CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
HANSON, MAYOR. SIXTH SESSION.
A star (*) denotes that prisoners have been previously in custody—two stars (**) that they have been more than once in custody—a dagger (†) that they are known to be the associates of bad characters—the figures after the name in the indictment, denote the prisoner's age.
LONDON AND MIDDLESEX CASES.
OLD COURT.—Monday, March 28th, 1887.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. BAGGALLAY Prosecuted; MR. GREENFIELD Defended.
DAVID SUTHEELAND . I am private secretary to Mr. Marshall Howard, of 168, Strand—on 10th December I enclosed this statement of account with this crossed cheque in an envelope, addressed to Messrs. Dixon and Jones, 7, Gray's Inn Road—I fastened it up and gave it to Best, a messenger, to post.
FREDERICK BEST . In December last I was a messenger in the employ of Mr. Howard—I keep a post letter book—on 10th Dec. last I was given a letter to post addressed to Messrs. Dixon and Jones, and I entered it in this book—I put a stamp on it and posted it the same day at the East Strand post-office, to the best of my knowledge about half-past 5 o'clock.
Cross-examined. I don't know anything about the initials in the corner of this envelope.
CHARLES HENRY MARSHALL . I am inspector at the West Central District Post-office—the prisoner was employed there as an auxiliary postman, a letter posted at the East Strand office at half-past 5 would be brought to the West Central office, and would be sent out from there for delivery about half-past 7—on 9th December the prisoner was on duty there—this book (produced) shows the prisoner's signature that he went out with that delivery, which included Gray's Inn Road, and the letter addressed Messrs. Dixon and Jones, 7, Gray's Inn Road, would come in the prisoner's delivery.
Cross-examined. It is the same in this book on the 10th as on the 9th, he arrives at the office at 5.15, and leaves at 7.30, and finishes his delivery at 8.30—he has been eight years in the Post-office.
HENRY FRY (Police Constable attached to the General Post-office). In consequence of complaints at the office where the prisoner was employed of loss of letters, I was instructed—I searched the prisoner's residence on 26th February, after he was in custody, and found the letter and envelope addressed to Messrs. Dixon and Jones in a tin in a cupboard in the back room occupied by the prisoner—the account was out of the envelope—I put my initials on both the envelope and the account—I also found a number of postage-stamps and other things there.
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY.—Recommended to mercy on account of his long service.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. LEWIS Prosecuted; MR. SALTER Defended.
MARIA BELGER . I live in apartments at the prosecutor's house—just after 9 p.m. on the 12th February I went out of the house by the side door, shutting it after me—I was in the doctor's next door, and about half an hour or three-quarters afterwards I heard a cry of "Stop thief," and went out to see what it was, and found it was next door.
Cross-examined. I only heard one cry of "Stop thief"—there was a meeting near our house—I heard footsteps going the reverse way to me.
Re-examined. I did not see anybody running.
THOMAS SIDNEY DARK . I am a draper, of 6, Columbia Road, Hackney Road, the last witness has apartments there—on the night of 12th February I had been to Bow, and came home about a quarter to 10, and went through my shop into the parlour—I heard that the side door was open—I shut it, and got a candle and proceeded upstairs, and on the first landing I saw the prisoner and another man; they were about to ascend to the second floor—I said "Halloa, what are you doing here?" and the prisoner turned to his friend and said "Come along, we have come to the wrong house"—I came down stairs, and they followed me close behind, and while I was in the act of fastening the side door to detain them they made their escape through the shop, pushing a glass case down in their escape—I am sure the prisoner was one of the men—I had a candle in my hand, and held it up to him.
Cross-examined. The shop was lighted up and had been open all the evening; my wife was serving—there is a shop-parlour at the back, with a curtain partially drawn across a glass door—there is a window at the back of the shop-parlour, and you can see through the shop to the back of the house, that is always kept latched—the prisoner was differently dressed then—the other man had on a brown overcoat, but I could not say whether he had a muffler on—he had a light moustache.
Re-examined. There is a door leading out of the shop parlour into the passage.
By the COURT. The prisoner was brought back about 10 minutes afterwards by a police constable and I recognised him immediately.
JAMES LEACH . I live at 74, Milton Road, Hornsey—about 10 o'clock on 10th of February last I was near the prosecutor's shop, and heard a sort of rumbling noise, as if something had fallen down, and then I saw the prisoner and another man rush out of the shop, and the last witness come out of the side door—I took up the chase, and a constable coming round the corner, I said to him, "Stop that man," and he put out his arm and swung him round—I caught hold of him—I did not hear him say anything.
Cross-examined. There was no one running but the prisoner and the last witness and myself—the other man went down a court just before this man was apprehended.
AARON HAYES (Policeman H 113). On the night of 12th February, about 10 o'clock, I was near the prosecutor's shop and saw the prisoner running away, and the last witness crying, "Stop him"—I turned round and stopped him as well as I could, and took him in custody to the prosecutor's shop—he said he had done nothing.
Cross-examined. He seemed excited—after I got him in custody other people came round—I saw no other person running but the last witness—no housebreaking implements were found on the prisoner.
Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I know nothing about the case, I ran because others ran."
GUILTY of entering the house during the night with intent to commit felony therein. He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at this Court in May, 1855, in the name of Solomon Oysterman .— Four Months' Hard Labour.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS and GILL Prosecuted; MR. HUTTON Defended.
WILLIAM ARTHUR PERCY STRANGEWAYS . I live at Clarence House, Barnes, and am an army tutor—in October, 1885, I received by post this circular ill a letter, which I afterwards lost or destroyed; it was signed "W. Ridley Carr"—it had reference to this publication of his. (This was headed "The Royal Blue Book Educational Guide—Notice to Advertisers." It stated that the Guide was extensively circulated among the nobility, clergy, gentry, etc., and that its annual circulation was 20,000 copies.) Upon receiving that I sent an advertisement with this cheque for a guinea, dated 19th October—that has since passed through my bank and been paid—I sent it believing the statement contained in the circular—I afterwards received from the defendant an acknowledgment of the guinea and a proof of the advertisement—on 26th November I received this letter. (This stated that the Guide would in future be circulated monthly.) Upon that I sent another cheque for a guinea, believing the statement as to the monthly issue—I received an acknowledgment for that, and on 1st December I forwarded another guinea, and on 2nd December I received an acknowledgment from the defendant—in July, 1886, I received from him this list of patrons. (Including Her Majesty the Queen, and a long list of nobles, bishops, etc.)
Cross-examined. I do not take more than 12 pupils, they are entirely sons of persons described in the circular.
Putney, and am an army tntor—late in November, 1885, I called on the prisoner in Regent Square—he showed me this circular (Similar to the other)—believing the statements contained in it I gave an order for an advertisement and a guinea, with which my account was afterwards debited—in consequence of a further application I sent a further sum of 1l. 4s. on 29th December by cheque, and afterwards received an acknowledgment—it was the circular and the description of the persons that induced me to part with my money.
COLONEL CHARLES FREDERICK COLVIN . I am an army tutor, of St. Stephen's Square, Westbourne Park—on 16th October, 1886, I received this letter (Similar to the other)—when I was in partnership with Captain Preston I had advertised in the Guide—I had parted from Captain Preston and set up in London for myself—I answered that letter about 18th October, giving him an advertisement—on 20th October he wrote that my advertisement would take half a page, at three guineas per annum—on the 21st I wrote enclosing a cheque for three guineas for a half-page advertisement, and received this receipt from him—eventually the cheque wag paid, and came back from my bankers—in parting with my money I believed in the statements contained in the prisoner's letter of 16th October—on the faith of them I parted with my money.
HENRY WILLIAMS . I am a printer, at 222, Gray's Inn Road—in August, 1885, the prisoner came and spoke to me about printing some circulars for him—I printed some—after that I printed a four-page circular consisting of advertisements, an enlargement of the first thing I had done—it was paged in this peculiar manner by his express desire; it is described on the cover as the "Royal Blue Book"—I understood a Guide was coming out—he told me it would be a big book, this would somewhat represent it—I printed these as proofs—my name does not appear as printer, his name appears because he wrote on the copy "W. Eidley Carr"—in December, 1885, I printed 1,000 copies of a pamphlet called the "Educational Guide, Christmas Vacation Issue, 1885"—that was the first I printed in any quantity—I put on it "W. Ridley Carr—copyright reserved," by his desire—after that I declined to go on printing.
Cross-examined. I said he had better go elsewhere, there was some difficulty about getting them out in time—he paid my accounts eventually—I think about 16l. for various little jobs.
JOSEPH TIGG . I am employed by Messrs. Spottiswoode, printers, Net Bridge Street—in February, 1886, the prisoner came there, and by his orders we printed two issues of these Royal Circular Guides—500 for February and 500 for March—the February 500. were delivered 3rd March, and the March 500 on 17th April—our charges were about 16l.
Cross-examined. The 16l. was paid eventually—he generally spoke about bringing out a larger issue—he said he came to us because the other printers could not get the work out in sufficiently short time.
Re-examined. We had 5l. on account, and the final sum was paid about the second week in April, before the delivery of the last 500l.
CHARLES FORBES ROWELL . I am a printer, at 5 to 11, Great New Street—at the end of June, 1886, the prisoner came and asked me to print 1,000 copies of his Guide, and I printed them for March, April, and July; these are specimen copies—I printed 390 for March, 480 for July—he told me he wanted the old numbers printed to make up back numbers—in September he gave me a further order for 250 copies, to
include 100 for July, 70 for August, and 80 for September—he wanted those to make up back numbers—on October 1st he gave an order for 250 copies, which were delivered on October 8th—at the bottom of the Guide I printed his name and address, Torrington Square, on his instructions—I first printed my own name, and he asked me to take it off and print his name—I printed no more after that—on 27th December, 1886, I received this letter from him. (This requested him not to answer my question respecting hit Guide, as he was rearranging it, but to refer any person to him.) My charges amounted altogether to between 28l. and 30l.—I was paid.
Cross-examined. He speaks in this note about having a larger number.
JOHN TONBRIDGE (Police Inspector). On 9th February I arrested the prisoner at 31, Torrington Square, on a warrant charging him with obtaining money by false pretences—I read it to him—he said "I never heard of such a thing"—I have the "Royal Circular Guide" with his notice in it (Referring to Mr. Strangeways)—later on he said "This will injure me in my business; it would all come right if I had sufficient time; the proofs of a fresh publication which I intend to sell at 1s. will be out on Friday next. I started the Guide when I was in Regent Square, 18 months ago; after I got into trouble about the pictures"—when searching his bedroom he produced a packet of Guides from his trunk; he said "These are specimen numbers of each copy of the Guide since its commencement"—I went through them—the earliest had no date, the next were Christmas Vacation 1885 ones; then came February, March, April, none for May and June, but others from July to October inclusive; nothing subsequent to October.
Re-examined. He did not try to hide any of the papers from us—we found them when searching his bedroom, and he produced them from a box.
CHARLES BAKER (Police Sergeant, Scotland Yard). After the prisoner had been taken into custody I assisted in searching his rooms, 31, Torrington Square—I found a number of books and letters, and among them this "Royal Circular Guide" advertisement and order book—in that is a current account containing among others the names of Mr. Strangeways, three guineas; Mr. Sterne, 2l. 5s.; and Colonel Colvin, three guineas—I have added all the sums which purport to have been received under the account so headed; they amount to 4752. between July, 1885, and February, 1887—I have counted the number of advertisers in these specimen copies of the Guide; between December, 1885, and October, 1886, there are some 3,500 advertisers—if a copy were sent to each advertiser there would be none left for circulation among the patrons.
GUILTY .*— Judgment respited.
MR. CROFTON Prosecuted.
HERBERT BENNETT . I live at 175, Sloane Street—on the 3rd instant, about 3.30 p.m., I was in Moorgate Street; I had my watch and chain in my pocket—I had to pass a small crowd of people at a corner—I saw the prisoner's hand on my chain—I went to take hold of him, the chain dropped from his hand, the swivel being torn out—the prisoner ran, I
followed him—only the swivel was broken—I caught him and gate him into the custody of two plain clothes constables.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I charged you first with stealing my watch; I thought you had taken it, and to my intense astonishment I found my watch in my pocket next morning.
THOMAS MALONEY (City Policeman 142). At half-past 3 on this day I was on duty in Moorgate Street—I heard somebody shouting "Stop thief!" and saw the last witness running after the prisoner—he gave him into my custody and charged him with stealing his watch—the prisoner said nothing then—when charged at the station he said "You have made a mistake, it is not me at all."
The prisoner in his defence stated that he was standing in a crowd when the prosecutor accused him, and he ran because it looked so bad.
GUILTY .**— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Monday, March 28th, 1887.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
455. WILLIAM CARR (15) PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully uttering counterfeit coin twice within 10 days. (His father stated that he fort a good character till he was decoyed away from home by a coiner, whose name he had given in order to his being apprehended.)— Judgment respited.
MSSSRS. CRAUFURD and WILKINSON Prosecuted.
LUIGI TADDAY . I am a waiter at M. Brentini's cafe, 84, High Holbon—on the evening of 12th March I served the prisoner with coffee and a cigar, price 63.—he gave me a half-crown, I gave him two separate shillings in change and he left—I put the half-crown in the till, and shortly after taw my mistress go there to get change for another customer, and saw her take the half-crown out—this is it (produced)—there were no other half-crowns there—on 14th March, about 8 p.m., the prisoner came again for a bottle of lemonade, and paid with a good florin—I spoke to my mistress—he came again on the 17th, about 6 p.m., and ordered coffee and a dear and gave me this half-crown (produced)—I gave it to my master, who found it was bad, and bent it with a prover, and told me in Italian to fetch a policeman, which I did, and the prisoner was given in charge.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. As soon as I take money I give it to my master, and he gives me the change for the customer and puts the coin in the till—I go to the till when my master is not there, and so does my mistreat, but nobody else—I did not examine this coin particularly before I put it in the till—there were only a few single shillings there, but the takings of the whole day were there in four different compartments, one of which is for gold, one for large silver, one for sixpences, and one for copper—I saw my master go to the till about five minutes afterwards for change for a sovereign or a half-sovereign—I was near
him—he took out the half-crown and looked at it and put it on one side—I think the 14th was Monday—you gave the florin to my mistress that day, and she tried it and found it good, therefore I said nothing about the previous Saturday, but we took care to look at your money—I did not tell the inspector that I put the half-crown in my pocket.
LUIGI BRENTINI . I keep a cafe at 84, High Holborn—on 12th March the prisoner came in about 8 o'clock, and the waiter served him with coffee and a cigar—he gave the waiter a coin, which he put into the till, which has four compartments—about 10 minutes after the prisoner left I went to the till, no money having been taken in the meantime—this was the only half-crown there, and I broke it in the tester—I did not see the prisoner the second time he came; but on the 17th he came, and the waiter served him with coffee and a cigar again, and he handed him this half-crown (produced)—I tested it, but did not bend it much—I was satisfied that it was bad, and sent the waiter for a policeman, and when he came I said, "This gentleman was here last Sunday," I ought to have said Saturday, "he tendered a bad half-crown, and to-night he has tendered a bad half-crown again"—the prisoner said "I am very sorry, I did not know if it was bad, if there is anything to pay I am willing to pay"—I gave him in custody with the half-crown.
Cross-examined. We have only one till, and all the coin goes into it—I dare say we took 2l. that day—only my wife and the water go to the till besides myself—I cannot say whether we had taken other half-crowns that day, because we change so often, but we had none when you came in; there were only three or four shillings there—I do not know whether I was going to give change for a sovereign, a half-sovereign, or a sixpence—the waiter did not go to the till himself, because when you came in I said to the waiter "This is the party we suspect; look out what money you get"—I did not say to the inspector that my assistant took the money and put it in his pocket, and when I went to settle with him at night I went to get change for a sovereign, and found it in the till—the inspector held up the half-crown, and said "I will have nothing to do with it"—I said "We must let him off then"—he said "You had hotter go back and get the waiter."
Re-examined. We got bad money from a man, and desired him to be watched, but not to be spoken to unless he tendered a bad coin, as if we have two cases we can make a charge.
EDWARD OVERS (Policeman E. R 45). On 17th March, about 6.30 p.m., I was called to Mr. Brentini's coffee-house, who was sitting against the door detaining the prisoner—he charged him with passing two bad half-crowns on the 12th and 17th—the prisoner came to me and said "Don't say anything, for God's sake; if there is anything to pay I will pay for it"—I found two good florins on him, two good half-crowns, and 5 1/2 d. in bronze—at the station the inspector said "You will be charged with uttering these two base coins"—he said "I admit passing one on the 17th;" that was the same night—he said that he had been staying with his brother-in-law in the East India Dock Road—the inspector asked him what number—he said "I don't want to give it on account of bringing my brother-in-law into trouble"—Mr. Brentini gave me these two coins (produced).
Cross-examined. I asked you to go upstairs to be searched, and you made no objection—when upstairs you gave me an empty purse out of
your pocket, but all the coins were loose in your pocket—the inspector said that he must have the waiter present who received the half-crown—the prisoner did not say anything about finding the coin when ho settled with the waiter at night—he said ho found it in the till a quarter of an hour after you left—you said "I have been residing with my brother-in-law in the East India Dock Road, a ship's plumber; he has held one situation 14 years; I do not wish to bring him forward lest he should lose his situation."
The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence said that he received the first half-crown in Aldgate in change for a half-sovereign, and tendered it to pay the sixpence, as he had only 5 1/2 d. in copper, and that he did not know it was bad. He contended that his going to the house on the last occasion, fitting in the same seat and calling for the same articles, proved his innocence; and stated that his sight was so bad that he could hardly distinguish bronze from silver, and that a bandage which he wore over his eyes was supplied to him by the prison surgeon.
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. CRAUFURD and WILKINSON Prosecuted.
ROSE MUTLEY . I am employed at a dairy at 381, Cambridge Road—on 13th February I served the prisoner with two penny eggs—she gave me a sixpence—I put it on the side of the till and gave her the change—after she left I tried it with my teeth; it bent, and I put it in my pocket—on the Tuesday week afterwards, February 27th, she came again for two penny eggs, and gave me a sixpence—I tried it with my teeth, and it bent—I called Mrs. Burroughs, and then told the prisoner it was bad—she said that she did not know it—Mrs. Burroughs said something about the other time, and the prisoner said that she was not there last Saturday week—she was a stranger at the shop.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not say at first that I put the coin into the till with other money; I put it on the side of the till—I put the second coin in my pocket, thinking you would come again—you did not ask me if I had a tester.
By the COURT. She was not bare—headed.
MARY ANN BURROUGHS . My husband keeps a dairy at 381, Cambridge Road—I was not present on 13th February, but on 27th February the last witness called me into the shop, and said "This is the woman who gave me the bad sixpence on the 13th"—she then said to the prisoner, "I have been expecting to see you since 8 o'clock this morning, and I shall lock you up"—she waited about a minute, and then said "I am not going to wait for you to lock me up"—I said "We shall have to," and sent for a constable—she then said "I am not going to wait," and went out—I went outside with her, and saw a man waiting for her, who said "What do you say she has given you?"—I said "I have not said anything before you about what she has given me or what she has not"—the prisoner said "Let me go about my business; it is my husband; he ought to interfere"—they walked away, and I followed them, and gave her in charge—the man left her half way, and before I found a policeman—she said that she did not know the sixpence she
uttered that day was bad, and that she was not in the shop on the 13th, but she was on the Sunday before, which was the 20th.
Cross-examined. I swear that you said the man was your husband, but at the station you said he was the man you were living with.
GEORGE PALMER (Policeman J 126). The last witness gave the prisoner into my custody in the open street, about 200 yards from the shop, for passing a bad sixpence—she said, "If the sixpence is bad it was a mistake, I did not know it"—she said at the police-court that she received it from a man she met at Cambridge Heath Bridge, who gave her 1s. 6d., and the sixpence was in her purse and 3/4 d. in bronze—she said, "That lady said I was in her shop a fortnight ago; I was not in her shop that day, but I was last Sunday."
Cross-examined. Mrs. Burroughs told me she believed the man was carrying the money and that you were passing it—you did not say that you were living with the man who gave you the 1s. 6d.—you said you were living in Broad Street at a common lodging-house.
Re-examined. She said nothing about the man being her husband—she said a man who she was living with.
Prisoner's Defence. I was not in the shop on the 13th. I did not leave the house all day long of a lady who I wash for, but she is ill and cannot come. Here is a letter which I have received from her. I called at the shop for the eggs but am innocent of the coin being bad.
GUILTY .— Judgment respited.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, March 29th, 1887.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
458. LOUIS WEBB (20) PLEADED GUILTY to feloniously attempting to kill and murder himself. MR. PHILIP FRANCIS GILBERT , surgeon to Her Majesty's Prison, Holloway, and DR. JACKSON, of the London Hospital, were examined as to the state of the prisoner's mind, and stated that in their opinion he was not of unsound mind.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MESSRS. HARRIS and BROXHOLME Prosecuted; MR. WARBURTON Defended.
GUILTY .— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, March 29th, 1887.
Before Mr. Recorder.
460. GEORGE LEWIS (29) PLEADED GUILTY to three indictments for stealing travelling bags containing wearing apparel and other articles of the South-Eastern and Great Eastern Railway Companies.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
PATRICK DOOLAN . I live at St. George's Chambers, St. George's Street—on 19th March, between 11 and 12 p.m., I was in Cable Street, and was thrown down, and lost 1l. 17s. and two pocket knives—I cannot swear to the prisoner being there, I was rather the worse for drink—I don't wish to press the charge against the prisoner—I have known him about four years.
GEORGE BENNING (Policeman H R 37). On the 19th of March, about 12 at night, Doolan complained to me that he had been robbed, and about 3 o'clock I saw the prisoner, and told him I should take him in custody on suspicion of robbing a man in Cable Street, with three others, of 1l. 17s. and two pocket knives—he said, "Where is the man?"—I took him to the station, placed him with six others, and Doolan went direct to him and said, "That is the man that robbed me and put me on my back"—I took some other persons in custody, and they were put with the prisoner, but were not identified—he made no answer to the charge.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I should be the last to rob a man."
The prisoner in his defence stated that there was a mistake, and that he knew nothing about it.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WOODGATE Prosecuted.
THOMAS AYRES . I am a tailor, of 27, World's End, Battersea—on 8th March, just after midnight, I was taking a walk, and sat on a seat near Shepherd's Bush, the two prisoners came up, and Jones wanted to know what I was doing there—I did not reply, but simply looked at them—Jones then said, "I suppose you belong to the deaf and dumb people?"—I rose to go away, but I had not gone far before I got a blow from behind on the left temple, which knocked me to the ground—I got up and Morris then managed to get his crutch between my legs, and said, "Give it to him, Jones"—they both gave me a push together, and I fell—I got up and found that I had to fight two—I defended myself, but was knocked down a third time with Jones on top of me—we struggled for some time, and some gentlemen then came up, and the prisoners went away—when I recovered myself I examined my pockets, and missed a silver watch and small gold Albert, value about four guineas, 5s. 6d. in silver, and 4d. in bronze—the prisoners were then out of sight—I spoke to a constable, and accompanied him and found them, and gave them in custody—I had looked at my watch before this happened, about 11.30 as near as I can recollect.
WILLIAM BROOKMAN (Policeman X 406). Just after midnight on the morning of 8th March Ayres came to me—his garments were very much disarranged, and he looked as if he had been assaulted—he made a complaint, and gave me a description—we went towards Norland Road with another constable, and he pointed out the prisoners, and said "Those are the men that robbed me of my watch and chain and some money," and he also said he had been kicked and ill-used in various ways—Morris said "I know nothing about it; if I had not seen that
other man I should not have got into trouble; I have not seen him before to-night"—that was not in Jones's presence—I was present at the station when Ayres made his statement in Jones's presence, who said "Yes, that is right."
JOHN BUTTER (Policeman X 344). I took Jones to the station, and found on him a shilling in silver and 7 3/4 d. in bronze—nothing was found on Morris—I have been shown the place where this robbery is said to have taken place; it was 300 yards along the road from the place where these men were taken.
GEORGE ANDREWS . I live at Macfarlane Road, Shepherd's Bush—on the morning of March 8th I was near Shepherd's Bush Green with a friend, and heard cries of "Help—I went to their assistance, and saw the prisoners walking away from the prosecutor—I saw no violence used—I stopped them, and we had an altercation about the prosecutor being knocked about as he appeared to be—the prisoners said they had done nothing of the kind, and used very bad language.
HENRY CARTER . I was with Mr. Andrews, and heard a scuffling across the green—we went up, and saw the prisoners walking away—Ayres said that he had been assaulted by them, and we went and brought them back—they then accused him of knocking them about, and used very violent language—I walked on—Ayres examined his pockets, and made another complaint, and we went and found the police—I saw nobody else there—the prisoners were taken about a quarter of a mile from where this took place, along a road between two rows of houses.
Jones's Defence. I was coming by Shepherd's Bush Green, and saw the prosecutor sitting on a seat. As we passed him he hissed. I went back and asked him what he wanted, and we asked him twice, but he did not answer. I got inside the railings, thinking there was some one he might know, and he got up and hit me, and I hit him back, but I did not hit him on the temple.
Morris's Defence. I did not put my crutch between his legs, and I did not steal his watch and chain; I am innocent of it.
WILLIAM BROOKMAN (Re-examined). There was a little blood on Ayres's nose, and a slight bruise on his temple, and he was not able to attend next morning; he was too ill. When I had taken the prisoners to the station I went back along the road where they had been, and searched everywhere, but found nothing.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Tuesday, March 29th, 1887.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted; MR. MOORE Defended.
GEORGE RICHARD COLLIER . I am the landlord of the Duke of Edinburgh, Devonshire Street, Mile End—on 17th March the prisoner came in for half a pint of ale about half-past 7 in the evening, price 1d.—she gave me a shilling in payment; I gave her the change, and she left the shop—after she had gone I looked at the coin, which I had put underneath the counter, and which had not been mixed with any other coin; I found it was bad—I next saw her on Friday morning, the 18th, about
half-past 11 a.m., when she came in for half a pint of ale, and gave me another shilling, which I found to be bad—I said "You are the woman that brought me one last night"—she said "I didn't know that it was a bad one"—I told her I should detain her, and sent for a policeman—she said "Forgive me and let me go, and I will never bring you another one"—I gave her into custody—I gave these two coins to Waller.
Cross-examined. I just looked at the first coin to see it was a shilling, put it under the counter, and then looked at it a second time, when she had hardly got outside the door.
By the JURY. I generally put shillings under the counter when I take them for subsequent examination.
HENRY WALLER (Policeman J 59). On 18th March I was called to the Duke of Edinburgh beerhouse about noon—the last witness was detaining the prisoner in a side compartment, and he gave her into custody for uttering two counterfeit shillings on the previous evening and on that morning—she said nothing—I marked the coins, and said to her "What other money have you about you?"—she produced from her dress-pocket 6d. silver, and 6 1/4 d. bronze—I received from Mr. Collier these two coins—I took her to the station—on the way she said "You know me"—I said "I do"—she said "It is my luck, I suppose; I was in the same trouble before, last summer"—when charged at the station she said "The only way that I can account for receiving them is by pledging my jacket at Bell and George's, pawnbrokers, in Whitechapel Road, for 5s. "—the female searcher searched her at the station, and afterwards gave me these two pawn-tickets—one of those is from Bell and George, for 5s., on 17th March.
Cross-examined. I knew the money was bad by the feel to my hands and teeth.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I must have taken the money from the pawnbrokers."
Witnesses for the Defence.
MARY ANN SINDFIELD . I am a widow, living at Gipsy Lane, Grays—I have known the prisoner five or six years, and have always known her to be of good character; I never heard anything wrong of her—her eyesight has been very bad ever since I have known her.
ELIZABETH MOORE . I am married; my husband is a labourer—I live at Grays, next door to the prisoner—I have known her six or seven or from that to twelve months—I have never known her in any trouble of any sort—her eyesight is very bad, I know, for I have asked her to read letters for me, and she can hardly do so; she has said she must have some glasses.
Cross-examined. I do not know of her being in custody on a charge of this kind last year.
By the COURT. Her husband was away on a boat; he goes on the water.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, March 30th, 1887.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
465. WILLIAM DURANT STORER (19) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] to stealing 15 yards of silk cloth and 12 yards of satin, the goods of Charles French, his master, after a conviction of felony in Nov., 1884, at this Court.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. STEDDON Prosecuted.
WILLIAM CHAMBERLAIN . I am a draper at 33 and 35, Pitfield Street, Hoxton—on the night of 18th March I had properly fastened my house up about 11 p.m., the doors being properly bolted—about 7 next morning the police rang my bell and made a statement to me, in consequence of which I searched my shop; I missed 375 yards of satin, some silk 14 yards of silk broche, 4 dozen silk handkerchiefs, and 6s. 3d.—the value, of the property was about 25l.—my shop had been broken into through the sky-light, which I found open, and a ladder was left standing inside the shop resting against the gas bracket from the skylight—the prisoners must have brought it there, it is not ours; it was brought from 50 yards off—I found a bunch of keys on the top of the safe; these pieces which looked as if they had been prized off by the side of the safe; this knife a few yards from the skylight in the shop, and the constable picked up this jemmy in my presence as soon as he stepped into the shop—the street door had been forced from the inside, the boxes had been forced off both the street and shop doors, which are close together, and both have patent locks—the desk where we kept the small change for the morning had been prized open and 6s. 3d. taken out; boxes of velvet, hosiery, drapery and goods were strewn over the floor—the knife had been used for cutting away the skylight, which was in a secure place as anyone to get at it from outside must go a long distance along roofs—I also saw a clothes line recently broken on the skylight, and I saw where it had been broken from.
THOS. SCANDLER (Policeman G 441). About 8.10 a.m. on the 19th I was on duty in plain clothes in East Road, Hoxton, with Willis when I saw the prisoner wheeling a barrow out of Singleton Street into Haberdasher Street, another man was walking by his side—he got away by walking sharp from the prisoner, who still kept coming down the street—as soon as the other man got into East Road he gave a signal which I knew, the prisoner then left the barrow, crossed East Road, and went through Tomtit's Court—I followed, he went through Custance Street—I went up Provost Street—as soon as I met the prisoner and the other man the prisoner ran, I ran after him, he slipped down, jumped up and flew at me like a dog as soon as I got to him—we had a severe struggle for three or four minutes—I drew my truncheon and to do him if he did not go quietly I would use it—he said "I will go quiet"—I took him back to the barrow—I said "How do you account for this property?"—he would not give me any answer, he mumbled something which I did not understand—I
took him to the station and charged him—these (produced) are samples of the stuffs which were on the barrow—there were 375 yards of this satin—I met the prisoner about 120 yards from the prosecutor's. (MR. CHAMBERLAIN stated that the stuff produced was part of his property.)
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I was 10 yards from the other man who signalled to you—I knew he was concerned in the affair—I did not take him but you, because you had the barrow and the stuff.
PHILIP WILLIS (Policeman G 439). I was in plain clothes in company with Scandler on this morning—I saw the prisoner and another man coming up Haberdasher Street—the prisoner was pushing a cotter-monger's barrow—the other man passed us and gave a signal to the prisoner—we stood back by the side of the public-house so that the prisoner could not see us—the prisoner passed—I spoke to handler, who went after the prisoner, and I ran down to see what the barrow contained—they left it 50 yards down the street—I returned with the property, left it in charge of somebody else, and then chased the other man about half a mile; he got away.
The prisoner in his defence stated that the other man, who appeared very respectable, asked him to wheel the barrow; that he suspected something wrong by his keeping in front, and so ran away.
GUILTY .— Judgment respited.
The Grand Jury made a presentment commending the conduct of Scandler.
467. JOSEPH SHORE (34) , Burglariously breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Charlotte Ivan Muller, and stealing a jacket, pillowcase, and other goods, her property, and a jacket and other goods the property of Mary New.
MR. HUGGINS Prosecuted.
FREDERICK MORRIS (Policeman F 250). At a quarter past 3 p.m. on 11th March I met the prisoner in the Uxbridge Road carrying a sack about three-quarters of a mile from the prosecutor's house—I stopped him and said, "What have you in the sack?"—he said, "Two old jackets, I found them in the sack on the common near Uxbridge Road Station"—I took him into custody, another constable carried the sack to the station, where I opened and found in it two jackets, two pairs of kid gloves, a window curtain, a pillow-case and a tape measure—in the prisoner's hip pocket we found a dinner knife, a pair of pliers, a box of matches and a piece of candle—when charged he made no reply—I took him into custody for the unlawful possession, and, after I found burglary had been committed, he was charged on the remand with the burglary—I was present then—he made no answer.
MARY NEW . I am a servant to Charlotte Ivan Muller, of 49, Wood Lane, Shepherd's Bush—about 11.30 on 10th of March I went to bed, having fastened the house up and locked all the doors and windows before I went—when I came down next morning, between half-past 6 and 7, I found a panel had been taken out of the garden-door and that the door had been opened—that door had been closed, bolted, and locked since last summer and never opened—from the passage at the side I missed these two jackets; one is mine and the other my mistress's, the curtain, the pillow-case, and the gloves from the pockets, and the tape measure—the curtain and pillow-case were at the back of the box by the door from which the panel was cut out—I found this screwdriver, which had been
left behind, lying on the box behind the door—I value the articles at about 30s.—about 3 o'clock in the morning I fancied I heard a bell, but I took no notice of it—it must have been a small bell over which the jackets hung in the passage.
NATHAN MANSFIELD (Police Inspector). On 11th March, from information received, I went to 49, Wood Lane, Shepherd's Bush—I found the house had been broken into by one of the bottom panels of the back door, which opened into the garden, having been out away—I examined the marks on it with this instrument, they tallied—I found this screwdriver lying inside the passage.
The prisoner in his defence slated that he saw the bag containing the articles lying in the road and picked it up.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY* to a conviction of felony in April, 1885.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. MARSHALL HALL Prosecuted.
WILLIAM SUTTON . I live at 29, President Street, St. Luke's, and am a jeweller—my son is a jeweller and works with me, his name is Joseph Edward Sutton—on Saturday, 12th March, at five minutes past 1, I went to the London and County Bank, Upper Street, Islington, and obtained 80l., 65l. in gold and 15l. in silver; the gold was in one paper bag and the silver in three paper bags of 5l. each, the four bags being in a canvas bag which I carried under my arm with the end in my hand—I went down Goswell Road and President Street and King's Square—when I got to the furthermost end of King's Square I saw the prisoner standing against the railings about four yards from the corner of Wood Street—I saw no one but him—as soon as I faced him he snatched at the bag, I held it as fait as I could—at that moment I was pushed down on the pavement on my back by the prisoner, and no sooner was I on my back than three or four men surrounded me, I don't know where they came from—they took hold of my arms and picked me up, and said, "Halloa, old man, what's the matter?"—another man picked up my hat, and said, "Here is your hat," and I believe he immediately ran after the other down Wood Street—the prisoner ran away with the bag after he pushed me down—to the best of my knowledge he is the man—he ran down Wood Street, and turned round the right-hand corner of Wood Street into Rahere Street, and so into Central Street—I ran after him as soon as I could—I saw one of our workmen, Gibson, turn into Wood Street—we both chased him through Rahere Street into Central Street, and as far as Charles Street—I halloaed to Gibson, who ran after him—I complained to the police—I do not like to swear, but I feel positive the prisoner is the man—I picked him out of a dozen others the following Saturday—he tried to disguise himself by throwing his stomach out, and blowing out his cheeks, and opening his eyes as if they would drop out of his head—I picked him out notwithstanding that—that vanished and then he was more like himself than ever.
WILLIAM GIBSON . I am a jeweller, of 12, Carlton Road, Bowes Park, and work for Mr. Button's son—on 12th March, a little after I o'clock, I was in Rahere Street, at the corner of Leverton Street, and saw two men, come up Leverton Street, one had a canvas bag in his hand, similar to
what bankers put money into—I then saw Mr. Sutton, and in consequence of what he said I ran after the two men, of whom the prisoner is one—I have no doubt about it—as they turned into Leverton Street they would be in a side direction to me, and I had a view of them then, and when they had gone about two yards into Rahere Street the prisoner turned and I had a good view of his face, and am positive he is the man—I followed them to the end of Rahere Street, but lost sight of them in Central Street—I was about 10 or 12 yards from the prisoner the first time I saw his face, and about 30 or 40 yards the second time—it was a pretty clear day.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I might have said at first that you were 15 yards from me, but I had not measured the road then—I said I identified you by your moustache and general build—I have not positively said which one had the bag.
Re-examined. On the following Friday I identified the prisoner at the police-court among 9 or 10 other men, and I have no doubt whatever that he is the man.
ALICE JARVIS . I live at 3, King's Square, St. Luke's and am unmarried—I was coming from the public-house at the corner, near my home, about 1 o'clock, with change for my father to pay his men—I saw three men. of whom the the prisoner is one, standing by the railings—I saw Mr. Sutton turn the corner from Wood Street—the men standing at the side of the ladder spoke to him, and then the next I saw was Mr. Sutton on the ground—the prisoner was not one of the men standing by the ladder, he was on the opposite side, at the railings; the ladder was on the same side as I was—there were six men there I should think, three at the railings, two walking about the pavement, and one at the side of the ladder—when Mr. Sutton was on the ground the prisoner was in the street at the moment.
Cross-examined. I can swear you are the man—I did not tell the Magistrate I would not like to say you were the man—I did not say at the station "I think that is the man."
Re-examined. I had seen all the six men together.
By the COURT. The three men were only just across the road on the opposite side to the old man when he was on the ground.
STEPHEN MARONY (Detective Sergeant G). From information and description received I went to the Prince of Wales public-house, Hoxton, on Thursday, 17th March, and there arrested the prisoner—I said "I shall apprehend you for being concerned with other men in stealing 80l. in gold and silver from an old gentleman in King's Square last Saturday afternoon, about 1 o'clock"—he made no reply—after we had walked a little way he said "Marony, you are getting this up for me, the same as you did the other job"—I said "I am not getting it up at all"—he said "Oh yes you are"—I said "You may have it so then if you like"—he was taken to the station, and detained till next day, when the charge was read to him by the inspector—he replied "Yes," nothing else—Sutton and Gibson came to the station and separately identified him from among nine others.
The prisoner in his defence asserted his innocence, and stated that he wasnowhere near King's Square, but was in Mile Street, East Road, about 200 yards from his mother's door, at the time, and that the police had assisted the witnesses at the identification.
STEPHEN MARONY (Re-examined). I was present at the identification—the inspector did not slap the prisoner on the back and say "Is this the man?" he would not be allowed to do so—the prisoner blew his cheeks out and tried all he possibly could to disguise himself.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY**(dagger) to a conviction of felony in Nov., 1881.— Six Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. LYNE Prosecuted.
GUILTY .— Eight Months' Hard Labour.
MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted.
ELIZABETH BELL . I am the wife of Henry Bell, and lire with him at 77, Brunswick Road, Poplar—on the night of 7th March I and my husband went to bed about a quarter to 12 o'clock, leaving the house safe—I shut the street-door and left it on the latch, that my nephew might open it when he came home; my husband shut the bedroom door—I left a light burning in the passage—about 2 o'clock the following morning I was woke up with a light in my room, and I found the bedroom door was open, and that there was a man on his hands and knees at the foot of my bed—I called my husband, got out of bed., and ran after the man, who then jumped up and ran into the passage—we sleep on the lower floor—the lamp in the passage wag turned up higher than I had left it; and shone into our bedroom, so that I could see the man; he was the prisoner—he went out of the street-door, banging it after him—I opened; it, the prisoner went round the corner—my husband followed quickly behind me—while we were standing at the street-door a few minutes afterwards Goatcher came up, and we made a communication to him—I missed nothing from the house—afterwards, on the 8th, I went to the police-station, where I saw the prisoner and identified him.
JAMES GOATCHER (Policeman K 90). On the morning of 8th March I was on duty in Dessert Street near Mr. Bell's house about l.45—the prisoner turned out of Brunewick Road running towards me—Mr. Bell's is only two doors round the corner of Brunswick Street—I had known the prisoner about the neighbourhood—I said to him," What are you running for?"—he said, "A man is going to pay me"—another man came running from the other side of the road in another direction and I said, "Is this the man?" the prisoner said "Yes"—the other man said to the prisoner, "You know me, I am not going to interfere with you"—not hearing anything of the robbery and knowing the prisoner I allowed him to go on—I walked in the direction of Mr. Bell's house, where I saw Mr. and Mrs. Bell at the door—Mrs. Bell was in her night dress in a very excited state; she made a statement to me, in consequence of which I spoke to Rothey.
GEORGE ROTHEY (Policeman KR 60). On the morning of 8th March I was on duty in the East End Road, Poplar—Goatcher made a communication to me, and shortly after I saw the prisoner at a coffee stall—I said to him, "I shall take you into custody for entering a house in the Brunswick Road"—he said, "I don't know where the Brunswick Road is"—I took him into custody and took him to the police station, it was about half-past 3—at the station when the charge was read to him he made no reply—before the charge was taken I fetched Mrs. Bell to the station and she identified the prisoner, who was by himself—he was searched at the police station and on him were found a small bunch of keys and a latch key, a pair of gold earrings, a gold locket, a box of matches, centre punch, and a knife—the latch key opens the door of Mr. Bell's house.
FREDERICK ELLISTON (Inspector K). On 8th March I was on duty at the Poplar station, and was present when the prisoner was searched—I saw these articles taken from him, they were handed to me—I tried this key, which has been filed down, in the latch of 77, Brunswick Road, it opened the door easily—the prisoner is a blacksmith.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "The woman who says she saw me in her bedroom is a confounded lie."
The prisoner in his defence stated that an he was passing through Brunswick Road on his way home, a man rushed out of the railings and threatened him—that he ran off, and that the policeman took him—that the latch key found on him opened his landlady's door and that he had filed it down as it did not fit properly.
GUILTY . There were two other indictments against the prisoner.—Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
FOURTH COURT.—Tuesday and Wednesday, 29th and 30th March, 1887.
471. WALTER EDWARD LORD* (29) PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling-house of Alfred Rogers, and stealing three bottles of whisky, his goods, and to a conviction of felony in January, 1882, at Great Yarmouth.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
472. JOSEPH DIMMOCK (20) and CHARLES BEER (15) to breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Joseph Kinch and stealing and receiving two coins and 2l. 2s., his goods and moneys.— [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] Respited. And
473. WILLIAM JACKSON (17) and LAWRENCE BARKER (17) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] to burglariously breaking and entering the dwelling-house of George Pheasant with intent to steal, and BARKER to a conviction of felony in April, 1886.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
JACKSON— Twelve' Months Hard Labour.
MR. DYSON WILLIAMS Prosecuted.
ALFRED SAMUEL SCOTT . I am a printer of 21 and 22, Bush Lane—the prisoner was my outdoor traveller—his duty was to solicit orders for cardboard boxes, my patent—on 14th February he gave mean order from Rabbits of Newington Causeway to the value of about 5l.—he first brought an order for 12 gross from Rabbits, then an order for 80 gross to be distributed amongst various shops in London to the value or about 30l.—he
gave me other orders about which I left squeamish and took no notice, but these two orders were executed—I questioned him in reference to the official order from Rabbits, he put me off by saying it would come with the name to be printed—he afterwards brought me an order from the Hop Bitters Company, the manager is Mr. Cameron, to the value of about 80l.—the material was ordered for it, the goods were not supplied—another of his orders purported to come from Dawson's of London Wall, also 12 gross from Rabbits—those orders were executed and left my premises—I made a communication to the Hop Bitters Company which was "overridden" by the prisoner, then I sent a message, which led to the opening up of the whole affairs—then the prisoner acknowledged those orders were not good, but said the others were all right—I produce a hop bitters box.
Cross-examined. I should say you meant to steal the goods.
WILLIAM TOOMER . I live at 3, Union Place, Long Lane, Salisbury Road, Bermondsey—I am a Printer's boy, employed by Mr. Scott. of Bush Lane—on 11th February I took some cardboard boxes—Mr. Scott asked me to take them to Messrs Rabbits'—the prisoner went with me and the goods to Mr. Bell's in Golden Lane—Wright and another boy went with me—he told me to take the goods inside, which I did, and took the truck back where it was hired—Wright told me not to say anything about it to anybody—he asked, and I signed "G. Bell" on the bottom of this note (Receipt for goods)—I gave it to Mr. Scott when I got back as Wright told me to—I took some more goods to Bell's in Golden Lane, the prisoner told me to—I made a communication to Mr. Scott on the Saturday.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. Both you and Mr. Scott told me to take the goods to Rabbits'.
ELISHA FRISBY . I live 42, St. Jame's Road, Bixton—I am a buyer for Messrs. Rabbits and Son, shoe manufacturers—I do not know the prisoner—I should give any orders for our firm; I am the only person authorized to do so—I have never given any order to Mr. Scott—on 10th February I was attending to my duties of buying for the firm—I know nothing of any order for 12 gross of boxes.
SYDNEY ROGER DAWSON . I am one of the firm of Messrs. Dawson and Sons, shoe manufacturers, of 23, London Wall—no order for boxes could be given without my sanction—I do not know the prisoner—he ahs not received any such order from me—I have not had business dealings with Mr. Scott; I know nothing of him or his firm.
WILLIAM OLDHAMSTEAD (City Detective). The prisoner was given into my custody on 12th March, charged by Mr. Scott with stealing 10 gross of boxes on 9th March and 12 gross on the 11 th—he was charged at the police-station, and made no reply at first; he afterwards said, "You will find the boxes at Mr. Bell's Golden Lane"—on searching him I found a receipt, papers, letters, and these two invoices produced (For the 10 and 12 gross of boxes)—he said he ought to have them to the boy to go with the goods, but knowing they were fictitious orders he kept them himself—I afterwards went with Detective Laing to Mr. Bell's in Golden Lane to recover the goods—I found 20 gross of boxes in all—I showed Them to the prisoner in the presence of Mr. Bell and said, "Are these The goods you refer to?"—he said "Yes"—I produce a sample of the
boot boxes—the prisoner was taken to the Mansion House and committed for trial.
GEORGE BELL . I am a carman contractor, of 62, Golden Lane—the prisoner came to my place of business on 8th March—he asked me my prices for carting goods; I told him—he said, "What do you want for carting straw boards? I want you to cart about half a ton to Mr. Scott's, of Bush Lane, City; they will be ready at 2 o'clock"—he gave me an order to cart them—my man took them—the following day he called at my place again—on the 9th he called again and said, "Mr. Scott told me to ask you if you could oblige him by lodging a few in your office, as we are moving"—I said, "If it is only a day or so I do not mind obliging Mr. Scott"—the prisoner and two boys came with some on a truck on the 9th, and a few more on the 11th—the goods were taken to the police-station on the 11th.
The prisoner in defence said he had no intention to steal the boxes, but thought he could induce the firms to take to them, and lodged them at Bell's till he could do so, as, the orders being fictitious, he would have been found out if they were sent to the firms direct.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WILLIAMS offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
476. JAMES LYNCH (28) and JOSEPH HOGAN (18) , Burglary in the dwelling-house of Maurice Murphy, and stealing three coats and other goods, his property, and one watch and other goods, the property of Joseph Hart. Second Count, receiving.
MR. DYSON WILLIAMS Prosecuted; MR. PURCELL defended Lynch; MR. WILSON defended Hogan.
HARRIET HART . I am the wife of William Hart, of 107, Park Street, Camden Town—on 26th February I left my house with my husband at 9.30, and returned at 11.30—I found my room door open—I occupied the house with Maurice Murphy—I left the windows of my room fastened, and the room door shut, but not locked—the outer door was locked, and when I returned I unfastened it with a key—my clock on the mantelpiece was moved on to the table—in my bedroom adjoining the bedclothes were disarranged, the pillows turned back, and the drawers turned out—I crossed the road to find Maurice Murphy—he waited at the door till a constable came, and we went up to my bedroom—I missed all my cardboard boxes that were on the drawers, and the jewellery which was in it, including my husband's gold Albert, my silver Albert, my silver watch off the mantelpiece, and other things—I have not seen the jewellery since—these other articles are mine.
RICHARD MACEY (Police Sergeant S). On Tuesday, 1st March, I went with Sergeant Hearn, and kept observation on 14, Barkley Street, Somers Town, about midday—about 3 p.m. I saw Hogan come out carrying this brown-paper parcel (produced) under his arm—Hearn followed him to the corner of the street, where he was joined by Lynch—they went through a side street into Charlton Street and Church Passage, where they turned, and seeing I was following they commenced to run away—they separated in Truman Street, and went in different directions—Hearn and I went to the Euston Road, and from inquiries called a Hansom and
followed another cab down the Euston Road, and overtook it at King's Cross Police-station, jumped out of our cab and into the cab Hogan was riding in—he had a coat on the seat of the cab—we took him into King's Cross Police-station—I asked him to account for what he had in his possession at the police-station, and I examined the coat and found it answered the description of a coat stolen from Park Street, and I said if identified he would be charged with stealing it on Saturday night by means of burglary—he said, "I shall decline to give you any information until I have seen my solicitor"—the coat was afterwards identified by Murphy as part of his property stolen on the Saturday—I took him to Albany Police-station in another cab, and there found on the paper of the parcel the address of Mrs. Hartland, of 14, Barkley Street, Somers Town, and of B. Hobbs, of 14, Garrick Street, Covent Garden—I afterwards went with Inspector Bannister and Hearn to 14, Barkley Street—we saw a Hansom cab at the door—I saw Lynch come out and walk away from the door—Bannister went and took him into custody.
Cross-examined by MR. WILSON. We followed Hogan in the cab about five or six minutes.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. We kept watch about fifty or sixty yards away from 14, Barkley Street—the prisoners were strangers to us—they met about twenty yards from us—Hogan's back was turned to us—I went to Hartland's room—I have not found him—I am looking for him—I saw two women at Barkley Street—we have found the property stolen except the jewellery—I have taken no steps to bring the cabman here.
MAURICE MURPHY . I am the landlord of 107, Park Street, and am a tailor—Sergeant Hart and his wife lodge in my house—on 26th February I left my house about 9.10 all secure—Mrs. Hart called me about 11.30 from across the way—I went to Hart's room—I came down and was petrified to see the spectacle in my place—gentlemen's orders removed from the window—I missed ten ready mades and a lot of cloth, an overcoat, a coat lined with silk—this is my coat produced—it was on the horse—I have identified other property.
THOMAS BANNISTER (Inspector S). On 1st March, about 4.30 p.m., I went with Hearn and Macey to Barkley Street, Somers Town—I saw Lynch take hold of the knocker of No. 14; he looked round, then left the door, crossed the street and walked away in an opposite direction to me—I followed and told him I should apprehend him for burglary in Park Street on Saturday night—he said "All right, I will walk with you; I do not know anything about the burglary. Have you got the others?"—I said "Not all of them"—he said "I wish to Christ you had"—at the station he said "I wish to Christ you had the proper people here, I do not know this man, I never saw him in my life before"—he said "You smile, governor, I daresay you know all about this job, first come first served. The man says that it is his coat, does he?"—I said "The man who charged you identifies the coat you were carrying, and you heard him say so"—he said "He does, does he? I shall prove it is my coat and where I had it made."
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I said before the Magistrate that Lynch gave a correct address—I have not been able to find the cabman who stood at the door when I apprehended him.
widow and landlady of that house—the prisoners have several times come to my house to see a lodger named Hartland, who has left—I saw Lynch arrested on the 1st March.
Cross-examined by MR. WILSON. Most of the stolen property was found in Hartland's room—he had lodged in my house since last June—he did not give me notice—his wife is there now—the police showed me a photograph of him—they did not inform me he was a convicted thief.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I opened the door to Lynch once within the last two months—Hartlands have two children aged eight and nine.
HOGAN†— GUILTY of receiving.—Twelve Month' Hard Labour.
LYNCH— NOT GUILTY .
MR. DYSON WILLIAMS Prosecuted.
HENRY CAVE . I live at 56, Seton's Road—I am employed by Henry Taylor as carman—on 10th December, shortly before 9 a.m., I was in Old Change—I had a horse and cart and two cases of goods—I went into Messrs. Taylor and Robinson's to get my sheets—when I came out my horse and cart and goods were gone—I gave information to the police and went to see my governor about it.
HENRY TAYLOR . I am a master carman of Anchor Chambers, Upper Thames Street—I employed Cave on 10th December to go out with my horse and cart—about 11.30 a.m. he came and made a complaint to me in consequence of which I went for the police—I saw my horse and cart at the Spa Road stables, and identified them—I did not know the prisoner.
WILLIAM SAUNDERS (Detective Officer). I took the prisoner into custody on 21st of March—I told him he would be charged with stealing a horse and cart and goods to the value of 120l., the property of Henry Taylor—he replied "I know nothing about it"—when charged at the police-station he made no reply.
JAMES BURNS . I am a licensed victualler of the Monger's Arms—on Saturday, 10th December, a van was driven over the pavement in front of my house, and smashed my corner lamp down—I sent the potman after the van—he brought the prisoner back—it was a covered cart—I since saw the prisoner at the Mansion House Police-court—I asked the prisoner the name and address of the owner of the van—he said he was a carman employed by Henry Taylor, the name on the Van—he gave me his name as John King, of Bridge Street, King's Cross—he asked for twopenny worth of whisky and left the house—I saw the cart about twenty minutes afterwards—I was sent for by a police constable—I next saw the prisoner at, the Guildhall cells and identified him from six persons as the person who was brought back with the van.
JOHN CHILD . I am potman to Mr. Burns, and live at 9, Borough Road, S.E.—on December 10 I was cleaning the windows when the prisoner drove by about 1.15 p.m.—he came on to the pavement and broke a lamp—Mr. Burn's sent me after him and I brought him back—I have heard Mr. Burns's evidence, it is correct—I told him he would have to come back and see Mr. Burns about the damage to the lamp—he said "All right," and came back and gave Mr. Burns an address—I stood by
all the time he was talking, and walked with him from the cart about 200 yards—I recognise the prisoner as the man I brought back.
STEWART JOHNSON (Policeman). On 10th December I was called to the Monger Arms by Mr. Burns—I saw a horse and cart standing outside—I took it to the station—it was subsequently identified by Mr. Taylor.
GUILTY .*†— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. DYSON WILLIAMS Prosecuted.
CLEMENT ISAAC SALAMAN . I live at 20, Pembridge Crescent, Bayswater—on 14th March, between 4 and 6 p.m., I was in Mincing Lane—there was a little crowd opposite the Commercial Sales room—I stopped to tee what it was—I felt the prisoner's arm against my side—at first I did not take any notice, but moved a little away—then I felt a pull at my watch-chain and turned sharply round—I saw my watch and chain in the prisoner's left hand—I said, "You have my watch"—he dropped it on the pavement—I picked it up and gave the prisoner into custody—I have no doubt as to the identity of the prisoner—I laid hold of him and gave him in charge.
By the COURT. My chain was hanging outside to show there was a watch.
EDWIN OXFORD . I am a colonial broker, of 69, Eastcheap—about 4 p.m. on 14th March I was passing down Mincing Lane—I saw a policeman dispersing a crowd—I saw the prosecutor catch hold of the prisoner, and say, "You have my watch"—I very unfortunately said, "I saw him drop it," and I am here to-day.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I saw you drop it out of your left hand.
HENRY TAYLOR (City Policeman 799). I took the prisoner into custody—he said, "It was not me. It must have been some one else"—I took him to the station and searched him, and found he was wearing a silver watch and steel chain—this is the watch the prisoner was charged with stealing—the prosecutor gave it to me.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not see the occurrence.
Prisoner's Defence. I saw a crowd, and a watch on the ground, and picked it up.
GUILTY .** He also PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in August, 1885, at the Middlesex Sessions.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. MORTON SMITH Prosecuted; MR. P. ROSE INNES Defended.
ALFRED WILLIAM TOOTELL . I am a solicitor in practice at Edgware, Middlesex—my father is clerk to the Magistrates and I act as assistant clerk—I was present before the Magistrates on the 9th of February, on the hearing of a summons against Bertie Ballard for assaulting Walter Frederick Nokes—I saw the prisoner sworn and heard his evidence as to being in Ballard's field on 29th January—he said he was at Hampstead and he had not been across the field that day, and did not return from Hampstead till 12 o'clock, that he had left at 8 in the morning—I remember the prisoner coming to me on the 2nd February before the hearing of the case—a summons or warrant had then been issued against Bertie Ballard for assault—I was taking his instructions for the summons,
when his exact words were, "I may as well tell you all about it; on the 29th January I saw the man coming with a judgment summons, I ran across the field and hid behind the hedge," and he showed me how he hid behind the hedge.
Cross-examined by MR. INNES. The statement was not made upon oath—the prisoner had, before making the statement, asked me to issue a cross-summons—proceedings were pending for an assault against the son—I told the prisoner I could not issue a cross-summons unless the son applied, and that he must swear to it—I told him I could receive information from any person who had seen the assault—I was present before the Magistrates when the assault proceedings were heard—I heard the prisoner's evidence—I did not make a suggestion to the Magistrates that the prisoner should be prosecuted for perjury—after hearing the fearful evidence that Ballard gave I said, "Excuse me, gentlemen, I think I can throw some light on the subject, I was present when Ballard came for a cross-summons, and, if you will allow me, I will go in the box and tell you what he told me"—I was astounded to hear the prisoner say upon oath a contradiction of what he had said when not upon oath—I am not acquainted with Mr. Oldfield—I did not trouble to ascertain whether the prisoner had been in the field or not, it had nothing to do with me—Ballard had withdrawn his summons.
Re-examined. I gave evidence before the Magistrates, and Bertie Ballard was convicted.
WILLIAM ARTHUR TOOTELL . I am clerk to the Magistrates for the Edgware division, but not a solicitor—I produce the information and the warrant against Bertie Ballard, who was brought before the Magistrates on the 9th February—the prisoner gave evidence—I have the notes which I took.
Cross-examined. I cannot tell you the names of the Justices from memory who were sitting, nor who signed the warrant—the information is not in the minute-book, only the evidence taken before the Magistrate—I do not appear to have any other record with me.
WALTER FREDERICK NOKES . I am an auctioneer of 259, Caledonian Road—on 28th January I went to Dudding Hill Road, Willesden Green, to serve a summons out of the Marylebone County Court on the prisoner, James Ballard—I was unable to find him, though I waited till 10 o'clock at night—on the 29th I went again—I saw him—I saw Westwood about the same time—from inquiries I made of Westwood I proceeded to look for the prisoner and found him in Dudding Hill Road—he was coming towards his field—I was about 100 yards behind him—I next saw him in his field—I was following him in his field when I was assaulted by his son, Bertie Ballard, with a spade—during that assault the prisoner disappeared—I did not afterwards see him that day—I laid my information before the Magistrate—on 9th February I attended the hearing of the case against Bertie Ballard and gave evidence as to the assault—I heard the prisoner examined—I am certain I saw the prisoner going across that field—it was near 11 o'clock—the Metropolitan Railway line runs at a very short distance from it—I have made a plan (produced)—it is accurate—I do surveying in my business.
Cross-examined. I am not a friend of Mr. Oldfield's, but an acquaintance, and have done business with him—I am not a clerk in his office—I am not employed by him as a clerk—before the 29th January I had seen
the prisoner at Willesden once, when I served him with the previous judgment, about three or four months before—Westwood is a police constable—I believe he is a tenant of Mr. Oldfield's—I have heard that his wife collects Mr. Oldfield's rents—I did not see the prisoner's face as he came out of his yard—I was about 60 yards from him—I did not see him go into the field—I was talking to Westwood—I saw him in the field through a wide gap in the hedge—I did not ask leave to go into the field, I went in, then I was assaulted by the prisoner's son—I do not remember whether he told me his father was not in the field—I knew his father was there, and was going after him—I saw his face when in the field 60 yards off or 70 yards—I have measured the point, and allow 4 yards for the diagonal line—I do not. know that the judgment summons was for rent, I believe it was for dilapidations, rent, and coats—Mr. Oldfield has clerks of his own—I was in his office doing other business, and volunteered to serve the judgment summons—I saw the prisoner come out of a gateway—no doubt that is where he resides—I have no doubt the man I was following was James Ballard, the prisoner—he came out of No. 1, Gilbert Terrace—one of the Ballards only was called before the Magistrates and denied being in the field—the prisoner was wearing a coloured coat, a greyish-brown—before the Magistrates I said "A species of grey coat, not black, a little brown"—I did say "I can swear it was a grey coat that Ballard was wearing," but I qualified that; I said "I swear it was not a black coat, it was a colour you might call brown," that was the qualification.
THOMAS WESTWOOD (Policeman X 160). I am stationed at Willesden Green—on 29th January I saw James Ballard coming out of his yard about five minutes to 11 a.m.—I had not my watch with me—he went towards his field—I saw Walter Nokes a few minutes afterwards and had a conversation with him—I was at the hearing of the case against Bertie Ballard on 9th February—I heard the prisoner give his evidence—I again saw the prisoner on the 29th, when I went across a piece of land leading into the Dudding Hill Road—he was running towards the Metropolitan Railway, Willesden Green Station.
Cross-examined. I was about 8 or 9 yards from the prisoner when I saw him on the first occasion—I had nothing to call my attention to the fact of having seen him that morning—I saw him on the previous Thursday in his yard about 12.30—I have not seen him since the 29th—I give the date because I met Nokes—I am a tenant of Mr. Oldfield—my wife collects the landlord's rents—I know the witnesses White and Kimber; they are employed on the railway—I asked them to give evidence—I did not suggest the hour when the prisoner was in the field—I have not been to other witnesses—this photograph represents Mr. Ballard's house and the road—the other photograph represents the field.
Re-examined. The prisoner's house is No. 1, Albert Terrace—I have known him about four years—I am positive it was James Ballard I saw on the 29th—he used to live at No. 7 when I lived at No. 4.
two years—on 29th January I saw him as I was in my back garden—he appeared to be going indoors—it was about a quarter to ten.
Cross-examined. I collect Mr. Oldfield's rents, and occupy one of his houses—I heard of the judgment summons being served by Nokes upon the prisoner, and of the assault committed on Nokes—Nokes came in to my house, that is how I heard it—I was not called before the Magistrate—I knew that the assault case was heard in February—my husband gave evidence before the Magistrate at Edgware—I know the assault was on the 29th January—I knew the prisoner was being prosecuted for perjury in saying that he was not in the field that morning—I recollected I had seen him that morning—when the case was heard I communicated with my husband—he did not offer to take me to give evidence—I told my husband in the morning that I had seen Ballard in his yard—my husband has mentioned it to me several times—he said if I was called I should have to go—I was not called—when I saw Ballard he was about 150 yards off—I spoke to Sergeant Wheatley about having seen Ballard—Sergeant Wheatley had seen him about 150 yards off—I told Wheatley it was 100 or 150, I could not say which—to the best of my memory I said 100—I made that statement to Wheatley when the case was taken to Edgware; not before that—the prisoner wore a hard hat; it was black—I saw his face, because he was coming from the stable and going towards indoors—I could see his face 150 yards distant—there was a garden wall between where I was standing and Ballard—I could not say the height—I do not think it is taller than I am—I will not swear it is not 9 feet in height.
Re-examined. The wall did not interfere with my seeing the prisoner.
HORACE WHITE . I am a signalman on the Metropolitan Railway, stationed at Willesden Green—my signal-box is on the down side of the platform towards Neasden—on Saturday 29th January I saw the prisoner walking on the up-line from Neasden towards Willesden Green station—from Dudding Hill I cannot see in Ballard's field—I know the Dudding Hill bridge—it was between 11 and 12 o'clock—I had been testing my instrument, and I allowed him to pass my box, knowing that he rented a piece of land from the Company, and I did not interfere with him, otherwise I should have stopped him—he went on the up platform.
Cross-examined. I cannot tell you what sort of a day it was—I know it was Saturday morning—I was first spoken to about this on Sunday evening, 27th February—Police-constable Westwood came to me—he asked me if I saw a man coming up the line on the 29th—he did not ask me if I saw Ballard on the line—he did not suggest any time—I thought no more of the circumstance—I knew it was the 29th because have not seen a man on the line to my knowledge since—I made no note of it—I could fix the day and hour when I saw a man coming up the line—it is unusual—the day and hour were not suggested to me by the last witness.
Re-examined. I am on early duty on Saturday every fortnight—I am one week early and one week late—from 5 to 11 a.m.
JAMES KIMBER . I live at Tudor Hill, Wilton Road, Willesden—I am a shunter and porter—on 29th January I saw Ballard from 11.30 to 11.35 a.m. coming up the line from the direction of Neasden and Dudding Hill bridge on to the platform—I saw George Collingson on the platform.
Cross-examined. I have seen Ballard before, but I have been away—he holds property on the side of the line, so that he is not a trespasser—I cannot fix any day or month when I have seen him on the line before—I am sure I saw him between 11.30 and 11.40—Westwood came to me about it about a month ago—it was brought to my mind as the day previous he had had a summons issued to him—Westwood asked me if I knew anything about the affair with Ballard, and I said "Yes"—he said "Did you see him come up the line afterwards?" and I said "Yes"—he asked me the time, and I said as near as I could fix it, it was between 11.30 and 11.49—he did not suggest the hour—Ballard had on grey-russet coat; it was turned a bit rusty—he wore his usual hat—I was bound to take notice of him.
Re-examined. The reason I noticed him was I was on the platform when it was my turn to do the scrubbing I have to do once a fortnight—the assault was well talked of in the village—it was the day of the assault I saw him come up the line on to the platform.
GEORGE COLLINGSON . I am a painter, and live at Preston Place, Preston Green—on Saturday, 29th January, I saw James Ballard on the platform at Willesden Green about 11.30 or 11.40—the trains run every ten minutes—I was going to Kilburn—he got into the same train, I do not know where he went.
Cross-examined. I travelled third smoking, the thirds are behind—Ballard got in before I did, not the same carriage—I did not notice the class—I arrived at Kilburn, Brondesbury, a little before 12—I did not see Ballard get out—I passed him—I did not see him come on the platform—I often travel on the line—I had not seen him at the station before—Westwood did not come to me—I ascertained the facts from Kimber, with whom I pass the time of day—he did not ask me to give evidence, but he gave the police my name.
Re-examined. I have known Ballard three or four years in the village—the assault was pretty well talked about in the village.
Witnesses for the Defence.
HENRY REDSHAW . I am a porter to the Junior Garrick Club—I was at Neasden on 29th January seeking work at about 7.15—I caught a train from Neasden about 8.15 and arrived at Willesden Green about 8.20—I had known Ballard through a little business transaction—I repaired his furniture, I am a carpenter—I had seen him twice—he entered my compartment at Willesden Green about 8.20 or 8.30—I asked him if he knew of any chance of a job in my line—I went to West Hampstead—he went to Kilburn, Brondesbury.
Cross-examined. It is about two miles from Willesden Green to Brondesbury.
BERTIE BALLARD . I am the defendant's son—I was in the field on the 29th January and committed the assault about 11 o'clock—I went into the field after breakfast about half-past eight—my father was not in the field when I assaulted the prosecutor—I swear it—after the assault I went to see my father at Mr. Goodwin's at West Hampstead—he was there when I arrived a little before 12—between the time I was in the Hold and the time I got to Goodwin's my father had not been in the field at all.
Cross-examined. My father often goes to West Hampstead, he has business there—he does not make the journey twice in a day, I never
knew him to do it—Mr. Goodwin's is about three miles from the railway station—I did not take a cab, I walked all the way—my father is pretty well known—George Butler was in the field with me, and Mr. Nokes, Mr. Charles, and my brother Arthur—they were not far from me—I did not ask Arthur to take the spade away—I told him to take the shovel.
Re-examined. My brother Arthur is in the hospital—I never hit Nokes at all.
WILLIAM CHARLES . I live at Gilbert Terrace, Willesden Green—on 29th January I was in the field at the back of Mr. Ballard's house—I recollect the assault—the prisoner was not then in the field nor had he been that morning—I had seen him very early in the morning, and he told me where he was going.
Cross-examined. I was superintending the carting of the ballast when I heard a noise—I was rounding the heap and looking on the heap of ballast when I heard the altercation—I had been in the field about an hour.
Re-examined. I do not think Ballard could have been in the field without my seeing him.
GEOGRGE BUTLER . I reside at Chaplin Road, Willesden Green—I knew the prisoner by sight—I recollect going to his field on 29th January when there was a row—I did not see him there that day, and I was in the field.
Cross-examined. I was called before the Magistrate on the assault case, and so was Charles—I was near the ballast heap when I heard the dispute—I should think I had been on the ground about a quarter of an hour—I am not employed by the defendant, I am employed by a man named Martin—I was at work for him that day more than half a mile away—I had been at work in the morning, of course I had left off work. I leave off when I like, I am a master man—I have a lot of men working for me—I was not working for Mr. Martin up to 12 o'clock, I think I left about nine—sometimes I go away two or three days at a time—the field was on my way home—I went to look at the ballast heap to find stuff to build a wall.
Re-examined. I mean the ballast heap in this field—I did not see Ballard there at all.
WILLIAM WHEELER . I reside at Burnt Oak, Edgware—I have known Ballard a few years—on 29th January I happened to be opposite the Brondesbury station about 9 a.m.—Brondesbury is about a mile and a half from Willesden Green—I saw Ballard that morning—I had got some hay he asked me the price of, and I told him 4 guineas a load—he said he would give me 2l. for half a load—he did not buy any that day—he subsequently bought some and paid for it.
Cross-examined. It takes about two minutes for the train to go between Edgware and Brondesbury, and the trains run every ten minutes.
WILLIAM KINGSLEY . I reside at Child's Hill, a little beyond West Hampstead Station—I recollect on the 29th January being at the Castle public-house at Child's Hill, in the parish of Hendon, at about ten minutes or a quarter to 10—I left about ten minutes past or a quarter past—whilst there Ballard came in, he asked me about some pigs—I had a conversation with him.
Cross-examined. I was asked to come here first I think about a week last Tuesday—Mr. Ballard brought me a paper—I remember the 29th
because two days after my son had a litter of seventeen pigs, another thing I know by was a fortnight on that Saturday my daughter takes the Hendon Times and I saw something about Ballard's son being convicted, and I said I wondered he had not mentioned about his son—I know the time because I do not have breakfast till half-past nine at my daughter's, where I always go—I often go to. the Castle—I had not met Ballard at the Castle on that day, but I had met him on other occasions and at the Lion too, and at the tavern—I used to have a large place of my own at the back of the tavern.
Re-examined. I am certain about the hour—the Castle is about three miles from Willesden Green—I was one of the witnesses at Edgware.
BENJAMIN PANNELL . I am a plumber, and reside at 9, Chelmsford Terrace, Willesden Green—on 29th January last I was at Mill Lane, Hampstead, near Cricklewood Park and Child's Hill, about 2 1/2 miles from Willesden Green—I was there about 10.45 a.m.—I saw Mr. Ballard, and gave him a bill; I wanted some money—I walked with him along Mill Lane—I left him about 11 o'clock or 5 minutes to 11—we went to a baker's in Achilles Road; that is about a mile from Willesden Green—coming along we met two gentlemen; I do not know who they were—Ballard was coming from the mill in Mill Lane when I saw him, away from the station—I have never been asked the hour I saw him before to-day—I know Delaway—I told Delaway it was 20 minutes or a quarter-past eleven when I saw Ballard—what called my attention to the time was, my brother said "You had better go over to Mr. Ballard and get his little bill," and I said "What is the time?"—he said "Half-past nine"—"Well," I said, "it is too early for me to go yet"—then he said "Keep on with your work, and go later on"—then afterwards I said "It is near enough; I will go now," and he said "You had better go," and I said "About what time is it?"—he said "Half-past 10"—it was Charles, I think, who came and asked me what time I met Ballard—that was about three weeks ago, and after Ballard had been committed to take his trial for perjury—I had not heard of it, though, till now.
HENRY RACEY . I live at 2. Loveridge Road, Kilburn—I am a glass, lead, and oil merchant—I recollect being at Mill Lane on 29th January about 11 or a few minutes past—I met the defendant—I had a conversation with him about an account he owed me—he promised me a cheque the following Wednesday or Thursday—he came and paid me on the 7th February—another person was with him when he called—Willesden Green is about 2 1/2 miles distant.
Cross-examined. I met the defendant about a mile from the Alliance Hotel, and about eight minutes' walk from the Edgware and Brondesbury Station—he was coming from the station—he brought me the money he promised me the Monday following—he has been to me on two or three occasions when I have not seen him—I met him at Neasden Station, when I was getting out of the train and he was getting in—I fix the time because I happened to be home at a certain time—I did not meet him at 12 o'clock, but a few minutes past 11.
JOHN BAKER . I am a builder, of Fern Leigh, West Hampstead—Mr. Ballard was at my place on 29th January in the Achilles Road about 11 a.m.—I paid him 30s. that day—that enables me to recollect the day and the hour—this is the receipt (produced)—I have entered it in my diary.
Cross-examined. Young Ballard came to the business place the same morning—the father remained about 10 minutes—I was first spoken to about the case after the perjury case had commenced.
Re-examined. I keep a time-book, and can produce it if necessary—the entry is "C.D. 1l. 10s., Cumberland," in cypher.
NATHANIEL PANNELL . I am a plumber, of 9, Chelmsford Terrace, Willesden Green—I was in the Achilles Road, West Hampstead, on 29th January—Ballard came about 11.20—I had money to receive from him—I did not receive it; one of his sons came when I was in the back garden, and beckoned his father—Achilles Road is about half an hour's walk from Willesden; about two miles.
Cross-examined. I was talking to the father about 10 minutes—the son came a quarter of an hour afterwards.
Re-examined. I went from Achilles Road to Goodwin's, and then saw the son come up.
JOHN GOODWIN . I reside at 51, Achilles Road, West Hampstead—I recollect Ballard coming on 29th January last about 11.40—I paid him some money; my wife called him in—I pay the workmen at 12 and the others a little before—this is the entry (Referring to book)—this is the receipt no gave me.
Cross-examined. I did not see Ballard's son; I do not know him—Ballard was at my place about 5 or 6 minutes—the nearest station is West Hampstead; that is about a quarter of an hour's walk, and Edgware and Brondesbury about 20 minutes'—Pannell came, he is my plumber, but whether before or after Ballard I cannot say.
MARY ANN GOODWIN . I am the wife of John Goodwin—I recollect Ballard coming to our premises in the Achilles Road on 29th January—I called him in to take his money—I first saw him go past my house about 11.30; then he came in the back way to take his money—about 11.45 he was called in—I saw him coming from Mr. Baker's; I showed him in—those men are always paid in advance of the carpenters and workmen, who are paid at 12 o'clock.
Cross-examined. Ballard was on the premises about a quarter of an hour—when he had taken his money he left—I must look in my book when he came on the Saturday—I make up my books in the evening after they are all paid.
Re-examined. The book produced by my husband is kept in my writing.
Cross-examined. I do not know his son—I did not see anyone come to speak to Ballard—I was at Goodwin's that morning from 7.30 a.m. till about 3 p.m.—if anyone had come to speak to Ballard I may not have seen him—I saw Ballard about four minutes.
JOHN GARNER . I reside at 148, Lansdowne Road, Kilburn Lane—I was at Achilles Road on 29th January—I am a plasterer—we get our money about 11 a.m.—this Saturday we happened to be a bit late, and Mr. Ballard went in for his money a little before me, about 11.45 a.m.—the master-men are paid first, and the rest about 12—I allowed Mr. Ballard to go in before me—I went in about 11.50—I saw Bertie Ballard call for his father before he went in for his money.
Cross-examined. I have no doubt about it.
WILLAM GREEN . I live at 138, Maldon Road, Kentish Town—on 29th January I was at the Achilles Road in the West Hamlets Gardens to collect money for Mr. Goodwin—I saw Ballard, and spoke to him about 11.45.
Cross-examined. I only know Bertie Ballard by seeing his carte out at work—I saw Garner there and another man there at the same time.
GEORGE SAXBY . I reside at 10, Lenston Street. Kilburn—I recollect being at Mr. Goodwin's shop on 29th January last in the Achilles Road, and Ballard coming there between 11 and 12—it was about 11.20or 11.30 when I was speaking to him.
Cross-examined. This was at Goodwin's—I got into trouble in 1881—I took something that did not belong to me, and got six months.
Re-examined. I have been in business since earning an honest living—I am in business now.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, March 30th, 1887.
Before Mr. Recorder.
480. JAMES TURNER (24) and WILLIAM SMITH (28) PLEADED GUILTY to breaking and entering the Church of St. Augustine's, Haggerston, and stealing 15s., a jug, and a plate, the property of the Church-wardens, having been convicted of felony at Clerkenwell in September, 1885.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour each.
481. JAMES LEECH (19), THOMAS WILCOX (22), WALTER BEER (35), and ELLEN ALLEN (25) , Stealing 120 lb. of quicksilver and two bottles, the goods of Edward Horner and others, the masters of Leech. Second Count, Feloniously receiving the same.
LEECH PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. GRAIN Prosecuted; MESSRS. PURCELL and FOOKS appeared for Wilcox,
and MESSRS. GEOGHEGAN and SIMMONS for Beer and Allen.
HENRY COSTIN (City Detective). I know Leech, Wilcox, and Beer—on 1st February I was instructed to watch Messrs. Horner's premises and Leech and Wilcox—I first saw Leech and Beer together on 3rd February—Leech was driving the van, and Wilcox was sitting in front alongside—they pulled up in Wade Street, Poplar, and Leech got down and walked some distance, where he met Beer—they walked into High Street and went into the Black Horse public-house—Wilcox followed with the van and stopped at the Green Man public-house, put the nose-bag on the horse, and went in—I went into the Black Horse and saw Leech and Beer in conversation—they remained about half an hour—Denning, another officer, heard the conversation—Leech then came out, leaving Beer, and went to the Green Man and called Wilcox out, they then got in the van and drove towards the City—on 11th February, about 6.30 p.m., I saw the same van—Leech was driving and Wilcox sitting by his side—they stopped down Wade Street, East India Road, Poplar, about 50 or 60 yards from Beer's house, No. 43—Leech got out—Mrs. Alien, who was standing at the door of No. 43, said, "Halloa! I thought it was you"—Lee: h stopped and spoke to her, then left her, and went round the corner into High Street, looked into one or two public-houses, came back to Beer's house, and spoke to Mrs. Allen again, and then
went back to the van—Wilcox, who was in the van, handed this sack (produced) out of the van to Leech with something heavy in it—Leech took it inside No. 43, Wade Street—Mrs. Allen opened the door and closed it after Leech had gone in with the sack—in two or three minutes he came out—with another detective I stopped him coming towards the van—I said, "We are police officers, what have you taken into that house in a sack?"—Leech said, "I have taken nothing in"—I said, "You have, and you will have to come back with us"—we went back to No. 43, knocked, and Mrs. Allen answered—we went in—I told Mrs. Allen we were police officers, and said, "What did this man bring in that sack?"—she said, "He has brought nothing in here whatever"—I said, "He has brought something in, and we want it"—she then opened the parlour door on the ground floor—we went in—on a chair was lying an empty sack, and in a corner, by a chair, stood a bottle of quicksilver—I said to Leech in Allen's presence, "This is what you brought in"—he said, "No, I know nothing at all about it"—Allen then said, "Oh, let me send for my husband"—I said "No, I shall allow nobody to go outside of the house"—I told Leech he would be charged with stealing the quicksilver—in a few minutes Beer came in—I said, pointing to Leech, "This man has brought this bottle of quicksilver into your house"—he said, "I know nothing at all about it"—I told him he would be charged with receiving, well knowing it to have been stolen—I went back and found Wilcox with the van—I told him I was a police officer and should take him in custody, and he would be charged with being concorned with Leech in stealing a bottle of quicksilver—he said, "I know nothing about it, I only do what Leech tells me; he told me to drive the van here"—I took him to Beer's house, and they were all together in the back parlour—I found another similar bottle of quicksilver concealed under straw in the bottom of the van, right under where Wilcox was sitting in front—I went back, and told Leech and Wilcox in the presence of the other two prisoners that I had searched the van and found another bottle of quicksilver, and they would be further charged with stealing that—the prisoners were taken to the station and charged, and we officers waited for Lawley, who had charge of the case.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I have not inquired where Wilcox worked—I do not know him.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. Beer was not at home when the quicksilver was brought in—I could not see that the sack contained quicksilver till I saw the bottle lying on the chair.
DANIEL DUNNING (City Detective). I acted with Costin—I was at the Black Horse on the 3rd February and heard the conversation between Leech and Beer—Beer said "What is the scrip (price), a pound I mean?"—Leech said, "Let that stand over"—Beer was writing on paper—Costin's evidence is correct—I was with him up to the charging at the police station—on 12th February, on the way from the police station to Guildhall Police-court, Beer voluntarily said, "I must try and get bail for the woman, she can't help it, she was acting under my instructions, she is only a servant to me; I suppose I must stand it myself as it was found in my house"—Leech and Wilcox were under my observation seven days—they were driving to all parts of London-after apparently delivering all their goods they were driving, the last place might be in the Strand, and they would drive to Boyson Road,
Camberwell, about two miles out of their way, which would be Commercial Street.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. Till Leech called him Wilcox had been at the Green Man.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. I was not in the same compartment where Beer and Leech conversed, but in the second from them—the conversation was quite open, I could hear it.
FREDERICK LAWLEY (City Detective). I have had the conduct of this case for Messrs. Homer and Costin, and Denning acted under me—I was sent for on 11th February to Wade Street—I told Leech and Wilcox they would be charged with stealing two bottles of quicksilver from Leech's employers, Messrs. Homer and Son, on that day, and I told Beer and Allen they would be charged with receiving one bottle of quicksilver which was found at Beer's—Leech made no reply—Wilcox said, "I know nothing about it, I was simply doing as Leech directed"—Beer said, "I know nothing about it"—Allen made no reply—I told Beer I intended to search the house, and I began with the parlour; that was one of his rooms—it is a small house of one storey—I found seven pieces of cashmere, about 66 yards, four pieces of calico, 84 yards, and 3 yards of tweed, 6 yards of sheeting, one woollen shawl, two French clocks, one brass skeleton clock, a carving knife and fork, six table knives, 12 plated forks, two table-spoons, six teaspoons, and considerable other property, which I have a list of—while at Beer's house Percy Mann, a lad about 13, came with this parcel—he said to Beer, "I have brought this parcel"—Beer said, "Yes, I got the whole of the cashmere and calico from a man who is a commercial traveller"—the things found were then lying on a table—I said to the boy in Beer's presence, "Have you been here before?"—he said, "I have only been here once before, my brother used to come himself with the parcels"—I said to Beer, "What did you pay for this property?" alluding to the calico and cashmere—he said, "I do not know"—I said, "Have you any bills or invoices?"—he said "No"—I pointed to the clocks and the knives and forks, and he said, "I am in the habit of attending sales, and I bought them at sales"—I said, "Have you any catalogues?"—he said, "No, I have no catalogues, and I cannot tell you where I bought them"—I said, "Have you any books?"—I searched, and found none—I took Leech to the station.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. Wilcox had been six months in Mr. Boatland's employment.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. The cashmere and calico were lying about openly in the room—I have not heard that a catalogue was found on Beer when arrested; one was not found in the room.
FREDERICK GREEN . I am manager to Edward Homer and Co., wholesale drug merchants, Mitre Square, Aldgate—Leech had been in our employ for five years up to 11th February as porter, to go out with the van and superintend the delivery of goods—the porters have access to the quicksilver—the two bottles of quicksilver produced are worth about 7l. 7s. each, market value; they are our property—none were sold to be delivered on the day Leech took them out—we have no customer in the neighbourhood of Wade Street—goods are sent out with invoices to correspond—the names of the persons to whom the goods are delivered are not on the parcels themselves.
By MR. PURCELL. Leech would have care of the invoice.
PERCY MANN . I am 13 years old—I live with my father and mother at Garford Street, West India Road—my brother Augustus, a commercial traveller, lives with us; he is 18 or 19—on 11th February my mother gave me this parcel (produced), and I took it to Beer's at 43, Wade Street—I saw Mr. Lawley; in his presence I told Beer that my brother had sent me—my brother left it with my mother, and my mother told me to take it.
AUGUSTUS MANN . After the prisoners were in custody I voluntarily made a statement to Detective Lawley—I am 18 years old—I am a traveller to Walter John Downes, Commercial Road, a draper and clothier—I had previously been with a Mr. Luxon, a greengrocer—Luxon introduced me to Beer about 12 months ago—Beer asked me if I could sell him one or two remnants to make up children's dresses—I said I could; I served him—he gave me his address—I went there and took one or two remnants of cashmere, about 6 or 7 yards at first—after that I went once or twice a week, sometimes taking something—I decline to say whether when I took things they were stolen from my master—I dropped my intimacy with Beer for three or four months—I afterwards met him in the Commercial Road—he asked me if I could supply him again—I took him some cashmere—he paid me—I used to go once or twice a week—I saw Allen once—the goods came from Mr. Downes, my master; I do not wish to say whether I took them from my master's shop; they were from the shop; I did not pay for them nor take any invoice—I sometimes made entries in my master's books to other customers—the things I took included cashmeres, calico, tweed, sheeting, a woollen shawl, and other things I have seen them produced.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEQAN. They were mostly remnants—I never took a complete piece—Allen never gave me any money—Beer paid me about cost price—I went not always in the daytime, but of an evening.
Re-examined. The price was not always cost.
FRANZ FRASLER . I am manager to Godfrey Fehrenbach, of 29, Upper North Street, Poplar; that is about two minutes' walk from Wade Street—last Christmas Day I left the promises about 3 p.m. completely secure—I returned about 12 p.m.—I found the shop had been broken into—I missed the four cloaks produced—they belong to my master—I left them safe in the shop—I do not know the prisoners—there was not much more stolen to account for.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. The value of the four cloaks is about 2l. 10s.
ISABELLA MARGARET SMITH . I am a widow, of 35, Kirby Street, Poplar, about four minutes' walk from Wade Street—on 29th January my house was broken into and robbed between 1 and 5 a.m.—I am a grocer—some of the articles produced are mine—I left them safe in the back parlour when I went to bed—my windows had been fastened—these articles were wrapped in brown paper in the back parlour: a carving-knife, 12 forks, one steel, six table knives, two tablespoons, and six teaspoons—those articles were stolen—I also lost 20l. in money and jewellery; 60l., altogether in goods and money.
25th, after the prisoners were in custody—I found this clock and brought it away.
Leech's Statement before the Magistrate. "I wish to say that Wilcox is innocent of the charge brought against him."
GUILTY . The Jury recommended Wilcox to mercy on account of hit previous good character. Beer received a good character. The police stated that from inquiries made there was no doubt Beer had for a long time been receiving stolen property. WILCOX— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. BEER— Seven Years' Penal Servitude. ALLEN— Two Months' Hard Labour.
Sentence on LEECH— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
482. ROBERT LEWIS , Unlawfully, he being an undischarged bankrupt, obtaining 20l. and upwards from John Morrison Stuart. Second Count, unlawfully obtaining credit from William McDiarmid Armstrong and others.
MR. MATTISON Prosecuted; MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended.
CHARLES L'ENFANT . I am a clerk in the office of the London Bankruptcy Court—I produce the file of proceedings in the bankruptcy of Robert Lewis—the petition is dated 25th October, 1884, the receiving order November, 1884, and the adjudication 29th December, 1884—it does not appear from the file that he has been discharged.
WILLIAM MCDIARMID ARMSTRONG . I am manager to Messrs. Stuart, Moir, and Muir—I look after the branch office at 13, Bow Lane, City—in February this year I became acquainted with the prisoner—he said he was carrying on a hosier's manufacturing business at Cambridge, and expressed an anxiety to be a customer of our firm, and said that he would pay cash for all goods he bought from us—I said "I prefer references," but he said he should prefer to pay cash—about 10th February he gave an order, not in writing, for goods value about 114l. 6s., and they were delivered the same day at 40, Monkwell Street, where he had directed them to be sent—on 11th February he gave a further order for 45l. worth of goods, which were delivered at the same place on Saturday the 12th—they were to be paid for on receipt of invoice from Glasgow—our business is to forward the invoice to Glasgow, and then it is either sent back to us or to the customer—on the 12th we received this cheque for 114l. 6s. from the defendant—we paid it into our bank, and it was sent back to us marked "Refer to drawerer"—the prisoner at no time disclosed to us the fact that he was an undischarged bankrupt—we did not know of the fact until some considerable time afterwards, when we received it from the police at Cambridge—we should not have delivered him the goods if we had known it—on the Monday I received the invoice of these goods from Glasgow, and sent it to Mr. Lewis at Cambridge—we have not been paid a penny—a day or two afterwards I went to 40, Monkwell Street and searched for my goods, but could not see them—it is only a small place there—before going there I had been to Cambridge, but I did not see the defendant there; I saw a shop with evidently nothing in it, but I could not get in—a few days afterwards I went there again, and saw a man in the shop first, and then the prisoner came in—I found a case of goods there worth 33l. which had been forwarded straight from
our establishment at Glasgow, which was a different consignment—I did not find the 45l. consignment there—there were some empty cigar boxes about there.
Cross-examined. I am not paid on commission—Mr. Gooley is manager of one of the departments at Glasgow—he was with me when the goods were ordered, and also a Mr. Perry; he is not connected with the firm at Glasgow—Mr. Gooley came to London to sell goods—he generally sold the goods to the prisoner; I played the minor part—he is not here—I went with the prisoner to two London police-stations, and they refused to take him in custody—I and Mr. Mills, my solicitor, went to see him about this 114l.—he mentioned a man named Myberg, and said he had money which he had not put into the bank, which he (the prisoner) thought was there—I know a man named Myberg—Mr. Perry is not here—we were all rather friendly together when we were stopping at the hotel—Mr. Gooley and the prisoner were in the smoking-room together—I was not in their company the whole time.
Re-examined. I am manager of this firm in London—the prisoner ordered the 45l. worth of goods from myself, Mr. Gooley, and Mr. Perry; we were all three present.
ROBERT CHILD (Detective Sergeant). I apprehended the prisoner on 23rd February—I read the warrant to him, and he made no reply—on the way to the station he said "I obtained no credit, they sent the goods to me, and I sent them a letter complaining of their having done so"—he was formally charged at the station, and made no reply.
Cross-examined. I was present at the Mansion House hearing and saw a letter produced—I do not know the prisoner's writing—I suppose that letter was attached to the depositions—I heard they had been to one station before they came to our station—I heard that they went to Hoxton, but not on this charge, and then came to me.
GUILTY .*— Six Weeks' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Thursday, March 31st, 1887.
Before Mr. Recorder
483. JOHN HAZELL ROGERS (44) PLEADED GUILTY to making false entries in an Admiralty Disbursement Book, the property of William Tarn Pritchard and others, his masters; also to two indictments for stealing 40l. and other sums, the moneys of his said masters.— Judgment respited.
MESSRS. POLAND; MATHEWS, and SAUNDERS Prosecuted; MR. BESLEY appeared for Jewell, MESSRS. GEOGHEGAN and FOOKES for Cranfield, and MR. BURNIE For Bentley.
am manager to Messrs. Dent, Allcroft, and Co.—James Cundy is a partner in the firm—about 27th December seven cases of gloves were packed under my supervision for shipment to Melbourne-there were about 600 dozen gloves specially made for the Australian market-these produced are part of the parcel—the wholesale price of these ladies' gloves are 17s. 3d. a dozen for the four-button gloves, and 21s. 3d. for the six-buttons.
Cross-examined by MR. BESLEY. They are packed with tissue paper between and around each pair, then some wax paper and some flannel round each dozen; about there dozen to a box—I saw the before they were packed—the boxes were marked—I have since seen them—the band containing half a dozen pairs is marked—we do not stamp the inside of the glove—this band is confined to a special customer—there are different bands and sizes—one band is marked "Ingomar"—three different houses were intended to receive the consignments.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. There is no mark on the individual glove—the clasp on the men's gloves has a name—I am acquainted with the shipping trade specially, but with the Landon trade—these gloves are not usually sold in London.
Re-examined. Our customers in Melbourne are Messrs. Beath, Schiess, and Co., and L. Stevenson and Sons—those are identified by a band made specially and registered.
ALFRED HANDLEY . I live at 7, Hart Terrance, Highgate—I am first salesman to Dent, Allcroft, and Co.—at the end of December seven cases of gloves were made up for shipment to Messrs. Beath, Schiess and Co., Of Melbourne—the gloves are made solely for us in Saxony, by Mr. Grim—they are part of the consignment.
Cross-examined by MR. BESLEY. I did not examine the goods in the cases—we buy about 90,000 dozen a year from Saxony—Grim pledges himself to make solely for us—the seven cases were consigned to Beath, Schiess, and Co.—I took the order myself in London—two cases of men's gloves were to go to another house—I can swear to the goods from my own technical knowledge—they are made to special order—I do not know how long grim has been working for us—14 years' experience in France and three at Leipsic enable me to swear to the gloves—we have four or five manufactures making gloves for us, with for us, with four or five distinct models—that helps me to say these come from Grin—I cannot distinguish these if Grim sells to others, but that is supposition—Dent's clasps are not sold and put on other manufactures' gloves—it is our sole patent in England and on the Continent.
EDWARD KEEPING . I live at 36, Westbourne Place, City Road—I am a packet at Messrs. Dent, Allcroft, and Co.'s—on 28th December I handed to George Tower seven cases of gloves for consignment to Melbourne—I assisted in putting them on the cart.
GEORGE TOWER . I am a carman employed by John Scholes, a master carman—I live a 8 Pounce Buildings, Hoxton—on 28th December I was sent by Mr. Scholes to 28A, Whitecross Street with a van, Messrs. Dent's Establishment—there I received seven cases—I took them to the Albert Dock Depot, Upper East Smithfield—left my van on the rank to go Away any arrange about the cases—I was away about a quarter of an gour—when I came back my van was gone and everything in it—I looked for it, and then gave information to the police—about 11 p.m. that night
I went to Commercial Street Police-station, where I saw the van, but the seven cases and the contents had been taken from it.
JAMES PHILLIPS . I am a gilder, of 4, Little Halifax Street, Mile End New Town—on 28th December, between 4 and 5 p.m., I found an empty van in Cassion Street, Spitalfields—I spoke to a constable, and we took it to Commercial Street Police-station.
GEORGE GLADWELL . I live at 2, Kensal Place, Kensal Green—I am a tin-plate worker at Salisbury Street, Edgware Road—my employers rent a small shed at Richmond Street as a place to throw our tin—before January last I knew Jewell as a marine store dealer and metal merchant carrying on business in Drury Lane—soon after Christmas he came and said, "George, old man, I have something that will suit you"—I said, "What is that?"—he said, "Some gloves"—I said, "I do not want any gloves"—he said, "I will bring them up and let you look at them"—the conversation then dropped, and he went away—he used to collect his rent and call on me—the next week, on Wednesday, I saw him in our warehouse in Salisbury Street—he said, "Will you be long?"—Is aid "No"—we adjourned to the Ark public-house at the corner—by "we" I mean a customer of mine, Cox, a friend of his, Miller, myself, and Jewell—we had a drink round—Jewell bid us good night and beckoned me outside—he gave me a paper parcel—he said, "There are a dozen pairs of gloves, the price will be a sovereign"—I said, "I do not want all those"—he said, "Take them home and show the wife, I know she will be pleased with them"—I said "All right," and he left—I went back to the public-house and showed the gloves to Cox and Miller—I laid the parcel on the counter—these are the gloves (produced) with my initials—I saw that the parcel contained 12 pairs, six men's and six women's—I sold two pairs to Cox, one pair for his wife and one for himself, for 3s. 4d., the same as I gave for them—I took the rest home and showed them to my wife—she wore a pair and I wore a pair—I saw Jewell again in about a fortnight—he always used to come to the ware-house—I went to the public-house with him—he said, "Well, what did your wife say about the gloves, did she like them?"—I said, "Yes, very well; I have not got the money with me now, I will send it on or pay you next time"—he said, "All right"—I have not paid him—I kept eight pairs unworn—I handed them to Abberline.
Cross-examined-by MR. BESLEY. We have hired Jewell's place from seven to ten years—I have known Jewell all that time as a metal merchant and selling and buying things that we use in our trade—Cox and Miller were old friends, and we had done business—they were not Jewell's friends—one was an oilman—Jewell made no invoice out—I thought they were all right—the gloves were not much cheaper than could be bought at a shop.
THOMAS MCGOVERAIN . I lived at 4, Wall Street, Stepney, and now at 86, New Street—I was formerly a fellow-barman with Cranfield at the King Lud public-house, Ludgate Hill—soon after Christmas Cranfield said, "My lather has got some gloves for sale, and you might perhaps be able to find a customer"—I think he said he had 300 dozen pairs—I said, "Yes, I don't mind, Harry"—I saw Mr. Leeder in the bar between Christmas and 12th January with Algar—after speaking to Leeder I said to Cranfield, "Harry, here's a gentleman very likely to do some business with you," pointing to Leeder—I left Cranfield speaking
with Leeder—a few days afterwards I noticed Leeder in the bar again with Mr. Heddon, talking to Cranfield—afterwards Cranfield said, "I think I have sold those gloves to Leeder"—I have noticed in Cranfield's possession jewellery and two watches, a silver watch and a gold watch, and a silver necklace.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. I never saw Bentley in the bar.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. I said I had no objection to making a shilling or two on commission for introducing a customer for gloves—I did not understand he was selling gloves for himself—he would have a day off once a month—he lived in the house—his conversation was quite open in the bar—at the police-court I said I was not sure, I thought there were about 300 pairs—I would not pledge my word whether he said 300 pairs or 300 dozen.
Re-examined. Cranfield sold me this watch for 23s. (produced).
By MR. GEOGHEOAN. It is in the same condition now as when I bought it.
JAMES LEEDER . I am an artificial florist and dealer, of 1, St. Peter Street, Hackney Road—I deal in jewellery and generally—I was with a friend in the King Lud on 7th January—I saw Cranfield and McGoverain there—Cranfield conversed with my friend Algar—in Crantieid's hearing Algar said "This gentleman is a dealer, and you can do some business with him"—Cranfield asked for my address, and I gave it to him—he said he would call and see me; he might have something that would suit me—he said he had often samples of things left for sale; if he had anything he would bring it up and show me the following Sunday morning, 9th January—he left—he did not come on the Sunday, but on Monday evening, the 10th—I was in the Sebright Music Hall—I was told some one wished to see me, and went into the bar—I saw Bentley and Cranfield together—Cranfield said "I have brought this gentleman" or "my father" "to do some business with you"—he pointed to Bentley—Cranfield then said "Can you do with any gloves?"—I said "What kind of gloves?"—he said "Ladies' gloves"—I said "No; they are out of my line altogether"—he said "Show him a sample"—Bentley showed me two pairs, which he took from his pocket, similar to these produced—he asked me if I could do with any hats—I said "They are worse still; I know several tradesmen in the road; if you like to leave me a sample of those gloves I think I can perhaps get you an order"—he said he had 300 dozen pairs or 300 dozen, I could not say which, at 7s. a dozen—I said "If you leave them I will see if I can get you an order"—he said "I cannot leave them later than 12 to-morrow"—I said "If I get you an order they will be at your price; you will have to deliver them yourself, and they will be on commission"—I was to get him an order by 12 the next day or return the samples to the King Lud—they left together—the same night at 8.30 I saw Mr. Heddon—I spoke to him about the gloves, and showed him the samples—in consequence of what was arranged between us I went next day, the 11th, to the king Lud about 12—Cranfield was behind the bar—I said "I have brought his gentleman to look at those gloves," indicating Mr. Hedden—he said "They are not here; I will give you the address where you will see them"—I said "How many do you say there are?"—he said "300 dozen pairs"—I said "My man cannot buy so many as that; he could buy 50 pairs if they suited him"—he said "You can
have what quantity you like"—he then wrote a name and address on a piece of paper, and gave it to me—I and Hoddon wont to the address on the paper: "14A, Napier Street, Shepherdess Walk," and saw Bentley—I handed him the piece of paper Cranfield gave me, and said "I have been to the King Lud, and he sent us on here"—Bentley said he knew we were coming—I said "I have brought this gentleman to look at those gloves"—he said "You cannot see them here; if you go to the Shaftesbury Arms I will come to you"—we did so, and shortly afterwards Bentley joined us—Bentley and Heddon had transactions—Bentley produced a book like this (produced)—the gloves were to be delivered at 4 o'clock next day—then we all loft—the next day I went to Hoddon's house, and we waited for Bentley—I was to take my commission—Bentley did not come, and I went home—about 5.15 Bentley came to me—he said "I have taken the gloves to your friend, but ho was out, will you come to see if he is at home?" and I said "Yes"—we called on Heddon—I went in, and Bentley remained outside—I saw two young ladies behind the counter—Heddon was not in—I wont and told Bentley so—I was shown two parcels by a young lady in the shop—I said to Bentley "You can bring them at 10 o'clock to-morrow, or you can leave them if you like; they will be quite safe"—he said "I will take them with me"—he went in and got them, and we had some refreshment, and I left him—before leaving him I said "I shall not see you in the morning; I shall have to be in the City on business; leave it with Mr. Heddon"—he said "That will be all right"—he walked away in the direction of Heddon's.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. There was nothing in the transactions to excite my suspicion—the conversations were open.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. Cranfield simply introduced me to Bentley.
JOHN HEDDON . I am a hosier, of 273 to 277, Hackney Road—I have known Leeder some 12 years—on Monday, 10th January, he came lo me from 8 to 10 o'clock and showed me some sample pairs of gloves—these are the two pairs of gloves marked with my initials—I had some conversation with him, in consequence of which he called for me, and we went to the King Lud—there we saw Cranfield—Leeder said, "I have brought this gentleman to see the gloves"—I said, "Can I see them?" he said, "No, you cannot see them here; I will give you the address where you will have to go"—he then wrote down on a piece of brown paper the name and address—I asked him what quantity there was—he said, "300 dozen"—I said, "Leeder told me 300 pairs, I cannot buy 300 dozen"—he said, "You are not obliged to buy the lot, you can have what quantity you like"—then I went with Leeder to 14A, Napier Street, and saw Bentley—Leeder said, "I have brought the gentleman to look at the gloves, your son has sent us here to see thorn"—Bentley said, "I cannot show them to you now, but if you will go round to the Shaftesbury Arms," and he directed us the way, "I will call there in a minute or two"—so we went—he came there in about two or three minutes—Leeder said, "This is the gentleman who will buy the gloves"—I said, "What quantity is there?"—Bentley said, "300 dozen"—I said, "I could not buy 300 dozen, I could do with 50; Leeder told me 300 pairs"—I had a sample with me—Bentley produced a book like this—I wrote my name and address in it—I said, "I could not give more than 6s. 6d."—he
said, "Yes"—I said, "Perhaps they may not be to sample"—I put down 50 dozen, and the sizes, and I said if they were not those sizes they were no good to me—they were to be delivered by 4 o'clock on the Wednesday—I find the place where the leaves are torn out in this book (produced)—the next day, Wednesday, I remained at home till about 4.45 p.m.—Leeder was with me—Bentley did not come, nor did the gloves—I went out about 4.50—when I came back a communication was made to me by somebody in the shop, or the next morning, and on that morning, about 10 o'clock, Bentley came—he said, "I have brought the gloves:—I said, "Have you brought an invoice?"—he said, "No"—I said, "I cannot take them without an invoice. I do not like to take anything without an invoice; you had better go back and get a proper invoice and then you can have your money"—he went away—I saw him no more till he was in custody.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. Until he did not bring an invoice I saw nothing suspicious in the transaction—I know the glove trade pretty well—the price agreed on was 6s. 6d. or 7s.—there is no sale for that kind of glove in the London market—I should not give more than 7s. for them—I deal with the first houses in London, including I. and R. Morley's, but not with Dent's—I could not get the price for them in the neighbourhood as a rule.
DONALD CLARK . I am a draper, of 10, Severn Sisters Road, Stamford Hill—I was in Heddon's shop about the middle of January—Bentley came in carrying two parcels—he asked for Mr. Heddon—I said he was not in—he said, "I have some goods for him"—two bulky parcels—he placed them on the counter, and instructed a young lady to place them near the bottom of the window for safety, away from the counter—he then went away—he came back again shortly afterwards and spoke to me, and eventually took the parcels away.
GEORGE WATT . I am a general merchant, in partnership as Campbell and Watt, at 46, Queen Victoria Street—Bentley was brought there about 10th or 11th January by a friend of mine—he showed me one pair of ladies' gloves like these, and asked what I thought was the value of them—I said I should consider them cheap at about 15s. or 16s. per dozen—he gave me his address later in the day on a card like this (produced), "J.T. Newton, 88A, aggerston Road, Shops and Trade supplied, &c."—on the back he wrote, "Mr. T. Bentley 14A, Napier Street"—this, "City Road, E.," is my writing.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. The gloves were similar to these—Bentley came on other business.
AMY WHALLEY . I live at 22, Walham Avenue, Walham Green—I was employed as a barmaid at the King Lud public-house on 29th January—on that night I was talking to a man named Pyke—Cranfield came up and asked me if I would mind asking Pyke to take charge of a small parcel until Sunday morning—I said I would ask him and I did—Pyke consented, and I told Cranfield so—then Cranfield brought a parcel wrapped up in a newspaper—it was a wooden box about the size of an ordinary ladies' handkerchief box—it was tied up with string—he gave it to me—he said he should want it back on Sunday morning at 7 o'clock—I gave it to Mr. Pyke—I said he could not have it till 10—he was to have it at the post-office opposite the Kind Lud—he agreed to that—this took place between 10 and 10.30 on Saturday—while
in service with him he has shown me jewellery several times—he said his father was a dealer in unredeemed pledges.
WILLIAM JOHN PYKE . I am a clerk, of Cursitor Street, Chancery Lane—on 30th January I was in the King Lud—while there Miss Whalley gave me a small box wrapped in a newspaper—I took charge of it till the next morning—I knew Cranfield by sight as a barman at the King Lud—the next morning, the 31st, about 10 o'clock, I met Cranfield outside the Ludgate Hill Post-office—I gave him the box wrapped in newspaper—I did not know its contents—he did not tell me anything—he said where he was going to and left.
FREDERICK ABBERLINE (Police Inspector). In consequence of information I received I went on 29th January, about 3 p.m., to 14A, Napier Street, Hoxton, with Sergeants White and Thick—I saw Bentley in the passage—I went with him into the back parlour—I said "I am an inspector of police, and this is Sergeant Thick. We have called to make inquiry respecting a quantity of gloves which I am told you offered to a hosier in the Hackney Road for sale"—he replied, "I know nothing about any gloves"—I took these two pairs of gloves from my pocket and said, "These are the gloves I refer to; I am told you left them with a Mr. Leeder, of Peter Street, Hackney Road, and he afterwards introduced you to a Mr. Heddon, and that Mr. Heddon ordered 50 dozen of you, and that you brought them the next day but he would not take them in because you had no invoice"—he said "No, not me, it was a mistake, I know nothing about any gloves"—I said "Am I to understand that you totally deny offering any gloves for sale?" he said "I know nothing about any gloves and never offered any for sale, and you have made a mistake"—I said "You must consider yourself in custody for being concerned in stealing a large quantity of gloves, value over 600l., on 28th December last"—he said "Very well; I know nothing about it"—I searched the room and in a clock which was on the mantelpiece I found the lady's gold watch produced—I saw this case afterwards in one of the drawers, and he said "That belongs to the watch," and I put it with it—I said "How do you account for this watch, Mr. Bentley, which was inside the clock?"—"It was going," he said, "a man left it here, he will come for it; if he does not I will tell you who it is"—amongst other things I found about 40 pawnbrokers' duplicates, one relating to the pledge of a gold watch for 10l. in the name of Cranfield of 450, Edgware Road, and on another duplicate the address of Cranfield of 22, Hertford Road, Downkam Road, Kingsland; that relates to a watch pledged with Mr. Bryant in the name of James Topp; I also found this book showing that Bentley paid 3s. 6d. a week rent, he only occupied one room; I also found this book which Mr. Heddon identified, two pages are missing, there are some entries in it: "Watch and seal, 10s.; lever watch, 15s.; silver albert, 4s.; gold watch, 1l. 7s.; two watch-keys; one clock, 2s. 6d.; paid for hats, 2 doz.; Harry; H. Bob; Harry, 2s.; Tom, 2s.; Charlie, 2s.;" and some more entries relating to clocks and watches, skins and plated goods, a varied assortment—I took him to the station, where he was identified by Leeder from others—he said to Leeder, "You had better be careful, you know more about this than I do," or words to that effect—he said "Was not it" some one, mentioning a name I was not able to catch, "that offered them to you?"—Bentley immediately afterwards asked to see Mr. Scholes, as he would
like to see the "loser"—that was before he went to the cells—he meant the owner of the van from which the property was lost—I was present at the interview, the offect of which was that if he, Bentley, could be out on bail he might be able to do him some good—I had left Sergeant White on the premises—on the evening of 29th January I went with Heddon, a witness in the case, to the King Lud—leaving Heddon in the bar, I had a conversation with Mr. Wilkinson, the manager of the King Lud—Cranfield was serving behind the bar—after leaving the King Lud I went back to Napier Street—White was still there; he handed me this telegram—the next day, at a quarter to I, I went to the King Lud and saw Cranfield—White accompanied me—I said to Cranfield, "I am an inspector of police, and this is Sergeant White; I have come to make inquiry about a quantity of gloves which were stolen in December last; what is your name?"—he said, "Henry Cranfield"—I said, "Where do you reside?"—he said, "22, Hertford Road, Downham Road, Kingsland"—I said, "I apprehended a man named Bentley, of 14A, Napier Street, yesterday afternoon, for being concerned in stealing and receiving the gloves I have spoken about; I also came here last night and saw the manager, Mr. Wilkinson, and after I left I find this telegram was sent to Bentley at his house, and purports to come from you; it was handed in at Ludgate Hill shortly after I left"—I took out the telegram and read it—he said, "It is quite right, I sent it; I thought perhaps something was wrong." (The telegram was to Bentley: "Clear your house. H. CRANFIELD. "10.40 p.m., 29th January.) The manager then said "What did you do with the box that was handed over the bar last night; what was in it?"—Cranfield. said "Only my watch and a few little things I did not care for anyone to see"—I said "I also find pawntickets in Bentley's possession relating to a valuable gold watch pledged for 10l. in your name"—he said "Oh! you will find that is all right; it was pledged at Attenborough's some time ago; it is redeemed"—I said "I am told that you introduced Bentley to a Mr. Leeder, and that you told him it was your father, and that you were present when he gave Leeder the sample of the gloves, and that Leeder and Heddon called on you the next day and you gave them Bentley's address at 14A, Napier Street"—he said "About four months ago I got acquainted with a man who came occasionally into the bar, and about a month ago he asked me if I knew anyone who would buy gloves—I told him I would see, and I spoke to McGoverain, and asked him if he knew anyone, and he recommended Mr. Leeder, who happened to call; I do not know the name and address of the man who called here, but I afterwards went with Bentley, whom I knew when I was at the Sutton Arms, Caledonian Road, when I was there as barman"—he said they called the man who asked him if he knew anyone who could buy gloves, sometimes Soldier and sometimes Tom, and that he looked like a City man, and he went on to describe him, saying "He has a brown beard and moustache, wears a high hat, and looks as though he had been a soldier"—he said he had heard him say he was going to Gresham Street; also "The man was in here last night, and told me someone was in trouble, and that caused me to send a telegram"—I said "You will have to consider yourself in custody, for I consider your explanation is very unsatisfactory, and the fact of your passing a box over the bar last night after I was here is a very suspicious circumstance, and is a matter for the Magistrate to deal
with"—he said he had taken the box to a man named Montague, and if I would allow him he would show me where he lived, as he could not remember the number of the house—I accompanied him to Wall Street, Stepney—he knocked at the door, No. 14, I think, and McGoverain, who resides on the first floor, answered, and we went up into his room—McGoverain denied all knowledge of the box—then Cranfield said "I did not leave it here; if I tell you where the things came from that are in that box, will that do?"—I told him my only object was that he should not have an opportunity of saying that I did not allow him to explain, and he said "I shall say nothing"—I took him to the station—he said "I gave the parcel to a man in the street; I do not know where he lives," referring to the one that was handed over the bar—many of the pawntickets relate to articles of jewellery, and some of them I find are his wife's.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. White was outside at the conversation with Bentley; Thick was with me—I think he saw us all.
WALTER HENRY DAVIS . I am a jeweller, of 213, St. John Street, Clerkenwell—on 14th October, 1886, I was in charge of that shop, and about 8 p.m. two men came and wanted to buy a gold watch, a diamond ring, and a lot of other things—I took out four fine gold watches in a case—one of the men snatched up the case and ran away, and the other took the rest and ran off, making five gold watches, of the value of 25l., similar to this produced (No. 42,874, found in the clock)—I recognise the case—I had not had time to take the numbers since receiving the watches from the wholesale house.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. The watch was not made specially for me, but it is not a common watch—it is similar to the one I lost—I would not swear positively, because I have no number—they are mixed watches, one of each sort—I had 30 watches stolen—I recognise two here and a silver one.
STEPHEN WHITE (Police Sergeant H). I was present at Napier Street when Bentley was arrested—I was left in charge of the house—between 10 and 11 p.m. this telegram came for Bentley, which I handed to Abberline—I was present the next day when Cranfield was arrested—afterwards, at the station, Cranfield said "Will you go and see my father-in-law and tell him that I am charged?"—the address was Mr. Newton, 33, Bloomfield Street, Kingsland—he said "You may not find him there, but his business place is No. 88, Haggerston Road; inquire for the name of Newton"—his business is a wood-chopper—on Sunday night I went to 33, Bloomfield Street—I found no such person—I made inquiries in the street—I did not go to Haggerston Road—on 18th February I went with Thick to Sheffield Street, Clare Market, and found Jewell at the door of No. 11, a marine store dealer's—I said "Me and my friend are both police officers, we are making inquiries respecting a large quantity of gloves stolen on 28th December last, and it has come to my knowledge that you have been disposing of gloves to various persons at the West End, and some of those gloves have been identified as forming part of the stolen property"—he said "I have never sold any gloves myself, and if any one tells you that I have it is a lie; can you tell me one person who says that I have sold gloves to him?"—I said "Yes, Mr. Gladwell"—he said "Oh, I did sell him a dozen pairs"—I said "Yes, it is a portion of those that have been identified; can you tell me where you got
those gloves from?" he said "I bought them a week or ten days ago of a man outside the Horse Shoe Hotel, Oxford Street"—I asked him what he paid for them, he said 15s. a dozen—I said "Do you know who the man was?"—he said "No, I do not"—I said "Do you know where he lives?"—he said "No, I do not; I have seen him two or three times a week," or, "I meet him two or three times a week near the Horse Shoe"—I said "Did you buy any other gloves at the same time you bought those dozen?"—ho said "Yes, two dozen and a half in all"—I said "Have you any invoice with the gloves?"—he said "No"—I said "What have you done with the others?"—he said "Wait a moment, I will go and fetch them," and he was going out at the front door; his mother a minute or two after produced from the back parlour a dozen—I said "I do not feel satisfied with your conduct, Mr. Jewell, in connection with this case; I must ask you to accompany me to Leman Street Police-station and see Inspector Abberline"—he was charged—he made no answer.
Cross-examined by MR. BESLEY. From 29th January it was known that two men were arrested—I only saw it in one newspaper, the Morning Advertiser—I was at the police-court on 7th, 14th, and 18th February—I made this note of the conversation with Jewell (produced)—I may have refreshed my memory once or twice with it—I only put down his answers—I did not tell him 7,200 pairs were stolen—in saying "I have been told you have been disposing of some gloves to various persons in the West End" I did not tell a lie—some were disposed of in the Edgware Road and Kensal Green—I was also under the impression that he had tried Cox and Millers, and others—I believed what I told him was true—he said" I have never sold any gloves to any person in the West End in my life"—I used the words West End—except Glad well I have nothing to confirm my story about West End people—Jewell did not say "I let him have a dozen pairs, half a dozen men's and half a dozen ladies'," he said "I did sell him a dozen pairs"—I did not know whether Gladwell had sold the gloves or not, or whether he had been paid for them or not"—Jewell said he only knew the man at the Horse Shoe by sight—I have not supplemented my note—I believe there is no passage on the side of Jewell's house—I just looked in the parlour—I went in—the mother came forward voluntarily and brought the gloves—she heard some of the conversation—she must have heard the conversation about Gladwell.
Re-examined. He wanted to go out in the street, but I would not let him.
WILLIAM THICK (Police Sergeant H). I was present on 29th January at Bentley's arrest—I heard his conversation with Abberline—I was also present on 18th February at Jewell's arrest—after he was taken away by White I searched the premises in Sheffield Street—I found no more gloves.
Cross-examined by MR. BESLEY. I believe Abberline went to Jewell's private address—nothing was found.
Bentley's Statement before the Magistrate. "I contradict many of the facts."
JEWELL received a good character— NOT GUILTY .
BENTLEY— GUILTY **. He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at this Court Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
CRANFIELD— GUILTY .— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, March 30th, 1887, and three following days.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MESSRS. POLAND and MATHEWS Prosecuted; MR. GILL Defended.
ANN GREEN . I live at 8, Baches Street, Shoreditch, and am landlady of that house—it is composed of the kitchen, ground floor, and first, second, and third floors—I have lived there between 17 and 18 years—I am the tenant, and let it out to others—in February last my three daughters, Mrs. Gauntlett, Lydia, and Amy, lived with me—I and Amy lived in the basement, and slept together in the first-floor back room, and Alice and Lydia occupied the parlour floor; the back room was their bedroom, and the front room their parlour—those rooms communicated by folding doors, and there is a door from each room into the passage which leads to the front door—the first-floor front room was occupied by two old ladies, Mrs. Fenn and Mrs. Dodd; the second-floor front by Mr. and Mrs. Attrell, the back by Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, and the third floor by Mr. and Mrs. Day—all those lodgers had regular hours of going out—Attrell went out about a quarter to 7, and my daughter Alice about 10 minutes to 7, Lydia about 8, Mrs. Day about a quarter past 8, and Mrs. Sinclair about 9—I am the mother of the deceased girl—she was about 31 years of age, and had been keeping company with the prisoner between 10 and 12 years—he is about the same age, I think—I scarcely know in what employment he was; he was a sponge-clipper the last thing he worked at, but he was only there some few months—I do not know what he was before that; he never knew what he was doing—he never asked me to assist him in any way—my daughter was employed at Mr. Andrews's, at Walthamstow, covering surgical instruments—she had been there 14 or 15 years, and had 18s. a week—out of that she paid me 10s. a week for her board and lodgings—she took her dinner with her, and if I had not got it I gave her the money—that left her 8s. a week for herself—the prisoner had been in the habit of constantly coming to the house, but he has not come quite so much since last August—I believe he knew the lodgers in the house—he did not tell me the reason he did not come so often after August—I did, not know of any difference in the relationship of my daughter Lydia and the prisoner—I know he used to meet her as usual, and come to the door and such like, but I did not see much of it—that would be once or twice a week, or perhaps more—he would come into the house, and would be familiar with the lodgers' habits, and know the hours when they came in and went out—the last time I saw him was on a Sunday towards the end of January—I and my daughter and a Mr. Gilbey and the prisoner were in the parlour together—Gilbey did not wait about a quarter of an hour—I do not think the prisoner and my daughter were on good terms then; they did not talk much—I think she was quite alone in the room when the prisoner came in—I had been to chapel, and I came home and found the three together—she had stopped at home to mind Alice's baby—she
and the prisoner then went out a little while, and he came back to the door with her—that was the last time I saw him—on Friday night, the 4th, just about 11 o'clock, I was in the house, and heard the prisoner talking at the street door with Lydia, but I did not hear anything that was said—they were not married because he would never keep a place to get enough money, and she would not marry him till he got a home—I heard him say good-bye on the Friday night, and then my daughter came in, and came down to the kitchen and had her supper—she was in her usual spirits, but she looked pale and ill, as if she was worried—she had her supper, and then went to bed—in the morning, at a quarter-past 7, she used to knock on the floor with a little curtain-pole which she kept—before that, at a quarter to 7, Alice used to come up and bring me a cap of tea, the last thing before she went out to her work, And I used to remain in bed until I heard the knocking from below—on Saturday morning, 5th February, Alice came up as usual at a quarter to 7, and gave me a cup of tea, and then went away, and I remained in bed with my daughter Amy—about five or ten minutes past 7 I heard a very great noise three times, but I cannot describe what it was; it appeared to be like something very heavy falling down, but I could not tell where it came from—the noises came very quick one after the other—I spoke to Amy, but I did not get up for a minute or two—I then heard some one walk across the passage and bang the street door, and I got up then—I had heard Mrs. Gauntlett go out that morning and close the door after her—I had not heard the door go at all between the time of my hearing those footsteps and the banging of the door—I got up and put my things on hastily; Amy remained in bed—I then went downstairs to the back parlour bedroom: the door was palled close to, but not catched—when I got inside I found my daughter lying on the floor just inside the door, with her head towards a chest of drawers and her feet towards the bed, which is on the right-hand side of the room as you enter—she was fully dressed with the exception of her dress-body and her boots, and her hair was partly plaited—I saw some blood on the floor under her head, and some upon her face, and some under her right hand, which was thrown out under a chair—Mrs. Gauntlett's baby was on the bed crying dreadfully; it is eight months old—a little spirit lamp was burning on the drawers on a little tray; it was not very dark and not very light—the washhand-stand was just beyond the drawers, that appeared to have been used; there was dirty water in it—in front of the window there was a dressing-table with the looking-glass on it; that is where my daughter would be standing if the baby was not crying, and if it was she would go to the bed—this is quite a small room—at that time I only noticed one wound over the left temple—seeing that, I called for assistance, and my daughter Amy and Mrs. Attrell and the other lodgers came, and Dr. Davis was sent for, and he arrived in a short time—up to his arrival Lydia had remained almost in the same position—I showed him the wound—he made some examination of it, and gave me certain advice—he told me she was dead—after that, about 8 o'clock, Mrs. Coleman was sent for, and she came and laid the body out, and she then pointed out to me an injury on the right hand and two injuries upon the right side of the throat, and the right eye was very black as though bruised—she was lying flat on her back when I saw her—this was about 9 o'clock—the doctor was to come back later in the
day upon my sending for him, and about 3 or half-past I sent for him—Attrell came home about 3—he told me something, in consequence of which I sent for the doctor and the police—about 6 or 7 o'clock the doctor came again, and made a more complete examination of the body—the prisoner had left nothing at all at my house belonging to him on the Friday night—there was nothing the matter with me on the Saturday—I was quite well, and I had been so on the Friday night—I did not see the prisoner on the Saturday and tell him to go and get my daughter's wages; I should not have done that if I had seen him—all my tenants have latchkeys—after we discovered this the blinds of the house were pulled down at once, and remained down all day, and they were down at 1.30—I did not see the prisoner on the Saturday, and I did not see the latchkey which the prisoner had.
Cross-examined. Sometimes the prisoner stayed away from the house two or three days at a time—in November, I think it was, he was ill, and my daughter used to go and visit him at his father's house—they had been away together in the country or at the seaside, in August—he sometimes used to stay away on the Sunday—I cannot say whether he had been out with her every night for a fortnight before 5th February, hut I think very likely he did, because he used to meet her coming from work—she had been to his father's house on the previous Sunday—she went to Green Lanes Chapel, but not with him—on the Friday night she should have come in from her work at 8 or a quarter-past, but she did not come in till nearly 11, and she apologised, and said she had been with him at his father's house—I had a son living at Bow—the prisoner was a good bit there during the five days he was ill, and after his death on 7th January—the prisoner was there on and off during his illness, and sat up with him one night, and he helped my daughter to remove the furniture there—Lydia went there with him sometimes—my son died leaving a widow and children, and I was greatly upset by that, he being my only son—I was not laid up; my daughters did not think I was likely to have an illness, and I did not speak of being ill—I was in my business all the time—I can't say whether more people would he in the house at 7 a.m. than at any other time; they would not all be gone out then; the Days would be in the house, and Mrs. Attrell—there is a good lock to the door; it has not been out of order this year or two; you could not open it by pressing against it—it is not left open in the daytime or in the evening—there is a door at the back leading into the yard, and there are workshops at the back—both the husbands and wives have a key; I gave them all one, I believe—I never heard of any other persons having keys that would open the door—I did not know that Currell had one—he had a key when he lived in Chart Street close by which would open our door—his mother lived there 12 months ago last June, and their key would open our door—the prisoner has lived there all his life—I have seen him open the door with that key, not for other persons to go in, but if he or Lydia wanted to come in in the evening when they were out he would let them in—I did not know that he opened the door lately with a key—as far as I remember there was in other person outside the house who had a key—Walter has not got a key that I know of; he is my daughter Amy's young man—Lydia had a key, but she seldom took it with her—I don't know that everybody knew she had a key—I don't remember that she has ever used it—Amy has
not got a key—I never lent my key to anybody—if Amy went out she had to knock at the door; there is a knocker and a bell—I don't know that the prisoner had got furniture at my house for their home when he got married—his father sent a few old things, but it was never mentioned that they were for him—all there was was a very small bed and bedstead and a washhand-stand, a fender, and a little timepiece—the prisoner has done jobs about the house with his tools for me on one or two occasions, not often; he has not done anything during the last 12 months—I remember his buying some blinds, he told me he had bought them at a sale for 1s., that was before Mrs. Gauntlett came to live with me, which was 13 months ago—he put three of them up in my house, in the kitchen, and one in my bedroom, there was then one left—that stood in Alice Gauutlett's room on the ground floor, and was taken away some two or three months ago—it was going to be put up in her room, but she would not have it because it would make it too dark—they were the ordinary canvas blinds on rollers, with a pulley and cord—she told me Currell had taken the blind away—there was a small paper parcel, with a pair of pincers and a hammer and other things in it, on the shelf in the Kitchen for some time, and it was taken away two or three months ago—I will not swear the blind was not taken away on the Wednesday before the Friday, Mrs. Gauntlett knows more about the blind than I do—there was a watch and some jewellery in this room, and Lydia had a little money, but nothing was taken from the room of any kind—the watch was on the chest of drawers—I know my daughter had no other admirer but Currell, she was too particular—she was very modest and reserved, she did not associate with any one—the relations between her and the prisoner were thoroughly respectable—I heard the old ladies go out that morning at 6.30, and heard the street-door bang—I used to get up when I heard my daughter knock, and go down and get her food ready by the time she came down—she used to get out of bed at 7 o'clock and get partly dressed before she knocked to me; I daresay she would take half an hour to dress, because she was rather particular—all the lodgers were in the house on this morning when I came down, except the two old ladies—I know Annie Manton—Lydia had been away from her work before this on Saturdays; on Saturday, 15th January, when her brother was buried, she was away, and also when she was ill—she had arranged on the Saturday to make some clothes for her sister's baby—Annie Manton brought Lydia's wages on those two occasions when she was away, and I saw her hand it to her in the parlour on Sunday evening—I heard that Annie Manton had given Currell the money on the same day, at 12 o'clock at night, she came round and told me—I have seen her and Beatrice Stevens a good many times since, and I have spoken to other people about this matter—I have known a man named Williamson by sight for three or four years—he occupied a shop in Pitfield Street, and we purchased things there; he is not there now, one of his daughters is in the shop—I first spoke to Williamson about this matter last Sunday—I know a Nan named Lambert, I never saw him till last Sunday, I have heard of him—I do not know a man named Thomas—when I came downstairs and the doctor was sent for I thought she had fallen and fractured her skull, but in the morning we thought there had been some foul play, and after we had seen Attrell about 3 or half past, and from some statemen the made, that made us feel certain—Attrell would not be home at 1 o'clock,
sometimes he does not come home till 6 or 6 in the evening—the police were communicated with sometime after Attrell came home—they searched the parlours but not the lodgers' apartments, nor I think the kitchen—they came about 6 o'clock—I was a great deal annoyed about this matter by people coming to see me, amongst them people from the press—it only took me a few minutes to put on my clothes after I heard the noise.
Re-examined. The prisoner was present in the parlour on the Sunday after my son's funeral, when Annie Manton brought Lydia's wages—she handed her the money, which was always in an envelope, and in a joke said, "Co., it," meaning "share it," and Lydia put it in her pocket—I didn't see her open it and count the money—Alice was present—the fender and washstand were brought to my place after the prisoner's father left Great Chart Street; it was a little painted washstand; they were broken, I should not like to give 5s. for them, 10s. was the full value—it was a child's bedstead.
By MR. POLAND. I don't remember whether the prisoner let himself in with the latch key after his father left Great Chart Street—they were away together at the seaside, Aldborough, for 10 days—the back door is bolted when we go to bed at night—the workshops look down into the back yard, there is no way out of our yard—the back door was bolted on the Friday night when I went up to bed, I always bolt it myself.
AMY GREEN . I am single, and live with my mother at 8, Baches Street, Shoreditch—we lived in the kitchen and slept in the first floor back, we have lived there a great many years—my sister Lydia lived there with us, and I have seen her and the prisoner in the house, but from August he did not come till October, and from October to February he sometimes did not come for a week, and then perhaps he would come two or three nights in a week—he knew my mother's lodgers, their habits in coming in and out—I was at home on the night of the 23rd January, when Mr. Gilbey was there; my sister was at home also; the prisoner came in and remained some little time—I was not at home when either he or Mr. Gilbey came, I came in and found them both there, and then the prisoner and my sister went out—I saw him again the next Sunday, he only came to the passage, and my sister was out, she had gone to his mother and father's—he said, "I will go on to her"—I next saw him on Tuesday, 1st February, at our house—he was again there on Wednesday, the 2nd, and remained for a little while, that was the last time I saw him—to my knowledge he left no tools there—on Friday night he did not come in—I slept with my mother as usual on Friday night, and next morning Alice brought us some tea before she went to work—she went at her usual time, Attrell having left before her—I remained on in bed with my mother and heard the door bang after Alice went out, and went to sleep again, and was awoke by a very loud noise, which occurred three times—I got up in bed and asked my mother what it was—she said, "I cant make out"—I said, "I think it is the door banging"—she got up and dressed herself, and I went to sleep again—my mother went downstairs, and her calling awakened me—I got up and went downstairs into my sister's bedroom, and saw my sister lying on the floor—there was blood upon the floor and upon her face—at that time the only wound I saw was one on her left temple—I took her up and supported her head and sent for a doctor—he came, and after that Mrs. Coleman was sent for, and the
body was laid out—she was buried on the following Saturday, and on the Monday Mrs. Gauntlett and I swept out the room, and cleaned it thoroughly; made a thorough examination, but found ho bullet, or revolver, or mark of a bullet on the wall or furniture, but we discovered a white mark on the drawers which had not been there before—it was as if some powder had been there.
Cross-examined. I do not know that my sister had been out nearly every night with Currell for a fortnight before this Friday; she was out a good bit—I believe there is a door leading from the yard into the workshops, but I have never seen it opened—the latch of the hall door has not been out of order for some time; it was put right about a year ago—it is always shut—it is not open continually in the—evening, and my mother has not complained of it—I have never seen Currell Open the door with a key, he has never at any time let me in with a key—Waiter has not got a key that opens the door, I swear that—I am as sure as I can be that my sister Lydia did not have a key—I had one for two months, and then my mother would not let me have it—I have not had one for some time, and when I want to get in I always knock—I don't know whether my mother knew I had a key—Curell would stand talking to my sister at the door and then he would bid her good night—I did not notice whether they were talking for some time at the door on Friday night—Lydia used to get up as a rule about a quarter past 7or a little earlier, and she used to have breakfast about a quarter to 8—mother used to get up when she heard the knocking and go down and get tea ready—I believe Mrs. Gauntlett had a watch and other valuables in her room—I remember the prisoner fixing two blinds in the kitchen and one in a bedroom upstairs one Saturday afternoon, and he was going to fix one in Mrs. Gauntlett's room—I could not say whether it remained in Mrs. Gauntlett's room for a considerable time, and I do not remember his speaking on the Wednesday before the Friday of taking it to his father's place—I never saw any parcel in the kitchen, nor did I see the tools there which he had for fixing these blinds—I aim ail the kitchen every day—I do not know when the blind was taken away, it was two or three months before the Friday—I think Tom said he would take it away, and Mrs. Gauntlett said "Take it, I don't want it"—I did not see the blind—I have seen Annie Manton bring my sister's wages once or twice; I don't remember whether Currell was there—when I saw my sister on this morning I thought she had fainted and fallen against the door—the police were communicated with in the afternoon—my sitter was a perfectly modest well-behaved girl in every way.
Re-examined. I had the key of the door for about two months some time last summer—I gave it back to my mother—Lydia bad no key, she always used to knock—Mrs. Gauntlett had a key.
By the COURT. Mr. Gilbey has not been a frequent visitor for some years, but he has been there four or five times lately; he is a friend of my mother's, and is about the same age as my sister—I have heard of his going there ever since I was a child, but. I have not seen him much—he has been a friend of the family—he frequently came to see my mother and sister when he was a little boy—I don't think he came in December at all, but was there about three times in January and up to February 5—I have seen him there two or three times on Sunday nights—he used to see my sister Lydia if she was at home—he is married.
ALICE GAUNTLETT . I am a widow, and have lived since last summer with my mother, Mrs. Green, at 8, Baches Street, Hoxton, and occupy the parlour and back bedroom on the ground floor—I have known the prisoner nearly all my life, he was in the habit of coming to see my sister Lydia—I saw him last on Wednesday, the 2nd, about 7.30 p.m.; he came into my parlour and the folding doors were open—he asked me if Lydia had come home from work—I said "No"—he said "I will go And meet her"—he went out and they came to the door together about 8.30—they did not come into my room, and I did not hear a word that was said—I went to bed about 10 o'clock, and about 11 she came into my bedroom and I woke up and spoke to her—she was quite well and all right as usual—we both slept in one bed with my little child—on Saturday morning I got up about 6 o'clock and washed and dressed—there is only one basin—I emptied it and finished dressing, and Mrs. Fenn's granddaughter, Sophia Jenkins, a girl about fourteen, who lives there with Mrs. Fenn and Mrs. Dodd, brought me some tea, and I took some up to my mother on the first floor; she was there with my sister Amy—I spoke to my sister Lydia and left her in bed and went out to my work at ten minutes to 7 as near as I can say—I have both a clock and a watch—Mrs. Fenn and Mrs. Dodd had previously gone out—I found the street door had been unbolted, and I went out and shut it after me and went into the City to my work—I am Sure I shut it—there is a latch which answers to the latch key—I simply undid the latch, went out, took hold of the handle, and pulled the door to—I work at the Sun Fire Office, Threadneedle Street—I got there at 7.10—Mrs. Fenn and Mrs. Dodd also work there—they had gone before me and they were there—going out at my door to get to the City, I turn to the right and then to the left up Brunswick Place; that is in an opposite direction from Charles Square—the odd numbers are at one side and the even on the other, and No. 4 is at this corner—I did not see Mrs. Fenn before I went out, or anybody but the child, who came into the room, and my mother and sister—I had not seen anything of Attrell—on my way home at 10 o'clock in the morning I heard what had happened to my sister—I went home—I had done my day's work then—I had a latchkey, but my sister Lydia had not—I went into the parlour and bedroom, but found nothing disturbed or taken away—I had left my watch and my sister's watch and several things there—mine was on the drawers and the other inside a little drawer—I looked about the rooms; no revolver was left there—I assisted in clearing up the room, but I found nothing—the prisoner never had any tools or anything belonging to him in my rooms—there was an old fender and wash-stand and a bed there, but I never understood that they were his—there was also a blind on a roller, standing up endways behind the wash-stand, and about November Lydia said to me in the prisoner's presence" If you are not going to use that green blind,Tom will have it for one of his mother' window; if you are quite sure you will not want it I will give it him now"—I said "Yes, give it to him; I don't like green blinds; they are so dark," and I never saw the blind again—I know the prisoner's writing; these two letters (produced) are his writing, and this other (Found in the prisoner's box) is my sister's writing.
Cross-examined. I had slept with my sister Lydia for some time, and
saw her every night and morning for months—she was not out with Currell every night for a fortnight before February 4th—she was the last week nearly every night, but not so often the week before—she had merely gone on an errand on the Wednesday when he went and met her—I answered the door to him on the Sunday night when he called, when she had gone on before him to his father's house—when she came in on the Friday night, and I was in bed, she told me she had been to the old people at Aden Grove—there are five or six children in the house—this is my latchkey (produced); it is a very common ordinary key—a person desiring to meet me in the morning going to my work could meet me at the corner of Bruswick Place; that is the way I go—I have not seen the door opened by people with keys besides the lodgers—the prisoner had a key belonging to his mother about three years ago which opened it—I do not know when they left Chart Street—I think it was before Christmas that his father went to live at Aden Grove—I cannot say whether it was on January 1st—I believe the blind was to be taken to the house at Aden Grove, but I do not think the conversation was since January—the blind had been, I should say, 12 months in my room—the prisoner did not bring his tools backwards and forwards to the house—I know he had two or three things when he helped me move, but I saw him take them away—he has never done work in the house for my mother; neither covered a chair or anything of the kind—there was a shelf in the kitchen where he kept a small parcel of tools—I saw him take them down from there before last August—that was the the last time I saw them there—my sister had arranged to do some work for me that day—she used to leave to go to her work at 8 o'clock, but I am never there—she used to get to her work at 9 o'clock—I do not know what train she used to catch—Walthamstow is, I think, about seven miles from Hoxton—she went by train—she had no admirer or follower that I know of except Currell.
REBECCA FENN . I am a widow, and have lived 18 years at 8, Baches Street, Hoxton—my sister, Miss Dodd, lives with me and my granddaughter, Sophia Jenkins, who was 13 last birthday—we all three slept that night in the first floor front room; that is the only room I had—I paid 4s. 6d. a week for it unfurnished—on this Saturday morning I got up at my usual time a little after 5, and made some tea about a quarter to 6 as we always do—I go down to the door about 6.10 to take the milk in—I found the door bolted as usual—I unbolted it, and took in some milk from the man at the kerb—he did not get down out of his cart—I shut the door again, but did not rebolt it, and went upstairs—I then sent down some tea to Mrs. Gauntlett by my granddaughter—after breakfast Miss Dodd and I and my granddaughter left the house together, and it was 6.30 when we got to Dawson's clock—it took us about three minutes to get there—when we came out the door was shut in the ordinary way—I always push it to see that it is properly latched—we three then went to the City to our work—later on we knew that Mrs. Gauntlett had come to the office, but we did not see each other, because she works in a different part—I had a latchkey, but Miss Dodd had not, one served the two of us—I had my key that morning—I had not seen Attrell or any of the lodgers upstairs before leaving—I knew the prisoner by name, and have seen him at the house, and have said good evening and good
morning—I knew that he used to visit Lydia, and that they were keeping company.
Cross-examined. I have seen them together very frequently—I pushed the door to see whether it shut, but it had not been out of order of late years—the latchkey is of the commonest possible kind—I have known Currell to put on little latches and things of that kind with his tools, and I remembering him mending the closet-door in the yard 12 months ago I dare say—it was done, and they said that Tom had done it—I do not remember his doing anything since—I do not remember him putting up a hat-rail; I think he did something to a window, and I saw that the blinds were put up—I saw no other person do small carpentering work in the place—there is a high shelf in the back kitchen—I have not seen a small parcel there—I never saw any other follower of Lydia's—about 7 a.m. would be the time when nearly everybody would be in the house except myself—when the children run opposite the door is left open, but we stand on the stairs to see them come back—I do not know that the door is left open a good deal—Mrs. Green has spoken to the children about it, but we have been on the alert—the different lodgers have people come to see them—strangers come into the house—I never had to ask anybody to let me in; we generally come home together, and one opens the door.
WILLIAM SINCLAIR . I sell muffins in the winter, but do not make them—I live with my wife at 8, Baches Street, and have occupied the second floor back room for seven years next April—Mr. and Mrs. Attrell occupy the front room—on this Friday night we went to bed about 11.30 or 12 o'clock, we were not disturbed on the Saturday morning—I got up at 8 o'clock as near as possible; my wife was then in bed in the room, but she was the first to hear what had occurred in the house—I had one latch-key for my wife and myself, and I had it on the night in question.
Cross-examined. I have often seen Currell with Lydia Green—I generally carry my key, but I left it at home this morning—I do not leave it with my wife when I go out to work; she generally knocks to get in, and there is a party over the way, a mangler, who has a key which opens our door, and I carry the key because she can get one over the way—it is the commonest possible kind of key—at this time in the morning I am always in the house, and so is Day—I have not borrowed a key, I have generally got my own—I have never seen Currell let himself in with a key.
Re-examined. I have seen my wife use the key she got from the mangler, Mrs. Percival, because she generally goes over there to spend the evening—she used to return it while I stood at the door.
CAROLINE SINCLAIR . I am the wife of the last witness—we occupy the second-floor back room of this house—we had a latch-key between us, which the landlady gave me—T have never borrowed one; Mrs. Percival, a mangier, has brought me her key at times to open the door, but I have returned it immediately—I knew her key fitted our door because she formerly lived at No. 8 for some time; if I did not like to knock at the door, or keep on knocking, I have got her key, but I have never kept it, I opened the door and ran across with the key—I don't know whether the key opens her door—on the Friday night my husband and I went to bed at our usual time, and on Saturday morning about 7.10 we were disturbed; I was asleep and heard a sound which woke me—I cannot tell
what it was, but the reverberation shook the house, and I heard the land-lady screaming out in an excited manner for her daughter—I got out of bed and dressed myself, and heard what had occurred in the house—my husband remained in bed.
Cross-examined. I woke him up—I heard the sound, but not my husband—he was up and dressed before 8 o'clock, and downstairs—it would not be correct to say that I was not up till 8 o'clock, we were up and down—no one but Mrs. Perceval has let me in with a key; I swear that distinctly—Mrs. Gauntlet has never let me in with her key to my knowledge—I have no recollection of it—I have never borrowed Mr. Day's key, if I have I do not remember it—I never borrowed any key but Mrs. Perceval's to my recollection—I have been there when Currell has stood on the steps with Lydia—I cannot say that they have let me in, because the door was generally a little open, and if I came home and it was not, I borrowed the key and ran across with it immediately or sent it, but I never kept it, because the woman wanted it herself for her own house—she did not tell me so, but I returned it because she had other keys on the ring—I have been there when Amy Green has been there of an evening, but she has not opened the door for me—I ran across with the key or got my husband—I have not noticed Amy with Walter of an evening—I have never borrowed Mrs. Fenn's key; she goes out early in the morning—I have never seen any strange man about the place except Currell or Walter to my knowledge.
JOHN THOMAS DAY . I live with my wife at 8, Batches Street—I am a timber porter—we occupy the top room with out three children, the eldest is 14 to-day—we have lived there nearly nine months—I had one latchkey for myself, and the mistress has got one—on the Friday night I and my wife and children slept in the top floor; we went to bed about 9.30 or 10—I generally get up at 7.30, but on this morning rather earlier—my daughter has occasion to go down with a pail of water about 7 o'clock, and at about 10 minutes or a quarter past 7 I heard a kind of noise as if the children on the first floor were jumping down stairs—there were two or three noises—I got up—my daughter had occasion to go down again to fetch some water, and we heard that something had occurred—my mistress went down first and I afterwards.
Cross-examined. The children below are Mrs. Jenkins's, but they have no proper parents, two old ladies keep them, and one of the children from the next house comes in to fetch a cup of tea, and the children go down and let her in—that does not happen nearly every morning, we are not always awake to hear—my eldest daughter Emma went down at 7 into the yard and unlocked the back door—I went to work at 8, I went down at two or three minutes to 8, but I had been in the yard previously about half-past 7—I have no idea how many keys there are to the house, this is my key (Producing it), it is a very common one—the keys of the house are not the same.
By the COURT. I have had this key two or three months, I bought it at a stall where they sell keys—I knew it would fit the door by the pattern—it is similar to the mistress's key, she bought that I think at the same stall—I gave 2d. for mine—I did not lose my key, I think I only had one, and I bought one so as not to keep on knocking when I went home and disturb the people in the house—I have not lent my key at different times, but I have had occasion to borrow some of the others,
so as to avoid disturbing people—I did not know that the woman over the way had a key of the door—I never borrowed hers, I was always at home in the morning till nearly 8 and in bed—I did not get up till twenty minutes or half-past 7.
By MR. POLAND. I left my room for the first time on this Saturday morning about twenty minutes or half-past 7 as nearly as possible—my daughter Emma had been downstairs three times—I cannot tell what she did downstairs, she usually went down to light the fire, not for the people in the house, but for ourselves—we always get our water from the basement—when I went down I did not see any children there from next door.
MATILDA DAY . I live with my husband and children on the top floor at 8, Baches Street—on this Friday night we went to bed as usual—I had a key of the door and my husband had one—next morning about half-past 7 I was in bed and heard a noise like a bang—I got up directly and my daughter came up and told me that something had happened—I went downstairs about five minutes afterwards—she was in the same room as I was at that time—when I went down I found Mrs. Green's daughter, Lydia, lying on the floor, and I went and fetched Dr. Davis—I saw that she was dead.
Cross-examined. My daughter had not been downstairs at 7, she was down three times after 7—she always went down about 7 or ten minutes past—she went down to the kitchen, anybody who knew the ways of the house would know that—the children in the house would get in and out by knocking—there was nobody in the basement that I know of—I did not know how many keys there were to the house—the children did not go in and out leaving the door open, to my knowledge, but they may—I have never lent my key or borrowed one—I did not know that there was a woman over the way who had one—I have left my key at home—it is a very common kind—I have often seen Currell with Lydia Green coming in at night—I think I have passed them at the door together.
THOMAS ATTRELL . I am a bricklayer, of 8, Baches Street—I live with my wife in the second floor front room; no one else lives with us—we have lived, there about a year and eight months—when I first went to live there Mrs. Green gave me a latch-key, but that was lost in some unaccountable way about the first or second week we were there—my mistress bought two other keys at a stall in Hoxton, and they opened the door—there was also a third key, a metal key, which I got from my brother-in-law—I think that was made of brass and copper—I had the metal key; I always carried it—my wife carried one of the others, and my little nephew, William Henry King, had the third—he does not live with us; he is a doctor's boy—he formerly lived with us, and after he left he kept the key—he is just turned 15—I know the prisoner quite well, but only as Tom, or Thomas—I knew that he was coming to the house and keeping company with Lydia Green—I saw her last on the Friday evening, standing outside Mrs. Green's front door at about half-past 10, and he was with her—they were talking quietly together—I passed in, leaving them there, and wished them good night, and went upstairs to my room to my wife and went to bed—on the Saturday morning I got up about half-past 6, and went out at the front door as near as possible at half-past 7—it was fastened when I came down, and of course I fastened it when I went out—Mrs. Fenn and Miss Dodd go
out before me—it is only a catch-lock; I found it on the latch—I pulled the latch back and went out—the door does not swing back; you pull it to, and it fastens—I remember pulling it after me because it goes rather hard—I left the house as nearly as possible at a quarter to 7—I saw no one in the house before I left—I noticed a light in the front parlour when I got out into the street—I turned to the left as I went out at the door; that was towards Brunswick Place—I went towards Charles Square, and when I was at the corner of Charles Street and Pitfield Street I saw the prisoner there (Referring to the plan)—it takes about two minutes to walk from No. 8 to the spot if you walk quick, and a little farther on is the Crosby Head public-house—the prisoner was merely standing there, at the corner of the pavement, doing nothing—he was not against the wall—he spoke first; he saluted me in the usual way, "Good morning, Mr. Attrell," and I said "Good morning, Tom," or "Thomas," or "Good morning to you"—I did not know that his name was Currell—he said "Which way are you going?"—I said I was going to Clifton Street, and we walked from where he stood to the corner of the Crosby Head, towards the City; that was the way to my workshop, where I was going—he asked me if I was coming in there, and of course I walked in with him—he asked me what I would have to drink—I said "Half a pint of mild ale," and he called for two, one for himself and one for me, which he paid for, and then he called for a pennyworth of gin, and put it in my ale, and made a mixture of it, and said a drop of gin would give me courage if I was going up on a high roof—he then said "Is there any one up and about at hour?"—I asked if he meant Mrs. Green or any of the family—he said "Yes"—I told him the two old ladies who lived in the first floor under me had gone out—he said "Is Alice gone out?" meaning Mrs. Gauntlett—I said "I don't know; there was a light in the parlour when I came out, I noticed that"—he said nothing to that—he said that he had left a few things in Mrs. Green's kitchen, which he wanted to get out, and he did not want to be knocking at the door to be disturbing the family; would I kindly lend him my keys to get the things out, and he said after he had used the key he would return it to Mrs. Green, and she would return it to my wife, so that I could have it after dinner—nothing more was said about the things in the kitchen, only that they were a few things which I understood he wanted for his business—he said they were two or three little things he left there on Friday evening, and he wanted to get them out; he did not say what for—nothing more was said about Alice—I lent him the key, drank up the drink, wished him good morning, and left him—I had never drunk with him before—I was in his company three minutes, or it may be four minutes altogether, and no more—I parted with him at the Crosby Head in the big bar, the largest bar of the house—he went out at the Pitfield Street side, and I at the Old Street side, and I never saw him afterwards till I saw him at Worship Street—it was as near as possible 6 minutes to 7 when I parted with him—I went to my work, and came home about half-past 3, and heard what had happened to Lydia—I went to the station and told the police that I thought there had been foul play, and told them about my key—I have never seen it since—I had never lent it to him before—I think it was made of copper and brass mixed; it looked more of a copper colour—it got very bright in my pocket, and it was more like copper than brass; a sort of dirty brown—I never saw any key of
this lock of that metal—I cannot exactly tell how the prisoner was dressed; it was rather dark at a quarter to 7, but I know it was dark clothes; I do not know whether it was a brown or black coat, and a hat with a band round it—I had not time to stop to take much notice; I had to get away to my shop.
Cross-examined. My wife bought the two keys at the same time, and they both fitted the door, and afterwards my brother, who is a blacksmith, gave me a key, as I wanted a third—I never saw a bolt on the door—there used to be a big lock attached to it, but I think it is out of order—whenever I have come in it has been by turning my own key—I have come in at 12 and 12.30, never any later, and it was very extraordinary to be out as late as that—I always let myself in—I said before the Magistrate that I had seen Currell there ever since I had been in the house, and I had seen Lydia—they were talking happily together on the Friday night—I never heard any angry words between them in my life—I passed close to them on the left as I went in at the door, and I wished them both good night—Currell had never spoken to me about where I worked—he had no means of knowing in what direction my work was that I am aware of—I dare say I have known the neighbourhood of Baches Street 12 years; the same houses have been there all that time, the streets have not been altered—Baches Street is the nearest way that I should go to my work; I might have gone along Brunswick Street into Pitfield Street, there would not be half a dozen yards difference—I work at different places; we are sent to all parts of London; one morning I go one way, and another another, but I have to go to the shop to get the time-sheet at Clifton Street—that leads to Earl Street, Finsbury—I go there every morning when I am at work for Mr. King—all his men have to be there at 6 o'clock in the summer and 7 o'clock in the winter, by the time-sheet—I work regularly for Mr. King when he has got work, when he has not I cannot do it, he does not make work for me, people do not do that, I wish they did—work was bad last winter, and has been for the last two years—I cannot say whether Currell was within a few yards of the Crosby Head when I met him that morning; he was actually in Pitfield Street, he had not turned the corner into Charles Street—I left the house about a quarter to 7—it might have taken me two minutes to walk to where I met him—I might have stood and talked to him two minutes, and then we walked to the public-house, and I dare say I was in there about four minutes and no more—I did not look at the clock in the public-house—he could not have left me at nearly 10 minutes to 7—the first account I gave of this was at the Inquest—I do not remember saying, "I should think it must have been seven or eight minutes to 7 when I left him," but it may have been—I do not carry a watch because I have not got one—I cannot say whether from where I left him he could walk to Baches Street, go into the house, go into the kitchen, come out again, and get back to the spot in 10 minutes—I could walk there in two minutes, and no doubt in three, I mean three minutes from the Crosby Head—if I was at the door in Baches Street I should have to go down-stairs to get to the kitchen—sometimes you could not get the key out of the lock; I know it is a job to get the key into the lock sometimes; I do not know whether there was something wrong with the lock—I dare say I could get from the door to the kitchen in two minutes—sometimes I have a difficulty in opening the door—I never saw Mrs. Green after
I got back on Saturday—Amy was the first person I spoke to when I went to the house on Saturday afternoon, and I did not have any conversation with her—I spoke to my wife when I got upstairs—my work is over about 12 o'clock on Saturday—I could walk from Mr. King's shop to Baches Street in a quarter of an hour if I went straight home—I was there about 1 o'clock—sometimes we do not get our money till 1 o'clock—if I got my money at 1 o'clock I could be home at a quarter-past, if I did not stop anywhere—I might have been home from 12.15 to 1.15—I should not go along Brunswick Place, I should come up Pear Street into Pitfield Street, and turn into a street that leads into Brook Place, or else turn up Charles Street, the way I went in the morning—if I turned up Charles Street I should come into Brunswick Place—when I saw the prisoner that morning his manner was calm, he was all right, I saw nothing wrong about him—the conversation I had with him did not strike me as being at all extraordinary—I did not think it a remarkable thing that he should borrow my key, nor in the smallest degree suspicious—I might have talked this matter over with a few people, I cannot say how many; I never made a constant affair of it—I am quite sure of the words the prisoner used—he did not say, "Is there anybody up round the corner?" not to me—he said, "Is there anybody up and about at home?"—I said, "Do you mean the Green family?" and he said "Yes"—he said, "Is Alice gone?"—I said I did not know—he said, "If Alice is gone I shall have to knock at the street door," or "I do not want to knock at the door"—I do not remember his, saying that he had not got his key with him—I never knew that he had a key of his own; I have seen him go in and out with a key, but I never knew that he had one of his own—I have seen him let himself in with a key with a jug in his hand; I do not know whether there was beer in it, or what it was—it was not upon his saying that he did not want to disturb the people that I mentioned my key, I did not mention it till he asked me for it; I did not take it out and lend him it to him at once, not for half a minute; I hesitated perhaps half a minute—I did not say anything that I am aware of, or question him about what he wanted it for, because he said he wanted to get the things out of the kitchen, that there were two or three little things he wanted which he had left in Mrs. Green's kitchen—I understood that he wanted them for some kind of work, things in his trade, but he did not say what things they were, and I did not ask him—I have never known him by any other name than Tom or Thomas—I have told you fairly everything I remember as being said—I think I know Williamson, a butcher—I think I saw him yesterday—he used to live in Pitfield Street—I did not see him at the police-court—I know a man named Lambert; I have spoken to him, but I never had much to say to him—I spoke to him about this matter when we went to the Treasury; that was the first time I saw him.
Re-examined. I have seen the prisoner once or twice open the door of No. 8 with a latchkey when he has been carrying a jug; that was on a Sunday evening, after tea, between 7 and 8 o'clock—I never knew he had a key except in that way, and how he got it I don't know—in the winter it was usual for the two old ladies to leave before me—I never saw a bolt on the door, and I cannot swear that there is one.
By MR. GILL. I have never mentioned before about his putting gin in my beer to give me courage to go on high places—when he said that
he wanted to go there for some things he left there, I supposed he meant things for his work, because I did not know his occupation; it is only what I suggested that he wanted them for his business.
MRS. ATTRELL. My husband and I went to bed on the Friday night in the second floor front room—no one else was there—I had a latchkey of the front door, and my husband another—I had my key that night, and I have got it now—my nephew, King, had a third key—I was in bed when my husband went out on the Saturday morning—I heard a noise about 7 o'clock or 10 minutes past—it was like something exploding; it shook the whole house—I only heard it once, but it lasted longer than one explosion would have lasted—I got up and went down, and saw Lydia supported by her sister Amy.
Cross-examined. It was not more than 20 minutes past 7 when I came down—Dr. Davis was there—it may have been 20 minutes to 8 before he came—he did not come till after Mrs. Green and Amy were down—the doctor was not there when I came down—during the year and eight months I lived in the house I bought, two keys at a stall in Hoxton—I just guessed at the kind of key I wanted; my guess was right—I bought one first, and then took that with me and bought another for my nephew for twopence, and that opened the door too.
By the JURY. After hearing the report of the pistol I did not hear the front door bang or anyone run along the passage; I am too high up, and my room door was shut.
WILLIAM HENRY KING . I am Mr. Attrell's nephew, and lived with him till I went to Dr. Inman 18 months ago—I had a key of the door, which I took with me when I left, and I used it when I visited my uncle and aunt—I went there with it on Sunday night, 6th February, and then gave it up to my uncle—it had never been out of my possession, but sometimes I did not carry it with me; I left it at the doctor's.
Cross-examined. It is 17 months since I left Baches Street—I had the key all that time, but do not know whether Mrs. Green knew it—I did not often go there—I sometimes used the key on Sunday; I never went there in the week—Mrs. Attrell never asked for my key.
ANN GREEN .(Re-examined). I am sure there was a bolt on my door, and there was a very old lock, which was no good, and it fell off and was not put on again—the latch at that time was just the same as it is now—there were two locks on the door, one at the top and one at the bottom—they were on before I was there—the last person in generally tells me, and I fasten the bolts, and if there is anybody out when I go to bed I leave it for them, and they fasten it—if they were not all in when I went to bed the bolts were left unbolted—whether the last person who came in bolted them I do not know; as far as I know they were bolted, but I cannot say—I was not the first person down in the morning—I usually turned the gas out at 11 o'clock, and went to bed, but very often I stayed up later—most of the witnesses kept good hours, and went early to bed, but occasionally they were late—I went to bed soon after 11 on the Friday night—I do not remember whether anybody was out that night.
By the JURY. I don't think I bolted the door that night; I won't be positive—after I heard the noise in my daughter's room I heard someone go out at the front door, and shut it with a bang—it sounds very different
to the back door, and I am sure it was the street door—I could tell if it was under me.
By the COURT. There are no steps to the front door, but at the back door you go down three or four stairs to the yard, where the workshop is—you cannot get from there into any street; it is something in the paper way—Mr. Corfield used it to get to it through No. 12—going from our house you pass No. 6 and No. 4 to get to No. 12—the even numbers are on one side and the odd on the other—there is one house between ours and Mr. Cornfield's, and that belongs to Mr. Corfield—you cannot get into the shop from our house, nor out of the yard without climbing over the wall—the other houses have similar yards, and by getting over one wall to the other it could be done, but there is no communication from our yard to the shop—there is no gate in our yard.
By MR. GILL. There is a piece of boarding in the yard wall which has been opened once to get an engine through, but that was before I was there—there is no keyhole that I know of, and no lock—it is a wooden door let into the wall—the passage of my house being the widest they had to get the engine through my house and break through the wall, and they filled up the place with wood, and as far as I know it has never been opened since—it may be a door.
MARY PERCEVAL . I am a widow, of 11, Baches Street, and do mangling—No. 8 is nearly opposite me, and I had a latchkey which opened the door—about two years ago I lived at No. 8, and had a latchkey which I took with me when I left—I kept it in my pocket on the same ring with my other keys—I had a second key which I left with Mrs. Green—Mrs. Sinclair sometimes borrowed my keys to get into No. 8, and brought the bunch back—I had the key in my possession on Friday night, February 4th.
Cross-examined. I have never been called as a witness before—the boy King had a key, but he was not living in the house—I have not seen Currell go in and out with a key—I bought my second key at an ironmonger's shop to give my husband one; I gave sixpence for it—I have never let the children in; they used to knock at the door, and it has been open sometimes—I used this key in my own lock; it is the one I bought, but it opens the door where I am now.
EMMA DAY . I live with my uncle and aunt at 8, Baches Street, on the top floor—I remember the Saturday when something happened to Lydia—I got up about 6.30 that morning, and was in the front room boiling some water for early tea, and heard a noise as if someone was jumping downstairs—I had got the water overnight—about 10 minutes afterwards I went downstairs to the back kitchen for some more water for breakfast—I saw no one downstairs—I came up and put it on, and then went down to the yard with a pail of dirty water—I unbolted the hack door, and went into the yard, emptied the slops there, and as I was going upstairs again I met Mrs. Green at the back parlour door, and from what she said I fetched my aunt—I saw no one else.
Cross-examined. I did not know that I was going to give evidence till Mrs. Wright and my sister came to me to-day when I was at work—I had never thought about it till then—Mrs. Wright is Mr. Fenn's daughter—my sister is a little girl—Mrs. Wright said, "Make haste and come to the Old Bailey, a detective has come after you," and when I got into our street I saw the detective—he told me I had better come with him
to the Old Bailey, he did not say what for—I came with him, I don't know his name—my statement was taken in a room, they asked me questions, and I said yes and no—I had not thought about the matter till then—before that Saturday I used to go down at the same time, 7 o'clock, but I have not done so since—I do not remember seeing Currell go in and out of the house with a key—I sometimes used my aunt's key and sometimes my uncle's, and when I could not get them I used to give four knocks, that was for our part of the house—Mrs. Fenn and Aunt Polly used to go down first of a morning to go to work—there is a water-closet in the yard—the children who came in from next door used to knock, and sometimes somebody went out and left the door open accidentally—they did not come in till about 7.30 in the morning, they come to their grandmother and Aunt Polly—I do not know where they went when they came in—Mrs. Fenn Went out between 6.30 and 6.40—I don't know what the children came for, they did not always come—they came after Mrs. Fenn and Aunt Polly left, but Sophia and Lizzie Jenkins, who is a young girl, were at home—Aunt Polly's name is Miss Dodd—if the children knocked at the door anybody in the parlour would let them in—the door was sometimes left open in the evening for the children to go in and out, but not often.
By the JURY. We always leave the back door open and fasten it back with a little catch when we are coming back again—it was kept open in the daytime from early morning—it was not closed by me—I do not play in the yard—I have never seen the little gate in the wall open—the only water-closet is in the yard—I am sure I unbolted the back door after I heard the noise on the Saturday morning—I unbolted the kitchen door when I went down for the water, which is in the back kitchen, and then I unbolted the yard door—there was no smell of powder or of a lucifer being lit.
GEORGE WILLIAMSON . I live at 63, Bevington Street, Hoxton, which is almost in a line with Fanshaw Street—I am a butcher and cattle dealer, and have lived there eight or nine months—I have known the prisoner about four years as Tom—I have seen him at, I think the George and Vulture is the sign of the public-house—I never knew his surname—on Feb. 5th I left my house about 7.5 a.m. and went into the Haberdashers' Arms and had twopenny worth of rum and milk and half an ounce of tobacco—I left at 7.15 and went down Buttesland Street and round the corner into Great Chart Street and straight through Baches Street into Brunswick Place—it was about 7.18 when I went through Baches Street, where I met the prisoner in the middle of the road and wished him good morning—he was 20 or 30 yards from No. 8, which I knew well and all the family—he was between No. 8 and Great Chart Street—just as I turned the corner by the Globe public-house, and before I saw him, I heard a door slam, I cannot say it was No. 8, but it came from that direction—he was buttoning up his coat and he walked very sharply across the road towards Great Chart Street—he did not reply when I spoke to him, and I went on and did not look back to see whether he turned up or down—I went down Baches Street and came out in the City Road, and went to the Meat Market, Smithfield—afterwards, on the same day, I heard of Lydia's death, I knew her by seeing her with her mother—I went to Worship Street Police-court twice but did not see the prisoner's face, I was not there three minutes—he was remanded for a week
and I went again when he was committed—I saw him come in and recognised him as the man I knew as Tom—I went there because some people in a public-house said "You know him well, you have been in his company," and I went to see if I could recognise him; I did so, and after the Court was up I spoke to Inspector Peel—I gave my name but refused my address—I said "You don't want me, I don't want to be brought into a case of this description, my evidence will not be worth anything"—on Friday, March 4th, I was sent for to Hoxton Station; I went there and saw, I think it was Inspector Fearn, and made a statement to him, which he took down—that was after committal—I went to the Solicitor to the Treasury's office and a gentleman took my statement.
Cross-examined. I am a master butcher, I have not got a shop—I first described myself to the police and to the Treasury clerk as a master butcher—I am out of business now, but I am buying cattle; I have bought cattle to-day—my shop was at 10, Cambridge Road, Mile End; I sold it last year, a little time after Christmas; at least I shut it up, I did not sell it—it was sold—I shut it up and gave it to the landlord for rent because it was a failure—I had been there six months I suppose—that was the last shop I had—the shop before that was in the Bethnal Green Road—I left it about August or September—I have no place of business at the Meat Market—I had no shop in February—I don't know what time people usually go to the Meat Market in the Morning—I mean that—I was going to business that morning, to Mr. Prior's in Walworth; I had to catch a train at 1 minute to 8—I was superintending the front of his shop and working there in February—I went over there I suppose five weeks after Christmas—it is 12 months ago since I shut up my last shop, or more than that—when I told you I had shut it up last Christmas time I meant Christmas 12 months—the last shop I had of my own was shut up nearly 12 months ago; it was after Christmas I shut it up—the one I had before that, in the Bethnal Green Road, I sold to Richard Ansell, who has the shop now; it is 300 and something, Bethnal Green Road, Opposite the Red Church—I sold it to him just before I took the shop, about August or September, I suppose, 1885—I had not been out of business for more than a year in January this year—I am not out of business now—I have not had a shop since Christmas 12 months—I have been in Mr. Martin's employment, 51, Alcroft Road, Queen's Crescent, Camden Town—I went into his employment about a month past, last March; I only went to Prior's because his missus was ill—I am in Martin's employment now—before that I was in Prior's—before that I was managing a shop in Green Lanes, Stoke Newington, last summer—I did not leave there particularly suddenly that I know of, we had a few words—I had been there six months—I was a fortnight at Holdworth's, in the City Road; that was about two months ago—I have not been with anybody else—on this morning I was going to Prior's place in the Walworth Road—I had to catch the one minute to 8 train at Snow Hill—I had to get there about 8.30—I cannot say how many mornings I had been there—I was only there because the wife was ill, but I was there several times; I went there for a long time before and after Christmas—I could not tell how many times I went by that train—I could not swear when I went into Prior's employment, I should think in December; I have no dates—I left it after Christmas, some time in February I suppose—I could not tell the date—I think it was in the
middle of February—I went every morning to Prior's place during the time I was in his employment—I had to get there from 8.30 to 9—I went from Snow Hill to Walworth by the one minute to 8 train, I think it was—it would take me all 20 minutes to get from Hoxton to Snow Hill—I used to go past the Meat Market nearly every morning—I used to go to it, for business sometimes; sometimes I had to buy meat for other people—on 5th February I did not buy any meat for anybody; I did no particular business in the Meat Market that morning—I did not buy any that morning—I don't think I did any business—my nearest way is through the Meat Market, and I meant by saying I was on my way to the Meat Market that my nearest way was through the Meat Market—I was on my way to Snow Hill—I have known Currell for three or four years, and I have known him by the name of Tom—I knew the Green family perfectly well—I have seen Currell with Lydia Green of an evening—I did not see them so often together that I supposed they were man and wife; I did not know whether they were or were not—I have made two statements at different times, one to the Treasury and one to the police; they are exactly the same—I could not swear it is true that "I have many times seen the deceased, whom I knew with him, and thought they were man and wife from seeing them together so often;" very likely I might have said that; I have seen them together in the evening—I knew I was giving a statement with regard to a man charged with murder; they asked me the questions, and I answered them, I should speak the truth—I gave my statement truthfully—I should say I remember what I said—I said "I have many times seen the deceased, whom I knew, with him, and thought they were man and wife from seeing them together so often"—I don't remember what time I left my house on the Thursday, nor on the Wednesday morning; it was generally about the same time—I cannot fix the exact time I left on any particular morning—I did not always go at once as soon as I got out of the house to a public-house—I very often went to the Haberdashers' Arms—I am managing Martin's shop now at Queen's Crescent, Kentish Town—I leave home now as a rule about 7 or a quarter past—on this morning I looked at the' clock when I got out of bed; it was five minutes past 7—I don't know if it took me five minutes to dress—I have sworn I left my home at 10 minutes past 7—I saw it was five minutes past 7 when I got out of the bed, and I was out of the house at 10 minutes past 7—I would not swear it was five minutes past—I don't know if the clock was right—I saw the clock in the Haberdashers' Arms; that was a quarter past 7 when I left—I did not look what time it was when I went in—I next looked at Dawson's clock in the City Road; that was 20 minutes past exactly; then I looked at the clock at the Meat Market; that was 25 minutes to 8, I think—I would not pledge my oath as to the time by the Meat Market clock; I will swear it was 25 minutes past 7 by Dawson's clock—I did not think it was important to fix the time I looked at it—I do not notice it every morning—I saw the clock on this particular morning because as soon as I got home I heard of the murder, and I said "It is a strange thing, I went through the street; I met a man, but it would not be him"—I remembered the time that very night, and passing through the street—I did not remember seeing the man, whom I looked upon as practically the husband of the murdered woman—I remember the time because it was 7.15 when I came out of the house, and 20 past
by Dawson's—I remember looking at both those clocks, and passing through the street, and seeing the man in the street whom I thought was the woman's husband, and that his name was Tom—the murder was talked about a good deal—I did not read the papers—I am not a very good scholar—I can read the papers; I cannot understand them—it was a matter of great interest in the neighbourhood; there was a deal of talk about it—I did not know who was suspected of the murder when I heard of it—I heard on the Sunday, I think, that a man named Currell. a sweetheart of Lydia Green, was suspected to be guilty—I remembered I had seen the sweetheart; he had been at my place—as soon as I heard he was a sweetheart of Lydia Green's I remembered that I had seen him in the street, but I did not know but what he was the husband—I did not know but what they were married—I did not know whether they were married or not—I did not think they were two different men, a husband and a sweetheart—I knew the man I saw in the street was the man who was either her husband or her sweetheart, and that his name was Tom—I did not know he was the sweetheart who was suspected—I knew the man's name was Tom, and I knew the suspected man's name was Tom after I saw it in print on the Monday night—I thought he was the suspected man—I cannot say I knew he was the sweetheart—I heard them on the Sunday or Monday talking about the woman's sweetheart being suspected, and that his name was Tom—I did not remember I had seen the sweetheart and the man whose name was Tom in the street that morning—I bade him good morning—I took no notice of him—on the Monday I knew, from what I had heard and from what I had seen in the papers, that the man suspected was a sweetheart of the woman, and that his name was Tom—I could not tell whether the man I had seen in the street was her sweetheart or not—I had seen her with him—I swear I did not know whether the man was her sweetheart or not—I did not know at all who was suspected—I had no idea whether there were two men named Tom suspected of this; I did not know who they were—I did not hear of the Inquest; I heard nothing of that—I heard of the time the murder was supposed to have taken place—I did not hear what evidence was given at the Inquest till I saw it in the paper—I heard a verdict of wilful murder was given against the woman's sweetheart—it never occurred to me that the man I saw was the man against whom the verdict was found—I attached no importance to what had happened so far as I was concerned—I never went to see Mrs. Green about it; I had never been to see her—I met Currell in the Essex Road a week after the Inquest—I knew he was the man Tom who was the woman's sweetheart or husband, but I never thought anything about the murder then—I thought nothing of him then as the man who was wanted—I did not know who the man was who was wanted according to the likeness—I saw the likeness—I did not know that the man wanted was the sweetheart of Lydia Green; I did not know whether he was the sweetheart or husband—I did not know that I knew the man at all who was wanted—I could not say whether he was either sweetheart or husband—I saw she was a single girl by the papers—after the Inquest I did not know who was the man suspected in the papers—I never knew the suspected man's name was Tom, nor that he was the sweetheart of the girl—I read some of the evidence; I did not read much about it, although I knew the family well—I did not talk about it, and took no interest in it—to
the end of February I had not the slightest idea that the man I supposed to be the husband was suspected—I heard of the prisoner being arrested, and of his writing a letter—I heard the circumstances under which he gave himself up, I attached no importance to it—when I spoke to the police I did not attach the slightest importance to my evidence—when I went to the police-court on 28th February I was not employed anywhere—I got off a cart in which I had a load of meat, and went in to see the man—I did not hear Attrell give his evidence there, I heard the doctor—the first time I went I did not stop, I was there a few minutes, I suppose, not 10—I would not swear I was there 10 minutes—I went in because the people told me I knew him—I went to hear the trial—I did not go in while Attrell was giving his evidence—I never said, "On Wednesday, 23rd February, I went unknown to the police-court"—I gave a statement of the evidence I was prepared to give to that gentleman (Mr. Sims, of the Solicitor's Department, Treasury) at Whitehall afterwards—I did not tell him I went unknown to the police—I did go unknown—perhaps I told him that, I don't know—I went in to see the man in custody for the murder, I went in to hear the trial; when he came up you could have knocked me down with a feather—it is quite right that, "on 23rd February I went unknown to the police-court to see the man who was in custody for the murder, I had no idea that I should find he was the man I had seen on the 15th"—I had not the slightest idea—I did not know what the name of the man who was charged was; I did not know he was the sweetheart—when I went to the police-court I did not know whether the man charged was sweetheart or husband—seeing him with her I thought perhaps Currell was the sweetheart, after reading the papers—I did not know certainly that Tom Currell was the sweetheart of Lydia Green when I went to the police-court, I heard it—I tried to see the man—I did not see him the first time I went to the police-court—I saw his back—I could not tell for how long—I did not hear Attrell give his evidence, nor did I see him in the witness-box—I only saw the doctor in the witness-box to the best of my recollection; I am not positive about it, I was in there a few minutes and came out again—I was riding home with a load eve meat—I should not think the gentleman who took my statement invented this, "I stood at the back of the Court. I could not see the prisoner's face; I was only there about 10 minutes. I heard Attrell, whom I know, giving evidence as to giving the prisoner in the dock the key of 8, Baches Street"—I saw him as he was coming out of the Court, but I did not hear him give his evidence the first time I went; I heard him the second time—I heard him speak once or twice in the box the second time—when I went to the police-court, on 23rd February, and stayed there about 10 minutes, I believe Attrell was in the witness-box, now I come to recollect it, I am not quite positive about it—I did not hear the time mentioned when he said he had given the key, I heard the fact that he gave the key—I saw some of in the paper—I don't think I heard him say he had given this man the key—I could not swear whether I did—I knew Attrell—very likely I might have given that statement to the Solicitor to the Treasury—I was crashed behind the crowd at the Court—I heard Attrell say one or two things—I could not say about whether I heard him speak about the key—I did not hear Attrell say the time when he gave the key to the prisoner—I heard him say something, I was behind the crowd, I could not catch the words—I was there 10 minutes—I
could not swear I heard him say during that time that he had given the man the key—I had no interest in it—I saw the man's back and did not recognise him; I had known him on and off for four years—people told me I knew him, and I went on 2nd March to see if I could recognise him, and I did recognise him as Tom, I did not know he was Currell; I did not know he was the man mentioned—I was greatly surprised to recognise him when I saw him—I could not swear now whether he was sweetheart or husband—I did not go to the police after having seen him—I had no idea of giving evidence after I saw him, and no intention of going to the police—I had no idea that my evidence was of any importance—I went and spoke to an inspector in the street at once—I said, "If he was the man who was wanted, I could have put my hand upon him the other day"—I believe the inspector said, "You are the very man we want"—I never saw Lydia Green in the company of any other man than the prisoner, I had not the smallest ground for thinking she had any other sweetheart—I heard the evidence given the second time at the police-court, and I read some of the evidence—I never heard about the door banging in Baches Street in the evidence—I said to some one in a public-house on the Sunday, "Strange thing, I was coming down the street and I heard a door bang"—I did not know the man I saw in the street was a sweetheart or husband or what, I knew his name was Tom—I did not know what his relationship to Lydia Green was—when I heard the door bang I was about 10 yards from the Globe public-house, as soon as I got round the corner; I was walking a bit sharp—I was 10 yards round the corner—I was on the same side as No. 8, on the path, when I heard the door bang—I cannot swear whether it was the door of No. 8—that was all the noise I heard in the street—I did not leave my house yesterday morning—I last did work on Saturday—I left my house last Saturday about 7.30—I went into the York public-house, where I looked at the clock—afterwards I went to Haverstock Hill—I saw the clock at St. Pancras Station and looked at it, it was a quarter to 8, I believe—I heard no doors bang then except those of the train—I heard no doors bang to my knowledge as I walked through the streets—I did not hear the door bang just as I turned the corner, I was round the corner then—I could not tell to a yard—the man I saw in the street was dressed in dark clothes—I was not examined as a witness before the Magistrate—this is the first time I have been examined—the inspector spoke to me in the street he did not take down my statement in writing; I afterwards went to the station, where it was taken down—after I had been to the police-court and heard Attrell I did not talk the matter over with other people—I talked it over with one or two people after I had recognised the prisoner, not in a public house.
Re-examined. After the Saturday I knew a man named Currell was suspected—I only knew the prisoner as Tom; I did not know his name—I had seen a portrait circulated about the place—I did not recognise that as Tom—I first saw it close to the Elephant and Castle in a newspaper shop about a week after the Saturday I should think—I saw Currell in the Essex Road, Islington, a week after, but did not know he was the person suspected—on the first occasion I went to the police-court I left my load of meat outside; people had told me I knew him—I could not see his face on that occasion—the second time, on 2nd March, I went because people kept telling me I knew him—I saw his face and
recognised him as soon as he came out into the Court, I knew him directly—when the Court broke up on that occasion I saw Inspector Peel and told him I recognised him—I said "I didn't know this was the man you wanted, or I could have had him long since, I met him that Very morning of the murder"—he said "You are, the very man we want"—I said "You don't want to bring me into it; I don't want to be in a case of that sort"—I did not know Inspector Peel before—I gave him my name but not my address—I told him he could find me any time he wanted me in Pitfield Street, Hoxton—I did not give him the street I was living in—I was living in Bevington Street—two police inspectors came to my place and left word for me to go to the station on the Friday following—I went and made a statement to Pearn—I was sent down to the Treasury solicitor to make a full statement to him a week or a fort-night afterwards.
By the COURT. The Haberdashers' Arms that I went to is just at the top of Bevington Street, in Pitfield Street, about 150 yards from the house in Baches Street—Pitfield Street is close to the church—the Haberdashers' Arms is at the corner of Pimlico Walk, exactly opposite Singleton Street, you can stand on my doorstep and see Mr. Berry's house—from there I went down Pitfield Street and Buttersley Street, then into Great Chart Street, and so got into Baches Street—it is only about 100 yards.
By MR. GILL. The man I knew as Tom had a clean shaved face.
HENRY BARKER . I am a carman, of 6, Midturn Street, Hoxton—I have known the prisoner quite 12 years by sight—I have seen him to say good evening and good morning to before—I knew him as Tom—I knew Lydia Green, and I knew they kept company together—on Saturday, 5th February, I was shutting up the warehouse at the corner of Baches Street, five houses from No. 8, at a quarter-past I—I had heard at 11 o'clock that Lydia had died from a fit—I saw the prisoner in Brunswick Place, at the corner of Baches Street, by a baker's shop, at a quarter past I—he was standing and smoking and looking towards the house No. 8—I said to him "It is a serious thing round the corner for you"—he said "Yes, it is," and then he turned and walked away towards Pitfleld Street—I walked towards the City Road—that is all that passed between us.
Cross-examined. I had on several previous occasions said good morning and good evening to the prisoner; that was the extent of our acquaintance—I can't say when I had seen him before, though I think it was more recently than a month—I cannot give you any date when I had seen him within a month of 5th February—I have seen him on several occasions—I had not heard of the death of Mrs. Green's son suddenly—I knew nothing about that when I spoke to the prisoner—I have given you the exact words I used; I shall never forget them; there were so few of them: I should think what had occurred was a sad thing, a young lady whom you had been courting for many years dying so suddenly—I am sure the words I used were not "Sad news over the way"—I have not talked this matter over with a great many people—I have spoken about it to about three at the outside—I came across the road to speak to him—we were half way through putting the shutters up; we have to stop until our clerk's business is over—one of my mates did not call me away after I made the remark to the prisoner—one of
my mates was not waiting for me; he was coming towards where I was standing—we spoke together, and I went to have half a pint where he had come from—I only said "All right," and passed him; I did not go towards the public-house with him—I passed my mate and went to the King's Arms by myself; that was after I spoke to Currell—I was a sufficient time with Currell to speak to him, and then he left me—as soon as Currell turned round I left him—the public-house I went to was towards the City Road—I believe this was the first time I had said anything more than good morning or good evening to him—he was standing with his face partly towards the baker's shop and partly looking down the street, smoking—the baker's shop is at the corner of Baches Street and Brunswick Place—he was actually in Brunswick Place, at the corner of Baches Street—I had seen him there about a minute before I spoke to him—I turned round and caught sight of him directly—I think I was about 10 minutes in the street—it was when we had got the shutters nearly up I saw him.
ANNIE MANTON . I live at 10, New Street, Drysdale Street, Hoxton, and work at Mr. Andrews's, a surgical instrument maker, at Waltham-stow—up to February 4th Lydia Green worked there with me—I last saw her alive on the evening of that day at five minutes to 7 in Mr. Andrews's workroom—from time to time I went to visit her at 8, Baches Street—I last went there on Sunday, 16th January, the Sunday after the brother's funeral, which was on Saturday, the 15th—I saw Lydia Green and the prisoner together in the same room—he was lying on the couch—the deceased had not been at her work on the Saturday, and I had received her wages from Mr. Andrews, and I brought them to her on this Sunday—I gave her the money, and somebody in jest said "Co it"—I can remember nothing else that was said—I stayed about half an hour—the prisoner was there all the time—I left them—I had taken her her wages in that way three or four times before, it may have been—I have known the prisoner by sight ever since I knew Miss Green, about 6 years—I was in the habit of coming home with her from work until lately—she sprained her foot some time before, and that prevented her doing the walk between the two stations—she did not walk home on the Friday, she caught an earlier train—Beatrice Stevens was her companion and mine—we all three have come home together, but more often I and Miss Green—when we came home together in that way we came from St. James's Street to Hackney Downs by train, and then walked from Hackney Downs to Dalston, and rode from Dalston to Shoreditch, and walked from Shoreditch home, to either her home or mine—while on our walk between Hackney Downs and Dalston we have met the prisoner several times—on 6th February the deceased did not come to her work, and Mr. Andrews gave me her wages in an envelope to give to her—I came home on that day with Beatrice Stevens—we came by train from St. James's Street to Hackney Downs, and then, as we were walking to Dalston, a little after 3 o'clock, I met the prisoner—he was at the corner of a street in the Dalston Lane reading a bill on a board—I said "Tom"—he turned and asked me how I was—I made no reply, but said "Have you seen Miss Green?"—he said "Yes"—said" Is not she well?"—he said "Oh, yes, her mother is queer," or "ill"—I asked him if she was not able to get up—he answered something, I forget what it was—I do not think I spoke next—he said "I promised to take Lydia to the Hall to-night,
but I don't suppose she will go now as her mother is ill"—he meant the Agricultural Hall—I said I was sorry her mother was ill—he said "I told Lyd I was coming this way, and she asked me to meet you for her money"—I gave him the money as it had been given to me in the closed envelope—I believe he put it in his pocket—Beatrice Stevens was standing just a little way from me, not far, and he said "Is that Beatie?"—I said "Yes, come along,Beatie"—she came up then—she was not very close to me while this conversation was going on, only just behind me; I do not think she was close enough to hear what was said, she might have heard some of it—we all three walked down Dalston Lane together towards Dalston Junction—there is a public-house near the railway-station; before we got to it the prisoner asked me if I would have a drink at another public-house, and as we walked along he asked me if I would have a flower—the second time he asked Beatie and me to have a drink at the public-house by the station we went in, and he called for a glass of ale each and paid—I did not see where he took the money from, nor how much he paid—I did not see the envelope again after I gave it to him, nor did I see him touch it in any way—I said "Miss Green wasn't at Bow last night"—he said "No, she was at my place till late"—nothing more occurred in the public-house except that he joked with both of us—he seemed in good spirits; I thought he had had a glass too much to drink—I think he had a glass of beer in the public-house, I cannot remember—he asked us to have some more drink; we declined, and he did not have any more—we left the public-house after having been there about 10 minutes—we went out into the Lane again, and went to Dalston Junction Station—he went with us; he took the tickets for me and Beatrice Stevens, and paid for them; they were 1d. tickets; we did not repay him; he gave us the tickets—he said "Look out for Lyd Monday morning"—I said "From Bishopsgate?" and he said "Yes, the same as usual"—he said good-bye to us—we went down to the train, and went on—he did not go down the staircase with us—I last saw him there at that time in the station—it was just after 3 o'clock when we met him, and I should say it was about a quarter past 3, or a little more, when he left us, from a quarter to 20 minutes past 3—I heard nothing of the deceased that night, but next morning, Sunday, I first heard of her death.
Cross-examined. I did not go to Mrs. Green's house that night, but on Sunday morning—I did not then talk it over with Mrs. Green and the family very much, they were so upset—I have frequently been there since this matter; certainly we have talked about it, not very much—I and the girls at where I work have talked about it—I have not talked about it to other people, they have spoken to me about it—nobody has found fault with me for giving the money to Currell nor asked why I gave it—I had been in this public-house before with Currell and Miss Green—when I brought the wages home to her once when he was there, I said something to her, I forget what I said—that was just before I was coming away, I stayed there about five minutes after I gave her the money—I gave her the envelope, I don't know what she did with it—some one said "Co it," and something more was said about it, I forget what it was—I can't remember who spoke—I think Currell was at the son's funeral, I don't know—this was on Sunday evening and the funeral had been on Saturday—I was asked at the Inquest about handing her the
wages—for some time I had frequently seen Currell and Lydia Green together, I had often known him meet her in Dalston Lane—that was the place he used to meet her, but lately she had been to Bishopsgate—she had begun to go the other way—he told me she had met him in Dalston Lane on the day before—some parts of Dalston Lane are lonely, there are plenty of shops there—there are houses all the way along it—I thought the trouble they had had might have affected Lydia or her mother—I thought that before the Saturday—I did not expect the mother to be ill more so than the others—I thought the trouble might have affected the mother's health or Miss Green's or the son's—when Lydia did not come in the morning I thought she was ill—when we saw Currell that day, the first thing said to me was not "Where is Lyd?"—I used more often than not to speak of her as Miss Green—sometimes I used to call her Lyd or Lyddie—he did not say "Where is Lyddie"—I did not say "She has not been at work to-day, I suppose she is ill," nor words like it—I said "Have you seen Miss Green?"—when I asked him if she was well, he said "Yes, she is all right"—he did not say "She was at our place till late last night" till I spoke to him about her being at Bow—it was not at the time he said she was all right that he said he had been with her late last night, it was in the public-house that he said he had been with her the night before—he did not say "She is all right, I suppose her mother is ill," but that her mother was ill and so she had stayed at home on that account—I said I had expected some of them to be ill for some time, not Lydia or the mother more than the others—I said "I am sorry her mother is ill, I have been expecting it for some time," I had expected one or the other to be ill—he said soon after he asked me for the money," I promised to take her to the Hall to-night, but now her mother is ill I don't suppose she will go"—in the public-house he said she had been with him till late last night—I had intended to take the wages round, thinking she was ill—I am quite sure I did not say that I had got the wages and that I was going to take them round—I was going nowhere particularly that night but going home, I seldom go out on Saturday night—we passed some flower-woman just by the station—he paid for a glass of ale and a penny ticket—when I had been in the public-house before with him and Lydia he has paid then—Lydia and I were great Mends—during the time I knew her I never knew her meet any other man.
BEATRICE STEVENS . I work at Mr. Andrews's, surgical instrument maker, Walthamstow—Annie Manton and the deceased worked with me—I saw her on Friday, 4th February, and went to work with her on that day—we went from Shoreditch to Dalston Junction, then walked down Dalston Lane to Hackney Downs, and she took a return ticket which would take her to Walthamstow and bring her back in the evening—she returned alone that evening, I did not come with her—that was the last time I saw her—I was present on the Saturday when Mr. Andrews gave an envelope to Annie Manton—I returned with her on that afternoon—we came from James Street to Hackney Downs, then as we were walking along we met the prisoner—Annie Manton asked him the reason Miss Green had not been at work on the Saturday morning, he said her mother had been very ill on the Saturday morning and that was the reason she had not been on the Saturday, and that he had see her on the Saturday morning, and he said he was coming that way and she asked him whether he would meet
Annie and fetch her money—we walked along till we, came to Dalston Junction—before we got there Miss Manton gave him, an envelope similar to that which Mr. Andrews had given her, I should say the same one—after she had given him that we three walked along—he said one or two things, I never heard anything more, he whispered one or two things to her—when we came to the door of the public-house, just before the station, he asked us if we would have a drink—we went and had a drink with him—he paid for it—we remained there about ten minutes, he asked her if she remembered the last time she was in there with Lydia Green and him—she answered, but I cannot say whether it was the day he came home or went away in the country, she said that was the last time they had been there together—we all three left the public-house and went to the station, when he took two tickets to Shoreditch and paid for them—we went down to take the train and he went away—going from the public-house to the station he said "Look out for Lyddie on Monday morning"—Annie said "Which way'?"—he said "The old way from Bishopsgate"—it was about ten minutes or a quarter past 3 when he left—we had met him at about ten or five minutes to 3—we were with him 15 or 20 minutes.
Cross-examined. When we met him I was about two or three yards from him and Annie Manton—I was right up at the side of them—I left her a little way, not far—she and Currell were just together, I was just behind them—she walked a little way on in front with Currell, a very little way—she said "Come along, Beattie," because I generally walk a little way behind—I was very little behind her—Currell was talking to her when I was behind; I did not hear their conversation then—the first I heard was when she called me along—he turned round and said "Is that Beattie?" and Annie Manton said "Come along, Beattie"—they were going along saying that—I did not hear him say "Is that Beattie?" because he knew me before—I heard Annie say "Come along, Beattie"—that was about three or four minutes after we met him—at the first onset I walked on in front, and they came on behind—when we met him she stopped and talked to him and I walked on a little way—I heard her ask why she had not been in the morning; when she asked that I kept behind her a little time—when we met first I walked on a little way, so as not to overhear, and I did not hear the commencement of the conversation—she was asking how Lydia was as she came along; that was after they had stopped and I had stopped—I did not know if Mrs. Green was ill, I thought she was when he told us so—I thought Lydia had broken her ankle again that day, as her ankle was bad—I heard Annie ask him how Miss Green was; he said she was very well—I did not hear him say she had been at his father's house the night before, or that he supposed her mother was ill—he said her mother was very ill—Annie said to me she was going round in the afternoon, but as he had met her and had taken the money to her she would not go till the Sunday—I have talked this over a great many times—one or two other things were talked about in the public-house and station—I said before the Magistrate "I am sure there was no conversation at the public-house or railway-station except about the last time they were in there"—I was sure of it—there was nothing more, only one or two words not concerning her—we had often met the prisoner in Dalston Lane—if Lydia had come that way that morning, the spot where we met him would have been the place for him to meet her—she had gone that way the day before,
because I met her on Shoreditch Station and went with her to work—I was not there the day before, Thursday, when he met her—if she had been at work on Saturday, the place where we met him would have been the place where he would have met her.
By the JURY. Currell was in about the same condition that I have seen him in before, rather flushed and fidgety I think.
ABRAHAM SURREY ANDREWS . I live at Clay Street, Walthamstow, and am a surgical instrument maker—Lydia Green worked for me for about 14 years—she was at work up to and on Friday, 4th February, and did her work as usual that day, and left about 7 p.m. as usual—I expected her next day, she did not come—I put her wages, a half-sovereign and 8s., into an envelope, on which I wrote her name, and handed it to Annie Manton to give to Lydia—I had acted in a similar way on other occasions when she did not come on Saturday.
ELIZABETH HEARN . I live at 32, New End Square, Hampstead—the prisoner is my nephew—on Saturday evening, 5th February, about 7 o'clock, he came to me; I think it was about six months since I had seen him—I knew the deceased, and had seen her in his company—she last came to see me in the summer of 1886—when he came on the 5th he said he had a little spare time and thought he would come up and see me—he said nothing more as to the object of his visit—I said "How is your father and mother, and how is Lydia?"—he said "All right, I saw her last evening, and she will come up to see you shortly"—I said "I thought of writing to her for your address, as I didn't know where you were"—he then wrote down the address for me, "R. Cresswell and Co., Sponge Importers, 32, Red Lion Square, Holborn, W.C."—I kept it—we talked about business matters and other things generally, as to what I was doing in the way of work; nothing more in relation to Lydia Green, or about the address—nothing more was said about my writing to him there—I thought he looked a little heavy-eyed, as if he had had a little something to drink—he left about 8 o'clock—he said nothing about going to Flask Street to lodge, or as to where he was going—I did not know he was going there—he said nothing about leaving his boxes with me, or anything about his boxes.
Cross-examined. I might not have heard all he said to me—when I asked him how his father and mother and Lydia were, he said his mother was not very well and he thought his father broke a good deal—he said he had been at his father's place with Lydia the night before, and that she was all right—I live within a minute or two of Flask Walk—I know Mrs. Smith, she lives a little more than two minutes' walk from me—I knew Lydia's address—I wanted to know where he was working, in case anything happened to his father and mother, as I had nowhere to send.
Friday, April 1st
MARTHA SMITH . My husband is a carpenter, of 22, Flask Street, Hampstead—on Saturday, 5th February, we had a notice in the window, "Lodgings for single men," and about 7.30 p.m. the prisoner came and asked for lodgings—he said that he preferred a room to himself, but as my children had gone to bed in the room which I let, he engaged a bed in a double-bedded room at 3s. a week—he gave me the name of Cole, and said that he should be very pleased to refer to his aunt, Mrs. Hearn, of 32, New End, who had sent him to me—I did not know Mrs. Hearn, but my husband did; she is a dressmaker, two or three minutes' walk off—he said that he preferred a room to himself, because he heard that he was in the habit of groaning at night, and he thought if he had a room to himself he could groan as he liked without disturbing anyone—I told him he could have a room to himself later on—he brought no luggage—he said that his boxes would follow—he shared the room of a lodger of mine named Mortimer—he removed there that night, and sent my little boy for the special Evening Standard, which was fetched and given to him—he said he thought we should have war with Germany before the month was over—he went out on the Sunday between 10 and 11 and brought in a Sunday newspaper—he was only out a few minutes to get the paper and to get shaved—he went out on the Monday, and said he was going to Oetzmann's in Hampstead Road to make final arrangements—he had told me on the Saturday night that he had an engagement there, and was going to start on Wednesday morning on a stamped agreement—I asked him where he had been at work before, but he did not make any answer—he said that he always went on those terms, three years agreements—he was out till the evening, and when he returned after 7 o'clock there was a letter for him which had come by post; it was addressed "Mr. T. Cole"—he read it aloud, and then put it on the end of our mantelpiece—the purport of it was that he was to have his tools on Wednesday morning at 8.30 to commence work—he said that he had been at Oetzmann's that day, and he was rather surprised at the letter coming, as he thought all arrangements had been made—when he came in on Monday he asked whether his boxes had arrived—I said "No"—he said "I dare say they will be here the first thing on Tuesday morning, and that they were coming by Carter, Paterson, and Co."—he went out on the Tuesday about 12 o'clock, and at 7 o'clock, when I went out to a musical entertainment, he had not returned, but he was there when I got back—he had agreed to go there with us, but my husband said in his presence "The young man has been at work; he took his tools to Oetzmann's, and stopped and did a little job"—he had a ticket for the entertainment, and also one for his aunt—he seemed very unwell that night, and next morning, Wednesday, it was between 11 and 12 o'clock when he got up.—he was very sick, and drank large quantities of water as if he was burnt up with fever—he told me he had had roast pork for his dinner, and he expected that was the thing that disagreed with him—he said that he did not feel equal to work, and he must send them a letter to tell them he was not well—he wrote a letter, but I did not see him address it—he took it to the post himself soon after 12; he was not out many minutes; he brought back a Daily Chronicle with him, and after reading it by the fire he went upstairs to his room between 2 and 3 o'clock, and I saw no more of him that day—I saw him next about 10 o'clock next morning, Thursday—he said he felt better, and thought he would go to Oetzmann's and see it he was equal to work, but at all events he must show up there that morning—as he went out between 11 and 12 he said that he should be out for an hour, and would then get my husband to help him round with his boxes from Mrs. Hearn's—he never returned—I sat up till 10, and my husband later—next day, Friday, I went up into the room which he had occupied jointly with Mortimer, and missed a coat of Mortimer's from a recess behind the door—my husband went to Mrs. Hearn's—on Friday afternoon this letter came (Addressed "Mr. Cole, 22, Flask Wharf, Hampstead, N.W.," on an envelope stamped "James Shoolbred and Co., Tottenham Court Road"): "Friday, February 11th, 1887. If Mr. Mortimer will take the enclosed ticket to 32, Flask Wharf, Hampstead, he will get the money to redeem the coat, with interest." (The ticket was for a coat pawned on 10th February, 1887, for 5s. in the name of John Morton, 9, John Street.) I did not open the letter; I gave it to my husband, who took it to the police-station—the prisoner had the whole time he was with us a morning band on the left arm of his under coat, which did not go all round, only from seam to seam on the outside part of his arm, and a mourning band on his hat—no boxes or bags ever came—he told me that his parents lived in the City Road; he did not say what they were, nor did he say what trade he was—I asked him if he was behind a counter—he said "Anything, I throw myself about."
Cross-examined. He mentioned his tools—I am quite sure he gave the name of Cole, not Currell, because he said it was not Coal but Cole—I said "Do you wish to stay to-night?"—he said "I am not very particular, bat I do not wish to go all the way back to-night?"—he did not say where—I said "The bed is not aired; it is a week since it has been slept in, but I will bring it down to the kitchen fire and air it if you wish to stay to-night," and I did so—he mentioned Hoxton two or three times, and said that he had a sister living there—he did not say that he came from Hoxton, but he mentioned on Saturday night several places and chapels at Hoxton which I knew, and I spoke of my brother-in-law living there—he did not say a word about an advertisement of Oetzmann's, but he said that it was a settled thing; he had a three years' stamped agreement with Oetzmann's—he did not say he had been there before—he did not mention Shoolbred's to me—if I have said "He told me he was going to Oetzmann's on the following Wednesday, he had just completed a three years' agreement, and was going on again on the same terms," that was a mistake—I do not think I said so—I never heard a conversation about Oetzmann's letting furniture on the three years' system—I mentioned a furniture warehouse or two, and said "Was it there you were employed?" but he always turned it off—Shoolbred's was spoken of on the Monday morning—no advertisement for men was spoken of—besides Hoxton he spoke of Walthamstow, Petticoat Lane, Hampstead, where his aunt lived, and other places, and I did not understand where he came from—when he spoke of Hoxton, and I spoke of my brother-in-law living there, that was in case he knew my relations—my brother-in-law is employed at De La Rue's—when the prisoner was talking about Oetzmann's I said that my husband's brother was intimately acquainted with a carpet planner—I do not know whether he lived at Hoxton—my husband's brother lives at Kentish Town—the prisoner was dressed the same all the time he was there, and had the crape on his arm—I cannot say whether he was clean-shaved when I saw him on the Saturday—the only difference I saw was that one time he wore a collar close round his neck, and another time a turned-down one; that did not disguise him in any way—he seemed excited on the Saturday night, and we thought he had had too much to drink—he had some beer at our place and a little whisky later on, and my husband and I and one of the lodgers had some too—he went out in the daytime, and generally came back in the evening when it was dark, like any other lodger—he had a paper on Saturday night, and the Sunday paper—he asked us on Saturday night
if we would be sure and take a paper for him on Sunday morning when the boy brought one for the people upstairs—I think he said that he always had a paper—I think still that I have fixed the right day for the different conversations, and not made any mistake.
Re-examined. He paid for the drink on the Saturday night—he would have spent all he had if we had not tried very hard to keep him from the drink—I don't think he mentioned any address at Hoxton.
By the COURT. He seemed so anxious to drink—we take very little ourselves—my husband kept saying "Don't have any more; I am sure you have had enough"—my little girl fetched it once, and some for Sunday as well—it was fourpenny ale—what we got for Sunday was the third sending out—there was a quartern of whisky the second time, and two quarts of beer—I believe the whisky was only had once, but I was not there the whole time—I believe he changed a two-shilling piece—I did not notice that he had a craving for drink after that night.
By MR. GILL. I was not asked about the drink before the Magistrate, and it did no occur to me to be of any importance—I cannot positively say whether my little girl or boy went out for the drink on the Saturday night, for I was very busy—I saw a quart of stout and mild brought in once, and I feel sure by my little boy—I cannot say that I saw any other drink brought in, or whether the pot was full—that was not when he brought the paper; he brought the paper first—I feel almost sure he went on a separate errand for it—the only drink I saw was one pot.
By the JURY. I believe the money was loose in his pocket—on the Thursday morning Mr. Mortimer was very busy making up his books, and the prisoner said "Have you heard anything of this case?"—Mr. Mortimer did not reply, and I said "Who's case is that?"—he "The Hoxton murder"—I made no reply—he took no notice, and I nothing further—that was directly he had finished breakfast—he went upstairs afterwards, and shortly left the house—we found his meals, but there was a fixed price for his lodging—he did not pay us, but his friends have since done so—it was about 5s. for everything.
CHARLES SMITH . I am a carpenter, of 22, Flask Wharf, Hampstead—on Saturday night, February 5th, I was at home about 7.30 when the prisoner came—my wife answered the door to him—I was in the back yard, and came in and saw her and the prisoner—he said that his name was Thomas Cole, and told us to go and get a reference for him at Mrs. Hearn's—he pressed it very much, but I did not go because I knew the woman—I described to him what sort of woman she, was, because I thought I knew her, and he said "That is the woman"—I said that I need not go, and I did not trouble myself further about it—on the Saturday night he stayed in the kitchen with us till about 11 o'clock—he sent for drink; I pressed him not to do so, and said "You don't come here to spend your money; we don't wish for it," but he went and got some; a quart of beer, I think, and someone in the house went and got some more; the little girl, I think—I know there were two quarts—a quart the first time, and a quart the second time, I think, and some whisky—the prisoner paid for it; I do not know how much or what it came to—he seemed rather excited after he had had a little beer and the spirits—he drank some of the whisky, and gave some of it to us—he went up to bed about 11 o'clock as near as I can guess—he remained in the house on Sunday night, Monday, and Tuesday, and on Tuesday
night, about 8.30 or 8.45, he came in when my wife and children were out, and I said "You did not get back to go to the entertainment at the Wesleyan Chapel," Dr. Stephenson's boys were going to sing—he said "I have been to Oetzmann's, and have done three hours' work, which they wanted me to start on a little job, and I went and done that"—he remained there on Wednesday, and till Thursday morning, when just before he left he came to me in the back room, and said "I shall be back, Mr. Smith, in about an hour's time, and if you will give me a hand with my two boxes, which are at Mrs. Hearn's, I shall be obliged"—I said "It is near dinner-time, and I will be here"—that was the last I saw of him—he did not return—his boxes were not at Mrs. Hearn's, and they never came—we left a lamp burning all night for him, and next morning I went up to his room and found he had not been home—Mortimer had gone out early—I told my wife, who went upstairs about breakfast time, and told me about Mortimer's coat—I then went to Mrs. Hearn's to know about the boxes, and when Mortimer came home, which he does at 10 o'clock or at midday, as he is a milkman, I went with him to the police-station; that was between 10 and 10.30—later on the same day this letter arrived in this envelope—I do not know whether it was before or after dinner, but I took it to the station and handed it unopened to Inspector Collins.
Cross-examined. I did not see him open it—this is the first time I have given evidence—when the prisoner came on the Saturday night he said "My name is Thomas Cole: C-o-l-e"—I am certain he did not say Currell—he told me that his aunt, Mrs. Cole, lived at New End—that is not close by; it would take a minute or a minute and a half to walk there—he very much wished us to go there; he said that it would be more satisfactory on both sides to get a reference—I did not know her at first, but when I described her to him he said "That is the woman"—there was nothing to prevent my stepping round there—I did not ask him where he came from—I think he said something about Hoxton—I spoke of different people I knew in the New North Road—he mentioned chapels and places—I do not know whether he introduced Hoxton or I, but I asked him whether he ever heard Messrs. Moody and Sankey when they were there, and then I asked him if he had been at the New North Road; he said that he had, and had heard Mr. Guthrie and Mr. Spurgeon—he said that he knew Walthamstow as well as he did his home, but I don't know where his home was—two quarts of beer were drunk on the Saturday night—I do not recollect any being sent for on the Sunday—there were four of us in the kitchen on the Saturday night, Cole, my wife, and I and a lodger—Mortimer was there—I do not know whether Cole sent for the first pot or one of the others—the boy was sent for a pot of ale, and the prisoner told him while ho was out to bring back a paper—I think we all had some of the ale—the two lodgers had some as far as I know—it was sent for for us to have a drink with him, and I think I had some—some whisky was sent for later on; I don't know what he paid for it—I had some of it—the second pot of ale was saved till Sunday morning—before we went to bed we told him not to have any more—he said "Let us have some more of that beer," and I said "You had better put it on one side, we have had plenty, next Sunday morning I will not have so much if anybody gives me 5s. "—I cannot remember whether he spoke about Oetzmann's having advertised for men; he said
on the Saturday night that he had just finished a three years' engagement, and he had got a three years' stamped agreement from Oetzmann's—he did not say why he had left—he said that he should very much like to get into Shoolbred's—he said that he took his tools to Oetzmann's, not that he was going to serve behind the counter—he got shaved on the Sunday morning—I did not notice whether he had a beard on Saturday night, but he had a little whiskers—when he got shaved there was no alteration in his appearance except that he looked cleaner—he did not alter his clothes in any way that I saw—he had a band on the arm of his undercoat—I did not notice one on his hat—he went out every day, but I did not see him go—he was out for hours the same as anyone else—I had seen his writing in a missionary book as a subscriber.
HARRY AYLEMER MORTIMER . I live at 22, Flask Walk, Hampstead—on Saturday, 5th January, I saw the prisoner there—I had nothing to drink, I was going out at the time—I returned at 2 o'clock and found the prisoner in one of the beds—next morning, Sunday, about a quarter to 5, I went out, leaving him in bed—I knew him as Mr. Cole—I had breakfast with him on the Monday morning, when he said he was going down to make final arrangements with Oetzmann and Co., and that he would give 5l. to get into Shoolbred's, even if he got in as a porter—we slept in the same room on Monday night, and on Tuesday evening we were in the kitchen between 8 and 9 o'clock, and he said that he had shifted his tools and done three hours' work at Oetzmann's, and had bought about two dozen pairs of socks there for 1s. 10d. the dozen—he showed me a pair, and I said that I would take a dozen, and would not mind giving him 3d. a pair for them—on the Wednesday night he slept in my room, and next morning I left quite early, leaving him in bed, and returned to breakfast about 10 o'clock, and he said he was going to this berth, and his occupation would be removing furniture—he also said, "Have you heard anything about this case?"—Mrs. Smith said, "What is this case, about the Hoxton murder?" but nothing more was said—I went out to work, and returned in the evening, and found he had left the house, and my coat was missing that night or the following morning—I went to the police-station on the Friday night—I afterwards went to Mr. Lawrence, a pawnbroker, 250, Upper Street, Islington, and saw my coat there, but I have not had it.
Cross-examined. On the Saturday night I went out when these people were together in the kitchen—he mentioned his name several times—I saw him morning and evening—his appearance was the same, but on the Tuesday night, when he returned from Oetzmann's, he was the worse for liquor—that was the first time I noticed him excited—I did not see the letter about the coat till I got to the police-station.
Cross-examined. We have not had any cases recently at Hampstead of revolvers used by housebreaking people—my district does not stretch as far as Hoxton—there has been no attempt to shoot a policeman.
WALTER SEWELL . I am assistant to H.L. Lawrence, pawnbroker, of 250, Upper Street, Islington—this coat was pawned there on Tuesday, 10th February, as near half-past 4 p.m. as possible—I wrote this ticket myself—the prisoner is very much altered, but, to the best of my belief,
he is the person who pawned it—he has a beard now, and he has had his whiskers cut off.
Cross-examined. The man had side whiskers, similar to mine and rather fuller, and a moustache; he had a clean chin—I did not notice his dress or his hat.
EDWARD WILLIAM CHILMAN . I am manager to Oetzmann and Co., furniture manufacturers, of the Hampstead Road—I engage their workmen, and no one is engaged without my sanction—I do not know the prisoner, he has never been engaged there at all.
Cross-examined. We had advertised for people just at that time—two or three people might come for work in the course of a day—a man might go to the furniture department and ask for work, but he would not be engaged without my consent—a man applied for work, and our firm wrote a letter to the papers about it—I did not see the letter, but I know the contents—I think it said that a man answering the description had applied, but I cannot say.
By the COURT. A man called on the Monday or Tuesday before the inspector called, saying that he had been employed in the sponge factory; and I told the detective so, as he mentioned a man who had been at our sponge place—I first saw the prisoner before the Magistrate—the inspector called on a Monday—we advertised, and that was the day a man called and said that he had been employed in a sponge factory—I cannot give the date, but the letter was written after the detective called—two constables called on, I believe, a Wednesday, and the person had called on Monday, two days before—the constables told me that the person they wanted had been in a sponge factory, and then it came into my mind—I could not at that time call to mind the man's features, and I cannot say whether the prisoner did call or not—I do not remember him in the least, or ever having seen him—it is probable he may have called—the letter was written to the Daily Chronicle, after consulting me—I think it was sent the same evening after the constable had been.
FRANCIS FRANCIS . I live at 11, Wakefield Street, Brunswick Square, and am employed by R. Creswell and Co., sponge merchants, 32, Red Lion Square—I was foreman there in December last—I do not identify the prisoner, but a man named Currell came there to apply for employment last December, and was engaged by Mr. Creswell to come at the beginning of the new year—he employs about 35 men, boys, and girls—Currell is the first name entered in our books, and a man named Currell came—I only saw him three or four times, and do not recognise him—he was employed on the 3rd, 4th, and 5th, but did not come on the fan or 7th—about 6th January this letter was received by the firm: "126, Green Lanes. 6th January, 1887. Gentlemen,—Will you please excuse my absence from work this morning, as my brother is dying, and I wish to remain with him to the last? I hope to come in this afternoon. Your obedient Bervant, T.W. CURRELL"—he came again on the 8th, and worked half a day, and was paid for three and a half days' work which he had done—he did not come again.
Cross-examined. There is no foreman sponge-trimmer—the man did not complain to me of not being able to use the shears so well in consequence of an illness—two letters were written, but I never saw them till the morning I was fetched to Whitehall—his place was kept open for him; it would have been open any day he liked to come back;
he never was discharged—his was not arduous work, but it required a knowledge of it; I have been three years at it, and am open to learn more—the men work with shears, and if not used to it it might affect their wrists—I did not hear him mention working for an auctioneer-after writing the letter saying that his brother was dying he wrote us this letter. (Saying that he was unable to return till the next week, and asking for his place to be kept open for him.)
ROBERT CRACKNELL . I am a boot and shoe maker at 22, Fanshaw Street, Hoxton—I live and work in the front parlour—I have known the prisoner about eight years, and knew he was keeping company with Lydia Green; I knew her very well—he came and lived at my house last August and shared my bed—he told me he had been into the country with Lydia Green—he paid me half a crown a week—he told me he was at work at Hart's, a sponge place, Holborn way—he did not bring his box, it came afterwards, and it used to be in my room, but it was always locked; I never saw its contents till the police searched it—Thursday, 3rd February, was the last night he slept there, and he left my place between 9 and 10 o'clock on the Friday—he did not tell me where he was going, or that he was going to leave—he did not return, and I did not see him again till he was in custody—he owed me 8s. rent, and 5s. which I gave him to buy me a mattress, and I lent him a coat to pledge for 4s. the day before he left, as he wanted money, which I could not give him; that made 17s.—he did not say what he wanted the money for—on the Friday night I sat up for him till a quarter to 1 a.m.—he did not come back, and on the Sunday night I heard that Lydia was shot—on Monday, the 7th, Inspector Fearn and other officers came, and I showe them the prisoner's box, which was locked—one of the police officers had a key which fitted it; I saw it opened—it contained some linen things and a box containing 38 cartridges—the police took possession of them—on Thursday, 10th February, Constable Reed came and showed me a pair of the prisoner's trousers which had been hanging behind my door—I did not search them before they were given to Reed—this (produced) is a key which I gave to Currell some time before Christmas, as I did not use it, and he asked me to give it to him—it did not fit my door—he did not say what he wanted it for, but a day or two afterwards I asked him if it did for what he wanted it for, and he said "Yes"—he did not give it back to me—I was not aware that there were any cartridges in his box; I never saw them, and he did not speak about them, nor about a revolver, nor did I see one—some pawn-tickets were found in his box—after the death of Lydia's brother he had a band on his hat and his left arm—he wore a blue Oxford shirt on the Friday when he left.
Cross-examined. He was ill in October, and went home and stayed away—he came back before January 15th; I cannot fix the date—he told me he had been working for Mr. Hibbett, an auctioneer, lotting things at sales, after which he got things which were not sold, among the rubbish not worth putting into lots, and he gave me some small ivory things, a shoe-horn and a paper-knife—I saw some of these very things in the box—the box was always in the room—I believe it to be of the commonest kind—it was always locked—I had no key which fitted it, nor did I try—the constable took a key from his bunch, and that was found to fit it—I know that the prisoner went to several sales, lotting—I do not know whether this is the key. (This key was tried to the box, and opened it.) There could not be a much commoner one than this—I saw him night and day; he took his clothes off at night and hung them behind the door, where these trousers were found—I never saw a revolver in his possession—he used to sit with me in the evening when he was at home early—I had a paper on Sunday called The People, and when he came home of an evening he either brought in an evening paper or went out and got one—there was nothing unusual in his being away for a night or two, sometimes he would be away for a couple of nights at a time—he told me the week before that he slept at Bow one night—I can't say that he slept away on a Sunday before—I have not often seen him and Lydia Green together; when I did they always seemed on friendly terms—I know that he used the name of Cole; he pledged things in the name of Thomas Cole—he settled with me on the previous Monday for the money he owed me; he paid me 11s.; that was up to the Monday, but there would be another week's rent due on Tuesday—he bought a mattress for me for 5s.—I gave him the money—that was the mattress I gold to Mrs. Sutton—we had some words about the mattress on the Monday, and that was how he settled with me—on the Tuesday he asked me for some money, and I gave him 10s. 6d. back out of the 11s. he gave me; I kept 6d. back for his washing—I was then on good terms with him again—he has not assisted me with regard to pawning when I have been hard up—he never lent me things to pawn; I have lent him things—I knew he had been in the Army; I did not know in what name—Walter has slept in my house also—Fanshawe Street is not very far from Baches Street; if he had desired to come there on Friday or Saturday to go to his box he could have done so—I have people come in and out of my place—the box was left in my room all the time he was away, from October to January—I had seen him in the interval; he looked in when he could walk so far, and I used to walk back with him of an evening—he had congestion of the lungs and rheumatics—he told me about his wrist being affected—he said nothing about his power of using the shears—I knew that Lydia Green's brother was dead—the prisoner came to my place about that time, and was living with me—he stayed away the night her brother was taken ill, and that was all—after the death he was there a good deal, assisting Mrs. Green—he had no beard; he was clean shaved, with the exception of the sides of his face and a moustache—all the time the box was there I never thought of looking into it, because one time when he was ill he offered me a key to bring him something out of it, and I said I would rather he would do it himself—that was in October—I saw the key found in his trousers pocket; I knew it was there—I did not see two or three keys in the box when it was opened, but I saw some of the ivory things which he got from sales—I have met him out with Lydia—she has not come to see him.
Re-examined. When he was ill he was staying with his brother at 126, Highbury New Park—when he said he was going to sleep at Bow he said "At Mrs. Green's," but I did not know where it was—I had no other lodgers in the house at the time with me, but I only occupy one room; other rooms were occupied by other people—none of them could get into my room, because I always had the key.
By MR. GILL. There were not six lots of people, only four—this is the key of my door (producing it)—it is a very ordinary door-key—when
I went out I put it above the door in case any one came in in my absence—that was a plan arranged between me and the prisoner, so that if he came in when I was away he knew where to find it—it was just above the street door.
JOSEPH FEARN (Police Inspect G). On Saturday 5th February, about 5 p.m. information was brought to Hoxton Police-station of the death of Lydia Green, and I sent Reed and other constables to 8, Baches Street—they returned to the station about 7.30 and gave me information and Inspector Peel went to Dr. Davis and then to 8 Baches Street and into the back room where the deceased was lying—I examined the walls and flooring, and under the bed and the carpet, and turned out some boxes, and examined the fireplace and window curtains, and behind, under, and in the drawers, but found no bullet or mark—I did not search for a bullet, but for any weapon with which the wounds might have been inflicted, and found none—I searched again on the Sunday and again on the Monday after the post-mortem, but discovered nothing—afterwards inquiries were made for the prisoner at 22, Fanshaw Street, and on the 7th I went there myself about 7 p.m. and saw Cracknell, who pointed out this box to me—it was locked, but Sergeant Sage, who accompanied me, had a key which opened it—it contained a quantity of wearing apparel, day and night shirts, one of which Cracknell, claimed, and this box containing 38 cartridges—there is a label on it: "50 powder 5 1/2 grains. 50 bullets, 63 grains. Cartridges for revolver. Eley Brothers, manufacturers, London"—I afterwards handed four of the cartridges to Mr. Oliver, the surgeon, and kept the rest—I also found this letter in the box. (This was without date, addressed to the prisoner as "My dearest Tom." It contained many expressions of affection, and was signed "Your true love, Liddie.") I also found a number of pawnbrokers' duplicates ranging from 5th February, 1886, to 2nd February, 1887. (Many of these were in the name of Cole, one of Crackneell, and one of Bucknell, at three different pawnbrokers'.) I afterwards received an unopend letter from Inspector Canning address to Mr. Cole at Mr. Smith's—it contained a pawn-ticket.
Cross-examined. I have been at Hoxton about nine months—there have been some burglaries there by armed criminals, but not many—we have a man in custody for attempting to murder a policeman in pitfield Street, a few-minutes' walk from Baches Street: and two years ago, before I went there, a policeman was shot at by a burglar—an attempt was made to murder Detective Cooper within the last two or three weeks, not with a revolver but a jemmy; that was at Hoxton close to this place—two constables were shot in the other matter—we had a man in custody for the attempted murder—he was not recognised and was discharged—I believe he is at large now—I did not see Mrs. Green on the evening of the murder; I saw Mrs. Gauntlett and Amy Green and Attrell—I did not search the kitchen, only the front and back parlours—I have never examined the house—Inspector Peel has charge of the case—I did not go to Fanshaw Street till the Monday—I did not go from there that night to Currell's father's house; I went, it may be, a week afterwards—I cannot remember when I went to his aunt's place—I was not looking for any man except Currell; I followed no other clue—I had no authority to examine the whole house and I do not think it suggested itself to me—I did not know where his father resided either from Mrs. Green or from Cracknell—I found papers and letters from his mother,
and other documents in his box, also five keys, one of which would lock the box, but it was locked and the key inside—he may have had two keys—I did not try any of the keys to Mrs. Green's door—I did not find the trousers—I did not search the place, only the box—I did not examine the clothes or the pockets—Fanshaw Street is a short distance from Baches Street—I have no recollection of a woman who kept a small sweetstuff shop in Whitmore Road being murdered by men coming in early in the morning; I do not think it could have occurred since I have been there—in the last pledge "Bucknell" is intended for "Cracknell" I believe—the names are all Cole except those two—I know very little about revolver cartridges.
Re-examined. When I went to the house in the evening I heard that Lydia had been killed by three revolver shots in her head—I knew that no revolver had been found—I made inquiries at Mrs. Green's house—I knew all the respectable people living there, and I did not think it necessary to search—I did not cause the house to be searched—I had no clue at all to lead me to fix on anybody from first to last—I first heard about Attrell on the evening of the murder.
By MR. GILL. It is not the practice of persons pawning to give their correct address—the total of these pawn-tickets only amounts to 3l. 5s. 6d.
WILLIAM REED (Policeman). I went to 8, Baches Street on 25th February about 5.25—I searched the back room on the ground flood and the front room—I found no weapon there—I searched everywhere, the walls and all—I saw no marks on the walls as if a bullet had struck—on Thursday, the 10th, I went to Fanshawe Street—I showed Cracknell a pair of trousers which he did not identify—then he showed me this pair hanging behind the door—I gave them to Inspector Peel as they were—they were searched, and a key taken from them.
Cross-examined. I did not look in the pockets—I did not think it necessary to search Fanshawe Street—Peel wrapped the trousers up in a brown paper parcel—I did not go to Currell's father's place, nor his aunt's—I have nothing to do with Scotland Yard—I have not inquired whether Currell went.
WILLIAM PEEL (Police Inspector G). I heard of what happened to Lydia Green between 7 and 8 o'clock on 5th February—I went to the ground floor parlours—I only casually searched one room, the officers had been there before me—on the 10th Reed brought me a pair of trousers—in the pocket I found a key and a knife—I tried it in the door of 8, Baches Street; it does not open that door—the key was identified by Cracknell—I received this letter from him on 15th February; it was not stamped—I had to pay twopence. (Dated Monday, February 14th, addressed to Inspector Peel, G Division, Old Street Policestation, St. Luke's: "To save you trouble I beg to say I shall be at Upper Thames Street Police-station at half-past 9 to-morrow morning, not inside. T.W. CORRELL.") A description of Currell had been circulated with a portrait, a wood-cut from a daguerreotype—I went to Old Street at the time mentioned—I waited from 9.30 till about 11—Currell did not come—I saw him in the custody of Mather about 12.30 at King's Cross Police-station—I said "Currell, I have got your letter"—he replied "All right"—I took him in a cab to Hoxton Station—he was placed in the dock there, and charged with the wilful murder of
Lydia Green—his solicitor, Mr. Newton, came directly after the prisoner—Mr. Newton said to the officer in charge "I hope you will caution him; give him the usual caution"—the prisoner made no reply to the charge—the caution was this: the inspector told him it was a serious charge, and perhaps it would be better for him to say nothing—Currell was taken before the Magistrate at Worship Street, and remanded to the 23rd, when evidence was given, and on 2nd March he was committed—after the Court had broken up on 2nd March, Williamson made a statement to me—I did not know Williamson by name; I may have seen him before—he went to the station and repeated his statement—I went to Baches Street last night with one of my officers—I examined the back of No. 8; there is a back yard—Edbrook, the surveyor, was not there—just opposite the door, which has the appearance of leading to workshops, on the left is a wall about 12 or 13 feet high, and on the right is a lower wall and a closet—there is no outlet from the back—when arrested the prisoner was clean shaved; he had whiskers.
Cross-examined. The prisoner did not give himself up as far as I can judge; the police captured him; I cannot suggest anything else—the letter is in the same writing as his other letter in our possession—the capture was in Florence Street; I understood he was captured—I was not present—Florence Street is 50 or 60 yards from the station—I do not know Robertson Street—I did not examine the house where the murder was committed on the day I got the information—I examined the two kitchens yesterday, the back yard, and the two parlours, in consequence of instructions received—I saw the room where the murder was committed—no one saw me take the key out of the trousers pocket, but I say I did it; it was a superior latchkey—I did not try it at once, because I knew it would not fit—I did not show it to anyone up to the day before yesterday—I tried it last night from instructions received from the Treasury—the one idea I had was to get the person who committed the murder; I knew I could not find him there—I learned there were other keys in the box a couple of days ago when the box came to the Central Criminal Court—I knew of the cartridges being found—the door had a common lock—I did not inquire if there was a revolver at Currell's father's—I employed other officers; I could not do everything—I sent Fearn to Eden Grove—I ascertained Currell was at his father's place during Saturday night—personally I did not search any house—I never saw Lambert till the Inquest, nor Thomas; they were taken to the Treasury—I sent to their addresses for them—Alexandra Chambers is a lodging-house—I did not send to the German Club; that is a night club—there are complaints, but I could not say if it is a betting club—I think Mr. Newton asked whether Currell had got to Scotland Yard; that was his first question—only slight evidence was taken for the remand—I inquired of the officials if Currell had been to Scotland Yard, and they said certainly not—two constables have been censured for not arrested him, Hall and Pottinger—one on the 14th—Hall was on duty in Clerkenwell; Pottinger was on his beat—Currell wrote a letter enclosing a pawn-ticket; that was taken to the station, so that we knew he was in the neighbourhood—I did not follow where he went after leaving Smith's; I nave never found out; we have tried and not succeeded—I have not heard of Allen's Place, nor that it is five minutes' walk from Upper Street Station—it was only once reported to me that he had been near the station, when the constable did
not take him—that was three-quarters of a mile from the station, near the Angel, where there are a number of constables.
GEORGE EDBROOK (Police Inspector). I am accustomed to make plans and surveys—I went yesterday afternoon to the back of 8, Baches Street—I made this plan of the basement showing the back yard (produced), it is made to scale—the right hand side wall is 6 feet high, the other wall 10 feet—Messrs. Bury and Roberta's workshop is at the back, they are marble paper makers and bookbinders—there is a door between the premises which has not been opened for some time, it has dirt and cobwebs' upon it—I went into the workshop—there is a skylight sloping to the back yard of No. 8, covered with a wire shield—from the Crosby Head to 8, Baches Street, going north-east, is 250 yards, and from Fan-shawe Street to 8, Baches Street, 475 yards—two bolts are on the inside of the door and a lock.
Cross-examined. I was instructed between the first and second remands to make a plan of the parlour floor, also of the locality and of the place where the prisoner was arrested—I made those three plans—I made the plan of the basement yesterday—the workshops coyer the backs of 6, 8, and 12, Baches Street—from the garden of No. 8 I should have to get over two walls into No. 12—the door could only be opened from the inside and it opens into the premises, not on to the garden—Peel instructed me to make this plan of the place of arrest (produced)—the corner of Florence Street is 50 or 100 yards from the station.
JOHN VOSPER . I am manager to Messrs. Bury and Roberts, paper rbers, of 12, Baches Street—the workshop is at the back of 8, 10, and 12—our entrance is from No. 12—a padlock is on the door—I have the key—I locked it on the evening of the 4th February, and unlocked it on the 5th—I was the last person to leave by that door on the 4th—I found it in the same condition the next morning—there is a skylight on the workshop covered with a wire fencing, that has existed all the time I have been there, four years—it was broken about Christmas time by a fall of snow—it took about half a day to repair on the Wednesday, and then it was as secure as before—a door leads direct from No. 8 to the workshop, secured by a bolt at top and a bolt at the bottom, and a lock—it is never used or opened—it has only been opened by myself when the glass was broken, and once before—it was locked and bolted on the workshop side—an 18 gallon cask of colour stands in the doorway on a pedestal of boxes—that was the condition of the doorway between the 4th and 5th of February.
Cross-examined. The police did not examine my premises—they came to me first this morning—the only access to the workshop is from No. 12—the other side of the workshop is a disused burial ground—it has two windows—the door at No. 8 has hinges—anyone could go through it through the wooden partition in which it is—the houses belong to Bury and Roberts—I always come first and go last every day unless I am ill.
By the JURY. The door had not been opened during the night of February 4th and 5th.
ALBERT ORAM . I am a painter and live at Alma Road, Canonbury—on Friday, 11th February, I was in High Street, Islington, about 12.45—I saw Currell—I have known him about twelve years—I had read the case in the papers—I followed him across the City Road, down St. John Street Road into Spencer Street—I saw a policeman I now know as Pottinger—when
Currell came neat the constable he turned sharply off and went across to Myddelton Street—I spoke to Pottinger, who went after Currell and spoke to him, and then returned and spoke to me—by that time Currell was walking down Myddelton Street—on Monday, 14th February, Peel spoke to me—on the Tuesday I again saw Currell in Upper Street going towards Florence Street, about 11.15 a.m.—I spoke to Mather, who followed him.
Cross-examined. When I saw him first I knew him at once—Pottinger had to go 100 yards to him, the prisoner was then looking into a picture shop—the constable had to cross the road—Currell did not appear to try to get away—I had not heard that Currell intended to give himself up—I went to the police-station on the morning of the 15th for assistance after I had seen him—I saw him about 60 yards from the station.
HENRY POTTINGER (Policeman N 399). On Friday, 11th February, I was on fixed point duty at the corner of Spencer Street and St. John Street road when Oram spoke to me, in consequence of which I took out a description of Currell which I had and compared it with someone Oram pointed out—Oram pointed to Currell—I went towards him, he was looking, in a shop window in Myddelton Street—I was in uniform—I asked him where he lived—he said in Clerkenwell—I said "I beg your pardon, I thought you was the man that was wanted"—he said "What makes you think that?" and went away—I made no answer—he gave me plenty of time to answer—I did not tell him what he was wanted for—he walked down Myddelton Street—I identified him in custody as the man I had seen in Myddelton Street at 1 o'clock on Friday.
Cross-examined. I said "I thought you was the man that was wanted"—I was suspended—the description I had did not tally with him.
CHARLES MATHER (Policeman G). On Tuesday morning, 15th February, Peel gave me instructions in Upper Street—I went with Oram along the street—I was not in uniform—about 11 o'clock, after walking with Oram about a quarter of an hour, he pointed to Currell crossing the road about 80 or 90 yards off I—then sent him to Upper Street Police-station for assistance—I followed Currell, saw him turn down Florence Street; I ran behind him about 40 yards and seized him with both arms from behind—he was walking at a moderate pace from Upper Street towards Canonbury—he struggled to free his arms, and in that way we ran about four or five yards—I said, "I am a police officer, Currell; I arrest you for killing Lydia Green on the 5th of this month at Hoxton"—he replied, "All right, I meant to give myself up"—I then walked with him to Upper Street Police-station—I saw Peel—I took hold of him by the right arm—from there I took him in a cab to Hoxton station, where he was charged—he was searched—I found a small piece of gold beater's skin, no money, and no letters—he was wearing a black overcoat, a felt hat, and a white shirt—there was no band on the hat, nor on the coat—there were band marks on the arm—at the police-station he said, "You did not flatter me much with that photo"—that was while he was having some refreshment.
Cross-examined.—I do not remember his saying he had gone to Scotland Yard—I did not hear it—I was in charge of him—that was the first question I was asked at the police-court—I ran about 50 yards while Currell was walking—the impetus of my running would force him three or four yards—he struggled to get away—I heard of a police
Constable being shot at Hoxton—I conveyed him about 50 or 60 yards to the police station—I had two uniform constables walking behind, but they did not touch him—I have notes, which I put down at the police station when I had time.
EMMA COLEMAN . I live at 12, Baches Street, Hoxton—I was sent for, on 5th February, to lay out the body of the deceased woman, about 8.15—she was still lying on the floor—I assisted to take her up—whilst washing the blood from her face I discovered a wound over the left temple, and little black spots as large as a pin's head right round the wound, also a wound on the fleshy part of the right thumb, with thick congealed blood; also two wounds under the right jaw, with thick congealed blood; some bruises on the right ear, black and blue—there were two pools of blood on the floor, one where the hand had lain—I examined the walls—I saw no bullet marks—I did not notice any smell of gunpowder.
JOHN DAVIS , M.D. I live at 91, New North Road—I know Mrs. Green and her family, including Lydia—on 5th of February, about 7.40, I was sent for to 8, Baches Street—I went at once—I got there at 7.45—I went into the back bedroom on the ground-floor—a lamp was not burning—there was no artificial light, only what came from the window—Lydia's head was resting on her sister Amy's knee—I had no idea of any foul play—a rupture of a blood-vessel was the message brought to me—the body was warm—she was quite dead—she had been dead more than half-an-hour—I noticed a quantity of blood which had flowed from the left half of the forehead—I examined the wound with my fingers and found there was a fracture of the bone—I left directions that the Coroner should be communicated with, and went to a labour case—a message was left at my surgery about 5 o'clock—I went again at 6.30—I found Lydia on the bed—I made a further examination—I found two wounds in the neck, and, the blood having been washed from the forehead, a wound in the left half of the forehead; and a slight discoloration round the wound—I put my finger there and saw marks of gunpowder and a punctured wound—from the quantity of ingrained powder I should say the shot must have been fired close—there was a circular wound on the fore finger, near the thumb, and another one nearer the index finger—I did not probe it—an Inquest was held on the 8th, and adjourned to 11th February—I did not make a post-mortem examination—I was not present when it was made.
Cross-examined. No suggestion was made of a suspicion of murder—I questioned as to any noise, shrieks, or any evidence of a struggle, and was told the noise of a fall had been heard, from which the mother thought the daughter had fallen—the fact that I did not examine very closely was the result of the statements made to me and the urgency of the labour case—I should say there were three shots, there might have been four.
By the COURT. The cause of death was a compound fracture of the skull—she might have fallen on the chest of drawers, the blood was alongside—I could feel the bones crepitating—I thought possibly she might have fainted or had a fit, I could not form a correct estimate of the cause—her foot might have caught in the carpet; I have not heard of such a case, such a thing is possible.
PETER LUDWIG BURCHELL , M.D., B.M. I am a divisional surgeon of police—on Monday, 7th February, I received instructions from Mr. Wynn Westcott, the Coroner, to make a post-mortem examination on the body, which had been removed to the mortuary under Shoreditch Church—I
made the post-mortem examination on that day—my partner, Mr. Oliver, was present and assisted—the body had been washed and prepared—there were two wounds on the neck at the angle of the right-hand side of the jaw, near the corner, not quite an inch apart, about half an inch perhaps—they were punctured wounds, and we traced the course of the bullet—on the inside of one wound we found a small sticking of lead, which has been produced, and farther on a bullet lying close to the back of the tongue, near the uvula, not penetrating the mucous membrane of the mouth—in the head I found a wound about half an inch externally on the occipital ridge; that fractured the skull—there were marks of gunpowder—in cutting into the scalp we found two pieces of lead, and following up the course of the bullet about two inches into the brain itself we found a larger piece with a portion of bone that it had carried on it—Mr. Oliver took charge of those pieces of lead—there was only one entrance—one shot must have caused the injury to the brain and the skull—striking the bone, of course, would divide the bullet—a pistol bullet must have entered the palmar surface of the thumb between the thumb and the first finger, shattering the metacarpal joint entirely, and making its exit with a different shaped wound in the dorsal surface—we did not find any bullet there—she must have had her hand up—the cause of death was injury to the brain; the other wounds must have occurred beforehand—the injury to the brain and the shock would cause instantaneous death—the wounds to the neck would not have caused death immediately—the shot in the brain must have been fired last because that caused immediate death—it is possible, but not probable, for the deceased to have fallen dead at the first shot in the neck.
Cross-examined. My opinion is that there were four shots; there must have been three—I think there were two in the neck, one in the head, and one in the hand—I have not made experiments with bullets—there are five pieces of lead, one almost, if not quite, an entire bullet; that was in the throat behind, in the neck; one piece of lead was in the brain, two under the scalp—the girl was not pregnant.
Re-examined. She had no hymen—possibly a bullet may have gone through the hand, shattered the bone, and a piece of that bullet may have gone into the neck—I am certain the wounds could not have been self-inflicted.
FRANK HEWITT OLIVER . I am the partner of Dr. Burchell—I was present at the post-mortem examination—I took possession of the pieces of lead—the small piece found in the neck weighed 12 grains, the other 58 grains (produced)—the three pieces of lead found in the brain must have had one entrance—they weighed 34 grains, 20 grains, and 4 grains, making 58 grains, about a complete bullet—Fearn handed me four cartridges on 21st February, from which I extracted the bullets—two weighed 59 grains each, and Nos. 3 and 458 1/2 grains—I produce a piece of lead weighing three-quarters of a grain; it is very small indeed; that quantity of lead might be lost in a bullet by mechanical or chemical causes, chiefly mechanical; striking a bone would take a certain amount off—I have compared the whole bullet taken from the neck with a bullet taken from the cartridge case; my opinion is they are the same kind—I assisted to trace the wound—striking against the jaw would flatten the bullet—I had the door of a room closed, and went a little way off while a pistol was fired in it.
Cross-examined. I have had a revolver—I have no special knowledge of bullets—I have practised at revolver shooting 50 or 100 times, perhaps for pleasure, in my life with pin cartridges, and with similar bullets to these—the five pieces of lead would weigh about 128 grains—the large piece is just as I found it—another piece is not part of it, because it shows no evidence of having lost any considerable amount, and is not much altered in shape—there would be signs of the smaller piece being detached from the larger—if there was more in the jaw I should have found it; I looked for it carefully—I could find lead easier in the brain than in the jaw—I cannot recognise any one piece as belonging to another—instances are on record in which bullets have entered one aperture, traversed the body, and come out at the same aperture—I do not mean that the bullet has gone into the circulation—probably these small pieced would remain in the body—the pin bullet is an ordinary revolver bullet—I have seen them as long as I remember—the bullets do not correspond with the pieces found in the brain in appearance—the 12-grain piece and the pieces that came from the head are very much alike—I do not mean they formed part of the same bullet—I have a note of the weights—I weighed the brain pieces first—I gave the first piece of paper of weights to Fearn—"Bullets and fragments" maybe grammatically wrong, strictly speaking there is only one bullet and four fragments, making it plural—I made experiments by firing this kind of bullet against something—I have the results—I found two fragments of lead in the jaw—they weigh 70 grains—I do not treat them as a bullet and a fragment—the larger fragment weighs 58 grains—I meant two fragments of different bullets—I describe the larger one in my paper ad a fragment, but my opinion was then and now is that it was an entire bullet, although I have struck out fragment and put portion—I am still of opinion that the three fragments in the brain were of the same bullet—there were three shots; there may have been four.
Re-examined. From the two marks in the neck there must have been two entrances—the parts were so riddled there was a connection—one piece of lead could not have made the two entrances—I found the two pieces in two places—I found the small piece among the debris of the right jaw, the whole bullet behind the tongue—I should have expected to have found it if there had been more than one whole bullet in the skull—I have no doubt about my weights.
By the JURY. There would be no possibility of a shot entering the jaw, then the stomach, without leaving a passage behind it and getting into the gullet; the bullet at the back of the base of the tongue had not gone through the mucous membrane; the gullet is a closed passage, nothing could drop down that way.
PETER LUDWIG BUJCHELL (Further Cross-examined). I made my own notes at the post-mortem examination as I discovered each matter—I have such notes as you would not understand, but enough for me—I have not previously made a post-mortem examination where there has been a charge of murder. (Read: "At the back of the mouth near the base of the tongue I found the two piece of lead produced.") I believe that to be incorrect—you will not find it in my notes—I have a good memory, and there is sufficient in my notes to remind me of anything I may have said. (Notes handed to Counsel) What is there was written at the time—I do not think I said what you have read in giving my account of this
matter—I heard my deposition read, knowing the importance of it—if I had heard that read I should have specially corrected it—I signed my deposition—I have heard my partner's evidence—I did not say before the Coroner "They were lying at the back of the mouth on the uvula"—I may have done so, but that is not exactly correct—apparently I said the same before the Magistrate, in both places and apparently not.
Re-examined. I said before the Coroner "It is clear the two wounds in the neck were caused by two distinct shots"—I have also said with regard to the skull there was the mark of one bullet—there was only one mark, but one thing I was not asked, and did not describe, was that there were two fractures, one passing through the centre of the crown and the other passing sideways.
JAMES CHARLES IRVIN . I am assistant manager to Messrs. Eley Brothers, ammunition makers, Gray's Inn Road—the cartridges from this box are our make—the approximate weight of the bullet would be 63 grains; the label states that—we do not guarantee the exact weight of that class of ammunition—an excess or deficiency of four or five grains would be quite immaterial—these are the seven millimetre metallic pin fire cartridges—there is a description on the box—I saw the bullet produced by Mr. Oliver—I should say from the appearance of the base it was a seven-millemetre bullet—(another) this is also a bullet of a similar kind.
Cross-examined. It is the commonest kind of revolver cartridge—the revolvers were originally French and Belgian—the price is 5s. to 7s. 6d.—we have sold them for years—they are sold throughout the world—they are made in enormous quantities—there is also a central fire cartridge of the same size and exactly the same size bullet—you can discharge it by hitting it with a hammer.
Re-examined. We make 150 different sorts—new sizes are continually being brought out—I do not know of any revolver for which our communition is not used.
By the COURT. Upon hitting a hard substance a bullet would have a tendency to flatten and split in pieces; minute pieces would fly from the bullet—similar pieces to those produced—from my practical knowledge of bullets I should say they would take that form exactly on striking the skull.
GEORGE LAMBERT . I am a fishmonger, of 20, Featherstone Street, City Road—I have known the prisoner six years—I saw him in Best Road, Shoreditch, about five weeks before Christmas—we went in the Prince of Wales public-house—I had a conversation with him—he said he wanted a revolver; I said I would try and get him one, or I knew where I could get him one, and I promised to meet him the next morning at 10 o'clock to go and look at one—I was to meet him at the Prince of Wales public-house—I went the next day, he did not come.
Cross-examined. I have no business at present—I had 15 months ago—I am living in various ways, racing principally—I was in business as a fishmonger at Tabernacle Street, and left it at the latter end of 1885—I am not a bookmaker—I back horses—I live honestly by backing horses, I do not go to race meetings for any other purpose—I followed racing all last year—I have not had a chance this year—I have not done a day's work for 15 months—I have no private means—I have been to the German Club for the purpose of betting—I do not assist a bookmaker—I
have nothing to do with welching—I am not a runner for a bookmaker, I have bet on commission—I go to the German Club in the day, not at night—I have been there all night—a man named Thomas went in the Prince of Wales public-house with us—he followed me in—I believe Thomas is a potman now—I saw where he was working a day or two ago—I know a shop in Old Street, where there are plenty of revolvers in the window—I do not know the name—I know several shops—Thomas was present during the whole conversation—I cannot recollect any more of the conversation—it was in the afternoon, about 3 o'clock—I did not go with him to buy one, I had somewhere to go, not an appointment—I was not going to pay for the revolver, nor to select it—I have no special knowledge of them—I was only going to take him to a place where I had seen them—I cannot assign any reason—I walked with Currell to the next turning—I was with him more than 10 minutes in the public-house—I could not say how long I was with him altogether—Thomas and I left him—I went as far as Pitfield Street with them—we passed some pawnbrokers'—we saw revolvers—I saw one hanging in a window—I did not point it out to Currell—no one has ever asked me for assistance in retting a revolver before—I do not know what assistance I could give—I did not meet Thomas the next morning; I met him some time afterwards—I do not know that I have said that I carried on business at Billingsgate—I have done so—it is true that I was there a fortnight ago—I said "I had a shop round the corner here about a year ago"—I met Thomas some time in the day, not at the time appointed—I remember I said I met him—I have known Thomas five or six years—I have met Currell since—we have not spoken about the revolver—I saw Thomas every day about that time—I did not know about his giving evidence—I went to give evidence before he did—I told him after I had made a statement that they had been for him—I was at the police-court two or three days—I was not paid for going—I have not been paid my expenses—I have not applied for them—I never gave evidence before—I stopped to think of your question—I did not understand you—a Mr. Ralph first poke to me about this case—he is not a detective—I don't know his address—I saw him just before the detectives came—I have not seen him since—I occupy the top floor of 20, Featherstone Street—not by myself—I have been there nine or ten months—by a shop round the corner I meant in Tabernacle Street—I still go to the German Club—I have told you everything that took place in the public-house as far as I remember—no One else was there but Thomas and Currell that I know.
WILLIAM THOMAS . I am an ironmonger—I live at 26, Kingsland Road—I have known the prisoner all his life—I met him in East Road three or four weeks before Christmas—we went and had a drink at the Prince of Wales public-house—nothing particular passed; I had some business, and he invited me back, and I called back—he came out of the public-house with me in the East Road—he told me he wanted to buy a revolver—he said "They have got some in the window there; will you go with me?"—that was at Alton's, the pawnbroker's, five or six doors from the Prince of Wales—we went to the corner—the revolvers were hanging in the window—Currell wished me to purchase one for him; I told him I knew nothing about them, and told him to buy one himself—he made no remark—afterwards he told me that he had an overcoat that he would give me (I was rather ragged at the time) if I liked to call
up at the Mildmay or the other public-house facing the green—one public-house is at the corner of the Ball's Pond Road, the other at the corner of Newington Green—I was to give the name of Thomas Cole when I asked for the coat.
Cross-examined. I was not with Lambert when I met Currell in the East Road—I never went to the public-house with him and Lambert in the East Road—I was not in the public-house when he spoke about the revolver to Lambert—I am an ironmonger, or take a fish-barrow, or do anything for an honest living—I did a day's work the day before yesterday as potman—I went to that situation four weeks ago—before that I had gained my living as an odd man. (Reading from the Depositions: "I have been out of employment for two years.") That is quite right, regular employment—I have lost my berth through this case; another man has to be engaged in my place—Currell asked me to buy the revolver knowing I was an ironmonger and understood the spring—I have said "London ironmongers do not know anything about the springs of a revolver, but country ones do"—I am a London ironmonger—26, Kingsland Road is a lodging-house—I pay 6d. a night, or 2s. a week—I gave an address Alexander Chambers; that is a lodging-house of the same kind—I got thrown out there because I gave evidence—I was never charged to my knowledge—I will tell you what that means: I was charged with attempted suicide and sent to the House of Detention for seven days—I was suffering from delirium tremens; that is the only charge I have ever had preferred against me—that was seven years ago—I have been a teetotaler five years, but I am drinking again now—I did not speak to Lambert about giving evidence. (Read: "I gave a statement of my evidence. I told Lambert about it before I gave that statement.") That is not true—I was not present when Lambert made an appointment to meet the prisoner at the Prince of Wales public-house—I am not sure whether I met Lambert when he was going to keep an appointment with the prisoner—I cannot fix the day of the week or month—Currell was living in Stoke Newington; that is the reason I had to call for the coat in the neighbourhood—I made my statement to the Treasury the Monday before my evidence was given at Worship Street.
Re-examined. I met Lambert in East Road the afternoon after I left Currell by the Three Crowns—I told Lambert I had met him.
By the JURY. Currell did not state what he was going to do with the revolver—I did not ask him what he wanted it for.
WALTER BROWNSETT . I live at 152, Culvert Road—I am a warehouse-man in employment—I used to keep company with Amy Green—I had no key to 8, Baches Street, to let myself in with when I went—I knew Currell—I had seen him at 8, Baches Street—I have gone with him there occasionally—I used to knock—I went to Cracknell's with him, leaving him there—I was always on good terms with him—I knew he was keeping company with Lydia.
Cross-examined. I have slept at Cracknell's—the key I had would not open the door of 8, Baches Street—I have my keys (produced)—I do not know how many keys there were—I borrowed her key when I have been with her at night, but I have always given it her back—she had a key.
aunt—I used to go to see her, and tell her how my mother was—she was ill—I remember being there before Lydia's death on a Sunday evening—I was in the front parlour on the ground floor with Lydia about a quarter of an hour, when the prisoner came in—he chatted with us—nothing unpleasant occurred—I had no key to the house.
By the JURY. I was married on 1st July, 1877.
THOMAS SARGENT (Police Sergeant). In consequence of what Mrs. Smith, of Plas Hall, Hampstead, said to me I went to Oetzmann's on Friday, 11th February—I saw a person who gave me a description of a person who had been there.
The following Witnesses were called for the Defence.
JOHN BARNES . I have worked at Mr. Edmunds's wood-yard at Barbican for 28 years—I remember a sale taking place there in November, 1885—the place was cleared out—the sale was conducted by Mr. Hibbert, of Stoke Newington, an auctioneer—the prisoner was there, allotting and cataloguing the goods—a number of ivory things and odd things were turned out, like those produced—Mr. Edmunds had a son who has gone abroad—I remember young Edmunds shooting in the yard a good many times—I did not like it—my master has been dead 22 years; Mrs. Edmunds carries on the business—some cartridges were found at the sale—I hit one with a hammer, and very nearly settled myself—I put it on some lignum vita—the prisoner had some ivory things like those produced that were no good to go in the lots—the cartridges were not put in the lots.
Cross-examined. Mr. Edmunds lived at 50A, Barbican—he was an ivory and hard wood merchant—the son was about 15 or 18 when he fired the pistol—he went abroad about 10 years ago—I cannot say how long before he went abroad I saw him with a pistol—I do not know whether the pistol was single or double-barrelled; I never took that notice—he kept it in the ivory room—I have seen him fire the pistol perhaps a hundred times—I never saw him load it—I think he kept the cartridges in a tin box in a drawer—I last saw them at the sale in November, 1885.
Re-examined. I am now employed at Thomas A. Turner's, Old Custom House, West India Dock, hardware merchant—I am manager, and have 2l. a week and commission on what I sell.
JAMES CURRELL . I live at 42, Eden Grove—I went there a little time after Christmas—the prisoner is my son—he kept company with Lydia Green—she used to come to my house—I remember her being there the Sunday before the 4th of February, and on the Friday night—Lydia and he were there about half an hour—I do not remember anything she said on bidding me good night—she did not kiss me—I do not remember anything being said about it—nothing happened that I know of; I saw them go—they appeared to be on perfectly good terms—I do not remember whether she told me where she met him that evening—I am 72 years old—my wife is seven years younger than I am; she is lame with rheumatism—I think they left about 9.30—I do not occupy the whole house; I am only a lodger; I have two rooms—I remember my son coming on the Saturday morning—I was not up—he came to my bedroom—he put a blind up in the bedroom—the blind pulls up with a bracket and roller—then he put me a little sideboard up; he is handy with tools—he came up and I was not very well—he was there from 9.30 till 12—I did not see him all the time—I had to go out and see the doctor—I came back
and found him there—I dare say the work took him most of the time—there was nothing peculiar about his manner—I never saw him with a revolver.
Cross-examined. I did not expect him on the Saturday—the sideboard was put up in the sitting-room—I am a worn-out man; I exist on a little pension my employer allows me—I have been a drug-grinder—I should have put up the blind if my son had not come and I had not been so poorly—I was not going to put it up that morning—it had been there some time, not months; my son brought it—it was a green blind—my son has been several times to see me since having the blind—we have a hammer—I did not see him use it—I did not see him come—I did not see if he brought anything—I cannot tell where he was lodging, not with me, with Mr. Cracknell, I think—I did not give him anything when he left—his mother gave him two shillings to buy grocery—he said he did not know whether he had time to fetch it, but he would bring it when he came that way again; he wanted to see a certain party—I did not trouble myself about it—I did not ask him his business, and he did not tell me—he wanted to get back to the shop—he did not say where he was going.
Re-examined. The blind had been brought there; we had the brackets—I cannot tell you whether he brought them—I had just got, out of bed when he came; I was not dressed—I said "You need not stand about me"—I moved from Green Lanes to another place, and then to Eden Grove—I did not stop the whole of the week at the other place—I moved to the other place about eight days before Christmas—I cannot remember whether the blind was with us at Green Lanes—the sideboard we carried about with us; that was at a good many places with me.
JAMES BRADNAM . I am the landlord of 42, Eden Grove—James Currell and his wife lodged there—they have been with me about three months; they came about the beginning of January—Currell, the prisoner, lived there for about a fortnight—I have seen him at the house with Lydia Green once—she has been several times, but not with him—I saw them together on the Sunday before 5th February at the chapel where I am caretaker—the prisoner came on the Saturday morning—my niece opened the door; I was on the landing—I saw him come—he had a parcel—it was just turned 8 o'clock—his father was not up—the parcel was about 12 inches long—I spoke to him; he talked to me a little time—there was nothing peculiar about his manner—after speaking to me he went to his father's room—I heard him hammering before I went away—I left about 10 o'clock—he was doing something then.
Cross-examined. He came about a quarter-past 8, not half-past—I can fix the time because I was keeping time for my niece at the chapel—I have not been asked about this—I told the detectives when they came to my house—I saw the police and had compassion on them, and took them inside—I did not tell the police I did not remember whether Currell had anything in his hand; they never asked me that—I do not know what the parcel contained.
Re-examined. I am a caretaker at a chapel at Stoke Newington—I have property of my own.
JAMES CURRELL (Re-examined). My gone came in and out—he slept at my house a few nights; I cannot say when; never for very long—I took a room for him, and he said it was too far to go to business, he would
rather go nearer—I cannot remember when that was—he was along with me when ill about five weeks—then he went to Cracknell's—he kept himself while able to work, while he could not he had to stop along with me—he had nothing to pay me, poor fellow—I kept him; I did not allow him anything; I had not too much myself—I do not know the distance from Baches Street to Eden Grove.
GUILTY .— DEATH.
THIRD COURT.—Thursday and Friday, March 31st and April 1st, 1887.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. JONES LEWIS Prosecuted; MR. WARBURTON Defended.
JAMES SKINGSLEY . I live at 13, William Street, St. Peter's Street, Islington, and am a barman—I and the prisoner were fellow servants together about nine months ago—on Saturday morning, about 1 o'clock, I and the prisoner and three or four other men were coming out of the Islington Darning Hall and Club, a few doors from Collins's Music Hall—the prisoner, three men and two women, surrounded me, and the prisoner deliberately snatched my watch and chain from my pocket and van away—the watch was worth 30s. and the chain 50s.—another man held me by my throat and took the pin from my scarf, and the others rifled my pockets and took 18s. in silver—they all ran away—I fell in the struggle—the prisoner did not touch me, no one hit me—I am sure the prisoner stole my watch and chain—I knew him—I was quite sober.
Cross-examined. I am now employed at a dairy, where I have been about a fortnight—I was employed before at a public-house, at 234, Goewell Road, for 18 months, where I was fellow barman with the prisoner—I left there on the 11th instant, the day the robbery took place, because the hours were too long—there was no complaint about my conduct—I left there at 3 or 4 o'clock—it is five minutes' walk from Goswell Road to the Islington Hall—when I left I went home, and stopped about an hour and had tea; nothing stronger, I swear—then, about 5 o'clock, I went out for a walk by myself for about an hour—I swear I had nothing to drink—then I went home again and stayed there about an hour; I had nothing to drink—I then went to Deacon's Music Hall—I met no friends there—I had a glass of beer there—I stopped there three hours, till 11 o'clock, when I came out with two males and two females, who asked me if I would go to the Islington Hall, which is a kind of club, a dancing place for females and men—I stopped there about two hours, I only had one glass to drink—I don't know who the men and women were who I went to the Hall with, nor where they came from—at 1 o'clock I came out with them and five others—I did not say before the Magistrate anything about the two women—there were about 30 people at the club, dancing went on, and we were a merry party—there were cards and billiards—I do not dance, I sat down and looked on—I stood drinks to the women, I only had one glass myself—I knew the prisoner quite well—he was in the club when I got there—I am not a
member, the other people took me in, I had not been there before—there might have been 100 or 150 people there—the prisoner was not at Deacon's—I was not perfectly drunk.
Re-examined. I had only two glasses during the whole of that afternoon and evening.
By the COURT. I ran to the top after after them, but could see nothing of them—I saw the prisoner again on Sunday morning—I went with a plain clothes constable and identified him.
ARTHUR BIRD (Policeman N 322). On Saturday night, 12th March, about 12 o'clock, I and the prosecutor went round to four clubs in the neighbourhood—we went to 13, Islington Green, and upstairs found the prisoner in bed—I said, "Freddy, you will have to come with me"—I knew him previously—he said, "What for?"—I said, "For stealing a watch and chain, a scarf pin, and 18s. in money from this man"—the prosecutor was standing by my side—the prisoner said, "This is a nice time to come and take a fellow out of bed for a thing of that sort"—I said, "Never mind, come along, you will soon be back again"—he dressed, and said, "All right, I will come; it is rather cold"—on the way to the station he said, "I was outside the Hall with him last night, but I did not have his things"—I took him to the station—only two very small old knives were found on him.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "On the night in question I was passing by the Islington Club, and saw the prosecutor with a man and two women, and having been a fellow-servant of his he spoke to me, and eventually we went into the club together, and as he was in a state of intoxication I left him soon afterwards. I know nothing whatever of the robbery."
NOT GUILTY .
MR. BROXHOLME Prosecuted; MR. WARBURTON Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
488. URBAN GODTZ, ROBERT ALLEN , and WILLIAM JAMES TAYLOR , Unlawfully conspiring to defraud Crandon Daws Gill and other persons; also attempting to obtain money by false pretences with intent to defraud.
MR. FRANCIS WILLIAMS, Q.C., and MR. WORMALD Prosecuted; MESSRS. AVORY and WARBURTON appeared for Godtz; and MR. DOUGLAS WALKER for Allen and Taylor.
CRANDON DAWS GILL . I live at Stanley Gardens, Belsize Park, and am manager of the Bazaar, Exchange and Mart newspaper—I received several advertisements in the course of last year, and in consequence communicated with my solicitors, Powis, Powell, and Goddard—this is the original of an advertisement sent me for insertion in the Bazzar Exchange and Mart for January 24th, 1887, and in three other consecutive issues—it was so inserted—(This advertised an upright cottage pianoforte in perfect condition which would be sacrificed for 35l. by Mrs. Jones, 34, Alma Street, Kentish Town)—after the 28th January I communicated with Mr. Sumner in consequence of that advertisement—this is the original of an advertisement I received for insertion—it is in the name of Hardwick and the handwriting of Godtz, as was the other one—I inserted it on
February 16th—(This stated that a fine toned, superior, upright iron grand cottage piano, in figured walnut case, by a London maker, which had cost 50l., having been taken by the advertiser for a debt, he would accept 22 guineas for it. Address M. Hardwick, Dartmouth Park Hill, N.W.)—I remember a piano being brought to our office about 8th February, number 2018, by Allen and Taylor—I do not know for certain where it was brought from—a second piano was brought to the office on the 18th February, numbered 2115, with the name of Allen and Taylor on it—those pianos are still at our office.
Cross-examined by MR. WALKER. My suspicions were aroused by these advertisements—I had the idea they were not genuine—we did not advertise in the paper for evidence to support the charge—we put in a notice that we should be glad to hear from anyone who had purchased pianos purporting to be made by Allen and Taylor or Bishop and Sons, through our columns—that was after we had got the warrant for the arrest—we wanted to find out whether other people had been defrauded through our columns—we have had answers—we have sufficient, without pursuing them—it is part of the system of our paper that a deposit should be paid on application, that is a guarantee of honesty on both sides—I deposited the money myself, 24l., and gave Sumner a receipt for the money and notified it to him—the person who is going to buy the article has to deposit the money with us—we give a receipt to him and send out an advice note to the person who has the goods—it is not true that Sumner deposited 24l., I put it in myself—it does not matter whether A or B deposits it, so long as it is deposited in a certain name—I did not receive 24l. from Sumner, the receipt does not represent the transaction if you like to say so—part of our system is that intending purchasers should have the opportunity of seeing goods before purchasing—there is a system by which articles are sent on approval, so that persons can see and satisfy themselves as to the quality of the goods—we have two classes of advertisements, private and trade—Mrs. Jones's is a private advertisement and the other a trade one representing that some one in the trade is going to sell; it is among the private advertisements under the heading "Trade"—if a tradesman wishes to advertise goods he can do so at the bottom of the private advertisements, that is a matter of arrangement.
Re-examined. Money is deposited by the intending purchasers, and then we give notice to the intending seller, and he sends his goods, on having a guarantee that money is deposited at our office—the money was deposited, paid from my account into the deposit account, so that if it bad been decided to purchase the piano for the purposes of this case, money would have been there to pay for it—that is the usual course pursued now.
HENRY COWLAND . I am clerk to Harris and Powell, of Essex Street, Strand, solicitors to the Exchange and Mart, in which I saw an advertisement which appeared on 24th February—I had received instructions, and I instructed Mr. Rowe, a fellow-clerk, to write a letter which I drafted; this is it. (62, Bramah Road, Brixton. To Mrs. Jones. Requesting particulars about the pianoforte advertised in the "Exchange and Mart.") Rowe afterwards handed me this letter. (Dated 28th January, 14, Huddleston Road, holloway, and signed "Hugh A. Godtz," acknowledging the receipt of letter to his sister, Mrs. Jones, and stating that the instrument was at his house, and was a beautiful instrument, nearly new, and asking for an appointment to see it.) I then drew up this letter for Mr. Rowe to write. (From A.H. Rowe, 63, Bramah Road, Brixton, promising to call on Monday to look at the piano.) That letter was posted, and on 31st January I called at 14, Huddleston Road and saw the prisoner Godtz, who showed me a piano, No. 2108, makers' name "Allen and Taylor, Seven Sisters Road," in gold letters—I said "What did this piano cost?"—he said "My sister paid 48l. for it last October"—he said that it was a fine instrument, and had had very little use, and was in good preservation, and had a celeste pedal, which was very convenient if you practised in a house where any one upstairs objected to music, and he produced this warranty: "30th October. We hereby warrant piano 2018 supplied to you for 10 years from this date.—ALLEN AND TAYLOR. To Mr. Godtz"—he said 24l. was the lowest price he would take for it as advertised—I said that I would communicate with him again on the subject—on 1st February I got Mr. Rowe to write this letter. (Requesting to be satisfied that the instrument was bought in October last for the price stated.) That was posted, and on 2nd February I got this letter and enclosure for Mr. Rowe. (From Godtz to Mr. Rowe, stating that he had just seen the makers, who gave him the enclosed document, a certificate from Allen and Taylor that the upright grand piano No. 2018 was purchased from them in October last and 48l. paid for it.) On 14th February I called on Allen and Taylor, saw Mr. Taylor, and showed him the enclosure, who said that it was a genuine document—I said "You mean to say that 48l. was actually paid for it?"—he said "Yes," and that the document was in his writing—he said "What are you going to pay for it?"—I said "24l. "—he said "Then you will he getting a bargain, for that is just half the sum paid for it"—I called on Godtz the same evening, and saw the piano again—I looked at the number, and said I would have it, and arranged to call the following Saturday or Monday to fetch it away—he suggested that Allen and Taylor should remove it for me, but I said that I preferred to employ my own man—I called again on the 7th and paid Godtz 24l.—he gave me this receipt, dated the 5th, which ho said he had made out in case I called on Saturday. (For 24l. for piano by Allen and Taylor, No. 2018.) On the same night the piano was removed to Mr. Rowe's address at Brixton, and next morning to the office of the Exchange and Mart, where it is now—I went with the police to Godtz's house, and saw Dodds find this cash-book, in which is entered "January 17th, by new upright grand, 2108, Allen and Taylor, 16l. 2s. 6d.;" also "February 7th, sale of upright iron grand, new, by Allen and Taylor, 2108, to A.H. Rowe, Brixton, 24l. "—this cheque-book was also found there, with this cheque in it, which is now pinned to the counterfoil. (Dated Janiary 17th, for 16l. 2s. 6d. on the London and South Western Bank, to Allen and Taylor, signed "Urban A. Godtz;" the counterfoil was January 17th, 16l. 2s. 6d., to Allen and Taylor, piano, 2108.) I answered an advertisement in the Exchange and Mart on 16th February in the name of Charles King—I was investigating supposed frauds, and thought it inconvenient to use my own name—this is my letter. (To Mrs. Hardwick, 14, Huddleston Road, Holloway, requesting her to send Mr. King particulars of the piano advertised, stating the lowest price. This was endorsed in Godtz's writing, "17/2/87. 21 guineas very lowest, new in October last; maker, Allen, Taylor, and Son; anytime by appointment.) I received this reply. (Dated 17th February dating that the piano was a very fine instrument, new last year, and cost
50 guineas, and the lowest price would be 21 guineas, and that the maker's warranty for 10 years would be the property of the purchaser; signed "Hugh A. Godtz.") That was taking a guinea off—on the 18th I gave Mr. Challen this letter to Godtz. (Requesting him to allow the bearer to inspect the piano, and to forward the proof of its cost.) I got this answer. (Dated 19th February, enclosing receipt from Allen and Taylor for walnut upright grand pianoforte, price 52l. 10s. net, and requesting him to return it by the next post, as a lady was coming from Hampshire to see the piano.) I kept the receipt, and afterwards gave it to Mr. Maslin—this ledger was found at Godtzs house—here is an entry in it: "Rowe, Arthur H., Brixton, upright iron grand piano, &c., by cash 24l. "—that refers to piano 2108—there is no entry of No. 2115; it is not posted so far as that, and no money passed—this document was also found: "196, Seven Sisters Road. Mr. H.A. Godtz to Allen and Taylor, cottage piano, 2105, with brass pin plate, net 16l. 2s. 6d., with compliments."
Cross-examined by MR. WILKINSON. I paid 21l. for piano No. 2403—I know now that Godtz is a dealer in pianos, and it seems from his books that he has been so for a considerable time—he advertised privately.
Cross-examined by MR. WALKER. I do not know that Allen and Taylor manufacture pianofortes; they appear to have workshops upstairs—I do not suggest that they do not carry on a trade.
GILBERT ARTHUR SUMNER . I live at 46, Wellington Road, St. John's Wood—I know Mr. Gill, he sent me this advertisement on 5th Feb., cut out of a newspaper: "Upright walnut iron grand cottage piano, beautiful tone, a sacrifice, offers 24l. Mrs. E. Jones, 34, Alma Street, N.W."—I answered that by this letter. (Dated Feb. 6th, to Mrs. Jones, asking her to make an appointment to show the piano, or to lake the piano on approval and deposit the money with the Editor.) I received this answer. (Huddleston Road, Feb. 7th, signed U.A. Godtz, appointing to-morrow at 5.30 to show the piano or to send it on approval.) I went to 14, Huddleston Road, where Godtz showed me a piano of Allen and Taylor's, numbered 2,015; I said "The piano looks a very nice one;" he took off the front of it, but I said I did not know much about pianos—he said "I don't either"—I said 'That is a pity, because you might have been able to tell me something"—he said "I can tell you what the makers told me," and he explained the different parts of the piano, and showed that the hammers had not been much used, and he showed me the action of the left pedal—he said the price was 24l.—I asked him what it had cost, he said "48 guineas"—I asked when it was bought, he said "Last October"—I asked if he had the original receipt, he said he had not, but his sister might have it, and that he could give me the warranty which he had with it; and if I would go round with him to the makers he should be able to give me satisfactory proof of the money having been paid—I said that I had not time, and asked him to get the original receipt and send it to me by the first post in the morning with the warranty—next morning I received this letter from him: "Dear Sir,—I called on my sister after seeing you and got my original receipt, and beg to enclose it with the warranty, as promised. Will you kindly return me the receipt. U.A. Godtz. "Warranty, 13th October, 1886, of piano 2,015 for 10 years. Allen and Taylor, 186, Seven Sisters Road." "Invoice from Allen and Taylor for walnut iron grand pianoforte, celeste pedals, &c, 58l. 8s., 48l. nett. Settled, 30/10/86. Allen and Taylor."—I afterwards wrote this letter to Godtz:
"Dear Sir,—I have decided to take the piano on approval, and have forwarded to the Editor of Exchange and Mart 24l. I shall expect the piano at your earliest convenience. G.A. Sumner." This endorsement is not mine—I had not really forwarded the 24l. to the Editor—I afterwards received this letter. ("14, Huddleston Road, from Godtz, stating that on hearing from the Editor he would send the piano.) I afterwards received this letter from Godtz. (This stated that he had heard from the Editor, and that the piano would arrive next day.) I afterwards received a piano number 2,115, which I forwarded to the Bazaar office.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. I said that I knew nothing about pianos—I do not play by music, only by ear—I have never been a Pianist, but I have for many years amused myself by playing on the Piano.
CHARLES DODDS (police Inspector Y). I took Godtz on a warrant at 14, Huddleston Road on 23rd February—he said "This is a curious matter; I do not understand what I have done illegal"—Sergeant Miller and I took possession of all his books and papers and three Watches and a chain—Miller found the letters which have been put in, Written to Godtz, and a ledger, cash-book, Cheque-book, pass-book, and This letter from Allen and Taylor to Godtz: "14th January. To Mr. Godtz. Dear Sir,—Your favour of yesterday's date to hand; we accept Your offer of 16l. nett cash for the piano, and propose to deliver you one For to-morrow and another on Saturday next. Kindly say if you require Sconces, which are 3s. 6d. extra. ALLEN AND TAYLOR." I also found This letter. (This was dated February 1st, 1887, from Allen and Taylor To Godtz, offering to supply him two pianos a week, if required.) I handed All these documents to Mr. Cowland next day.
CHARLES CHALLEN . I am senior partner in Challen and Sons, Piano-Forte manufacturers, Oxford Street—I have been in the piano trade 50 Years—on 10th February I was asked to inspect a piano of Allen and Taylor's, number 2108—it was a very common instrument, made of lowClass unseasoned materials, and roughly and commonly made—some of The work would go to pieces if shaken; that was from the use of unSeasoned wood—I think 15l. was about the value of it; I should not Think anyone would give that—I saw a piano at the Exchange and Mart Office, numbered 2105, on 22nd February; that was similar to the other—they were both new—on 18th February I received a letter from Mr. Cowland, asking me to examine a piano at 14, Huddleston Road, Holloway—I went there and handed Godtz the note—he showed me a Piano bearing the name of Allen and Taylor, which was precisely similar To the one I saw in the Strand, and of the same value—I do not think it Possible that either of the two pianos at Mrs. Jones's cost 45l. and the Hardwicke piano could not have cost 50l.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. The pianos are at the office of the Exchange and Mart—I took them to pieces and put them together again—they are not very big; they would be coumbersome to bring into Court. (An order was given for producing the pianofortes to-morrow.) I said at the police-court "I never heard of such a thing in the honest course of business as a piano costing at first 15l. being sold for 50l., or 48l., or even
40 guineas"—I adhere to that statement—a piano which I should sell to you for 50l. would be sold to a person in the trade for 28l. or 30l., whether for less would depend entirely upon the house selling it—I submit that trade discounts and wholesale prices ought not to be disclosed, and I decline to answer whether in certain cases we give a discount of 7 1/2 per cent, over and above the original discount.
Cross-examined by MR. WRIGHT. I have practical experience of making every part of a piano; I was apprenticed to it—these people were not undercutting my trade—we advertise in the papers, but not in the Bazaar and Mart—ours is a wholesale trade—I never heard the name of Allen and Taylor—I examined the machinery, the action, and the keys, which were very common ivory—the sounding board was tolerably good—I did not examine the bridge particularly—the action was not of the same kind as Collard's—I should describe it as a centre check action—I do not call that a good class of action—some of it was a good deal warped—the rest plan was covered with a zinc plate—I am not saying whether it was worse or better for that—the advertisement said polished brass plate—it was in good order, but I should say that the plate was of no use to the piano—it is immaterial whether it is zinc or brass—I tried the pitch; it was not in good condition—my remarks apply to both pianos—I saw them on different days; they were very much out of tune—a piano may be out of tune without being a bad instrument—some of the outside casing was giving way—anyone who gave 15l. or 16l. for one of them would give a very good price, either in the trade or out of the trade.
Re-examined. As to these people underselling us in the trade, I never heard their names before—when we advertise we do so in our own name, never as Mrs. Jones or Mr. Snooks.
By the COURT. There are horizontal grands and upright grands—the expression upright grand, might be used to a cottage piano.
ARTHUR HERBERT ROWE . I am a clerk to Messrs. Harris and Powell—by Mr. Sumner's direction I wrote a letter to Mrs. Jones, to which I received the answer which has been put in—I afterwards wrote another letter by Mr. Cowland's direction, and on 1st February another addressed to Godtz—I received an answer with these enclosures (produced)—I gave them to Mr. Cowland.
HENRY ALBERT MASLIN . I am a clerk at the Exchange and Mart office—Mr. Cowland handed me this receipt with instructions. (This was dated 30th October, 1886, for 42l. 10s. for a walnut upright iron grand pianoforte told by Allen and Taylor to Mr. R. Fotter.) I took that to Allen and Taylor's place, saw Mr. Allen, and asked if Mr. Godtz was a customer of theirs—he said "Yes"—I produced this receipt, and asked if that was their receipt—he said "Yes"—I asked him if he had sold more than one piano—he said "Not that I am aware of"—he did not say who wrote the receipt—I said the advertisement of the piano stated that it cost 50l. and this is 52l. 10s.—he said that the odd shillings were taken off, and 50l. was the amount paid, and that he was not aware that Godtz had a piano for sale, or he would have bought it—I asked him how much he would have given for it—he said 25l.—I asked him if he would mind showing me the entry of the transaction in his books—he said that he could not, because they were not there, and it was not the custom of the
trade to show the books—Taylor was in the shop; he could have heard if he was listening.
Friday, April 1st.
JAMES CLARK . I am a clerk of the London and South Western Bank, Finsbury Park Branch—Allen and Taylor had an account there in their joint names—this is their pass book (produced)—the endorsement on this cheque is Taylor's writing. (Drawn by Godtz in favour of Allen and Taylor for piano, and endorsed Allen and Taylor).
FREDERICK GEORGE NETHERCLIFT . I am an expert in handwriting—this receipt of Godtz for 24l. of February 5th, 1887, is Godtz's writing; also the advertisement; also the letter of 28th January, from Godtz to Rowe; also this letter of 17th February from Godtz to Cowland; 19th February from Godtz to King, enclosing a receipt; 7th February from Godtz to Sumner; 8th February, Godtz to Sumner, enclosing a receipt; 10th February, Godtz to Sumner; 11th February, Godtz to Sumner; also entries in cash book, cheque and counterfoil; in Taylor's writing are: letter of 14th January, Allen and Taylor to Godtz; receipt of 7th February for 16l. 2s. 6d. for piano 2015; and warranty of October 30th of piano 2108; two bills and receipts of 30th October for 52l. and 48l.; 48l. on a bill head.
ROBERT ADAMS BELL . I am a pianoforte tuner and quadrille pianist of 221, Stanhope Street, Regent's Park—I have been connected with the piano trade 17 years—I was apprenticed to Messrs. Hopkinson, of Regent Street, for seven years, and was with them 12 months afterwards I was with Messrs. Erard's close upon two years, as tuner; at Kirkland's at Soho Square about the same time as tuner and sometimes as assistant salesman—I have had to give estimates for exchange and repairs—I left Kirkland's in August, 1880—I have since had my own business—I have examined a piano at 170, Strand, at the request of Mr. Gill, No. 2108, by Allen and Taylor; the materials are not the best, the bottom door is warped and shrunk, showing that the wood is not seasoned—its trade value is 16l. to 17l., otherwise 20l.—it could not I think cost 48l., that would be an unfair price—I should say it is new—I also examined piano 2115, by Allen and Taylor—that was slightly better, it was in better order altogether—it was the same type of instrument—I should put the same value upon it both trade and otherwise.
Cross-examined by MR. AVORY. I have bought and sold plenty of the same class—it is natural to make the biggest profit you can get—that is what I mean by a fair profit—I should ask 20 guineas for it—I would not warrant it then—I don't suppose I should say "Don't give me 25l. for it, it is not worth it."
Cross-examined by MR. WALKER. I had no difficulty in arriving at its value—anyone knowing about pianos could tell by looking at it.
Re-examined. I would not show a false receipt and say it cost 48l.
CHARLES CHALLEN (Re-examined by MR. AVORY). I produce my price list and trade tally—comparing them I find a difference of 50 per cent, in some pianos upon the three years' credit system, but not upon the cash prices.
By MR. WALKER. The price list is for the public, the trade tally for the trade—I decline to discuss trade discounts—I stand here representing the trade all over the kingdom—I do not deny that there are trade discounts—if a dealer comes in with a customer, our dealing is with the
dealer, who has his trade discount, which has nothing to do with discount—the customer's receipt in the transaction would show the amount I received—what I should pay the professor or dealer would be another matter—if 50 guineas are paid by the customer I should receive it.
Re-examined. I give a receipt for the amount I actually receive—I should sell the piano first to the dealer, he would have trade discount, then he would sell to his customer at his own price—I never give dealers forged receipts—my reply will not implicate me, therefore I do not object to that question.
Witnesses for Allen and Taylor.
GEORGE HENRY BROCKBANK . I carry on business in Harwood Place, Chalk Farm Road—I have been in the music and piano trade 52 years—I have made all classes of pianofortes from 12l. to 50l. for the trade—I do not serve the public—I have known a piano I have supplied to the trade for 29l. to sell for 150l.—I have examined piano 2018—the reasonable price to the trade for a piano of that class would be 17l., to the public 28l., or more where you could get get it; some ask a great deal—a person who got it for 24l. would be very much favoured—he would have made a good bargain—I have seen similar instruments to 2108 fetch 48l.—I have seen my own pianos sent in at 18l. 10s. fetch 48l.—I have followed them.
Cross-examined. I should think 28l. would be a very honest price—I do not think 48l. would be a fair price—the pianos I sold to a dealer for 18l. 10s. were not a high class piano, but a sound piano, wanting a little finish in the workmanship, pine, spruce, or beech; the wood might be a little bit unseasoned, which would produce shrinkage—that would interfere with its embellishment, but would not affect the musical part of it; I believe these pianos to be as perfect as any piano you can get in London, no matter whose make—the work is very coarse; if you spent 3l. or 4l. more on the finish the piano would be worth 50 guineas to the public or 25l. to the trade.
ALFRED SQUIRE . I live at 6, Rotherham Road, Camden Town—I have been some 36 years in the piano trade—I am the inventor of a patent action very widely used in the trade—I was seven and a half years manager to Messrs. Brinsmead—I was called in as an expert by the President at the Liverpool Exhibition—I write articles on pianos—I am thoroughly familiar with the piano business—very large discounts are given on pianos—the foreigners have set the example—I have seen Beta where 50 per cent, is allowed, and in Challen's lists it is very common—there is also an additional discount under certain circumstances—there is a discount on the trade tally—all instruments will not bear 50 per cent. discount on the trade tally—it is surprising what little profit is made by the manufacturer—I have examined the pianos referred to—this is called a French check action to give it reputation, but it is invented by an Englishman—it is a good action, and used by good makers—Broadwood's use it, and I have seen the same kind of action in Challen's, Collard's, Kirkman's, Erard's, and in lower class makers—I do not find fault with the action—the keys are ivory—celluloid keys are cheaper—the sounding board is a good one, I found no bridges split, but all intact—a practical man would look to the sounding bridges—the worst part of the work is the outside, the cabinet work; but a professor would not care if you painted it, he wants the music—the musical part is good, but it is not an
Erard or a Challen—the rest plank, where the pins are, is a piano's constitution, backbone, spine: I never saw a better than in 2108 and 2115—it was full blocked, which preserves the rigidity of the piano—I ran my finger over the keys; 2108 is out of tune, as it has not long been from the factory, and it has been neglected from the time it left the factory till it appeared in Court—three-quarters of an hour would put that right—the tone is fair—the pitch is low, resembling the French pitch—there are three pitches; the French, the Society of Arts, and the Philharmonic—the instrument could be manufactured and sold for 16l. to 17l. to the trade, leaving a profit to the manufacturer of 50 per cent, on that, or 242. or 25l. would be about what a shopkeeper would charge—at that price a man would get full value.
Cross-examined. Mr. Brockbank's evidence is correct in some cases—this piano may fetch 28l.; that depends on the shop, expenses, position, and other things; it is difficult to tell how long it has been out of the factory—no one from looking at it can tell—in 2108 there in an indication of the wood being damp before laying—the shrinking of the bottom door is the worst part of the instrument—I should not call it a high-class instrument, but I know much lower—I have seen them advertised for ten guineas, but never bought one—I never tried the trade list—I do not know the trade price as to class.
GUILTY.—Recommended to mercy by the Jury, believing they acted purely in ignorance of the law.— Two Months' each without Hard Labour.
The COMMON SERJEANT stated that Mr. Gill deserved the thanks of the Bench and the public for prosecuting the case.
NEW COURT.—Friday, April 1st, 1887.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MESSRS. JELF, Q.C., and BODKIN Prosecuted; MESSRS. WADDY, Q.C., and BESLEY Defended.
During the progress of the case the Jury expressed an opinion that it was not sufficient, and returned a verdict of
NOT GUILTY .
No evidence was offered by the prosecution.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Saturday, April 2nd, 1887.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS and GOODRICH Prosecuted; MR. BESLEY Defended.
Street, Clerkenwell—I have known the prisoner and his wife between 18 months and two years—I have visited them on two or three occasions—early in the morning on 8th March, after 12, I and my wife were at their lodging—the prisoner went out of the sitting-room into the bedroom; his wife followed him—I heard the prisoner's son exclaim "Look out, mother: father has got a knife"—she said "I don't care about your knives"—I went into the bedroom; I did not see the prisoner—I was met at the door by the wife, and I said "What's this about the knife?" the prisoner had gone out of the bedroom on to the landing—I did not follow him—I looked at the woman's hand; it was covered with blood—the prisoner came back soon afterwards—I asked him where was the knife he had cut his wife with—he said he had not got a knife—I told him to turn out his pockets; he did so, and almost the first thing he brought out was a penknife—I snatched it out of his hand, and knocked it on to the floor, and picked it up, and said "I shall keep this knife; you tried to stab your wife with it and cut her hand"—he said he did not care about my keeping it, and I kept it several days—the prisoner's conduct has been very strange—on the 7th, the previous night, I and my wife went to a concert with the prisoner and his wife, and I noticed that he looked very strange there—his conduct has been very strange indeed, and his language fearful—on that night my wife slept with his wife to protect her.
Cross-examined. They have three children: the youngest is about three, the second, a girl named Maud, about seven, and the boy about nine—I was not examined before the Magistrate—my wife has been with the prisoner's wife on several occasions—on this night in the concert-room my wife swooned—after we came from there we took in some beer—I was not the worse for drink, nor my wife; the prisoner's wife did not appear so—I have seen her the worse for drink—she was taken ill at our place on one Saturday night, and she stayed all night; she was not drunk—I have never seen her and my wife both drunk together.
ELIZABETH KAVANAGH . On the night of 7th March I slept with the prisoner's wife—about 8 in the morning the prisoner came into the room and said "Mr. Kavanagh has got my knife; I don't care for the knife, let him keep it; if I don't have the knife I will have something else; I will do it"—he mumbled something more which I could not distinctly hear; it was something about the ribs, and what someone had told him—on the Saturday following the 12th, at 10 minutes to 2, I went to Mrs. Johnson's to fetch my little children, who were there—the prisoner came home from his work about 3—he said "I will have a change in this place in less than a week," or "an alteration," I could not be sure which—that was all he said, and with that I went—on the 16th I was going to Mrs. Johnson's and met her and the constable—I went to the station, and then went to her place between 2 and 3, and on the mantelshelf in the bedroom I found an oil can—I poured the contents out for one of Mrs. Johnson's lamps—it contained a quartern of paraffin, not more.
Cross-examined. I was not examined before the Magistrate—on the 7th we went to the music-hall, and after that we took home some beer in glass bottles—I was taken ill, and remained there all night—Mrs. Robinson, the landlady, did not ask Mrs. Johnson next morning what the disturbance had been about—Mrs. Johnson was not the worse for drink that night—she does have a drop sometimes—she has not had
much with me—she does drink—I was not asked to be a witness until after the prisoner was sent for trial.
LOUISA JOHNSON . I am the prisoner's wife—we have been married about 11 years, and have three children, aged three, seven, and nine—up to 16th March we occupied two rooms on the top floor at 8, Jerusalem Buildings, a bedroom and sitting-room—my husband is a bookseller's assistant—when we got home on the night of the 7th there was a small quarrel, and my husband used very bad and filthy language, and he took a small penknife out of his pocket going into the bedroom—my little son said "Father has got a knife"—I said "I don't care about his knives"—I followed him in, and he cut me on the knuckles; he meant it for my face, but I put up my hand to shield my face—Mr. Kavanagh came into the room; my husband had gone on the landing; Kavanagh went to look for him—my husband came back shortly after, and he knocked the knife out of his hand and took it away from him—Mrs. Kavanagh slept with me that night—next morning, while in bed, my husband came into the room—he said he did not care for Kavanagh keeping his knife, he would do it with something else, and he said something about ribs, but what it was I could not exactly tell—this was the third time he had threatened my life—the first time was about three years ago; I could not exactly state the date of the second time—on 15th March I bought some paraffin oil; my little girl said it was a pint and a half, I thought at first it was more—it was placed in an oil can, which I put on the mantelpiece in the bedroom; that was the usual place, very high, out of the children's reach—I put a portion of it into one tin lamp, about half a quartern or something like that; the rest remained in the can—my husband came home after midnight on Tuesday, the 16th, or early on the Wednesday morning—we had our supper together—the children went to bed after supper—in the evening my husband brought in a pint or a pint and half of stout, I believe, and a quartern of gin—we remained up together till about half-past 12—shortly before that my husband went out to purchase some more beer; that was just on closing time—he came back with the beer in this jug (produced)—I was then in bed—he went into the sitting-room first, and brought the jug and glass into the bedroom, poured me out a glass, and I drank it; it was all right—he then put the jug on the mantelpiece where the oil-can was, and took the glass into the sitting-room—I did not see where he put it—the jug was about 18 inches from the can—I went to sleep after this—he undressed and got into bed; I do not know whether he went to sleep—after I had been asleep some time I awoke, and saw him standing against the drawers in the sitting-room with his trousers and vest on—I said "William, give me a drop more beer"—he said "Yes, Lou, take this and it will do you good"—he said that as he was bringing the tumbler into the room—he went and took the jug off the mantelpiece, and poured some liquor out of the jug into the tumbler—I was in bed, and had the child in my arms, and being between half asleep and half awake I drank it all with the exception of a little sediment at the bottom—I did not smell it before I drank it—directly I drank it I felt very sick; I felt a burning in the throat and tongue, not so much in my inside at first; I was sick, not violently—I said "My god, you have given me paraffin"—he did not say anything, but took off his things and got into bed—I got out of bed, I felt frightened—I
vomited, and then I went and called my next-door neighbour, Miss Matheson, and she called Mrs. Crawley, who was in bed—the prisoner was there—I said to her "This is the third time he has attempted my life"—she said "I should prosecute him"—she only stayed five or ten minutes—I vomited again, and felt the sensation of burning in the stomach—I dressed myself, intending to go to the hospital—I went out, and took the jug with me—I met two policemen, one was Deptford; I spoke to him, and he took me to St. Bartholomew's—I gave him the jug; it was in the same condition as I brought it from the house—I stayed at the hospital about an hour, perhaps more—I saw Mr. Murray, who attended to me—he gave me an emetic—I was very sick there, and also in coming from there—I went to the house with a policeman and charged my husband with giving me this paraffin—he was in bed; I do not know whether he was awake, he seemed so—he made no answer to the charge—the policeman took him to the station, and I followed—I was very bad there—Dr. Morris gave me another emetic—the burning sensation continued for a day or two.
Cross-examined. I had a miscarriage in January—Mr. Hunter attended to me, he was my doctor—he did not say I had been taking drugs, or that I was a person of drunken habits—he said I ought not to have drink; he said to my husband "Don't let her have drink"—he came to my place once a day, I think, for about a week—my husband was employed by Mr. Guy, of the Church, of England Sunday School Institute—besides his wages his father provided us with money at times—the three children are alive and well—we took lodgings at 8, Jerusalem Buildings in September last of Mrs. Robinson—I was not the worse for drink when I took the lodgings; my husband and I went together—I have been drinking at times, but not frequently—I did not go drunk to Mr. Guy's on one occasion where my husband was employed; they said so; I had had a glass—Miss Matheson is Mrs. Crawley's niece—I remember Mrs. Crawley coming into my room at 2 o'clock one morning—I cannot remember whether I was lying on the floor in my nightdress, and her trying to help me into bed and calling to my husband to help her—I remember being lifted on to the bed—I cannot say whether I said "I am very ill, but I have not been drinking"—my husband did not say "Lou, go to bed, you are the worse for drink; what do you think of her, Mrs. Crawley?"—I did hit my husband—I did not say "Take that, you b—"—I did slap his face, and we have called one another foul names—I do not think he said "What have I done?" and walk quietly out of the room—on one occasion I went out with Mrs. Kavanagh, and finished up by sleeping at her house; we were not both drunk; I slept there for protection—I do not think Kavanagh has seen us drunk together—I had no doctor to my finger on 7th March, it was not sufficient for that; I put a piece of rag round it, it came off in the night—next morning Mrs. Orawley told me that my husband had been rattling at my door, and that he and Kavanagh had been outside fighting—my husband came to the door with two policemen, and tried to get in; I was inside with Mrs. Kavanagh and my boy—next morning Mrs. Crawley asked what had been the matter last night—I said my husband and I had been quarrelling—I did not say anything to her about the penknife—believe I mentioned it before the Magistrate—I said he threatened me—I buy paraffin at times before I want it, to replenish the lamp—it holds a pint—I
filled one lamp, the other was nearly full—we burn both lamps, one in one room and one in the other—it was a good bit after 1 o'clock in the morning when I knocked at Mrs. Crawley's door—I did not hear her husband say "Don't open the door, it is Mrs. Johnson again the worse for drink"—I knocked again; Miss Matheson opened the door—I said "Come and see what my husband has given me to drink," and she came with me to my room—my husband was in bed; his eyes were closed, but he could not be asleep, he appeared to be; he did not speak—I was sitting down by the fireplace before she entered the room—I showed them what was in the jug—I said "I have had a nice mouthful of it, and spit some of it out"—we had finished supper before 11 o'clock—it was at supper I had the pint and a half of stout—it was at half-past 12 I asked him to get some more—I drank what I wanted of it, and he poured some out, but did not drink a glass—nothing was said that night about a separation—Mrs. Crawley did not say "If you and Mr. Johnson can't agree, why not take out a summons and have a separation?"—I said "I think I shall be all right"—Mrs. Crawley was there for about 10 minutes at the utmost—my husband never spoke all the time—I have not sent every week since Christmas for Mrs. Crawley when I have been the worse for drink, nor have I done so twice a week.
ALBERT WILLIAM JOHNSON . I am nine years old—I am son of the prisoner and the last witness—I live at home at Jerusalem Buildings—I remember my father having a penknife—on the night Mrs. Kavanagh came in mother and father had a quarrel—father went into the other room and called mother naughty names, and he went to stab her, and she put up her hand, and it caught her on the knuckles.
Cross-examined. I have been living with mother since father has been away; she has spoken to me about the penknife—father did not buy things to bring home—he has never taken me for a walk.
JESSE DEPTFORD (Policeman G 217). At a quarter past 2 a.m. on 16th March I met the prosecutrix in Jerusalem Court, she had this jug—she seemed to be in pain—she made a statement to me, in consequence of which I took possession of the jug and took her to St. Bartholomew's Hospital, where she was seen by Mr. Murray—I handed him the jug, he gave it me back and I took it to the station and handed it to Mr. Morris, the police surgeon—before that I went to Jerusalem Buildings and found the prisoner in bed and apparently asleep; the prosecutrix was was with me—I woke him up and charged him with administering paraffin oil mixed with beer to his wife—he said if she had had any paraffin oil she had taken it herself, he had not given it to, her.
Cross-examined. He appeared quite sober—I took possession of a glass from the table in the front room; it smelt of paraffin and the jug also.
GEORGE EVERETT MURRAY . I was house surgeon at St. Bartholomew's Hospital on 16th March—about 3 a.m. I was called to attend to Mrs. Johnson, who was brought there by Deptford—she made a communication to me, in consequence of which I gave her an emetic—her breath smelt of paraffin—she vomited, and the vomit smelt of paraffin—she was excited—I did not think her life in danger; I left her in charge of a nurse—I could not form the slightest idea of the quantity of paraffin she had taken—it has been known to kill—the constable showed me the jug, it smelt of paraffin.
Cross-examined. I should think the jug would hold about two pints;
it was rather more than half full—I should think the principal contents were paraffin—inebriates will take extraordinary things—I did not know the woman before—I could not have sworn from her appearance that she was an habitual drunkard—she was excited, and might have been drinking.
SAMUEL PEDLER MORRIS . I am a surgeon at Percy Circus, Clerkenwell—I was called to the police-station on the morning of 16th March, where I saw the prosecutrix; she was retching—she complained of a burning pain at the pit of the stomach—I examined her—I found the mucous membrane red and inflamed, and her breath smelt of paraffin—I gave her an emetic, she was sick, and the vomit smelt of paraffin—the jug and glass were handed to me by Deptford—the glass was empty, it smelt of paraffin—the jug contained about half a pint of liquid, paraffin at the top and black beer at the bottom—there was more paraffin than beer—paraffin is a noxious irritant, and if taken internally would be likely to endanger life.
Cross-examined. I should think the jug would hold about a quart; it was about half full—I did not measure it accurately—I think most of it was paraffin, and a very small quantity of beer.
Witnesses for the Defence.
MARY ANN MATHERSON . I am single—I live with Mrs. Crawley, my aunt, and her husband, but I go home and sleep with my mother—my room is opposite Mrs. Johnson's—the first time I slept at my aunt's was Tuesday, March 15th; I had been to the theatre, and my aunt sat up for me, and at 1 o'clock Mrs. Johnson knocked at the door several times—I heard the clock go "one" just before—my aunt told me not to open the door in case Mrs. Johnson was the worse for drink, but she kept on knocking and I opened it and saw her; she asked me to come in and see what her husband had given her to drink—I followed her to her room and she showed me some paraffin oil in a little jug on the table, and I could see beer at the bottom—I asked her if she had drunk any, she said no, she had had a mouthful and spat it out—I saw the prisoner lying on the bed as I passed through to the sitting room, he did not speak—I did not see his eyes—I went back to my aunt's directly, but I went back to the room, and the prisoner was still lying on the bed; he did not move or speak—Mrs. Johnson was sitting in a chair in front of the fire, undressed, but with something round her shoulders—she made a statement in my aunt's presence that the prisoner had given her something to drink; my aunt said "Have you drank any?" she said exactly the same as she had said to me.
Cross-examined. I had to pass by the bedroom to get into the sitting-room—the door between the two rooms was open—if the prisoner was awake he could hear what was said—he made no remark—I may We said to Mrs. Johnson "Lucky you did not drink it"—she said "Oh yes, I drank a nice mouthful, and spat some of it out."
ELIZABETH CRAWLEY . My husband is a commercial clerk—my niece was sleeping with me in my room on Tuesday, March 15th—she had been to the theatre—I heard St. John's Church shrike 1, and a knock came to the door—I asked her not to open it, as Mrs. Johnson, whose rooms are close to ours, might be the worse for drink—there was more knocking, and my niece went away and came back shortly, and then I went to Mrs. Johnson's room—her bedroom and living-room adjoin each other,
and I saw the prisoner in bed with his back towards me—he did not move or make any sign of being awake—his wife asked me to look in a jug, and said "See what my husband has given me to drink"—I looked in the jug, and there was paraffin and beer—I asked her if she bad drunk any—she said "No; I had a mouthful and I spat it out"—the jug was not half full—there was more paraffin than beer in it—I spoke to her about coming to my door so often and annoying me when she was in drink—she said "It is not the first time he has threatened my life"—I said "Why do you call me? Why don't you summon him, and get a separation?"—she said "I will lock him up"—she was not excited—I asked her if she was all right—she said "Yes," and I left her—I was only there from 1 o'clock to a quarter past—she never roused the prisoner—there has not been a week since Christmas when she has not aroused me when she has been the worse for drink—on a Monday, I cannot tell the date, I was disturbed by some one coming to my door, and next morning I asked Mrs. Johnson why her husband knocked there—she said that he was in one of his mad fits again—I said "I do not wish him to knock at my door"—she said that she would tell him of it, and in the evening she sent for me for Mr. Johnson to apologise—she said that they had been to a music-hall together, and had some drink—no mention was made of a penknife.
Cross-examined. I spoke as loud as I do now—I was as near to Mrs. Johnson as I am to you, and she spoke loud—the prisoner must have heard us if he was awake—when I said "If your husband has attempted your life why don't you summon him?" he made no answer—I have made no mistake as to what Mrs. Johnson said—when I put the question to her whether she had drunk any, I am positive she answered "No"—she did not say "Yes" at first—she said that she had drunk a nice mouthful and spat some of it out, but she did not say that in the first instance.
Re-examined. When the police took my evidence they did not read it over to me, but when the solicitor took it I signed it—Mrs. Johnson said "I have had a mouthfull and I spat it out"—I was present on the Saturday before when she was drunk and lying by the side of the bed—I had to undress, her and put her to bed.
WILLIAM GUY . I am manager of the Church of England Sunday School Institute—the prisoner has been employed there two years and nine months—his conduct in every way has been satisfactory—he was very quiet indeed in his manner, and of sober habits and industrious—about three months ago his wife came to our place—I cannot say that she was intoxicated, but she had had too much to drink.
WILLIAM JOHN HUNTER . I am a general practitioner—on 23rd February I attended Mrs. Johnson, who had had a miscarriage on the previous Sunday night—it was not natural—I found indications of drunken habits, and there was no doubt of her being an inebriate—on the night of March 14th she came to my surgery and asked to be allowed to at down—she was not sober—paraffin is unpleasant; the palate detects it immediately, and it is not diminished if put with beer—it is not possible for a person to gulp it down without knowing it; they would detect it at once—I know a case where it was taken in mistake for gin—while I was attending the prosecutrix the prisoner seemed particularly
anxious that she should recover—he used to come to the surgery for the medicine, and from what I saw he is a good father to the children.
Cross-examined. It is not likely that paraffin and porter would mix; the porter would absorb some of the oil—they would not blend; you mast put porter first, paraffin next, and porter on the top.
By the COURT. A person taking a single mouthful of mixed paraffin and porter and spitting it out immediately would not be likely to vomit several times in the next two hours, unless some of it had been swallowed, but if a small portion was swallowed you would find successive vomits.
FRANK CARR (Policeman G 209). Early on the morning of 18th March Mr. Johnson came to me and said that he had been ejected from his premises by his wife and a man who was in their room, and he could not get in, and was afraid of being assaulted, and asked me and a constable to go back with him, as he did not want to walk about the streets all night—I went to his room with him, and Kavanagh came to the door with Mrs. Johnson, and said he had put him outside because he had used very abusive language to them—I said "The best thing you can do is to go indoors and keep quiet"—he went inside with them and shut the door—that was the end of the interview—she did not say a syllable about anything being done with a penknife, nor did she show me a rag round her finger—if she had had one I should have seen it—this was between 1.30 and 1.45.
MARY ANN ROBINSON . I am the wife of Frederick Robinson, of 12A, Jerusalem Buildings—he has the letting of No. 8, and in September it was let to the Johnsons—I have not seen her go in and out many times, but when I did it was mostly night, and she was the worse for drink—I saw the husband more frequently, he went out of a morning and came back of an evening, and he has bought things, we keep a general provision shop—I have never seen him the worse for drink—the tenants complained to me of disturbances at No. 8, and I went there and spoke, and Mrs. Johnson said that Mr. Johnson was mad again and Kavanagh had put him outside—she never spoke about a knife—I saw the prisoner as late as 9 or 10 o'clock that night, my husband sent him for a pennyworth of vinegar.
Cross-examined. On the Tuesday night I served Mrs. Johnson's little girl with a pint and a half of paraffin.
GUILTY. Recommended to mercy by the Jury.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
THIRD COURT.—Saturday, April 2nd, 1887.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. GREENFIELD Prosecuted.
FREDERICK ALIGRANGER (Interpreted). I am a wine merchant of 17, Frith Street, Soho—on March 6th, about 9.30, I was in Dean Street and was suddenly struck on my head and legs and knocked down, and the prisoner Colson took hold of my chain—I took hold of the other end of it and called "Police"—I received several blows on my head and legs,
and my knees are still blue—Colson got my chain from me, but when I called police he let go of it and ran away, but was stopped, and I saw him in the hands of the police—I do not recognise Ouson because I received so many blows on my head.
Cross-examined by Colson. There was not much light—you did not strike me, the others did.
JOSEPH JANEAU (Interpreted). I am an ice merchant of 7, Cross Street—on 26th March, about 9.30, I had a cry of "Police" from a dark spot in Dean Street, I went there and saw Aligranger on the ground and Colson running away, I followed him and he was stopped in Wardour Street, without my losing sight of him—I held him till a policeman came.
Cross-examined by Ouson. I saw a great many people run, but I do not recognise you.
JOHN MCGWIRE (Policeman C 56). I was on duty, heard cries of "Stop thief," and saw the two prisoners running away from the prosecutor, and three others running towards Compton Street facing me—at the bottom pf Dean Street two ran north and three south, the two prisoners ran towards Wardour Street—I should have arrested Ouson first but the crowd said that the little one had got the property, so I pursued Colson and found him stopped in Wardour Street—I took him back and met the prosecutor, who said in English "That man took my chain," pointing to Colson—I took him to the station, he said "I refuse my address"—about 11.45 I took Ouson at the Duke's Head, Old Compton Street, and said "I shall take you in custody for being concerned with four others in an assault and robbery in Dean Street"—he said "All right, you will have to prove that"—I took him to the station, where he was charged and made no answer—he gave his name John Thompson, 21, Old Compton Street—the bar of the chain was broken.
Cross-examined by Ouson. You were pretty sober when I took you out of the public-house—the charge was not made at first because I went to find the prosecutor, to see if he could identify you.
Colson's Defence. I was drinking in the Admiral Duncan, heard a cry of "Stop thief," ran out to see what it was, and two men stopped me and said they would hold me till a constable came.
Ouson's Defence. The constable came into the Duke's Head and took me out—I was partially intoxicated.
OUSON— NOT GUILTY .
COLSON— GUILTY of assault with intent to rob. He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Marlborough Street Police-court in August:, 1886, in the name of Charles Billings. — Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Monday and Tuesday, April 4th and 5th, 1887.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
493. CHARLES WILLIAM WILSON (48) , Feloniously setting fire to certain matters and things in the dwelling-house of Henry Burrell, under such circumstances that if the house had been set fire to he would have been guilty of felony. Other Counts, with intent to injure and defraud.
MESSRS. LOCKWOOD, Q.C., MEAD, and GOODRICH Prosecuted; MESSRS COCK, Q.C., BESLEY, and HORACE AVORY Defended.
HENRY JEFFERIES . I was porter in the employment of the defendant—I had been with him about seven years—during that time he has traded as Williams, at 93, Gresham Street, as a picture dealer—he occupied the ground floor as a shop, together with the basement—there is an entrance to the shop in Gresham Street, and one in Basinghall Street—there is also another entrance, by the side of his entrance in Basinghall Street, to the premises above, which are let out in offices—there is no communication from his shop to the premises above, only by going outside; the two doors are side by side, one leads to the shop, and the other leads upstairs—Henry Stringer, with his family, was the housekeeper, and lived upstairs—there is a staircase from the shop to the basement; there is a trapdoor in the floor of the shop—there is no access from the basement to the other part of the house, the shop and basement are quite private—Mr. Wainwright was the manager, I and McLeod were porters—on Saturday, 19th March, I believe, fresh premises had been taken in Queen Victoria Street—on that morning McLeod spoke to me, and I afterwards purchased a gallon of paraffin oil, and gave it to him—there was a paraffin lamp in the basement, it had been there, I think, about a day or two, it might have been there on the Friday, I won't be certain—before the Saturday it had been used in the shop—on the Saturday it was downstairs in the basement, suspended from the ceiling; we thought it was purchased for the other shop—it was purchased about a week or a fortnight before, I could not tell exactly—before it was in the basement it had been used in the shop, over Mr. Wainwright'a table where he did his writing—it was removed to the basement on the Friday or Saturday; one gallon of oil had been used upstairs, and McLeod used up what was in the can—he was directed to take it downstairs—there were three gas burners in the basement, two T's from the ceiling and one by the moulding—the T's were over the bench where we used to work, about four feet from the trap door—we used to fit up the pictures, clean them up, and see that they were sent out all right when sold—we did not make frames, the frames were ordered—we never had more than three burners downstairs, we never wanted any extra light, the three were quite sufficient—on the Saturday morning I had been in the basement on and off—about half-past 3, or a little before, there was a knock on the floor as a signal to me to go up—I went up and saw the prisoner in the shop—he told me to go and get a van—I went out but failed to get one—I returned and told the prisoner he could have one the first thing on Monday morning—he said that would not do, he wanted one then, and he went out and got one himself—Mr. Wainwright was then out, I believe—when the van came the prisoner told me and McLeod to load it; we did load it with pictures—we were told what pictures to put in—we also put in a cabinet—McLeod and Mr. Wainwright then went with the van to Queen Victoria Street—I stayed behind with the prisoner—I went down into the basement—I had been there some little time when he knocked again; that was about a quarter past 4 I should think; I had no clock, therefore I could not tell exactly, it might have been more—when I came upstairs the prisoner told me to take four unframed pictures over to Queen Victoria Street—he pointed out those I was to take, and also two vases—I told him I did not think I could carry the lot—he said, "Oh, yes, you could"—before I went I saw Stringer, and made a communication to him—I then went over to Queen Victoria Street—I called out to McLeod to come and take the vases—I gave him
the things and returned as quick as I could to Gresham Street—I found that I could not get in—when I left the door in Gresham Street was open, when I returned it was locked—there were two shutters, one to each door, there were no shutters to the windows—the shutters were not up—the Basinghall Street door was generally kept bolted—that door was not used, only to go out by, it was not kept open for the public—I did not try to get in at the Basinghall Street door, I tried the Gresham Street door; I turned the handle and pushed it—I then ran over to Queen Victoria Street again—I got some keys from Mr. Wainwright there, and returned again to the shop—I tried to open the door in Basinghall Street but could not, because I found a key was in the door inside—I knocked at the door and shook it but could not get in, and I was going to run over to Queen Victoria Street again when I saw Mr. Wainwright and McLeod coining along the corner of Old Jewry—I gave Mr. Wainwright the keys and he tried to get in, and knocked at the door—he could not get in, and then he got a stick, and either he or McLeod tapped at the window, I think it was McLeod; he tapped at the middle fanlight, there are three—he tapped at the one by the Gresham Street door, the one leading downstairs, not to the shop—it is not a fanlight, it is a grating, it is the window of the basement, in fact—if any person was in the basement I should think they could have heard it—Mr. Wainwright then sent out for a ladder—I did not see that; he called out, "The place is on fire!" and I ran off to Watling Street as hard as I could—I did not see any sign of fire in the basement, I only saw the gas alight—I could hardly tell which burner it was, I only just had a glimpse down; I think it was the middle one—they were out before, I know that, because I turned them out myself—the lamp was not alight when I left, I blew it out—I saw no indication of the fire on the alarm being given, only the smoke; I saw that through the window—I then went to Watling Street, and came back with assistance, the hose cart—when I got back the fire had been extinguished—I know the two pictures, "The Crucifixion" and "The Unbelief of St. Thomas"—at the time of the fire they were down in the basement.
Cross-examined by MR. COCK. Those two pictures had not been down there ever since they had come to the premises, they were up in the shop; they had been downstairs for some time—I have been in the prisoner's employment about seven years—he carried on a considerable business as a picture-dealer—I believe "Williams and Co." was the name of the firm before he took the business; it has always been carried on under the same name since I have been there—the premises are generally closed at 4 o'clock on Saturday—it is either my business or McLeod's to put up the shutters, and then we get away—I had been sent round to Johnson's for a van—I said that the governor wanted a van on the Saturday afternoon, but that I did not want one—I came back and told the prisoner that I could not get one, he could have one the first thing on Monday morning—that was not true—upon that he said "That is nonsense," and went round to Johnson's himself and got one—when he came back he had a conversation with me—he did not tell me I had told him a lie, not to my knowledge; I don't believe he did—I have a doubt about it—he did not then say to me "You can go"—after we had had a few words I said "Do you think 18s. a week keeps me?"—he did not tell me I should have to go; Mr. Wainwright was there and he heard—I did not say "I can paint, I can earn without wages, "I said I could paint—I
did not say I had learnt something there—he did not tell me I could find another place—he told me I was very foolish to have stopped so long—he did not tell me I had better find another place—he brought the van and we loaded it, and McLeod and Mr. Wainwright went away with it—I went downstairs again, as I naturally should—I was there about 10 minutes, when I was sent for up by Mr. Wilson—he did not tell me to put up the shutters—I did not put them up—I do not know whether I put them up or not—I could not say whether they were put up or not, I really cannot recollect whether I was told to up them up or not, I might—it was about 10 minutes after the van had gone that I was told to go to Queen Victoria Street with the pictures and vases—I do not know what time it was when I spoke to Stringer, I had not clock there; it might have been half-past 4, or it might have been 4 o'clock—I said the van went about 4 o'clock, I don't know—after the van went I was up in the shop, and then I went downstairs—I could not tell exactly how many minutes I was in the shop; I had no watch or clock there; except the in the basement the whole time—I know where the money was kept by Mr. Wainwright when it was in the shop, it was either in his desk or on a table; it was commonly kept in his desk, which was open—I did not know that afternoon that a sum of 3l. 14s. was missing, I knew it afterwards—I knew nothing of it till Mr. Wainwright told me after the fire—I don't know the time, it was after we got in and after the fire was got out—there was nobody there before the fire except Mr. Wilson, Mr. Wainwright, McLeod, and I; there might have been somebody come in the shop, I could not tell, I mean a customer—I don't know whether a customer would see where the money was kept, some might—I made a communication to Stringer, and then went over to Queen victoria Street—I only said to Mr. Wilson that I did not think I could carry the vases as well as the pictures—the vases were about a foot or 18 inches high, and the four pictures were 36 inches by 24 I think—after seeing Stringer I went back into the basement before I went over to Queen Victoria Street, I went back for my coat or my hat, one of the two, or both—it was then that I blew out the light—I did that because I had my suspicions, and then I started over to Queen Victoria Street.
By the COURT. I had learnt something in the day, and been told something—I was told especially to stop behind with Mr. Wilson, specially told by Mr. Wainwright—I don't know exactly why I blew out the light, I did it more for safety that anything—I intimate to Mr. Wilson that I could carry the pictures but not the vases; I thought I had enough to carry with the pictures, because I was very near dropping the vases when I got to Queen Victoria Street—I meant that I could not take the lot, and he said "Oh yes you can," and he placed them in my arms, and I took them—I had a difficulty in taking them, I was very near dropping them when I got to Queen Victoria Street.
By MR. COCK. I took them up in the shop; I took my hat and coat and then came into the shop and took them—I rang for Stringer and spoke to him before I went for the vases and pictures—it took me I should say from six to seven minutes to go to Queen Victoria Street and back, six I should say—I left Mr. Wilson at the shop, and when I came back it was locked; then I went for the keys and returned—I did not discover the light, I was called to it by Mr. Wainwright—I believe it was McLeod
that knocked at the window—he was round by the door I believe—I won't be certain whether I was near him or not, because we were all trying to get into the shop—I heard Mr. Wainwright sing out "Fire!" and I ran off for the engine at once—I looked down and saw the light and the gas jet; I did not see any fire, I saw the gas jet burning and the smoke, that was all, and then I ran for the firemen—I don't Know the time I summoned the firemen, it might have been 4.47, I cannot tell—I afterwards saw the three fires in the basement—they were all out and the firemen were there when I got back—I believe this case was before the Magistrate on the Monday after the fire—Mr. Wainwright engaged a solicitor to watch the case on the inquiry—that was not at my suggestion, I knew it afterwards—I believe he engaged him for me, he told me he had when I came on the Monday morning; I did not know that he bad—he did not tell me why; he had engaged him to look after the men—the fireman said that Mr. Wilson said the men were down there last—I could not tell which of the firemen heard him say that—Mr. Wainwright told me that the fireman said so; that he said something about the men, that the men, I believe, were down there last—I won't be certain whether it was "man" or "men," I only heard it dropped—I was up in the shop when the policeman charged Mr. Wilson, I did not hear what took place—I did not hear Mr. Wilson say, "I saw a fire in the basement, I threw some water on it to put it out"—I believe I heard Inspector Float tell Eve, the constable, to take Mr. Wilson into custody—I did not hear Mr. Wilson say "What for?" or Mr. Float say "For maliciously setting fire to the premises," or Mr. Wilson say "Who is going to charge me?"
By the COURT. It was later on in the afternoon, after the fire had taken place, that I heard Mr. Wainwright say that one of the firemen had told him what he heard the prisoner say—he did not tell it to me particularly, he was telling McLeod as well as me I believe—Mr. Wainwright told me on Monday morning that he had engaged the solicitor, because Stringer told me he thought he was going to try to put it on to me—Mr. Wain-wright told me he had heard what he said, and that he took the solicitor to look after our interests—I don't think it meant to look after Mr. Wain-Wright's interests as well as mine—it was Mr. Wainwright who told me not to leave Mr. Wilson by himself; that was as we were loading the van.
By MR. COCK. The lamp was one of Defries' safety lamps—I never tried it—the lamp might have been bought as far back as 11th March; the invoice will prove that—the lamp, a gallon of oil, wick, and other things had been bought—I believe it was intended for the basement of the new premises which had been taken, and it had been tried in the shop in the earlier part of the week, and some of the oil, burnt—I don't know if the key of the new premises was given up to Mr. Wilson on the Friday—I believe Mr. Wilson told Colin that before they went over to the new premises the lamp should be burned in the basement of the old premises, but I cannot say—it had been suspended in the basement, and used on the Saturday—when wanted for use there was some oil in the can; I did not see how much—it was a gallon can—McLeod sent me—there was no other oil lamp besides this Defries' safety lamp—there had been no oil there before that was bought, to my knowledge—we only used a little bottle of linseed oil for cleaning pictures—I bought the second lot of oil—the oil had been used, fresh oil was wanted, and the can was sent over to be filled—the basement was very full of pictures and frames and all
kinds of things; there was a great number of pictures there—the stair-case down to it is a very awkward staircase and dark—there might be 600 pictures or more than that there, oil pictures, water colours, chromos, photographs, everything—I could not tell the cost price of the things there—there is one door into Gresham Street, and one into Basinghall Street—the one in Gresham Street was mostly always bolted; we used the Basinghall Street one, and that one I went to when I came back'; I made a mistake in what I said first about that—the Greshani Street door was used if we wanted to get out anything from inside, but it had been locked and not used for customers—when I went away the trap-door from the ground-floor into the basement was closed—that is where we get the pictures up and down—there are two locks to the door in Basinghall Street, a large one and a small one above it for a latchkey—I never knew Mr. Wilson to lock the latch lock when he remained on the premises after business hours; he pushed the door to—the top lock would not lock itself—there was a handle besides the two locks to the door, and you pull that handle inside and out to come into the place—there are only two keys to open the door—I have sometimes been there when Mr. Wilson has been there after office hours—I never noticed then that the door was closed and the latch allowed to lock it—I have been there after 4 on a Saturday, and have come out and gone in; it was not then fastened, as a rule—I knew Mr. Wainwright had to come back to the premises to pay the men after he went to Queen Victoria Street—I did not know he would have to draw a fresh cheque in consequence of the 3l. 14s. disappearing; I knew nothing about the money matters—the men had not been paid—whether he came back and paid us as soon as the things were unloaded at Queen Victoria Street, would depend on if we had done when they were unloaded.
Re-examined. I tried to put the key into the latch lock, the smaller one, which you can open from the inside or outside—I believe the lamp was taken down and suspended in the basement on the Saturday by Colin—I was out when it happened—I could not tell you if it had been burning there—the oil for it was kept at the back of the shop—I saw it standing by the safe—when I was sent for oil, all the original gallon had been consumed; the can was empty—the lamp had just been filled up with the remains of the gallon—there was no necessity, for the purpose of testing the lamp, to send for new oil—we always burn gas in the base-ment; it is very dark there—I have been seven years next June with Mr. Wilson—I knew before the fire that Mr. Wilson was insured, but I did not know the particulars—when I extinguished the gas and blew out the lamp I took all the matches away in my pocket—I did not get a van because we did not want to work late on a Saturday afternoon; it was very near time to shut up—afterwards, when there was this talk about my having 18s. a week, Mr. Wainwright was present and heard what was said—until I went to the police-court on Monday morning I had no knowledge that any one was to be employed to watch the case on my behalf—I did not pay a farthing.
By the JURY. The floor of the basement is partly wood and partly cement.
By the COURT. It was half-past 3 when I was at Johnson's—the van came very soon after, Mr. Wilson went for one himself—my duties were not at an end after I had loaded the van—I did not know they were not
going to take others out—I had to wait till they came back—I was not accustomed to tell lies for the purpose of getting away on Saturday at a rule—I do not lie; we were upset having to work on Saturday—we did not know we should not have to work to 12 o'clock Saturday night—the four unframed pictures would not weigh a pound, but it was the awkwardness of them—I have been a picture-dealer's porter for seven years, and accustomed to carry pictures—these four were not tied up; it would have been different if they had been tied up—it did not occur to me tie them up—after the van started I was told to take the four—before I was told to take them I was downstairs in the basement—that was later than a quarter to 4, after the van had gone—the van went a little after 4—I was in the basement about 10 minutes—when I left the basement the boxes which were afterwards on fire were in the basement; I could not tell where exactly—I know they were in the basement because we generally kept all boxes in the basement—the cord was passed behind the gas-meter, near the gas-meter; we generally kept it there—I did not see it there till after the fire; I did then—we always kept it in a bag—some of it that was pulled out of the bag was burning—I don't think these boxes were where they were afterwards discovered when I left the basement, because McLeod had cleared all the place up—there were no signs of any fire when I left; nothing of the kind—when I went away with these four pictures I had not been paid, and therefore would be going back there—I don't know if the person who set fire to it must have done it with the knowledge that I should come back and find the fire in about 10 minutes—my master knew I had not had my money—I don't know if he knew Wainwright would come back to pay the money—Wainwright paid me—if my master set fire to the place he did it with the knowledge that I should be back in about six minutes—I made particular haste—I told my master he must not suppose 18s. kept my mother and me—I have had to keep my mother and sister since my father died—I keep them by working hard after business is over by learning painting and buying and selling things to my friends—I paint and sell pictures—I have learnt for five or six years—I have been selling pictures of my own for about 18 months now—perhaps I do one in a week; I don't paint one every week; perhaps I have something else to do—I buy and sell a great deal—I leave off work at 6 p.m.—I buy opera glasses, purses, and anything else that I can earn a shilling out of—I buy opera glasses of a friend of mine, a traveller in the trade, Mr. Bright, and sell them to different gentlemen—I sell a lot of goods to a gentleman in the Old Jewry, Mr. Morris, of Ashurst, Morris, and Co.; I sell them to him sometimes of an evening and sometimes in my dinner-time—I go and say I have something cheap, or I look out for him if he wants it—I last sold him an engraving; he told me if I got anything cheap I could take it to him—I only get good things—before that I bought a fan and some opera glasses for him, and he bought them of me—he is one of my great customers—Mr. Morris is a private gentleman—he is Mr. Walter Morris, jun.: of the firm of Ashurst, Morris, and Co., solicitors.
COLIN MCLEOD . I was a porter in the defendant's employment—on Saturday, 19th March, I remember some fresh paraffin oil was wanted, and I was directed by Mr. Wilson to get it—at from half-past 11 to 12 the oil was brought—I had orders to get it on the Friday—he said "Get some more oil."—I told Jefferies to get it, and he got it on Saturday
about 12 o'clock—the lamp was put into the basement on the Friday, and was burning on the Friday for five or six hours I dare say, it may have been longer—the prisoner saw it burning—I fixed it by his directions; he told me where to fix it, and I raised an objection about putting it at a certain place where he wanted it, because I thought it was not safe—I did not fix it at that place, but used my own discretion, and put it in a safer place—he did not object to my putting it where I thought it better—before fresh oil was sent for I emptied what was in the can into the lamp, before I put it up on the Friday; there was some left in it—it had been burning for five hours before I put any in the receptacle—I cannot say if any was left in at the end of the five hours—the bottom of the lamp was brass—the oil fetched in on Saturday morning was just the same as when it was brought in—the light when the lamp was burning in the basement was as usual; we had two gas-burners going—the lamp showed a different light; it was put up for trial to see the effect of it—the lamp was bought for the Victoria Street new premises, and we tested it to see the effect of the light from this particular lamp—on the Saturday morning I saw the prisoner in the basement, a little before 12 o'clock it may have been, I cannot say the exact time—I came downstairs and saw the prisoner burning a piece of paper; I did not see it lighted—he was burning the paper, I should say, about eight inches off the can of oil, which was on the sill of the window that lights the basement, the window by which people can look in from the area—in consequence of seeing that I spoke to Mr. Wainwright, and afterwards we examined the paper and found it was an advertisement of the Water-bury Watch Company—we could not examine it, it was burnt to a cinder—it smelt of paraffin, and the sill too—you could see by the magnifying glass which Mr. Wainwright got, that it was the advertisement of the Waterbury Watch Co.—I put the can of oil away under the cistern—I had put it on the window-sill when it was brought in; it had not been touched so far as I know; the can was just as it was when I left it so far as I know—it was a patent can with no cork—it was not the prisoner's habit to be much in the basement.
By the COURT. We smelt the paper when I told Mr. Wainwright—it was on the sill we smelt it mostly—the paper could not smell, it was burnt to a cinder—the ledge of the window-sill itself smelt of paraffin, the stain; there was a kind of a stain there—the can had not been there—the can was standing where it had been on the sill—there was a stain on the window-sill where the burnt paper had been left—I did not say I saw the paper in the prisoner's hand—I saw him burning a piece of paper on the sill; he was standing by the side of it watching it—where the paper was burnt there was a little discoloration—I smelt some paraffin there on the sill—the paper was burnt to a cinder, and then the prisoner went away—I did not try if the can smelt of paraffin.
By MR. MEAD. The prisoner had been down in the basement much more often the three or four days previous to the fire—I recollect the van coming; I and Wainwright went with it to Queen Victoria Street—it was loaded with 20 pictures and a cabinet—Jefferies came to Queen Victoria, Street and brought some pictures and vases—he went back at once—he came back again, in seven to ten minutes it might have been, and took the keys, which Wainwright gave him in my presence, back with him—I cannot recollect what was said before the keys were given, only about
getting back as soon as possible, something of that sort—he wanted the keys to get in, we understood the door was locked—nothing was said at all beyond the fact "I should like to have the keys"—then he went away back with them, and I and Mr. Wainwright followed to Gresham Street when we had finished unloading the van—that was not in consequence of anything he said—when I came back with Wainwright I saw Jefferies trying to get in with the key, and he had found the other key in the door—he found that before we got back—he started to go back five or seven minutes before us; it might have been longer, I had not got my watch on; it was as much as five, and perhaps seven—when I and Wainwright got back we shook the door is Basinghall Street, which was the only door we could get in at, and we stamped on the railings, and got a stick and knocked at the window, we did not break it—I looked down and saw the gaslight was out; I had noticed it was burning when we first arrived, and it had been turned off in the meantime while we were knocking at the door and trying to get in—you cannot see down the area without getting right down to look in on a level with the pavement—coming across the road from Queen Victoria Street I saw the reflection—you could see it from the opposite side of the road—after I noticed the gas was out I looked again and saw a fire burning; I could not see any smoke from outside; I did not see smoke before I got down into the basement, only a flame—any one in the shop could hear the shaking of the door, and any one in the basement could hear the tapping on the window—after I saw the fire burning I told Mr. Wainwright at once—he got a pair of steps to reach the fanlight to get in, and he smashed the fanlight in Gresham Street, and I went up and was in the act of getting through the fanlight when Mr. Wilson came and opened the door in Basinghall Street—I did not see where he came from—it was from seven minutes to ten minutes from the time of our arriving at the shop in Gresham Street till the prisoner came out; I cannot be accurate to a minute or two—I then went down in the basement, alone first, because the staircase is rather dark and everybody cannot get down unless they know it—the prisoner was at this time in the shop with Stringer—I came up immediately because the smoke was so dense—coming upstairs I asked Stringer what I should do (that was not before the prisoner)—Stringer opened the trap in the floor from the top in the shop, and I opened the window in the basement; that allowed the smoke to get out—I went down and saw the fire burning; Stringer followed me down immediately afterwards—I only saw two tires at the time; when I went down there was only one I could see, the place was all in darkness—there was one fire burning, which I believe you call No. 1; it was near the table, one end of which was right underneath one end of the trap-door—that was the only one I saw burning at the time I went down—Stringer used the water, I did not—I could not say whether any water had been thrown before I went down the second time—after I went down Stringer, who followed me down, used the water, which I got from the hand-basin in the basement, where there is a tap; I gave it to Stringer, and he extinguished that fire—when I went down I fell over a chair standing in the passage way at the bottom of the staircase—we make a passage way there with pictures on each side—the chair was underneath the mouldings, which were fitted upon a rack on the ceiling, and had been kept there for years—we keep the mouldings and send them to the
frame-maker's—there was nothing near the mouldings, they are upon the ceiling—the mouldings were burnt, but were not on fire—there was nothing near with which they could have come in contact—a person standing on the chair could light the mouldings, which I could just reach by standing on tiptoe; they were about 6 feet 6 inches from the floor—I believe there was some stuff on the floor underneath the mould-ings; I did not examine it, the firemen would not let me touch anything; it looked like burnt paper; I do not know what it was—I did not make any examination after the fire was extinguished—the policies were kept is a kind of leather case, which was kept in a safe, I believe—I saw Mr. Wilson take the case away with him, I think 10 days previous to the fire—I did not see the policies, only the case—I have been nine years and three months in the prisoner's employment.
Cross-examined. During that time Mr. Wilson has carried on a very considerable business as a picture dealer—when the oil can came it was put on the sill on which I saw the piece of paper burning—I saw the paper burning on the Saturday, the day of the fire; I was not there when the paper was put on the sill—the lamp was some little distance away from where the paper was burning, the basement was always full of pictures—the sill on which the can was, was very near to the w.c.—Mr. Wilson was in the habit of smoking a great deal about these premises—I could not say whether he had been to the w.c. just before I saw this paper burning—he was smoking pretty nearly all day, but that I could not see because he was upstairs and I was down—I cannot say whether or not it was a piece of paper the prisoner might have used to light a cigar—there was nothing to catch fire on the sill, it was brick—there were no pictures there at that place near the w.c.—where the paper was was perfectly safe—I saw him stand and watch it go out—the prisoner had been down in the basement rather oftener of late than he had formerly been—I knew he was going to move to new premises, he said nothing to me about making arrangements to move—there was a considerable stock to move; altogether something like 2,000 pictures—I had not been paid before I went over to Queen Victoria Street, and had to come back to be paid by Wainwright, who always paid me—nothing had been said to me about whether or not I should be wanted to make another journey to Queen Victoria Street—I did not know whether arrangements had been made as to what was to be done on Monday about opening the shop in Queen Victoria Street, I had no orders—all I knew was I was to come back with the van to receive my wages, and I brought the van back with me—when I came back from Queen Victoria Street the shutters were up at the shop—I cannot say whether they were up when I went away—I did not put them up—only I or Jefferies could have put them up—the place was always closed on Saturday afternoons at 4—when I came back I noticed from the other side of the street the reflection of the gas—then I rapped at the door—there is a door out of the shop at the top of the staircase down into the basement, and at the bottom of the staircase there is another door—it is a dark and very awkward staircase—in 1883 Mr. Wilson had a very serious illness, he was very bad indeed, and it was expected he would die—he always had something the matter with his right hand, I do not know what it was, he had considerable difficulty in using it—Jefferies was there when we came back to the premises from Queen Victoria Street—we tried to get in
at the door, we were unsuccessful in doing that because the latch-key was in it and the door shut—just at the time Mr. Wainwright broke the fan-light over the door Mr. Wilson appeared in the shop to open the door—I was on the top of the outside steps at the time—Mr. Wainwright was about to continue business on the same premises I believe, and very likely I was going to join him, I think I shall now; it has been arranged but not settled—it was to be the same kind of business on the same pre-mises—it has been talked of for perhaps a month or so and pretty well understood—I did not communicate that to Mr. Wilson.
Re-examined. I believe the prisoner was not smoking at the time I saw the piece of paper.
By the COURT. It had been arranged that I was going to carry on business with Mr. Wainwright about a month before that time, about February 19th; it is not settled now, I am not engaged now—I have not signed the partnership, nothing whatever; I believe I am going, the business is not started yet, I have got no written agreement, everything else was settled except the agreement—Mr. Wainwright finds all the capital and does all that, I am only going into the same situation as I am at present—I am only a porter, I am going to join him as a porter—I can't say whether Jefferies is going to join him—I get 25s. a week—I do a little business with my friends, my business is framing, which I do in the evening—I have no shop, that is all I do.
WILLIAM WALTER WAINWRIGHT . I have been manager at Gresham Street between 10 and 11 years—I gave evidence at the police-court after being subpoenaed to go there, I refused to give any statement to the City solicitor, who was conducting the prosecution—in 1883 the prisoner was very ill and his business banking account at the Union Bank of London was then changed into my name, but it was not mixed up with my private affairs at all—I can't charge my memory with seeing that exact letter (produced) soon after it arrived most likely, I think I did, about that date I drew a cheque for the landlord for payment of the rent—I could not say when it was drawn, but it was about the 22nd February, my pass book would show—there was no notice to leave these premises in Gresham Street, the lease had expired on the 25th March—I recollect an action pending by Robinson and Fisher—a writ was served I think about a month before the 19th—the prisoner had been doing a fairly good business for the last six months before the fire—I know there were two policies—there was an indorsement on one of them as to the removal of 3,000l. stock to Blackpool for an exhibition there, that was returned minus of course certain purchases which were sold there, I may say the stock was returned—I made out a synopsis in a small book of the stock book, that was kept on the table or in the safe previous to the fire—this is it (produced)—I looked for the book upon the premises and was not able to find it, and now it is handed to me by the usher—I recollect the two large pictures of "The Crucifixion," and "The Unbelief of St. Thomas"—they were bought in 1883 or 1884, I think 1884, my ledger will tell me, if I might have it; I see by that that there were five pictures, two of which are the ones to which I now refer, purchased on the 26th January, 1884, for 400l., and about 80l. for each frame—the other three pictures were sold, two of them at different times, to Mr. Brooks, a picture dealer, and the third to a private gentleman, also of the name of Brooks—one of them was sold for 500l., and one was sold
to Mr. Brooks, on the 20th October, with two others, for 110l., which was quite a nominal price, much less than the value—one was a De Beuff of the finest style; but it was more a matter of friendship than want of money then—I have an entry in the day book that the two pictures, "The Crucifixion" and "The Unbelief of St. Thomas" were sent to Mr. Brooks on approval, on October 20th, and returned on January 18th, 1887—the price is stated as 600l. the two—the policies were usually kept in the safe, in a drawer, the key of which I never kept; I always gave it to Mr. Wilson—I believe they were kept there for nine years; when I went to the drawer they were there—I looked into the drawer last week and missed them from there—I noticed this receipt for the insurance on my file about six or seven days before the fire—I saw the cinders of the paper on the Saturday morning about 12 or perhaps 1 o'clock—I did not see the prisoner then, I believe he was out—at the same time I saw a can of paraffin on the cill, and asked McLeod to put it away, but I did not see whether he did so—I afterwards saw it again just under the cistern; it is difficult for me to say whereabouts—I put it on a shelf at the back—I did not put it anywhere until after I saw it under the cistern—it was open to view when I saw it, if you went to look, not without; it was behind a frame—I recollect a van being driven away in the afternoon with some pictures—I did not count how many there were—I have not made a statement of their value—I thought they were worth about 700l., they might be worth less; it is impossible to say, because I don't know every picture that was put in—they were not sold; they did not all belong to the prisoner, 11 or 12 did I should say—I don't know to whom the others belonged, they were bought by some one whose name I have not got—they had been purchased and not sent home; they bad not paid for them—I recollect Jefferies coming; to Queen Victoria Street with four pictures—they belonged to a friend of Mr. Wilson's—it was about 12 minutes after I had reached Queen Victoria Street that Jefferies arrived with the four pictures—I then sent him back—I did not see him return, I happened to he over the way purchasing something, but when I walked across the street he was helping Colin with the last large picture out of the van, and he then said he wanted my keys—I can't say the moment he returned—he asked me for the keys and left me—after that, I and McLeod, having finished at Queen Victoria Street, followed him—it was half-past 4 by Webster's clock when we started, as we turned from locking the door—when I got to the corner of Old Jewry I saw Jefferies at the corner of Gresham Street, apparently looking out; he beckoned me, I went to him; he said, "I cannot open the door"—I saw him trying to open the door with a key, and then trying to push the lock back with a knife, which of course could not be done—I tried to open it myself but could not, then I rattled at the door, it was locked—Colin went round to Gresham Street, and did as we usually do, scraped his feet on the grating to let any one downstairs know there was some one there, and stamped—that was our usual signal, as there was no bell—I may have looked down the grating, but I won't swear I did—the next thing I did was to fetch a stick and knock through the grating on the basement window, because the prisoner suffers from deafness, so that if he were washing his hands he would know some one was there—the prisoner is very ill, I have endeavoured before the Magistrate to let him know how ill the prisoner has been; that accounts for my keeping the banking account—after knocking with
the stick I began to get anxious, and thought I would get a ladder and enter in by the skylight—McLeod first got up the ladder, but he was not quite tall enough to unfasten the skylight, and he came down, and I went up and broke the skylight and cut the cord within—I had been there seven or eight minutes when that was done—as I was breaking the skylight I saw people going round the corner and leaving me, and so I thought it would be better to go in by the door than by the skylight, and I went round—I saw Stringer just vanishing round the end to go downstairs in the shop—the prisoner was standing just opposite the lobby doors, the doors in Gresham Street, where there used to be a lobby inside the premises, on a mat—I did not go down in the basement till afterwards, when the firemen were there—while I was there, after I had come to the premises, I saw a fire on the ground, that was all I could say—the gas was out, 1 simply saw fire.
Cross-examined. I had been in Mr. Wilson's employment for a con-siderable number of years, and during that time he had carried on this business, and he had a very large experience in dealing in works of art—I should think he was a pretty good buyer and understood his business pretty well—the insurances were effected through Mr. Collins, a very ex-perienced insurance agent, carrying on a very large business—I cannot tell you how long the present policy had been running; I know nothing about the effecting of it—I knew Mr. Wilson had suffered from very serious ill health and had a sort of paralysis of his right hand, and was affected in his hearing—in consequence of that I managed his accounts practically entirely—he was unmarried, and lived in lodgings, furnished entirely by himself, near Hampstead, at very small expense, so far as personal expenses were concerned—I should not think he spent much—the oarnings he made in the business he turned into stock in the business—I knew his stock in 1881—I believe I am to set up in business on my own account—the stock was a better class of stock at the time of this fire than it was in 1881, when the policy was taken out—I have the stock book, containing the valuation of the stock at cost price—at the time of the fire the cost price of the stock was 8,236l. 9s. 9d.—selling in the ordinary course of business they ought to have realised 12,000l. to 15,000l. in time—that stock was covered by a policy of 6,000l., which had been running since 1881—sometimes a picture dealer may pick up earlier old masters at much lower value than they are ordinarily sold at, that is one thing which in their business they are able to do well—these old pictures were the substantial purchases, the others were thrown in, these pictures were the important part—Mr. Wilson had been able to pick these pictures up, as he considered, exceedingly cheap, as bargains—they had been in a very important collection—"The Crucifixion" and "The Unbelief of St. Thomas" are not pictures I should like to value—it is a very difficult thing to say with regard to such pictures; I should not personally like to give a large sum, because they are speculative purely, but they may fetch very large sums sometimes.
By the COURT. The prisoner was justified in holding them in the hope of getting 2,000l.—I am well known personally, I suppose, I have been manager for 11 years—I said I had been negotiating to sell them to several national galleries, I mean I had endeavoured to influence those who had more personal knowledge of those galleries than myself—I should certainly not have done that if I thought they were worthless pictures
and not worthy of being placed there—I as a connoisseur thought they were not unworthy of being looked at by those who were buying for a national gallery, that is my opinion.
By MR. COCK. Mr. Wilson thought so highly of them that he had spent 80l. each in having valuable frames made for them—I don't know that these two pictures were insured for 1,000l. each as far back as 1884, just when they were purchased by Mr. Wilson—I do not know when they were insured—Mr. Brooks is a picture dealer—I did not make the arrangement with him, I only speak from an entry that appears in the books—it is not unusual for one picture dealer to send pictures to another dealer, who may have certain facilities for selling certain pictures, and dividing the profit—if such an arrangement were made 600l. would be the price from which the joint profit would start—I kept the cash at Gres-ham Street, and managed the cash account, any cash that was on the premises was kept in the little drawer in the stationery on my table—we had very little cash, mostly cheques—in the day time it would be unlocked—on that day I received 10l. 14s. in cash, I cashed a cheque for 5l. out of it, and I gave Mr. Wilson 30s. to pay for some boots, or something of that kind, which he had—that left a sum of 3l. 14s. in the little draws—that 3l. 14s. disappeared that afternoon—I last saw it at 10 minutes to 4, and missed it first about 10 minutes past 5, I suppose, certainly after 5 o'clock—I know Mr. Wilson was searched—I asked him whether he had taken the 3l. 14s.; he said no—when searched 2l. 19s. 2 1/2 d. was found on him—I had also given him just before the fire 50s. out of something else; some money which I had borrowed—during the time I have been there, taking an average of eight to 10 years, Mr. Wilson has been making, in this business a net profit of 1,000l. a year—his personal expenses were more than 300l. or 400l. a year, I could not tell you how much without looking at the books; many of his expenses were paid irregularly, rent and those things, it was not like so much a week; roughly, it might have been 500l. a year—it was not 1,000l. a year—the prisoner had been in the habit of allowing his rent at his rooms at Hill Gardens to accumulate, and then paying when it reached a certain sum; he always paid 35l. as a rule—there was nothing exceptional in that state of things—he had been there for seven years, I think, or it might be longer—I don't know that he had been 15 years in his previous lodgings—there is a door at the top of the staircase and one at the bottom—the one at the bottom was always thrown back, never shut—before I broke the fanlight the door had been shaken and somebody had scraped his feet—undoubtedly there were things of considerable value in the shop—the shop was closed at four, for business purposes on Saturday—when I went to Queen Victoria Street the shutters were not put up, and when I came back they were up—there was nobody who could do that except Jefferies—only the Basinghall Street door was used by the public—I saw Jefferies the first time he came over, and I was in the Queen Victoria Street shop the second time, and did not see him, but as I was walking across the road I found him there helping McLeod with one of the pictures—I heard the conversation between Jefferies and Mr. Wilson about the van having been ordered—Mr. Wilson told him in substance that he had told him a lie about it, and he acknowledged it—I heard Jefferies say "Well, you don't think your 18s. a week keeps me?"—Mr. Wilson replied "If you think you can do better, don't you think
you had better?"—Jefferies said he had been learing to paint during the time he had been there; that he had taught himself to paint—I was aware that he had taught himself to paint, and I thought it very creditable of him—I knew that he had painted pictures and sold them; I had bought some of him—I knew that Mr. Wilson was going to set up a new business in Queen Victoria Street, the rent of which was to be 310l.—possession was given to him about a week or a fortnight before the fire—I can't say when the key came; I know a card was sent—I am unable to say whether actual possession was given the day before or not—there is also a basement at Queen Victoria Street—I believe it was for that purpose that this lamp was obtained; it was a Defries safety lamp, which would be quite safe if knocked over—Mr. Wilson tried the lamp both in the shop and in the basement; it burnt three days, I think, upstairs, and then it was put downstairs—I could not say exactly the day it was upstairs; it was Thursday or Friday—Mr. Wilson is a great smoker; he smoked everywhere; he was always smoking—he suffers in his right hand—there is a place downstairs for washing our hands.
Re-examined. The prisoner knew at 10 to 15 minutes past 5 of the loss of the 3l. 14s—I spoke to him about it, and drew the matter to his attention, and told him that 3l. 14l. was missing—no suggestion was made at the police-court by anybody as to the loss of that 3l. 14s.—it was the habit of myself and the men to scrape our feet on the grating as a signal to any person who might be downstairs—that signal was not used before this occasion when the prisoner was down stairs, because he was never downstairs unless some one was there—our signals had nothing to do with him, he would not know that as a signal, he would only hear a noise, but to the men it would be a signal; if I wanted to get in after 4 or 6 that would be a signal that some one was there—I instructed a solicitor on behalf of the four, myself, Colin, Jefferies and Wilson; no, not Mr. Wilson—I felt in this way, to make it clear that the blame rested on four; one I knew would be represented, having professional friends, and being a person of position, but I should have to represent myself; and the other parties, being the poorer, would not be represented at all.
By the COURT. I do not remember the time that Jefferies arrived at Queen Victoria Street with the four pictures, and can only say that I left at half-past 4 by the clock, and between that and 5 minutes past 4, when the van started, I walking with it, there were two visits made; it was towards the end of that period of time.
HENRY STRINGER (City Policeman 101). I resided with my wife and niece on the fourth floor of 93, Gresham Street, at the corner of Basing-hall Street and Gresham Street—the ground floor and basement were occupied by the prisoner as a Fine Art Repository—on Saturday afternoon, the 19th, about 4.30, I received certain information from Jefferies, in consequence of which I kept watch over the shop from my own staircase, I was off duty at that time—I did not hear or see anything, or smell anything just then—I did about a quarter of an hour afterwards—I think I made a slight mistake in the time in the first instance; it was between 20 minutes and half an hour, it was not so late as a quarter to 5—I heard a loud knocking at the prisoner's shop door; I came on the landing and smelt smoke coming up the staircase—I went downstairs into the street, and came to the street door of the shop in Basing hall Street—it was locked—I went round to the street door in Gresham Street, and saw Mr.
Wainwright going up a pair of steps, and breaking the fanlight over the shop door in Gresham Street—I Knelt down on the ground, looked through the area grating, and saw a large jet of gas burning, and a fire burning on the basement floor—I went round to the shop door in Basinghall Street, and remained there nearly 2 minutes, when the prisoner unlocked the door and was coming out—I said to him," What is all this smoke?"—I went into the shop, he said, "Where are you going to?"—I said, "Downstairs into the basement!"—just then McLeod came into the shop after me, he went to the staircase of the basement, and came back and said, "It's no use, we shall have to wait till the engines come"—the prisoner was in the shop at the time, not above three or four yards away from us—I opened the trap-door in the meddle of the floor, that allowed a quantity of smoke to come from there—McLeod went down into the basement, and I followed him; the basement was full of smoke—when we first got in McLeod said, "Shall I open one of the windows?"—turning to the left I saw a fire burning on the basement floor, close to two boxes, one of which is now in Court—they were close to two large pictures—I called for some water—McLeod gave me some in an old saucepan—I extinguished the fire—I then turned round and saw another fire burning, thrust between some empty boxes close up under the gas meter—I got some water and exttinguished that one—Mcleod lit the gas and—I found there had been a quantity of moulding burnt that was close up to the flooring of the ground floor—I said to the prisoner, "This look a funny job"—he had not come down close behind us: I don't know whether he came down before the fireman or with the fireman—he was in the basement when I spoke to him—he said, "Do you think I set fire to the place?"—that was all the conversation that took place—I produce a piece of the moulding and the box—the mouldings were six or seven feet from the ground—I noticed some charred paper on the floor underneath the moulding—there were 30 or 40 pieces of moulding like this they were not all burnt through, some burnt nearly through, and some scotched, that was all out; it had evidently been recently burnt, as far as I could tell—the gas was out when I got down into the basement, turned off at the burner—I put out the two fires—no water was thrown on them till I threw it on myself—at this time my wife, my niece, and Mr. Heal were on the premises—that was all.
Cross-examined by MR. COCK. I gave evidence before the Magistrate on the Monday after the fire—I then said I had received information from Jefferies at 4.30—I saw Mr. Wainwright break the fanlight, and shortly after that Mr. Wilson came to the door in Basinghall Street, that was the usual in the business—he had no top coat on—I say he was coming out, because he came out on to the door-step, he opened the door and was walking towards the street, he had his hat on—I had been living on these premises about four years—I knew Mr. Wilson, I have seen him walking about the shop, I can't say that I have ever seen him without his hat—I did not hear the men knocking at the window—the mouldings were in a sort of rack on the ceiling, that thing anybody burnt and was out—they, if burning, would be the first thing anybody whether they were all wrapped in paper, some of them were, I did not notice whether most were—I noticed that in the center, that was out—there was paper and stuff on the floor underneath them—I
should say the wood was oak—I should say it would take some little time to burn it right through, if something was held to it—anybody coming downstairs would not see the other fires unless there was a considerable flame, until they got into the centre of the basement—I did not see where McLeod got this saucepan from, nor whether there was water in the basin which he filled it from, nor whether the tap was running—I heard afterwards that Mr. Wilson said he had got water in the saucepan and threw it on one of the fires—I did not hear that Mr. Wilson said he had smelt fire, had gone down, had found the saucepan and filled it with water and thrown it on the fire-—I heard he had thrown water on it, but what with I don't know—when I went downstairs the basement was quite filled with smoke—the other fires I extinguished by throwing some water on them—this (produced) is the contents of one fire, or a portion of it, that we picked up, this is calico—the box was standing up, there were two boxes, and this rag and paper was picked up by this side of the box, that being close to the two large pictures; the fire was on the ground, the bottom part of the box had not burnt, I cannot say why—this is about one-third of the stuff, which was rag and paper—no mouldings were thrown on to it to make it burn—this paper (produced) came from under the gas meter, it was not unfolded.
By the JURY. There was no paraffin on the paper—the basement was a rather dark place—McLeod was down first, he opened the window first and then got the water—there was sufficient light on the flooring to show that the floor was perfectly dry, my attention was drawn to it by the reflection of the fire, and no water was on the floor—there was no rubbish on the floor, only this which I picked up—there was no paper or rubbish in this place.
By the COURT. The other fire was packed between some large boxes, there was packed there some of this rope and gunny bag and paper; this is a portion of it, I don't know if there is any more.
SYDNEY FOGDEN . I am an engineer in charge of the Fire Brigade Station, Watling Street, and have been so employed for 27 years—on 19th March I was called to the fire in Greshain Street about 4.47 p.m. by that man (Jefferies)—we do not give anything to the first person who comes—we sent the hose-cart on and followed with the engine, the premises were open—the fire was extinguished, but there was still a. great deal of smoke—I examined the basement and found there had been three separate and distinct fires; one consisted of two packing cases, a wrapper and a quantity of waste paper, the packing cases were near to some pictures; No. 2 was some picture mouldings 8 or 9 feet long, and No. 3 was 8 or 9 feet under the gas meter, and consisted of some trimmings in a bag, and a quantity of newspapers slightly scorched—the fires in my opinion were the work of an incendiary and nut accidental—I saw the prisoner in the basement and asked him if he could account for the three separate and distinct fires, he simply said that he had tried to put the fire out, he did not answer the question, I put it again and he muttered something which I did not understand, but finished by saying that he had attempted to put the fire out—I had no difficulty in making him hear, he did not appear to be deaf—the inspector then pointed out to him the appearance of the premises—the fire had been burning I should think not more than five or six minutes at the outside, if it had been burning 20 minutes I don't think there would have been muck left
of it—I did not notice the gas burners, the gas was lighted some little time after I went there.
Cross-examined. The prisoner at once said that he tried to put out the fire—he muttered something to himself, I do not know what it was, it was not that somebody had done it out of spite—I should say that it had been burning five or six minutes, from the material which was burnt, but it would depend upon how it took light—some of the mouldings were burnt right through; that would not take some time if a lighted newspaper was held underneath.
By the COURT. This wood produced is oak—if there was a good flame it would not take long to burn like this if it was perfectly dry and a person held a lighted newspaper under it; it would not take more than five or six minutes, but of course one newspaper would not do it, he would have to replenish it with newspaper after newspaper—there was a considerable quantity of ashes below, apparently tinder from paper, and unless the fire was a strong one it might take more than five or six minutes to burn, it might take a quarter of an hour—the moldings were in a dozen pieces or more in a rack—they would take longer to burn if it was in a single piece so that the flames could go round it—some of the moulding is so charred that it was burnt through and the ends were hanging down—the supports were 18 inches from the ceiling, which was not at all charred; it was very dirty, and would not show the smoke—I should think the fire underneath for five or six minutes would make it a little cleaner, but it would show; I did not see anything on the ceiling, therefore the fire could not have been a large one—the fire was eight or nine feet from the moulding—this wood would not flare so much as pine—the effect of the fire turned out to be to burn the mouldings, but it had no effect on the house or the pictures.
re-examined. It is impossible to say how the mouldings were burnt, but I should say by a flame applied underneath—I do not know whether a person would have to stand on a chair—it would take very short time to car the mouldings like that—there is a sink in the basement—it is impossible for a person coming from that sink and going upstairs to pass through without seeing these fires; he must have passed under the one which was burning overhead.
By the COURT. The fires were all out when I got there except a very little bit of paper shouldering—if water was thrown upon this gunny bag while burning it might absorb the whole of the water, it would depend upon the quantity—water would put the fire down if it was smouldering, although 'it might not quite put it out.
WILLAM FLOAT (City police Inspector). On 19th March, about 5.30, I was called to the Salvage Corps—there were the remains of three distinct fires on the ground—the prisoner went into the basement with us, but did not speak to me—we then went into the shop, and he followed us—I said to him 'It seems a very serious matter; can you give any explanation?"—he made no answer, and I repeated the question; he made no answer—I repeated the question again, and after some hesitation he said "No"—I said "There are the remains of three distinct fires in the basement, and I am informed that you are the only person in this part of the premises"—he said "Oh, if that is what you mean, I saw the place was on fire, and I threw some water on and put it out"—Stringer
said that the floor was perfectly dry when he first went into the basement, and no water had been thrown on the fire till he threw it on himself and put it out—I said "Why did you lock the door?"—he said "We always keep the door locked"—I said "Not in business hours; have you any further explanation to give?"—he said "No"—I said "You must consider yourself in custody"—he said "What for?"—I said "You will be charged with maliciously setting fire to these premises"—he said "Who is going to charge me?"—I said "I am," and directed Sergeant Eve to take him in custody—he was taken to Moor Lane Station and charged; the charge was read to him—he said "I cannot understand it; who is preferring this charge against me?"—I said "The police."
Cross-examined. I was present when he was searched, and I think 2l. 19s. was found upon him, but I did not find it—I went there nearly an hour after the fire, about half-past 5.
By the COURT. He was locked in the shop, and I was informed that at the time the fire occurred there was no one but him on the premises, and he locked in; the fireman Ermscott gave me that information—the chief of the Salvage Corps is not here—Stringer was there—I should not consider it was out of business hours so long as the proprietor and his men were there: I always consider it business hours when the shop-keeper is there—I have frequently heard of a tradesman being at his shop doing business after the shutters are up—I have seldom heard of the door being locked to keep people from coming in—policemen often look at the locks of the doors—we should like such a rule generally carried out—unfortunately people leave their doors standing open, and we do not like it; we had much rather have them closed.
ILLIAM EVE (City Policeman 68). I searched the prisoner and found on him a box containing some wax vestas and 2l. 14s. odd; also four documents, A, B, C, and D, which I handed in at the police-court—when we find matches on people we either destroy them or throw them away.
Cross-examined. I omitted to mention the vestas before the Magistrate—I mentioned it to the solicitor for the prosecution after the prisoner was committed.
HENRY BURRELL . I am owner of 93, Gresham Street—the prisoner was my tenant on the ground floor—I found him there when I took possession—when I succeeded my brother he had a 7 years' lease there—I do not know that he has been there more than 20 years—I wrote this letter, C, asking for the rent due at Christmas—I put down March 2nd as the day I received a cheque—I put in a distress for the March rent—Messrs. Bentham, Buller, and Cooper have the arrangement of my affairs, and they told me that it was paid.
By the COURT. They had my authority to put in a distress if they thought proper—they did not act for me in this case—the letter was sent from Sir Alfred Rolling's office, and demanded immediate payment of the rent, and Mr. Wilson sent me a cheque next day, March 2nd—the present quarter, when it is suggested that a distress was put in, I left in the hands of Messrs. Bentham, Buller, and Cooper.
Cross-examined. I think the letter of February 23rd was not the first application I made for the rent, but I have no knowledge of any other—rent payable at Christmas is not always paid directly—I had let the premises to somebody else at an increased rent. Q. And before 11 a.m. on the
morning the rent became due did you put in a distress? A. They acted for me, I told them to secure the rent for me—I do not think the distress was paid out immediately—I have not transacted the business myself—I had heard that he was in custody—I think the distress was paid out in 24 hours, my solicitor will know, he received it—I think I heard from them last Saturday that they had received it—the premises were held at a rent of 283l., and I think I wanted 350l., which Mr. Wilson would not pay—I have now let it to a rival to carry on the same business as the prisoner.
By the COURT. Mr. Rayner is the rival—the is in a good situation, and the prisoner had had it, we will call it 11 years—it did not occur to me, as the landlord, that the prisoner had increased the value of the premises by pictures having been sold there for so many years—I am not getting any benefit from what may be called the good-will. (Letter read: "February any 22nd To Mr. C.W. Wilson. Sir,—It is very annoying to have promises made which are not adhered to; If the amount is not paid to-morrow I shall place the matter in other Hands for collection.")
JOHAN RYLE . I am a clerk in the office of the North British Mercantile Fire Office—on 26th September, 1881, a policy was effected there in the name of C. Wilson, trading as Wilson and Co., Gresham, Street, for 6,000l.—it is still running by renewal—it appears on the back that the limit on ant one article is 300l—on 14th March, 1884, another policy for 4,000l. Was taken out on three pictures, "The Crucifixion," "The Marriage of the Virgin," and "The Unbelief of St. Thomas," and on 12th March, 1885, a fresh policy for 4,000l., expiring on 14th February, 1886, on the pictures, a "Marriage of the Virgin;" 2,000l., at Burlington House, and 2,000l. on the two pictures "The Crucifixion" and "Ten Unbelief of St. Thomas"—There was an insurance running from 24th December, 1886, for 2,000l. in equal proportions on the two last at Mr. Brook's. 34, Fitzroy street; that was endorsed on 10th March to 93, Gresham Street.
Cross-examined. These policies were effected through Mr. Collins, one of the best known insurance agents—he no doubt had an opportunity of examining the pictures before they were covered at the office—I have traced the prisoner's insurances as far back as Midsummer, 1874—the earlier policies described the premises as 27, Gresham Street but I understand it is the same house—he has never made any claim that I am aware of—we are not the prosecutors, I am simply a witness for the prosecution.
By the COURT. If a man destroys, loses, or burns his policy, and a reasonable statement is made to the office for its non-production, the claim is paid—Mr. Collins would have a record of policies effected through him as I have of mine—I was first asked to give evidence on the Monday or Tuesday after the fire—I was asked several questions before the Magistate about the earlier policies for 4,000l. and 2,000l., the answer to which involved the actual knowledge of the facts put to me—I had not referred to the Company's books, and was not in a position to give answers to the questions Counsel put to me—the 6,000l. and 4,000,l. policies had been immediately affected by the fire, as under them a claim might arise—I could not say myself whether the policies were new or old ones
renewed—I made a search in the books for his insurances, which enabled me to say, as I believe I did, that the prisoner had transactions with the Company extending over a number of years—I did not find out about the policies till after the committal, and it might be on the day I was examined.
By MR. MEAD. We were impartial; we gave equal facilities to the defence as to the prosecution.
Cross-examined. His balance generally was not large—a cheque for 10l. was dishonored about 15th or 16th March—I do not know whether it was re-presented and paid—it may be that the money was in the bank at the end of the day, but not in the morning.
JOHN LEWIS RUTLEY . I am proprietor of the Reynolds Gallery, 5, Great Newport Street—I have had experience all my life of the works of the old masters, and I believe I am an expert as to the genuineness of works attributed to the old masters—on 21st March I went to 93, Gresham Street, and saw two pictures, a "Crucifixion" attributed to Van Eyck, and "The Unbelief of St. Thomas," attributed to Van Leyden, which were certainly not rightly attributed to those artists—if they were genuine 1,000l. each would be adequate for insuring them—they are extremely difficult pictures to value—to me they would be of no value whatever, it is entirely matter of opinion.
Cross-examined. A perfectly certain Van Eyck would be of very large value—I have seen a Van Eyck as large as this in the Academy at Ghent 10 years ago—I never had a Van Eyck through my hands to sell as a dealer.
By the COURT. I never had a Lucas Van Leyden through my hands; he is one of the rarest of the old masters, and it would be a picture of very large value—pictures by old masters are not more or less a speculation—every picture in the National Gallery is not one about which experts have no doubt, but I am happy to say there are many pictures in the National Gallery about which there is no doubt—there are some about which people differ.
Re-examined. You might probably find 40 or 50 pictures of Van Eyck—he lived some time, he lived to a great age.
GEORGE WATSON . I am a dealer in works of art, at 8, 10, and 12, New Oxford Street, with my brother—I have been so 43 years—I valued the stock at 93, Gresham Street—I was only there two hours—I looked at the most important pictures there, worth 50l., 80l.; and 100l., and found a valuable stock, and I wrote to the solicitor to say so—I assessed what I saw at 3,000l.; that was without the "Crucifixion" and the "St. Thomas;" I had nothing to do with them—I saw them there, but was not asked to value them, nor was I able to do so.
Cross-examined. I only saw 60 or 70 of the most important pictures—there were some small pictures there in stacks which they thought were of no value, but I do not say so, because I did not look at them; the man said that they were only copies of paintings, and oleographs.
THOMAS TURNER . I am a surveyor and lithographer—I went to 93, Gresham Street, and made plans of the ground floor and the shop—the trap-door was very much worn, there were holes in one part of it, and it
was very much worn indeed—I should say that smoke would come up through there into the shop if a fire was burning below.
Cross-examined. That would give it a draught—the last survey I made was about 12 months ago, at an hotel at Port Victoria, for the purpose of enlargement—I made this plan, but it is only enough to show the posttion of the fire—it is tolerably correct, except that this red, which I suppose to indicate the first fire, was under the gas meter, and it appears outside the gas meter, and instead of that it was in two boxes, which were one inside the other.
COLIN MCLEOD (Re-examined by the COURT). Jefferies came to me with the two pictures and two vases—he did not help me at that time—that was the first time he came, but the second time he brought four pictures and two vases, and put them down in the shop inside the door—I was unloading the van, he spoke to me, but he did not make any comment—he then went to Gresham Street—I did not see which way he went—I did out notice that anything was the matter, or whether he was in a hurry—I was loading the van—he came back for the other case—he helped me because Mr. Wainwright was not there—after he had put them down he went back to Gresham Street, he did not talk to me—I saw him go back—I can't say which way he went, I only saw him start—I took no notice of whether he was in a hurry or not—when he came back he came back for the keys—he helped me out with two pictures then because Mr. Wainwright was not there—I saw him come that time—I could not say if he came back the same way as before; I might have been in the shop, or in the van unloading with my back towards him—he came back for the key as if there was nothing unusual, and helped me out with two large pictures and then went back with the keys—I did not know that anything unusual had taken place, there was nothing from his manner, or from anything he said.
By the JURY. I cleared the basement before I left, so that no rubbish was left lying about.
By the COURT. Before I left with the vanload, that was—we generally do have a clear up on Saturday—I remember doing it then—the boxes were there when I left; I was using them for packing, and got them out to put a lot of china in—there wan no rubbish as far as I saw.
HENRY JEFFERIES (Re-examined by the COURT). Q. You need not answer any questions unless you like. A. Yes, I will answer. Q. Did you put these boxes where they were found.A. Certainly not. Q. Nor the rubbish? A. Nor the rubbish.
This being the conclusion of the evidence for the prosecution, MR. JUSTICE GRANTHAM stated that he should tell the Jury that, in his opinion, they would not be justified in convicting the prisoner. MR. MEAD said that, after this intimation, he should not proceed further with the case.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. JUSTICE GRANTHAM stated that the prisoner was discharged without a stain on his character.
NEW COURT.—Monday, April 4th, 1887.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted.
ARTHUR BARBER . I keep a fishmonger's shop at 277, High Street, Stratford—on 3rd March the prisoner came in about 9 o'clock for two-Pennyworth of fish and a pennyworth of potatoes—he was served by Davis, who afterwards handed me the coin and said "Here, Mr. Barber, here is a had two-shilling piece"—I looked at it, and could see it was Bent—I went round the counter to the prisoner, and said "Where did You get this from?"—he said "From the Corporation; I have been Working for the tramways"—I said "That is not the Corporation"—he Said he had it as a 5s. sub; meaning, I suppose, he had had 5s. as part of The wages due to him—I said "Have you any more money about you"—he Said "here is a two shilling piece"—I said "That seems to be all right "The Corporation"—I called for my hat and coat, and said 'If they will Change it it will be all right"—I went out of my shop with him, and When we got outside he said "Don't lock me up, governor"—I said "I have not got outside he said anything about locking up; come down, and we will go and see anyhow"—he said "It is no good going down"—I said "Why?"—he said "Because they never gave it me"—I said "Oh, where did you get it from?"—he said "I had it last week"—I that time a constable came up, and I gave the prisoner into custody—I gave the florin to the constable; this is it—I believe the prisoner was perfectly sober, although he attempted to look silly—I asked him what he had done with the other shilling when he talked about the 5s. sub.—he said he had had some beer with it.
ELEANOR DAVIS . I live at 277, High Street, Stratford, and am a domestic servant in the last witness's employment—on 3rd March the prisoner came in for two pennyworth of fish and a pennyworth of potatoes—I served him—he gave me a florin, which I tried between my teeth; it bent—I asked him what he called it—he looked up as if he was silly or drunk, but said nothing—I handed the florin over to Mr. Barber, who came round and spoke to the prisoner—this is the coin-you stand and eat at the counter in our in our shop.
ALFRED LAZEL (policeman K 356). On 3rd March I was called to Mr. Barber's shop—I saw the prisoner and Mr. Barber just outside the door—M. Barber said "I shall give this man into custody for attempting to pass a bad two-shilling piece in my shop"—I said to the prisoner "You hear what this man has said?"—he said "Yes; I work for the Corporation, and had 5s. sub"—I then took the prisoner into the kitchen and searched him—I found a good florin—then I took him to the station-about half way there he tried to snatch himself away from me—I got the him down, and to get him on the ground and hold him until I got the assistance of another constable to take him to the station—the prisoner said he should have a b-good go to get away—at the station he gave the address 3, Elm Road, West Ham—he was charged, and made the same reply about working for Corporation—that night he was kept at the station—on the 4th he was taken to the railway, and on the way he said
he lived at the third turning to the right in the Romford Road past the Drill Hall, in the third house on the left—that house was empty at the time—on the 11th, on the way to the railway again, he gave me another address, 2, Dye Street, Bloomsbury; that is a lodging-house—I find he did lodge at that place for a fortnight—before he was charged I made inquiry about the Elm Road address, and I came back and said to him "The address you gave is wrong"—he said "I did live there."
The prisoner in his defence stated that he had. had the coin given him in his wages, and did not know it was had, and that he had given, addresses he had previously lived at as he. did not want his friends to know he was locked up.
GUILTY .— Judgment respited.
MR. METCALFE Prosecuted; MR. MARSHALL HALL Defended.
The prisoner stated in the hearing of the Jury that he PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully wounding his wife.
GUILTY Eight Months'. Hard Labour.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted; MESSRS. GEOGHEGAN and TAYLOR Defended.
JOHN WARD . I am a. draper, and live. at 5, Hayter Villars, Haw Road, West Ham—on 25th July last year, about 4 o'clock, I left, my house securely fastened, leaying no one in charge—the front door was locked and the back door, and the windows. were shut and bolted—I returned after 8 o'clock and found the police there—the front door was forced open, and two drawers in the bedroom were open, but nothing had been taken away.
Cross-examined. Mine is the end house of a row of villas—there is a front garden and a bow window, which comes between my door and the next house; it is not a double house—there is a street in, front and a field at the side—the police were at the door when I returned, and the landlord, and some neighbours—the lock had been forced back by a lever.
Re-examined. There is a little path in front and a gate—looking out at my bow window you can seen the gates of the other house.
MRS. ALLWRIGHT. I am the wife if Walter Allwright. of Ham Road Villas, West Ham, next door but one to Mr. Ward—on, the 25th, July last, between a quarter and half-past 6, I was sitting at the parlour window, ground floor, and noticed Mr. Ward's gate open, and in about two minutes I saw the prisoner run, from the door to the gate, and reconnised him at once as a man who I had seen there on the Sunday fortnight previous, the 11th, with another man, between 7 and 8 p.m., and go up to the door and knock—the other man was much, bigger than the prisoner—I do not know whether, they went in—I saw them go away in about five minutes—they knocked several times, but they did not go up to the door together—one went to the door and the other passed on, and then the other did the same—on 25th July I saw the, prisoner go through Mr. Ward's gate, turn to the left, and walk up the road in the opposite direction to me—about five minutes afterwards he returned,
went up to the doorway, and stood there about five minutes—I could not see the door—he then left the gate, passed my house, went straight up the road, and returned, and I saw him go in at the gate again—he was at the door five or six minutes, left the gate again, and turned to the left—he was gone five or six minutes, and returned the same way—he could see me plainly; that was the fourth time—he was at the door five or six minutes—he left the gate and went by my house again and turned the corner—No. 1 is the end house—he was not gone longer than three minutes that time, and he returned and passed my window again, and went in at the gate again—I then left the window, went to the back of of my house, and spoke to my next door neighbour, Mrs. Taylor, No. 2 the other way, and then went back to the window, and saw the landlord, Mr. Winsburrow, pass—he went to Mr. Ward's gate, and slammed it to very loudly, and went down the side of the house in, the field, and returned and passed my house, and went in at his own gate—he lives at No. I—he had just gone in at his own door when I saw the prisoner open Mr. Ward's gate, and run up the road towards the left, not past my house—I knocked at the window loudly, and went to the door—the landlord passed me, and I made a communication to him—he went to Mr. Ward's door—I picked out the prisoner from 10 others at the station on the following Friday—the prisoner wore a brown mixed suit and at the station a grey mixed suit, a check I should call it—this suit (produced) is similar to what the prisoner wore; it looked browner at a distance, but if you look into it there is another colour in it—it was a very wet evening, but the day had been fine.
Cross-examined. The police came a quarter of an hour or 20 minutes after that—I saw them from my window—I did not see Mr. Ward leave his house—McGowan, the detective, asked me to go to the station at 11 o'clock at night, and I went, and waited there a quarter of an hour or 20 minutes—I was then taken into a room, and McGowan said "I want you to see if you can identify the man you saw on Sunday"—I had described the man as rather short and thick set, dark sunken eyes, and if he had a moustache it was a very slight one, and his age 30 to 35, dressed in a brown suit and a hard felt hat—the men in the room had their hats off, but the prisoner's hat was on, and when I saw him I picked him out—there were dark, fair, and red men there, and middle-aged and young—I have spoken to several persons about this case since I gave my evidence—I have complained very much of the indifference of the authorities in the case—I have been put to very great trouble—in the first instance the man had no right to be allowed bail; that made us talk so much about the case—I have written several letters to the Home Secretary, and my husband has written some—I heard McGowan say that there were 10 men at the station and the prisoner made 11.
Re-examined. After talking to the landlord for the second time I went to my window and kept there till the police arrived—I saw no stranger come up the garden before the police came.
By the JURY. The road runs straight north and south, and the field is just round the corner—there are small forecourts to the houses, and you go up two steps to the doors, which face the street—you have not to turn sideways to enter.
leave Mr. Ward's door several times between half-past six and half-past seven, he passed the window where I stood—on Sunday, 25th July, I was standing at the bay window, on the side nearest Mr. Ward's, facing the road, between 6.30 and seven, and saw the prisoner leave the gate, and put a white handkerchief round his neck—he passed the window where I stood, and I watched him up the road for two or three minutes—I then went to the back of our house and informed the landlord, Mr. Winsburrow, I was there a few minutes making him hear—I waited in my kitchen two or three minutes, and then opened the front door, and heard a crash and a bang on a door step, it seemed to come from Mr. Ward's—I went into the middle of the road—nobody came through the gate, but the gate was open—after I had been to No. 1 Mrs. Allwright spoke to me, that was before I communicated with the landlord—I am sure the prisoner is the man, he wore a mixed brown suit and a hard felt hat, I should say that this was the suit (produced)—I identified him at the police-station on Friday morning, when he was placed with 10 or a dozen men.
Cross-examined. There were two houses between me and Mr. Ward's door—the bay window juts out, and he could see me if he looked; there was a lace curtain, but still you can see anyone—I saw Mr. Ward leave his house at 4.30, but not at 6.30—I was away from the window from about half-past four to about half-past six—it was a very wet evening.
ELIZABETH HARRIS . I am a domestic servant at 2. Haytor Villas—on Sunday, 25th July, between six and seven o'clock, I was at the front window, and about 6.30 or seven o'clock I saw the prisoner go in at Mr. Ward's gate—I heard a knock at the door. I think he knocked twice—I watched at the window till he came away from the door, and when he got to the gate he looked at me and took a large handkerchief out of his pocket and tied it round his neck—I watched him as far as I could see—he went to the right, down Khedive Road—I still stood at the window for about 10 minutes and saw him come back again—I believe he saw me at the window—he passed on, I then left the room—I am sure sure he is the man, he wore a brown suit, a mixture, I should say that this it it—I picked him out on the Friday from a room full of men, at the station—this was a very wet day.
HENRY WINSBURROW . I live at 1, Hayter Villas, and am the landlord of these houses—on the 25th July last year I heard a knocking at my wall from the adjoining house, and received a communication from Mrs. Taylor—I went out an soon as possible, and went to No. 5, and saw the gate open—the door was shut, I shut the gate and went to the back—I then came back, and looked to see that the door was still closed, and then went to my own house—I did not see the prisoner—just as I closed my door I heard another knock—either Mrs. Taylor or Mrs. Allwright told me something, in consequence of which I again examined Mr. Ward's door—the gate which I had shut not two minutes before was open—the front door had been forced open by some instrument, I found marks on it—the catch was oft—my neighbours came, we searched the house, but found no one there—we told the police—I was not three minutes in my house between the first and second communication—it wan a very wet night.
Cross-examined. I walked from No. 1 to No. 5, but saw no one.
about 8 o'clock, and examined Mr. Ward's house, the front door had been forced open by a jemmy and the catches of the lock broken open—I went upstairs to the front room and found some drawers open but nothing disturbed—I received a description of a man from Allwright and Taylor, which I showed to my inspector, and in consequence of what he told me I went with Detective Hallmark on the evening of the 30th about 8.30 and traced the prisoner to 12, Dock Terrace, Lilliput Road, Custom House—we met him, stopped him, and said, "Is your name Marchant?" he said "Yes, what do you want to know for?" I said "I am a police officer and am going to arrest you on suspicion of breaking and entering the dwelling-house No. 5, Hayter Villas, Ham Road"—he said "I don't know what you mean," and at the same time he stepped back into the roadway from the path, and tried to get his right hand into a back pocket of his trousers—I called to Hallmark to look out, and immediately seized his right hand, and on searching him I found this 5-barrelled revolver, which was loaded in three chambers, and two chambers contained empty cartridges—we took him to Ham station, he was placed with a number of men, and Allwright, Taylor, and Harris picked him out without hesitation—somebody mentioned the revolver, and he referred to a catalogue and said "You can see by this catalogue that I bought it at a sale at Forest Gate"—I found on him the catalogue, a metal watch, a metal brooch, two common rings, and a scarf pin.
Cross-examined. I find a 5-chambered revolver mentioned in the catalogue, and have seen the auctioneer, who says that this is a similar one—you would get this for about 7s. 6d.—Mr. Ward is foreman at a draper's shop in Plaistow—I kept observation on 240, Grange Road, Plaistow, which is about a quarter of a mile from the draper's shop, which I understand was the prisoner's shop, but I never saw him there, I heard that he had lived there—he had a shop a shop at 12, Lilliput Road, not a draper's but secondhand furniture, a kind of old curiosity shop. (The catalogue was dated July 29th.)
Re-examined. The catalogue is "Lot 29, silver-plated 6-chambered revolver," but this is 5-chambered—I have ascertained that a 5-chambered revolver is the description of the one sold at the sale—I do not know how long he was at Grange Road, but he had had the shop at 12, Lilliput Road three days.
PAUL HALLMARK (Detective Officer). I was with McGowan on 30th July when the prisoner was arrested—I saw this revolver taken from his pocket, the statement about his starting back into the road and putting his hand into his pocket is true—I followed him to the shop in Lillput Road on I think the Monday night, it is a second-hand furniture shop, he was in business there.
Cross-examined. When he was charged he said that he bought the revolver at a sale by Newlands—the articles found on him are entered in the charge sheet, which is I think in the writing of the Inspector on duty, the prisoner could not see what the Inspector was writing, but the revolver was handed to the Inspector in his presence—McGowan and I together kept observation on 240, Grange Road, and sometimes I went by myself but I did not generally stop there long when I saw the prisoner—I saw him there several times, it is close to where I live—I actually saw him removing his goods, and followed him.
Hallmark on the 28th, and we then kept observation on the prisoner's premises—that was two days before his arrest—I never saw him till I arrested him.
Cross-examined. I first heard of the robbery on the evening of 25th July, and got the description the same evening—Hallmark and I do not belong to the same station—I joined him on the 28th, and he gave me information; at that time the house, No. 240, was closed—I Went there at 9 p.m.
JOHN LLOYD (Detective Sergeant). On 30th July I went with McGowan to 12, Lilliput Road, searched the premises, and found these suits of clothes hanging in a cupboard—this one was damp and muddy; I brought it away—I also found some watches and gold rings, which have not been identified.
Cross-examined. They have been in the station ever since, and a description of them has been circulated through the Kingdom—they have not been identified as the proceeds of any buglary or theft.
RICHARD WILDEY (Police Inspector). I was present when the prisoner was committed at this Court on the 13th of last September to take his trial; when the case was called on, he did not answer—I received a warrant for his arrest, and his recognisances were estreated and those of his sureties—on 17th of March I went to Manchester and communicated with the Magistrates, and the prisoner was given over to me by the police—there is no one here who was present when his premises were searched, but I was shown a lot of property which was in his possession; they declined to let me bring it to London—I merely said to him, "Well, Harry, I have come to fetch you back"—he made no reply.
Witnesses for the Defence.
JAMES HARRISON . I am a manure dealer, of 21, Hancock Road, Bromley—on Sunday, 25th July, between 12 and 1 o'clock, I went to the prisoner's house, 240, Grange Road, Plaistow, and borrowed a ridings saddle; I had a mare with me, and asked him to ride her, he said he could not, as he was busy packing up his things, as he was going to move to-morrow; he asked if I had got a van I could lend him to move them—I said "Yes," and he came on the Monday morning about 7 o'clock and borrowed it—he brought the van back on the Wednesday, and on the Friday he came to my stable and asked me to let him have it again, I did so; he brought it back in the afternoon, and brought a revolver, which lie said he bought at a sale at Forest Gate, and pulled out the catalogue.
Cross-examined. I left him at home—I was one of his bail at the police-court—I never paid a penny of it, because I was sold up before.
EMILY JACKSON . I am a domestic servant, in the service of the prisoner and his wife, at 12, Dock Terrace, Lilliput Road—I remember the 25th July, because we were packing up on the Sunday to move on Monday morning—my master left the house twice that day to my knowledge—I was there all that day—he wore a light plaid suit.
Cross-examined. He remained away about 10 minutes the first time, which was between half-past 2 and 3, and he was out again from 7 to half-past—it was light—I remember the date, because we knew when he was charged what time he went out—by we I mean the other witnesses—nothing recalls it to my memory, I have not talked it over with anybody—I have been in his employment three years, and am so still—I have
been to Manchester with him as his servant—I do not know what he was doing there.
By the COURT. I was in the kitchen during the day, and all over the house, helping to pack up—I did not stand at the hall door—I know he went out at those times—I know he did not wash himself all day long, and I don't think he would go out without.
ELIZA AUSTIN . I am married, and live at 53, Martindale Road—on Friday, 23rd July, the prisoner called and made a communication to me, in consequence of which I went to his house on Sunday morning the 25th, with the first load of goods—I was in the house all day, he left the house twice—I was in the kitchen, and all over the house, assisting in moving, with him, and his wife, and Jackson, and his son—the prisoner left the first time between half-past 2 and 3, and the second time between 7 p.m. and half-past.
Cross-examined. I know the particular hours, because he brought some drink back to us before the houses closed at 3 o'clock; they open again at 6 o'clock—I remember his going out at 7.30, because we all had tea at 6 o'clock, the prisoner, and the servant, and I and all the family—I swear he was there, and that he did not leave the house till 7 o'clock or half-past—he was in his shirt-sleeves—I am his wife's sister—I was at the police-court, but did not give evidence—Mr. Willis defended him there.
MARY ANN ROBINSON . I am married, and live at 1, Nelson Street, Tidal Basin—I remember Sunday, 25th July last, because I had been to East London Cemetery to see my child's grave, and I called on the prisoner just before 4 o'clock, because it turned out wet—I had tea there about 5 o'clock, and stopped till 9 o'clock—the prisoner only left the house for a few minutes; he was packing up.
Cross-examined. We had tea at 5 o'clock, not 6 o'clock—I was at the police-court, but was not called—I am no relation of the prisoner; I did not know him well—I went in to pay for some oilcloth—he went out for two or three minutes just after 7 o'clock—I was in the kitchen; he was not in the kitchen all the time—he had no coat on while I was there.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Liverpool on 17th February, 1879, of stealing jewellery and plate, when he was sentenced to seven years' penal servitude. Several other convictions were proved against him, and it was stated that he was in the habit of carrying a loadedrevolver.— Ten Years' Penal Servitude.
The COURT and JURY commended the conduct of the three police officers.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted; MR. SALTER Defended.
The prosecutor stating that the prisoner was the wrong man, the RECORDER directed the Jury to find a verdict of NOT GUILTY , and stated that the prisoner left the Court without a stain on his character.
498. THOMAS DIXON (34) PLEADED GUILTY to being found by night with housebreaking implements in his possession, after previous conviction of felony at Greenwich Police-court on 3rd December, 1886, in the name of Thomas White .— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
MR. SAUNDERS Prosecuted.
SQUIRE EASTWOOD . I am an engineer, of 2, Dock Road, Canning Town—I keep a small grocer's shop—on Thursday, 13th January, about 7.15 a.m., I was in my kitchen at the back of my shop—I heard a noise in the shop, and got up to see what was the matter—I saw the prisoner leaning over the counter with the till drawer out—I went towards him, and he rushed out of the shop and closed the door behind him—I lost sight of him—I missed 2s. from my till; I had seen them there a few minutes before—I have known the prisoner some time, in fact he lodged with me at one time—I have no doubt it was he.
JOHN CASTARD (Policeman K 512). About 9 p.m. on 13th January I saw the prisoner in North Woolwich Road—the robbery had been reported at our station—I told him I should take him for stealing 2s. from Eastwood's till, about Christmas—he said "You make a mistake, I was not there"—I took him to the station—he said he was innocent—he admitted being at Silvertown at Christmas with his brothers.
The prisoner in his defence said that on 10th January he went to look for work at the Gas Works and other places, and was not at the prosecutors shop at the time of the robbery, but at Middlesborough.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Recorder.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS and GOODRICH Prosecuted; MR. DUKE Defended.
MELINA ANSELL . I am the wife of Charles Ansell, who is at present in Australia; I live at 103, Roan Street, Greenwich—the prisoner is my brother-in-law, he and his wife occupied a room on the top floor of that house—prior to 4th March my sister had been ill and confined to her bed a month—I was staying with her, nursing her—on Friday night, 4th March, Dr. Gordon came, about 9, to see her—the prisoner was downstairs, I fetched him up, Dr. Gordon told him that his wife was very dangerously ill, and ordered him to letch the medicine in a quarter or half an hour at latest, and some ice to be put into some cold water for her to drink—the prisoner went out at 20 minutes to 10, he returned at 12.20—I was in the room when he returned, with Mr. and Mrs. Carter, his wife was in bed—the prisoner seemed cross—My sister said to him,
"Frank, you have no love for me or you would have returned with my medicine before, knowing that the doctor said I was to have it in a quarter of an hour or 20 minutes at latest"—He used bad language—Mrs. Carter, who is my other sister, said to him, "Have you the medicine?"—he said, "All right, wait a minute"—she said, "If you have it, give it to me"—he gave it to her, she gave it to me, and I poured it out and gave it to her—I then said, "Frank, you ought to be devilish well ashamed of yourself"—he said, "The b—room is mine. you go out of it, if you don't go I will throw you down the b—stairs," and he rushed at me, and tore my dress and apron—Mrs. Carter jumped up and said, "Frank, be quiet"—he then sat down, but jumped up again, and said he would have me out of the b—room—he took off his coat and threw it across the chair—my sister said. "Oh Frank, you wretch, you want to kill me; Melina, don't leave me"—I went to the fireplace and took the poker, and said, "Frank, if you touch me again I will hit you with this," and I placed the poker between my legs, holding the knob in my hand—he jumped up again, snatched the poker out of my hand, and" threw it into the fireplace—he was quiet then, and sat down for about a second, and then he jumped up and said he would set light to the b—bed and the b—lot of us, and then he struck at the lamp violently with his right hand clenched, and missed it; he had a box of matches in his left hand—the lamp was on the corner of the table alight, it held close upon a quart of paraffin—he then struck at the lamp again and knocked it over; it went from that table on to a side table and on to a chair, and then on to the floor, and there was a great smash and a great flame—the door was burnt, and two chairs and two large pictures that were hanging up by the door, and my sister's boots; the carpet was not burnt, it was kamptulicon—the box of matches were found all burnt on the floor, and his wife's night-dress was saturated at the bottom slightly; I have it here—I rushed to my sister and pulled her out of bed, and stood her by the window, and told Mrs. Carter to call mother, father, or somebody—the prisoner was still in the room—he did not tender any assistance whatever—his wife said, "Oh Frank, help me, for God's sake help me"—he made no answer, but rushed out of the room, and struck me in the chest as he passed—I was then outside the room, knocking at Mrs. Seymour's door, then I fell, and crawled down stairs and knocked at the parlour door, and I don't remember anything more.
Cross-examined. I said before the Magistrate that my sister said "Oh, Frank, for God's sake help me"—the prisoner and my sister have been married close on six years—they lived together all that time—I had been there a month; during that time two doctors were in attendance on my sister—the prisoner called them in—she went a long time without a doctor—she had beef-tea from a visiting lady—the prisoner is a labourer—I do not know what wages he earned—he was not much in debt, I think; he was a little—I do not know for what—the doctor said my sister was in very great danger, that she was throwing up blood—when the prisoner threatened to throw me downstairs I said "I will not leave my dying sister"—I was not struggling with the prisoner round the room when the lamp was knocked over—he made no attempt to put the fire out—my husband has been in Australia twelve months—the last service I was in was—about two months before my sister died.
By the COURT. The prisoner had been drinking, but he was quite sober—he might have had a glass or two—he was not tipsy—they had lived very unhappily—he used to knock her about and kick her and sit on her hips, and make a bootjack of her—about eight weeks ago he kicked her in the thigh in bed—I never heard her say that he was kind to her.
MARY JANE CARTER . I am the wife of Edward Carter, and sister of the deceased—I live next door to the prisoner—on Friday night, 4th March, about twenty minutes to 12, I went into the prisoner's room; his wife was in bed—the prisoner came in about 12.20—there Were some words and the prisoner knocked over the lamp; it went on the floor and the flames sprang up—the deceased said "For God's sake, Frank, help me, don't leave me"—he made no answer but rushed out.
Cross-examined. I did not see him do anything with his coat. (The witness's deposition being read stated: "He put his coat over the fire, and tried to put it out.") I don't remember saying that—he did not try to put the fire out—I did not say so; this is the coat—he took it off to fight my sister, and the flames caught it and burnt it—when the prisoner came in the deceased asked about the medicine, and why he had been so long, and he replied "You ought to be b—well up; what are you lying, there for?"—I stated that before the Magistrate—he ordered my sister out of the room, and she said she would not go—he was not drunk—I can't say whether I told Inspector Lawder that this was an accident—the prisoner's coat was lying across the chair that was burnt.
GEORGE EDWARD CARTER . I am the husband of last witness—I saw smoke at the prisoner's window—I opened the door and went in, and found the prisoner's wife standing by the window—I helped her out—she was taken to her father's, and died on the Monday night.
Cross-examined. I said to the prisoner "Frank, you must be mad"—he said "Can I see my wife?"—I said "Yes, she is in my room"—he said nothing more.
WILLIAM MILLER (Police Sergeant K). On the night of 4th March, about half-past 12, in consequence of information, I went to 103, Roan Street to the top room—I found certain articles had been burnt, and signs of water having been thrown—the fire had been put out—certain articles were damaged by fire—the inside of the door was burnt, and the floor was slightly damaged—I went next door, and there saw the deceased and her sister—in consequence of what they told me I looked for the prisoner—I found him in his garden—I told him I should charge him with wilfully setting fire to his room—he said "I did not do it, intentionally; I did it accidentally in swinging my arm round"—he was quite sober; he smelt of drink.
Cross-examined. I saw this coat; it was very much burnt, lying on one of the chairs—I produce the lamp.
Witnesses for the Defence.
ALICE ELIZABETH SEYMOUR . I am the wife of Joseph Seymour, a labourer, of 103, Roan Street—we occupied the room under the prisoner—on 4th March there was a disturbance overhead, and my husband and I ran upstairs—I heard the words "You ought to be d—d well ashamed of yourself; this is a fine time to come home"—the prisoner told the sister to leave the room or he would turn her out—she said she would not leave her dying sister; she kept on aggravating the prisoner;
the deceased kept begging her to let him alone—they were all going on at him, and then he seemed to jump up and ran after her round the room—there was a struggle, and then a smash—I have known the prisoner and his wife six years; they seemed to live on pretty good terms, if there was any quarrel it was pretty soon over—the wife was of a very irritable disposition; she was in a consumption.
MARY VINCE . I live with my parents at 12, Charlotte Street, Greenwich—I was working at the prisoner's for about three months—he was always good-natured to his wife—I never saw him beat or kick her—I was there every day.
WILLIAM LAWDER (Police Inspector R). On the night of 4th March Mrs. Ansell and Mrs. Carter came to the station at 11.20—Mrs. Ansell said the prisoner had wilfully knocked over the lamp—Mrs. Carter said it was done accidentally—she afterwards contradicted it, and said it was done wilfully.
NOT GUILTY .
There was another indictment of the prisoner for the manslaughter of his wife upon which no evidence was offered.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WILSON Prosecuted.
SARAH SHADBOLT . I had taken out a summons against my husband on 19th February, for ill using me on the previous Saturday, and on the night of 22nd February I was on the bed dressed, when he came to the bedside and said he would take my life; he said he knew he should get a month for what he had done, and he might as well be committed for manslaughter as not—I begged of him to be quiet and he fell into a drunken sleep until morning—he said nothing till he went out and got drunk—he came back about 20 minutes after, walked up and down the room for a few minutes, and then came to my bedside and said "I must take your life," or something to that effect—he had nothing in his hand then—he made for my chest, my shawl gave way; I got up off the bed and caught hold of him, and then he reached, took something off the bed, there was a scuffle, I felt a blow on the top of my head, and then I saw the light of the door and remember no more—when I came to I was at a neighbour's house—I was taken to the hospital, out of which I came last Monday—I am still an out-patient.
WILLIAM WIGGINS (Policeman R 437). From what was told me I went in search of the prisoner on 23rd February, and found him in the Clarendon public-house—I took him to 11, Ship Street, where the prosecutrix was lying—I charged him with a violent assault—he said at first that it was wrong, he had not assaulted her, but afterwards he said "I thought that I had settled her"—I afterwards searched his room—one of his children, a boy about seven years old, gave me this hammer—there was nothing on it; the boy had been playing with it.
HERBERT CHARLES JONES . I am senior house surgeon at the Miller Hospital, Woolwich—between 12 and 1 o'clock on 23rd February the prosecutrix was brought there with two scalp wounds on the upper and back part of her head—one of them went down to the bone, the surface of which could be felt to be dented—the other did not go down to the bone—a hammer would produce such an injury—she remained in the hospital about a week—when she left she, had fairly recovered, but was very weak.
The prisoner in his defence stated that he did not intend to do his wife any Harm, and that he was under the influence of drink.
GUILTY .— twelve months' hard labour.
MR. PARTRTDGEM Prosecuted.
EDWARD JOHN RALPH . I am an agent, of 39, Blackheath Road, Greenwich—just after midnight on Saturday, 12th March, I was in South Street, and a man came up behind me, struck me in my ribs, put his Arms round my throat, pulled me to the ground, tore open my overcoat, And seized my watch-chain; I seized my watch, the chain broke, and the Man ran away with part of it—this is it (produced)—I called out for help And the police came—before this happened a man had accosted me in London Street, and asked me to give him some drink—I refused, but he Pestered me. And to get rid of him I gave him 1s. and he left me—I. Cannot identify the two as the same person.
ALFRED THOMAS MARTIN . I am a lighterman—early on the morning Of March 13th I was in Blackheath Road and saw the prisoner, who I Knew before, shove the prosecutor down, about 20 yards from a lamp—I Did not see what he did, but as he ran past me I saw him pass a chain from one hand to the other and go on—I heard Ralph call out, told a constable, and he was taken.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I can swear you are the man—I saw You follow the man and knock him down and steal his chain—you ran down London Street.
FRANCIS ALLAN (Policeman RR 20). I received information, and took The prisoner a few minutes afterwards in East Street, and said "I shall Take you in custody on suspicion of stealing from the person a watch and chain in my life"—I took him to the station, and found on him a shilling a half-Penny, and a Hanoverian sovereign—I went back to the spot where I Arrested him, and found this piece of chain in the gutter, which the prosecutor identifies.
Prisoner's Defence. I was standing in the street when Martin came by And charged me. I swear I never stole a watch and chain in my life. They kept me an hour till they found the chain. Martin has a spite Against me.
GUILTY .— Nine months' Hard Labour.
MESSRS. MEAD and GOODRICH prosecuted.
LAVINIA BENNETT . I am the wife of Peter Bennett, of 90, Cannon Street, Shadwell—the prisoner is my sister—her youngest child, Rose, was born about the end of last October—I was present—it appeared Healthy, but there was a mishap at its birth, and it was bleeding from its nose—I went there sometimes every day, and after the first five days, Two or three times a week—the prisoner suckled it for three weeks, after which it was fed on biscuits and condensed milk—it did not thrive after the weaning—I told the prisoner that it was getting thin—she said
"Yes," and spoke about taking it to a doctor, but I said "Take it to the Dispensary"—it seemed better on the Monday, and she did not take it—I last saw it on 26th January, and said "Baby gets thin"—she said "Yes, it is thinner than it was, but not so thin as it was last week"—I went there a little after 2 o'clock on the day it died, and I went to two doctors and then to the police-station—the Coroner's officer came to the house and I washed the child's face—I noticed that it was skinned across the bottom of its stomach, which the prisoner said she thought was from measles—I know her husband—he was in work up to a fortnight before the child died—his wages were about 30s. a week—my sister has six children living—she had work part of two days since the chill's birth.
MARY ANN DALBY . I live at 5, Dugald Street, Deptford, five doors from the the prisoner—we have been neighbours 18 months—I never saw the deceased child; it was never taken out to my knowledge—during the four or five months before its death the prisoner was a great deal away from home in the daytime, and on several occasions when the baby has been screaming dreadfully I have spoken to the little girl about it—I have seen the prisoner coming home to tea about 5 o'clock the worse for drink several times—I know that the child was born on 19th October—I have a reason for fixing the date.
SARAH ANN DOGIN . I live at 1, Dugald Street, Deptford—I knew the prisoner and her husband as neighbours—I saw the deceased about a month before her death; she was lying on a bed, and only the eldest boy in the room—no one was attending to her—I saw the prisoner go out about 9 o'clock almost every morning—I have only seen her come back on Saturdays about midnight, and sometimes she was drunk—I was in bed on other nights—the eldest girl looked after the baby when the mother was away during the day, and I have seen her playing in the street when there was no one else at home.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You came home—I have not seen Mr. Curme come home with you—I never saw you go out on Saturday nights.
SUSAN HARRIS . I live a short way from the prisoner—I have known her nine months, but never saw the baby—I have seen her go out about 9 a.m., and return between 4 and 5 o'clock—I very often knocked against her—the children were in charge of the eldest girl while she was away, and she was in the street more often than indoors—the baby was born on 19th October—I have a reason for recollecting the date.
ESTHER HICKS . I lived next door to the prisoner for 18 months—I never saw the deceased child, but I have heard it crying, and she often spoke to the little girl about its crying—I saw the prisoner go out about 9 or 9.30—she sometimes returned between 3 and 4 o'clock, and sometimes about 10 o'clock, and on several occasions she was the worse for drink—the eldest girl, about 11, looked after the children, but I have seen her playing in the street in her mother's absence—I never knew the prisoner do any work; the father was out of work sometimes—I have sometimes seen the children wasteful, and sometimes picking up food from a dust hole—I was never in the house, but I have smelt it as I went by, leading me to think it was neglected, and I consider the deceased was neglected—on the Saturday night before its death, about 12th February, I saw the prisoner going in doors drunk—I saw her two or three days before her confinement; she looked then as if she had had a glass too much.
CHARLOTTE HANKS . I am the wife of John Hanks, of 2, Dugald Street—I saw the deceased three weeks or a month after its birth, the eldest girl brought it into my house, it was very small and thin—I have only heard it crying once, and my bedroom is next to Mrs. Curme's—I spoke to the eldest child, Emily, once when she was in the street, and told her to go indoors and mind the baby.
HENRY WOODING . I am Coroner's officer for Deptford—on 13th February I received information of the death of this child, I went to Dugald Street, and saw the body lying on a table, dressed in a dirty nightgown, it was very dirty and emaciated—the prisoner told me it was seven weeks old, but it looked older—it was very thin indeed—the prisoner was sworn as a witness at the inquest on the 16th of February, and stated that the child was hers—a verdict of manslaughter was returned against her—I saw the body again on the 17th, it was cleaner, and the wounds which I had seen on it were filled up with Fuller's earth—it weighed barely 4 3/4 lb.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. It had the same night-gown on when it went to the mortuary.
GEORGE CARPENTER . I am cashier at Messrs. Maudsley's, engineers, of East Greenwich—the prisoner's husband came into their employ the last time on the 2nd of January, 1886, but he was there last year up to September, his wages were 33s. a week—he was taken off for five days and went to work again on September 23rd; he remained in the employment till about February 5th, at the same Wages.
HUGH CAMERON GILLIES . I am a surgeon, of 6, Greek Road—on Sunday, 13th of February, at seven p.m., I went to 1, Dugald Street, and saw the dead child, there was no light in the room, but the father struck a match, he had no candle, so I only examined it cursorily—I made a post mortem examination next day, the first thing that attracted my attention was the emaciated and starved appearance of the body, and the shrivelled state of the skin and a remarkable redness of the corners of the month and eyes, that is a recognised attendant upon starvation—there was very severe chating of the skin on the groin and the posterior part of the body, even to the extent of bleeding, and the back of the thighs were skinned, and certain parts were covered with spots which I took to be flea bites—on opening the head I noticed an absence of any blood; and I was very much struck with the hardness of the skull for a child of seven weeks old, which the father told me it was—the left lung was in the second stage of acute inflammation, but all the organs indicated loss of nutrition, there was no fat of any kind—the heart was not strictly diseased but it was poor, in consequence of not being nourished—the stomach was small and empty, the intestines were empty also, remarkably so—I have no doubt that the child died from starvation and neglect—the normal weight of a child of that age is from 10 to 14 lb. at the very lowest.
HOWARD BANTINK (Police Inspector R). I took the prisoner on a Coroner's warrant, cautioned her and told her it was for causing the death of her child by starvation and neglect; she said" I know that"—the female searcher afterwards gave me 15 pawn tickets relating to articles of wearing apparel, mostly children's, and there were some for bed linen—this is the certificate of registration. (This certified the birth of Rose Jane Curme on 16th December, 1886)—the prisoner made a statement at the adjourned inquest, which was read over to her and I saw her sign it.
MARY HAWKINS . I am female searcher at Deptford Station—on 28th February I searched the prisoner and found 15 pawn tickets, she said that I did not require them, they belonged to the children's clothing which she had had given her by friends, and her husband had been out of work for four months.
GEORGE CLARKE (Policeman R 298). I was with the Coroner's officer when he went to the prisoner's house, and was present when Lavinia Bennett handed the baby to him, it was wrapped in a very dirty nightgown—the body was very thin and dirty.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. CRANSTOUN Prosecuted.
ALFRED HALL . I am a carman in the employ of Mr. Webb, a builder, at Brockley—on 25th February about 1 p.m. I was driving down Camberford Road, Brockley, and saw the prisoner near Mr. Webb's field with a donkey and small barrow, I saw him load a piece of a brickmaking machine on his barrow, I immediately went for a police constable, returned with one, I found the prisoner in the road, about 100 yards from the place, and he was arrested—I said nothing to him.
JEPTHAH FEASEY (Policeman P 112). Hall gave me some information—I went with him and arrested the prisoner 100 or 150 yards from the prosecutor's field—I asked him what he had got there, and he said some iron he had bought of a building-looking man in the Breakspear Arms for 15s., I told him I should take him to the station, he then said that he had given 5s. for it, and had to pay 15s. more—when I went up to him he was leading the donkey away from the field—the prosecutor identified the iron next day.
JOHN WILLIAM WEBB . I am a builder, of Brockley Farm, Brockley, and keep a brick-making machine in a brickfield there—it was packed up against a wall about 100 feet from the road, it had been there two or three years, I did not use it—I saw this piece of iron on a barrow at the station next morning, it was worth about 5l., and the machine could not be worked without it—I never sold it to any one or authorised any one to take it away—the machine altogether is worth 280l.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I did not steal the iron; I bought it. It was in the middle of the day, and lots of people were about me close by at work." He repeated the same statement in his defence.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY* to a conviction of felony at this Court in December, 1885.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. PURCELL Prosecuted.
THOMAS YATES . I keep the Tiger's Head public-house, Lewisham—on 27th February, between 7 and 8 o'clock, I was in the bar-parlour with some friends, and was called into the bar, and saw the prisoners standing at the bar door, which is double, and opens at the top and bottom—I was
leaning on the flap—they got into conversation with me, and I felt a tug at my waistcoat pocket in which I carried my watch, and I found my chain and a Queen Anne's guinea was gone—the chain was nipped in two—I did not miss it for some time, till I went into the parlour—the men skedadled at once, and it was not long after that that I missed my guinea—my wife said something to me—I sent after these men, and afterwards saw them at the station and charged them.
Cross-examined by Sullivan. You were not with others, there was only you two there—I was not talking to anybody else.
Cross-examined by Herson. There were six or eight people in the bar you were in, but a long way off; they did not come near me, and I did not converse with them.
EMILY YATES . I am the wife of the last witness—on the evening of 27th February I was in the bar and saw the prisoners there, and saw my husband go out from the parlour to the bar, and I saw Sullivan handle his guinea; Herson was standing at his side—a short time after that they were speaking to my husband, and Sullivan touched him on the shoulder and whispered to him, and after that the guinea was missing—they then hastened out of the house—I said something to my husband, and some one was sent out into the street.
Cross-examined by Sullivan. I was not in the bar speaking to another woman—there was a third man with you.
Cross-examined by Herson. I was at the police-court when you first came up, but I did not hear the Magistrate ask if there were any more witnesses to give evidence, and I was not asked to do so.
OWEN REEVES . I am ostler to the prosecutor—he told me to go out into the street on this evening, and I there saw a policeman, and then I saw the prisoners going down the road—when we got up to them they ran, and the policeman caught them.
JOSHUA BRIDGEMAN (Policeman P 150). About 11 p.m. on the 28th I received information from Reeves, and noticed the two prisoners with another man—I went after them and caught them, and took Sullivan to the station—he asked me what I was doing with him—I said I was going to take them to the station, and that a spade guinea had been stolen—he said he did not know anything about it—he was drunk—Herson wanted to know what he would be charged with—I said that they had stolen a spade guinea from Mr. Yates—they both said they knew nothing about it—Herson was sober.
Cross-examined by Herson. You went quietly to the station.
FRANK HEDGLER (Policeman P 127). I took Herson, and asked him whether he had been drinking at the Tiger public-house—he said "Yes"—I took him to the station, where he was told he would be detained until Mr. Yates came to identify him—Mr. Yates came, and charged him with stealing a guinea—I said before the Magistrate "I said 'Do you know anything about a spade guinea?' and he said 'No'"—that is right.
Sullivan's Defence. I was drunk at the time and know nothing about this.
Herson's Defence. We went into this house about 10.15, there was another gentleman talking to Mr. Yates; we came out and had walked down the road about a quarter of a mile, when we were joined by another man, whom I recognised as the man who was in the public-house. Four persons then came up, and a constable took each of us, and this other
man ran off, and we were charged with stealing this spade guinea; but I knew nothing about it till the policeman charged us with it.
NOT GUILTY .
506. JOSEPH JACKSON (33) PLEADED GUILTY ** to feloniously receiving an iron chair, the property of the South-Eastern Railway, knowing it to have been stolen, and to a conviction of felony at Maidstone on 16th October, 1879.— Two Months' Hard Labour.
MR. DYSON WILLIAMS Prosecuted.
SAMUEL GOLDSMITH . I am a labourer, and lodged at 49, High Street, Woolwich—at 7 p.m. on 8th March I was in the kitchen—the prisoner came in and was very abusive—I told him I thought he was a bit wrong—he said "I think I am as good a man as you"—I said "I think I am as good a man as you"—I struck him, he struck me—I went into the washhouse; when I came back he stabbed me in my side—I sent for a doctor, who came and dressed my wounds—I then went to bed—I had never seen the prisoner before.
JAMES GILLIES . I am a street hawker, and lodge at 49, High Street, Woolwich—I was having tea with the prosecutor on 8th March, in the kitchen, and another witness—the prisoner came into the kitchen, kicking up a row with the prosecutor—when the prisoner was cutting up some tobacco on the table they had a few words, then a fight, and I expect the prisoner stabbed the prosecutor in the hand, first on the fingers, and then the prosecutor said to the prisoner" Wait till I come in, I'll give you some more"—he was then washing his hands—the prisoner went out to him and the prosecutor said he was stabbed.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. The prosecutor struck the first blow.
The prisoner in his defence said that the prosecutor put his hands in his (the prisoner's) pocket and took out 9 1/2 d., and he told the constable to charge him.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. DYSON WILLIAMS Prosecuted.
EDGAR SMALLGOOD . I am manager to the London Boot Company, 32, Powis Street, Woolwich—John Upson is a member of that firm—about the middle of March I missed two pairs of boots from outside—this is one pair—they are our own make—I can tell them by the fitting—they were fixed on sticks round the front, outside, but were secured by an extra string which must have been cut.
SIDNEY HART . I am assistant to Messrs. W. Thomas, pawnbrokers, 25, High Street, Woolwich—the prisoner pledged this pair of boots on 12th March, between 1 and 8 p.m., in the name of John Lillington, for 3s.—this is the ticket—I did not ask him whether they were his property.
prisoner and found six pawn tickets on him—this is one of them—I told him he would be charged—he said they were his own property.
The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence, said that the tickets were given him to dispose of by a man named Atkinson.
GUILTY .— Three Months' Hard Labour.
MR. POYNTER Prosecuted.
DONALD M'DONALD . I live at 5, Effingham Road, Lee—on Saturday, 12th March, I went a way leaving no one in my house—I locked the door and windows, and left everything safe—I went back on the Monday morning, and found the house in confusion—the front door was broken open, and there was a mark there—I missed seven breast pins, a gold locket, and two smelling bottles from a drawer in the front bed-room—the door of it had been looked, and it was forced.
HARRY JAYS (Policeman R R). On 13th March, about 7.40, I went to 5, Effingham Road, with Inspector Bonny, who entered at the back, undid the front door, and let me in—the house was in darkness—I heard footsteps above—went up and saw two men; I seized one, who was the prisoner Jay; the other turned back and it was too dark to recognise him—I shouted for assistance, and heard some one getting through a window—I went to the window and saw a man in the garden—he escaped—I left four or five constables there and took Jay to the station, and found this piece of candle in his overcoat pocket—I returned with Inspector Bonny, and again searched the house, and found Stannard naked in a bed in the first floor front room, and his clothes wringing wet lying by the side of the bed—I searched them and found these six salt spoons, a gold locket, four studs, 1s. 6d. in silver, and in his overcoat 10d. in bronze—he was covered with a blanket—I found these two smelling bottles on the window sill, and this bundle which the prisoner owns—there were two lockets, one was found in the wet trousers pocket which Stannard said belonged to him, and also the small diamond pin.
----BONNY (Police Inspector R). I went with Jays and saw Stannard in bed, undressed, shirt and all off—I said, "What are you doing there?"—he said, "It is all right, you have got me now; you would not, only I hurt my back"—I said, "Get out of bed"—he said, "I got into the water-butt and I am drenched"—I said, "Get out of bed and put your clothes on, though they are wet"—he said, "I can't, I hurted my back, and my foot also"—I found he was in pain and sent for the ambulance and some rugs, and took him to the station, where a doctor examined him—I then went back to the house and found the street door had been broken open by a jemmy, and the front and back bedroom doors, upstairs, were completely smashed, a writing desk broken
open, the drawers ransacked, and everything in them thrown about the place—I received this jemmy at the station, in the the morning, from the officer on duty, and found that the marks on the door corresponded with it.
ROBERT SERJEANT (Policeman R 470). On the 14th March I examined No. 3, Effingham Road, which is next to No. 5, and found in the garden of the next house, on the grass, this jemmy and some portions of a silver watch—the jemmy corresponded with the marks of violence.
Cross-examined by Stannard. The garden at the back of the prosecutor's house is about 40 yards long, but I found the jemmy in the next garden—the houses are built in a row, and there is an oak fence about 5 feet 6 inches high between them.
Stannard's Defence. I was not in the house before it was robbed. I was so hurt when I got out of the water-butt that I went to bed, being so wet, and as I pasted I saw the packet of spoons on the window-ledge and several things lying about, which I put into my pocket.
GUILTY . They were then charged with previous convictions at Middlesex Sessions, Jay on 24th June, 1885, in the name of George Wilson , and Stannard on 5th December, 1881, to which they PLEADED GUILTY.**— Five Years' Penal Servitude each.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. GOODRICH Prosecuted; MR. PURCELL Defended.
JENNY WAHL . I am the wife of Rudolph Wahl, of Westminster Bridge Road—on 17th March, about 8.15, I served the prisoner with a pint of ale—he gave me this Hanoverian medal—I gave him 19s. 10d. change, and put it on a little table where there was no other money—I served two or three customers, and the prisoner asked for another pint of ale, and paid me with two pennies—as I wanted change I took the medal to my husband, who said "This is not a sovereign"—the prisoner said "That is not the coin I passed; I passed a sovereign"—he was given in charge.
Cross-examined. I had to serve two or three customers on the other side, and when I had a minute to spare I took this coin to get change from my husband—the prisoner met a friend there, but not another soldier—they were there a quarter of an hour—I looked at the coin casually; it does not resemble a sovereign in size, colour, or figure—my husband asked him to give back the change—he refused, and a policeman was sent for—the prisoner said "You are mistaken; I never gave you that coin; that is not the coin I passed."
Re-examined. The table on which I put the medal was in a corner, and could not be reached by anybody.
RUDOLPH WAHL . I keep this beershop—my wife brought me this coin on March 17th, and I saw the prisoner in front of the bar—I had seen him there before many times—I said to him "This coin that you passed as a sovereign is not a sovereign; please take it back and give me
back my change"—I cannot remember whether he took it out of my hand, but he said "This is not the coin I passed"—I fetched a constable.
WILLIAM BANBER . I am a porter—on March 17, about 9 o'clock, I was in the public-house when the prisoner came in—he was by himself—he stood next to me—he asked for a pint of four ale, and I saw him tender to Mrs. Wahl what appeared to me to be a brass check—I saw it in his hand, and on the counter too—he threw it down the tail side up; that is the George and Dragon—Mrs. Wahl took it up and took it to her husband, and got the silver off the shelf—she took it to her hatband at once, before she gave the prisoner the change—she gave him the change after going to her husband—she then gave him 19s. 10d. change, and Mr. Wahl came up and asked the prisoner what he meant by giving him that—he said" I gave you a sovereign; I did not give you that"—he had not got the coin in his hand; it was on the counter—he was given in charge.
Cross-examined. I was not a witness at the police-court—I have been brought up by the Treasury to fortify the case—I was standing quite close to the soldier when he put the coin down, and saw it quite plainly—Mrs. Wahl served him with a second lot of beer 5 or 10 minutes after the first lot—this was all in one compartment; other persons were there—the soldier was there a quarter of an hour or a little more—the husband spoke about the coin about 10 minutes after it was given to his wife—I thought the soldier had put down a Hanoverian medal by mistake, and yet I did not say "Stop, Mrs. Wahl, that it not a sovereign," or "I see Mrs. Publican you are getting robbed"—I thought it was only a mistake.
AARON BONE (Policeman L 38). I was called to Mr. Wahl's house about 9.15—he showed me this Hanoverian medal, and said in the prisoner's pretence "This man gave me this for a pint of four ale"—the mistress then said "I took it from the soldier; he called for a pint of four ale, and I gave him 19s. 10d. change"—the prisoner said "I never had such a thing in my possession; I put down a sovereign, not that"—I took him to the station, and found on him an empty purse, and loose in his pocket a florin, two half-crowns, two shillings, two sixpences, and 7 1/2 d.
Cross-examined. He said that he had plenty of opportunity of getting away if he had passed such a thing, and he said at the police-court that a comrade had given him a sovereign to buy a Cardigan jacket, and as he had silver he paid for the jacket and kept the sovereign—there was a man there selling songs, and the prisoner told me that he had treated him.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "That coin was never in my possession; it was a sovereign I passed. Three weeks ago a man gave me a sovereign, which I passed, and I changed it."
Witness for the Defence.
jacket which most barmen wear—I had had the coin from March 1, and I believe it was a good one.
The prisoner received a good character from the pay-sergeant of his regiment.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted.
NELLY EGLETON . I am a barmaid at the Angel public-house, Lambeth Walk—on 18th March, about 9 p.m., Catherine Carroll came in for two-pennyworth of whisky, and gave me this florin—I saw it was bad, and gave it to Mrs. Cragan, the landlady; I saw her bend it.
JANE CRAGAN . I am the wife of James Cragan, landlord of the Angel—on 18th March Miss Egletoh gave me this florin—I said to Carroll "This is a bad two-shilling piece you have given to me"—she made no answer—I repeated it—I put it in the tester, and bent it in her presence—after that she left, leaving the whisky on the counter untouched—before she left I spoke to Barry, who was in the bar—he went out, and shortly afterwards he returned with Carroll, and after that a constable brought Lester in—I identified Carroll as the woman to whom I had spoken shortly before—I gave the florin to the constable directly the prisoners were brought back; they sat down facing one another, and then Lester bent forward and said something to Carroll, I could not hear what—Lester said "Do you know me?"—I said "No, I have never seen you before"—nothing else passed.
GEORGE BARRY . I live at 1, The Parade, Lambeth Walk, and am a billiard marker—on 18th March, about 9 p.m., I was in the Angel—Mrs. Cragan showed me this florin, which was bent, and said something to me, in consequence of which my attention was drawn to Carroll—I left the public-house, leaving Carroll inside—I waited outside and after about two minutes she came out—I followed her for 50 or 60 yards—I saw her go across and speak to the prisoner who was about 60 yards or more from the public-house—they were only together three or four minutes and then they separated, and the woman walked up on the left and the man on the right hand side of the Lambeth Walk in the same direction, away from the public-house—I followed them some distance, and then sent a boy for a constable—when the constable came I spoke to him—I stopped and detained Carroll—I saw the constable going after Lester, whom I had pointed out to him—when I was following them I saw the woman look back towards the public-house—they did not know I was following—I took the woman back to the public-house, and shortly afterwards the constable brought the prisoner there.
GEORGE MARMOY (Policeman L 151). At 20 minutes to 9 on the evening of 18th March I received information in consequence of which I detained Carroll, who was pointed out to me in Lambeth Walk—I left her in charge of Barry and somebody else, and in consequence of other information followed Lester—when within five or six yards he turned his head towards me; taking his right hand out of his right hand trousers pocket he placed it alongside of him, very close to his side, and I saw something bright drop from his hand—I was four or five yards from him—I said to him "What have you dropped there?"—he made no reply—I looked and picked up this bad florin, and about five or six inches from it was this small piece of metal; I could not see whether
the prisoner dropped that—I showed them to him—he said "What do you mean?"—I said "I shall take you back"—I took him back to the woman, and told him he would be charged with being concerned with her in uttering a bad florin at the Angel—he made no reply—I took him back to the Angel, where Carroll was two or three yards in front of me—I said to the landlady in the presence of the prisoners "Has there been a bad florin passed here?"—she produced the bent one and said the female prisoner had tendered it for some whisky—Carroll said I did not know it was bad"—Lester said to the landlady "Don't you know me? Haven't I been in here before?"—the landlady said nothing—I then took him to the station and searched him, and found on him 7s. in silver and 1s. 3 1/2 d. in bronze, good money, loose in his right trousers pocket, the same pocket from which the other dropped—I also found this brush on him—he made no answer when charged—he and the woman were charged together—she said "I changed the half-sovereign at Wandsworth or Kingston, where I met the man—I don't know whether I got it in change or he gave it to me; I suppose I got it in the change"—he said nothing—she made the statement voluntarily.
Cross-examined by, the Prisoner. I came up with you at the end of Lambeth Walk, just at the commencement of Cheyne Walk—that is not the darkest part of Lambeth Walk; they are mostly all shops there and most of them are open—I was four or five yards from you—it was 10 minutes or a quarter to 9—I saw you drop something bright—I could not say whether you dropped the 2s. and the piece of pewter together—I picked them up together, only a few inches apart.
The prisoner in his defence stated that he had picked up the piece of pewter, which he dropped when the constable came up to him, and he denied all knowledge of the counterfeit coin.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted.
Cross-examined by Carroll. I think you pretended to be drunk, you were not, or I should not have served you—you seemed sober but stupefied—I think you had not had much to drink.
Cross-examined by Carroll. I said at the police-court, "I told the woman it was a bad one;" she said, "If it is, I have a half-crown"—I did not say so just now, because I was not asked—I don't remember saying that you did not go out for a long time—I was talking to Barry, and said to him, "Follow the woman, and see where she goes to"—I could not say who went out first.
By the COURT. She did not tender me a half-crown, I saw one in her
hand—when I told her it was bad she was some time in answering me—while I walked to speak to Barry she walked out.
GEORGE BARRY'S evidence was read to him, to which he assented, and added: When I detained the woman I asked her to come back to the Angel, she asked me what I wanted her for, I said she would know when I got her there, and she came back—I think she was sober enough, she walked back all right with me by my side, she did not stagger.
ELLEN NORTH . I am the female searcher at Kennington Lane police station—on the 18th of March I searched Carroll, and found in her right hand a half-a crown and a penny, good money—I also found a knife and a spoon—she said she was a hawker—she had no purse—it was about 11 p.m. when I examined her, she was sober then.
Carroll in her defence stated that she was a hawker; that she did not know how she became possessed of the bad money; that she changed a half-sovereign at Wandsworth or Kingston; that she met the man first in Lambeth Walk, but did not know what she said to him; that she asked some one the way to a lodging, but that she was stupid with drink and had lost her basket.
LESTER— GUILTY .
CARROLL— GUILTY of uttering. Recommended to mercy by the Jury.— Judgment respited.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted.
ANNIE LEONARD . I live with my mother at the Peacock, Holland Street, St. Saviour's—between 4 and 5 p.m. on 22nd February, the prisoner came in for half a pint of beer and gave me this bad half-crown in payment—I gave him 2s. 5d. change and gave the half-crown to my mother, who was inside the parlour, and who could look through the window into the bar—she came into the bar.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not lay the half-crown down, I gave you change and then gave the half-crown to my mother, who marked it—I did not tell you it was bad—I did not see you walk out—I saw you walking across the road about two doors past our house.
HANNAH LEONARD . I am a widow and live at the Peacock, Holland Street, St. Saviour's—Garner is my manager—between 4 and 5 on 22nd February I saw my daughter serving the prisoner—she afterwards showed me the half-crown, I saw it was bad and tried it in my teeth, which sank in it, it was very soft—I said it was bad, the prisoner was then leaving the house, I said "Stop him"—I spoke to Mr. Weager who was in my bar parlour, and then he ran out after the prisoner—I also went out and saw Weager come up to the prisoner about 10 or 12 yards from my house—I took hold of the prisoner myself and told him I would hold him till the policeman came, and that I had seen him before 7 months ago—he said "Take my change, let me go"—he wanted to force the change into my hand, taking it out of his pocket—I refused to take the change—I held him for some time, and during that time my little daughter ran upstairs and called Mr. Garner who came—the prisoner struggled to get away—when Garner came the prisoner came back and said "Let me go"—I said "I shall charge you;" he wanted me to
take the change, he offered it a second time—he said to Mr. Weager before he was told, he did not know it was a bad half crown—Weager followed him and said "We want you," and the prisoner turned round and said "I did not know it was a bad half-crown"—I was following and heard him say that—eventually I gave him in charge and Weager gave the half-crown to the constable.
Cross-examined. Weager gave the half-crown to the constable in my public-house—you were walking slowly when I came out of the house, then took to running—you struggled with Weager and struck him once and Garner twice.
GEORGE HENRY WEAGER . I live at 3, Lantern Road, Brixton, and am a commercial traveller—on 22nd February I was in the bar-parlour of the Peacock Tavern, transacting business, when Annie Leonard came in with this bad half-crown—Hannah Leonard then handed me the half-crown, and said something to me, in consequence of which I went out—I saw the prisoner walking along the street away from the public-house a little distance off—Annie Leonard pointed him out—I had not seen him before that—I caught hold of him by the collar, and said "Young man, I want you"—he said "I did not know it was a bad half-crown, you will have to take your change back"—he resisted—I said I would not take any change till the constable came—Mrs. Leonard came from the public-house and took hold of the prisoner as well—I said to her "Do you intend charging him?"—she said "Certainly, because I know him well"—"I recognise him," I believe she said—after that Mrs. Leonard went back to the public-house, leaving me in charge of him—he struggled once or twice to get away—I said "No, you cannot get away now Mrs. Leonard has charged you; I don't mean leaving you till a policeman comes"—he tried to smack me once or twice in the face to frighten me—I said "If you do that again I shall punch you"—he did not do it again—we walked up towards the top of the street; a crowd began to come round—when we got to the top he said "If you will let me loose I will walk with you"—immediately I let him loose—seeing Mr. Garner coming up to him, he ran away—I turned to run after him, but slipped on the kerb and hurt my leg—I ran to him as Mr. Garner came up and took him back to the public-house—I caught him and took him back to the public-house—I saw him slap Garner once in the public-house—he was more trying to frighten him than anything else; it was not a violent blow.
Cross-examined. I was not examined before the Magistrate, although I was there—I gave the half-crown to Mrs. Leonard, and she gave it to the constable in the public-house.
HERBERT RICHARD GARNER . I am manager of the Peacock—I was fetched from it on the afternoon of 22nd February by Annie Leonard, and went outside, where I saw the prisoner and Weager in the street—I saw the prisoner get away—I followed, caught him, and brought him back to the peacock—he slapped my face; he did not hurt me.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I saw you get away from Weager—I saw nothing else between you.
EDWIN MURPHY . I was Policeman L 221, but am dismissed from the force now, and live at 31, Commercial Road, Lambeth—on 22nd February, about 5 o'clock, I was called to the Peacock, and there saw the prisoner, Weager, Garner, and Mrs. Leonard—Mrs. Leonard said in the prisoner's
presence "I wish to give this man into custody for passing a bad half-crown"—the prisoner said "I did not know it was bad"—Weager then gave me this half-crown, and told me he had run after the prisoner and caught him and brought him back—Mrs. Leonard said he wanted to give her the change, but she did not want it, she said she would keep him there till the constable came—I took him to the station—he was searched, and on him was found a shilling and an address, 1, Park Side, Brompton, and 2s. 5d. in his hand, the change—I asked him where he belonged to—he said he had not been in London above two months, that he came from Birmingham—he gave me an address, 62, Borough Road—when I found the address, 1, Park Side, Brompton, on him, I asked him "What is this address?"—he said it was an order for wirework—I went to 1, Park Side, Brompton, and there saw Mr. Woodward.
Cross-examined. Mr. Weager gave me the half-crown.
CHARLES ALBERT WOODWARD . I am a watchmaker and jeweller and china dealer, of 1, Park Side, Brompton—I never saw the prisoner before—I gave him no order for wirework of any sort or kind—I was not called at the Court below.
The Prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence said that he took the half-crown for a good one.
GUILTY .— Eight Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted.
JOHN HARRIES . I am a general dealer, at 103, Gravel Lane—on Saturday night, 26th February, about 10, the prisoner came in for half an ounce of 2s. 8d. tea—I told him I had no 2s. 8d., but I had 2s., being busy I asked my wife to serve him—she shortly afterwards showed me 1s., similar to this, which I found to be counterfeit—as I took it out of her hand the prisoner said, "Don't disfigure it, it is hard after working down at the water-side to have a bad 1s. "—I gave it to him back and he went away.
By the COURT. I am certain the prisoner is the man, I picked him out of about 12 at the police station on the 28th of February.
MARGARET HARRIES . I am the last witness's wife—on the 26th of February he asked me to serve the prisoner with tea—I did so, and he gave me this 1s.—I believe I weighed it and thought it was light; I rang it, it did not ring very well, and I doubted it was a bad 1s.—he said "No"—I asked him to wait, and called my husband—it was given back to the prisoner.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I am sure it was you who came in—I picked you out—I did not go to the police-court, but I know now you are the same man.
HENRY WESSON . I am manager of the Hand and Flower public-house, Union Street—at 20 minutes to 11 p.m. on 26th February the prisoner came in with another man—I saw the barman serve him with a pint of ale, and then take up a shilling, and say "Here is another one"—the barman gave me the shilling, and said "Here is another"—I looked and saw it was bad; this is it—when he gave it to me he said it was bosh—I sent for a constable—the prisoner asked for his change—I said "If you wait a little while you will have your change"—the other
man said "I think I had better go," and went away—a constable came, and the prisoner was given in custody—I went to the station and charged him—he said he had only been in London two days, and had come from Manchester, I think—I gave the shilling to the constable.
Cross-examined. I told you the shilling was bad, and that I should give you in custody—I said you would have your change if you waited, but I did not say it was bad till the police came—you said "What are you waiting for?"—you stood with your hands in your pockets.
By the COURT. The barman said "Here is another one," because we had taken three or four that evening.
JAMES LOCKHART . I am a barman at the Hand and Flower—on the night of 26th February the prisoner came in with another man and called for a pint of four-half, and gave me this counterfeit shilling, which I gave to Mr. Wesson—I said nothing to the prisoner, nor he to me—I saw him given into custody.
GEORGE STEVENS (Policeman M 371). I was called, and Mr. Wesson gave the prisoner into my custody—I told the prisoner the charge, and he said, "I did not know it was bad"—when charged at the police-station he said he did not know the shilling was bad—I searched, and found on him 1 1/2 d. in his trousers pocket, and an old purse containing 5 1/2 d.—he said he had been living at Donegal, Manchester—I said, "I don't think there is any Donegal in Manchester"—he said, "Well it might be in Birmingham"—that was all he said—I am quite certain he said Donegal.
The prisoner in his defence stated that the other man asked him to drink with him, and gave him the shilling to pay for it, saying that as he owed the potman money he did not wish him to see that he had money and he denied all knowledge of the first case.
Before Mr. Recorder.
517. DAVID STROUD (29) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] to two indictments for unlawfully assaulting Henry Smith , and feloniously assaulting and beating Henry George , constables, in the exercise of their duty.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. JONES Prosecuted; MR. TAYLOR appeared for Wildring; and MR. PURCELL for Stuart.
FRANCIS BRYAN (Police Sergeant P). On Wednesday night, 16th March I arrested Stuart in the Walworth Road, on suspicion of stealing a pony and cart and harness, the property of Mr. Etherington—I took him to the station and charged him, and on Friday he was placed amongst 13
others and identified by Creed—he said, "I never stole it," or "I never sold it, and I know nothing about the carts"—on the Friday, while he was in the prisoners' waiting room at the police-court, he said "I know nothing about Mr. Etherington; I was having a cup of coffee in a coffee-house, when a man drove up in a cart and asked me to go for a ride with him—I went with him to Notting Dale, where he sold the lot to Wildring"—he said that Wildring knew it was stolen, but he did not.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. Stuart was charged with stealing a cart belonging to Mr. George Brown, and it was then that he said "I never stole it"—I was not quite clear before the Magistrate whether he said "I never stole it, I never sold it, and I know nothing about it."
ALBERT MARTINDALE . I live at 26, Cassalbar Mews, Ealing, and am employed by Wildring—a little after 8 p.m. on 19th February Stuart and a man not in custody drove up to the prisoner's stables, Princess Mews, Notting Hill, with a black pony and barrow, and asked if the gov'nor, meaning Wildring, was in—I said "No"—they said "Can we stop and see him?" and asked for a feed of corn for the horse—I said "If you want a feed of corn, put it in the stable," and then Wildring came home and the pony was sold to him—the barrow had winkles in it, and it was left in the stable till Sunday—both men were strangers to me.
Cross-examined by MR. TAYLOR. I have been in Wildring's service for six months—he is a horse-dealer, and is in the habit of buying horses—I did not know the men he bought them of, or whether they were in the trade—this was the first time I had seen Stuart—I did not know the name of the other man who was with him, and I had not seen him before—I did not know either of them as a horse-dealer—I do not know whether Wildring supplied horses to people in the neighbourhood.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I could not say which of them asked for the gov'nor—I was present when the horse was sold to Wildring in the Prince of Wales public-house—the other man was there.
LEWIS CREED . I live at 36, Tine Road, Shepherd's Road—I was originally taken up on this charge—I am a stable boy, in the employ of Wildring, at the Prince of Wales stables—on 17th February Stuart and another man came there and saw me, and we went down to the Portland Arms, and later on they saw Wilding—on 19th February they came again with a black pony and barrow and some winkles, and the other man who was with Stuart sold the pony to Wildring, and it was put in the stable—the barrow and winkles were left outside—on 26th February Detective Whitlock took the pony away—the barrow was taken away by some one on Sunday afternoon, the 20th.
Cross-examined by MR. TAYLOR. I have been in Wildring's service sometime—during that time he has been carrying on the business of a horsedealer—I know he has been in the habit of going about to different repositories buying horses, and then selling them again, and now and again he has bought a trap, and then disposed of it.
Cross-examined by MR. TAYLOR. I have known Wildring about two years and a half; I always found him a gentleman in every way, and I believe his character is generally that of an honest, sober, industrious
man—I know he was engaged in buying and selling horses, but I do not recollect his supplying horses to tradesmen in the neighbourhood—he has been to sales buying horses and I have been with him; he always paid for whatever he had in a perfectly bond fide manner—I can state positively that some of the persons of whom he bought horses were perfectly legitimate dealers, and nothing wrong of any kind attached to them.
GEORGE LEWIS . I am a potman at the Portman Arms, Portman Road, Notting Hill—on 17th February, about 8.15 a.m., I saw two men in the bar, Stuart was one of them; they had got a pony and trap—Creed came in for about a quarter of an hour and then went out again and came back with Wildring—they all drank together—he and the prisoner then went out and drove the horse up and down, and then they came in again, and I heard Wildring bid 9l. for the lot, and then they all went off together.
RICHARD CLOWES . I am in the service of George Brown, a fishmonger, the prosecutor in this case—on Saturday, 19th February, between 7 and half-past, I had a horse and barrow and some winkles, and left them outside a house in the Lambeth Road and went in to have a drink—I stopped in there about 10 minutes, and when I came out they were gone—on the following Saturday Mr. Brown brought the horse and harness back.
GEORGE BROWN . I am a fishmonger of 9, Walk Street, Wandsworth, the last witness is my servant—on 19th February I heard of the loss of my trap and horse and harness, and on the following Saturday, the 26th, I saw my pony and harness at Shepherd's Bush Police Station—the mane and tail of the horse had been cut—I have since found the barrow at Kennington Road Police-station.
CHARLES NINING (Detective). On the afternoon of the 26th I went to Shepherd's Bush Police-station with Sergeant Bryan, and found Wilding detained there and took him in custody on another charge—on the Sunday evening after Mr. Brown had identified his horse, Wilding was charged with stealing the pony and harness on the 27th—he said "I bought that from the others who I bought the horse of yesterday.
By the COURT. I do not know Wildring.
Cross-examined by MR. TAYLOR. The name on the cart had been on a piece of iron, and that iron had been taken off.
GUILTY . Stuart then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell on 8th June, 1885.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour each.
There were other indictments against the prisoners.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, APRIL 25TH, 1887.
πThe following Prisoners, upon whom the sentence of the Court was respited at the time of Trial, have since been sentenced as under;—
Vol. civ. Page Sentence.