; sometimes he looked very wild, at other times very dejected; he generally had his head down; he could not look you in the face; quite a different man to what he was when I first knew him, altogether altered—I have seen him walk up and down the street, evidently with no object, generally moving his hands, and he seemed very irritable and spoke very snappishly—I knew very little of Mr. Buckler; I have spoken to him—I should think they were on good terms from what Buckler has remarked to me—Buckler was a very good neighbour to him; I should have thought they were on the best of terms.
Cross-examined. I had not heard that he had lost money in business until I heard it in this Court—when he was dejected and looking down I thought it very strange, more than low-spirited; there was a peculiarity about him, very different to what he was before, different to when he was a servant—the business was a moderate one—he married the widow, and he continued for a time after that to be a bright business like man—I did not know that latterly he was in the habit of drinking to excess; I never saw the appearance of it, I heard of it slightly—I did not know that he neglected his business and went to races and pigeon shooting; I had no means of knowing; I avoided his company—I did not know much about him—I did not know anything about what he did, or about his domestic habits; there was something about him latterly different to any ordinary person.
GEORGE GOODWIN . I keep the Bull and Butcher at Whetstone, near Barnet—I have known the prisoner for a number of years—I have recently noticed a very great change in him; in pulling up and calling for a glass of something to drink, and not drinking it and going away—I think I pretty well know the difference between a drunken man and a sober one—I have at times seen the prisoner the worse for liquor—I have noticed peculiarities of manner when he was sober—he was perfectly sober on the occasion I have referred to, when he went away leaving his glass; he has done the same thing on several occasions within the last three or four months—I never saw him drunk lately, but very peculiar in his manner—about four or five months ago the prisoner drew up to my house about 8 or 9 one evening, in a horse and trap—I can't give the exact date—he was perfectly
sober—he went into the parlour and sat down, and asked for a bottle of soda and a drop of brandy; he sat there till very nearly 11 o'clock—he did not drink anything, he left it on the table and did not pay for it—just before 11 I told him I must close my house—he said, "I shan't go out tonight"—I said, "You must, I have not a bed"—he walked out of the parlour into my private bar parlour, threw himself on the sofa, and said, "I shan't go out here to night"—I said, "You must, I have no bed, I must close my house"—his horse and trap were still standing at the door—I told the ostler to take the horse out and put it in the stable, and I went back to the prisoner as he lay on the sofa, and said, "Mr. Sweetland, what do you mean by this? you can't stop here all night"—he said, "I won't go out," and he lay on the sofa till three in the morning—he was not asleep, he said he could not sleep; he was rubbing his hands and scratching his head as he lay back on the sofa, and kept saying, "Oh my head," and he would get up and pace up and down the bar parlour, and then he would go and throw himself down, and when I spoke to him he would not answer—he got up every ten minutes or quarter of an hour—I sat there with him till 3 o'clock, I did not like to leave him, in fact I was half frightened—he then jumped up and went through the back door into the yard, and threw himself down on some straw in the stable—he remained there till my ostler came at 6 o'clock; I sent him to look after him and he was still lying there on the straw; I was not there—he came out after that—he had a bottle of soda and milk in the morning; he would not have anything to eat—if I spoke to him about a certain question he would get to another one directly, he did not keep to one question at all; he did not carry on the conversation; if I said, "Mr. Sweetland, how is business?" he would not answer; he would talk about something else—he did not seem to know what he was about—I have often noticed when he has pulled up at my house he looked very pale, and he has had a cigar and perhaps a glass of beer or sherry, and if I stopped talking to him for about half an hour he seemed to be quite stupid like, and red in the face.
Cross-examined. I have noticed this sometimes at 9 or 10 in the morning—he was frequently down my road—my place is about six miles from his—I don't know at what places he stopped on the road; I don't believe he stopped at many—I did not know that he was in the habit of taking gin at 8 in the morning—he did not tell me where he had been on this day or what he had been doing, I did not ask him—he had the soda and milk about 7 in the morning—he did not start till about 6 in the evening; he remained all day up till 6 in the evening—I was frightened to see him in this state throwing himself on the sofa and then on the ground—I asked him in the bar parlour about 2 in the morning where he had been, and he gave me no answer—I did not ask him when he first came—he had come from London, he was driving very sharp, he always drove up very sharp to the front door; he was known down our way as the "mad baker," because he drove so sharp—he had a fast trotting horse and a dog-cart; I believe they worked the cart in the business—I could not say what business he was on; he had no bread with him—I knew he was in the habit of attending races and pigeon matches—he sometimes had guns with him—I could not say what he had during the day after stopping the night at my house; he would not have any breakfast, he walked up and down the room; he went for a walk with me, and he had a glass of
bitter when he came back—he mostly had a glass of sherry and a cigar, very seldom spirits; I never knew him to drink spirits, it was diluted with soda-water—he used always to drink spirits diluted with aerated water, potass, seltzer, and soda; that was what he was in the habit of drinking when he came to my place.
Re-examined. After the night at my house, he was in my company almost the whole of the next day, and all I saw him drink was a glass of bitter, besides the soda and milk—before he went away in the evening he had a cup of tea, had his horse put to, had a glass of sherry and a cigar, and went away.
By the COURT. I thought him strange that night, more like a madman than anything else—I did not offer to assist him or to send for a doctor for him—I asked him one or two questions, but I got no answer—I asked him what was the matter with his head—his manner struck me as serious—I did not lose sight of him; I did not go to bed when he went out into the stable; I did not shut the door—I saw him go to the stable, and saw him lying there—he said he would go to his horse—I did not rouse him daring the night—he did not want any rousing, he was up and down all the time—I communicated this to his brother two or three days afterwards—the brothers are at my house pretty well every day—I believe his brother is here.
THOMAS BOURHILL . I am a master baker, of 5, Seven Sisters Road, about 10 minutes' walk from the prisoner's house—I have known him intimately about 12 months, and I have seen him before off and on; his demeanour was very eccentric; sometimes when we were talking on a subject he would go wandering away upon something else in such a way as to excite attention—he was very excitable at the beginning of this year; I drove with him to South Minims; I cannot give the date—we started about 1 o'clock in the day; I went to his house to meet him, and we started from there—he was quite sober, and drove pretty steadily to Mr. Goodwin's house, where we each had a glass of sherry and some lemonade; it took us about an hour to get there, and after starting again he astonished me all of a sudden by pulling up the horse sharp, and saying "I thought that was the nearest way over there," and he pulled his horse's head right across the hedge, and whipped him to make him go over the hedge—the horse went over the hedge, and I took the prisoner by the shoulder, and asked him what he meant—he just turned, and looked at me, and said "I told you this was the shortest way"—I was a little bit frightened, as the horse was plunging after he got over, and we had a good deal of difficulty in getting him back—the prisoner sat still I should think three or four minutes, holding the reins while I got down, got over the hedge, and took the horse's head, and he tried to pull it back; after that we went on steadily enough, and nothing particular occurred, except that he said about half an hour after that "Don't tell them at home what a fool I have been"—I had been reproving him; I asked him what he meant by it, but he scarcely gave me any answer, no direct answer—he hung down his head, and I don't recollect whether he spoke or not—on another occasion I went with him to Barking to a public-house kept by the English quoit champion; we started about noon, and went to see him play at quoits, but there was no match—the prisoner returned with me in the evening by train; he was comparatively sober—I had not noticed any signs of drunkenness in him; he seemed always under a certain amount of restraint in my company; because I was always down on him for drinking
so—he was in my company the whole time—when we were in the railway carriage, without giving me any notice, he called out all at once, "Oh, Tom, would you believe it!" or something to that effect, and took a spring from one side of the carriage to the other, seemingly imitating the way in which the champion threw his quoits, and he would have been out at the window if I had not caught hold of his legs; the window was down, and he would have overbalanced himself—his conversation was not coherent when sober at times.
Cross-examined. It is between three and five months ago since we went to the public-house which the champion keeps, it is in Barking Road, 10 or 12 miles from Holloway; we did not drive down, we went by train; we started between 11 and 12 o'clock in the day—I believe we had one glass of drink when we got to Poplar Station—I don't remember what it was; his usual drink when out with me was a glass of sherry, or sherry and lemonade, and we were there all the afternoon, and left the public-house, I think, about 9 o'clock that night—there was no match on; there were no particular people there, only the hangers on—Mr. Graham, the landlord, played, and myself; the prisoner and I had some drink there, but not much—I cannot say how much the prisoner had—I did not play with the champion for drink; he is a particular friend of mine—the prisoner also tried to play—the way the champion plays is very astonishing—we took a 'bus from Barking Road to Poplar Station, and then got into the train; the prisoner did not go to sleep in the train—there was nothing particular in the wav he imitated the champion in the train only the fashion in which it was done—it was a third-class carriage—he gave a very poor imitation of the champion; he held up his hand as if he was holding a quoit, and took a spring, and he would have gone out at the window if I had not held him—the champion threw the quoit with one hand, and just a single step, and the prisoner imitated him as far as I could see—that was done quite suddenly—he was at the window when I caught him; there were no other people in the carriage, and he had plenty of room to imitate the champion—we changed at Dalston Junction—when I caught him, I said "If I had not taken hold of you, Jim, you would have been out at the window"—he said nothing; he gave a sort of laugh, and sat down; that is all that occurred, and we came to our journey's end—he was not quite sober—I never saw him incapably drunk—he could always keep his legs—I was always down on him for drinking so much—I had heard about his being a hard drinker, but I did not know it—I was always down upon mm for drinking—I was always advising him to keep from drink—I did not know that he was in the habit of drinking gin as early as 6 o'clock in the morning—I had been to a pigeon match with him once—I had heard that he was in pecuniary difficulties—when we drove down to the Bull and Butcher we only drank at Goodwin's—we were going to his father's at South Minima; we got out at Whetstone at the Bull and Butcher, and then went on to his father's; it was about 2.30 when he pulled up sharp, and said "That is the nearest way over there"—he had his whip in his hand; there was no road that way; that was not the nearest way if there had been a road—we were not larking going along—I got out of the trap, and backed the horse out—he is rather a reckless driver; he used the whip freely at times—he seemed dejected after that, and drove pretty steadily to his father's.
Re-examined. His body was out at the window when I caught hold of his legs—we had left the public-house quite an hour then, or more than that—he had not had a drop since leaving the public-house up to getting to Dalston Junction—he had been talking sensibly, and then we had a few minutes' lull—there was nothing said after we changed carriages at Dalston—his conversation was generally incoherent—he would talk very well for a little while, and would then go off.
By the COURT. About a fortnight before this matter happened he came down to consult me about his pecuniary difficulties—I asked him into the parlour and talked him over for a few minutes—he seemed very dejected, and all at once he jumped up and said "I don't think I will have anything more to do with it;" that was all—I don't know what he meant by that, but he seemed very anxious—I had not been trying to persuade him that it was not difficult to get credit; there was no difficulty about that, because the creditors did not know about his difficulties—I asked him what he meant, and he did not give me any decided answer—I don't think he gave me any answer—he seemed very anxious, and all at once he burst out into a laugh and said that he did not think he would have anything more to do with it—I don't know what the "it" was that he would not have anything more to do with—I had to take hold of him—his exclamation did not seem to apply to the conversation—I do not exactly know what the last subject spoken of was, but I believe it was is answer to my advising him to sell his horse and cart, to which he seemed to object—he shrugged his shoulders—I believe that was the subject that brought out the exclamation, "I will not have anything more to do with it"—he gave no reason why he did not want to part with his horse and cart, and I did not ask him—I don't exactly remember the words I used to him—I am not a timid person, but after that I felt timid in his company when he was driving—I did not before—he has never tried to frighten me when he was driving.
By MR. POLAND. It was not proposed that his bill of sale was to be assigned to me, but I did know of it from Stubbs's people—this conversation was not about the bill of sale—it may have been two months after the bill of sale that I had the conversation with him about the horse and cart.
By the JURY. There had been two bars to the railway carriage window but one of them was gone—we had been talking about the quoit playing and about the champion's style on our road back—when the prisoner mentioned money difficulties he said nothing about betting transactions—I never heard from him that he was engaged in betting—he did not keep a book—I was a good deal in his company, and if he was engaged in betting I should have known it—I never knew him to bet, unless it was a glass of ale—when he attended horse races it was just for a day's outing, not as a matter of business, not to make money by it.
HOWARD SARGENT . I live at 147, Junction Road—in January last the tradesmen of my neighbourhood formed a gun club at the Prince of Denmark, Junction Road—it is still in existence, and I am its secretary—the prisoner attended, I think it was the second meeting, which was in the early part of February—there were from 12 to 15 gentlemen there—it was after 8 o'clock in the evening—I saw him come in—he was very quiet at first, and to all appearance sober—he conducted himself properly for a short time, but alter half an hour he became very excited, and threw his hat
under the table and ran up and down stairs—ho declared that he would not go home with his hat on—he kept continually running up and down stairs—we had a little liquor supplied in the room—I did not take notice what quantity the prisoner had, but he had not time to have much—it was brought from the bar downstairs by a waiter—he was not taking part in the business in a sensible way during the first half-hour, quite the reverse, the business did not commence; we were waiting for others, and general talk was going on in the room, and we had a cigar and a glass of anything we wished for—when we were about to commence the business he was so noisy and excited that we could not do any business at all—I cannot recollect any of his conversation, it was all stupid talk, and at our next meeting he was expelled from the club—he had not made any observations to me about people speaking against him, but he once accused me of speaking against him—that was on the evening when we could not get to business at the gun club—I don't know what he referred to, but I heard him say at the other side of the bar that Sergeant had come down to do him harm and talk against him—I had never mentioned his name—we were on friendly terms—when I met him in the street and said "How do you do?" he would sometimes stop and shake hands, and sometimes he would pass me and not take the slightest notice of me—he would do that in a marked manner—I have never known him to refuse when I have held out my hand to shake hands with him, but sometimes he would avoid me—I used to think him very peculiar at times—I have been standing in my shop, and have seen him with his chin on his breast, his hat in one hand, and putting the other through his hair as he has passed my shop; he would then put his hat on again—I have seen other people do that; I have frequently done it myself—I don't know whether it was a frequent habit of his—I only saw him about once a week—there is nothing else that I can think of—I have known him six or eight months—he struck me as peculiar in manner.
Cross-examined. The gun club is for shooting sparrows, starlings, and pigeons—we met in the evening—I knew the prisoner six or eight months—I had no idea that he drank hard—I did not know that it was a weakness of his or that he was given to drinking too much—I once saw him the worse for liquor; that was the last time we were at Whetstone shooting, and he was returning home in the trap drunk—a neighbour was with him, Mr. Brown—I do not know what he had been about on the day he threw his hat under the table.
By the COURT. The Whetstone business was on a Wednesday, about six weeks ago; I think it was the second Wednesday before this happened, but I cannot fix the day—what I call stupid talk was his saying he would not do this and he would not do that, for any one; but I do not recollect any of his conversation in his excited manner—I call it stupid talk, because nobody paid any heed to what he said; it was not the business of the club, he would not listen to any business—he was talking to a friend—I don't know who he was sitting down with for the first half-hour—I had not seen him with any drink then—this was not a club day—the club is only supposed to go out once in three months to shoot.
EDWARD HERBERT BLUNT . I keep the Boston Arms Hotel, Junction Road—I have known the prisoner about five years, and at first he was a steady, honest, respectable man; that is why I commenced to deal with him—he told me of his making an investment in flour some time ago; it was
when a war with Russia was expected—after that he became very reckless, and it took very little drink to affect him; he then became very excitable, scarcely knowing what he was speaking about, and he would wander from one subject to another when anybody was talking to him—I have known him rum away in the middle of a subject and jump up into his cart and drive away in the most reckless manner; and on several occasions I have gone to the door to see whether he has not pitched out of his cart, there being a sharp bend there—I have seen him come in as if he had not had any drink all day, and then he would have two glasses of bitter ale, and then he would throw himself about and become very excited if anybody contradicted him; it was through his excitable manner that all my customers knew him as "The mad baker"—he said that people were backbiting him and running him down; I knew no foundation for that.
Cross-examined. I never visited him at his house—I knew him coming to my house serving me with bread and I have met him out—I did not know that he drank to excess so early in the morning.
By the COURT. The customers talked of him—atfter he had gone they used to say he was a madman—that was a little running him down, but it was not in that way, he would say that he was going to be bankrupt and was going to ruin, and that like, and when his back was turned I have heard people say that he would come to ruin through his reckless manner.
JAMES SWEETLAND . I am the prisoner's father, and am an innkeeper at South Mimms—my wife is living—the prisoner has been very steady and industrious from his boyhood—I recollect his having a loss, and from that time he has been wonderfully excitable—he has taken too much drink at times, but not at my place—he has never drunk excessively to my knowledge—I have noticed a very great change in his mental condition within the last 12 or 18 months—he has always thought me to be his enemy since this occurred—there is no foundation for that—he has shown signs of madness—he was always very excitable; sometimes he would come to my place when I was lying down, not well, perhaps, and he would come rushing out and fetch me out whether I was willing or not, and I had to obey him like a child—that was not observed before the last 18 months, not until he had these falls and hurt his head—he has constantly complained of pains in his head when he has come to our place, and has gone and laid down on the sofa for two or three hours—I never noticed that a small quantity of drink had a great effect upon him, but I have known him come there quite sober, and go with me into the garden or into the fields, and turn quite different all at once, without any drink at all—his aunt died in a. lunatic asylum, and this is the certificate of her death. (This certified the death of Mary Ann Kempe, aged 48 years, from softening of the brain, on 21st July, 1871)—she was my wife's sister—she was at Colney Hatch and at the Fishton Asylum, at Salisbtly—she was in lunatic asylums over two years I believe—Mrs. Fuller, my wife's first cousin, is in Banstead Lunatic Asylum—she is between 60 and 70—I visited her there last month—her father and my wife's mother were brother and sister—she has been there some length of time, but I cannot say how long.
Cross-examined. I do not know whether she has been there two years or ten; I know nothing about it—I knew her 15 or 16 years ago, before she went there—she was all right when I saw her until I saw her last month—I do not know the reason of her becoming insane or anything about her history—the
aunt, Mary Ann Kempe, was a domestic servant before her marriage—I do not know the cause of her becoming insane, or whether she took to drink, or the history of her case—I last saw my son before the matter occurred on the Harpenden race day; he called and paid me a visit on his way there and put his horse up—I don't think I had seen him for two months before that—he used to drive down from time to time and see me and his mother—she is in good health, but not very strong—I knew that he was in pecuniary difficulties, but he did not apply to me for assistance—when I say that he thought I was his enemy I mean he used to say "You are always against me"—I have sometimes said that it would be better for him not to go out so much, and then he has said "You are always against me," but it was not very often that I was in conversation with him.
Re-examined. He was an affectionate and dutiful son—it may have been in consequence of my reproving him that he suggested that I wag against him; all I know is that he had an impression that I had a dislike to him—I had not given him the slightest reason to come to the conclusion that I was against him; he was always welcome to anything that was in the place whenever he liked to come—I always gave him open house.
By the COURT.I did not speak to him more latterly about his not going out so much—I have not been in his company much—I have not had occasion to speak of that during the last two years, but I have reproved him during the last five or six months—I knew that he was in difficulties, but it was only from hearsay; he never told me so—I dared not mention it to him, for he would get in such a passion with me; I dared not speak to him about it—I found fault with him for going out too often with his horse and trap; I thought he would do better at home minding his business—his mother did not take his part; it would be when I was making remarks to him about going out that he would say, "You are always against me."
ALFRED GOODEY .I am a journeyman butcher, of 9, Junction Road—I work for Mr. Philp, who lives next door to the prisoner—I remember the prisoner's head being bandaged five or six months ago; he met with an accident about the latter end of April, 1879, that was his second accident—he came driving furiously down by my master's gateway; I saw him thrown out, he pitched from the cart on his head, on the granite stones—I and others picked him up; he was quite insensible then, and was still insensible when we left him after taking him home—since these accidents I have noticed that he has been peculiar in his manner, more so than before—I have noticed him several times very much excited—I have known him about five years—he has not shown this excited state very long, since the first accident—I have frequently seen this excitable manner when he was sober.
Cross-examined. It was about 6 in the evening when he was brought home after the accident, I helped to carry him indoors, he did not appear to me to have been drinking; he was quite insensible when I picked him up—I saw him out about four or five days afterwards, attending to his business as usual; all that I noticed about him was that he was rather excitable in his manner—I lived next door, and saw him almost daily—I have not seen him much in his shop; only when he has been out in his cart.
ELIZABETH EOBINSON .I live at 20, Prince of Wales's Orescent, Kentish Town Road—I am first cousin of the prisoner—on Friday evenings 21st May, about half past 10, I called at the prisoner's shop—that was the first
time I had seen him for something like 18 months; I found him in his shop—his face was very much flushed; he looked very much excited—he seemed very excitable, as if he did not know what he was doing of—he did not know me when I came in—after some time he recognised me, after I had spoken to him some little time—he did not appear serious; he seemed very excitable—he did not seem in a bad temper; he looked very fierce—his eyes looked rather fierce; now and then he seemed to smile—I did not remain with him longer than five minutes—his conversation was not at all sensible—I asked him how his brother Fred Sweetland was—he said he was a gentleman, driving a coach and pair—I said, "How are your father and mother?"—he said they were both dead and buried—I asked about his brother Charles—he said he was dead and in the church-yard—I told him he was speaking what was not true—he said, "You seed not believe it unless you like, it is quite true"—I had not seen any of the family for some time; they are alive—the brother is not driving his coach and pair, he is a baker.
Cross-examined. It must hare been quite four years since I last saw his father, and his brother Charles about the same time—I had seen the other brother since, but not of late—the prisoner looked fierce, and then he looked vacant, and then he smiled—I don't think I was there longer than five minutes—we had no other conversation, only about the family—he was in the shop when I got there—I think there was a little boy there; I won't be ram—I think it was one of his little boys—he told mt he had been to Harpenden races that day—I knew it was not true that his father and mother were dead and buried—I thought at first he was joking.
Re-examined. I put the question to him again, and he still repeated it, and assured me he was not joking.
GEORGE WATTS . I was in the prisoner's service as foreman for the past 12 months—it was my custom to go to the shop to work about 1 o'clock in the morning—I used to ring the bell, and he came downstairs and let me in—he would then go to bed again—on Saturday morning, 22nd May, I went about 1 o'clock as usual—I rang the bell—the front door was closed; I could open it by putting my hand against it; it was not fastened—there was a very small light—as I Went in I heard some one rushing downstairs, and I saw the prisoner come down into the shop, jushing out of the parlour into the shop; he passed me and ran across the road—he had nothing on but his shirt, no boots or shoes—he was not carrying anything—I was so astonished at the moment I ran down into the bakehouse, and when I came up again I heard him go upstairs—before he Went up I heard some knocking at a door across the road—I did not see him come back; I heard him go upstairs—it was sufficiently light for me to see his features—he appeared to me to be mad—he had a very furious look—he took no notice of me—after a time I went down to my work—about 6 o'clock the same morning he came down into the bakehouse; he had nothing on but his shirt then—he appeared to me to be out of his mind; he did not know what he was doing of—he put some flour in his mouth; filled his mouth full of flour; he picked it up with his hand; one handful out of the trough—he then took up the empty yeast can, a four-quart can, and put it to his mouth, as if he was drinking—he had the edge within his lips—I took it from him—I advised him to go up to bed—he made no answer; he took no notice of me—he then sent Gay for some gin—Gay was not
present during all the time what I hare stated was going on—he filled his mouth with flour while Gay was there, but Gay had gone for the gin when he put the yeast can to his mouth—he had not drunk anything then—I saw him take two or three paper bags oft the machine in the bakehouse—he filled them half full with flour—he screwed them up in a peculiar manner; he screwed them round instead of tying them in the ordinary way—I never knew him come down in the bakehouse in his shirt before—after that he went upstairs—I did not see him again till the guns were fired—then I rushed upstairs—I saw him standing in the road—I heard him halloa out "Where is a policeman?"—my duties were principally in the bakehouse—the prisoner did not come there very much—I have heard him complain of pain in the back of his head frequently and recently.
Cross-examined. I did not know that he drank to excess—he drank gin early in the morning, about 6—his usual time for getting was 6 to half-past—then he would come into the bakehouse, and sometimes he would stay and work till about 10—he never came down in the night to look at me—I never fetched him—I knew my work—I saw him start to the races in a trap on the Friday—I did not see him again till I went to work on the Saturday morning—I rang the bell; it was not answered—I got in without—then lie rushed past me—I rushed into the bakehouse—I did not go to the door to see where he went; I was so struck I did not know what to do—he has been so a long while, since he has hurt his head—Gay was in bed—I then heard him go upstairs—I did not ask him the next morning what he was doing last night—I did not hear a second knocking—I do not know where he was on the Wednesday, nor anything of the disturbance outside his house on the Wednesday night when Mr. Buckler put the shutters up—I did not hear him say anything about Mr. Buckler.
Re-examined. I meant he has been strange a long while—it was half a quartern of gin that he took of a morning.
By the COURT. There was a very small light in the shop when I got in; it was bright enough for me to see over the shop; it was a little more light than a candle would give.
CONSTANTINE CECIL CLAREMONT , M.R.C.S, I live at Millbrook House, Hampstead Board, in practice with my father—I saw the prisoner and his wife on 30th October, about three hours after the accident—I was out when they were brought to my surgery—they were first seen by my younger brother, who is an advanced pupil—I went to the house between 9.30 and 10 o'clock—the prisoner had a scalp wound on the right side of his head about 1 1/2 inches long—he was in bed with his wife when I called—it was a contused wound caused by force, and not by a cut, such as would be caused by falling from the height of a dogcart on to the ground—such a blow would be likely to cause concussion of the brain—I attended him about six or seven days—my father attended him some time afterwards—he had a peculiarity of manner that struck me very much at the time—a man who has had a concussion of the brain is more likely to be affected by drink.
CLAUDE CLARKE CLAREMDNT , M.R.C.S. I am the last witness's father, and carry on practice with him at Millbrook House, Hampstead Road—I attended the prisoner from 7th to 18th November last—the latter part of my attendance was chiefly upon the wife, but I saw the prisoner at the same time—he had become convalescent as far as his injuries were concerned,
and did not require further attendance—I saw his head—a fall on the head would unquestionably produce concussion of the brain—I have no doubt the prisoner suffered from concussion of the brain—when a man has had a concussion of the brain he is liable to serious consequences, either directly or at a remote period, but it is impossible to tell what results may follow—it does not always depend on the blow; sometimes a light blow will cause it—it does not follow that every concussion is serious, but a slight concussion might lead to very serious derangement afterwards—the concussion itself is not a mental derangement—a slight concussion often leads to serious brain mischief; I mean to serious impairment of the mental powers—a second blow would increase the mental impairment, but of course a man may escape impairment as a consequence of a blow—irritability is a most common result of concussion—these results do not always accompany concussion—I have been present daring this trial—the excitability spoken to by the witnesses may be reasonably supposed to have been caused by concussion—I should think it was so, and if the prisoner was naturally irritable that irritability would be augmented by a tap on the head—a man who had had concussion would be more easily made excitable and irritable by drink, and he would be more amenable to external injuries of any kind—I have heard of the hereditary taint in the prisoner's family, of the loss in business, of the two serious blows on his head, and that he used to drink to excess—those causes concurrently operating would tend to insanity—some of them would do so, and I do not think I could take exception to any one of them—one superadded to the other of course would increase the evil—the prisoner's delusion is a form of insanity, I cannot say a common form—delusion would be likely to follow such factors as hereditary insanity, loss in business, a blow on the head, and drinking—the delusion of a person thinking he is being watched with an evil intention, is common, I should mink, but I am not an expert; it is frequently met with in books, and in madhouses—from my experience and reading it is a common delusion for a person to suppose another is going to kill him—such delusion would be a sign of madness—sudden f orgetfulness, rambling conversation, great excitability, suspicion of injury without ground, belief that he was being watched without grounds for such belief, coming after the four causes of insanity mentioned, would be a sign that the man was of unsound mind—the delusion that a man was going to kill, would last longer than was necessary for the person deluded to procure weapons of resistance, or it might vanish at once.
Cross-examined. I had not attended the prisoner previously to the accident—I do not know who his family medical man is—I saw the prisoner about four times—concussion of the brain may brain caused by excitability—excitement and irritability are concomitants of drink.
Re-examined. Excitability is not universally a consequence of drink—a person is of unsound mind when his mind is deranged in any particular matter, so that he is unable properly to exercise his faculties—if a man went out in a pouring wet day and thought the sun was shining, he would be of unsound mind—there are disorders of the brain that are inflammatory and attendant upon defenses which would not be considered unsoundness, and a man may be suffering from unsoundness of mind arising from a temporary cause—unsoundness of mind is a mild phrase for insanity, but the terms are synonymous—a man who was under a delusion on one point
I should say was suffering from monomania—when I use the term insanity I mean that it indicates a disordered brain, without considering the extent of the disorder.
JOHN CHARLES BUCKNILL , M.D., F.R.C.P., and F.R.S. I am the Lord Chancellor's Visitor of Lunatics, and author of several well-known books upon insanity—I was 18 years superintendent of the Devonshire County Asylum, also governor of Bethlehem Hospital—I have had large experience—on 22nd June I examined the prisoner in Newgate—I also saw him last night after the Court rose—I have heard the evidence given on this trial—I asked him whether he really thought the deceased man Buckler had watched him, and he said, certainly he had watched him; not that he thought so, but that he had watched him for the purpose of doing him harm—I asked him why he watched him, and he said he was a busy body and wanted to do him harm; and then he varied his words and said he watched him because he wanted to injure him—I pressed him to assign some reason why the deceased should have watched him with intent to injure him, and he could assign no reason whatever; but he repeated the statement with some vehemence that the deceased had watched him with intent to injure him—my interview was a short one—very little else occurred—it was all the way through an attempt on my part to get at his mind on that point—he said he did not at all know why he had done what he did—on both occasions the prisoner was reticent, only answering the questions, not meeting your eyes—I was obliged on the first occasion to make him stand up to the window to see his eyes, and yet he answered the questions sensibly—on the second occasion I came to the conclusion that his answers were those of a man deprived of sense—I have observed the same belief in those who were decidedly lunatics—I was with him in company with Mr. Gibson—I agree with Dr. Claremont that violence to the head producing concussion of brain is a great contributory cause of insanity, and that a second blow would aggravate it if the first blow had set up a diseased process—in my experience of traumatic insanity I have found cases where a slight blow has been followed by insanity, whereas we see in surgical practice the most severe injuries are not followed by insanity (Passages were here read to the witness from Oriesuiger's work on insanity to the effect that the physician often learns from the relativet of a patient, of an accident to the head, which had been forgotten, and that very often the character and disposition changed, and "that in 20 cases great irascibility and anger in manner, even the most violent outbursts of temper were remarked")—I entirely agree with that—I have met with many such cases—injuries to the head often are followed by serious results, and they often are not—the insanity may not disclose itself till some time afterwards—pain in the head would indicate injury to the head, but not mental disturbance—a man may become insane from a blow in the head and have no pain—it might be an equivalent of it—pain would be a probable consequence of concussion—in the cases I have known the pain has not been continuous—a person's circumstances is a frequent cause of insanity; a change for the worse being much more potent than a change for the better—those persons in whose families insanity exists will more readily become insane; hereditary influence is a great factor in producing insanity—the facts of giving way to drink, of hereditary taint, of suffering from loss and a blow on the head superadded one to another would most likely produce
insanity—forgetfulness attends a degree of insanity—irritability, excitement, groundless suspicion, abnormal forgetfulness, in conjunction with the four causes enumerated, would indicate insanity if they existed in any degree; it is a question of degree, whether they exist in the old or young—the symptoms may increase according to the cause, the patient, the treatment, or the suspending circumstances—drink will not improve the state of a man's mind whether he is sane or insane; it would deteriorate his condition under any circumstances—the drink is often a symptom of insanity—it is a part of insane conduct very often—so is sensual extravagance—a very little drink will often make a man very wild who has suffered from traumatic insanity—it is consistent with the conduct of an insane person that he should give himself up to justice, not trying to escape, and express satisfaction at having done it.
Cross-examined. On my first visit to the prisoner I could discover no symptoms of insanity, but I had an opinion as to his sanity—he did not answer freely; he answered with great reticence, and in a peculiar manner.
Re-examined. To know whether a person is insane upon a particular point you must have some data to go upon—on the first visit I had none, at least leading to what I consider a delusion—a delusion such as the prisoner suffered from was dangerous, and likely to lead to violence.
CHARLES MEYMOTT TIDY , M.D. I am a bachelor of medicine, professor of chemistry and medicine at the London Hospital, and author of "Forensic Medicine and Toxicology"—I examined the prisoner on 23rd June with Mr. Gibson—I spent about an hour with him—I was unable to discover any signs or symptoms of insanity—he was exceedingly reserved, and answered any questions I put to him in the fewest possible words, and never suggested any question other than that I put—I had no knowledge of any special delusion that the man had; I was therefore unable to put any leading question to him—it is impossible to discover a delusion without data, and as a rule an examination under such circumstances is not of any great value—blows on the head would tend to insanity—I agree with Dr. Bucknill that loss in business, hereditary taint, and habitual drinking, and a blow on the head, would be likely to create insanity—there is another factor, and that is horse-racing; I believe that horse-racing is the most unnatural and intensely injurious brainexciter in the world—the symptoms spoken to in conjunction with predisposing causes would point in my mind to the fact that the man was' not right in his mind—it may not snow itself till the occasion occurs for it to burst out—the delusion which the prisoner is said to suffer from is a dangerous one—I asked him whether he remembered the events of the crime he is charged with—he said he had totally forgotten everything connected with it.
By the COURT. His delusion was thinking he was watched by his neighbour, and that in some way or other he intended to do him bodily ham—I commenced my inquiries with the beginning of his life, asking him every particular, where he went to school, what he did at school, whether he gained any prizes there, at what age he left, and so on—he answered in very few words, and hesitatingly—I do not know about their accuracy—I did not mean that every person who attended horse-racing was out of his mind, but that it tends to insanity—it is different from gambling, in a race the man's mind 10 centred on the horse that is
running, and the intensity of the excitement in the act suddenly ceases—I could not name any other game so dangerous—a rubber lasts some time—roulette ball is as bad, but that is not played in this country—the danger is in the momentary excitement suddenly ceasing.
DR. JOHN CLARKE BUCKNTLL (Re-examined). The prisoner would not disclose to me any facts connected with the murder—he said his mind was quite a blank—I asked him where he was on the Friday—he said he was coming homo from the races; he remembered coming home as far as Highgate, after that he remembered nothing—I was shut off from any real examination because of his want of memory.
GUILTY — DEATH .
MR. POYNTER Prosecuted.
ALFRED SMITH .I am an ostler of 8, Merlin Place, Clerkenwell—last Saturday evening, about 6 o'clock, I saw the prisoner outside the clerken-well Tavern selling rings with a crowd round him—I went there to ask where Mr. Sheen lived, and the prisoner came up to four or five of us saying "I will have revenge if I have six months," and threw some nitric acid all over us from a bottle—it went in my face and caused me pain, and I could not see—it burnt me—somebody came and wiped my face—I had been there about five minutes.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not see you till you ran out of the crowd—I did not hear whether there was any chaffing you—I had not spoken a word to you.
ELIZABETH DAVEY . I am 11 years old, and live at 7, Mount Pleasant—I was passing the derkenwell Tavern last Saturday night, and heard the prisoner say that he would give them six months—he swung a bottle round and some stuff came out of it which went on my face, and my left eye and forehead—it hurt me and I ran home—I am getting quite well now—I did not see any one throw anything at him or chuff him.
JOSEPH WILLIAM WARREN . I am a cabdriver of derkenwell—I saw the prisoner in a crowd testing a brass button which was on the ground with nitric acid—I did not see any rings—nobody played any tricks or crowded on him—I saw none of his things knocked into the mud—I got some acid over my face and on my trowsers.
ROBERT RUGG . I was standing by the crowd; there were between 20 and 30 people—the prisoner had some brass rings, and was pouring some some stuff on them trying to make them look like gold I suppose—I saw him come through the crowd—he said "I will do six months, take that," and threw the contents of a bottle—it came on me but I was not seriously hurt.
GEORGE FORDHAM . I am a clerk—I saw a crowd looking at the prisoner—I could not get through—he had got some rings and was putting acid on them out of a bottle, and then putting it on a button to show that the rings were gold and the button brass—it polished the rings and spoiled the buttan—the rings were 1d. each—I walked away, and had got three or four yards when I heard somebody say "I will have six months"—I saw the prisoner throw the contents of a bottle—I got some of it on my neck and felt a sharp pain, it stung me—he did not throw the bottle, because he was taken with it in his hand—I do not believe anybody had interfered with him—I was there two or three minutes.
Cross-examined. You were not burnt when yon came into the station—nine or ten persons were brought into the station suffering from the nitric acid, for the doctor to attend them, and you put your hand into your pocket and threw some of the stuff—I did not see that, but Fordham told me.
DR. JOHN ALEXANDER MILLER . I have examined these two bottles—they both contained nitric acid—I have examined Alfred Smith—he was severely burnt from his right temple and ear to his right eyelid from the application of nitric acid.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I was standing at the comer of Exmouth Street offering rings for gale, pouring acid on four brass buttons in the road; five or six persons were playing tricks, and Cooper warned me, and they threw a missive at me and knocked the tilling out of my hand in to the mud'; I picked them up again, and after that I commenced trying the buttons and rings again, and a hat was thrown at me, upsetting half the acid over my hands and neck, and in the excitement and impulse of the moment I-flung the bottle round in the manner that has been stated."
Prisoner's Defence. That is correct.
GUILTY but m'thout malice.— . One Month's Imprisonment.
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, July 1st, 1880.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
425. ANNETTE WILLIAMS (29) PLEADED GUILTY to a burglary in the dwelling-house of John Humphreys, and stealing five sheets and other articles, having been before convicted.**— Five Years Penal Servitude. And
426. CHARLES SCOTT (24) to breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Benjamin Goode and stealing a comb, having been before convicted.**— [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. GBOGHEGAN Prosecuted.
JOHN FERGUSON .I live at 6, South Street, Edinburgh—on Sunday, 30th May, I was in London, and was going towards the Tavistock Hotel, Covent Garden, a little after 12 midnight—I identify this umbrella as mine (produced)—it has my name on it—I had it with me, also a watch, chain, and purse—I was passing Rose Street when two men rushed out and knocked me down—I was not hurt much—I received a slight blow on the hack of my head, I don't know what with—my watch was snatched off the chain by the prisoner—I caught hold of his hands—he was trying for my purse, and he suddenly tripped me up, but my watch slipped into my trousers pocket—I fell twice—they saw a policeman and ran up Rose Street, and I saw the prisoner pick up the umbrella—I value my watch at 15l.—I gave a description of the prisoner to the constable—I next saw him on Tuesday, 1st June, at Bow Street Police-station, when I picked him out of eight.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I was sober—I had had a glass of beer—I was going to my hotel—I did not ask anybody to show me the
way—when I picked myself up I turned round and you were before me—the whole thing occupied about half a minute—I did not sea any one else—you snatched the watch off the chain, and I showed it to the constable when he came up—the umbrella fell out of my hand and my hat went of my head when I was knocked down—I saw you pick the umbrella up—I did not see what the other man was doing at that time.
Re-examined. I was tripped up a second time—I saw the prisoner's face by the light of the lamp.
JOHN BARNES (Policeman G 87). On the night in question I was in Cranbourne Street, Long Acre—I looked up Long Acre and saw about a dozen persons opposite Rose Street, and the prosecutor came towards me—I thought there was something wrong, and I went up to meet him—he made a communication to me, and gave me a description, which I communicated to the Inspector of the E Division, Bow Street.
Cross-examined. The prosecutor told me he had been knocked down by two men; I did not see the men; I did not see you near the place-his chain was broken, and he had lost his umbrella—he was perfectly sober—I did not see him lying in the road—I was about 150 to 200 yards from where it occurred—he described you as about my height, clean-shaved, with a heavy black moustache, and dressed as a costermonger.
JANE DAVIS . At this time I lived at 14, Short's Gardens—four years ago I lived with the prisoner—on the night in question I saw him at the Lion and Still public-house—we left at closing time, and I stood at the corner of the street and saw him knock a drunken man down, not the prosecutor—I went down Drury Lane towards Long Acre, and when I got to the bottom of Long Acre I saw the prisoner and another man rush out of a court and knock the prosecutor down—I got out of the way—I had had a good drop of drink, and I could not quite answer what time it was—I saw the prisoner again that night at the corner of Eudell Street, outside the Enterprise, with an umbrella in his hand similar to the one produced—he said he did not know whether his pal had done him out of the watch or not, but he had got that—he lodged at Mrs. Barber's, and he took it there—the next morning I happened to be at the Lion and Still, and he came and asked me to treat him—I wouldn't do so—the umbrella was lying in the bar, and he said he would soon go and raise it.
Cross-examined. If I have been convicted of felony I had to do it for you—since I left you I have had a good man, and you have parted me from him—I am often drunk—I was not drunk on the night in question—I had had a drop, but I was sober enough to know what occurred—I live in Drury Lane—if I tell God Almighty's truth, when you came out of the public-house you gave me a kick—I was not waiting for you in Long Acre—I saw you along with Jack Sullivan—it was the second time I came out of the Lion and Still that you saw me going home with another man—it was the time I came out that you made a kick at me—there was a young man with me—I couldn't swear what time that was—when you came up with the umbrella you said Jack Sullivan had done you out of the jelly and you had got the umbrella—I saw you at the comer of Endell Street twice—the gentleman was coming from St. Martin's Lane towards the 2 o'clock house—he was in the middle of the road—I saw you rush out of the court, and you said "I mean having it," and you knocked the gentleman down; and of course after what you done to me I was glad to get as far as I could away
from you—there was no policeman handy—I was on the same aide of the way as the court you rushed out of—I was not far from Sheen's house when I saw the gentleman cross over from St. Martin's Lane—I do not know the name of the court—I saw you knock him down in the road—I was a good distance off—I did not see you go to Mrs. Barber's—the umbrella was lying the corner for anybody to see—I did not say at Bow Street that the umbrella was behind the private bar.
ALEXANDER HUTCHBON . (Policeman E 328). I met the prisoner at about 11.30, in Drury Lane, on the morning of May 21st—he was carrying this umbrella—I followed him into a pawnbroker's shop in Broad Street, Bloomsbury—I asked him who the umbrella belonged to; he said "It is mine, I just picked it up in Long Acre"—it was a very wet morning and the umbrella had no signs of mud on it—I then said I should take him into custody and charge him with the unlawful possession of the umbrella—I took him to the station and placed him in the dock, and told the inspector the charge—Detective Wheatley was at the station at the time, and he said, "I want an umbrella," and he undid it and saw the gentleman's name and address on it—the prisoner was present all this time—he was then charged with unlawful possession, and afterwards with robbery with violence—he was remanded until the following day—I know Mrs. Barber's lodging-house in Macking Street; he was coming from that direction towards Drury Lane when I met him.
Cross-examined. You had not the umbrella concealed—I did not ask the pawnbroker whether you had offered it in pledge or what you went in for—the inspector produced a paper with your description—the detective measured you in front of the inspector and took your description at the police-court.
GEORGE WHEATLEY (Detective E). On the Sunday night or the Monday morning my inspector gave me a description—I was present when the last witness brought the prisoner to the station—I saw the umbrella, in consequence of which I preferred a charge of larceny—the prisoner was placed with eight others on the 1st June, and the prosecutor was called in, and he without hesitation pointed the prisoner out as the man who had assaulted him and robbed him of his umbrella.
Cross-examined. When I recognised the umbrella I told the inspector you answered the description of a man I wanted for a highway robbery—you were placed amongst eight men, some of your own build and some shorter—I didn't take notice of the clothes—you were not picked out by means of any looking-glass.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate."I was not in the street at the time the affair occurred.I had been living along with this Jane Davis for five or six years. I met her about 11.30 on Sunday night at the back of Long Acre. She was along with another man. I asked her where she was going. She told me not to go down Long Acre as a man had just been robbed, and she went down Long Acre again, and we went down and had two cups of coffee. I went back up the same street. She saw me with no umbrella in my possession, only at the Lion and Still the next morning. She is a convicted thief, and is under the supervision of the police now."
The prisoner in his defence denied the woman's statement, and stated that she had declared if she did seven years herself she would get him put away.
GUILTY . He was also charged with having been before convicted, to which he
PLEADED GUILTY, and two other convictions were proved against him.—Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MESSRS. BESLEY and GIIL Prosecuted; MR. DIGBY SEYMOUR. Q.C., and MR. WARNER SLEIGH Defended.
Cross-examined. I had known the defendant as a traveller previously—I do not think I knew him before I gave him orders for Messrs. Batger and Co.
Re-examined. When I give orders I am influenced by the quality of the goods and the price.
CATHERINE ILLSLEY . I am the wife of John Illsley, confectioner, of 27, James Street, Camberwell—on the 18th March the prisoner called on me and I paid him 4l. for Messrs. Batger and Co.—he gave me this receipt (produced), "Pro Batger and Co.," signed by the prisoner.
Cross-examined. My husband had given him orders for goods previously for Batger and Co.
Cross-examined. I had given the prisoner orders for a long time before for Batger and Co.
FREDERICK MACHIN . I carry on business as a wholesale confectioner, at 98, Houndsditch, with a partner, under the style of "Batger and Co."—the prisoner entered my employ as a traveller, at the end of July, 1877—he had been travelling for a small confectioner—his terms with me were a salary of 1l. per week, and a commission of 2 1/2 per cent., but not on raw material such as sugar, and what he called chemicals—tartaric acid, essence of lemon, cream of tartar, and dried fruits; on such I was to give him only a small commission or nothing, according to what they sold at—as a rule these goods have a very small margin of profit—there was to be a settlement of the commission account annually, some time after Christmas—the last settlement was on the 22nd March, 1879—I told him when I engaged him that, being in a different position with me to what he was formerly, he would have no commission except on sums which really had been paid over during the time he might be in my service—I said, "If you leave me you have no claim on any outstanding accounts, because we shall have quite as much expense in collecting it as you collecting yours, and you will have your salary until you leave me"—he quite agreed to it—he continued in my employ until the 19th March—before the 18th I received certain information respecting certain accounts, in consequence of which, on the flight of the 18th March, I went to the prisoner's lodgings in Beresford Street, Camberwell, about 9 o'clock, and saw him after waiting half an hour—I said, "What money have you collected for us to-day?"—he said, "I will let you know, sir"—he went upstairs and was away nearly half an hour—he brought me down a bag of money, 53l. 5s.10d. I think, and said, "That is all the money I have of yours"—I said, "From whom have you received
it"—he said, "I am confused as to some names, I will let you know tomorrow morning"—I took the money and appointed to meet him the following morning at my office—his duty when he received money was to pay it over the same day, or within two or three days—the following morning I saw him in the presence of my two sons—he took out a little black book, which I then saw for the first time, and read me a list of names and dates (produced)—I wrote them on a small piece of paper and at once copied it into this book (produced)—I left the paper at Mr. Besley's office last night—the sums made up 53l. 2s. 10d, and as he had given me 53l, 5s. 2d. I entered 2s. 4d. to his own name—I said, "Are these all Hutchings's?"—he said, "Yes, they are"—I said, "Are you quite sure?"—he said, "Yes"—I then said, "They are not all, and this is not true; the date is incorrect of this," referring to the name of Halifax, 8l. 12s. 6d—I said, "You received 5l. 13s. 6d. from Mr. Kursch in February," giving the date which was given me, the 19th February; and 10l. from Mr. Barrett of Boundary Road, paid him on the 7th March, and 6l. 3s. 8d. from Mr. Negus, paid him on the 8th March, which he admitted, and said, "It is quite true, I am very sorry, I hope you will forgive me"—I then said, "Now are these all, are there any more?"—he said, "There are no more, that is all"—I said, "Now be careful, are you quite sure?"—he said, "Yes, I am quite sure, there is only one other account, viz., Smith's of Blackheath, which has been tampered with"—that is not the word he used, he said, "confused"—there is no money wrong there, it is only wrong as to dates—I again said, "Are you sure there are no more?"—he said, "Yes, I am quite sure, it was only about 20l. in all, I know; I was going to ask you for some money on account of what commission might be due to me, and I would have paid it"—he wanted about 20l. on account of commission—I said, "You know our strict arrangement, that you are never to keep a penny back on account of commission, but that all was to be paid in, giving the accurate date, so that our books might agree with our customers' receipts"—he said, "I am very sorry, I hope you will forgive me; my brother will pay it all, I am sure"—I shook my head and said, "No, no, nothing of that kind; if I were to do my duty I should send for a constable and give you in charge now"—I again repeated, "Are you sure that these are all?"—he said, "Yes, they are all"—I believed his statement and said, "l am not stopping you going away," and be went away—I afterwards caused inquiries to be made among my customers and found his statement was not true, inasmuch as he had not accounted for 18l. 4s. 8d. received from Mr. Fuellin, 4l. received on the 18th March from Mr. illsley, and 14l. 2s. 3d. received from Mr. May on the 24th February—on ascertaining those I gave him into custody.
Cross-examined. These were the largest amounts; altogether I have ascertained the total amount to be 100l. 19s. 5d.—I never saw the prisoner except a day or two before I had his reference—I was referred to Mr. Fry; a small house—he told me he received 5 per cent, on confectionary—he did not say he received one-third of the profit, but from 5 per cent. down to nothing, according to what the things were sold for—it was necessary to sell some things that produced no profit in order to sell other things that produced a profit—I have no written memorandum of the terms on which I engaged him—nothing was said about his having 5 per cent, on confectionary; I would only engage him as a salaried servant—I told him
why—he had a commission from another house, which I allowed him to retain—I was very careful indeed, and had a very clear understanding with him—I told him "you will have a salary paid you regularly, weekly, and a commission of 2 1/2 per cent, allowed you on all money paid over to us for confectionary; if you leave me you will have no claim for any outstanding accounts; you will have had your salary, which you did not have at Mr. Fry's"—I said "You told me you earned 30s. to 2l. a week; you must earn more than that to be good for anything; if you do your duty to me, when the accounts are made up at the end of the year, if I find your salary and commission together will amount to a smaller sum than it would have been had you had 5 per cent, on confectionary, I will make you a present of whatever the difference is"—I did not hear Mr. Wontner tell the Magistrate that the arrangement between us was to be 5 per cent there was something taken down in the depositions which was amended—I did not say "After the prisoner was discharged he had no claim on us for commission; on confectionary his commission was to be 5 per cent."—you will find a memorandum at the end of my deposition; so many people were talking at once that wrong words were taken down—no business in our way could afford it with a salary; without a salary it would be a different thing; it is a gross mistake of the clerk's—at the end of my examination I say "I did not intend to say 5 per cent."—I have no recollection of having said so, and I do not think I did; I have a very clear memory—the business we got through him was only a very small proportion of the general business—the gross amount through the prisoner was between 3,000l. and 4,000l., including merchandise and confectionary—nearly three-fourths of that was confectionary—the last commission account made out between us was up to the end of 1878, and that was in March, 1879—the commission on the confectionary from the end of 1878 to March this year would be about 60l. or 70l.—the last payment was the 10th January this year, 20l.—there was nothing paid between January and March—I did not say the gross amount of the commission account calculated without any salary would be 160l. from January 1879; I said more—it is a matter of figures—weekly servants never give receipts for salary—my cashier paid his weekly salary—I have this year's commission account, but not last; I have never had it since the settlement—the wages book shows commission and salary—I took his receipt up to January 1, 1879—I said at the time of the examination of the prisoner there might be an account which I had lost—we had a burglary, and papers were turned out, or it might have been destroyed as waste paper—when I called on him on the 18th March he had several little memorandum-books; I did not read any of them, and he would not give them to me to read—I did not get a book of his which has been referred to to-day—the invariable rule was that he was to give an accurate account the same day, or within two or three days at the latest, of moneys received, and never to keep anything back on account of commission—I do not think a week ever elapsed without his accounting for the moneys—this book I have since heard is the prisoner's property—in the course of business, when he paid in money, he did not produce a book to my knowledge; my cashiers would know—there are two or three of them in Court—I have learnt since his committal that it was the practice of one house to put the stamps of the firm on the book he produced when paying in money—I have one house at Ratcliffe—I told him if he found any other accounts to let us
know directly—he never tried to see me afterwards—I did not hear that he had called two or three times to see me—when we parted I shook my head and said I would not forgive him then—he said "I hope you will forgive me"—I had no idea of his being in other employment until he called on a customer and made an atrocious assertion that he had been turned away for 3l., which he was not allowed to repay, as he would have done if he had seen the principal, and he borrowed money of the customer—my son told me that—I said "This must be put an end to, your obtaining money from a customer on such a false pretence"—he was not travelling for two other firms to my knowledge—when the man was crying he said "I have just earned the first 3s."—that was after he was in custody—I engaged him for the purpose of getting what customers he could with Mr. Fry's sanction.
Re-examined. Mr. Fry was a wholesale confectioner—he failed in business some short time after—it was with his knowledge that I engaged the prisoner—there was nothing unusual in the mode in which he obtained orders for me—he accepted the settlement of the commission account and gave me a receipt—I got my figures from my ledger—I think the paper was given to him to return after he had satisfied himself—he gave me a receipt for the balance at that time—the amount of commission at 2 1/2 per cent, and salary brought up his remuneration to rather more than I told him he must make when I engaged him to be worth anything—he made no complaint at that time—he had received 60l. on account of commission from January, 1879, though the money had never been made up—he received 10l. on the 22nd March, 10l. on May 10th, 20l, on the 9th August, and 20l. on the 10th January at his request—there was to be no commission in respect of bad debts or unexecuted orders, only on sums actually paid over—I have ascertained what his commission on all sums received from 1st January to December, 1879, should be on three-fourths confectionary and one-fourth merchandise, and it amounts to 65l. 11s. 2d., less 60l. which had been paid to him—if this question were being tried in a civil court there would be a commission account from 1st January, 1880, to 19th March, 1880, which would represent 19l. 13s.—that would be on the same basis—he never demanded payment of me after January, 1880, nor did he disclose to me that he had moneys in his pocket—that little black book is his; I never saw it till the 19th March to my knowledge—he then read to me from it the eight items amounting to 53l. 2s. 10d.—the copy I made I left at your office last night—I find in the book "Bradley 2l. 9s. 3d.," and after "Whalebone 1l.," with partial erasure, there is "May 14l. 2s. 3d." without an erasure—then comes "Loderhonse 3l. 6s." with an erasure—this letter (produced) is in the prisoner's handwriting—I think I was under cross-examination at Guildhall Police-court by Mr. Chapman an hour and a half—it is very much reduced in the depositions—I did not know he was travelling for another firm, and therefore could not have said so—during the time that elapsed between the 19th March and my giving him into custody I found out several other cases.
By MR. SLEIGH. I see three separate sums in this book coming to 53l. something—the last page is torn out I see—I say that is very wicked indeed—this is not a page that I have ever seen before—it is 17th March, and so are the two previous ones—there is 4l. deduction from the bottom—I do not understand what it means—there are, stamps of my firm in
some places and not in others—there is an entry here dated 20th December, 38l. 9s. 9d.—then another amount 62l. 16s. 3d. no date, 39l. 9s. 3rd January, and another without a date, and so on—this is the prisoner's book—I find there are other entries referring to payments by post—I have a booh in Court in which every amount is received.
By MR. BESLEY. I have a book in which the sums he accounted for are entered, showing the dates when the castings took place—the day I entered these sums in this cash-book the prisoner accounted for them—these dates do not correspond with these in the little black book—I do not think he could stamp it any time he was in the office—some are initialled and some are omitted altogether.
By the COURT. I believe the good debts uncollected at the time of the prisoner's discharge amounted to about 800l.
WILLIAM HOLTHAUSEN . I am a cashier employed by Mr. Machin—the prisoner would come and account to me very often on a Saturday—these are my initials in the black book—there is one accounting to me on the 28th February of 78l. 4s. 5d.—he would call out the names to me and the dates—he never called out "May, 14l. 2s. 3d."—there is another account of 89l. 0s. 2d.—I don't think I saw the prisoner again till the 19th March; I took no money from him then—he came every Saturday as a rule and paid the money over to me, and called the amounts and dates out to me—he has never accounted for the 18l. 4s.8d. from Fuellin or the 4l. from Illsley received on the 18th March.
Cross-examined. He accounted on the 5th or 6th March and the 13th—when he called out the dates to me I wrote them down—I do not know Mr. May—his name was not in the books before this to my knowledge—there is an entry I see to May on 16th December, 1879, 92l. 1s. 6d.—I do not know of the prisoner calling on Mr. Machin for commission at Houndsditch; he may have called at the factory—the book would go down to the factory on a Monday.
JOHN HENRY STANLEY . I am in the employ of Mr. Machin—on the 21st April I received this letter from the prisoner. (Read: "96, Beresford Street, Camberwell, April 20th, 1880. Mr. Stanley. Dear Sir,—Pardon the liberty I am taking in writing you personally respecting my brother's account, 1l. 18s., which I believe he paid to me about the middle of March. The next date I cannot say; I gave him no receipt nor made any note of it, as I should have done. This is a very sad affair to me, Mr. Stanley. The torture of my mind is such as any earthly being could never describe. My first error, I trust the firm will forgive me this, and give me one more chance in life. I have worked hard since being in their employ, a great deal of uphill work and very expensive, but this does not entirely remove the guilt off my mind. I know I have done wrong, and it will be a warning to me for life. I cannot say more," &c., signed "J. Hutchings.") I paid the prisoner his weekly salary of 1l.—that salary was entered in the cash-book with the salaries of the other clerks.
ROBERT LEEMAN . (City Detective). On the 6th May I arrested the prisoner at 96, Beresford Street, Walworth—I said, "Are you Mr. Hutchings?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "I should like to speak to you privately for a minute or two? I believe you have been a traveller to Messrs. Batger and Co., of Houndsditch"—he said, "Yes,"—I said, "I am a police officer; I am going to take you into custody for embezzling
various sums of money, amounting to 100l., the moneys of your master"—he said, "I am very sorry; I had hoped Mr. Machin had forgiven me"—I took him to the police-station at Bishopsgate and searched him—I found on him different papers and 3d.—I took him to Guildhall on the 7th May, and after he was remanded by Sir Thomas White, I went to 96, Beresford Street, and with some keys which were found on the prisoner the previous night I opened a cupboard in his bedroom, where I found this black book and those two small red books, and papers and memorandums, which I took to the police-station—on the following Friday, when the prisoner was brought up on remand, I told him that I had searched his apartments and found there a number of books and memorandums bearing the stamp, or initials, or name of Batger and Co., which I had brought away, and said, "They may be used in evidence against you; if you wish to refer to them you are at liberty to do so."
NOT GUILTY .
There was another indictment against the prisoner, on which the prosecutor offered no evidence; and a verdict of NOT GUILTY was taken.
NEW COURT.—Friday and Saturday, July 2nd and 3rd, 1880.
Before Mr. Recorder.
429. ARCHIBALD BENJAMIN BULTITUDE (28) and WILLIAM RUMMELL (28) , Unlawfully omitting to disclose to their trustee in bankruptcy goods to the value of 8,000l. and 1,330l. 8s. 8d. and other sums; also to obtaining goods on credit within four months of their bankruptcy.
SIR H. S. GIFFABD, Q.C., MR. BESLEY, and Mr. BIGHAM Prosecuted;
MR. WILLIS, Q.C., Defended.
HENRY ALFRED STACEY . I am a superintendent of records in the London Bankruptcy Court—I produce the file of proceedings in the defendants' liquidation (The petition was filed December 30th, 1879, the insolvency was for 9,000l., there was no statement of affairs)—I also produce the file in the defendants' bankruptcy. (The petition teas dated 19th January, 1880, the adjudication January 27th, amount of debts l,330l.)—Mr. Leslie, who had been the receiver, was appointed trustee on 13th February—both the bankrupts were examined on the same day—I find here a transcript of the shorthand notes of their examinations. (Read).
HENRY SMITH . I am clerk to Mercer and Mercer, solicitors for Phillips and Webb—I produce a writ issued at their instance against Bultitude and Rummy, which I served upon Rummell on 17th December (This was for 200l. 2s. 2d. as holders of a cheque on the Alliance Bank)—I endeavoured to wire Bultitude at his place of business, Wellclose Square—I went there four times, but never effected service—proceedings were restrained by order of the Bankruptcy Court—this is the order (produced).
JAMES HENRY KNIGHT . I am common law clerk to Johnson and Apley, of Austin Friars, solicitors to Messrs. Risley and Burgman, of South Wales—they had in March, 1879, a claim against the defendants for 535l. 1s. 5d. for goods sold and delivered—I produce a writ issued March 18th, 1879; the action was deferred up to the first week in November, and ultimately the plaintiffs consented to take less than the sum claimed—150l. 14s. 8d. was the amount paid us—we received some bills of exchange, but none of them
were met—I produce a judgment for the balance on 17th December, execution issued on the 18th, and the Sheriff was in possession at the time of their filing the petition in liquidation—nothing was realited on the judgment.
Cross-examined. I believe the defendants pleaded that the credit had not expired at the time the action was brought, and they pleade a counter-claim—Mr. Dutton told me that it would be necessary to examine witnesses in India in support of his case—I have not got his letters here (The letters were sent for).
WALTER FREDERICK CRANE . I am clerk to William Beck, solicitor—William Wilson, of Jubilee Street, Mile End, was a clerk of his in December last—I produce two writs we issued against the defendands—I issued this one (for 250l.) on Rummell on 17th December; I also served this one on the 19th (for 255l. 2s.)—we took out a summons, and both actions were restrained by the Bankruptcy Court.
FREDERICK HOWARD LOVELL . I am clerk to Jenson and Nicholson—the defendants owed the firm money, and gave an acceptance for 136l. 8s. on September 12th, 1879, which was dishonoured—we wrote to them, and afterwards issued a writ and instructed solicitors.
JAMES BOBERTSON . I am manager to Mr. Bruce Dick, a manufacture, trading as H. E. Briggs and Co.—their first dealing with the defendants was on the 1st November, 1879, and the last 19th December, 1879; the total was 1,330l. 8s.8d., none of which has been paid—the last delivery was 73l. 2s.; this is the account (produced) of the goods delivered—in February this year I went to Sharp's Wharf, Wapping, and saw three pipes of oil, price 37l. 15s., which had been delivered to the defendants on 12th December, 14 barrels of rape oil delivered to them on 8th December, and a barrel of lubricating oil on 14th November, value altogether about 120l.
Cross-examined. Some of them were sent in on written orders which I have not got—I think the goods delivered on the 19th May have been ordered a fortnight before they were delivered by a carman—the goods delivered on 12th December were ordered on 11th December by this note (produced).
Re-examined. Part of the goods were delivered to their own carman, and the other portion next morning; we should not have delivered them if we had known that there was a man in possession—we had no idea that there was anything wrong with the firm.
WILLIAM STMONDS . I am a colour manufacturer, of Old Ford—I supplied to the defendants on 27th November, two casks of chrome value 9l. 13s. 9d., two casks of Brunswick green, 9l. 11s. 3d., and two casks of China red, total 25l. 9s. 8d.; and on 5th December Prussian red, 11l. 7s. 3d., and 12 boxes emerald green, 12l. 1s. 3d.—my man has seen them at Sharp's Wharf.
EDWARD LUCAS . I am packer to Mr. Symons—I packed the goods which were delivered to the defendants on 27th November and 5th December—I have since seen at Sharp's Wharf a cask of Chinese red, two casks of green, and two casks of chrome.
HENRY COLES . I am general manager of the oil department of Somers and Co., 95, Bishopsgate Street—in the beginning of December the defendants owed us 150l. 15s. 1d.—there was a balance of account due, and we were pressing them for payment, but they put us off saying that we
should have our money later on—about 5th December they sent us a postdated cheque which I returned, and insisted on having the money or the goods—after that they delivered 10 barrels of rape oil and 9 barrels of varnish at Sharp's Wharf in our name, in part payment of our claim—we got the wharfinger's receipt for them—this (produced) is the receipt for part of them—the rape oil is supposed to be worth 50l. and the varnish 90l. or 100l.
Cross-examined. We had sold goods to them before, and taken goods in satisfaction of our claim; altogether we have had four transactions with them—the goods they sent us were things which we required in the way of our trade; we deal largely in them—I am not certain that we did not receive an invoice for the oil when we spoke about it, we gave them the full price; the transaction was perfectly regular so far as we were concerned—we knew what we were purchasing and getting from them in December—I considered that I held the varnish as security, as we do not do in varnish—I very likely threatened them with proceedings—I told them to send the goods to Sharp's Wharf in our names, and they did so—it was our suggestion—it is known as a place where goods of that sort are warehoused.
Re-examined. We do not deal in refined oils, but we buy and sell—this (produced) is a press-copy from our books—the balance was struck on 3rd December, 153l. 3s. 1d.; the "By 10 barrels of rape oil as security" was written since they have been bankrupt—our books are not here. (The books were sent for.)—we have no warehouse, we send things to Sharp's Wharf—sending there in our name is sending to us—they deal with them by the documents of title—I have not got the wharf receipts here—the only writing between the prisoners and us was the receipt from Sharp's Wharf.
GEORGE HENRY LANK . I am in the employ of Brandrum Brothers, oil and colour merchants, of Philpot Lane—we had had transactions with the prisoners, and on 10th September they gave us a cheque, which was dishonoured—I was present on 18th November when Bultdtude gave an order for five tons of white lead value about 130l.; we delivered part on the 19th which came to 49l. 1s. 3d., but we had our suspicions and delivered no more—we were waiting till we got the money before we sent in any more goods—they were bound to pay in 14 days but we did not get it, they made some excuse—I did not see them before the filing of their petition—the amount is still unpaid.
HENRY OCTAVIUS MORDAUNT . I am an oil broker of St. Helens Place, in partnership with my brother—we have had two transactions with the prisoners, one about 18th November for turpentine, and one on the same day for petroleum oil, amounting to 69l.—the account was to be paid in 14 days—who wrote for it and sent clerks, but have never received a penny—we issued this writ. (Dated 23rd December.)
FREDERICK ALBERT GLAESER . I carry on business as Conrad William Schmidt—on 22nd October I sold the defendants some varnish for 178l. 3s., this is a copy of the invoice I rendered, and I got their receipt for the goods—I had no transaction with them before or since—the goods have not been paid for.
Cross-examined. They were sold on a three months' acceptance in October, which would not mature till January.
THOMAS BEARD . I am an oil merchant of 6, Great St. Helens—on 18th November, 1879, I supplied the defendants with 10 barrels of petroleum, and five barrels of turpentine, value 33l. 11s. 6d. at 14 days' credit—they have not been paid for—my solicitors issued a writ.
Cross-examined. I had done business with them once or twice before and they paid me—it only amounted to 50l.
HARRY WEBB . I am one of the firm of Phillips and Webb, oil merchants—on 5th November I sold the defendants, I think it was 5 tons of linseed oil, value about 150l., on the understanding that they were to be paid for in 14 days—they were delivered immediately after the date of the sale—I pressed for payment, but could not get it, and took proceedings—we have never received anything—we had had prior transactions with the defendants, for which they paid—we had agreed to give them credit to the amount of 1,000l.—we commenced business with them in April, 1879—a bill of sale for between 400l. and 500l. which was due in December was dishonoured.
Cross-examined. We took the bill up ourselves—we knew that it would not be met, and we arranged with the prisoners to take it up—we sold them about 1,500l. worth of goods, besides this bill and the parcel in November, inclusive of the amounts for which we have had to sue—it is most unusual in that business to get money on stock to carry it on—they told me that they were in difficulties and could not sell their stock, and I said if they were perfectly honest in their intentions I should be glad to advance money on the stock—that was the day before the bill fell due—Bultitude came to me.
Re-examined. The entire sum due to us now is 555l.
THOMAS DAVIS . I am in the employ of Hadfield Brothers, varnish manufacturers, St. James's Road, Holloway—the prisoners purchased of them varnish amounting to 241l. 14s. 7d.—the invoice is dated 19th September—there had not been any previous transactions—two acceptances were given, one dated 19th September for 100l. at three months after date, and the other dated 22nd September for 125l. 12s. 1d. at three months—they were both returned dishonoured, and we have never been paid anything.
HENRY JAMES HUNT . I am in the employ of Wilkinson, Huzard, and Clark, varnish manufacturers—on 11th, 15th and 16th September we supplied the defendants with varnish value 73l. 6s. 6d., 100l. 16s. 6d., and 28l. 5s, on four months' bills, which were dishonoured.
WILLIAM WILSON . I am a paint manufacturer of Jubilee Street, Mile End—I have from time to time sold goods to the defendants, to the amount of about 1,135l.—on 19th and 21st November I sold them 500 firkins of red lead, and 500 other firkins of the same value—I have never been paid—I had a cheque, but it was dishonoured on 6th December.
Cross-examined. The order must have been given previously, because we should take some time to pack them—they were for a shipping transaction—we delivered them on board some vessel.
Re-examined. We had instructions from the defendants to deliver them on board a certain steamer, but we sold the goods to them and waited instructions for shipment—it came I think by letter, but I was very unwell at the time.
CHARLES EAWSON . I am clerk to Aldridge and Co., East India merchants—we received this order from the defendants for 1,000 firkins of red lead, which were shipped to customers abroad, and I got the mate's receipt for the defendants—the price was 17l. 7s. 6d. per cwt., subject to 2 1/2 discount; besides that, the defendants agreed to allow one per cent, for cash—I paid by this cheque ("This was for 446l. 15s., dated 29th November, 1879, endorsed "A. Bultitude and Co.")—there were one or two other small matters included.
Cross-examined. They delivered all those goods under an order which I are them, between 3rd and 10th October—the market had gone up quite 10s. between the order being given and the goods being delivered—I had had several transactions with them on the same terms, allowing the extra one per cent.
WILLAM THOMAS ATKIN . I am bookkeeper to Mr. Wilson—I remember the sale of the red lead referred to in these invoices—this is the ledger—I produce a cheque for 250l. on the Alliance Bank, dated 6th December, 1879, which was given by the defendant in part payment for the red lead—it was returned marked "Refer to drawer."
J. H. KNIGHT. (Re-examined by MR. WILLIS.) I have now got the pleadings here—the defence was first that the credit had not expired; also that the goods supplied were not of a merchantable quality, and a claim was made for 244l. 18s. 4d. in consequence of that—the case was entered for trial, and on 21st October I got this letter from Mr. Ditton. (Stating that it would be necessary to apply for permission to examine witnesses in India. Further correspondence was put in, terminating in a promise by the defendants to pay 150l. cash on Saturday, and bills for sums of 501. at stated dates.) We received 150l. 14s. 8d.—the first bill became due about the middle of December—it was not paid—we issued execution—the stamp is 18th December—Mr. Ditton called to ask me to withdraw the Sheriff—he offered some terms, but I cannot say what—he spoke of some undertaking which he was prepared to give if I would withdraw—he asked me to stay until he could call a meeting of creditors.
WILLIAM CHARLES ALLEN . I am cashier of the Central Bank, Whitechapel branch—the defendants opened an account there on 14th November with a sum of 350l.—200l. was paid in on the 15th, 50l. on 20th, 33l. on 21st, 36l. on 26th, and this cheque for 496l. 5s. 3d. on the 29th—November 29th was Saturday, and on Monday, 1st December, there is a cheque to Bultitude for 500l. on the debit side, 496l. having been paid in on the Saturday—the cheque for 500l. would be in the pass book, which would be given to him or to his written order—we paid for that cheque ten 50l. notes, 69104, and 69105 dated 16th May, 1879, and 69250, '51, '52, '53, '54, and '55—the balance on 31st December in favour of the bankrupts was 1l. 19s. 1d.—on 20th November there were two cheques to Mr. Ditton, one of which was for 125l.
Cross-examined. On 15th November, the day after the account was opened, we have payments out for wages, and we have wages in December as well—the last entry for wages is 20th December—I can tell how all these cheques were paid, but we have more than one cashier.
THOMAS COTTER GASH . I am a clerk in the Bank-note office, Bank of England—I produce nine 50l. knifes—No. 69104 is endorsed "A. Bultitude," Chepstow Villas, and was paid in on 16th December through Glyn, Mills, and Co.—69105 is endorsed "L. Ditton, 9, Montpellier Road, Twickenham, and was cashed at Hoare's bank, and paid in on 3rd February—69350 is endorsed "Bultitude" I think, but there is some paper over it—it was paid to the name of Bultitude on 12th March at the Bank of England—69,353 is endorsed "A. Bultitude, Chepstow Villas, Twickenham," and was changed for gold on 22nd December, 1879—69355 was cashed on 3rd December, 1879, in the name of C. D. Rummell, Montpellier Road, Twickenham—69354, 73459, and 73460 were all cashed on 3rd December, and are
endorsed "C. D. Rummell, Montpellier Road, Twickenham"—69351 is endorsed "A. Bultitude, Peckham," and was changed for gold on 23rd March, 1880—69352 is endorsed "G. D. Todd, East Hill Lodge, Wandsworth Common," and was changed on 23rd February for nine 5l. notes and 5l. in gold.
Cross-examined. I have not traced the numbers of the nine fives, bat I can do so—most likely some of them have come back already—they have had notes as well as gold in four other cases—we invariably require persons changing notes to put their names on them, and we prefer them written on the front—we are bound to change them; we cannot refuse.
Cross-examined. I had not cashed a cheque for 50l.—I used to meet Bultitude at our club, and always found him a very gentlemanly athlete—I have known him for years—my name is known to nearly everybody in the athletic world.
GEORGE POWELL . I am an upholsterer at Richmond—on 18th November and 5th December I sold Bultitude some furniture described in the invoice (produced) amounting to 50l., which was delivered at 5, Chepstow Villas, where he lived—he was to pay half in cash then and the rest in three months—I have never been paid a farthing.
JOHN BELL . I am salesman to Thomas Topling and others, of Grove Street, who supplied to Bultitude's order carpets, bedsteads, and other articles, amounting to 99l. 17s. 10d., which were delivered at 5, Chepstow Villas, Twickenham—I have seen the bulk of them there since.
THOMAS GRAHAM RIACH . I am cashier at Messrs. Topling's—the 99l. 17s. 10d. has never been paid. (The marriage settlement, dated 18th December, 1879, between A. B. Bultitude and Louisa Ditton, widow, was here put in; also the registered bill of sale, dated 18th December, 1879, on the goods of William Rummell for 100l. and interest.)
ALFRED OCTAVIUS BAXTER . I am a clerk in the Alliance Bank, Bartholomew Lane—the defendants kept an account there—I have got the statutory affidavit of the manager to a correct copy of the account in our books—this is a correct account of cheques and bills dishonoured. (The total amount of these teas 3,260l. 4s. 7d.)
Cross-examined. On 22nd November there is an acceptance of Garford 729l. 14s. 1d. paid in—I believe that money was paid in expressly to meet that acceptance—money is never paid in after 7 o'clock.
Re-examined. The cash was Garford's, and Garford took up the acceptance.
HENRY BONAR ADAMS . I am a clerk in the Indestructible Paint Company—they had a great many transactions with the defendants before 19th December—we usually paid by cheques—on 19th December Bultitude called for 54l. 12s. 9d., and said that he wished the cheque not crossed, as he wanted to pay some petty cash—this is it (produced).
I was a police officer—he said "I know you are"—I said "I moat apprehend you on a warrant for fraudulent bankruptcy"—I found on him this 5l, Bank of England note, 3l. 0s. 6 1/2 d., and these documents and letters, which I initialed.
HENRY JOHN LESLIE . I am an accountant—I was appointed trustee of the defendants' estate—I produce a statement of affairs signed by them both at a meeting held at Mr. Woodall's on 20th January—since then I have had several interviews with them, and referred them to the section of the Act by which they were bound to give me every information—Bultitude stated that he had given up everything to the receiver, Mr. Waddell, and Rummell acquiesced in it—I asked them whether they had anything which ought to be in my possession, but I never could get any information from them; they declined to give me any—they said that all the particulars were contained in their statement—I asked Bultitude to go through all the books with me, but he put it off; a day was fixed at last, and they attended—I told Bultitude that the books had not been posted since April, 1879, and it was impossible to ascertain what were his cash receipts or the goods obtained, and invited him to come and assist me in making them up, but he refused to give me information; Rummell also refused, but said he had told me all—I asked them about the receipt of money three or four months previous to the failure, but they each said they did not know—I knew of the Alliance Bank; I asked them if there was another banking account, and they said no—I found out the account at the Central Bank quite by accident, through the crossing of a cheque of Mr. Aldridge's—the assets amount to 700l. at the extreme limit, and the liabilities 9,000l.—among the papers found on Bultitude are some particulars of goods sent to Sharp's Wharf, and the receipts of the wharfingers—I produce the ledger, order-book, stock-book, and letter-book—the last entry in the order-book is on October 28, but I do not know whether it is an order or not—the last account, except F. B. Wheeler's, is in April, 1879—Wheeler's entries go up to June, 1879—the policy of insurance by Wheeler mentioned in the bankrupt's evidence is of no value whatever—Wheeler brought an action upon it, and the Counsel threw up their briefs, and the case has not been heard of since.
Cross-examined. I first saw the bankrupts at Mr. Waddell's office on 20th January, 1880—I did not learn whether they had been in communication with Mr. Waddell, but I suppose so, because he was their receiver—I learned that day that they had placed their books in his hands—I found that a statement of affairs had been prepared; it was handed in at the meeting, and I read it through immediately I got it—I found an account of Smith and Collins, but not what I should call a full and particular account—I read "Holds as security the following dock warrants for goods lying at Sharp's Wharf, 17 barrels of varnish 64l. 1s. 7d.," also "Cartwright and Co., Great St. Helens, 40l. "—I also find entries of Ditton, 9, Ironmonger Lane, holding security for 250l., the amount of goods lying at the wharf—the estimated value of each is given—I find F. W. Smith, of Newington Causeway, goods value 111l., but there are various things in each warrant—Soames and Son held the security of dock warrants for oil—I find no other cases in which the prisoners have not given some information in their
accounts—I asked them on 26th January for further particulars, but there was no entry in the books to which they could refer me, nor can I find any entry to lead me to suppose they could have given me any information—I asked Mr. Waddell, who turned me over to a clerk—I knew pretty well what was in the books, because it was gone into fully at the first meeting on 20th January—I did not decide to prosecute till early in February—I went to the solicitors to the estate, Messrs. Philbrick and Corpe, the day after I got the books, as they seemed very imperfect—I asked Mr. Waddell's clerk if I had everything, who said that all he had had been given over to me, and I got no information from Mr. Waddell—I asked the bankrupts whether they had any reversionary interest or policies, and whether they had given up their banking account, and all their books, papers, shares, stocks, and securities—I asked them at Guildhall whether they had any banking account, and they said "No"—I presume Mr. Ditton was acting as solicitor to the bankrupts at the time I came to know them—the bill of sale to Buck was not settled in bankruptcy; it was settled with me—a claim for 50l. for rent was made by Rummell's mother, and a distraint was put in—the balance over the furniture was very small; it may have been 30l.—I had the furniture valued, and gave her credit for it, and she gave me the difference—I gave Mr. Ditton notice not to part with the dock warrants—I wrote to Mr. Collins and Dr. Smith—Dr. Smith was examined at Guildhall—Kichardson and Co. are the proprietors of Sharp's Wharf, and these are their receipts for the goods lodged there—I went there in February, or it may have been January, and found certain entries—my report is on the file—Mr. Ditton sent me notice of the marriage settlement almost as soon as I was appointed trustee, and also of the bill of sale—I took possession of both houses, and am in possession of the furniture now—nevertheless action had been commenced when I became trustee—Mr. Ditton had charge of it—Mr. Garford is a creditor for over 3,000l., but the account is ruled off in the ledger, as if they owed him nothing, but they return him as a creditor for 2,600l.—he has proved for 3,000l. odd; I could not stop him from proving, but I have not admitted his claim; I have seen his books, and they show that the claim he sent to me is a true one, which is for 3,300l.
Re-examined. 825l. 10s. 3d. is the balance exactly; it is the last transaction Mr. Garford would know of according to their books—this list lamps everything together, and they do not give the weight of a single barrel or cask, or we could identify where they came from—I took possession of the houses of both bankrupts, and as to Kummell's house, I shortly afterwards received a notice from Mr. Ditton stating that there was a bill of sale in existence, that unless I removed he should take possession under the bill of sale, and it has never been pressed either in Court or in Bankruptcy—the March quarter came soon afterwards, and there was some rent overdue from Christmas—Mrs. Rummell, the defendant's mother, claimed her rent, and I did not dispute it—I valued the furniture and she paid me the difference between the rent she claimed and the gross value of the furniture—that put me out, and put me in possession of 20l., and I withdrew from possession—as to Bultitude's house, I was served with notice of the marriage settlement, and there is a lawsuit now pending—I am still in possession for the creditors—I never got the counterfoil of the cheques or the pass-book—I had not a trace of anything to do with the accounts—I never heard of the open cheque paid by the Indestructible Paint Company—no accounts are given of any
cash received by them at that time, or for some time previous—I did not get the return cheque of the Alliance Bank, they have been given up, and the bankers cannot say who to.
ROBERT GEORGE HINDLEY . I am manager to John Green and Nephew, of 107, Victoria Street—on 27th December I supplied Bummell with goods amounting to 16l. 4s. 3d., which were delivered to 8, Montpellier Road, Twickenham.
HENRY COLES (Re-examined). This press copy was made when I went to Guildhall, you will find the original in the book; a copy was made, and this is a press copy of that—I do not know where the original is—here is an entry "By 10 barrels of rape oil and 9 barrels of varnish"—the word security is not here, but we know that it was a security.
Witnesses for the Defence.
AMBROSE GIBBONS DITTON . I am a solicitor in the City, and have practised there a great many years—from the time the defendants started in business I have been more or less acquainted with their affairs—I have known Rummell almost from his boyhood—his sister married my brother 15 years ago, and she afterwards became Mrs. Bultitude—Rummell was not articled to me, but he was in my office for some years—he had money coming to him when he came of age—he has a mother, his father has been dead some years—instead of coming to the law Rummell went to America for a time, then he came back and went into business in the City—I did not know Bultitude up to the time of Rummell's starting in business with him—Rummell had no practical experience of the business—Bultitude was for some years in a confidential position with Mr. Garford, not exactly a clerk, manager or something of that sort—at the time Rummell was entering into business with Bultitude I saw Bultitude—as I understood, Mr. Garford gave them a part of his business, transferred a part of his business only, and gave them unlimited credit—Rummell had a reversion Which wilt be some day of some value—I don't think they had much capital to start with—I think they were chiefly depending on the credit Mr. Garford gave them—I don't know what expectations Bultitude had—Mr. Garford gave them credit up to the very last—at the time of their stoppage, Mr. Garford's solicitor was Mr. Philbrick, who is now the solicitor in this procedure—the claim of 3,000l. of Mr. Garford is, I think, part of the 8,000l. referred to in the statement of affairs, and in this indictment—in June or July, 1879, Mr. Garford was anxious to assist them by enabling them to acquire the whole of his business and business premises—I believe they are very extensive premises; I have never seen them—it is a very old established business—I found that from time to time they required assistance, and I have lent them small sums, 100l., and so on, which I got back, and then helped them again—about 28th August, 1877, they applied to me for a loan of 100l, and I saw Dr. Smith, a client of mine, on the subject—Dr. Smith sent me his cheque, and I paid mine to Bultitude and Co., taking from them a promissory note for the amount, and I think there was a collateral security for the same amount by Mrs. Eummell, the mother; at any rate, there was a charge on his reversion to the same amount—I think the mother became security for the amount; I think her name was on the bill—she assisted them, more or less, during the business—the bill was at three months, and was renewed from time to tone—these (produced) are the papers relating to it—I also lent them 100l.
for Mr. Collins, of Tunbridge, one of my clients—that was paid to them by a cheque on my bank, the same as the other—this (produced) is Mr. Collins's cheque to me, less the discount—it is for 99l. 3s.4d., that was the exact amount I gave them, deducting 16s. 8d. for interest—I think I took from them a bill of exchange for that—I do not know anything of Mr. Cartwright—I know he is a connection of the Rummells, but I never saw him till after this transaction arose—I helped them to enter into this contract with Mr. Garford in June, it was carried out by Messrs. Mark by and Stewart, solicitors—they had to pay an instalment of 250l., I paid that for them, and they repaid me a few days afterwards—it was understood that they were to repay me immediately, as I advanced the money, because Mr. Garford wished to have the agreement settled—at that time the agreement was certainly regarded as a beneficial one; it was to take over the whole of an old-established business—I found that in March they were sued by Risley and Co., in respect of a parcel of goods which had been sent abroad—I received instructions to defend the action—that went forward till October, 1879; it was set down for trial—I was informed by Bultitude that there would be no difficulty whatever in getting the money to carry out Mr. Garford's agreement; I don't know in what way—Mr. Wilson himself subsequently told me he thought it would be worth a large sum—it was a seed-crushing business and oil mills, freehold waterside premises, called Garford's Wharf, with a river frontage of 115 feet—the defendants had large transactions with a Mr. Wheeler—there was a fire on Wheeler's premises; I don't know the date—I was consulted by the defendants with respect to a claim they had against Wheeler—it was settled at 3,000l., and I took a charge by Wheeler dated 22nd October, 1879; he was unable to meet it; I don't know how it comes to be put at 800l. in the statement of affairs; Mr. Waddell will be able to explain that, I think—the non-payment of that money was the substantial ground of their embarrassment—I pressed on the action against the Company on the fire policy as far as I could—there was nothing to make me or Bultitude suspect that there was any impropriety in the nature of Wheeler's claim against the Company; if I had I should not have taken it up—the Company substantially raised the defence that the claim by Wheeler was fraudulent, in the sense that he claimed more than there were goods on the premises—the action was carried on afterwards by Mr. Leslie, so I suppose he had faith in it—I don't know the exact date of the fire which took place on the defendant's premises—I know about the account being opened at the Central Bank in Whitechapel—the defendants consulted me about some bills which they had not been able to meet promptly, and they asked me about the attachment in the Lord Mayor's Court, and I advised them to open a banking account out of the City—in the Mayor's Court the simple commencement of an action enables an account to be attached—there was a bill for 749l. 15s., dated November 22nd, drawn by Mr. Garford on the defendants, and Mr. Garford called on me with Rummell about the time it matured—that was the only time I saw him—we had a long conversation about the matter, and Mr. Garford took a charge on the amount he expected to get claimed by Wheeler, to cover himself for the moneys due—of course he knew perfectly well how the defendants stood at the time—the banking account in Whitechapel was opened under my instructions—you will find two cheques of 25l. and 100l. drawn on that
bank given to me—the 25l. was on account of costs, and the 100l. was in exchange for one I had given them—there was an action of Risley against them, and there was a correspondence with Johnson and Upton as to a settlement of the expense of a commission to take evidence in India—they had a set off of 240l. worth of goods, and there was a dispute as to that—I saw the defendants as to the settlement of that action—I had not at that time learnt from them that they thought they were unable to carry on their business; on the contrary, they paid 150l. in settlement of that claim, and if I had had any doubt of their being able to go on I should certainly not have advised them to pay that money—I had heard the proposed marriage between Bultitude and Mrs. Rummell spoken of months before, but in June I was formally consulted about it—I am one of the trustees of the property, and Mrs. Rummell consulted me about a settlement—I advised that there should be a settlement, and it was carried out—there was a reversion of considerable value, and she had an income, not a very large one, settled on herself and child—Bultitude's furniture was to form part of the settlement—I found there was an execution put in on one of Risley's bills, which they were unable to meet, and I pressed them for payment of the principal due to Dr. Smith and Mr. Collins, and as they could not pay I pressed for security, and they gave me dock warrants on goods which they had at Sharp's Wharf—that was as security for my own costs as well, 25l.—I was not at all aware at the time I got that security that they would be unable to carry on their business; I believed they would pull through; there was no reason, so far as I was aware, why they should not—I was negotiating with Johnson and Upton up to 24th or 25th November to hold over the execution—I asked Mr. Waddell to call a private meeting of creditors—when I found they would not withhold I advised the defendants to place their books in the hands of Mr. Waddell, and knowing that Mr. Philbrick was the solicitor in many matters for Mr. Garth, a large printer, I said, "The best thing you can do is to place yourselves in the hands of Mr. Philbrick," and I took them to him and asked him to take it in hand—at this time I had consulted a gentleman of very high standing, and entrusted the agreement to him, that he might see one or two merchants of the City privately, to see whether arrangements could be made to find the necessary capital to carry on the business—that was from instructions from the defendants—I believe every one at that time thought the business was worth 10,000l.; I know Mr. Wilson told me he thought so, and that was undoubtedly the impression of the defendants—I think the petition was presented on 30th December, and I must have taken them to Mr. Waddell at least a week before, because the first object was to call a private meeting and explain the position of the matter, particularly as to Mr. Garford's agreement—the meeting was not called—I asked Mr. Waddell to see Mr. Garford and ask him whether he would have any objection to his business being turned into a small limited company—Mr. Waddell proposed a statement of affairs for the first meeting at the end of December—Mr. Leslie was appointed receiver at the end of January—I did not know that any portion of the warrants was unpaid for at the time I got them; I asked the question, and Rummell told me they were paid for, and I am satisfied that he believed they were, and I believe they are now—I wrote this letter to Mr. Leslie, dated 14th February, 1880 (read)—I was present at the examination at the Bankruptcy Court—no cash account has been prepared.
Cross-examined. I think five or six charges were brought up at the police-court from time to time, and they all fell to pieces—I have been acting as solicitor for the defendants ever since they have been in business, about two years—the only action that I defended for them I think was Risley's—I don't think they were ever served with a writ till very shortly before this difficulty arose—with regard to Risley, I had notice of trial, I think, in June, 1879—I think the banking account in Whitechapel was opened before the execution was put in—I never saw their cash-book; I never went to the place till after it was in the hands of Mr. Waddell, in fact I did not know where it was—they told me they could not meet Garford's acceptance on 8th November—I was only consulted about one bill of Garford's—the opening of the account at Whitechapel was entirely to avoid the attachment in the Mayor's Court, that was the single object with which I advised it—there was no object of concealment, I think the account will show that, because there are cheques drawn for wages and all sorts of things—I never saw the account till after the meeting—Garford was in liquidation, after this liquidation commenced—it was long after Wheeler's fire that I spoke about trying to form Garford's into a limited company; it was a week or 10 days prior to the petition—I have, the entry here, December 29, that was the day before the petition—the arrangement was, that 2,750l. was to be paid to the vendor by 28th February in instalments of 98l. 4s—3,000l. was to be paid for the good will, but that extends over—it was not intended to pay it down, and that included the lease—I think I heard of Garford going into liquidation after the meeting at Mr. Waddell's—I had nothing to do with Garford's liquidation—I cannot refer you to any entry in my diary that I had directions in June to prepare a settlement; I have looked for it; there is no such entry—I was not aware that Catlin's goods were put into the settlement—I should, not have permitted it had I known that the goods were Catlin's—I knew nothing about Powell's goods being put into the settlement—I had nothing to do with the settlement—I gave the instructions to a gentleman in my office to prepare it, and I recommended that the lady should be advised by Messrs. Wilde, Barber, and Brown—I think I attested one or two of the signatures, and that was all I had to do with it—I wrote the letter of 17th December, 1879 (read)—I have made out some of my bill of costs; my clerk's estimate was over 250l., and I am told that is under-estimated; there is Risley's action, I have never had anything for that—I have not got the 100l. dishonoured cheque of Bultitude and Co. here, I can get it—as to the taking out the 500l. in 50l. notes, I knew nothing of that at the time—I have seen one of the 50l. notes, and it bears the signature of Mrs. Bultitude before her marriage—I sent this notice of 18th December to the Alliance Bank requesting them to hold the funds for my 100l.—I believe it was the next day that I took the warrants to protect myself—I have been told that they are not worth more than 100l.—I don't know how much Dr. Smith's were, not enough to pay his debt, I believe, which was 100l., and 50l. and 10l. for interest; he would be very glad to hand them over against his debt—I know nothing of the other security for Cartwright—he is some connection of Mrs. Bultitude, and is one of the trustees—I don't know the value of Collins's warrants; I have not the—slightest idea; the trustee can have them at any time, both Dr. Smith and Mr. Collins offered to give them up—the bill of sale to Buck was prepared in my office—I read it over, because the Act requires it, that is all I know about it—I should not have put in Green and Co.'s goods if I had known of it.
Re-examined. I believe Mr. Back was in America at the time the claim was made, and there was no one to make the affidavit—you will find a notice about my giving notice of Mr. Buck's claim—I got my instructions from his
GUILTY .— Six Months' Imprisonment each.
THIED COURT.—Friday, July 2nd, 1880.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. PURCELL Prosecuted.
ELIZABETH HANNAH SANS METZLER . I live at 83, Avenue Road, Regent's Park—on the night of 18th May, at about 11.30, I was in bed, heard a noise, and I rang the bell for my servants—a search was made but nothing unusual was found and I went to bed again—I again heard the noise and then I went to sleep—next morning I went downstairs and found that the plate-glass window of the dining-room had been broken—there was a place large enough for a man to get through—I missed from the mantelpiece a clock and a marble plinth, also a tortoiseshell tea-caddy and a cigar stand (produced)—the value of the clock is 16l.—I gave information to the police.
SARAH VARNEY . I am parlour-maid at Mrs. Metzler's—on the night in question I locked up the house securely—the dining-room window was unbroken when my mistress rang for me—I went over the house but I do not know whether the window was then broken, nothing attracted my attention.
SAMUEL MORRIS SAMUEL . I am a watchmaker, at 157, Houndsditch—I bought this clock of the prisoner and a man named Metcalfe, on 27th May, for 33s., also these diamonds on 25th May for 4l., and this fancy box for 1s, the same day I bought the clock—the diamonds were not set—this was the first purchase I made from the prisoner and his partner—the entries in this book were made at the time of the transactions—on 30th May the prisoner came to me alone with an old silver watch, for which I gave him the weight of the silver, 2s. 3d.; the bow of that watch is not broken—on 31st May they came together and brought me these plated knives (produced)—I think they brought me a sample the day before—they asked me 1l. and I gave them 12s.6d.; there are six dessert knives and forks, six fish knives and the forks are wanting—I also purchased some old pieces of odd jewellery, and a worn-out coin as old gold, by weight for 4s.—Inspector Bannister came to make inquiry at my place—some of these articles were there then—the clock I had at my private house.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I paid you both; Metcalfe took the money, I paid him 2s. 3d. for the watch.
By the JURY. I am not in the habit of buying property of anybody who comes into my shop without knowing them—the prisoner and Metcalfe had bought watches of me on four or five previous occasions—the first time I think was 16th April, and they told me they were dealers and took things in the ordinary way of sale and exchange—this was the first transaction that I had with them in the way of buying—I can buy these fish knives for 1l. wholesale—if you buy new things and second-hand things there is a great difference in their value—it is usual for persons of the prisoner's age to be dealers on their own responsibility.
Cross-examined. I cannot swear positively to you.
PATIENCE HUTTON . I am cook to Miss Jonas, of 44, Finchley Road, St. John's Wood—between 1 and 2 a.m. on 21st May I was aroused by the ringing of a bell, and saw Mansell, 273 S, outside—in consequence of what he said I went to the drawing-room and found the window open, the chiffonier drawer open and the room very much disarranged—I missed this box from the whatnot—I also missed a case of card counters and a prayerbook (produced)—I also missed some medals and a silver ladle—the window was broken; it had been secured the night before.
AMELIA HAWKE . I live at 26, Park Road, Marylebone—I was away on 24th May, and on my return at about 12.30 I found some drawers open and everything disturbed—I missed from my room a pair of diamond ear-rings, two boxes, two pairs of opera-glasses, and other things, value 40l—I identify these diamonds; they were set in silver when I last saw them—I paid 26l. for them in Vienna.
FREDERICK STOVEL . I live at 40, Belsize Road, Hampstead—I was out of town in May, and in consequence of information I received I came up on the 28th—I found my house had been broken into, and I missed a dressing case and the contents, and a great many tilling—I recognise these articles; a pair of old scissors, an old snuff-box, a bunch of keys, and an eye-glass—I also missed this certificate of Great Eastern stock, which was in my dressing-case—my daughter received a letter about the certificate.
ALFRED CRAWSAY . I am manager to Phoenias Hans, money changer, of 16, Strand—this certificate of stock was produced to me by the prisoner and another man on 8th June—the prisoner asked if we could sell the stock—I said "Yes"—we found it was the property of Miss Edith Stovel—I told him if he brought her to the office to sign the transfer we could negotiate it for him—he left it and went away—he came next day with a woman and the same man—I had previously sent this letter to Miss Stovel, 40, Belsiae Road, with a blank transfer, and I asked if he had received it—he said he had not—he pulled out a card with Mr. Stovel's name and address on it, and I asked the woman to sign the paper—she wrote "Edith Eliabeth Stovel" on a piece of scrap paper, but spelt it altogether wrong—I told her if she was nervous she had better go home and sign the transfer at home—they went away, and I saw no more of him.
Cross-examined. I cannot swear whether you or the other man produced the card, you were so mixed up in it—one said one thing and the other another—I believe you showed the card.
THOMAS BANNISTER (Police Inspectors.) On the 19th May I received information and searched Mrs. Metzler's premises—I also received information of burglaries at other houses, all within about a mile and a half—on Thursday, 10th June, I went to 5 A, North Road, Oxford Street, the prisoner's lodgings; it is a boot shop—I remained there all that day and all night, up to 11 o'clock next day, when the prisoner came to the house and looked in at the shop-door and said "Any letters for me, Mr. Hudson?"—Mr. Hudson said "Yes"—I was sitting behind the door, and I got up and said to Mr. Hudson, "Let me have my boots to-morrow," and I passed the prisoner, who stood at the door, and said "Good morning"—he said "Good morning"—I
got behind him, seized his arms, and said "I am a police inspector, and shall take you into custody for breaking into several houses in the neighbourhood of St. John's Wood"—he said nothing—I searched him, and found on him part of the property identified by Mr. Stovel, a gold snuffbox, a pair of eye-glasses, and a bunch of keys, including some of Mr. Stovel's cards—in his trousers pocket, behind, I found this revolver (produced), not loaded—in his coat pocket I found this seven-chamber revolver, six chambers being loaded—on my taking it from him he advised me to unload it, as it was rather dangerous—I said "Will it go off?"—he said "Let me unload it"—I declined his offer—he said "Oh, it's all right, I have only got one hand," because Sergeant Laid law had seized hold of him then—I asked him to give me his letters—one was addressed to Mr. Metcalfe, and contained a post-office order—I then went up to his room where he slept, and searched that, where I found this box and contents, identified by Patience Hutton, some more property belonging to Mr. Stovel, and some of that identified by Miss Hawke—on the mantelshelf I found some buttons, and said to the sergeant "They are important evidence, I shall take care of them;" the prisoner said "I know what you mean, I cut them off and put these on," pointing to the ones on his coat, and said "If I had followed my own advice I should not have returned to my lodgings; we thought there would be a noise about the stock certificate"—he said at the station "If I had not been stopped I should have been another Pease, I did not carry the revolvers to play with; I did not ask who the people were at the house or leave my card"—on finding a piece of cord at his lodgings I said to Sergeant Laid law, "I suppose this was on the ladder at Stovel's"—the prisoner said "No it was not, the piece on the ladder was not long enough, so I tied my lace on to make it longer"—I said I never thought it possible that any man could have left the house by that ladder"—he said "No sane man would have attempted it; it was a miracle I did not break my neck"—he wrote this post-card at the station: "Mr. Foster, Post-office, Eastbourne, Sussex, to be left till called for. A. K, caught at last No escape; just keep your wool in and be civil if in any fix. No more from J. O."—I told him I knew who his accomplice was, and he said he should like to write to him—the Police Information would not be sent to Mr. Samuel—he does not receive the pawnbroker's list I am told—in consequence of information I received I went to see him.
Cross-examined. You told me to go to Mr. Samuel's—you made the remark about Peace when you were in the dock, laughing.
By the COURT. Mr. Samuel did not come forward himself, it was through information from the prisoner that I went there—on the prisoner I found this box of cartridges, some of which fit the pistol, which was not loaded; and at his lodgings I found another case of a similar kind, which fit the revolver and the pistol.
LEWIS LAIDLAW (Police Sergeant 8.) On the morning of 19th May I went with Bannister to 83, Avenue Road, and found these two buttons on the balcony underneath where the window was broken—the window faces the front—you cannot see it from the garden.
Prisoner's Defence. The property pledged was left in my charge by a fellow-clerk. I only assisted him to sell it because he was a fellow-clerk, without knowing it had been stolen. He came to me one morning and asked if I would sew two buttons on his coat. I said "Yes." I had black buttons
on my coat, and he persuaded me to cut them off and sew them on his cost I knew nothing about the cabinet. I saw him take it into a pawnbroker's and come out; I asked him what he had done with it, he said he had left it there, and I saw no more of it. The witness said he was not certain whether it was me or another person. I told them were to get the cabinet. I knew nothing whatever about any of the articles. He asked me to take two sealed letters to Mrs. Stovel's. I said "Shall I deliver them both 1" He said "No, deliver one and ask if Miss Stovel is at home; if so deliver this one, and if not deliver the other," and if I was asked questions, I was to say a gentleman brought it from the office. I went there and delivered one letter and put the other in my pocket, the detective found it there sealed. I never knew what was in it till he showed it to me.
INSPECTOR BANNISTER (Re-examined.) The prisoner's companion lived in St. John's Wood.
GUILTY . The Jury expressed their strong disapproval of Mr. Samuer's conduct, and their belief that all the articles found had been stolen.— Five Years' Penal Servitude. There were other indictments against the prisoner on which no evidence was offered.
WILLIAM POTTER . I am a jewel case manufacturer of 26, Cloudesley Street, Islington—on 1st February last my house was broken into and a quantity of property stolen—two men, Kennedy and Scott, have since been convicted of that offence at the Middlesex Sessions, and sentenced to penal servitude—I think it was on the morning of 12th May that I was sent for to Islington Police-station and shown this clock, two opera glasses, two pocket-handkerchiefs, and two silk scarfs (produced)—they were stolen from my house on 1st July—the pocket-hankerchiefs have my initials on them.
Cross-examined. This is a zinc-bound clock, and very common—I gave 15s. for it, I think, at Connel and Co.'s, Aldersgate Street.
HENRY JOSEPH COMYNS . I am a solicitor of 85, Gracechurch Street—on the Derby day, May 28th, 1879, I was on the course at Epsom, and lost my watch—it was in a gold case—it was forced away from the chain—this watch (produced) is the same that I have lost, bar the case—the number is 4304, and the maker's name is John Donoghan, of Dublin—I had it in my possession since 1872—it belonged to a relative of mine—on 23rd October, 1878, I sent it to the Civil Service Stores to be cleaned.
JOHN HODSDEN MURRAY . I am a Coroner's officer, and live at 137, College Place, Camden Town—on 11th May, between 12 and 1 o'clock in the day, I was at Farringdon Street Railway Station—I was wearing a silver watch—when I arrived at King's Cross Station I missed my watch and my black Albert—this is my watch (produced)—it is worth about 5l.—I informed the police, and it was shown to me a few days afterwards.
JOHN O'CALLAGHAN (Police Inspector N.) I remember Kennedy, Scott, and Burgess being tried for a burglary at Mr. Potter's—Kennedy and Scott were convicted—after their conviction a letter was received from Kennedy, in consequence of which I obtained a warrant to search the prisoner's premises, which I did on 12th May, with Inspector Peel and
Sergeant Shrives—I knocked at the door 52, Percival Street, Clerkenwell, and the prisoner opened it—on the blind of the parlour window there is the inscription, "Sharpe," Secret springer and polisher, and jobber in English and foreign cases"—I said, "I want to speak to you privately"—I went into the parlour with Shrives and Inspector Peel, and said, "We are police officers, you had better be careful in the answers you give to the questions I ask you"—he said, "Yes"—I then said, "On 2nd February, on a Monday, early in the day, two men brought you some things in a basket and you bought them"—he said, "No"—I said, "Some days afterwards two other men came"—he said, "Yes; they said I bought the things, and I told them they were mistaken, it was another man"—I said, "What other man?"—he said, I don't know"—I said, "You went across to a public-house with these men and you gave them some money"—he said, "Yes, they told me the man who sold the things was locked up, and they wanted some money for his defence, and I gave them 5s,"—I said, "Do you mean that you gave them money, knowing nothing about them or their business?"—he said, "Yes, I had never seen them before"—I then said, "I have a warrant to search your premises, and will read it to you if you choose"—he said, "No, I suppose it is all right s—I then searched that room and found on the top of the cupboard by the fireplace these two watches (produced), one without a bow and the other in a silver case—I said to the prisoner, "How do you account for the possession of these?"—he said "A man brought them last night, when I was away, to have them repaired"—I said, "Don't you know who the man is and where he liras?"—he said, "No"—I went through that room into the bedroom occupied by the prisoner's wife—he went in before me and said something about his wife being in bed—I said, "If she is covered up we shall not interfere with her," and I followed in immediately after him—she was in bed—immediately inside the door was a chest of drawers, and I proceeded to search it—I found these two pairs of opera glasses, which have been identified—a clock was on the mantelshelf—I said, "How do you account for the possession of these things?"—he said, "I bought them several years ago" or "I had them several years?" I won't be positive which—I said, "Who did you buy them from—he said, "I cannot remember now"—the scarf with the initial letter "P" the prisoner was using—I then went to the Workshop in King Street, and I found there a large number of watch cases—the prisoner pointed out that he had those to be polished, and he showed me vouchers for them—some, which he did not produce vouchers for, I took away, and those he produced vouchers for I left behind—in the bedroom was a black bag, in which, with a number of watches and cases, was Mr. Comyns's, and one watch, which was identified by the witness Murray, which had been lost on the previous day—he told me it was his work-bag—he was taken to the station and charged with having stolen property—he made no reply.
Cross-examined. I made this list of the watch cases in the black bag in the prisoner's presence—there were quite as many as 25 watch cases in the bag, probably more—they have all been claimed by customers of his and returned to them—I found out afterwards that those watch cases for which there were no vouchers belonged to his customers—I asked him to give me the names of the customers—six or seven belonged to one customer—there were some cases of which he could not give me the names—some of
them were jewellers and watchmakers and repairers of watches, not dealers in second-hand watches that I know of—I do not personally go to different sale-rooms in the metropolis—I have never been to Debenham and Siorr's—I have heard that watches are sold there at the hammer weekly and monthly in enormous numbers for what they will fetch—I took away from the prisoner's premises three gold watches and nine silver, all of which I have in my possession, with the exception of one that was identified and given over to the son—I said, "Do you mean that you gave them money, not knowing anything of them or of their business?"—I was alluding to his denial of having purchased the things—I do not know whether that was taken down in the depositions—Mr. Sharpe did not tell me that they showed him a petition—I am quite certain that he did not say it was a man in the trade who had been locked up—altogether I found 13 watches on the premises—there was no conversation about his having bought the pocket-handkerchief and gloves at Raphael's in Houndsditch—he never mentioned Houndsditch—it is a place where all sorts of things are sold on Sunday mornings.
WILLIAM PEEL (Police Inspector G.) I went with O'Callighan to search the prisoner's house, with a list of the things I intended to search for—I saw O'Callighan find the gold and silver watches produced behind a shell on the shelf—the prisoner said they were taken there the previous night by a man to be repaired and he did not know his name; he did not always take the name—he was then asked by O'Callighan about the clock, and he said he bought it seven years ago from a dealer for 7l. 10s., and did not know his name—I was present when Mr. Potter identified the clock and opera glasses as having been stolen from his premises—I saw the prisoner with the handkerchief, and also saw the two opera glasses found.
Witnesses for the Defence.
JOSEPH WALTON . I am a secret spring and watch case maker and polisher, of 7, Upper Charles Street, Northampton Square—it is the custom in our business to have left with us watch cases, for the purpose of jobs being done on them, for a considerable time—I have a gold watch case which has been left with me for three years without a bow-piece or lockspring—I have not the slightest idea who left it; it is not the custom to take the name and address—we have movements of watches left with us sometimes for recessing and various repairs—I have here a perfect watch which has been left with me over two years to be re-cased; it has a silver case now—I don't know what it had before—it put me to an expense of 20s. and has never been claimed—I don't know whether it was stolen or not, and I have no means of ascertaining; I considered I had value left to work upon, and there it is—I have another here which I have had for three years, and a deposit was left upon it, and still it is not claimed—this one was left with me and 2s. deposit paid; 14s. expense I have been put to and it is not worth 2s. 6d.—I keep a book to put down the numbers so that I may know who to deliver them to—I have perhaps a hundred of them in the course of a week—movements are left to be rebased in gold or silver—I have a valuable gold case here sent to me to be cut to case—cases are left when injured and bent, to be republished, at a charge of 4d., 6d., or 1s., and to have bows fitted—retail jewellers send me watches to repair from England.
Ireland, Wales, and Scotland—I do 200 a week, or that has been my average up to within a little time ago—the badnees of trade has brought it down to 150 a week.
Cross-examined. The value of the gold in this case for which I have no owner is about 32s.—I have not taken it to the police; they would not pay my bill—in most cases I take the names and addresses of persons bringing watches to repair—I should know if a person came for a watch by their giving a description of it—I keep a book for the purpose of identifying watches—sometimes I enter the number of the watch, but more often I do not.
Re-examined. Of course I satisfy myself before giving up a watch, or I should have to pay for it.
HENRY SHARPS . I am the defendant's eon, and am a mill-band maker—I am 21—I was at my father's house the evening before he was apprehended, when two watches were left between 7 and 8 o'clock—my father was not at home—I think this silver and this gold one are the two that were left—my father came in about 9 o'clock, and I made a communication to him—I live with him as a rule at Percival Street—when he returns from business in the evening he generally brings that bag with his jobbing work in it.
Cross-examined. I do not know a man named Barratt—I do not know of a man named Carlisle coming to my father's house or Kennedy's—there is a St. George and the Dragon public-house in our neighbourhood—turning round to the left there is the name of Loveday and Co., and farther on, on the right-hand side, is the name of Sharpe, secret springer and polisher—I do not know a stout man about 5ft. 6in. in the habit of coming there—my business takes me away in the daytime—I am not the son who was wearing the scarf—I was not examined before the Magistrate—I heard nothing of the charge about the watches—in the morning I got up and came downstairs and saw the detectives there—I first came forward to give evidence to-day—I was not called before—I went to the police-court—my father was defended by Mr. Rickards, solicitor—I never told him what I could prove as to the watches being left—he asked for Mr. Sharpe—I told him Mr. Sharpe was out and would be home about 9 o'clock, and he left the two watches, and he told me the silver one was to be polished and the gold one was to have a new bow—I asked him the name and he said Brown—he said he would call next day—he did not call.
Re-examined. During the next day I was at my own work—I was ready to state at the police-court what I have stated to-day if I had been called.
By the JURY. The shop is a minute's walk from the house—the shop generally opens about 8, and closes about 7—I don't know whether the man could have brought the watch to the private house if the shop had been shut.
By MR. WILLIAMS. My father has had that clock some long time; I cannot say how long; I dare say 12 months or more—I have not seen those opera glasses before—these I have seen in my sister's hand, because I remember she went to see Peep of Day—my father wears a scarf, but I cannot say it was that particular one—there is no maker's name on these opera glasses.
are—my chief reason for saying they are mine is that in the first instance my wife clearly believes they are mine, and the second reason is that they are very much scratched on the glass, which was the case with my glasses, they having come out loose in my portmanteau—it is quite possible them may be many others just like them.
By MR. WILLIAMS. The scratches on these glasses are identical with mine—to the best of my belief and my wife's they are mine—these are unquestionably mine, and these handkerchiefs have my name on them—there is nothing particular about the case of these glasses—it has a mark on the case, which it had not when I had it.
HENRY WRIGHT . I live at 63, Forston Street, Hoxton, and am a watch examiner and jobber to the trade, and have been in it something like 33 or 34 years—for between 12 and 13 years I was at Benson's on Ludga Hill—it is my constant practice to receive watches without bows, and with broken pendants, to repair—I have had some hundreds through my hands at Benson's, being foreman there to do the same work—it is not my praction to take the names and addresses of persons for these small jobs, but at Benson's they have a clerk for that purpose—I know the prisoners branch of trade, namely, spring case and jobbing, repairing cases, taking bruises out and putting now bows in—I have frequently had movements brought to me without cases, to because and to examine—I also have cases brought to me without the movements to put in new movements—the movements of watches are of different value—sometimes the movement of a watch is not worth a shilling, and sometimes it is worth 20l.—I know that watches are sold at public sales, and sales at private houses, and bought by dealers as well as jewellers—I know that sometimes the works are taken out, and the watches are bought for the value of the gold cases, and that watches are bought at sales for the purpose of making just what profit can be got, for people who are not in possession of shops or in regular trade business—it frequently happens that a watch is left to be repaired without the name and address of the owner of the watch being given—it might occur, if I were out, that my wife would take in two or three in the course of the day, and she might say "That belongs to a gentleman of such a description; I forget his name; you would know him again"—we consider that they will come for them—sometimes it is a family relic or something of that sort, and they may say "I wish you to put this into a gold or silver case," and we look at the appearance of the party who leaves it, and we think they would not leave the watch if it were not worth their while to recover it—I could bring you several jobs I have had left at home for say 10 years—I have a movement which was to be cased, and they have never come for it—I have new had cases left for movements to be put in without their being called for, but movements I have—the bows of a watch are not always solid, they are hollow for Swiss watches—the old bows are my perquisites—sometimes they are to be engine-turned, and if scratched, they are often brought to me to on done up—they go into stock, and you will find thousands of them at Benson's to do up, and they go into stock as new.
Cross-examined. I know what christening a watch means, you alter the name—I know to whom a watch belongs, by putting the price on it—I know he would not take a burnished brass watch for a gold one—I should make him tired of answering me if I were not satisfied, but it saves a copying clerk taking names and addresses.
JOSEPH HENRY TUCKFIEID . I am a watchmaker out of business, and now live at Holloway—I was in business in a large way in Clerkenwell for rather more than 35 years, and regularly employed 70 to 100 men at a time; more at times—I have known the prisoner more than 40 years; I knew him as a lad at Mr. Dawkins's, a springer, and hare always considered him a thoroughly honourable and upright man—I know his business to be that of a springer and jobber of cases—it is a common thing to have movements sent to persons carrying on that business for the purpose of having new cases put on—I have had it to the tune of many thousands—I have also had cases to put movements in, but that has been very limited—watchmakers and jewellers in the country would give me these jobs to do—my business with private people would be rather limited—it was more wholesale—I kept four travellers at one time to go round the country to collect business—the prisoner used to work for me—I sent almost the majority of my outdoor work to him—he has had 50 to 100 jobs at a time from me—it is very common to have almost new cases sent to be republished—the prisoner would charge us not more than 4d., and if he had done it perhaps twelve months ago he would touch it off very likely gratuitously—more than 40 years ago I dealt at Debenham and Storr's—for 20 years I laid out between 500l. and 700l. a month in watches at Debenham and Storr's at the hammer—I would have them examined by my own workmen—if I cleared 500l. or 600l. worth of work we should look over them and say to the clerk, "Let this have a new bow," or "be new engine-turned," and so on, and the parcel would go off to Sharpe's with a piece of paper written for him to do the work arranged—sometimes the cases are old, and they break them up, and they are sold to refiners., and the movements are recased—we have generally considered Mr. Sharpe to be one of the best jobbers in London—I used to give orders to my clerk always to send the jobbing to him—there is an aptitude with some men to do jobbing—I don't say new work, but in jobbing he had a knack of doing it to please my customers, and I sent him all my country jobbing-—I am certain it is as common as possible that things are left without name or address—I had always such faith in the prisoner that I trusted him implicitly—in auction rooms it frequently happens that after the goods are sold the parties will enter two or three times—I had the privilege of doing behind the bar at Debenham and Storr's, and they buy lots, and they pass hands three or four or six times—Debenham and Storr are respectable people, and they do all they can to repress it, and I have heard Mr. John Storr send the manager to stop them—inside the bar no dealing goes on.
RICHARD OLIVER . I am a gold and silver watch case maker, also a watch manufacturer, springer, and engine-turner, of Northampton Square—I have had a great number of watch cases left to be repaired without the name and address—I have had as many as 300 new and second-hand movements to recase at a time.
MATTHEW CARPENTER . I was in Mr. Sharpe's shop in the spring of last year when some man sold him this clock and these opera-glasses—I knew the man as a dealer at Debenham and Storr's—he left five watches with Mr. Sharpe to repair, including this gold hunter—he has had it gilt, I can see.
Cross-examined. I knew nothing of this till I saw it in the newspaper—I did not go before the Magistrate—I was in the shop when Sharpe
bought the drum clock, which I believe is this, and the opera-glasses—I cannot tell you the man's name—there are hundreds of them in the salerooms whose names I cannot tell—when I heard of it I said I remembered the occurrence, and I went to see Mr. Sharpe—I have been examined in other criminal proceedings—I was a witness in Armstrong's case—he was charged with thieving—I suppose I was with the man all the evening when I bought a carpet at a sale.
Re-examined. The man was convicted; I have never been accused of anything—I spoke the truth when I swore the alibi—perhaps I gave 1l. or 25s. for the carpet.
JOSEPH BAMER . I saw a carpet sold and bought—I live in the same neighbourhood as Carpenter—I have known Sharpe about three years—I was at Raphael's coffee-house, Petticoat Lane, when there was jewellery on the table, and some silk handkerchiefs, and Sharpe met a man outside in Duke's Place and bought four or five or six scarfs like these, and silk handkerchiefs—I can't swear to them; they are common, ordinary ties and handkerchiefs—it was about February or March this year on a Sunday—there is a regular market there on Sunday morning.
Cross-examined. I was a witness in Armstrong's case, and proved on alibi—that was 18 months ago—he was acquitted—he has since been convicted—I was outside the coffee-house when the prisoner bought some things like these—I cannot say what he gave for them.
Re-examined. I am in the habit of being a good deal with people who are engaged in these sale rooms, and have been this morning—my business calls me occasionally into Petticoat Lane on a Sunday for an hour or so.
The prisoner received an excellent character.
GUILTY Recommended to mercy by the Jury.— .— Fifteen Months' Imprisonment.
THIRD COURT.—Saturday, July 3rd, 1880.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. KISCH Prosecuted.
THOMAS JOHNS . I am a carpenter—on the 10th June I was walking along Mount Pleasant, Clerkenwell about 7.15 p.m—there was a good light—the prisoner and five or six other young fellows were playing and dodging about—the prisoner walked alongside of me; he had no crutch; he walked lame—he struck me a violent blow on the chest and grabbed at a pin I had in my scarf—I put my hand there and found it gone—I asked the prisoner what he struck me for; he said "Who struck you?"—I said "You did; I shall accuse you of stealing my scarf pin"—the other persons came round and said they would give me a punch if I accused the prisoner—they ran off, and I was afraid to follow—it was a back-handed blow the prisoner gave me—I gave information to the police, and gave a description of the prisoner to the inspector—the following evening I went to the same spot—I saw the prisoner lounging against the window of a public-house, I went for a policeman and he attempted to make off—the blow almost stopped my breath.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You had a wooden leg on—you had a crutch
when I saw you the following evening—I said at the station it was a man with one leg—I heard the noise of the wooden leg when you were going along—you made a similar noise with your crutch—you struck me with your left hand.
FREDERICK MILLS (Policeman G 113). About 11 o'clock on 17th June the prosecutor made a statement to me—I went to Warner Street and saw the prisoner—as soon as he saw us he went away as fast as he could—when I caught up to him I told him he would be charged with stealing a gold pin from a gentleman's scarf—he said he knew nothing about it—I never saw him before.
Cross-examined. You went about five yards to try to get away—there were about 10 of you—they prevented my getting up to you—you might hare said "What do you want me for?"—the prosecutor told me his pin had been stolen.
Re-examined. I said "You will have to come to the station"—he made no resistance—the prosecutor did not describe the prisoner to me.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I am quite innocent of it."
Prisoner's Defence. I could not wear a wooden leg.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. GREENFIELD Prosecuted.
ARTHUR WELLESLEY MASTERS . I am a master mariner—I met the prisoners in the evening on the 9th June with others—I am a stranger In London—I had been dining with a friend at the Criterion—I Lost my friend, and was making my way to a cab about 1 a.m. at the Corner below the Criterion Theatre—I had had too much to drink—some women came to speak to me—the prisoners and others came and helped to drive them away—I thanked them, and offered to treat them—they took me to the Savoy Arms, in Savoy Street, Strand, which opened at 2 o'clock—we remained till 3—I treated them a number of times—when I came away they followed me—I said I was tired, and being a stranger would like to go somewhere to lie till the morning, as I had some business to attend to—I am a native of Canada—one of the prisoners said he knew a place at 41, Winchester Street—the cab was ordered to drive there—I did not know that he meant Winchester Street, Pimlico, or that it was so far away—the prisoners knocked at the door, and there was some conversation between Pinner and the woman—Shea was then called out of the cab, then Shea came back to the cab and said, "It is all right;" and we went in—Shea called for two bottles of ale—when I asked whether I could have a room, Shea said, "No, you will have to wait till some one has got up"—the mistress said, "Who will pay for the ale?"—Shea said, "This gentleman will pay for it"—I said, "I will not pay for anything more, I am going out of the house"—Shea gave me a slight push towards the sofa, and said, "Do not be a fool, you are all right"—I began to be alarmed—I took up a carving knife and fork that sere on the table—the prisoners asked me what I was going to do with them—I said, "I am going out of the house, and anybody who stops me will do it at his peril"—no one stopped me, and I walked out of the hall door—when I knew I was safe, I laid the knife and fork down on the slab—the prisoners got their hats and passed me in the hall and
were in the street before me—we then walked in the streets for a little distance—Shea asked me where I was going—I said I was going to the nearest railway station that would take me to the City—this would be about 4 a.m.—it was broad daylight—Shea said to me, "You acted like a b fool, you were all right there for a good sleep and a good feed"—I said, "Probably I was, but I neither like the looks of the house nor the looks of the mistress who kept it"—I said, "I will go to the station and wait; I guess our little racket is about over, and we will separate"—I was anxious to get away—Pinner was walking on the inside of the walk, I was on the outside, and Shea in the middle—Pinner said, "Now is your chance," or "Now is your time," and I got a blow almost simultaneously under my ear, which affected the left side of my jaw—I fell, and Shea fell on the top of me—I heard a voice say from the side walk, "Get his watch"—I caught hold of Shea by both arms, threw him over and got on top of him, struck him several blows in the face with my left hand, holding him down with my right—fearing a blow from Pinner, who had a stick in his hand, I turned and looked over my shoulder—I saw Pinner running swiftly down the street some few yards away—Shea took advantage of my turning to look for Pinner, threw me off, and jumped to his feet—I was then on my right side—Shea kicked me in the groin and started to run—my umbrella nad been knocked out of my hand when I was knocked down, and fell in the mud, but was within my reach—I grasped the umbrella and swung it—I think I struck Shea on the head—I jumped up and pursued him down the street; calling "Police"—as we turned a corner, I saw a policeman coming towards us—I chased Shea right into the policeman's arms—the prisoner immediately gave me into custody for assaulting him—the policeman put his hand on my shoulder—I said, "It is entirely unnecessary, as I will accompany you to any police-station or anywhere you wish"—the policeman took us to the police-station—the inspector first listened to the prisoner's story and then asked me what account I could give—I gave him the account I have given to-day—Shea said he never saw me till I struck him a blow, which made him insensible, and that he did not know 41, Winchester Street—I was at the station on the 23rd of June when the detective arrested Pinner—Pinner said "It is all right, I was there, but I did not do anything"—I have not the slightest doubt as to the prisoners being the men.
Cross-examined by Shea. I do not remember the words I used when I first saw you—when a woman asked me to go home with her, I said, "No, I would rather go with the boys"—in the public-house I was tossing with a friend of yours who had the happy knack of sticking me every time I tossed—there was a coloured man there named Taylor—I was showing the company many tricks, such as blowing money through glass—I told a gentleman I could turn his waistcoat inside out while it was on him and without taking his coat off him—we went to a house in Fleet Street, where we had drink, and a potman followed us for payment—I did not say, "Let us leave these men"—I did not wait for the address of the girl we met in the Haymarket—I did not get in the cab with her—probably I went to sleep in the cab—I did not know then that any attempt was made to rob me—when you met the policeman you cried out, "Save me"—I struck you several blows in the face when we fell—I was very much excited—I believe I struck you more than once with my umbrella, every time I could reach you.
Cross-examined by Pinner. I do not know whether you came up to me in company with Shea, but I met you at the same time—I could not say whether you or Shea spoke first—you offered to chaperone me round London and show me the sights—when I heard the voice saying, "Now for his watch," I could see no one else in the street, and the voice came from the side walk where you were—you told me I had left my umbrella in Winchester Street, and I went back and got it.
Re-examined. I am sure it was not Shea who said "Now for his watch," or "Now is your time"—I was intoxicated in the Criterion, but when I came out into the air I became perfectly sensible, and can well recollect the occurrences of that night.
JAMES EDWARDS (Policeman B 273). On the 10th June I was on duty in Westmoreland Street, Pimlico, about 5 a.m.—I saw Shea running down the street—he was shouting "Police"—he said to me "This gentleman has struck me with his umbrella"—the prosecutor came up, and said "I have struck you, but not without cause"—I said "I have not seen your occurrence; you will both go with me to the station"—I took them to the station; my inspector heard what they had to say—they appeared to be sober.
Cross-examined by Shea. You did not say "Save me from this man"—blood was running down your head—you did not follow behind—another constable came up afterwards, and walked by the side of you, then you walked behind—it was in Sutherland Place, which is about 100 yards long—it contains eight or ten houses on a side—I first saw you at the top of Westmoreland Street, about 50 yards from where the hats were picked up—there is no public-house at the corner of Sutherland Place—we had to pass through it in going to the station—the hats were picked up at the corner.
Cross-examined by Pinner. I have been four months in the force—you turn a corner to get from "Westmoreland Street to Sutherland Place—it was 50 yards from Westmoreland Street where I found the hats.
Re-examined. I did not say anything to Pinner—I picked up two hats, Shea's and the prosecutor's—the prosecutor was running after the prisoner when I first saw them.
COLLIN CHISHOLME (Police Inspector.) I was present when Shea was brought to the station, also when Pinner was identified by the prosecutor—the prosecutor was brought in as a prisoner on the 10th of June—Shea had a wound on his head, about three inches long, and a bruise at the back of his head—his head was bleeding freely—I asked him to tell me the particulars—he said "I was going to Peabody Buildings to see a friend named Andrews when the prisoner came behind me and struck me with his umbrella. I ran away, and met a constable, and gave him into custody"—I said "That seems most extraordinary, that a man should come behind you without rhyme or reason and assault you in the manner you have described"—he said "He did do so"—I questioned him as to his movements the previous day—he said "I left home at 10 o'clock in the morning, and was at work all day long at Corbett's in Great Charlotte Street, New Cut, Lambeth, I parted with Mr. Corbett at 1 o'clock in the morning at the corner of Lower Marsh, Lambeth, and the Waterloo Road; I came across Hungerford Bridge, went up St. Martin's Lane to a coffee-stall at the corner of Long Acre; I then went to a coffee-stall farther up; I came back, went along Piccadilly to Grosvenor Place, all the time by myself, I went into Buckingham Palace
Road to Victoria Station along the Wilton Road, and up Warwick Sheet to Peabody Buildings, when just as I got to the corner of Sutherland Street I received a blow on the head—the prosecutor then asked me if I would listen to what he had to say—I said "Certainly"—he told me he met Shea with another in the Haymarket, that he had several liquors with him, that he went into a public-house in Fleet Street that opens early for the convenience of printers; he began to see what company he was in, and said he wanted to go somewhere to sleep, Shea said he knew of a place at 41, Winchester Street; he went there in a cab, and when he got into the hall he wanted to go upstairs to bed, but Shea caught hold of his arm, and said "You cannot go up there yet; you must go downstairs first," they went downstairs, and one of them ordered two bottles of ale, Masters said he would not pay for any drink, but wanted to go to bed, and seeing he was in bad company he caught hold of the carving knife and fork, and intended to use it to any one who tried to prevent his leaving the house, he left the house, and the prisoners accompanied him, when he got into the main street (that would be Cumberland Street) one of them said "Now is your time," and he received a violent blow on the head, which knocked him down; Shea at first got on top of him, but he managed to get him under, and struck him with his first; feeling afraid of the second man, he looked round, when Shea managed to get on his feet—he also said he heard one of them, he could not say which, say "Now for his watch," and that Shea was trying to dig down for his watch with both hands, and that when Shea got up he got his umbrella, and hit Shea on the head with it, and that Shea ran away, and met a constable—Shea said "It is false; I never saw the gentleman before he struck me"—Masters said "Look at my umbrella, it is covered with mud; he knocked it out of my hand, and also my overcoat; if he had simply come behind it would not have so much mud on it, and if you send for the policeman he will tell you he saw a cab come up to 41, Winchester Street, and saw me go into the house"—I waited for the constable to come in, when I asked him if he knew anybody in the room that he had seen before—he said "Yes, I saw that gentleman and two others get out of a cab, and go into 41, Winchester Street," and turning round to Shea he said "That is another of them"—I then made them exchange places—I let Masters out of the dock, and put Shea in—Masters then charged Shea, and gave a description of Pinner—he was recovering from the effects of drink—he was sure Pinner had said "Now is your chance," but he was not sure it was Pinner who said "Go for his watch"—Shea said in the station, before the arrival of the doctor, "If you pay for the bandaging on my head we will cry quits"—Masters said he would not do anything of the sort.
Cross-examined by Shea. You had two wounds on your head, but you were sensible—you had lost a deal of blood.
Cross-examined by Pinner. Your words were "Now is your time," or "Now is your chance"—Masters said they were used coming round the corner—Masters did not know the name of the street, he gave a description—Sutherland Place is about 40 or 50 yards long.
JAMES FLETCHER (Policeman B 309). I saw the prisoners and the prosecutor on the 10th June go to 41, Winchester Street in a cab—they came out of the house about 15 minutes afterwards—I watched them as far as the Monster public-house—that is about 300 yards off—they turned towards Ebury Bridge—I lost sight of them.
him he would be charged with another in attempting highway robbery with violence—he made no reply—in the cab on the way to the station he said "What did you say I was charged withes"—I repeated the charge—he said "I was there, but I did not do anything."
Cross-examined by Pinner. You made no resistance.
Shea in his defence stated that he met the prosecutor and showed him about, and that they quarreled, when the prosecutor struck him. Pinner's defence was that the prosecutor had asked him where he could get drink, and that they all three went together to public-houses, but he did not attempt to do anything when the prosecutor was struck, and that he never said "Now is your time" or anything like it; that he had held a good situation, but had not had time since his committal to call witnesses to character, but had given the Inspector his employer's address.
SHEA— GUILTY . He also PLEADED GUILTY** to a previous conviction.— Fifteen Months' Imprisonment.
PINNER— NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. GRAIN and PURCELL Prosecuted.
MATTHEW WILKINSON (Inspector, Great Northern Railway.) On Sunday, the 27th June, I was at Stevenage station, in the booking office—it is 28 miles from London—I saw three of the prisoners come into the booking office, not Sisifant—they passed the ticket-window, but took no tickets—I was with Rogers and Curran, the other officers—they got into a third-class compartment—I got into the next compartment with Rogers and Curran—on arriving at Hatfield I gave Rogers certain instructions, in consequence of which he got into the compartment where the men were—the compartments are divided by partitions running up to the ceiling—on arriving at Wood Green I saw Sisifant on the platform—he got into the compartment where the three prisoners and another man were, and on arriving at Hornsey all four prisoners and the other man alighted from the train—I and the other officers followed them—Rogers passed the ticket-collector and made a communication to him—I watched what tickets they gave up—I saw each man give the collector one third-class ticket and pass up the stain—we stopped the four prisoners, the fifth man got away—the railway fare from Stevenage to Hornsey is 2s. 0 1/2 d.; from Wood Green to Hornsey it is 1d.
Cross-examined by Sisifant. You gave up one ticket.
Cross-examined by William Palmer. You did not have to run to get the train—you were on the platform some time, and all three of you were standing together talking.
Re-examined. There were many people in the booking-office who were not going by the train.
JOHN ROGERS . I am an officer employed by the Great Northern Railway Company—on 27th June I was on the Stevenage platform, in consequence of instructions, in company with Wilkinson and Curran, I saw the three prisoners (not Sisifant) and another man come on to the platform—they went back into the lobby where the booking-office is, and came out again without taking tickets—I saw them get into a third-class carriage; I got
into another compartment—at Hatfield I received instructions from Wilkinson and got into the compartment where they were—as the train was running between Hatfield and Wood Green Slocombe said to Palmer "Keep your lamps open"—at Colney Hatch Palmer said "All right;" he put his body out of the window and looked up and down each way, then turning to the prisoners and to the man who has escaped he said "He is not here"—when the train was running into Wood Green station he said "Look out and see if there is any one here belonging to we"—Palmer looked out as the train ran into the station—William Palmer said "Shut your mouth"—when the train stopped Sisifant came into the same compartment—that was the first time I saw him—the carriage was full, but he forced his way in and said he would stand, as he was not going far—the prisoners all knew each other and spoke to one another—one of them said to him "Oh, you are here, then"—I saw Sisifant pass a ticket to Thomas Palmer, then he forced his way over to the other side and passed William Palmer a ticket, and the man who escaped—I then saw him pass a ticket to the others—it was broad daylight—they got out at Hornsey; I got out too—I made a communication to the collector—I saw the prisoners deliver up their tickets, and I saw the ticket collector keep the Wood Green tickets separate, as I had told hint to do—he put them in one hand.
Cross-examined by Sisifant. I did not touch the tickets.
JOHN CURRAN . I am an officer of the Great Northern Eailway Company—I was at Stevenage Station on Sunday, 27th June—to get on to the platform you must pass the lobby in the ticket office—I saw three of the prisoners coming through the lobby on to the platform—they got into a carriage of the 6.59 train—I got into the next compartment with Wilkinson—at Wood Green Thomas Palmer put his head through the window, and made a motion to Sisifant, who was looking up and down the platform—he called out "Here, here"—Sisifant came to the compartment—I saw several tickets in Sisifant's hand—I got out at Hornsey; the prisoners were going towards the exit door; Eogers was in front of them; I followed behind with Wilkinson—they wore the last persons to give up tickets; I saw each ticket given up to the collector—I took the tickets from the collector (produced), all five together—I then followed after the men—we stopped the four prisoners; one man succeeded in getting away.
Cross-examined by Sisifant. Rogers caught you on the bridge at the top of the stairs.
JAMBS HAND . I collected the tickets for this train on 27th June at Hornsey; Rogers made a communication to me—after the other passengers had passed I saw the four prisoners and another man standing in a group on the platform, and they were talking together—they then passed me and gave up their tickets—in consequence of instructions I kept all the tickets from Wood Green to Hornsey separate—these are the five tickets produced—I had taken two similar tickets before, making seven in all; the other two were not mixed with the five I received from the prisoners and the man who escaped.
Cross-examined by Sisifant. I took your ticket—I was in uniform.
GEORGE NICHOLLS . I am clerk of the Wood Green Station to the Great Northern Railway—I was on duty from 9 a.m. till 9 p.m. on Sunday, 27th June—I issued 26 third-class tickets for Hornsey—the tickets are numbered consecutively—I issued the tickets produced numbered from 3408 to 3412
at 8.7—before the train came up a man took three third singles for Hornsey, and directly afterwards three similar ones were taken, making six tickets by the 6.59 train from Seven age.
Sisifant's Statement before the Magistrate. "I have nothing to say except that I paid my fare."
Thomas and William Palmer, in their defence, said that they had not time to take tickets.
GUILTY . SISIFANT— One Month's Imprisonment.
SLOCOMBE, THOMAS and WILLIAM PALMER— Three Weeks' Imprisonment each.
NEW COURT.—Monday, June 5th, 1880.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. FILAN Prosecuted; MR. WSLEIGH Defended.
WILLIAM MILES . I am a stone mason—on 11th June, about 4 p.m., I met the prisoners near Victoria Station, and got into conversation with them—I took them into a public-house and gave them some beer—I was the worse for drink, but not drunk—I told them I was going to see my son in Wilton Place—they offered to go and fetch him for me, and left the public-house for a short time—I then walked towards Victoria Station again, and they came and said, "Your son is waiting for you"—I went with them towards Orchard Street—they walked one on each side of me; I had my left hand in my pocket, where I had 3l. 15s.—Fuller tried to pull my hand out of my pocket, and I was thrown on the pavement, but he did not succeed in getting my hand from my pocket—my money was in my hand—he tried to get his hand past mine into my pocket—Richardson still stuck to me—I saw a constable approaching; Fuller started to run—the constable gave chase to him and took him.
Cross-examined by MR. SLEIGH. I left home about 7.10 in the morning-—I had been in Old Kent Road on business—I got near Victoria Station between 2 and 3; it may have been as early as 1 o'clock—I don't recollect having been in company with any women—there was nothing particular about my clothes except that one of my drawers was over the top of my boot, in consequence of a button coming off; my drawers were not down; I may have said at the police-court that they were—I have ascertained since that my son was at Ascot that day, but I did not know it then—I am married; my wife is living—I did not tell the prisoners that I should like to go to my son instead of going home to my wife, that she should not know that I had been with some women—I believe I said at the police-court that Fuller partially succeeded in getting his hand into my pocket; he could not get it in because there was not room for our two hands—I was not incapable; I was quite capable of stopping their robbing of me—I did not fall down; they threw me down—I don't know that there was a cab stand at the corner of Orchard Street—I heard the prisoners make statements before the Magistrate.
Cross-examined by Richardson. I first came up to you outside the public-house—I had one stocking on and one off, because my boot pressed my foot and punished me—I did not say that I had some money in my boot, or
that I had been with some women—I did not ask you to get me a cab—I would not allow a man like you to take hold of my arm.
JOSEPH HAWKINS . I am a grocer—I saw Miles in Orchard Street with the prisoners, about 5.15 p.m., standing still on the pavement; they commenced scuffling, and Miles fell, and got up and said in their presences that they were trying to rob him—I saw one of them in the act of forcing his hand into Miles's trousers pocket, but I cannot say which of them—I told the constables so—Fuller walked away a few yards along the pavement and commenced running, and the constable took him.
Cross-examined by MR. SLEIGH. Miles was not very drunk; I believe he knew what he was about—it did not appear to me that the man was trying to get Miles's hand out of his pocket to walk along with him—I did any at the police-court I had no suspicion until the man got up—whatever I saw done was not sufficient to make me think he was trying to rob the prosecutor—I cannot say whether either of the prisoners touched him when he was on the ground; it was before he fell that one of the prisoners triad to put his hand into his pocket—I did not see him try to do so a second time—he got up, I believe, without their touching him—Richardson stood perfectly still and Fuller walked along Orchard Street a few yards, and then ran off the pavement; he ran about 20 yards before he was stopped.
Cross-examined by Richardson. You were not far from the cab-stand when I came up; it was just across the road—you had hold of the gentleman's arm; he was tipsy—I don't know that you touched him when he fell—you stood still when the policeman came up. Re-examined. I said at the police-court "I had no suspicion till he man got up and said they are trying to rob me, but I had seen one man putting his hand into the complainant's pocket."
ANIEL JAMES (Policeman.) On 11th June, about 5.15, I saw Miles on the ground, at the corner of Orchard Street; the prisoners were holding him down, one on each side, and he was struggling to get away; they let go when I approached, and Richardson stood a few yards off and Fuller walked away—Miles got up, and I said "What is the matter?"—he said "They are trying to rob me, I give them in charge"—I went after Fuller; he looked back, saw me, and ran; he dodged between some carts, but I captured him, and told another constable to take Richardson.
Cross-examined by MR. SLEIGH. I left the man who was nearest to me and ran after Fuller—I meant to say that the prisoners were holding Miles while he was on the ground—I did not see him go on the ground—I was only watching them a quarter of a minute.
Cross-examined by Richardson. You did more than stand by; you had the prosecutor on the ground—you were not trying to lift him up by his arm.
KENNETH MCLEMAN (Policeman.) I received information and took Kichardson next day—I told him it was being concerned with Fulter—he said that he was there, but knew nothing about it—on the way to the station he said that it was very unfortunate, if there was anything bad he was sure to be in it.
Cross-examined by Richardson. I did not ask you whether you would come and speak for the man who had been locked up the night before—I told you I should take you—I did not say that you had better go—you were very violent.
Richardson's Statement "before the Magistrate." The gentleman met us and told us some loose women had tried to rob him, and would we take him see him safe to his son. We told him we would; seeing he staggered, took hold of his arm. He said he should like to have a four-wheeled We were taking him to the cab-rank, about a minute and a half off. said, "They are trying to take my money from me." With that we immediately let go of him; he, being drunk, fell down, and the policeman same and took Fuller in custody and left me standing there. The prosecutor never charged me at all, it was the policeman that charged me. As attempting to rid him, I know nothing about it," Richardson in his defence repeated the above statement, and maintained hat all he did was out of kindness to the prosecutor, who was drunk.
NOT GUILTY .
To into recognisances to come up for judgment if called upon, and to pay 10s. a week for the maintenance of his wife and child, the Court making order for a judicial separation.
THIRD COURT.—Monday, July 5th, 1880.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
438. CHARLES CALDERARA (54) and WILLIAM TROWBRIDGE (65) , Stealing 651 pieces of paper of John Wylie, the master of Calderara. TROWBIODGE also receiving. CALDERARA PLEADED GUILTY. Judgment respited. The Jury being unable to agree as to Trowbridge were discharged.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, July 7th, 1880.
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
POLAND and EYRE LLOYD Prosscutsd; MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS Defended.
JANE LOUISA SOLLER . I reside at 13, Cambridge Circus, in the parish of Bow—I keep a little general shop—I had known the deceased about 17 years, and the prisoner a little over 12 months—on Friday evening, 4th June, they came together to my house about 8.30—was taking supper—the prisoner asked me if I would lend him 6d., which I did—they were quarrelling after they came in—they were not taking supper—the prisoner took something out of his pocket; thought it was bread and butter—I asked him if he would have some these; he said "No"—I don't know what they were quarrelling about; they were having angry words—I kept walking in and out of the shop—I told them I did not want them in quarrel in my house—the prisoner left about 9.30—I think he was sober by his appearance—he
returned and asked his wife if she was coming—she said "No"—he asked her to go home; she said she should not go, and called him very bad names—I don't think she was sober; she was never sober—she asked, me to lend her 4 1/2 d.; she was going to take something home—I lent it to her, and she wished me good night—it was then 10.15.
Cross-examined. The prisoner is a very kind, good man, and very hard-working and industrious—he came to my house nearly every night—she was very seldom sober—I only heard him ask her once to come home that night—she refused, and called him very bad names indeed—he left, leaving her there—I knew them when they lived in another house—he has complained of her pawning and selling things for drink—he has complained to me nearly every day—I have heard her say that she has made away with everything, and she intended to do so—I have heard her say so repeatedly, and I know that she has done so.
ELIZABETH RAY . I am the wife of Isaac Ray, and am the landlady of No. 5, Patriot Square—the prisoner and his wife came to lodge there about five weeks before this occurred—I let them the second-floor front room furnished at 5s. a week, and they lived there together—they had no children living with them—the prisoner went to his work at 5.30 every morning—he is a smith—on Friday night, 4th June, about 9.30, the prisoner came home alone; I let him in—I think he had had a little drop to drink, but I did not notice, I would not like to say that he had; I think so from the way he spoke to me—I said "Shall I shut the door, daddy?" he said "No, don't shut the door," and I left it open—I suppose he went upstairs—I saw nothing more of him till I saw him now—I went out at 9.35 to the Reindeer public-house in the Cambridge Road, over the way, to fetch half a pint of ale, and there saw Mrs. Key standing against a seat or table; some man was playing a concertina there, and she was tuning up to it, just dancing like; a bit of a jig, you may call it—I did not stop a second; I could not say what state she was in—I came away and left her there—later on, about 11.45, I heard her come home; I did not see her—she let herself in; she had a latch-key—I knew it was her by the way she walked upstairs; I knew her step—for reasons of my own I went up to the second floor and listened for about three minutes to hear whether there would be a quarrel or not, as they had had a piece of work on the Thursday night previous—I heard nothing and went down again—I had heard her shut the door of their room—I went to bed about 12.30; I slept downstairs in the lower room—I heard nothing that night—the next knew of the matter was the police coming to the house about 6.30 in the morning, and I heard that the woman was lying dead in the room—they were under notice to leave the lodging—I had told them several times leave—the deceased was a drunken woman, frequently drunk, and very quarrelsome—on the previous Thursday they had a very severe quarrel upstairs in their own room—I went upstairs to speak to them bout 10 o'clock at night—I heard them talking very loud and very improperly, and I said "I really cannot have this"—Mrs. Key was making use of very bad words indeed—she was on the landing when I went up—the prisoner had gone to bed—I said to her "Dear me, Mrs. Key, why do you talk so loud?"—she said "You had better go and speak to him"—I did so; I said "Look here, daddy, don't make such a piece of work at this time of night"—he said "No, Mrs. Ray, I would not disturb you for the world—I then
went downstairs, and it was quite quiet then—the words she used to him are not proper for me to repeat; they were very bad; she was very abusive—this poker (produced) is mine; it belonged to a set of brass firefrons in their room—this flat-iron iron is also mine; that was in the room—the deceased had borrowed it of me on the Sunday before.
Cross-examined. She was frequently drunk; very quarrelsome and abusive—the prisoner was a very hard-working man—I think he only missed going to work one morning, and that was when he was ill.
JOHH KEY, JUN . I am the prisoner's son—at the time in question I reasided at 4, Maple Street, Bethnal Green Road—I am a cabinet-maker—the deceased was my stepmother, her name was Martha—they had been married about eight years—previous to 5th June I had not seen her for some time, the last time was at the Green Man public-house in Cambridge Heath Road, about a fortnight or three weeks previous to this affair; it might have been a little longer—on Saturday morning, 5th June, I saw my father about 5 or 6 minutes past 6—I met him in the road about 10 minutes' walk from where he lived; he was dressed in his ordinary working clothes—he came up to me, I shook hands with him; he was coming away from his lodging and going towards Shoreditch—we stood talking 5 or 6 minutes concerning family matters—after we had done talking he said "John, I am afraid it is all over"—I said, "What do you mean, father?" he said, "I am afraid I have killed Martha"—I said, "Good God, you don't say so"—he said, "Yes, it is so, John"—he then asked if I had got a penny about me—I said yes, and he asked me to come and have something to drink with him—I said, "No, father, I could not, my feelings would not allow me to do so"—he said he was going to give himself up to the police—he left me and went into the White Hart—I waited outside for him and then walked with him as far as Wolverley Street, and I saw him deliberately go to the station in Bethnal Green Road and give himself up to a constable.
Cross-examined. He has always been a kind father to me, and a hardworking kind-hearted man—he had six children by his first wife, four now living—I was in the habit of seeing him when they lived at Mrs. Fletcher's in Brunswick Square—they had to leave there in consequence of the deceased's drunken habits; she was always drinking, all through their married life, and always kicking up a disturbance with all his family—before that they lived at Willis's in Winston Street; the same thing went on there, and the same reason for leaving, the home was sold up by degrees—I said before the Magistrate that my children could not go there because we never knew what it was to have a quiet hour when she was there; it was a life of misery right through the eight years, ne'er a one of us could go and see him at all.
CHARLES COVENTRY (Policeman K 140). On Saturday morning, 5th June, about 20 minutes past 6, I Saw the prisoner at the corner of Pott Street, Bethnal Green Road—I was in uniform going off duty—it is three or four minutes' walk from Patriot Square where the prisoner lived—he came up to me and said, "Policeman, I want to speak to you"—I said, "What do you want?"—he said, "This morning, at 20 minutes past 5, my wife was flourishing the poker over my head, when I hit her with a flatton on the head, and I believe it is a fatal blow; I done it in self-defence"—I asked him where—he said, "The first house in Patriot Square, on the
right"—he then said, "I wish to give myself into your custody, according to the law of my country"—I asked him if it was correct—he said, "yes, if you go home you will find it is so"—I told him he would have to come to the station—he said nothing to that—on the road to the station I met Inspector Smith—I told the inspector what the prisoner had said to me—he asked him was it so, and he made the same statement to him—the inspector said, "Bring him inside"—he was taken inside and the inspector questioned him about it—I was left in charge of him during the time he was charged; he never spoke to me during the time I was in charge of him.
Cross-examined. My beat is in that neighbourhood—I have seen the prisoner many times going to work of a morning, and passed the time of day—I knew the deceased well; she was a drunken, dissolute woman—I have been called to her many times; once in Hackney Road, to her, and her husband persuading her to go away; and I have been called to the White Hart, Bethnal Green Road.
GEORGE SMITH (Police Inspector K). On 5th June, about 6.20 a.m., I met Coventry with the prisoner in Bethnal Green Road, who said, "This man wishes to give himself up for killing his wife"—I said to the prisoner, "Is that so?"—he said, "Yes, I struck her with a flatiron, and I believe she is dead"—I said, "Where?"—he said, "the first house on the right-hand side in Patriot Square, I don't know the number"—I accompanied him to the station, and directly after he got in he made a statement, which I put on a slate—the slate is still in existence, but it has no writing upon it—I did not copy the writing, what I wrote on the slate was, "At 6.20 my wife got out of bed and held the poker over my head; I struck her with the flat-iron, it was a fatal blow"—I am positive of the words—I went to Patriot Square, and in the second-floor front room I saw the deceased woman lying on the bad on the side nearest the wall, the right hand, with her feet toward the window—the bed was towards the back room—I saw that she had several cuts on the head—she was dressed in her chemise and sockings only, the bed-clothes covered her from Her shoulders as far as little below the knees—there was blood on the bed where her head was lying on the pillow; there was a few splutters of blood on the ceiling—she appeared quite dead—I sent for a surgeon, Mr. Alden—I searched the room, and under the bed I found on the floor this flat-iron (produced)—it had the appearance of blood on it, but it was dry then; the blood was on the centre of the bottom, and at the back; it has the marks now—it was standing flat and was not far under the bed—it is a single bed and not very wide—I found this poker (produced) standing upright against the hob on the left side of the fireplace as I faced it—the surgeon arrived at about 7 o'clock—there was no appearance of a struggle having taken place in the room—the bed was lying in exactly the same condition in all respects when the surgeon came as when I saw it—everything in the room was exactly the same—I did not touch the iron; I just looked round—the surgeon examined the body while I was there—I then went back to the station-house, taking the flat-iron with me, not the poker at that time—I saw the prisoner at the station and said, "The statement is correct; if you which to repeat it or make any statement I must take it down in writing, and it might be used against you"—lie then repeated the statement, which I took down, and he signed it in my presence; this is it—he
asked to be allowed to read it; he read it and said, "That is right." Read "At 5.30 a.m. my wife got Out of bed and held the poker over my head to hit me; I hit her with the flat-iron; it was a fatal blow. JOHN KEY.") I showed the flat-iron to the prisoner after ho was charged, and he said, "This is the iron I hit her with"—he produced 30 pawn tickets, and said they related to property his wife had pawned, and that she had destroyed 13 homes in nine year for him—I produce the certifcate of their marriage. (This was dated 15th September, 1878.)
Cross-examined. A great many of the duplicates relate to articles of man's clothes—the last one is dated June 4th, 1880.
EBENEZER WENHAM ALDEN , M.R.C.S. I am a registered medical practitoner—on Saturday morning, 6th June, I was fetched to 5, patriot Square, by a constable—I got there about 7; the inspector was there—I went to the first-floor front room, and saw a woman on a bed in the corner of the room on the left as you enter—the head of the bed was against the wall, and she was on the right-hand side of it towards the vial looking towards the bed; she was on the left side, on the side next the wall—there is a passage leading from the door of the front room to the door of the back room, and she was on the side next the passage; her head was resting on the pillow turned rather towards the wall; she had a chemise and stockings on, and to the best of my recollection the lower two-thirds of the body was covered with the bedclothes—I saw blood on the pillow and on the upper part of the bedclothes, and there were some spots on the ceiling just above her head—she was quite dead—my opinion is that she had been dead the last three house; the arms and legs were cold, and the trunk had very little warmth in it; it is difficult to tell within halt an hour or an hour how long death has taken place—there was nothing in the room to lead one to think that there had been a struggle of any sort—it was not tidy, but nothing was upset—I was shown the flat-iron; there was dry blood on it—a poker was standing on the left-hand side of the fireplace—I made a post-mortem examination on the evening of the same day, and found six extensive cuts on the scalp, which in my opinion were inflicted by this iron—there must have been several blows, six at least; one cut was just on the middle of the scalp over the forehead, one over the left eye but in the hairy scalp, two behind the light ear, and two" towards the back of the head; the skull was fractured in two places; one was over the left eye and the other behind the right ear, and fissures ran from the fractures in all directions; the bone forming the right ear was literally smashed; there were other fractures in the base of the skull, and there was a large clot of blood corresponding with one of the blows—either of the blows causing the fracture would be quite sufficient to cause immediate insensibility—the pericardium, which surrounds the heart, was ruptured on the right side, and the heart was ruptured also—there was considerable bruising and abrasion over the breast-bone, such as might be done by blows with the iron, and the breast-bone was smashed into an indefinite number of pieces, quite indescribable; that must have been done by many blows—ten of the angles of the ribs on the right side were fractured and seven on the left, and there were external marks corresponding—a blow or a weight might have done that—the weight generally breaks the ribs, the cause of death, and rupture of the heart, either of which would cause death—I should say a
blow on the head was given first, and not the blow on the breast, or she would have been disturbed more in position—the internal origin showed that she was addicted to excessive drinking—all the injuries, might have been inflicted by an instrument like this iron—I took paticular notice that there were no other marks on the hands or arms or about the body than those I have mentioned—the body was lying up and down the bed, from above downwards.
By the JURY. One side of the bed was quite against the wall, and she was lying on that side—the weather was warm, and I should think it would take at least two hours for the blood to dry on the iron—the rupture of the heart would not cause circulation to cease instantly; there are cases where a person has moved about afterwards—it was a small bed.
ALICE KNOPE . My husband and I occupied the back room second-floor of 5, Patriot Square, on 8th June, the room next to where the prisoner and his wife slept—on 4th June I went to bed about 9.30—I heard no noise in the night, but about 4.30 a.m. I heard a knocking in the next room—it was a dull noise—I cannot say how many knocks or how long it lasted—my husband was awake, and I said "Listen to that knocking"—I know the time, because I can see St. John's Church from my window—I heard no other noise.
Cross-examined. During the four days I heard the prisoner using violent and bad language in his room—I heard the words.
JOHN KNOPE .I am a printer, and the husband of the last witness—on Saturday, June 5, about 4.30 a.m., my wife called my attention, and I heard a slight knocking, a dull sound in the next room, the prisoner's room, as if a man was mending his boots—it continued about a second—I heard nothing else—there were about six knocks—I went to sleep afterwards, and at 6.30 the police knocked at my door; I was then just awake, but in bed—I then heard what had happened in the next room.
Cross-examined. I heard about six knocks—I said before the Magistrate "I only heard one or two knocks"—I also said that it was like mending a pair of boots—I had never seen the prisoner or his wife.
EDWARD SADLOW .I am a looking-glass counter—on 5th June I occupied the back room first-floor at 5, Patriot Square, under the prisoner, but in the back room—I heard no noise during night of the 4th, but at 5 or 5.30 by the clock in my room I heard about five knocks, which sounded as if over my head—it was like hitting the bed—a quarter of an hour afterwards I heard some one come in at the door, and then some one went out.
Cross-examined. The room immediately over my head was occupied by the Knopes.
GEORGE GREENHAM (Police Inspector). I understand surveying—I made these plans of the second floor of 3, Patriot Square—the measurements are correct by scale—the bed is 3 feet 1 inch wide, and 6 feet 5 inches long—the room is 11 feet 5 inches by 7 feet 2 1/2 inches, and 7 feet high—the bed is 2 feet 3 1/2 inches from the floor with the mattress on—I made the plan last Friday—the room is not occupied now.
JOHN KEY (Re-examined). I lived at home during my mother's lifetime—my father was always a kind and affectionate husband to my mother—she was suffering from consumption during the last six or seven years of her life, and he was a compassionate and kind, good nurse, and a good husband.
GUILTY. Strongly recommended to mercy by the Jury,— DEATH .
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
MR. NICOLL Prosecuted; MR. A. B. KELLY Defended.
JANE PHILLIPS .I am the wife of Edwaril Phillips, of 9, Leyton Road, Stratford, Essex, newsagent—he is blind, and I conduct the business, and send out the accounts, and sign the receipts—for some time previously to December last we supplied the Stratford Great Eastern Mechanics Institution with newspapers and periodicals—I sent in this account (produced) about December to the prisoner, who was the secretary; it is in the handwriting of my husband's brother—it is not my signature—there is no date to it—I put dates—this account, dated 14th July, 1879, is my signature—it has a date to it—I have never received this 1l. 9s. 4d.—I have not often seen the prisoner write—I cannot say whether this account of the 1st August is his writing.
Cross-examined. My husband's brother makes out bills—it never happens that any one but myself receives the money—I always put a date to the receipts—it is not only the absence of the date that makes me say that is not my writing—the prisoner has sent a boy with the accounts—I know Chettel, but he had not paid them for some time previous—I know Hyde—other persons have come by the prisoner's authority to pay the account, but we send the bills to him addressed to Mr. Richardson, secretary—the account written by my brother-in-law is correct, because I sent the papers and periodicals.
Re-examined. Whoever pays the bills I always receipt them.
ERNEST WINDMILL . I am a clerk in the employ of the Great Eastern Railway Company—in April last I audited the books of the Great Eastern Railway Institute—I produce the minute book which is kept by the secretary, whose duty it is to keep all the books, and to enter the receipts in the receipt book, and the money paid in the cash-book—this minute of the 15th December, 1879, is in the prisoner's handwriting, to the best of my belief—I have frequently seen him write—the minute authorises the payment of 1l. 9s. 4d. to Phillips—I produce the cash-book kept by the prisoner, and in December I find "Newspapers, Phillips, 1l. 9s. 4d." in the prisoner's handwriting—this cash-book is posted up, and this bill is numbered with a corresponding voucher-book—I produce the voucher-book—this signature, "E. Phillips 1l. 9s. 4d" is, to the best of my belief, the prisoner's handwriting—we have worked in the same office—I produce the record of the meeting of the investigation committee which is in the prisoner's handwriting'—the investigation was held in consequence of irregularities in the accounts, under the head of "Phillips 1l. 9s. 4d., 1l. 9s. 2d., and 2l. 18s. 6d."—there is an answer in the handwriting of the prisoner—"Denial on both sides as to irregularities does not elucidate matters; the only thing I can see is for me to pay the 2l. 18s. 6d., and hand the vouchers to the Institution"—I produce a letter written to the committee on 27th April, 1880 by the prisoner. (Read. This letter stated that the prisoner was wiling to make what reparation he could for this most unfortunate business.)
Cross-examined. The result was that the prisoner admitted there might have been irregularities in keeping the books.
Re-examined. In consequenoe of this investigation this prosecution was instituted.
THOMAS GHETTEL .I am a clerk in the locomotive department of the Great Eastern Railway Company, and am also Librarian to the If Mechanics Institution—I have often seen the prisoner write, and to the best of my belief this account is signed by him—I have known him for many years.
The Prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY Strongly recommended to mercy on account of his previous good character.— . Six Months Imprisonment;
There was another charge of forgery against the prisoner, on the same fach upon which no evidence was offered.
JOSEPH SIMPSON .I have been a master mariner for 16 years, and am at present marine superintendent in London for Messrs. Henderson Brothers' Anchor line of steamships, plying between London and New York—on the morning of Saturday, the 22nd May, I was at the Victoria Dock, on board the steamer Victoria, belonging to Messrs. Henderson, when the wife of the prisoner came to me and made a statement—the prisoner was quartermaster on board the Victoria—detectives were put to watch the prisoner's house, and they subsequently showed me the property they found there (articles produced)—the prisoner had no right to take these articles from the ship—the property is marked with the company's flag—I heard the prisoner asked how he accounted for the possession of that property, and he said it got into his bag by mistake—his house was down at the Custom House, Victoris Docks—I do not know the street—the. company never sell any of the property—we have lost clocks of this description from the cargo.
Cross-examined. Some of these could not be bought in New York—they are transshipped—they are not sold in England—the prisoner has been over to New York several times—the linen articles are all very old—I suppose the market value of the goods if we had to replace them new, exclusive of the clocks, would be 30s—we could give these sheets to our passengers if washed—I have superintended the ship—I did not know it was undergoing painting; the saloon was—these things would not be kept in the saloon—lf the prisoner's cabin had been painted he would have taken his things ashore—some of the men have bags and some portmanteaus.
RICHARD BAINES . I am import clerk to Messrs. Henderson Brothers—it is my duty to attend the Victoria Docks and see after the cargo—the Victoria arrived in New York in April, 1880—my attention was called by the Dock Company's cooper to a case of clocks per the Victoria, and I found it was four clocks short, and had apparently been opened—it had only eight in it instead of 12—they were similar to these.
JOHN ELLAS DUDLEY .I am manager to Messrs. Aldridge and Company, of East India Avenue, Leadenhall Street, who are the London agents for the China and Japan Trading Company—in December, 1879, the company had certain clocks belonging to them in transit from New York, Shanghai, and Japan stamped with their name—this clock belongs to us, and has on the back of it a label describing it as being sold by the China and Japan Trading Company—they are not sold in this country.
Cross-examined. They are bought in New York, and specially labelled
for shipment to China—there would be nothing to prevent a person buying these clocks without a label.
BENJAMIN DAVIS . I am manager to Messrs. R. M. Marples, of 16, Marlborough Street, maker of the "30 hour joker," and have been in their employ for 10 years—cases are consigned to us for sale, and we had some shipped to our order per the Victoria—I checked them all—I found one case tampered with—this "30 hour joker" corresponds with those shipped to us by the Victoria.
Cross-examined. We have a great number of clocks sent over—there have been instances of tampering—this is not a very common kind of clock—our place in New York is in the Broadway—the name of Seth Thomas is on these clocks.
EOOLES GOLDING (Police Inspector K). On the 23rd May, at 10.30, in consequence of information I received, I went to 13, Curtain Street, Canning Town, the prisoner's lodgings, with Detective Breed, where we saw the prisoner—I said I had received information that he had property stolen from the Victoria, one of the ships of the Anchor line in the Victoria Docks, and asked to search his apartment—we went upstairs and found five clocks of this kind—I asked him how he accounted for them, and he said he bought them in New York—I also fotind a pillow-case marked with a circle, and a large counterpane marked; also four earthenware plates with the company's mark on them—he said the counterpane and sheets he could not account for, but the plates he might have brought home with some butter in—there were two spoons and a fork—I also found a fork with the company's mark on it—I told him I should take him in charge.
Cross-examined. I did not hear him say he might have brought the sheets and things over in his bag—Mr. Simpson knew nothing of it until I gave him information.
WALTER BREED (Detective K). I went on Sunday, 23rd May, with the last witness—in addition to what he found I found a sheet and blanket with the mark of the Anchor line, and also a book—I took the prisoner into custody, and found on him two skeleton keys, which fit some of the looks on board the Victoria.
Crow-examined. As quartermaster the prisoner would have keys of his own, not given him by the company—I should think he would have a right to go to all places.
GUILTY of stealing the clothing.— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
There was another indictment against the prisoner for stealing a quantity of books, the property of a passenger, 'with which the prosecution did not processed.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. DOUGLAS Prosecuted.
RICHARD ANDREWS .I am a draper's assistant—on 29th March, Easter Monday, I was at the Beacon Coffee-house, Stratford, and had two ox three games at draughts with the prisoner for a small sum of money—some one was throwing coal; I asked the prisoner who it was—a dispute arose, and
he said that he did not throw it; he was going to strike me, and said he would take my eye out, but I pushed him—about 20 minutes afterwards I left the house, and just as I got down the steps I was struck on the eye by the prisoner with his fist—I said, "My God, you have destroyed my eye"—he bolted, and I was so stunned by the blow that I could not follow him—my eye bled—I went to the hospital next morning—I never saw with my left eye again, and it was taken out ten days afterwards—I described the prisoner to the police, and picked him out at the station a fortnight afterwards.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You said, "I will take your eye out, or "I will have your eye out"—you did not say, "If you hit me again I will punch you in the eye"—a young chap hit me on my hat with a piece of coal—I did getup and striks you on the mouth; I only pushed you, but I belive your mouth bled.
JOHN LLOYD . I received information from the prisoner, and communicated with the prosecutor—I saw the prisoner at West Ham station, and told him I had been looking for him—he said, "I know you want me about that chap's eye being knocked out; I hit him, but I did not knock his eye out."
GEORGE HERBERT .I am surgeon of the London Ophthalmic HospitalAndrews was brought there on 30th March with one eye ruptured, causing him to have scarcely any perception of light—after some days his eye was taken out—a blow with a fist may have caused the injury—if it had not been taken out it would have injured the other eye from sympathy—such mischief is exceedingly rare—there was no external wound, but the blow ruptured the eyeball—blood flowed.
Prisoner's Defence. He lost the third game at draughts, and got up and punched me on my mouth. I said, "If you do that again I will punch you in the eye." When I went there next night the chaps said, "You are in for it for knocking that chap's eye out."
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding.— Six Months' Imprisonment.
MR. MILLWOOD Prosecuted.
ROBERT COLLINS .I live at 23, Well Street, Stratforcf—the prisoner is my brother, and lives in the same house with me—a little after 9 o'clock on Saturday night, 15th May, I went into my house, where I found the prisoner—he said "I have been waiting for you"—he then struck me with some weapon, which I believe to be a poker—I am nearly blind—the blow knocked me down—I tried to get away—he then followed me and drove a knife into my left ear—I screamed out for a constable—a constable came and he made his escape—the constable went after him, and the prisoner came back and struck me a second time on the forehead with his fist—I gave him into custody—I was bleeding at the time.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not know you were in the house at all until you struck me—I did not follow you—as soon as the constable came you took yourself off.
MART COLLINS .I am the prisoner's sister, and live at 23, Wells Street, Stratford—I was present when my brothers were quarrelling—I had been to a shop for some bread, tea, sugar, and butter, and I brought it in and put it by the side of the prisoner, and he took it up and was eating some
bread and cheese when Robert walked in and said "You idle dog, work for your living"—they both got to blows—I believe Robert struck Daniel first—there was no poker nor nothing used, and I only saw the knife the prisoner was eating his bread and cheese with—I found it in the middle of the street afterwards—that is all I saw of the knife—this is the knife I picked up (produced)—it is my mother's—there was a little bit bent at the corner.
Cross-examined. I went for a policeman to part you because I thought it best to part two brothers.
FREDERICK JAMES (Policeman K 406). I was on duty on the night in question, and was called to the house, where I found the prisoner bleeding from the left ear—I went in search of the prisoner, and returned, when I saw the prisoner scuffling with his brother, who was bleeding from the left ear—ho was given into my custody and charged with stabbing his brother—this is the knife given me by the last witness—it was quite dry.
Cross-examined. I did not see any weapon. in your hand.
WALTER GROGONGBR . I am a physician and surgeon of Stratford—at about 12 o'clock on the night in question I went to the West Ham Policestation, where I found the prosecutor suffering from an incised wound on the left ear, about half an inch long, extending down to the hope—the wound corresponds with the knife which has been produced—it would cause such a wound.
Cross-examined. You were suffering from congestion of the lungs then—I sent you to the workhouse.
Prisoners Defence. I assaulted him in my own defence when he struck me.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MESSRS. CRAUFURD and LLOYD Prosecuted.
MATTHEW CRAWFORD .I am a baker of Nelson Street, Greenwich—about 2.30 on 18th May I saw my son serve the prisoner with two buns; she tendered half-a-crown—my son handed it to me—I told the prisoner it was bad—she mid, "Break it"—I broke it in three pieces in the, trial and gave her the pieces—she said it was very cruel and wicked to pass such things on innocent people, it might get them into trouble—I afterwards saw Sergeant Sheath about it.
THOMAS MALONEY . I am barman at the Cricketers' Arms, King Street, Greenwich—about 2.30 on 18th May last I served the prisoner with half-a-pint of mild and bitter—she put down a florin—I took it to my master and mistress and they nicked it—I returned it to the prisoner and then she paid for the ale with good money—this is the florin (produced)—Crawford's shop is about four doors off—I described the prisoner to Sergeant Sheath.
GEORGE STEPHENSON . I am assistant park constable at Greenwich Park—the park gate is about three minutes walk from Crawford's shop—I saw the prisoner in company with the man named James Edgar Thompson who was here yesterday, standing between George Street Gate and St. Mary's Gate, folding something up—I had a gold band on my hat—I got behind a tree about 30 yards off—I got closer; I saw it was money—they were folding it in thin white paper—they walked about 70 yards np the park
close by the wall—the man kicked up a turf close under tie wall; he placed a parcel underneath the turf and stamped it down with hig foot, then they both looked round—the man made water up against the wall over the place where he buried the coin, and they both went together through St. Mary's Gate out of the park—when they had gone I turned up the turf and found this parcel of bad coins, 12 two-shilling pieces and seven half-crowns—I immediately went and informed the police constable Wilson of what I had found, and in consequence of what he told me I went and put the parcel in the same place—I continued to watch—I saw the man come back in about half an hour, look at the place, and then walk straight past it, leaving the park as hard as he could go—I afterwards saw the prisoner some yards from where the coins were buried—the police sergeant afterwards sent for me to the Spread Eagle, where I saw the prisoner—I afterwards went and got the parcel.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not know what you put there—I could not take you into custody—I was told by the policeman not to interfere with it.
GEORGE WILSON (Policeman 153 R). On the 18th May last, between two and three p.m., the last witness made a communication to me in Silver Street, Greenwich—he showed me this parcel of coins wrapped in tissue paper, and rolled up in brown paper outside—each coin was wrapped up separately—I saw Stevenson take it back to the park—I afterwards pointed out the spot to Sergeant Sheath—later in the day I saw Sheath and followed the prisoner—I had seen him coming out of the park about 3.30—Sheath went into Crawford's and afterwards back into the park—I saw the prisoner sitting on a bench for nearly half an hour—Sheath was with me then—I followed her out of the park; she was joined by a woman and a man—all three went to the Spread Eagle—Stevenson afterwards came there—the prisoner was taken into custody.
STEVEN SHEATH (Policeman 2 R R). About 3.30 on 18th May I was in Nelson Street, Greenwich, when Mr. Crawford spoke to me in consequence of which I went in search of the prisoner—I saw her come out of the park about 4.15, Wilson was with me—I followed her; she went past Mr. Crawford's shop—he came out and saw her—I continued to follow her; she went to Greenwich pier, waited there about half an hour, then went into Church Street, looked in the three public-houses—she returned to the park; she sat on a seat about 60 or 70 yards from where the packet was buried—the spot had been pointed out to me by Wilson—she than left the park—I followed her down Silver Street; she was joined by a man and woman, and they went to the Spread Eagle—Stephenson was sent for and the prisoner was apprehended—I told her I should apprehend her for uttering a counterfeit half-crown, and also for being concerned in burying a quantity of coin in Greenwich Park—she said she knew nothing about it, she had just come to Greenwich—I then took her to Mr. Crawford's shop—two half-crowns and a good shilling were found on her at the station Stephenson gave me the packet containing these coins, I have kept them ever since.
The prisoner in a written defence stated that she went to Greenwich for a holiday and met the other person, but did not know anything about the bad money.
GUILTY . She also PLEADED GUILTY** to having been convicted at this Court in February,1876, in the name of Ellen Blown, of uttering counterfeit coin,— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
MR.F. REID Prosecuted; MR. GRAIN Defended.
HENRY DIBLIN . I am a seaman—the prisoner is my brother—he lived with me in Frederick Street, Greenwich—on 17th May I went home and found him lying on the sofa; I said "What are you breaking the things for; I won't have any more of this ere; you will have to get out of this 'ere"—I took hold of his shoulder, and he resisted—a struggle took place between us—he was very drunk and I was. sober—I got him; out, and then found a wound in my side—I had not felt anything; I was too much excited—blood running down first attracted my attention—I became unconscious—I have been attended by a medical men—the wound hat healed now.
Cross-examined. I went home with my wife—we had had a glass with our nephew—we had been in a public-house, but we only had a drop of beer—the prisoner was not asleep; our coming in woke him, and he sat up—we did not knock a lamp over in our scuffle; it was broken before we came in—I was thrown down by the prisoner and fell on the lamp—we went both on the ground, and my wife underneath—she got there through trying to part us—we were not having a regular fight, but I was trying to get him outside the house—I do not know whether his face was bleeding—I said "I told him he would have to go out of the house, and we were fighting"—that is correct.
SARAH DIBLIN . I am the prosecutor's wife—we came home together on the afternoon of 17th May, and found the prisoner lying on the sofa; he "woke up whet we went in—my husband spoke to him about breaking the lamp and the table, and said he would not have any more of it—they began to quarrel, and I went out—my husband afterwards called me into the back yard and told me he had been stabbed—he was bleeding from a wound in his side—the prisoner was drunk.
Cross-examined. I did not stop to see whether they fought or not; I ran out—I did not see them knock one another down—I did not say that I was underneath the two men—I was knocked down outside when I was trying to separate them—I did not notice whether the prisoner's face was all over blood—I had not long been confined, and I did not take notice—my husband was bail for him—the lamp was broken; I did not break it—the table was broken.
ELIZABETH STEVENSON . I am the wife of Robert Stephenson—I heard screams in the street on 17th May, and saw the two Mr. Diblins and Mrs. Diblins struggling on the ground—I ran out to pick up Mrs. Diblin—another neighbour and I, succeeded in getting the prisoner away—his face was very much disfigured, and blood was running from it—I was washing his face, and the door opened and Mrs. Diblin said he had been stabbed—I saw him draw something from his pocket and try to open a knife; he partially succeeded, and I snatched it from his hand and called him a coward—that was not after the stab—I had not heard about the stabbing
then—I gave it to a neighbour—I did not observe whether there was way blood on it; I was too agitated—the prisoner was very drunk indeed—he was not given in custody then; Mrs. Diblin said "For God's sake come in; my husband is bleeding to death from loss of blood," and I went in.
WILLIAM NICHOLSON . I am a surgeon, of Greenwich—I was called, and found the prosecutor on a couch with a small incised wound about half an inch long and a quarter of an inch deep in the region of the stomach—I do not know how deep it was beneath—a knife like this would produce it—he did not lose much blood; it has healed up very nicely.
Cross-examined. He was bleeding very slightly; it was not dangerous—it is very improbable that it could be done by two persons struggling and one of them being thrown on the broken part of the brass of the lamp or the glass, because there were three cuts through both of the flannel shirts corresponding with the wound underneath—the two flannel shirts must have been folded upon themselves three times—there was no blood on the knife.
GEORGE HARKING (Police Sergeant R 10). I found the prosecutor lying on a sofa in a very exhausted state—I took the prisoner in charge—he said "I am very sorry it occurred; the knife belongs to me, but I know noting of having stabbed him."
Cross-examined. The knife was given to me closed by a witness.
HENRY DIBLIN (Re-examined by the COURT). The lamp was standing on the table when I went out; the prisoner broke it by getting in at the window, and my son picked it up and put it on the drawers—I did not see it on the floor—it was not knocked down in the scuffle—it is a paraffin lamp—part of the globe was broken, and was near the fireplace—I was thrown down several times between the table and the sofa—there were some small pieces of broken glass on the floor near the fireplace—I saw no glass where I fell—I did not say in this box "I was thrown down by the prisoner and fell on the lamp."
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. Strongly recommended to mercy by the Jury and Prosecutor.— Two Months' Imprisonment.
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
MR. RIBTON, for the prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
MR. RAVEN Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
He was subsequently tried for carnally knowing and abusing the same person,
MR. RAVBN Prosecuted; MR. PUROELL Defended.
GUILTY of the attempt.— Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
MESSRS. POLAND and MONTAGU WILLIAMS Prosecuted; MR. FILLAN Defended.
EMMA BLACKMAN . My husband, James Blackman, was a Salesman in Covent Garden Market, and lived at 32, Derwent Road, Glengal Grove, Old Kent Road; the prisoner lived next door, at No. 34; he is a carman—on Saturday afternoon, 8th May, about 5 o'clock, he knocked at the door, and asked if my husband was at home—I said he was not—he said he would wait for him if it was till 12 o'clock—he then walked to the front garden gate—while I was standing at the door I saw my husband coming towards my house in company with Watson—as he came up to the gate the prisoner ran at him, and thumped him in the nose, then he thumped him in the mouth, and made his nose and mouth bleed, and knocked off his hat—my husband stooped as if he was going to pick his hat up to go indoors, and the prisoner said n Come on, you b—, you have long wanted to fight me, and now you shall fight me; take off your coat," and he gave him another blow, I did not see where, and my husband fell in the road—I went up to the publican opposite, and asked him to stop it, but he did not interfere—my husband took off his coat, and then they fought again—my husband fell down about five or six times; the last time he was insensible—each time the prisoner struck him he knocked him down—he was picked up by two men and carried indoors; he was partly insensible; we partly brought him to—he was bleeding from the mouth and nose—he spoke to me once or twice afterwards, and then he went into a stupor, and remained 00 for three days—he had a fit about 12 o'clock that same night, and another fit at 6 o'clock in the morning, and he never came out of it for three days—he died on the Sunday morning in the following week—he was 35 years of age—he was very intoxicated when this happened—he was walking steady; he never staggered when he was tipsy—he had never had fits before.
Cross-examined. He was a hard drinker—he was nearly always drunk, nearly every day—he was only violent to me—he was a very powerful man, about 13 stone—he had a bit of a scuffle with a bricklayer the week before—I don't know anything of the prisoner; I heard that he once had a fight with another man and nearly killed him; his daughter told me so—I have spoken to him, my husband has never spoken to him—he has always conducted himself to me in a quiet, proper manner—I have asked him not to fight with my husband, because he was very stout, and I knew if any one fought with him it would kill him, and he said "If your husband speaks to me I will walk away"—there was a dispute about some of the prisoner's rabbits eating the cabbages in our garden—my husband was very angry; I mentioned it to the prisoner, and he said he would rather have given my husband a couple of rabbits than have had any dispute about it—I once took a table-top to the prisoner to take care of, to keep from my husband's violence—on this very Saturday the child took a lamp in to the prisoner's wife to take care of, and my husband asked her for it, and she abused him—when the prisoner called he said my husband had insulted his wife; lie did not say how—he was in an excited state—I did not hear what patted between him and my
husband—he was struck three times before he took his coat off; when I asked the publican to separate them he said "No, it serves him right"—the people called him a b cur; that was when he was walking away—he said "I am no cur," and he turned round and Morris struck him again—I did not say "It is my husband, and it serves him right"—it was the blow in the neck that knocked him insensible—the prisoner did not help to pick him up and carry him in—he did not ask if he wanted any help; my husband said after he got indoors "I have a good Samaritan here," that was when one of the men who carried him in said "I will come and see you again presently"—it was after I had given him some water and he was laid on the bed—he was never properly sensible after that; he just answered what was said to him, that was all—he said he felt all right when I asked him—I went out for about half an hour to get my shopping in—I went to the prisoner's door, and he asked me how my husband was—I did not say he was better, I said he seemed very bad—I did not say I was glad he had given him a good hiding—when I went back I did not find that my husband had fallen out of bed and struck his head against a zinc pail by the side of the bed—he was on the bed when I came back; he afterwards went into a fit; he was in a fit when I came back; he spoke to me and asked me for some water—he was not black in the face—I went to get some water, and when I came back he had slipped partly off the bed and his head was in the pail—he was not quite off the bed; he was not on the floor—I put him on the floor afterwards, because he was making such a noise in his throat—his body was partly on a box by the side of the bed, that prevented him from falling off the bed altogether—he had two fits that night; he had 100 fits afterwards—he did not die in a fit—the last fit left him about 6 o'clock—he lost his voice then, and then his breathing gradually got lower—I sent for a doctor about six o'clock on the Sunday morning, when he had the second fit.
Re-examined. It was just after 12 o'clock when he slipped off the bad, when he had the first fit—it is a very low bedstead—the pail was by the side of the bed.
JOHN WATSON . I live at 1, Victoria Place, Cornwall Road, Peckham—I am a porter in Covent Garden Market—I had known the deceased about two years—on Saturday, 8th May, about 5 o'clock, I saw him at the Glen gal public-house, sitting on the horse-trough, about three or four minutes' walk from his own house—I had some beer and invited him to drink some; he did not—he was intoxicated—he followed me into the house—we afterwards went over the canal bridge together—he walked alongside of me; he walked middling—just before we got to the lamp this side of his house, the prisoner came up to him and said "What hare you been insulting my wife for?"—he had no time to answer, for the prisoner knocked him down with his fist—I helped him up—he then pulled hit coat off, and the prisoner knocked him down again five or six times in the footpath or roadway—the last time he was knocked down he never spoke any more—I assisted to carry him into his house—he was not sober enough to fight—I said to the prisoner several times "Don't strike the man, don't knock him about; wait till to-morrow morning and see him when he is sober"—he made no reply; this was at the first start—he struck him about the face and body, and the last time under the throat, and he fell down on his back—after assisting him into the house, I stopped with him about a quarter of an hour and then left—this was going on for about 10
minites or a quarter of an hour—I was perfectly sober—there were a great many people there—there was only me with the deceased at the first start; the people accumulated, and there was a good deal of noise.
Cross-examined. I knew the deceased by working in the market; he was no pal—he was a very big powerful man—he did not stagger and roll about; he did not walk steady—he attempted to fight—when he was knocked down I assisted in picking him up—I did not act as his second; I tried to stop the fight—when he was accosted by the prisoner he did not say "I will double you up and your b lodgers"—he had no time; no sooner did the prisoner speak to him than he knocked him down—several people were there; I don't know that they tried to separate them—I got between them once—I did not hear the prisoner say "I think you have had enough"—I was there all the time—the prisoner was urged on by the crowd; they jeered at Blackman—I believe the expression "coward" was made use of, but by whom I don't know.
JANE BATT . I am the wife of William Batt, and live at 11, Derwent Boad—the prisoner and deceased were strangers to me—on Saturday, 8th May, I saw the prisoner walk from his own door and meet Blackman and strike him a blow in the face, and as he struck him he said "You called my wife a b wh—"—the blow caused Blackman to fall—he was knocked down five or six times by the prisoner, with blows with the open hand—Blackman had no coat on; he had his coat on his arm—the prisoner had his coat on, but he took it off and threw it down after the first blow—the prisoner was perfectly sober; Blackman was very much intoxicated—there were a great many people there—I saw Blackman carried into the house.
Cross-examined. I was from 20 to 30 yards from them—I did not go nearer than I was obliged—it did not strike me that the prisoner was rather pushing the deceased down; it seemed a regular stand-up fight—the prisoner had his arms up in the usual attitude of fighting—the deceased was too much intoxicated to hold up his arms to fight, he tried to do so; he had not strength sufficient to hit the prisoner—I heard the prisoner say "If you want to fight, fight"—I did not hear him say "Fight fair."
WILLIAM BURGESS .I am an agent, and live at 11, Derwent Road—on Saturday afternoon, 8th May, I was indoors—my daughter Florence called out, and I at once went into the street—I saw the prisoner and deceased—I never saw either before—I saw the prisoner strike the deceased a blow in the face with his fist; there was a great crowd there—the blow knocked him down; he fell on his back—he attempted to use his fist, and in making a blow at the prisoner he fell down—as soon as he rose Morris struck him again in the face with his fist, which knocked him down again—that continued four or five times—during the interval I with two other friends endeavoured to stop the fight by getting between them, but the crowd of roughs prevented us—I said to the prisoner "I shall take you down to the station if you continue this fight"—he made no reply; he took not the least notice of me—he was pushed about by the crowd—my brother-in-law Davis caught hold of him, trying to stop the fight—Blackman said "I have had enough; I am going in," and he turned to go away, when Morris caught hold of him by the nose and said "You monkey, have you had enough?"—Blackman made some remark, which I could not catch, and Morris then struck him a violent blow in the throat, rendering him
insensible; it knocked him on to his back—I directly said to Davis "Look after that man, he is killed; I will look after the prisoner to see that he don't escape"—I was about half a yard from them at that time—the prisoner walked away down the street with some of his friends—Blackman was beastly drunk; he was not capable of fighting a stand-up fight—the prisoner was cautioned about his drunkenness several times, and told the consequences—he appeared to be sober as far as I could judge.
Cross-examined. I did not take a very active part in this affair, no more than seeing that justice was properly done—I have since seen that the witnesses were brought forward—I have seen several witnesses and given their names to the Treasury—I am an inquiry agent, what is sometimes called a private detective—I am not paid for getting these Witnesses; it is a public prosecution—I expect to be paid the ordinary expensed—I did not hear, the crowd urged on Blackmail, or jeer him—I did not heat the prisoner say to him "I think you have had enough"—Blackmail said to the prisoner "I have had enough"—I did not hear the crowd jeer him as he was going away—I did not hear him say "I will not be called a b—cur"—the witnesses gave their evidence at the police-court, not to me.
Re-examined. I attended at the police-court as a witness—Mr. Fullager conducted the prosecution there, and afterwards the Public Prosecutor took it up—two witnesses were not called before the Magistrate, and I sent their names to the solicitor for the Treasury.
FLORENCE BURGESS . I live at 11, Derwent Road—on this Saturday afternoon I was at the door, and heard a noise in the street—I went over the road to where the noise was, and saw Morris go and meet Blackman, he spoke to him—I did not hear what was said—he then turned round and knocked Blackman down—I saw him knocked down several times—the last blow was given under the chin, and he fell down on his head—he was very tipsy; he could hardly stand.
Cross-examined. I am the daughter of the last witness, and lire with him—I have spoken to him about this case.
HENRY DAVIS . I am an egg importer—on in afternoon of 5th May I saw the prisoner and deceased—I tried to stop the prisoner from knocking the deceased about—the deceased was intoxicated—the prisoner was sober—I tried to pull the prisoner away—he had a friend behind him, and he said if I interfered me would serve me the same—the last blow knocked him down insensible, and I said to the prisoner "Nov you are satisfied, you have killed him."
Cross-examined. Mr. Burgess has seen me about this case—he was a witness at the same time—he has spoken to me about it, merely to say I had to come up here.
JOHN UNDERWOOD (Police Sergeant L 11). I took the prisoner into custody on Monday, 10th May, about 9 p.m.—I told him I held a warrant for his apprehension, for assaulting a man named Blackman—he said "All right, I will go with you"—on the way to the station he said "This is all through the women; I came home about 4 o'clock on Saturday afternoon, and I was told that my wife had been called from a pig to a dog, and I was no man if I did not go and have it out; I went to Blackman's door to ask for an explanation; while there I saw Blackman coming down the street; I went towards him and asked him what he had to say about my wife; Blackman replied F your wife, and you too, if you come this way I will knock you into a mummy;' we then had a fight; I
asked him if he had had enough, and offered him my arm to take him home; some one in the crowd called out, 'You b—great coward;' Blackman then struck me again, and we had another round; I can't say who struck the first blow; I am very sorry for what took place; about 1 o'clock I was called to render some assistance; when I went in I found him out of bed, and if he met with any injuiry, he must have received it then"—I did not make any memorandum of what he said, I have trusted entirely to my memory—I saw no marks of violence about the prisoner when I took him.
Cross-examined. I don't think I said at the police-court that the prisoner said I found that he had fallen out of bed; he said "I found him out of bed;" he said "he was all right when I left him, if he received any injury I believe it occurred by falling—by being out of bed"—I don't remember the word falling"—a man named Langky volunteered evidence at the police-court, and the Magistrate took it; he is here to-day; he lived in the same street, directly opposite, I think—for all I kndw tnev prisoner is a quiet man, I have heard nothing to the contrary.
RICHARD MARLET . I am a surgeon, of 100, Trafalgar Road, Old Kent Road—on Sunday morning, 9th May, about 6.30, I was sent for to. 32, Derwent Road, where Blackman lived—I found him in bed; he looked like a man recovering from a state of concussion, dazey—also from the effects of drink—I spoke to him, but he never spoke—I noticed his eyes, he would not let me look at them; I tried to, he objected—his right eye was black and ecchymosed, and a contusion over the eyebrow, such as might be given by a man's fist; there was no blood, the skin was not broken—I attended him afterwards once or twice a day—the back of his head was in a bruised state, a little bit blue and yellow, from extravasation of blood under the scalp; it was a simple-looking bruise, it was a bad one, exactly such as might be occasioned if he was knocked down and fell on his head—he never spoke sensibly while I attended him—I was not present when he died—I saw him late the night before, he was then in epileptic fits, I might say he was dying—the injury to the head brought on the fits—concussion comes on at once upon the injury, but the effect gets worse after a little interval—by direction of the Coroner I made a post-mortem examination, and made these notes at the time—he was a well developed man, big and powerful, and stout—the post-mortem appearances were well marked—the brain was ia a highly congested state; there was no fracture of the skull—there were several small clots about the brain, from rupture of the cerebral vessels—there was a larger clot in the right hemisphere; there was a great deal of effused serum on the brain, and this clot was under the dura mater—the other organs were healthy, with the exception of the liver, which showed that the man had been drinking—the state of the brain would be accounted for by a vary violent concussion at the back of the head—if he had been knocked down on the Saturday and fallen violently on the back of the head, that would account for the concussion, and for compression afterwards coming on;. it would account for the whole of the injuries to the brain from beginning to end—in my judgment he died from concussion of the brain—there must have been a very violent blow to produce the concussion—he could not have sustained an injury of that kind by merely falling out of bed on to a pail, impossible; I never heard of that—these were very serious injuries—there was large bruise on the right side.
Cross-examined. The bruise on the back of the head was as big as a couple of inches—it was outside the scalp—if he had fallen out of bed on the edge of a zinc pail, it would have made a cut—I should say that could not have caused such a bruise; such a heavy man would have been sure to cut his head; it might cause a shock, it might be serious—he had a great many epileptic fits towards the end—heavy drinking may bring on epileptic fits—I don't think that would produce these fits, it would produce apoplexy—if he received a shock it might produce fits—epileptic fits very often result in death; 100 fits would of course be fatal; we must allow a little for exaggeration—if a man was not subject to fits I do not think the falling out of bed would bring them on; if he was predisposed to them it might—they are hereditary—I should certainly say that the fall out of bed did not kill him—I don't think it had anything to do with the fatal result—I don't think he had concussion from the fall on the pail, and I don't think that would produce the clot; that was produced by rupture of the vessels of the brain, brought on from excitement, drink, fighting, and concussion—excitement would help it on—no doubt when he was knocked down a little vessel of the brain gave way and burst, and that brought on concussion, which gradually produced compression, and the excitement would help it on—I don't think the fall from the bed broke the little vessel—a vessel sometimes breaks from small causes; that would be apoplexy, the man might drop down dead suddenly—coughing might sometimes break a vessel; that would be from previous disease—this man was not emaciated, he was very stout and fat—long drinking might weaken the tissues and make the vessels liable to break.
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Imprisonment.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
SARAH FOWLER .I live at the Derby Arms, East Sheen, Mortlake—on 17th May the prisoner came into our bar with a woman—they asked for a glass of beer—I saw two half-crowns in the woman's hands—the prisoner asked' her if she had any money—she said "No, have you?"—he said "No"—she drank off the beer in the glass and went out of doors—I looked at the prisoner and the glass—he said "All right, she will be back directly"—she came back—she gave me a half-crown—I looked at it—I said "It is a bad one"—she said "No"—I passed it to some of my customers, and they said it was a rank bad one—that was all in the prisoner's presence—she asked for it back—I said "No"—I put it on the shelf—I went out and called my son—I said to him in the prisoner's presence "They gave me a bad half-crown; where is the man?"—he went out of doors to look for him—he and a constable afterwards came out of the tap-room with the prisoner—I recognised the prisoner as the man who had been drinking with the woman in the front bar—the constable took them into custody—I gave the half-crown to my son—the next morning, the 18th, I found this half crown (produced)in a broken spittoon near the fireplace, where the prisoner had sat—I gave it to my son.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You and the woman had two separate glasses of ale—you did not give me any money—you drank the ale.
ROBERT THOMAS FOWLER . I am the Bon of the last witness—on the 17th May, between 3 and 4 p.m., my mother called me in the bar—I saw the female there—in consequence of what my mother said I went out of the house to look for a man—I went to the back ground and brought in a wrong person—I afterwards found the prisoner sitting in the tap-room—he was near a broken spittoon—a constable and I brought him into the bar, and my mother immediately identified him—she asked the prisoner if he knew the woman—he said, "No"—my mother that same day handed me a half-crown—I gave it to the constable—she handed me another halfcrown the next morning.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. The taproom was pretty full—there were four parties playing cards in the taproom—the prisoner was sitting near the fireplace.
JOSEPH STEPHENSON . I am a labourer living at Prospect Place, Mortlake—on the afternoon of the 17th May I was at the Derby Anns—I saw the prisoner come in with a woman—I saw Mrs. Fowler go out of the bar to her son—I saw the woman then pass money to the man—it looked like shillings and sixpences—the prisoner then went into the taproom—he came oat of the taproom with the constable.
Cross-examined by Prisoner. No policemen were in the bar with me—it looked like silver money.
ROBERT GARDNER (Policeman V 340). I was called into the Derby Arms—I found the prisoner in the taproom and brought him into the bar—he was sitting against the fireplace—I said, "What money have you got on you?"—he said, "I have got nothing"—I said, "If you don't tell me what you have got, I will be compelled to search you"—he pulled a good half-crown from his pocket—I said, "Come along with me"—he did so, and Mrs. Fowler identified him—I said to the prisoner, "Do you know the woman?"—he said, "No"—they were taken to the station—on the road the female said they were brother and sister, and "I know him nicely"—I searched him at the station and found on him 11 shillings and the same half-crown, all good money—I subsequently received from Mrs. Fowler these two bad half-crowns produced; one of them on the next day.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You did not say, "What I have got in my pocket belongs to me."
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I only went to get a glass of beer."
The Prisoner's Defence was that he drank a glass of best with the woman, as she treated him, but that he did not know the money was bad.
GUILTY .** He also PLEADED GUILTY to having been before convicted at this Court in June,.1865, in the name of John Burgess, for uttering counterfeit coin.— Two Years' Imprisonment.
MR. POLAND Prosecuted.
64, Chalk Farm Road—on the 21st April the prisoner bought 4d. worth of paper—she tendered this counterfeit florin—I gave it to Constance Bacon, the cashier, who gave the prisoner change—the prisoner then left the shop—Constance Bacon then called my attention to itr—she soon afterwards went after the prisoner, who returned with her to the shop—Mr. Bacon then charged her with passing the counterfeit florin—I did not hear what she said.
CONSTANCE BACON . My father keeps this stationer's shop—on the 21st April Rowland handed me this florin—the prisoner was then in the shop—I gave the prisoner change—I saw the florin was bad, and took it to Pa—I went out after the prisoner—she had got to Ferdinand Place—I said, "That was a bad two shilling-piece; will yon come back?"—she came back to the shop—she said she would give another one in its place—my father refused to give it her back—the prisoner gave an address in Mornington Crescent—the assistant went with her, and found her address was not correct.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I am not positive whether you paid with a good two-shilling piece afterwards.
FREDERICK ELTON . (Policeman S 325). The prisoner was given into my custody by one of Mr. Bacon's assistants on the evening of the 21st April for passing counterfeit coin—she was taken before the Magistrate, remanded and discharged—I was then close to Mornington Crescent—the assistant told me in her presence that he was instructed to go to Mornington Crescent to see if the address was correct—on the road she said it was no use going, she did not live there—Mr. Bacon gave me the florin.
Sarah Fowler and Josiah Stephenson, having heard their evidence in the last case read, confirmed it.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate, "It is no use to say anything."
The Prisoner's Defence. No money passed between me and the man. They took the wrong man. The man never passed any money at all. I asked him to drink, as I had not seen him for three months.
GUILTY — Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
MESSRS. POLAND and HORACE AVORY Prosecuted.
JOHN OSBORNE . I keep the Gladstone beerhouse, Spring Place, Wandsworth Road—on Saturday night, the 22nd May, about 11.30, the prisoner came to my bar with another man—I served the other man with a pint of four ale—I saw the shilling on the counter when I put down the beer—I took it up and was going to put it in the till; I felt it was smooth—I gave the change—I tried the shilling; I found it was bad—I went back to the bar where the prisoner was standing, and found both the men had gone—a quarter of the beer was consumed—I jumped over the counter without speaking to any one—I saw the prisoner about 15 yards from the house; he
was dodging among the people, trying to get away—I followed and caught him—I said, "I want you," and got hold of his right arm in my left hand—he said, "What for?"—I said, "You have just been to my house and had a pint of four-ale, and tried to pass a bad shilling"—he said, "You are mistaken; I know nothing about it"—I said, "I shall detain you"—I saw a constable, and gave him into custody—the constable brought him back to the bar—he searched the prisoner and found this florin in his pocket—I gave the constable the shilling; this is it.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You did not attempt to go away; you found it was no use—you were not coming back to the house when I followed you.
HENRY TURNER (Policeman W 349). I was called by the last witness to take the prisoner into custody—it was 10 or 15 yards from the house—I took him back into the small compartment and searched him—I found on him the bad florin produced, 2s. on sixpences, and 1s. 7d. in bronze—he was going to finish drinking his beer; I said, "You will not do that while you are in my custody"—he said, "Surely I can drink what we paid for"—he also said he did not tender the bad shilling, but the other man.
Prisoner's Defence. I did not know the money was bad. I got it in tossing with the other man, who was to pay for the ale.
GUILTY — Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
ALBERT ERNEST HAVERS . I live with, my father, who keeps the Bellevue public-house, Clapham—on 26th May, about 9.30 p.m., I served the prisoner with a pint of stout and mild—he tendered half-a-crown—I gave him 2s. 3d. change—I then looked at the coin more attentively, and gave it to my mother—she gave it me back, and said it was bad—I put it on the shelf—I looked for the prisoner, and found he had gone—he had left his beer—I saw him again three-quarters of an hour afterwards—I served him with some drink; I forget what it was—he tendered half-a-crown in payment—I tried it with my teeth, and found it was bad—he ran out, and left his beer on the counter—I gave the half-crown to my brother Frederick—I followed the prisoner—I did not find him—he was brought back by a police constable—I identified him—I gave the half-crown I put on the shelf to Wallace.
Cross-examined. It was the Derby night; we were very busy—my mother, my aunt, and myself were serving—our house was nearly full—I said to the prisoner, when I saw the coin was bad, "This won't do"—it was two or three minutes before he was brought back—I did not see the constable in the house when I bit the coin.
Re-examined. The prisoner went out after I said "This won't do"—I have no doubt he is the man.
FREDERICK JAMES HAVERS . I am the last witness's brother—I was serving in the bar on the 26th of May—about 10.30 p.m. he placed this half-crown in my hand, and asked me to look at it—he immediately rushed after the prisoner—I placed the half-crown on the shelf—when the prisoner was brought back I gave it to the constable Wallace.
Cross-examined. This was the Derby night—I tested the money by spinning it on the table.
JOSEPH RANSON . I live at 57, Church Street, Camberwell—on 26th of May last I was assisting at the Fleet Inn, Clapham—I served the prisoner with a pint of stout and mild; he tendered half-a-crown; I looked at it—I then showed it to Mr. Mitchell—the prisoner immediately rushed out; he left his beer untasted—I put the coin on the shelf—I afterwards gave it to the constable Wallace, having marked it—I identified the prisoner on the following day.
Cross-examined. When I saw the prisoner at the police-court he was standing on the top of the stairs on the landing—there were two or three lads there—I was asked in the waiting room whether I could identify him—I said "Yes, that is him"—I did not know him before.
Re-examined. I picked him out without assistance from the constable—I have not the slightest doubt he is the man.
GEORGE MITCHELL . I live at 35, Lugard Road, Peckham—on 26th of May I was assisting at the Plough public-house, directly opposite the Bellevue public-house—about 9.40 I served the prisoner with a pint of stout and mild—I saw him put a half-crown on the counter—Mr. Ranson picked it up and said to me "That is a beauty, isn't it?"—the prisoner then made the best of his way out; he did not touch the beer—Mr. Ranson put the coin on a shelf—I identified the prisoner next day at Wandsworth Police-court; he is the man.
Cross-examined. It was the Derby night, and we were doing a good stroke of business—I went with Ranson to the police-station—I heard Ranson's evidence there—I have not heard it to-day—I followed him into the police-court, and I saw the prisoner standing in the dock—I did not see Ranson identify him.
JOSEPH WALLACE (Policemm W 113). I was at the Bellevue public-house on 26th May, about 10.30, I heard the prisoner call for a pint of something; Albert Havers served him; he tendered a half-crown like this one—Havers put it to his teeth—the prisoner immediately ran out of the house—I ran after him, and overtook him about 300 yards off—I said "You will have to go back with me to the Bellevue beershop"—he said "For God's sake, governor, let me go"—I took him back—I held his two hands—Albert Havers identified him—I took him to the station, searched him, and found 6 1/4 d. on him—he said he took the half-crown in change for a bet at the Derby—I found no bad money on him—I received the two half-crowns (produced) from Havers the same evening—I also received another halfcrown from Ranson.
Cross-examined. I was in plain clothes; about 20 people were in the bar—I did not see Havers hand the coin to his brother; I did not hear him say anything to the prisoner—I brought him back in three or four minutes—the prisoner said, "I received 1s. 6d. and 2s. 6d. in change for a bet at the Derby, and I suppose that is how I got it"—I did not take Ranson and Mitchell to look at the prisoner—the landing-place at the top of the stairs holds four or five persons—the prisoner stood there when the witnesses saw him—there might have been some women there—the prisoner was not placed on the landing for the purpose of identification, but Mitchell and Hanson pointed him out there—I have made inquiries about the prisoner; his parents are respectable—he gave a false name and address—he said his name was Mille James White—his father came to the Court—I
took down the father's address as "Mr. Aldred, 210, Coldharbour Lane, Loughborough Junction"—the prisoner did not refer me to his employer.
The Prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. MONTAGU WILLIAMS and PURCELL Prosecuted.
WILLIAM HOVINGTON . I manage the Alton Ale Stores, Angel Lane, Stratford—on 15th May the prisoner called at my house; he asked for a glass of mild ale—he paid for that—then he said, "I want to speak to you privately"—I took him into the back room—he said, "I am an officer of Excise, I want to visit your cellars"—I said, "All right, I will go down and show you the way"—when he got down he asked to taste the mild ale—he tasted it—he said it contained water—I said, "No"—he asked to taste the porter—he tasted it and made the same remark, and said "I have to make a report of it"—I said, "You are quite wrong"—he said, "There is nothing more I wish to taste, that will do, I will go upstairs"—he went up—he began to make some entries on paper or in a book, which appeared to me to be like shorthand writing—he said he should not mind himself, but his clerk would not be satisfied—he said he had been 18 years in the Excise, and that he did not want to do anything to jeopardize his position, because he was within two years of coming in for a pension—I said, "Will your clerk require a fee?"—he said, "Yes, it will be necessary"—I said, "Will a sovereign be sufficient to satisfy him?"—he said it would—I gave him a sovereign—he said he did not wish to show the trade up, because it went against the house if one wanted to let it after an exposure of that sort—he said most likely he would be back in the evening with his clerk—I parted with my sovereign because I believed his statement.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I have managed the house five months—I have been in the business 18 years—I was manager before I had a house of my own—I had to engage a representative to hold the licence of this house because I was summoned and my licence was endorsed—the party who holds the licence is in the house—I did not acknowledge that my liquor contained water.
EDMUND WOODFORD . I manage the Railway Tavern beerhouse, Cambridge Heath Road, Mile End, for the London and Walton Brewery Co., Ratcliff—about 1 o'clock on 18th May the prisoner came in with some papers in his hand opened—he said "Are you Mr. Woodford?"—I said "Yes, I am"—he said "I want to look at your cellars"—I said "Indeed; are you an Excise officer?"—he said "Yes, I am; I have been 18 years an Excise officer; when I have been two years more I shall claim my pension, for I have had enough of it"—I showed him the cellar—at his request I took off the pipes and drew him some beer in a glass—he tasted it, and said "I should like to taste the porter," and wrote something down—he said "I may as well tell you there is liquor in this ale"—I said "I am sure there is not"—he said "It is no use telling me, for I have been so long at it I know all about it; I have been 18 years at it"—I said "You have been 18 years an excise man; I have been in the trade as a publican and a brewer for 20 years; I know as much about ale as you do"—after that he said "Then it was put in before you had it, and I shall go to the brewery about
it"—I told him it was not at all likely the brewers would put liquor in their ale before they sent it out—he said "Yes, they do, because I had occasion to go to the same brewery the other day, and I shall take the number of this guile—that is the number on the cask—we then went upstairs—he asked me to have a glass of ale—he wrote something in his book, or pretended to do so—he said "I am disturbing you at your dinner"—I said "Would you like to have a snack?"—he took a morsel on his plate—he threw down a shilling to pay for it—I said "Do not mind that"—then he ordered a bottle of ale and paid for it afterwards—he said he kept two public-houses, and wanted a manager—I said if he would give me the address I would go and see them—he then took me to a large public-house in Clerkenwell Green—he asked the barman "Where is the cellar?" and then went to the cellar with the young man—he was away about half an hour, while I was sitting in the bar—from there we went to a thatched house in Bed Lion Street—the prisoner described it as the Rose and Crown; he said he bought it 14 months ago—he then took me to the Three Tuns—he said he found there a lot of stuff that ought not to he there, that the house would be shut up in 45 hours, and that they had tried to bribe him with 5s. or 10s., but that his position would not allow him—he asked me to go and look at another public-house in Rotherhithe—I went, and waited in a cab outside a beerhouse—he asked for change for 10s, as he had no change—I lent him half-a-crown—I believed him to be an Excise officer and the master of two public-houses—when he was charged I picked him out of 10 or a dozen persons.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not see you go to the cellars—you told me you had been to others—I have not taken the trouble to go to those houses and inquire—I did not ask you if you were an excise officer—I have been 20 years in the business, and never did so—I never ask for as exciseman's authority—I treat them as gentlemon, and I took you for one—I do not treat excise officers; you treated me.
RICHARD CHALKET . I am a licensed victualler, at the Weaver's Arms, Pelham Street, Mile End New Town—on 21st May, at 2 o'clock, the prisoner came to the bar—he said "Are you the proprietor?" I said "Yes, sir"—he said "I am an exciseman; I wish to go down into your cellar"—I lifted up the flap immediately, and said "Come on, sir"—he went down and tasted all my liquors—he said the rum was a kind of Madeira or Demerara rum; it was filthy stuff; "I shall never get the taste out of my mouth"—when he had tasted the gin we came up into the bar parlour—he said he could let me have five gallons of the best Jamaica rum, and by his so doing I thought the man was behaving honestly toward me—he then tasted my ale and porter—he said they contained liquor—I said "I know nothing about it; I have it just so from the brewery"—he said he must summon me, but he should act as light as he possibly could towards me—I saw that the man wavered, and I decided sooner than have my house put in the paper to give him 2l.—I gave him the 2l, believing what he said, and that he was an excise officer—I did not see him again.
Cross-examined. I might have called the 2l. a present at the police-court—I did not ask you for your authority—I do not put liquor in my ale—you had a glass of sherry; you paid for it—you gave me a shilling to pay for it—you paid for what you had.
District—that includes the Angel beenhop—the prisoner has nothing to do with the excise for that district.
JOSHUA HEARS (Policeman H 170). On the night of the 25th May, at 7.30, I took the prisoner into custody in Dyson Street—I said "I shall take you into custody on suspicion for representing yourself to be an excise officer"—he said "I have never represented myself as such"—I told him he would have to tell the inspector that at the station—then he went with me.
Prisoner's Defence. I did not go to these public-houses with any intention to defraud. Several complaints had been made, and as I have been in the public line I was asked to go. It is well known to those who sent me that my experience in tasting ale will tell me whether it is adulterated. I complained that there was water in the ale. At first they denied it; then they admitted they had put a small portion in. I said "You are aware you have no businesss to do so, it is very wrong; in fact the brewers get blamed for sending you bad articles; you ought to sell it the same as you get it from the brewers; instead of that you adulterate it." They acknowledged it and gave me something to say nothing about it. I did not ask for it, they gave it me voluntarily. The witness who went with me does not know that I went into the cellars, In fact I did not, and he has been round since and found I did not go. He went drinking with me all the afternoon. I paid for what I had. I simply asked him to lend me half-a-crown and wait till I came back.
GUILTY .** He also PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in August, 1875, at the Middlesex Sessions.— Seven Years* Penal Servitude.
457. SARAH KERSLEY** (39) to forging and uttering an endorsement to a request for the payment of 5l., with intent to defraud, also to unlawfully obtaining by false pretences from William Thomas Madge 5l., with intent to defraud.— [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] Five Years' Penal Servitude.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. SAFFORD Prosecuted; MR. MONTAGU WILLIAMS Defended
NOT GUILTY .
GUILTY .— Six Months' Imprisonment.
MESSRS. MONTAGU WILLIAMS and AUSTIN METCALFE Prosecuted.
THOMAS HESTER . I am a poulter of 128, Old Kent Road—on Tuesday in the first week in May the prisoner came and asked if I had any tools to sharpen—he was a stranger to me—I gave him two saws to sharpen; he brought one back, but not the other—I saw him a week
afterwards, and asked him where it was; he hesitated a moment and I said "You must produce it, I shan't be played with; I shall immediately give you in charge unless it is produced or paid for"—he said he would tell me the truth, he got drunk, and it was at home; and if I would give him till 6.30 he would bring it, but I did not see that—he has never produced it.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I gave you the second saw when you brought the first back—I don't remember whether you told me that the second one wanted setting—it was not worse than the other—the value was 3s. 6d.
JAMES JOHN (Policeman P 298). I took the prisoner on 11th May—he said that he took the saw away as it wanted re-setting, and if Mr. Hester would give him till 6.30 he would return it—I found on him a book of the National Penny Bank, Shoreditch, in the name of Walker, a pawn-tickets two files, a brush, and three purses.
Cross-examined. You offered the prosecutor the money you had, which was 10d.—you gave me your address; I went there, but did not find the saw.
Prisoners Defence. I had not tools fine enough for the saw, and took it home intending to do it there, but got into bad company, drank too much, and next morning got up without a penny in my pocket, and borrowed 1s. on the saw, intending to redeem it. I offered to bring it at 6.30 if he would spare me till then, but he called an officer and had me arrested.
MESSRS. MONTAGU WILLIAMS. and A. METOALFE. Prosecuted.
FREDERICK GEORGE MITCHELL . I live at 15, Great Eastern Street, Shoreditch, and am clerk to the National Penny Bank, at No. 12—I issued this bank book to a boy named Arthur Turner, not the prisoner, on 13th Nov., 1879—the account was opened with 4d—the page on which that was entered is now torn out, but it remains on the blotting paper—on the next page there are three entries: of 40l. on July 13, 20l. on August 13, and 20l. on September 3rd—those dates are before the book was in existence—I find from our books that no deposits were made after the 4d. in the name of Turner—the 4d. has not been withdrawn.
Cross-examined. If the depositor is an adult we take his signature, if a boy, we take his name and address—I have got his signature; he gave his age as 17—a man of 65 would not be likely to impose upon me by saying that he was 17—anybody not connected with the bank would be deceived by these entries—Arthur Turner never made any application for the money, if he had we should not have honoured it.
Cross-examined. I have known you about two years—you have frequented my house three or four months—the object of your writing was this: you handed letters to my barman, and the book, to extort his watch: to go to the bank and get a draft of 5l.
LOUISA BROWN . I am the wife of William Brown, of 6, Haydon Square hotel-keeper—the prisoner lived there four months, and left on 9th May—on one occasion he showed me his bank-book and asked me to lend him 5l. till next day, when he would get game money from the bank—I refused.
Cross-examined. I did not look inside the book, but the book had the same writing outside—you said that you were going to get a good sum of money to-morrow—I never knew you guilty of any dishonest action while you were in the house.
ALFRED FISHER . (Re-examined). My barman is Henry Munn—this is a paper which I saw the prisoner write: "London, Jan. 25, 1879. Penny National Bank, Shoreditch. Pay Samuel Munn 5l, and deduct the same from my account. George E. Douglas, Gun Tavern, Spitalfields."
Prisoner's Defence. I found the book six months ago in a taproom in Shoreditch, and thought it might be a bogus or a decoy, or that the owner might advertise it I never made use of it, and never told any one that I had 80l. in the bank. I did not show it to Mrs. Brown to induce her to lend me money, but I may have had it in my hand at the time. I said "Lend me 5l." She said "How will you pay it? I said "When I come from the bank to-morrow." The bank has lost nothing, but I have lost my time and reputation, and have suffered two months' imprisonment The barman entered into a conspiracy to sell me a worthless watch, and I gave him a worthless paper.
GUILTY . He was further charged with a previous conviction at this Court in March, 1879, to which he
PLEADED GUILTY— Six Months' Imprisonment.
Before Robert Malcolm Kerr, Esq.
HENRY CHARLES SHERWIN . I am an oilman, of Upper Kensington Lane—on 5th June, about 7 p.m., the prisoner came to my shop and asked for a galvanised bath and pail, which my son showed him—the bath was 3s. 6d. and the pail 9d—he asked me to send them to Ravensdon Street, together with change for a sovereign, 15s. 9d—he then left—I sent my son in twenty minutes with the articles and change—I followed him and saw him go to Ravensdon Street—the door was opened, and I saw him come back with the goods—I afterwards saw the prisoner talking to my son, with his back to me—he said, "Are you going to 27, Ravensdon Street?"—the boy said that the goods were not ordered there—the prisoner said, "Did I say 27?"—the boy said, "Yes"—the prisoner said, "How about the change?" holding his hand out—I went up and said, "You are the gentleman who ordered these goods"—he said, "I said No. 17 "—I said, "If they are ordered at No. 17, will you come with me?"—he said, "No, I am going further on"—I said, "If you will not go with me, I will go with you;" and I followed him up several streets, and gave him in charge.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I saw you running up and down Ravensdon Street, as if you were looking for somebody—I first saw you talking to my son in Milverton Street, at the side of the Vestry
Hall—I gave the facto of the case to the inspector—you heard what was said.
HERBERT SHERWIN . I am the prosecutor's son, and was in the shop when the prisoner came in and ordered the pail and bath, which he said were to be sent to 27, Ravensdon Street—I took them there, but they would not take them in, and I came away—at the bottom of the street I saw the prisoner, who said, "Have you been to take the things?"—I said, "Yes, Sir"—he said, "What number have you taken them to?"—I said, "No. 27,"—he said, "I told von No. 17; what about the change?" and held out his hand—I had the change in my pocket—my father came up and said, "What about these goods?"—he said, "They are to go to No. 17"—father asked him to go with him, and he would not—I saw the prisoner given in custody.
ELIZABETH THRING . I am the wife of James Thring, of 27, Ravensdon Street—on the night of 5th June the boy Herbert came to my house with a bath—I refused to take it in—I had never seen the prisoner—I had not ordered the goods, or authorised anybody to order them, nor had I requested that change for a sovereign might be sent.
Cross-examined. It was 10.40 when we arrived at Lambeth Police-station, and it was between 12 and 1 o'clock when the charge was taken—during that time I had no conversation with the prosecutor and his son—the boy told me you asked him for the change—I did not tell the lad that he ought to have put the change in your hand to make the charge perfect—you were detained while the inspector sent to make inquiries about you—you gave your right name and address—I believe the prosecutor asked the inspector how long it would be, because he wanted to get his shop closed, as it was 12 o'clock at night.
Prisoner's Defence. I was on my way home, and saw a very respectable person standing on the step of the house. I asked her my way, and she asked me to oblige her by giving an order at the oil shop. I did so, and I gave the name as Thomas or Thompson. Half an hour after that I met the lad going back with the goods, who said, "They were not ordered at No. 27." I said, "It was No. 17." He said he had not been there. The father said "I shall not go to 17, I shall stick to you," and gave me in custody. How could I ask him for the change? He would naturally want the sovereign, and I had no sovereign to offer him.
GUILTY — Eight Months' Imprisonment.
There was another indictment against the prisoner.
MR. KELLY. Prosecuted.
CHARLES COWELL . (Policeman L 18). At about 1.15 on the morning of 18th May I was called to 21, St. Mary's Square, where the prisoner was given into my custody for bigamy—I there saw Alice Shine—she said that she was married to the prisoner on 9th February last—that on Saturday, 15th May, a female came to 21, Sir Mary's Square, and inquired for
Mr. Holt, and she said, "I am Mrs. Holt, what do you want?" the female said, "There must be some mistake; I came from Mrs. Holt, I will go back and tell her," and she left; that subsequently she received a telegram addressed to the prisoner, and as he was not in she opened it, and found it was from Bessie Holt, and in consequence of that she went to Victoria Station and there saw two. females, the one that came to the house first, and the other who represented herself as Mrs. Holt; that they accompanied her to 21, St. Mary's Square, and the three waited until the prisoner came home; (that was on tie Sunday night previous to the Monday that I was called in,) that she said, "I opened the door to him and he went into the parlour, and saw the other females, and said, 'Good God, Bessie, is that you?'" and she asked if him if that was his wife, and he said "No, you are my wife, but that is the woman I married first"—on the way to the station the prisoner said, "It's a very bad job, it happened all through drink, and this would not have happened if she had not been drank"—that was speaking of the second wife I believe—I produce a certificate of the first marriage which I got from the Church of St. John the Baptist, Nottingham. (This certified the marriage of James Henry Holt and Elizabeth Rawson, on 10th October, 1877)—I also produce a certificate of the second marriage. (This certified a marriage between James Henry Holt and Alice Cratchfield Shine, at the District Chapehry of St. Gabriel, Pimlico, on 9th February, 1880).
GEORGE RAWSON . I am a basket-maker of Elston, near Newark,. and was present at Nottingham, on 10th October, 1877, air the marriage of my daughter with the prisoner—I last saw my daughter last Christmas—she had up to that time been living with Mr. Mitchell, as housekeeper, at Nottingham.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I cannot say how soon after the marriage I saw my daughter—it was not arranged that I should take her home to my house immediately after the marriage, but that you should come down and bring her with you, which you never did—you wrote to me to say you were not coming—I believe you said that she had left you.
Cross-examined. I think she came to live with me some time in 1877 as housekeeper—I paid htr about 30l. a year—she did not live with me as my mistress—she lived with me about a year—we have not stopped at any hotel as Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell—we have stayed in the same hotel before now: I think more than once—we have never stopped at the Euston Hotel—the reason I stopped at the same hotel was that I interested myself in obtaining a situation for her—I think it was about that time she left me—she left my service considerably before I left Nottingham; when I went yachting in the Mediterranean—I believe she then went home.
ALICE CRUTOHFIBLD SHINE . I live in the Belvedere Road, Westminster—I was married to the prisoner at St. Gabriel's on 9th February—he told me that he had been married three years previously in Nottingham, and that his wife had died or that he had heard she was dead; that his wife ran away from him and went back to the man that had kept her previously to the marriage—we lived together till Saturday, 15th May, and then I received a telegram, in consequence of which I went to Victoria Station, where I met a person
who told me she was Mrs. Holt, and I took her home in a cab—he came in and said "Good God, Bessie, is that you? I thought you were dead"—he acknowledged me as his wife; and said "That is the woman I married first," he said "You are my wife, and have been my true wife"—he was then given into custody, and I charged him.
Cross-examined. She said at Victoria Station "What kind of man is the man you were married to? is his name James Henry Holt?"—I said "Yes"—she said "Was he articled to Mr. Cockane in Nottingham?"—I said "I have heard him speak of him"—she said "He must be the same man; is there any probability of finding this man if I come back with you?—I said "By all means come back, and when he acknowledges you I will believe you, and not before"—she said "I merely married him out of revenge to Mr. Mitchell; I taunted him, and told him when he could give me 4l, in hand I would come back to him and never before; Bertie can keep me as lady"—Bertie, I presume, is Mr. Mitchell—she said that she left you and did not let you know where she was, and went back to the man she loved.
The Prisoner in his defence said that before he married Alice Shine he told her that his wife left him two days after the marriage; that he had been told she was living as a prostitute Manchester until she drank herself to death; that on their marriage she told him she could never be his wife; that she did not love him, and hind return to her children: and that the marriage was never consummated.
GUILTY Strongly recommended to mercy by the Jury.— . Fourteen Days Imprisonment.
ADJUOURNED TO TUESDAY, AUGUST 3RD, 1880.