CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
SIXTH SESSION, HELD APRIL 8TH, 1889.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE.
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND, BY
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ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
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OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
The City of London,
AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY, WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
Held on Monday, April 8th, 1889, and following days.
BEFORE the RIGHT HON. JAMES WHITEHEAD , ESQ., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir LEWIS WILLIAM CAVE , one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court of Justice; Sir WILLIAM LAWRENCE , Knt., Sir THOMAS GABRIEL , Bart., Sir JAMES CLARKE LAWRENCE , Bart., Sir ANDREW LUSK , Bart., Sir FRANCIS WYATT TRUSCOTT , Knt., Sir REGINALD HANSON , Bart., Aldermen of the said City; Sir THOMAS CHAMBERS , Knt., Q. C., Recorder of the City; PHINEAS COWAN , Esq., STUART KNILL , Esq., JOSEPH RENALS, Esq., WALTER HENRY WILKIN , Esq., and GEORGE FAUDEL PHILLIPS, Esq., other of the Aldermen of the said City; and Sir WILLIAM THOMAS CHARLEY , Knt., Q. C., D. C. L., Common Serjeant of the said City; Her Majesty's Justices of Oyer and Terminer, and General Gaol Delivery holden for the said City, and Judges of the Central Criminal Court.
FREDERICK KYNASTON METCALFE, Esq.,
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
WHITEHEAD, 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, April 8th, 1889.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. KISCH Prosecuted, and MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended, After the case had commenced the prisoner withdrew his plea of Not Guilty, and stated that he would Plead Guilty. The Jury, upon which, found him
GUILTY . To enter into his own recognisances to appear for judgment.
MR. SIMMONDS Prosecuted, and MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended. REV. WILLIAM EDWARD HAIGH. I am vicar of Holy Trinity Church, Cloudesley Square, Islington; I reside at 24, Milner Square—on the night of 3rd March I was called up about half-past twelve, and went to the police-station—I found the prisoner detained there—I knew him—he had lodged in the house where the old beadle lived, who had been pensioned off, and he had done deputy work for him, but with not any real consent of ours—I was shown this piece of red sateen—it belongs to me—it was kept in one of the drawers in the Albert desk, in the vestry—the prisoner has ceased to act as deputy to the beadle for a year—we had no sateen of this colour in use then—after seeing the prisoner at the station I went to the church—I found the south door had been broken open with violence—we had been in the habit of keeping the moneys collected in the church until recently in one of the drawers of the Albert desk—the prisoner must have known that the money was kept there—we
ceased to do so eight weeks before this offence—the prisoner was charged with this offence in my presence—he made no answer.
Cross-examined. The prisoner had been in the hands of the police about half an hour before—there is an iron safe in the church where the church plate was kept; that was not tampered with, nor the two collecting boxes; we open them every week—there are vaults under the church—this chisel and other things were used by the beadle, and are the property of the church; the prisoner said the beadle had given them to him; they were kept in a little box under the beadle's seat—I do not prosecute him for those, only for the sateen—we did not use it at the harvest festival.
ANN DRAPER . I live at 17, Church Lane, Essex Road, Islington—I am an attendant at Holy Trinity Church—I was there on the night of 3rd March—I was the last to leave the church at half-past eight—I left the doors all safe, locked as usual.
THOMAS HENRY AMPTHILL . I am a clerk, and live at 33, Upper Park Street, Barnsbury—about ten minutes to eleven on the night of 3rd March I was with my friend Mr. Bartlett, outside the south door of Trinity Church—I was just saying good-night to him when I heard a click inside the church, like a bolt or lock shot—I belong to the church, and my suspicions were aroused; we stopped and watched, and after a few minutes the prisoner put his head out of the south door—I asked him what he wanted in there, he disappeared inside the church—my friend went round to the north door, I stayed at the south door—I found the prisoner detained by my friend; we detained him and took him to the station—he said, "Let me go."
Cross-examined. I had never seen him before about the church—I know that there are vaults under the church.
EDWARD CHARLES BARTLETT . I lodge at 12, Sidmouth Street, St. Pancras—on the night of 3rd March I was with Ampthill outside the church—we heard a click, and then saw the prisoner put his head out of the door—Ampthill spoke to him, and he disappeared into the church—I went to the north side of the church, and the prisoner ran round inside the railings—he got over the railings, I caught him as he dropped—he said, "It's all right"—he was taken to the station.
WILLIAM JARVIS (Policeman N 291). The prisoner was given into my custody by the witnesses—they said in his presence, "We found this man in the church, and were bringing him to the station"—I said, "You hear what these gentlemen have said, I shall take you into custody"—he said, "Well, I own I was in the grounds"—I took him to the station and searched him—I found on him a dark lantern, two pieces of candle, a carpenter's chisel, a large bradawl, two keys, a pocket-knife, 3s. in silver, 3 1/2 d. in bronze, this piece of red sateen, and a pair of gas pliers—I afterwards examined the south door of the church, and found it had been forced open, I should say by main force—the box of the lock was rusted away rotten, and this piece was broken off and lay about a yard from the door inside—when he was charged at the station he said, "Oh, very well, sir"—the inside vestry door was open, also the east door at the end of the church.
Cross-examined. It was about half an hour after the prisoner was in custody that I picked up this broken piece of the hasp—there were only myself and the two witnesses there at the time I found this—I have made inquiries about the prisoner—he has worked on the Midland Rail
way as a shunter from 1871 to 1879—he has a fifteen years' good character.
Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate. These tools found on me had been given to me by the under beadle, and the lamp and candles were used in the vaults. The door was open. The piece of red stuff I had when the vestry was cleaned out, and a lot of old books Mrs. Haigh said I could have to do as I liked with.
NOT GUILTY .
335. ALFRED IRVIN COLLISON (17) , to stealing from the Post Office Receiving Office a post letter containing a postal order, the property of H. M. Postmaster-General.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
336. JOHN ROBERT DENHAM (25) , to stealing a post letter containing a gold chain, the property of the Postmaster-General; and also to stealing postal orders, he being employed under the Post Office.— Five Year's Penal Servitude , [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
337. EDWARD RITCHIE (47) , to stealing a post letter containing a postal order for 15s. and 15s., the property of H. M. Postmaster-General, he being employed under the Post Office.— Five Years' Penal Servitude , [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
338. ARTHUR DANIEL ERWOOD (18) , to stealing a post letter bag containing certain letters, the property of H. M. Postmaster-General, he being employed under the Post Office; and also to stealing a letter containing £3.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
339. WILLIAM HUMPHREYS (40) , to stealing a post letter containing orders for the payment of money, the property of the Postmaster-General, he being employed under the Post office.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
NEW COURT.—Monday, April 8th, 1889.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
341. EDWARD EDWARDS** (34) PLEADED GUILTY to uttering counterfeit coin twice in the same day, after a conviction of felony at Newington in January, 1884. (He had been seven times convicted).— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted.
JOHN THOMAS AUSTIN . I am a pork-butcher, of 73, Theobald's Road—on 26th March, about 9 o'clock, I served the woman at the back of the dock with some sausages (See next case)—the price was fivepence—she laid a half-crown on the counter—I put it in the trier and bent it twice, and said, "Have you any more of these?"—I threw the sausages on to a marble slab at the back—we had some conversation, and I went outside and saw Nichols and Bannell in plain clothes—I knew them by sight—the woman ran round the opposite comer—I ran after her, and caught her in Kingsgate Street—Nichols took her, and the prisoner then came from the road on to the pavement, but I did not hear him say anything—they were taken to the station—I gave the coin to Nichols; this is it.
ALFRED NICHOLS (Detective E). On 26th March, between eight and nine o'clock, I was with Bannell at the comer of Theobald's Road and North Street, about fifteen yards from Mr. Austin's shop; I saw the prisoner and the woman in the dock looking in at Mr. Austin's window—
I saw the prisoner hand her something—he then crossed the road, and stood outside the White Hart, about fifty yards off, looking across the road—a few minutes afterwards Mr. Austin came out, and ran up to me and put this half-crown into my hand, and the woman ran away—we followed her into Orange Street, where Mr. Austin stopped her—I went back with her, and at the comer of Orange Street the prisoner came up and said, "What's up? that is my wife"—I said, "I have got her in custody for uttering a base half-crown; I saw you with her; you had better come back to the shop with me"—he did so, and I asked them both how it came into their possession—the woman said, "I must have taken it with some silver for some work I did for a man in Hoxton, feather-curling"—she afterwards said she must have got it in change at a grocer's where she bought some tea—I found a packet of tea in her bag—I took them both to the station.
WILLIAM BANNELL (Detective C). I was with Nichols, and saw the prisoner with the woman in the dock, looking into Mr. Austin's window—he handed her something, and then crossed the road—she went into the shop, and came out with Mr. Austin—I went in quest of the man, and then went back to the shop and found Mr. Austin, Nichols, the prisoner and the woman there—I said to the prisoner,"I shall have to take you in custody for being concerned with a woman in uttering this half-crown"—he said, "I will come with you"—on the road to the station I said, "How do you account for this half-crown?"—he said, "My wife must have taken it at the pawnshop this morning"—he gave the same address as the woman, 67, Custon Street, Hoxton, which was correct—I found on him a florin, four shillings and 4 3/4 d., all good.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate. "I did not know she had it in her possession." Prisoner's Defence. If I had known the coin was bad should I have gone up and asked what was the matter? I should have kept away from her. When I was asked to go back with the policeman, I aid so. Any one may have a bad coin and utter it, without knowing it.
He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at this Court in September, 1886, of a like offence— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. WILKINSON offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, April 9th, 1889.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. WILSON Prosecuted.
ALFRED HENRY WEST . I am a grocer, of Essex Road—I live in Pickering Street, a small street leafing out of Essex Road—on 13th March, about five minutes to twelve, I drove home in a hansom cab—I got out of the cab close by my own door—the prisoner and another man followed me down the street, and just as I was going in my door the prisoner struck me a fearful blow on the cheek, which threw me to the
ground—I called out "Police"—I believe the other man snatched my watch, and ran away—I felt it taken, and I called out, "You have got my watch"—it was worth 15 guineas—the other man ran down a bye-street; the prisoner was going the other way, but he was caught by an ex-policeman—he went a very few yards—he was taken to the station, and charged; he made no reply—I have not seen my watch since—this (produced) is the bow of my watch, it was broken off, and was found on the ground close by.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. No one got hold of my arm as I got out of the cab—I was not drunk; I did not fall out of the cab.
WILLIAM EDWARDS . I live in Dean Street, Islington—I was formerly in the police—on 13th March I was going home down Essex Road—I saw the prosecutor getting out of a hansom; he turned down Pickering Street alone—as he was about to knock at his door I saw two men go up to him; the prisoner was one of them—I did not notice anything till I heard the prosecutor call out, "You have robbed me"—I ran down the street, and caught hold of the prisoner, and gave him in charge of another constable—he said, "I have not got his watch"—the other man got away—I had not said anything to him about a watch—I did not know that the prosecutor had lost it.
SARAH JAUNCEY . I am the wife of Benjamin Jauncey, a greengrocer, next door to the prosecutor—on the 13th March, about five minutes to twelve, I was on my doorstep; I saw the prosecutor come down the street; as he knocked at the door two men came up; he had a blow in the face, I could not say from which, they pulled him to the ground—when he got up his watch was gone—I picked up the bow of the watch about a quarter of a yard from where Mr. West laid.
FREDERICK RUSSELL (Policeman N 300). On 13th March the prisoner was handed into my custody by Edwards—I took him to the station—the prosecutor charged him with stealing his watch—he made no remark to the charge.
Prisoner's Defence. I was coming along Essex Road, and saw the prosecutor get out of a cab; a man caught hold of him by the arm and led him to his doorway; the prosecutor was drunk, he very nearly fell out of the cab. Directly he got to the door I saw the man turn round and strike him, and then he turned round and laid hold of me. I know no more about the watch than you do.
He then PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction in August, 1886. Four other convictions were proved against him,— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. GEEENWOOD Prosecuted, and MR. GILL Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. LYNE Prosecuted.
ARTHUR DEADMAN . I live at 35, Crowndale Road, St. Pancras—on the night of 3rd March I shut up my house at 11 o'clock—at half-past two in the morning I heard footsteps on the stairs, which make a rather creaking noise—I got out of the bedroom at once, and saw a man
standing on the landing—I went back for a light; in the meantime the prisoner was rushing downstairs; I did not wait for the light, but went quickly after him to the front parlour window—he threw it up, I called out "Police" as hard as I could—I held him for a minute or a half, but he slipped, and I had to leave him to go to the door to let the policeman in—I did not see him afterwards—no violence was used—nothing was stolen—I have no doubt about the prisoner being the man.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I said at the Police-court that I could not swear to you by your features, only by the stamp of the man—I have no doubt about you in my mind—you had a brown overcoat on.
JAMES GODFREY (Policeman Y 207). At half-past two on Sunday morning, 3rd March, I was on duty in Crowndale Road—I noticed the front parlour window of the prosecutor's house opened, and saw a man with his head out; on seeing me he immediately withdrew—he was very dark, he resembles the prisoner—I ran to the door and called out, "Open the door"—the prosecutor came and opened the door, and from what he said I ran to the back—I examined the garden, and went over two walls—I heard a noise, and climbed over two or three walls to the rear of 39, two doors from the prosecutor, and I found the prisoner crouched up in a comer with his boots under his arm—I asked what he was doing there—he said, "Nothing"—I took him back to the prosecutor—I searched him at the station, and found nothing on him relating to the charge—he refused his name and address.
Cross-examined. I was about seven yards from the window when you opened it—I could see you by the light of a lamp about three yards from the window.
ROBERT WALSH (Police Inspector X). On the morning of 3rd March I inspected the prosecutor's premises—I found a mark of a knife on the catch of the landing window at the rear, leading on to the cistern—there was a grape-vine under the window; that was broken down as if by some person getting down from the cistern—there were some steps in the adjoining yard leading to a party wall, and from that to the cistern.
He also PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction for larceny in July, 1886.—*† Nine Months' Hard Labour.
THOMAS EGERTON . I was in possession of 1, Park Village East on behalf of the Sheriff of Middlesex—on 14th March I went out a little after nine at night, after fastening the doors—I returned between a quarter and twenty minutes to ten—I could not get in—the little gate I had left unfastened was bolted on inside—I got over the wall and saw the forms of two men in the conservatory—the prisoner was one of them—I met him at the door and said, "What are you doing in the place?"—he said he had called to see Mr. Bates—I told him Mr. Bates did not live there—he said, "Oh yes, he does, for the servant next door opened the gate and let us get over the wall"—I said I would not allow them to go till I fetched the police, as they had no business to break in—they were both inside the conservatory, the door of which I had left locked—the prisoner's companion bolted down the grounds towards the railway—I seized the prisoner by his scarf and held him, and said I would knock his brains out
if he attempted to move—we had a tussle, and he managed to get outside, but I held to him till the police came and took him—they had broken away a piece of the frame of the door—I did not miss anything—the prisoner said he was taken bad and got over for the purpose of easing himself—the conservatory communicates with the house; it is, in fact, a glass corridor.
JOHN MUNFORD (Police Inspector S). I read the charge over to the prisoner—he said, "I know nothing about it, it is a mistake—I examined the premises—I found two deep newly-made jemmy marks on the front door, leading from the street into the conservatory—the window on the ground floor was forced open about two inches—the fastening was bent, and something was jammed in between the sashes, which prevented it opening further—the door leading from the conservatory into the garden was much broken and forced open, and the door leading from the conservatory into the house was nearly hacked through, and a portion of the framework was broken entirely away, which I found in the area underneath—I found this jemmy in the grounds—I compared it with the marks on the doors, and they corresponded—there were also marks of some person having climbed over the wall of the adjoining garden.
Prisoner's Defence. I would have pleaded guilty, but I thought there was no proof of burglary.
He also PLEADED GUILTY to having been convicted of felony in May, 1887, and several other convictions were proved against him.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. HEDDON Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended,
GILBERT SMALL (Detective G). On 5th March, at 11 a. m., I was in plain clothes in Old Street, St. Luke's—I saw the prisoner come down Old Street in the company of a woman in the direction of the City Road—when they arrived at the comer of Tinley Court, leading out of Old Street, the prisoner left the woman standing there—he went down the court to No. 5; he was in there about a minute; then he brought a paper parcel out, which he handed to the woman when they got to the top of the court—the woman walked away, the prisoner followed about ten yards behind—she went up Old Street, through Bath Street, into the City Road—I told another constable to arrest the prisoner, but he did not understand me—I stopped the woman with the parcel—when I looked round I saw that the prisoner had made his escape—I asked the woman what she had in the parcel—she said, "I don't know"—she was taken to the station on the charge of unlawful possession—I then went to 5, Tinley Court, and found this box under the bed, and this remnant and six cards (photographs)—the box has since been identified as the box, containing the costumes, and the remnant was in the box—I found out the owner—the woman was charged, remanded to the 11th, and then discharged on 9th March—on the 9th, before her discharge, I arrested the prisoner at 3, City Garden Row, City Road, at 9 a. m.—I told him he would be
charged with Jane Waller with stealing bathing costumes—he said, "I know nothing about it"—the woman was in the room where I arrested him—she was out on bail—I have seen the prisoner go to 5, Tinley Court several times before.
Cross-examined. There is a public-house at the top of Tinley Court, which is a paved yard, with no thoroughfare—No. 5 is the last house on the right-hand side—the woman was still under remand when I apprehended the prisoner—she was discharged, and taken from the dock and put into the witness-box as witness—I had not known her before—I remember seeing the prisoner once before—I followed them down Old Street—I was standing at the top of the court when they both came up.
Re-examined. I saw the prisoner go into 5, Tinley Court before—I watched him go in there on this occasion.
JANE WALLER . I am the wife of William Waller, and live at 3, City Garden Row, City Road—I am a machinist—I am not living with my husband—on Tuesday morning, 5th March, about a quarter to ten, I was going to work, and met the prisoner, whom I had seen once before—he said, "I have got you now; I want you to stick to me"—I said, "Want to stick to me, for why?"—he said, "I want you to live with me; I hear you are not living with your husband"—I said, "No, I am not; I am not going to live with you; I am going to work"—he said, "Which way do you go to work?"—I said, "To the Barbican, along Old Street; that is the way I am going"—he went with me—in Old Street he said, "Stop a minute"—I stopped; he went down a court close by the side of a public-house—I did not know where he was going; he came back again after two or three minutes, and gave me a parcel to hold, saying, "Hold this while I light my pipe"—I took the parcel and walked on, and he with me—he said, "There is some one I want to speak to; I will catch you in a minute"—he was walking slow, hanging behind a little—then a constable came up—I was taken to the station, charged, remanded, and then discharged—on the 9th the prisoner came to my house—I had been to several places to see if I could find him, and he heard where I lived I suppose—I asked him in, and sent for beer and tobacco, as he wished me to, and asked him to stop to breakfast, and in the meantime I sent for a policeman—he said if I did not stick to him when he was at my house he would shoot me—I asked him what made him give me the parcel, and he said, "Because I thought you were a straight woman"—I said, "You ought to know better than to get me in this dreadful trouble, "and he said, "I thought you were a straight woman, and that no one would suspect you would take such a thing"—nothing passed as to knowledge of the things being stolen—he said, "I will stick to you if you will be good to me"—I said, "Could not you get a different living to that?"—he said, "I will do so for the future."
Cross-examined. I only spoke to the prisoner once before in my life; I only spoke to him three times in all—he had threatened to shoot me some time ago—he was anxious I should live with him; I declined—I have been apart from my husband since Christmas—I was charged soon after Christmas with taking things from a shop; I never took anything—I got off because they knew I had a good character, and that I would not do such a thing—I was charged with being in unlawful possession of this parcel—I was remanded and let out on bail, and when the prisoner came to see me I gave him breakfast and tobacco, and sent for the police—the
detectives told me to do it—when I was brought before the Magistrate again they put me in the witness-box that I might say what I could against the prisoner.
Re-examined. When I was charged about last Christmas with stealing a handkerchief the prisoner was charged with me; we were both discharged—I did not see him after that.
By MR. PURCELL. I went out of Court then with my husband—I did not see the prisoner again till 5th March.
ALBERT FREDERICK MESSIN . I am in the employment of Henry Knight and Co., of 3, Fell Street, umbrella and haberdashery manufacturers—I last saw this box, containing the costumes, on the counter on the day that the detective came in—they were the property of my master—on that day I missed them at quarter-past nine—I authorised nobody to take them away from our premises.
Cross-examined. Messrs. Knight and Co. are manufacturers—we don't sell as a rule at Fell Street; we might let you buy a box—I don't remember the date I missed the box, it was the day the detective came—the counter is near the street door—people come in from the street to order and buy things and walk right through—there is always somebody about in the shop, but he might go round to the back of me counter to get something—we only had three of these boxes in the place, now we have only two.
HARRY CASTON . I am salesman to Messrs. Henry Knight and Co., manufacturers—this is the property of our firm, the value is about 10s.—on the Monday I looked out these costumes and put them together to take out on Tuesday morning—the box is not a usual one—on 5th March the last witness spoke to me, and I looked about for the box and could not find it.
The indictment further charged the prisoner with having been convicted of felony on 27th December, 1881, at Middlesex Sessions, to which he
PLEADED NOT GUILTY.
WILLIAM TURRELL . I am Sessions warder at Her Majesty's Prisons, Pentonville—I have seen the prisoner undergoing the sentence passed on him on 27th December, 1881; I saw him for several days—he hadfive years' penal servitude and 3 years' police supervision—I was not present when he was sentenced—I saw the man in Pentonville, that is all I say—that was in June, 1886, his license was then revoked—the prisoner is the man.
GUILTY**.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
350. HENRY GOODWIN** (14) , to stealing an overcoat and a pair of spectacles, the property of James Lasseter Brady, after a conviction of felony in March, 1886; and also to stealing a letter pocket-case, the property of John Frederick Goodwin.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
MR. DOUGLAS Prosecuted, and MR. BURNIE Defended.
ALFRED DAY . I am a pawnbroker, at 166, Copenhagen Street, Islington—on Monday night, 11th March, I shut up my house and shop at nine o'clock, and went to bed at twelve—about two a. m. I was awakened by the police—I came down and found my shop shutters had been thrown on one side and the plate-glass broken—there was room for a man's arm to pass through—I found five silver watches and two metal watches had been taken out of the window—I value them at about £6—I have not recovered any of them—on the Sunday and Monday nights before this occurrence I saw the two prisoners and another man about at my corner.
GEORGE PHILLIPS . I am a coal porter, and live at 3A, Edward Street, Barnsbury—on Tuesday, 12th March, about ten minutes to two a. m., I was standing at the comer of Buckingham Street, right opposite the prosecutor's shop—I saw the two prisoners and another man against Mr. Day's shop—they put something behind the bar of the shutters and it was wrenched out, and the shutters were taken down and moved, and then I heard the breaking of glass—the two men went towards Bevington Street, and the other man towards York Road—I went on to my work—on Wednesday afternoon I went to Mr. Day's shop, but did not see him—I went again on Thursday—he was not there then, and I did not see him till Saturday night—I then made a communication to him—I had seen the prisoners before that night, and I say they are the men.
Cross-examined. No one else was there—I said nothing about it at the time—I made no statement till Wednesday—I did not call the police—I followed one man to the bottom of the York Road, but I did not see any policeman, so I went off to my Work—I work about five minutes' walk off from this shop—I did not pass a Police-station on the way; there is no station near—about twelve years ago I was convicted for stealing—I said at first before the Magistrate that I had never been in prison, I did not recollect it at the time—then I said it was six or seven years ago, but it was longer than that.
By the COURT. I was alone when I saw this done—I saw no one else, except the three men—there is a street lamp at the side of Mr. Day's shop—there was plenty of light for me to see—I knew the prisoners before.
STEPHEN MURRAY . (Policeman Y 431). I and Constable Sergeant apprehended the prisoners in Copenhagen Street on Sunday at seven o'clock—I told them they would be charged with taking down the shutters from Mr. Day's shop, and breaking the window and stealing watches on the Tuesday morning—Russell said, "I know nothing about it; I was not there; I have been getting an honest living since I have been out"—on the way to the station he said, "I was in bed at that time"—that was two o'clock in the morning—I did not hear what Flannagan said.
ALFRED SERGEANT (Policeman Y 569). I was with Murray when the prisoners were apprehended—I took Flannagan into custody—he said, "I can prove where I was at the time." The Prisoners' statements before the Magistrate. Flannagan said: "I am innocent; I will call my witnesses at the trial." Russell said: "I am innocent; my witnesses are the same as his; we will call them at the trial."
Witnesses for the Defence.
Islington, and am a retired cabinetmaker—Flannagan lodged with his father in my house, in the first floor front—I occupy the parlour underneath—at this time the father was in the hospital, and had left the key of his room with me—he had been there for a fortnight before the prisoner was taken into custody, I should think—when Flannagan came in at night he always knocked at my room door and asked for his key, and went up—I heard of the robbery the next day, and the prisoner was apprehended four days afterwards—on the Monday night before the day I heard of the robbery, the prisoner Flannagan came home about half-past ten—I gave him the key, and he went upstairs—I heard nothing more of him till next morning at half-past five, and then I heard James Cook, who sleeps in the adjoining room, knocking him up to go to work; he knocks him up almost every mornings.
Cross-examined. I heard of the robbery on the Tuesday—I heard no one go out of the house from eleven o'clock till half-past five that night—I was in bed—the prisoner went out about a quarter to six on Tuesday morning—he has got a latch-key, and can get in and out at the front door—I don't think he could go out without my hearing it—I was asleep in the front parlour; my head was against the partition, which is close against the street door.
Re-examined. So that I could hear anyone going out—they cannot shut the door, which is heavy, without making it slam a little.
JAMES COOK . I lodge in the last witness's house, and occupy the adjoining room to Flannagan—I heard of the burglary on the Tuesday—on that morning I called Flannagan up at half-past five, and he answered, All right, Mr. Cook."
Cross-examined. Seven men and women sleep in the house—I was in bed at ten the night before, and I got up at half-past five, and called him as soon as I got my trousers on—I think if he had gone down at two I should most possibly have heard him.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, April 9th, 1889.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
354. FRANCIS THOMAS ELWOOD** (52) , to three indictments for forging and uttering orders for the payment of £2 10s., £2 10s., and £5, with intent to defraud, after a conviction of a like offence at this Court in June, 1887 .— Twenty Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
355. EMMA LOUISA SEARS (30) , to two indictments for forging and uttering orders for the payment of £1 5s. 10d. and 5s. 10d., of Richard Hyde, her master.— [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] Judgment respited.
MR. WILMOT Prosecuted.
THOMAS HAMPTON . My grandmother keeps the Black Horse, Barbican—on 28th February, about 4 p. m., the prisoner came in and asked for half a pint of ale, which came to three halfpence; he gave me this Jersey penny silvered over (produced)—I took it to my grandmother, who came out and spoke to him—I asked him what the coin was—he
said, "A half-crown; will you give it me back, and I will give you your beer again?"—she refused, and he abused her, and called her a dirty old publican woman—she sent for a constable.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You could have walked out if you chose—my grandmother did not want to give you into custody till you abused her—you said you got it in change the night previous, at the Brown Bear, Barbican—it was your own wish to have it decided by a constable, and I fetched one.
SAMUEL SMALE (Policeman). Hampton called me to the Black Horse about 3. 50; the prisoner was in front of the bar, and Mrs. Hampton said that he had given the boy this coin in payment for a pot of ale—he demanded the change—she refused to give it back to him—Hampton asked the prisoner if he had anymore money about him—he said, "No"—I asked where he got it—he said, "In change of a sovereign at the Brown Bear public-house, Barbican, last night at 9 o'clock"—I said, "I shall take you to the station for uttering this coin"—on the way to the station he became very troublesome, and attempted to get away, and I called Fox to assist me—he said, "I am a respectable man, a silversmith"—I found on him at the station two farthings, a George IV. penny, a five-cent Mauritius piece, a Britannia penny, a sixpence, and these memos and certificates—he gave a correct address, Spa Cottages, Clerkenwell; he had been living there a fortnight, and before that he was in the Infirmary.
Cross-examined. You could have left the public-house previous to my coming—Mrs. Hampton gave you the privilege of leaving, and you refused—you were waiting quietly, nobody was holding you.
By the COURT. He said, "I gave this coin, thinking it to be a half-crown."
RICHARD ASHLEY . I am manager of the Brown Bear, Barbican—I was serving in the bar on the evening of February 27th—I have no recollection of change being given for a sovereign, and I am certain this coin could not have passed us, because it would have to pass through our hands four times, and if found it would not be passed again—I have never seen the prisoner—four or five persons were serving in the bar.
Prisoner's Defence. I can safely say that I took that coin at the Brown Bear, Barbican, the day previous, but Mr. Ashley did not serve me. I am a journeyman silversmith, and never had a day's imprisonment in my life.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WILMOT Prosecuted, and MR. GILL Defended McLean.
MCLEAN received an excellent character.— NOT GUILTY .
JEFFRIES— GUILTY *— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, April 10th, 1889.
Before Mr. Justice Cave.
MR. GEOGHEGAN Prosecuted: MESSES. BESLET and R AVEN Defended. SARAH STEELE. I am married, and live at 102, Redmond Road—I am the daughter of Mrs. Baker—on 18th January she came to visit me in the morning, about eleven—she and I were together in the kitchen when the prisoner came in—my mother was sitting down—he was a lodger of hers—he stood against the copper for a little time—he did not speak to us—at last he walked across the kitchen and said, "Good-bye"—he leaned over her—I said, "What are you doing?"—he pushed her back in her chair, and I commenced to struggle with him—I screamed—he said, "Hold your noise"—I did not notice anything about my mother, only as I struggled I got all over blood on my hands and arms—after struggling with me the prisoner rushed out at the back door into the yard, and shut the door—I and mother ran into the street—I then saw that she had a wound in her arm, and one of her ears was bleeding, and her fingers were all bleeding—the prisoner was sober, as far as I could tell—there was no quarrel or bad feeling between my mother and him that I know—I did not notice whether he had anything in his hand when struggling with him.
Cross-examined. I have known him about six years—he is a widower, and has three children; he had four, one died—he lodged in the same house as my mother, at 68, Gold Street; the house is my brother's—I have seen him constantly during the six years, but more often lately—for some time my mother had charge of his children—I have not noticed any change in his manner since his child died last October—I did not notice anything strange in his manner when he came into the kitchen—he put one arm round the back of her neck, and the other hand he used in some way—my mother went to the hospital—I did not see the prisoner after he went into the back yard.
MARY ANN BAKER . I am the mother of the last witness—I live at 68, Gold Street, Stepney—the prisoner has been lodging in that house—I took care of his children for some time—on 18th January, about eleven in the morning, I was on a visit to my daughter—we were in the kitchen; I did not see the prisoner come in—I sat there doing needlework—my daughter said to me, "Here comes Mr. Franklin," but I never saw him—he stayed in the kitchen ten minutes or more; he then crossed the kitchen, and said, "Good-bye," and put his arm round me—I felt something, and said to Sarah, "What is he doing?"—she said, "Oh, mother!"—we had a struggle, and I cannot tell any more—I only felt like his hand or arm press against me, I did not feel anything else; I saw nothing in his hand—we have always been the best of friends—I was taken to the hospital.
Cross-examined. I did not see him till he came up to me—I used to see him constantly of an evening—I knew his wife—she died rather more than three years ago—after her death he asked me to look after his children, and I did so for nearly two years—I did not see him more than once a week; he would send me my money in for taking care of the children when he had work, but oftentimes he had no work—I never troubled him—one of his children died towards the end of last year—I noticed a difference in him after his child's death—and before that he had an accident and a bad ankle, and he was in great distress, and he was at
home ill—he did not seem to be the same man that he used to me—he used to be up in his room, and I kept his little girl ten years old at home to wait upon him—I noticed him to be very strange—on the 14th when he came home he seemed strange, and I said, "Have you had any drink?" he had been a teetotaler—he said, '"No"—I said, "If you drink you will have to get someone to take care of your children, and likewise get another place"—he cried, and said he had not had drink—that was about four days before this happened—I did not see him after he went into the back yard.
Re-examined. He is a packing-case maker by trade—during December he was employed a day now and then, he did not have regular work—I can't remember whether he had work in January—I had not seen him the worse for drink after his child died.
ANNIE STEELE . I did live at 102, Redmond Road, Mile End—on 18th January I was upstairs—I heard screams of murder, and ran downstairs and opened the kitchen door, and mother and Sarah ran into the street—mother's arm and ear were bleeding—I saw the prisoner—they were all struggling together—I afterwards saw him in the back yard, lying on his back bleeding from the chest.
Cross-examined. I did not see any knife—I saw him removed in about five minutes.
JANE HERRIN . I am married, and live at 54, Gold Street—on the morning of 18th January, about 12, I was in the yard of 102, Redmond Road—I saw the prisoner there lying on his back on the ground, and this knife (produced) by his side—it is a table knife—blood was coming from him.
Cross-examined. I spoke to him, he made no answer—he was there about ten minutes—I went for a doctor, and when I returned he was gone to the hospital.
WILFRED GEENVILLE . I was house surgeon at the London Hospital on 18th January when Mrs. Baker was brought there about one in the day—she had a stab over the right arm, a superficial cut in the ear, and some cuts across the fingers, as if a knife had been dragged through her hand—there was a cut on the shoulder about an inch and a half long and three-quarters of an inch deep—it was in the fleshy part of the arm—she had not lost very much blood—I strapped up the wounds, and she did not come again.
Cross-examined. I believe she has perfectly recovered—there was not very much to recover from—the prisoner was brought to the hospital about half-past twelve—he was on a couch when I saw him, and was unconscious; he had lost a great deal of blood—he had four cuts over his left chest, one was deep and penetrated the lung, the others were superficial—he remained unconscious for some hours; it was longer than that before he spoke—I attended him all the time—I did not notice his clothes—he was an in-patient until the 8th February, he was then discharged—I have not examined him since.
SPENCER HOLDEN (Police Inspector). I took the prisoner to the hospital—on 8th February I received him from the hospital authorities, and took him to the station, and charged him with attempted murder and suicide—he made no reply to the charge—I was present last session; the case was postponed till this session, on account of the illness of Sarah Steele.
GUILTY of unlawful wounding.— Six Months without Hard Labour.
MR. RIBTON Prosecuted.
WALTER STRATFORD (Policeman K 376). On 23rd March, at 1. 40 midnight, I was called to Nesbit's Rents, which is a court leading off Three Colt Street, Limehouse, by a girl in her nightdress—in consequence of what she said, I went to No. 10, and to the first floor back—it is a house occupied by three families—in the back room I found a bed on the floor in flames; it was a flock bed, with sheets and bed-clothes—the clothes were burning, and the flock was smouldering;—with assistance I put it out—the prisoner was sitting on a chair in front of the fire smoking a pipe, while the burning was going on—he said he had set the bed on fire to bum his brother out, because he had all the bed-clothes—he repeated that two or three times—there was room enough in the bed for the two—a sister of theirs was sleeping on a bed in the same room, close to the other bed—if we had not been there, that bed would also have caught fire—the sister was screaming—the bed was burnt in the centre—all the bed-clothes that were there were burnt.
WILLIAM BUCKINGHAM (Policeman K 315). On 23rd March I heard cries of "Fire" and "Police" from 10, Nesbit's Rents—I went there and found the prisoner there, his brother, sister, and Stratford, and Mrs. Charlton, the landlady—some of them were in their nightdresses—there was a bed lying on the floor burning—we trampled out the fire, and carried the bed into the yard—the prisoner was sitting on a chair smoking his pipe.
JOHN CULLEN . I am the prisoner's brother—I live at 10, Nesbit's Rents—he and I occupied the back room first floor, and the same bed—on the morning of the 23rd he and I and my sister were in the room—he came in half an hour after me—I did not see him set fire to the bed; he sat by the fire smoking—my sister said, "The bed is on fire"—it was only a spark; nothing more—I struck him in the eye, and said, "Have you done this?"—he seemed excited—I can't say whether he said he had done it or not, I was so excited—he was under the influence of drink when he came in.
MARY CHARLTON . My husband is the landlord of this house—we live there—the prisoner's mother was tenant of the back room—on the night of the 23rd of March I was awoke by the sister calling out several times—I went and asked what was the matter—I saw the bed all in flames—I rolled up a piece of carpet, I am helped to put it out—the prisoner was in the room—I asked him what it meant—he said, "I did it."
ELIZABETH CULLEN . I am the prisoner's sister—I was in bed in the back room on the morning this happened—I noticed some smoke—I did not see that the bed was alight—I called out to Mrs. Charlton—the brother got up and said to the prisoner, "Look at what you are after doing"—I can't say what the prisoner said, I was so confused for the moment—he said, "Yes, I see."
WILLIAM DENNY (Police Inspector). The prisoner was brought to the station and charged with feloniously and maliciously setting fire to the bed—he said, "It is true I did it"—previous to being charged he made this statement (read),"He had all the bed-clothes, and if he did not give them to me I said I would burn him out, and I set fire to them; he said that
was not a sensible trick I had played; I said no. I am quiet tempered. The reason I set fire to the clothes was to make him move over to give me room; it was not a very bad fire."
Witnesses for the Defence.
EMILY KERNEY . The prisoner is my brother—I was not at home on the occasion of the fire—I did not see him afterwards until I saw him in Holloway Prison the following Saturday week—he is excited when he gets anything to drink, and is not responsible for his actions; he is a very heavy drinker—when not in drink he is very quiet and inoffensive.
MARY JANE CULLEN . I am sister-in-law to the prisoner—he is excited when he gets drink—I went to see him in Holloway—he did not seem to know what he had done, or that he was committed for trial—he is a very heavy drinker.
Prisoner's Defence. All I have got to say is a very little drop of drink upsets me. I don't recollect what happened, or what I said to the inspector. I am very sorry for what I have done, I had no intention of going any harm. It is the first time I have been in trouble.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, April 10th, 1889.
Before Mr. Recorder.
360. VERNON WELCH (38) PLEADED GUILTY to two indictments for publishing libels on James Maitland Coffin. To enter into recognisances to appear and receive judgment when called upon, and to keep the peace for Twelve Months , And
361. JAMES WEST (29) , to stealing eleven dozen bottles of wine and a quantity of whisky, the property of Charles Ellis, his master, who recommended him to mercy. ( See next case.) [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
GEORGE PLEADED GUILTY to the Second Count.
MR. MEAD and MR. H. AVORY Prosecuted, and MR. BURNIE Defended Raynor.
JAMES HUGHES . I am in the service of George Flewitt, a bootmaker, of 243, Cambridge Road—on 12th March, about 3 p. m., a basket containing seven pairs of boots was stolen from a van at his door while my back was turned—these are four pairs of them (produced), but they have been finished since—they were then in the rough—on 18th March I saw one pair in the possession of Thin, a boot finisher who works for us—he came in with them on his arm, and I recognised them—in consequence of what he told me, I went with Sergeant Enwright to Raynor's house, 1, Albert Grove, Moffat Road—Enwright asked him if he had got any boots—he said no, but that George, the lodger, had some upstairs in his room; and Mrs. Raynor took him up there, but the door was locked, and they came down again—I was on the stairs—Raynor then said to his wife, "You had better tell him where the boots are, as you know"—she then took me to a coal cupboard under the stairs on the ground floor, close to the room where Raynor works—I saw some coal at the bottom, and there
was a rail of boots hanging on two strings, about eighteen pairs, and among them four pairs which I identify, finished as they now appear.
Cross-examined. Raynor distinctly said, "George, the lodger"—I said so before the Magistrate, and cannot explain why it is not in my deposition; I made a mistake, it was Mrs. Raynor who said that—both Mr. and Mrs. Raynor described George as the lodger, not the landlord.
DANIEL THIN . I am a boot finisher, of 97, Penton Road, Hackney—on 15th March Raynor's wife brought me six pairs of boots, and I had received twelve similar pairs from my wife the day before—they were in the rough, and were brought to be finished—on the Saturday evening at six o'clock I called at Raynor's for my money, and Mrs. Raynor gave me three more pairs, not similar to the others—she had called on the Friday evening and took away six pairs which were finished, and on the Saturday morning she sent some children's boots—Mrs. Raynor paid me—on Monday, 18th March, I called at Mr. Flewitt's, and had a pair of the boots on my arm which he identified—I had only been employed there a few days—these four pairs are what I finished—Raynor did not know that I had been working at Flewitt's.
Cross-examined. I have worked for Raynor—he makes boots of a different style to these—the eighteen pairs were his make—Mrs. Raynor told me that the first three pairs were to be finished for George, and the last pair too—I have known Raynor twelve or eighteen months—he has borne a good character for honesty.
Re-examined. Mrs. Raynor paid me—I had no communication with George in the matter, but I saw him at the house, and was told that he bought bargains at sales—Raynor told me that George was a lodger.
PATRICK ENWRIGHT (Police Sergeant G). On 18th March, about 10 p. m., I went with Hughes and Turner to 1, Albert Grove—it is a private house—I saw Raynor and his wife, and said, "We are Police officers, and we are making inquiries about seven pairs of unfinished boots, stolen from a van outside 243, Cambridge Road, the property of Mr. Flewitt, have you any boots on your premises that do not belong to you?"—he said, "No, I have not; Mr. George may have some, he occupies a back room on the first floor"—Mrs. Raynor pointed out a room to me, the door of which was locked; and from what she said I said to Raynor, "We shall have to wait till George comes home"—he said, "You know where the boots are, get them and have done with it"—I then went with Mrs. Raynor and Hughes to a coal-cupboard under the stairs, close to the room where Raynor worked—she opened the door, and I saw a quantity of new boots hanging on a rail, four pairs of which Mr. Hughes identified—Mrs. Raynor afterwards handed me the key of George's room—I opened the door, and from what I saw I made a communication to my inspector—George was arrested that day.
Cross-examined. They brought me a number of keys, and I found to key of George's room among them—I was informed that George is the landlord, that he let part to Raynor, and retained one or two rooms for himself.
CHARLES TANKER (Policeman). I took Raynor into custody about 11. 30 p. m., and said, "You will be charged as concerned with George in receiving these boots"—he said, "That is all Tommy rot; all the property in that room belongs to George, except the press and knives."
to this house and saw the two prisoners and Mrs. Raynor in the front room, and on a table in front of them four pairs of boots, which Hughes said had been stolen from his trap and finished since—from what Enwright told me I went through the passage to an ante-room on the first floor and saw about seventy pairs of boots, shoes, slippers, and odd sample boots, thirty or forty pairs of boot and shoe uppers, and from twenty to thirty kid and skip-skins, seventeen odd Russia leather sample boots, two pairs of boots and twelve pairs of shoes with initials and numbers on the soles; a piece of cloth, a portmanteau and a bag—the press and knives are used for shoemaking—there was very slight evidence that Raynor worked in that room; the machine was dusty, as if it had not been much used—in the passage on the ground floor opposite the coal-cupboard I saw a case containing about thirty pairs of boots, none of which have been identified, under which was a case containing eleven bottles of port wine, and bearing a name and address and initials—those two cases were between the front and back parlour doors in the passage—I told the prisoners that unless they could account for the boots they would be charged with receiving them, knowing them to be stolen—Raynor said, "You are not a Justice of the Peace; I shall not tell you anything"—George was about to make a remark, but Raynor said, "Don't tell him anything"—I found in a box in the room said to be occupied by George, a pawn-ticket relating to a watch—Mr. McDonald and his salesman identified the boots Raynor was wearing at the Police-court.
KENNETH MCDONALD . I am a bootmaker of Holywell Street, Strand—I saw Raynor at the Police-court; he was wearing boots which were my make, and similar to some which I lost at the end of December when my shop was broken open and 155 pairs of boots stolen—the police have shown me twelve pairs of them, the proceeds of the theft.
CHARLES ELLIS . I am a wine merchant, of 40, Upper Thames Street—West, who has pleaded guilty, was in my employ—I have lost wine and spirits since December last, eleven dozen of port, about four dozen of whisky, some brandy, and a small case of champagne—on 21st March I saw at the Police-station a case containing eleven bottles of port wine, which I identified as my property—I also identify the two empty cases found in the back yard.
JAMES SILK . I am a carman in the service of Mr. Maggs, 65, Watling Street—about December West asked me to go to Mr. Ellis's, where I received two baskets, each containing two dozen of whisky, and West went with me to 1, Albert Grove, where I saw Raynor and his wife—Raynor had nothing to do with the whisky, I carried it inside and handed it to West—it was put into a box under where Raynor was at work, downstairs—Raynor and West then left the house, and we all had a drink together—about the beginning of March I went to Mr. Ellis's again, and got two cases with something in them—I did not open them—I took them to the same place; West carried them in—I did not see where they were put—I saw Raynor there—we then all three went to a public-house, and soon afterwards George came in—he did not drink with us; West left the house with him; he drank after he returned—Raynor was not there then—we three had a drink together.
Cross-examined. I did not see George on the first occasion.
Witnesses for Raynor's Defence.
JOHN GEORGE (the Prisoner). I have pleaded guilty to receiving these boots with a guilty knowledge—I am the tenant of this house in Victoria Park Road—I kept one room exclusively for myself, and let the rest to Raynor—that was the room in which the property was found, which I have pleaded guilty to Raynor had nothing to do with it or with my business—I received some of the wine and spirits stolen by West, and paid West; Raynor had nothing to do with it except drinking with the van boy—Raynor had nothing to do with any of this property; I sold him the boots which he was wearing; he only makes women's boots.
Cross-examined. I was convicted on 28th March, 1881, and got five years for obtaining goods by false pretences—that was my first conviction—I have known Raynor fifteen years—I knew him before I was convicted—he and I married two sisters—I have been at 1, Albert Grove sixteen or seventeen months—I took the house—the furniture had belonged to Raynor's mother—I have never heard that Raynor was bankrupt, nor that an arrangement was made to defraud his creditors—I paid the rent; it is twelve shillings a week; Raynor paid no rent, because they are keeping my child and looking after the house for me—in addition to the five years, I was convicted of forgery at this Court on 28th March.
Re-examined. Raynor and I having married sisters, he did not cast me off, though I was a convicted man—the whisky was just placed in his room until I came home, and then I removed it—it was merely set down there.
JAMES WEST (a prisoner). I have pleaded guilty to stealing wine and whisky from my master—Fife, who has hadfive years' penal servitude, mentioned George to me as a person who would receive property, and then I took it to George's house, and dealt with him—I had nothing to do with Raynor at all; I did not know his name even—I thought he was a man working for George.
Cross-examined. I took wine and spirits from Mr. Ellis to Albert Grove, five times from July last—I saw Raynor each time, and on no occasion was George there—the goods were usually taken upstairs into George's room, and once or twice they were taken downstairs—some whisky was once put in a box by the side of the table where he worked, and on other occasions the port wine was put in the passage—there were five dozen in each case—I took the port wine on March 8th—Raynor drank with us each time—he did not know where I came from; he asked me no questions—the names were on the cases—he never asked me how I came to bring such a large quantity of wine and spirits for George—he opened the door, and I said, "I have got some goods for George"—he did not ask me any questions—he did not take them in; I took them myself—I took them up into his room when he was there once or twice.
Re-examined. Raynor was at work on his boots each time I went there.
Raynor's statement before the Magistrate. "George was landlord of the house, and all the goods found were in the room in which he slept. I know nothing about his business; I thought he was a buyer and seller, or dealer. I worked at home, and that is why I was always there, and I opened the door. I bought the boots I have on from George. I do not make men's boots, only women's boots."
RAYNOR received a good character.— NOT GUILTY . There were four other
indictments against Raynor, upon which no evidence was offered. GEORGE— Ten Years' Penal Servitude. WEST recommended to mercy by the prosecutor— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
THIRD COURT, Wednesday, April 10th, 1889.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
363. GEORGE WILLIAMS (22) PLEADED GUILTY to breaking and entering the warehouse of Edwin Bell and stealing 55 yards of cloth and other articles, after a conviction** of felony in July, 1887; and also to being found by night with housebreaking implements in his possession. Twenty Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted.
GUILTY .— Twenty Months' Hard Labour.
MR. PIGGOTT Prosecuted.
CLEMENT SHEPPERD (City Policeman 946). I was on duty at a quarter to four on 18th March, in Gray Church Lane—I saw the prisoner approaching from Houndsditch in the direction of Leadenhall Street—I crossed over and asked him where he got this clock, which he was carrying in a handkerchief—he said he had bought it from a hawker, and that he had given 5s. for it—I asked him the hawker's name, and he said, "I do not know the hawker"—he gave the address, Smith's lodging-house, Tavett Street—after he was charged I made inquiries, and found property had been lost—I believe 3s. 2 1/2 d. was found on him—I went to the prosecutor's shop and saw Mr. times—I met the prisoner 300 to 400 yards from his shop.
WILLIAM SIMES . I am salesman to Henry Abrahams, fancy warehouseman, of 128, Houndsditch—I saw this clock on show in the warehouse about quarter to two when I went to dinner on the 18th; I next saw it at the Bishopsgate Street Police-station a little after four—the cost price of the clock is 35s. 6d.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony in December, 1887, at this Court.— Twenty Months' Hard Labour.
MR. JONES LEWIS Prosecuted. JAMES TOOTH (Policeman X 239). About half-past twelve on 7th March I was coming through Hippodrome Mews, Notting Hill, and I heard a peculiar noise—I crossed to the left and looked down William Street, and saw three men struggling; one of them, the prosecutor, was on the ground—I went towards them and then met the prisoners, who were two of the men who had been struggling—the third man walked in the opposite direction—I said to the prisoners, "What do you mean, two of you knocking one man about?"—Collins said, "Do you think I am going to
have a punch in the mouth for nothing?"—Walsh said, "He struck me first, for nothing at all"—they went to the top of William Street, turned to the right into Prince's Road, and went away—I went down the street in the same direction as the prosecutor—shortly after I received information, and in consequence went to the Police-station where the prosecutor then was—he was deaf and dumb, and was writing on a slate—I received instructions from my Inspector, and went with Wheatly to Bangor Street, Notting Dale, about 100 yards from the place of the robbery, about half an hour after the occurrence—I saw the prisoners standing on the steps of No. 16—I took Collins and Wheatly took Walsh—as soon as we did so they both said, "What is this for?"—I said, "It is for robbing a man in William Street"—they said, "We know nothing at all about it"—Walsh said, "If we had robbed a man, why had not you taken us into custody at the time?"—I said, "Because I did not know that you had robbed him at that time"—we took them to the station; they were placed there with three other men, and the prosecutor picked them out—they were charged, and said they knew nothing about it—I found twopence and a bit of tin on Collins; nothing was found on Walsh—I went back with Wheatly to the place in William Street, where I spoke to the two men, twenty yards from the place where the struggle was, and I found on the ground this empty purse, which the prosecutor identified as one he made himself.
Cross-examined by Walsh, I did not take you into custody because the neighbourhood is a very low one, and rows very frequently happen—the prosecutor pointed to you at the Police-station—I did not make signs to him—he said at the Police-court he did not know if he had any money or not—he said he was in Portobello Road—I saw the three of you in William Street at quarter-past twelve.
Re-examined. I am sure the prisoners are the men—I have known them some time—Walsh I have known eight years.
ARTHUR WHEATLY (Policeman X 467). About 12.40 on 7th March I met Gurney and the prosecutor at the corner of Bangor Street and St. Clement Road, Notting Hill—Gurney spoke to me—I went with them to William Street, where I saw Allan—we spoke together, and I then went with Gurney and the prosecutor to Notting Dale Police-station—Gurney made a complaint to me—the last witness came to the Police-station while we were there—he said something, and he and I went to 16, Bangor Street—we saw the prisoners standing on the doorstep—I arrested Walsh and Tooth arrested Collins—they were charged at Notting Dale Station with assaulting Young, and stealing; a purse with 10d. in it—Walsh said to Tooth, "If you saw us struggling, why did not you take us into custody at the time? God strike me dead, I did not do it; I was not there"—about twenty-seven minutes past twelve the same morning I saw, the two prisoners at the corner of Bangor Street and St. Clement's Road, about two hundred yards off said, "Well, Jack, how are you?"—he said, "All right, I am going away; I think of going to Canada"—I said, "The best thing for you; you will have to work out there"—he said, "Yes"—I went with the last witness, and we found the purse about twenty yards from the place—there was nothing in it—it was lying open.
Cross-examined by Walsh. The Inspector asked the man with his hands if you were the men, and he answered by motions you were—I did not understand it.
Re-examined. I was present when the men were picked out—the prosecutor pointed to them, not to any other men.
ARTHUR ALLAN (Policeman X 106). At 12.35 on this morning I was at a fixed point in Prince's Road—I heard a peculiar noise like someone screaming or shouting—I went to the corner of William Street and saw Tooth speaking to the prisoners; I heard him ask them what they meant by knocking the man about—Collins said, "We are not going to have a smack in the mouth for nothing"—Walsh said nothing—the prosecutor was going in the opposite direction down William Street—the prisoners went along Prince's Road, came back, and went down Catherine Road in the direction of Bangor Street—I was in the station when they were brought in and charged—they were placed among a lot of other men, and the prosecutor picked them out by pointing to them; he did not point to any of the other men.
Cross-examined by Walsh. You said to Tooth you were going away—I was standing alongside of you.
Re-examined. I did not see the struggle.
JAMES YOUNG (a deaf mute, interpreted by signs). I live at 21, Bangor Street, and am a shoemaker—about 12.30 on the morning of 7th March I saw the prisoners in William Street—they took this purse and money out of my pocket—I had 10d. with me.
Cross-examined by Walsh. I knew your faces when I saw you at the Police-station.
JOHN GURNEY . I lodge in the same house with the prosecutor, at 21, Bangor Street—on this morning the prosecutor came home and made a statement to me, in consequence of which I went with him and spoke to Wheatly.
Cross-examined by Walsh. I did not see you.
The Prisoners, in their statements before the Magistrate and in their defences, denied all knowledge of the matter.
GUILTY of larceny from the person.
WALSH** PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in December, 1884; and COLLINS** to one in September, 1888. A very large number of previous convictions were proved against Walsh. WALSH—Eighteen Months' Hard Labour . COLLINS—Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Thursday, April 11th, 1889.
Before Mr. Justice Cave.
367. EUGENE DWIGHT (44) PLEADED GUILTY to indictments for carnally knowing Florence Pritchard, Adelaide Burgess, and Nellie Weir, girls under thirteen years of age; also to indecently assaulting Add Spalding. Fifteen Years' Penal Servitude . INSPECTOR BITTEN stated that the prisoner had been identified by many other children upon whom he had committed indecent assaults.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. H. AVORY Prosecuted; MR. FULTON Defended.
FREDERICK WILLIAM FOSTER . I am a surveyor, of 26, Old Jewry—I prepared this plan of the bar-parlour of the Rose and Crown, Little-Britain, and also this model, which is a correct representation on a scale of an inch to a foot—there are two bullet marks on the wall, about eight feet from the ground, one at this end of the room, and one on the elevator in the corner at the other end of the room—the room is eight or nine feet wide and sixteen feet long—a kind of bookcase is fixed against the wall over the sofa, and comes down to two feet above it; it has drawers in it.
Cross-examined. The sofa is only about a foot high, old-fashioned, and heavy to move—it is close against the wall under the bookcase—the chairs are in the position in which they were when I made the model—I do not mean to say that they occupied those positions at the time of the occurrence—I made my sketch on the Saturday afterwards, and the house was then in occupation—this round table has heavy metal legs; it was in a corner between the lift and the door; it would not be easy to overturn it—the writing-desk at the end of the room is a heavy piece of furniture; it would be quite impossible to overturn it in a struggle—the under side of the chandelier is 6 feet 3 inches from the ground—the chairs are heavy old-fashioned mahogany—the distance between the fender and the couch is 4 feet 6 inches—the lift was slightly grazed, as if the shot had struck it and gone on to the wall.
WILLIAM WRIGHT I am a plumber—the deceased, David Danby, was my brother-in-law—he was single—he took the Rose and Crown public-house last October, and has lived there since—the prisoner is his brother-in-law, and he and his wife lived there, and assisted in the management—I visited at the house, and saw them there—I spent the evening there on February 24, and the deceased and the prisoner were on good terms, as far as I could judge.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner since about three weeks after they went to Little Britain last October—I met him once before by accident—I did not know him when he was manager to Jardine and Co., the diamond merchants, or at the time of his marriage—I did not visit him—I went to his house with my wife about six months after his marriage, but he was not there; we looked all over his house, 5, St. Michael's Gardens, Notting Hill, and went into his bedroom—that was eight years ago—my wife and I made an observation about the danger of having firearms, as there was a revolver at the corner of his bed—I believe the prisoner had a pecuniary interest in the business; I believe they were partners—I was there about twelve times, and sometimes spent some little time there, and always found them on friendly terms—I had known Danby much longer; he was not a man of sullen temperament, or quick, or bad-tempered; he was an ordinary-tempered man—he weighed about twelve stone three.
Re-examined. There was no conversation about their position, in my presence on the Sunday night—Mrs. Cornwall was there.
wife did not assist in the bar—they slept in the second-floor back-room, and I believe the drawing-room belonged to them—on 25th February, about 11.30 or 11.40, I left the house and shut the door, leaving Mr. Danby and Mr. Cornwall in the house—Mrs. Cornwall was not there—she was there that day, but she went out, and had not returned—when I left, Danby and the prisoner were standing together in the bar, on good terms, as far as I could judge—there were very often trivial disputes between them, but if there was anything else I think they went somewhere else to have them—I only know it from hearsay; the prisoner never said anything to me on the subject—I knew Mr. Danby had a revolver, but I never saw it; I do not know where it was kept—I did not know that the prisoner had got one.
Cross-examined. Some time ago the police woke them up at the Rose and Crown, because the cellar doors were open—they did not go down and find that it originated in a cat—I never heard that it was the practice of these two men to go over all parts of the house with pistols before closing, but I told the Magistrate I had been told so—before I left on this night there was a dispute between these two men about a half-sovereign, which was the cause of my being half an hour late; my time was eleven—when the money was counted up Danby said that there was a half-sovereign short—no one else was present; my wife was waiting outside—Danby was like the rest of us in the trade, he used to have some glasses with customers; I daresay he would take fifteen to twenty glasses in the day sometimes, but I am not always in the bar—I saw him have several glasses of beer on the 25th.
Re-examined. They were both sober when I left, as far as I could judge—the prisoner had had several glasses too during the day—Danby had been the worse for drink during the day, but he was not the worse for it then—Mr. Danby, though he had a lot of money, was not in the habit of handling money; I could count more in ten minutes than he could in half an hour—there was a half-sovereign short, and he was trying to find it out; I put it down that it was a mistake of his counting, and that it would be all right in the morning—the prisoner said that it was a mistake.
WILLIAM FULLER (City Policeman). On 25th February, about thirty-five minutes past twelve, I passed the Rose and Crown—the lights were still burning, and I saw Mr. Danby in the bar in his shirt sleeves—he was alone, so far as I saw—he was putting something into a bag, apparently money—he was smoking a clay pipe—about one o'clock I heard what had happened, and went back to the house—the Inspector and other police were there—I assisted in searching, and found these two bullets on the floor, about a foot apart and a foot from the lift; they are flattened, and have plaster on them, showing that they struck the wall, and I saw the marks on the wall, one on each side, one on the lift, and one on the wall at the other end of the room—I found this clay pipe on the floor close to the lift, with a very small piece chipped off the mouth end of it—this other piece has been broken off since—I did not find this little piece, it was found in the deceased's mouth.
HENRY JOINER (City Policeman). On Tuesday morning, 26th February, about a quarter to one o'clock I was on duty in plain clothes in Little Britain—I heard a cry of "Police," and saw the prisoner in Bartholomew Close, dressed, except his hat; he had a jacket on—I asked what he
wanted; he said, "I want a policeman—I said, "I am a policeman"—he asked me to produce my warrant card; I showed it to him, and then he said, "I have shot my brother-in-law at the Rose and Crown;" and asked me to go inside—I asked if he was dead; he said, "I have been trying to get him round some time, I think he is"—I went with him to the Rose and Crown, twenty yards off—he took me into the parlour; two candles were burning in flat-bottomed candlesticks; one was on the hot plate near the lift—he pointed to the deceased, and said, "There he is"—he was lying on a couch on his left arm, in a kneeling position, as appears here in the model—I lifted his head and saw that he was dead—the poker was on the ground near the door; as I went in the handle was pointing towards the deceased—the prisoner pointed to it, and said, "That is the poker he struck me with"—I lifted the man's head, and the prisoner said, "He is dead enough, for I shot him four or five times"—he then handed me this six-chambered revolver from his pocket—I examined it afterwards, and found six empty cartridge cases in it, apparently recently discharged—I told him he would have to go to the station with me; he said, "I feel as if I could shoot myself"—I told him to put on his hat and coat—he said, "Had not you better get another officer?"—I said it did not matter, I could take him—he said, "I shall make no noise"—I took him outside—he said, "I must have been a d—d fool; of course I suppose I shall be hung for this; but never mind, I can only die once"—he also said "He should not pick up the poker to me"—I took him to the station, and handed him over to another officer—I told the sergeant on duty that he had given himself up for killing his brother-in-law at the Rose and Crown—the prisoner said, "That is quite right"—when I went into the room the furniture was just as it appears in the model; nothing was disturbed but the poker—there was a hearthrug in front of the fire, and a carpet on the floor; I cannot say whether it was nailed down—there was a pillow on the sofa and a rug under the deceased's arm—either the sofa nor the pillow was disturbed, as far as I could see—I returned to the house and got in at the first floor window by a ladder, because I had shut the door when I left—there was nobody in the house—Dr. Adams came shortly after—in the second floor back room, the top drawer of a chest of drawers was open—when I went back to the station the prisoner asked the Inspector if he was dead, and he replied, "Yes, he is dead"—he said, "I knew d—d well he was"—the Inspector asked him what the quarrel was about—he said, "We could never agree; we have had several trivial disputes lately," and then, hesitating, he said, "Well, twopence," and hesitating again, "Well, nothing; he picked up the poker and threatened to strike me, and I told him if he advanced one inch I would shoot him; he came quite close to me, and I fired. I was on the sofa then; that was before we struggled. We then struggled together, and I fired as fast as I could pull"—the Inspector asked him where he got the revolver from—he said, "I took it from my pocket; I have done it, and I suppose I shall have to suffer for it"—somebody called attention to a black mark across the back of the prisoner's hand, and a slight abrasion of the skin underneath—the black mark rubbed off; it looked like black lead—the prisoner said it was nothing—I did not hear him say how it was caused—when we were searching him the Inspector noticed a button
torn off his waistcoat, and he said, "That is where he got hold of me"—another button was hanging down by a piece of cloth.
Cross-examined. When he came to me in Little Britain he had slippers on—I found two bedroom candles burning in the back parlour—there was blacklead on the end of the poker—the prisoner drew my attention to two bags of money on the table, and said, "You can see it was not done for robbery—I remember In wood asking him, "What did you have the revolver for?" and his saying, "We take it with us when we go round the house at night"—I forgot that—this (produced) is the waistcoat he had on—two buttons are off, and one is hanging down, but on that night I only noticed the top button gone, and the waistcoat was hanging on by the button that was torn—it was not taken off at the station—he was wearing it before the Magistrate—I did not notice that it was torn that night—these two buttons were shown me at the Police-court by Mr. Ricketts, who appeared for the prisoner—that was the first time I saw them—they are odd ones—I believe the Inspector had found one button—this is a very quiet place after 10 p. m.
JAMES INWOOD (City Police Inspector). On 26th February, about 1 a. m., I found the prisoner in custody at the Snow Hill Police-station—I went to the Rose and Crown—one of the candles in the bar parlour had then burned out—Dr. Adams, whom I had sent for, came shortly afterwards—there was no appearance of anything being disturbed—the furniture was heavy—there was a clock on the mantelpiece, and some small ornaments, and the fire-irons and a cushion on the couch, and a wrap or antimacassar and a rug under the deceased, folded into about four squares—after the doctor had examined the body I returned to the station—I have heard the constable's evidence; he has told you all that happened then—I saw that the prisoner's waistcoat was torn, and the button was hanging by a shred of cloth—I do not think any buttons were missing—I saw the button picked up in the bar parlour and laid on the mantelpiece—it was such a button as might belong to the waistcoat—the bullets found on the floor correspond with the cartridge in the revolver—a day or two afterwards I went to the house and examined a chest belonging to Mr. Danby, and found a revolver in the middle of the box, wrapped up in paper and placed in a cardboard box without a lid.
Cross-examined. I did not have the prisoner's waistcoat taken off; I said, "Your waistcoat is torn "; he said, "I had not noticed that before"—one button underneath was gone, and another where the cloth leaves off tearing—when I went back to the room one button had been found—I searched carefully, but found no other—a constable named Isbod took the fender up—we were then searching for bullet-holes—the carpet was nailed down—one bag had £10 4s. 6d. in it, and the other £1 10s. 8d. in bronze—the hearthrug was not fastened down.
HENRY EVE (City Police Sergeant). I was on duty at the station when the prisoner was brought in; he was left with me when the officers went to the Rose and Crown—he was about to speak to a constable when I stepped forward and said, "This is a very serious charge, and it is my duty to caution you that what you say will be taken down and used in evidence against you"—he said, "I appreciate your motive; it is done, it cannot be altered."
diagonal cloth, from the floor—it might have been a waistcoat button; I put it on the mantelshelf—I searched the room, but found nothing else—I went to the station and heard the prisoner make a statement to the Inspector.
Cross-examined. He said to me, "We had our candles alight when we quarrelled, ready to go to bed; I wish we had gone, it would not have happened then"—he did not speak rapidly, but he is a very fluent speaker—I said before the Magistrate that I could not take down all he said, he spoke so fast—he drew my attention to a mark on his hand, and said, "I never saw it till I got here; I did it myself; it is nothing; I did it when I tried to take the poker; it did not hurt me much"—this button (produced) is similar to the one I put on the mantelpiece; this other I never saw—money and cheques and postal orders were found on the deceased—there were three cheques for £13 12s. 1d., two postal orders for 15s., a money order for £3 4s. 4d., a £5 Bank of England note, and £45 14s. 2 1/2 d. in his pocket; that was in addition to the two bags on the table—besides that there were two watches, two chains, and a seal.
Re-examined. There was no mark on the prisoner except a slight scratch under the black mark.
JOHN ADAMS , F. R. C. S. practise in Aldersgate Street—on the morning of 26th February I was called soon after twelve, and went to the Rose and Crown, and saw the deceased in the bar parlour, leaning on the sofa with his knees on the floor—he was quite dead, a small quantity of blood was coming from his mouth and nose, and a small piece of a day pipe was in his mouth, which fits the clay pipe which was found—I found three wounds, one on his right collar-bone, as if it was a bullet wound, penetrating through the cloth; one on the left side of the chest, some six inches from the middle of the chest—I afterwards made a post-mortem examination, and traced the wound in the right collar-bone four inches—where I found the bullet lying on the collar-bone, it was covered by the skin only; it was quite superficial, but the bullet was very much flattened by coming in contact with the collar-bone—wound No. 2 was on the left side of the chest, four and a half inches from the middle line, and two and a half below the collar-bone, going through the third rib and through the pleura and left lung, through the aorta, just at the point where it is covered by the pericardium, and out through the pericardium, through the middle lobe of the left lung, striking the eighth rib, going right through backwards and downwards—that must have caused death very soon—the next wound was in front of the right hip, just below the hip-bone; it went backwards about three inches; it was superficial; it went merely under the skin, and there it was found—the next wound was on the inner side of the right thigh, in the middle, going backwards and upwards, and the bullet was found very near wound No. 3, just on the buttock—it had gone through the femoral artery, which would cause death very soon if not attended to—the clothes over the bullet-hole of wound No. 2 were slightly singed, showing that the shot must have been not more than twelve inches distant—the wound on the right hip was also singed, rather more so than the other, showing that the shot was fired somewhat nearer—I found the bullets in each of the four wounds; they had all entered from the front, showing that the men were in front of one another—the wound in the leg travelled directly upwards—no
inference arises from that, as bullets are turned by very slight things—it could be done by both men standing up—you cannot tell in what direction the leg was—if it was bent it would do so, or the bullet might be turned by the muscles or tendons which it came in contact with.
Cross-examined. The position of the wound on the thigh was consistent with being fired when the deceased was lying on the couch—I cannot say that that is the most probable way in which it could be caused, but it would be possible—that is the wound from which he would have bled to death if it had not been attended to—it would not disable him for a few minutes—the wound through the lungs would cause almost instantaneous death—I cannot say that he would be likely to fall forward on his face rather than backwards—he was a much bigger man than the prisoner; I should say he was over thirteen stone.
Re-examined. The trousers were so stained by blood that any indications of scorching would be obliterated, and I cannot say at what distance the shot in the thigh was fired—there was no singeing over the collar-bone.
By the request of MR. FULTON the prisoner was allowed to make his own statement. He said that he had been in the habit of carrying a revolver far years when he travelled with large quantities of jewellery on his person; that on the night in question the deceased's money was a half-sovereign short and he told him he would find it all right in the morning; that the deceased said, "You are a d—d liar; how about that shilling you gave the baker too much, and found out your mistake?" and attacked him with the poker, and seized him by the throat, endeavouring to get the pistol, and therefore he kept pulling the trigger as fast as he could to exhaust all the shots before it was taken from him, and they both fell together; that he tried to lift the deceased on to the sofa, but finding he was dead, went out and gave himself up; that the deceased was a much bigger man than himself, and if he had not acted as he did he should have been the dead man, and the deceased would have been taking his trial.
Witnesses for the Defence.
ROBERT ADAMS . I am in the employ of Mr. Bone, a jeweller, of the Strand—I was formerly with Blagg, Martin, and Co., afterwards Jardine and Co., wholesale diamond merchants—the prisoner came into their employment in May, 1873 or 1874; I left him there in 1880—he had a revolver when I went and when I left; I saw it frequently in his possession—he was in the habit of carrying large quantities of jewellery and loose stones, diamonds—it was the rule to carry a revolver—he went to Paris two or three times, taking valuable stones with him.
FRANK CORNWALL . The prisoner is my half-brother—I am articled clerk to a solicitor—the prisoner has always been in the habit of carrying a revolver—he is an excellent shot; I have here a penny which he shot in our house in the country at a distance of twelve yards—he is not likely to miss a mark at which he desired to aim.
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY of Manslaughter.— Ten Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. GRIFFITHS Prosecuted, and Mr. KEITH FRITH Defended.
GUILTY .— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
NEW COURT.—Thursday, April 11th, 1889.
Before Mr. Recorder.
371. JOHN DOYLE (22) and JAMES KEARLEY (18) PLEADED GUILTY to breaking and entering the warehouse of Adolph Strauss, and stealing 557 pipes and cases, thirty cigars, and other articles, his property. —Fifteen Months' Hard Labour each .
372. WILLIAM MILLER (391 to breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Edward Eager, and stealing a sack and harness, his property.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
373. WALTER LEE (45) , to stealing two watch-chains, the property of Walter Benbow, and another; also to stealing one watch-chain, the property of Frank Henry Phillips, having been convicted of felony at Worship Street in the name of George Leopard, on 26th September, 1884.— [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] Judgment respited.
This indictment arose out of the evidence given by the defendant in the case of William Henry Manning, tried in this Court on 11th and 12th February last, as fully reported in the Sessions Papers of that date, pages 406 to 424—Henry Camm, John James Woods, Arthur Edwin Taylor, Harry Hocombe, Frederick Harrison Dunn, Edward Graham Fisher, and George Smith Inglis were again called as witnesses on the present occasion, and the evidence of the defendant, who was called for the defence on that trial, was proved from the shorthand writers' notes.—The Jury found the defendant
GUILTY , and he was sentenced to Five Years' Penal Servitude.
THIRD COURT, Thursday, April 11th, and
FOURTH COURT, Friday, April 12th, 1889.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
377. GEORGE WALTON (38), alias GEORGE WALTON SMITH , and ALFRED AUSTIN ARNOLD (49) , Unlawfully obtaining from Sarah Ann Symons £25 by false pretences, with intent to defraud, and other sums from other persons; and for conspiring to defraud.
MESSRS. BESLEY and MEAD Prosecuted; MR. SYDENHAM JONES appeared for Walton, and MR. LAWLESS for Arnold.
SARAH ANN SYMONS . I am twenty-six years old—I was formerly in service as parlourmaid—on 1st August I was looking out for employment, having a small sum of money to invest, that I might find employment—I saw this advertisement in the Daily Chronicle of 1st August—(This was for a lady to manage a branch business, at 15s, a week and
commission; cash security, £25. Address, Box 704, Daily Chronicle)—I replied and received a message, in consequence of which I went on 3rd August to 85, Finsbury Pavement, and went to two rooms on the first floor—on the outside door was "Mr. Wigfall," and on the door of the office to which I went was "Private"—I saw Walton, I am not certain if both prisoners were present—I said I came in answer to the advertisement; Walton said he required me to manage a branch business; the duties would be very light, principally copying, and he should require £25 deposit, which I could have returned when I liked; a deposit was necessary because I should have to take charge of certain valuable papers, and a good deal of money would pass through my hands at different times—my wages were to be 15s., and 10 per cent. commission upon the business done, to be paid monthly—he said the business was auctioneering—I was to pay the deposit the following morning—he said it was a very old-established business that I was to go to; he had been known in that neighbourhood a great many years—it was not quite decided what office I was to go to—I went next day to deposit the money, not to begin business—I saw both Arnold and Walton—this agreement was shown to me; I read it over before I signed it—I put down my £25—Walton signed the agreement, and Arnold witnessed it—(By this agreement Walton and Co, agreed to employ Sarah Ann Symons as manageress of their branch office at City Road at 15s. a week salary, and commission of 10 per cent, on all business done at the office; and she agreed to deposit as security £25, to be returned at the end of three months; the agreement to be terminable by either party after fourteen days' notice)—I received this receipt—I think Arnold wrote it, and Walton signed it—on the following Tuesday or Wednesday I received a letter telling me to be at the office at 10. 30—I went to the Finsbury Pavement office; I there saw Arnold, who said Walton was waiting for me at the City Road—I went to the office there, it was on the second floor, above a confectioner's shop—there was a desk, two benches covered with green baize, two large forms, some chairs, an armchair, shelves with papers on them—Walton told me to copy a will—I think it was left there when I had finished it, no one came about it; it was not connected with any business—no people called about the tied up papers; they were connected with no current business that I know of—I remained there till 30th October—I had several circulars to copy.—(These were answers to advertisements as to auctioneering business)—I was continually copying them; they were never sent out—Arnold told me to copy them—I left them in the office—I addressed these envelopes from a directory marked for me to copy—I took certain streets and addresses consecutively, without ascertaining whether the people had businesses to dispose of—I left those envelopes in the office—I had no instructions to post them—no stamps were supplied to me—Arnold and Walton both came to the office, Arnold more frequently than Walton—I did no business at all—there was no register of businesses to be sold or bought there—no one came there on business—Arnold occasionally took away a few of the circulars I had directed—I don't know what was done with them—I got no answers to them—I was paid my wages up to the date I left—I complained to Arnold as to the nature of the business, and asked whether I was to be taught the business—he said they were so very busy he had no time to attend to me—on 30th
October Walton asked me to go to Clapham to see if there were any letters for him, as he had given up the City Road office, as no business was doing there—I went to 14, St. John's Road, Clapham Junction, taking the key with me—no one was in occupation there—they had a parlour there—I found no letters—I returned to Finsbury Pavement; Arnold told me not to go to City Road again, but to go to Finsbury Pavement—on my way I went to City Road, and found Miss Pope there; she had succeeded me—Walton had said in October that the office there did not pay, because it was such a dirty place; people would not take the trouble to go up the stairs—I went the following morning to 85, Finsbury Pavement—Arnold told me Walton had taken several large offices and was doing a large amount of business, and was always employing a number of young ladies to manage the offices—he said he had spent a great deal of money; he had opened a registry office for servants and a partner agency, that it was only just opened, but it would be a success because they were very busy then, I was to go to the office at St. John's Road, Clapham Junction, for the future; it was one of their oldest offices, and a great deal of business would be done, I should not be at all lonely there—I went to Clapham, and continued there till November; I was the only person there—I addressed envelopes, which Arnold told me to buy, from the same directory—I saw no business at all—I used one room; I believe there were two in the office; there were two keys—the one contained a table, four chairs, an armchair and form, and a bookcase—I don't know if they were furnished apartments—a card was nailed on the door-post, "George Walton, Auctioneer, 85, Finsbury Pavement and St. John's Road, Clapham Junction," and there was a large auction bill in the window, referring to a sale that had taken place in July—the last week I was there I wrote to Walton, asking for the return of my deposit—he wrote that he would see me in a day or two—I left on 14th November and went to the City Road—Walton wrote asking me to meet him there, and bring all the envelopes I had addressed—I brought away the keys of the Clapham office—I remained at the City Road office till 11th December—I stamped the envelopes at the back with his name—I found Miss Pope had left—I asked for my deposit a number of times before I left—I wrote this letter of 28th November. (Asking for the money to be returned, as her friend wanted it at once.) Walton several times said a great deal of money was owing to him, and when he was paid he would pay me—I received my salary up to 24th November—I left the City Road office on 11th December, as I had a letter from Walton telling me not to go there till he could attend to me—on 17th December I met Walton accidentally in the Strand, and asked him when I should return—he said he was so very pressed with the business and so very busy he could not give me any work, and he would pay my wages just the same, and I was to stay at home till I heard—he gave me a sovereign on account of my wages, and said he did not mind if I stayed at home and received my salary—Arnold gave me three bonds of £25 each to take care of—he took two away and left one with me—I gave it to my solicitor, who has it—I parted with my £25 because Walton said it was a very old-established business, and that I should have care of a great deal of money and valuable papers—not a farthing passed through my hands—I thought before I parted with my money that it was a valuable business, and that I should do a great deal
of business after I learnt it, and take care of money—I believed it was a genuine business—not being able to get my £25, none of which has been returned to me, I instructed my solicitor, and issued a writ—he has not gone on with it.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. There is nothing in the agreement about teaching the business; I told Walton I did not know it, and he said no experience was necessary—I never looked at the papers at the City Road office, I don't know what they were—the City Road office had all that was required for an office—there were papers on the shelves and in pigeonholes—I was there for twelve weeks—I was instructed that if there were any applications I was to refer the people to Finsbury Pavement—I was at Clapham two weeks, from October 30 to November 14—then I went back to the City Road for four weeks—my salary was paid regularly for sixteen weeks—Walton paid me 2s. 6d. for money I had spent in the business, as well as the £1—I only hold one bond for £25; my solicitor has it—Arnold gave it me to take care of—I think he gave it me for Walton—Walton said it was a very old-established business—I knew it was a branch I was going to; I don't remember his saying a new branch—he said he had been a great many years at Finsbury Pavement—I took his word for it that he was an auctioneer and estate agent; I did not make inquiries about it—I do not know if he holds an auctioneer's certificate—I have never seen this certificate before—there was a plate on the door "Walton, Auctioneer and Surveyor,"I think—after I met Walton in the Strand I met Miss Pope several times—I went to the office in the Strand—I saw Miss Yeo there three or four times—I was not to go to the Finsbury Pavement business at all.
Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I don't think Arnold was present at my first interview with Walton on 3rd August—the terms were settled with Walton, and he represented what I was to do—on 4th August both were present, and then the agreement was prepared and signed—Arnold wrote it in my presence, and Walton signed it—I am not aware that Walton has lost half his right thumb, and finds difficulty in writing—I paid the money to Walton, and regarded him as my employer—I looked on Arnold as a clerk then—I saw two clerks, King and Andros, in the office subsequently—Walton told me at the end of September he was going to open another office, and I should leave the City Road as it was too dirty; and another time after that Arnold told me Walton had opened several offices—I did not know about 10th December that Arnold had left Walton—I met Arnold some time after, and he told me he had left him—that was shortly before Walton's arrest—I finally broke off with Walton about the middle of December—I do not know if Arnold left before that; I saw him a week or so previous—I saw him in connection with the business up to the first or second week in December—afterwards I saw him, and he told me he had left, that he could not put up with Mr. Walton any longer; he said he could not get his money—he knew I could not get mine.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. Walton said he was in difficulties when I asked for the £25—at first he said there was a flaw in the agreement, and afterwards he said it was correct, and he made several promises to pay me, and did not, but put me off from week to week—Walton was arrested about 12th January; since then he has had no opportunity of communicating with me; but my deposit money was due in November.
Re-examined. I kept the keys of the place at Clapham Junction from 14th November till when Walton was taken into custody; then I gave them to Detective Downes—I did not go to Clapham Junction after I went the second time to City Road—I had no fortnight's notice putting an end to my service—he wrote the letter when I was going to the City Road, saying I need not go to the office again—afterwards he gave me in the street, £1 and 2s. 6d. for envelopes I had bought—I asked him a great number of times, every time I saw him, for my £25; I first tried to get it back a week or fortnight after it was due on 4th November—I did not give or receive notice—I saw Walton in custody on the 12th January—the first time I went to Walton at Finsbury Pavement, about my money at the end of November, I saw Arnold, and he said he had nothing to do with Walton, that he was using Walton's office in return for the services he rendered him, and he knew nothing of Walton—he complained at the corner of Moorfields that he could not get his money from Walton; I met him by accident—I had then ceased to go to any office—the place in the Strand is at 278, the back of a shop, a large room—my wages were not paid regularly—when he gave me the £1 he owed me a month's wages—he owes me £2 15s. altogether—I knew nothing of proceedings being taken till I was asked to give evidence—that was two days after my solicitor issued the writ against Walton—those are the two clerks (King and Andros) who were under Arnold's direction at Finsbury Pavement.
ANNIE SPEED . I am single, I have been a clerk; I live at Brixton—I saw an advertisement in a paper, and on 25th August, 1888, I wrote this letter—I gave a reference; I don't know if any application was made—I received an answer, and then called at 85, Finsbury Pavement, on the Tuesday—I saw both the prisoners there; both spoke—I said I came in consequence of the letter, and that I was Miss Speed—they told me they wished somebody to take charge of their branch office; they were opening a licensed victuallers' agency, and that I should have to enter the names of all who called and gave them particulars—they required a deposit of £25, because I should hold deeds and securities, and take moneys for them—they said they had not decided where the branch would be, but they thought in the Brompton Road—I cannot say whether both or only one of the prisoners spoke—both were present—they said they would give me 15s. a week—I said that would not be sufficient, so they said they would give me £1 a week, and commission on all business done at the branch office—I afterwards called on the day on which the agreement was signed, with the money—I saw both; I paid the money in notes and gold; I got this receipt, which Arnold took from a book and filled up—this agreement was signed—Walton signed it (Similar to the others)—on 2nd September, I think, I went to 14, St. John Road, Clapham Junction—I remained there about six days—I did nothing in the way of business—I passed my time in copying forms and a letter they gave me—Walton directed me as to that on the first day I was there; there was a directory there—the forms I copied were left there for him to call for—sometimes when I came next day they were gone—I think I only saw Walton there once—I had not been to 85, Finsbury Pavement—I had not seen Arnold since the time he gave me the receipt—I received a letter, telling me to go to 85, Finsbury Pavement, and I went there—I saw Arnold, who told me they were opening an office at 377, Strand, in the same line as that at
Clapham Junction, and they wanted me to go there next day—I went there the day after, about 24th October; it was a licensed victuallers' employment agency in the name of Walton—I occupied as clerk one room divided into two on the third floor; no one was there with me—I was there about two months up to the end of December—I occupied my time in writing circulars by Walton's direction (These circulars were answers to advertisements in daily papers)—I got the addresses to which the circulars were to go from the newspapers; they were as to places for barmaids—I continued that all the time I was at the Strand—the shop at 377, Strand, is a foreign money-changer's—I gave fourteen days' notice to leave, and left on 31st December—I asked Mr. Walton for my money to be returned when it was due at the end of November or beginning of December—he said it was not convenient to give it to me then, he would give it to me in ten days—I asked again—he said he could not pay me for several days—he promised that three times—I gave notice, left the employment, and went to a lawyer—I got 20s. a week, although the agreement said 15s.; they said it was understood I was to have 20s.; the agreement would not matter—I directed these envelopes to addresses I got from the Daily Telegraph—I never got back my money—no business was done while I was there—I took about 26s. for fees from barmaids for obtaining situations—the 26s. was spent in stamps for sending out the answers to the advertisements—I think that was all I spent; I aid no business at Clapham Junction—I took no money there—I parted with my £25 because I thought the engagement would be worth it with the salary and commission—I believed it was a genuine business.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. I had a boy for two days to take out circulars from Clapham Junction—I sent a great number of letters out from 377, Strand—I had a book, with an account of the letters I sent out—I sent a servant to Pall Mall, and several persons to the Globe, Moorgate-street, and the Five Bells, Moorfields, and to different places—I put the advertisements in a book of that kind—I gave notice for my money to be paid on the last day of November—I met Miss Yeo, Miss Pope, and Miss Norris on 9th November, at the Lord. Mayor's Show—we were introduced and spoke to one another, and had refreshments together—I was told at my first interview I was going to manage a new branch—that did not induce me to pay the money—a good many people called at 377, Strand; I did not refer them to Finsbury Pavement, I did those who called at Clapham Junction, and I wrote there to that effect—when I left I went to my brother at Brighton—I got my salary regularly for about three months.
Cross-examined by. MR. LAWLESS. They both told me it was an old-established business—I cannot say if I said before the Magistrate that Walton told me that—on 1st September, when I went to Clapham Junction, Lamming and King, two of Walton's clerks, were there—Walton used to call constantly at the Strand to see about the business—I did not see Arnold there on business—he usually remained in the outer office—Walton paid my salary, and he signed the agreement and receipt—Arnold left Walton about the middle of December—there was a plate on the door in the Strand.
Re-examined. I heard Arnold had left in December—I do not know of my own knowledge of any breach between Arnold and Walton—Arnold wrote out the agreement; it was signed "Arnold and Co.," and witnessed by Arnold—I paid my money on the completion of the agreement.
ALICE TIGHTLY POPE . I am single, and lived at Stoke Newington—in October I saw this advertisement—I wrote this letter, and received this answer back (produced)—I went next day to 85, Finsbury Pavement—I saw Arnold, and told him I had come in answer to the letter I had received—he told me he was manager to Walton, that "Walton was out, and he would do as well—he went over a bundle of papers to pick out mine; he said he wanted someone respectable to manage a branch business, a servants' registry office and apartments agency—he showed me a book of forms for the servants—he said they had several offices, at Clapham Junction, Stoke Newington, City Road, and 42, Moorfields—I did not know 42, Moorfields and 85, Finsbury Pavement were under the same roof—he said a young lady who had been at one of these branch offices had gone away with £80, and that was why they wanted security-from me; a gentleman had stood security in £100 for her, and they had gone off together—I believed what Arnold said—I understood it was an old-established business, and that a lot of money would pass through my hands, and that I should have charge of valuable papers, deeds, and leases—Arnold asked me to call again to see Walton—I did so—Walton then said my salary would be 15s. a week and commission of 10 per cent, on the profit of all the business done at the office—Walton told me it was an old-established business, and he should want me at Finsbury for a few days to instruct me—Arnold said I could make from 25s. to 30s. a week with the commission, and Walton agreed to it—Walton asked me when I could pay the £25—he said, "Has Mr. Arnold explained to you about the £25, and are you willing to pay it?"—I said I was—Walton said he had been robbed, but I don't think he mentioned the amount—I got my money out of the Post-office Savings Bank two days afterwards, on the Saturday morning, and went with it to 85, Finsbury Pavement—I saw Arnold—he said Walton was too busy to attend to me, but that I could pay it to him (Arnold)—I gave him the £25 in gold—he gave me this receipt, which he wrote in my presence—I saw this agreement-partly drawn up—I signed it a day or two afterwards, on 8th October. (This agreement was similar to those before-mentioned)—I went to Finsbury Pavement for a few days to be put into the way, and at the end of October I went to 90, City Road—they said nothing about its being too dirty for people to go to, or about the young lady coming away from there—I thought it was doing very well—Walton said he was arranging the offices to suit the young ladies' convenience, and he thought it would be convenient to me to go there—I saw a young lady there after I went—I employed my time copying forms of letters for apartments to be let—they gave me paper with a printed heading, "Mrs. Walton's Apartment Agency"—I wrote a number of them; Arnold told me to do so—sometimes Walton took some away, saying he would send them off—some were left on the premises—I addressed no envelopes—I saw a lot of papers there, they were too dusty to touch—no one came on business—I took no money—I remained from 30th October till 10th November, and then I told Arnold I had taken no money, it was not business-like, and that I was getting no commission—Arnold said that Walton was giving that office up, it did not suit him, and I should go to another one—on 10th November he told me to leave the City Road and go to Finsbury Pavement—then I was told to copy this old ledger into another one—I did that for about a week by Arnold's direction—the book was not referred
to during the week I had it—it goes back to 1882 and 1883—it has nothing to do with the City Road—they were out of apartments papers, Arnold told me, and this was to fill up my time—I was at Finsbury on the 12th and 13th November, and on the 14th Arnold took Miss Yeo and myself to another office on the ground floor of 278, Strand; there was one large room and a small ante-room at the back—Arnold said something about some rooms upstairs, and "Walton once showed me the rooms, but no one ever went there that I know of—it was a new office—Arnold and Walton said they were doing very well at the other office at 377, Strand; the young lady there was deluged with work, and so they had opened this—I remained there till 12th January, the day that Walton was arrested—while I was there three or four people called on business, but they did not pay a fee—one young lady paid 1s. on 7th January, but I have returned that since to her—Miss Yeo and I made these books by Walton's instructions—we got the Chronicle and Telegraph, and cut out suitable advertisements, and wrote letters—that book represents our petty cash—they did not pay us for that—Walton said I was to have the fees if I had any, and pay myself—4s. 6d. he owes me for that—he owes me £4 5s. for wages—I copied these advertisements about public-houses from newspapers into this book by Walton's direction—he said he would send the circulars to people—I asked Walton for my £25 back a day or two before it was due on 4th January—he said he was in difficulties, he could not pay me for a time, but he would allow me interest on it as long as it was overdue—he said he had a lot of money to come to him—I complained at the Police-court—I continued at 278, Strand—Arnold's misrepresentations influenced my mind in parting with the £25—I thought it was an old-established business, and if a lot of money was to pass through my hands, I thought it reasonable they should have a deposit—I believed they were doing a good business, and that a lot of money would pass through my hands—I have never had my money back—I did not sue—Arnold told me, I think the first time I saw him, that he had paid a young lady £3 the week before for her salary and commission.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. I was at Finsbury three weeks, City Road two weeks, and 278, Strand, eight weeks—I was paid my salary regularly for six weeks, and then Walton gave me £1 on 17th December and a postal order for £1 on 27th December—I did not agree with Walton on 6th January that my money should be paid in a fortnight—he promised, on or about 6th January, to pay it, out he could not say when—I caused him to be arrested because I did not believe him when he promised me—I talked the matter over with Miss Yeo—a workman who called for money which Walton owed him said we should go to Bow Street—I had Walton's permission to go for a walk whenever I liked—I did not stay away for a number of days—I was there every day—the office in the Strand was a new one—some circulars were sent out—I had work to do at Finsbury—I was only there a few hours a day at the commencement—there was furniture at the City Road—Baker told me there had been more things, but he had moved some away—I saw Miss Yeo and Miss Speed at the Lord Mayor's Show—we were introduced, and talked together—Walton and Arnold were there—I had spoken to Arnold before that about the City Road place—I had not complained to Walton—on all occasions I spoke to Walton about the money he promised to repay it.
Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. Arnold told me at the first interview about the young lady going off with £80—Walton was not present—I did not tell the Magistrate so; my memory may have improved—Walton said he had been robbed—Arnold left Walton about the middle of November, I should say—about that time Arnold said to me that he was in the same fix as myself, and could not get his money, and he should not come again, and he did not—I said to the Magistrate that I was under the impression that the summons Arnold got was to come as a witness against Walton—I was rather surprised when he was arrested—he told me he was Walton's manager—it was Walton and Company.
Re-examined. I know no one who answered the description of "and Co."—it was only from what Arnold told me that I knew he was in the same fix as myself—I asked Arnold whether we should get our money back, and he said we should—I saw no wages book—I had no stamps—Walton posted several letters; four, I think, and I posted six, ten altogether—I was only a few hours each day at Finsbury, because Arnold said he was too busy to attend to me in the morning—Arnold brought the old ledger from Finsbury and told me to copy it.
SARAH SELINA YEO . I live at 30, Elfort Road, Drayton Park, Highbury—on 20th October I saw an advertisement in the Daily Chronicle. (This was for a lady to manage a light business; deposit, £25 required; address, Registry, City News Rooms, Farringdon Street, E. C.)—I wrote and received an answer, and then called with my sister, Mrs. Saville—I saw Arnold, who said Walton was not in, that he was Walton's manager, and would do just the same—I told him what I had come about; he said he had been so very busy he had not had time to read my letter, he would then do so—he found my letter and read it, and asked me if I had been in business before—I said, "No"—I asked him why the deposit of £25 was needed—he said I should have a great deal of money passing through my hands, and also I should-have charge of valuable deeds and papers—he said it was a very old-established business—he said, with a salary of 15s. a week and a commission of 10 per cent. I should earn from 25s. to 30s. a week—he said Miss Speed was literally deluged with business, and he had just paid her £3 as one week's salary, she had done so much business—he said she was in the Strand—he said one young lady had gone off with nearly £100, and that was the reason for their needing security—he said they were opening two or three other offices because the others paid so well, and that he had had five other candidates that day before me, but none of them suited—he asked me whether I would accept the situation, and I said I would—he asked when I should be able to pay the money—I said on Saturday—he showed me this form of agreement—I asked what security I should have for the £25—he said he should take the agreement to Somerset House and get it stamped, and that would be the security, and that I could have my money back at any time by giving fourteen days' notice—on Saturday, 27th October, I went again with my sister—we saw Arnold first—he asked me if I was prepared to sign the agreement—I said yes—he went out and fetched Walton in—I and Walton signed this agreement—Arnold said he had been too busy to make two copies—I paid £20 in gold and this cheque for £5—Arnold took the money and put it in a drawer—I had a receipt which was torn out of a book—Arnold filled it up and Walton signed it—my salary commenced from that day—I was to commence my duties on 29th
October at Finsbury Pavement, at half-past twelve; they would be too busy to attend to me earlier—I saw Arnold on the Monday in the inner office—two clerks were in the outer office, King and Andros—I sat in the inner office, and wrote circulars about "Messrs. Walton's Apartments Agency"—they remained in the office—I was there nearly three weeks, copying circulars and addresses from a large book, and a will—I got there about one or half-past one every day—Arnold told me to bring the agreement, and Walton would take it to Somerset House, and get it stamped—Walton took me to Somerset House—on the way we called on a solicitor, Mr. Hope—he told Mr. Hope I was a young lady who was going to look after one of his offices—after the agreement was stamped he took me to 377, Strand—no one was there—on that day Arnold said they were doing so much business at the one office they had they were going to take another one there—on 14th November I went to the office at 278, Strand with Miss Pope and Arnold—we met Walton, who said he was obliged to go to his club, but Arnold would show us the office—it was a large room divided into two; workmen were fitting it up—it was to be opened as a registry for servants and apartments; Miss Pope and I were to manage it—I went there on the 15th; I found two chairs, and a kind of bench, no table—Walton came in and said we should be sure to do a great deal of business there; people would be sure to come from Hetherington's office—we cut out advertisements and stuck them in a book, and copied circulars—no business was done—a few people called, most of them for money due to them—on 17th November Arnold paid my wages—on 24th November he said he could not pay us, as he had lost his cheque-book—I received £1 on 17th December—three weeks' were still due then—£5 was due when I left—Walton showed no curiosity I think as to the business we were doing at the Strand—he took no notice of anything as regards business—I once went to Stoke Newington to see Mr. Walton about my salary—one lady came to the Strand, and paid a fee of 2s., which was returned to her—two or three persons made inquiries—we laid out money ourselves on expenses for the office; we were not repaid—I asked Walton many times for my money back—he said he could not; he should have plenty soon, he always told us—no business was carried on at 85, Finsbury Pavement that I saw—the clerks in the outer office had no business, they were always playing—I parted with my £25 on the inducement that it was an old-established business, and that I should have so much money pass through my hands.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. Arnold said he had not had time to read my letter properly—he had a pile of letters when he found mine—I went to Finsbury Pavement October 29th and left November 14th, and went to 278, Strand—it was not decided where I was to go when the agreement was filled in Stoke Newington—I said before the Magistrate, "I never went there"—I chose the Strand office, as Walton said there was so much more business done there—Walton did not tell me until the offices were ready I was to refer people to other offices—I received £3 5s. salary after a great deal of trouble—I only had two weeks' regular salary, one week at Finsbury Pavement and one in the Strand—I asked Walton repeatedly for it, and he occasionally gave me a sovereign—I was at the Strand till 12th January, the day Walton was arrested—the sovereign Miss Pope handed me is part of the £3 5s.—I signed my agreement on 27th October—I was led to believe I could get my money at any time by
giving fourteen days' notice—I gave notice in writing—I do not know where the letter is—I told Walton I was willing to leave at any time my deposit was returned—I wrote many letters to him for my salary and so on—we could not see him—I did not cash a cheque for Walton—I paid him a cheque for £5 when I paid my deposit—the Strand was a new office—Walton said they were taking some business from the other office—I was led to understand that Walton was an auctioneer and landagent, with offices in Finsbury Pavement—I saw that address on the paper—I did not know he had been there some time—when it was too late I found out he was not doing any business—I was placed with Miss Pope on 14th November in the Strand—I was there about eight weeks, and we conversed together, as we saw several things that aroused our suspicions—we consulted about having Walton arrested, as a gentleman had called quite fifty times for a bill to be met—he had put some glass in the office—he said it was nothing but a swindle, and he would advise us to get protection at once, to go to the Magistrate at Bow Street, and I carried out the suggestion—I went with two or three ladies to the Lord Mayor's Show—we afterwards had refreshment at 278, Strand, there were two benches, but no tables—the very small office had floor-covering; the other had none—there was one long counter, or high bench; it was not a desk—we wrote the circulars on it—some forms were brought in—I do not think there were six—we were not to do business till the office was ready—persons called for money—I told Walton if he advertised the business and sent out circulars a good business could be done—we tried to induce him to do business as a means of getting our salary—I did not address many envelopes—no letters were sent out that I know of—they were taken away, and I saw them afterwards at Finsbury Pavement; a small bundle.
Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I am positive Arnold said he paid Miss Speed £3—I saw her at my first interview with Arnold; I am as certain of that as of my other evidence—I remember his remark about the name—I saw Keen and Andros at Finsbury Pavement, and Lennie nine or ten days afterwards sitting in the inner office where I was supposed to be, and he at once left.
Re-examined. £5 was due to me for wages when I left, in addition to the £3 5s. I received—I never knew of any auctions while I was there at either of the offices—I am not aware of any property being valued—the defendants watched the Lord Mayor's Show from the window in the Strand—they took refreshments with us afterwards—our opportunities of conversation were limited—I saw the few letters I addressed about six weeks afterwards, or rather more—I do not remember a single letter being sent out from the office.
ELIZABETH JANE SAVILLE . I am the wife of Thomas Saville, of 30, Elfort Road, Drayton Park—I am Miss Yeo's sister—I went with her to 85, Finsbury Pavement on 25th October—I heard what took place—I was present on 27th October when both defendants were present.
Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I never heard about £3; I heard the whole conversation; Arnold said he paid a young lady £3 by commission—I do not remember the name—Arnold was present—Walton was not present at the first interview when this statement was made—I am not sure whether Miss Yeo asked who the lady was; I do not think the name was mentioned; we understood it was the young lady in the
Strand office—Arnold said they had an office in the Strand, and thought of opening another.
Re-examined. He said that they were doing such an amount of business that he would be obliged to put another young lady with Miss Speed, he should like my sister to go with her, but she was too tall to be under Miss Speed—I was not certain she was Miss Speed, but I afterwards knew it—he said he had lost £100, that was why the £25 was to be paid.
SARAH SELINA YEO (Re-examined by MR. LAWLESS). I suppose I forgot to say Arnold said he paid Miss Speed £3, and so I said "a young lady" before the Magistrate—I met her on 9th November—I had no chance to ask her whether any business was done as we were all together—Arnold's statement was that he paid Miss Speed £3—I said before the Magistrate, "I did not ask who the young lady was"—it was not necessary, because Arnold said, "She is Speed by name and nature too," that is why I remember her name.
Re-examined. The "Deluge" was supposed to be at 377, Strand.
ROBERT GRAY ANDROS . I answered an advertisement, and received this reply of 13th April. (Upon paper with printed heading, "Established 1873. 73, Moorgate Street, E. C," and a description of an auctioneer's business, and stating that the firm were in want of a sharp active youth as a pupil for two years, and not over nineteen.)—I called on Walton on 14th April—he said he required a premium of £30, and would teach the business of an auctioneer and value; he had two branch offices, one at Clapham and one at Acton; that I should have to attend the office and sales, and go with him on surveying expeditions, and do general work in the office—my mother received this letter. (Dated 14th April, 1888, describing the witness as a sharp, business-like youth, for whom the business was suitable, the premium to be £30, salary 6s., second year 10s., and to be increased. Signed "G. Walton and Co.")—I went to the office on Saturday, 21st April, with my mother—Walton repeated what he told me at the first interview—this indenture (produced) was prepared, and Walton, my mother and I executed it—my mother paid him £30—I have no father—he said he would-pay half the duty—my mother paid for the stamp, £1 10s.—he did not pay half—I entered on my duties on 23rd April, and remained in his employ till his arrest—two furniture sales took place at Hampstead, one in July and one in October—Walton officiated on the rostrum in July—the catalogues were not prepared in the office—I went on no survey expeditions; I knew of none—there was one valuation; but I did not attend it—I did not do much in the office—I wrote postcards, mostly relating to a building society—I copied this old ledger into this new one. (Produced—the entries going back to 1878)—the entries relate to sales, and about men so much a day, not to business then going on—there were two other clerks—I was there when the coffee-house, 252, Euston Road, was sold—that is not copied from the old book—that is not my writing, it is Mr. Trelini's, the manager—he left in July—there was no letter-book or ledgers in use; no instruments for surveying—I saw some plans—they were not prepared in the office—my salary was paid on and off, not regularly—I went for my holiday before 23rd July—when I returned I found King, another pupil, there, and a new clerk—a sovereign in salary is due to me—I have had no instruction in the duties of an auctioneer, surveyor, land agent, or house valuer.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. I said before the Magistrate, "I received
about £15 in salary"—it is about £15—I continued in Walton's service till 12th January—I have not received 8s. a week—I have kept no regular account of my salary—Walton never mentioned where the surveying expeditions were to be—I copied some plans, only the outlines—I attended some sales—I copied down the prices they fetched in the catalogue—I had to draw up inventories—Walton saw them—I copied businesses in the register—Walton had a sore throat—there were not sales every week while I was there—there was a book in which advertisements were inserted with regard to businesses—those advertisements were printed in various papers—some of the books showed business transacted at Finsbury Pavement—I have not seen Walton's license as an auctioneer—I was in his employment before the young ladies came—I left when he was arrested—my agreement has not been cancelled—I never saw any advertisements for branches to be opened—I had nothing to do with any preliminary steps to opening businesses.
Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. Arnold came to Walton about August—at the Police-court I said he came in the summer—Mr. Trelini was there before Arnold, in Arnold's place—Walton has lost half of one thumb, and is not so well able to write as another person—he requires a clerk—Arnold, I think, was paid by salary—I heard it was weekly—he left about 10th December—he told me he was glad to leave—there was another clerk named Lennie, about twenty-five—three of us were there—he was a canvasser for business.
Re-examined. Arnold told me he was paid by salary—I was led to believe there had been sales at Kilburn before I was there, before these businesses were started—I heard it from the clerks in Finsbury Square—I don't know where they heard it from—I copied into the ledgers from the papers Lennie used to bring in after he had been out canvassing—one business was sold in the Euston Road—I do not think there were any more—Arnold could see all the business that was doing—I copied a few plans relating to premises in Oxford Street—I never heard whether he sold them—I made out two inventories while I was there—I sometimes sat in the private office and sometimes in the outer office—Miss Yeo was there—she used to sit in the inner office and I in the outer office—I used to sit in either office except when the young ladies were there.
ELLEN WILLIS . I live at 361, Brixton Road—on 5th of November I saw this advertisement in the Telegraph, "Required, a manager for a light business. Good writer; hours 10 to 4, cash security £25. Good salary. Address E. C., News Rooms, Ludgate Circus"—I answered it, and received this letter. (On paper headed as before, and stating that Walton and Co. required a lady to take the entire charge of the business at 15s. a week, and 10 per cent. commission, and asking the witness to call on Wednesday morning at twelve)—on Wednesday, 7th November, I saw Arnold at 85, Finsbury Pavement—he told me as they had a business to open they required a young lady to manage it at Brixton, that he would require £25 security—I asked if a bond would do—he said he must have cash, because I should have a lot of deeds and money passing through my hands, and a young lady had run off with about £70 or £100—he had had a bond with her—I have not seen it—he did not say who signed it—it was a young lady and her sweetheart, and someone else, a solicitor, had signed it—he said they had run away, and that he thought the bond was quite right when he had it, but the man who
signed it went into furnished apartments; it was a very nice place, and he thought everything was right, but it turned out to be that the gentleman of the house was her sweetheart, and a solicitor—Arnold said they had a very good business, and they were so very busy that they had not time to do anything—on the bill-head it said "1873"—I saw it on the letter—he said that one young lady had made 25s. to 30s. a week commission—I said I would let him know by Friday morning if I could let him have the £25 deposit—he said there were 200 or 250 candidates, and he selected me because he liked my writing—I think I saw Walton on that occasion, but I am not positive—Arnold said he had a registry office—I objected to take a registry office; I said I did not like the work—then he said he would open an auctioneer's office for me—Walton was present when the same conversation took place afterwards—I went on the Friday morning with my money, and I had an agreement and a receipt—Walton was present, and I told him I objected to a registry office—he said he could soon open another office for me—I gave Arnold a cheque for the deposit; he wrote this receipt, dated 12th November, 1888, and Walton signed it—it was torn out of a book—they both said they had an office in Brixton—I found out they had not—after I had paid my money Walton told me I was to go to Moorgate Street for a day or two till the office was ready; I mean 85, Finsbury Pavement—I received a letter which put me off—I afterwards went between eleven and twelve, and stayed at 85, Finsbury Pavement till between four and five p. m.—I was not initiated into the duties of an auctioneer and estate agent—I copied out an old will—I was there till 24th November, except one day, when I was ill, when I wrote to Walton and told him—I saw no business, and thought it was no good—King and Andros used to play half their time—I never finished the will—I did nothing else—Arnold used to come in in a big hurry, and rush about from one office to another, and say he had not breathing time—I asked Arnold when the Brixton office was to be opened—he said I was not to worry about it, the landlord refused to give up possession, and therefore they could not have it at all—I was supposed to get to the office at ten, but Arnold told me I need not come till between eleven and twelve, as he had such a lot of business that they could not have me there—I did not see Walton very many times—I went out with him once to look after an office, but we never succeeded—we went to Kennington Road—on 26th November I gave notice to leave—I attended till 5th December, when Walton told me that he had got a case to take up somewhere in the Law Courts, and he was going to have a lot of gentlemen there, and would I mind having the books at home—I said I did not mind—he said he would send them by Parcels Post, and on Saturday I had this letter from him. (From 33, Brook Street, Stoke Newington, 13th December, 1888, stating that he was not able to send the books, but would see the witness at Finsbury Pavement at 11 o'clock, and asking her to send in account of what he owed)—I went there on the Monday—I never saw Walton again—I wrote the letter of 26th November, 1888 (Stating that she had been ill, acknowledging P. O. O. for 15s., and giving fourteen days' notice to leave, and that she would attend the office to-morrow)—I never got my money—I took proceedings against Walton, and got a judgment—Arnold told me he was managing clerk—I parted with my £25 because I thought I was going to get a good situation—I believed what was told me, it was so very fair,
and everything was painted so brightly—what Walton said influenced my mind.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. "Walton did not tell me the office was not ready till I paid my money—I told him I had a good deal of experience in the registry business—that is why I did not wish to waste my time at Moorgate Street—an auctioneer's business was mentioned by both Walton and Arnold—Arnold the first time I saw him, and the second time Walton told me so—Walton wanted to know why I would not take a registry office, and I said because I served my time in a registry office and disliked the business—I met Walton at Kennington, and went with him to look over an office—I looked at one office, and he saw others by himself—I said I thought we should do well if he got a lease on the house at Kennington, as there was a great deal of business to be done that I could make £10 or £15 a week if he opened—I said Coldharbour Lane was a very good place—Walton has been down there, so he knew—I said I was quite willing to take the situation if I had the sole charge—I went to Finsbury Pavement on the Thursday after Lord Mayor's Day, and continued to attend regularly till 24th November—I went on the Saturday—it was on the Monday I wrote and said I was not well, but would endeavour to come the next day; but I had a telegram from Walton, telling me not to come up, and I did not; but on the Wednesday or Thursday when I went, Arnold said I looked so very ill that I had better go back and come the next day—I went the following Wednesday, when Walton told me to go home, and he would send me the books—I received this letter: "December 7th, 1888, 33, Brook Road, Stoke Newington. Dear Madam,—I have not been able to send the books down to you that I mentioned. Will you see me at Finsbury Pavement on Monday next, at four? Please send me an account of what I owe you.—G. WALTON."—I sent in an account, but I have never got any money, except the P. O. O. for 15s., which I acknowledged by this letter, dated 26th November, and promised I would come on the morrow—through the telegram coming, I did not go—I was only ill for a day—I did not stop away afterwards because of illness—the letter is correct—I did not give him notice because I was ill—it was Walton's fault that I did not go again, not mine—I attended about nine days—I knew I had to work up a connection, but I thought the office was open until I said my money, when I heard it was not—I went in search of a suitable office after I had been in Finsbury Pavement—I told him I wanted an office.
Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I paid the £25 by cheque on 12th November—I have not since seen the cheque.
Re-examined. Walton and Arnold told me the office was taken at Brixton—We found a place of business at Kennington Cross; the rent was about £70 or £100 a year for all the rooms except four at the top, which a policeman occupied—we were to have a lease of it—Walton said he would write to a Mr. Cole, or go and see him about it—it was to be an auctioneer's and registry office—I said I would undertake the registry if I had an assistant—he said he would write about it, as Mr. Cole was not at home, and he could not see him—he did not refer to it again; he told me he had written—he went into premises in Lower Kennington Lane; I stayed outside—when he came out he said he was going to do some business with a gentleman at a factory—he said he liked the place near Kennington Cross, but not this one—he never took
an office at Brixton—this was about a week after I had been at Finsbury Pavement—when I went on the Wednesday Arnold said he had not much to do, and could do without me, as I looked very ill—I could go back, and when I went on the following Wednesday Walton told me he would send me the books to do at home, but I never received them.
EDWIN GILL . I am an auctioneer at Kilburn—I have known Walton six or seven years as an auctioneer—he held sales occasionally—he had a partner two or three years ago, Mr. Babbington, for about six months—his landlord was Burbage—the premises were 113, High Road, Kilburn—I had instructions to distrain for rent for Burbage in November, 1880—about £80 for a year and a quarter—the rent was £65 a year—it was only an office, not the upper part; one room—I did not get anything—Burbage had to bring an action to recover possession, after being kept out of it six or seven months—I had another warrant of distraint against Walton afterwards for other premises at Acton—the landlord was a Mr. Webster, of the sewing machine people—I distrained for £22 10s. for three quarters' rent—the premises were called The Priory, Acton, I think, a shop at the railway terminus—I valued the goods at £2 10s.—Walton paid me that money—he bought at the valuation—Webster sent me another warrant for twelve months' rent for the next quarter, September—the rent was £30 a year—I took his things away—the landlord got nothing, only possession with writ of ejectment—he had to pay my expenses—Walton came after I had taken possession and asked me what I had done with the goods—I said, "I do not wish to be hard on you, having known you for many years, if you pay 10s., the cost of the van fetching the things away, you can have your things," and he did so—I knew nothing about his advertising for girls.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. He had frequent sales at Kilburn—I knew him when he had the business of a greengrocer in Kilburn—he also then held a licence as an auctioneer—I do not know what he was doing in 1882, he came more under my notice in 1886; he always seemed to be respectable in those days—the greengrocery was carried on by an assistant—that was about 1885—he bought the lease of the premises opposite my office—he told me he had houses in the City—I never knew it personally—I do not remember his telling me he was buying dilapidated property and improving it for the poor—he sold for me as late as last October or November—he said he was afflicted with a throat affection, and that was the reason he gave up selling—I have not seen him for some time—a man having lost the use of his voice from an affection of the throat would be no use as an auctioneer—the latter part of the time at Acton he was able to pay his rent.
Re-examined. I thought his name was Smith till he told me two or three years ago it was Walton—I have had weekly sales of furniture—Walton sold for me when I was ill for two weeks running—I believe he sold for some people in Adelaide Road—I saw his name on the bill about the middle of last year—it is usual to pay an auctioneer a guinea, but at evening sales they oblige for half, and I paid Walton half a guinea each time he sold for me—I knew him as Walton, Smith and Co.—I have conducted two or three appraisements for him.
WILLIAM WIGFALL . I am lessee of 85, Finsbury Pavement—I have offices there—I am a brush manufacturer, of Merton Abbey, Surrey, and Point ret, in Yorkshire—Walton applied to me for offices in May or June,
1888—I showed him, at 85, Finsbury Pavement, the room adjoining the one I occupied, the first floor two front rooms—he said he was an estate agent, and had many offices, and wanted a central one—there is an agreement surreptitiously obtained through my agent, Harris, but it ha never come into my hands—I mean I did not know of it, I was away—(MR. JONES and MR. LAWLESS objected to verbal evidence of a written document, but the COMMON SERGEANT, after consulting MR. JUSTICE GRANTHAM, admitted the evidence,)—we agreed verbally that the occupation was to be for two offices on first floor at £65 a year, with £6 a year added for rent of the furniture—I asked for and he gave me a reference—I wrote to the reference, and got this answer (From John He. Hope, a solicitor, and stating that Walton was a desirable tenant)—upon that I let him have possession in June—I then left London—this (produced) is the list of my furniture I had there—on the other side is the agreement which Harris made with him, and which I saw afterwards, but not before it was signed—the items pencilled out, the cocoa-nut matting and hearth-rug, were sold to Walton for a sum he agreed to pay at once, but I never could draw a penny out of him for anything, but he got all the things—I agreed to take £2 5s. for the matting and rug—he agreed to pay it—he occupied over six months—I could not get to see him—I put in a distress on 12th January for £35 10s.—this is the condemnation paper and inventory—16s. 6d. was the assessment of the property belonging to Walton—the expenses of the distress were £2 17s.—I took over the property at the appraiser's value—nothing was removed—he was arrested at the same time on this charge—Dowers took possession of the office and the case.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. The 5 per cent. on the value of the furniture was per quarter not per annum, 20 per cent, per year. (The agreement contained the option to purchase, or a payment of 5 per cent. per quarter on the amount of such value for the use thereof.)—the agreement was made with the agent—no portion belonged to Harris—I suggest that Harris did not act straight—I am lessee of the whole of the premises both in Moorfields and in Finsbury—I occupied one of three rooms, and had two to let—I let the room I occupied, because Walton pressed the thing, and said he would much prefer it; it was thoroughly furnished; and would suit his purpose—the back room is not named in the agreement; I gave him the exchange—he occupied two rooms on the first floor—my name is on the outer door now—the other door is marked "Private"—Walton had only bargained for two rooms; why should I give him three?—I have seen the stationery case—it was worth nearer 5s. than 32s.—he wrote to me in October, about making an allowance as to the room I occupied, and that he would pay the rent—I said I would if he would have a glass partition, which he had agreed to put up, making a smaller office; then he had the use of the lobby and the back room, and I said, rather than have any nonsense with him I would make him a reduction, but I was not bound to do so; the letter says that—I never gave possession of the back room, because I received an intimation that I had got a section of the Long Firm as tenants, and that I had better keep a sharp eye upon them.
Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. The name "Walton and Co." was put up in half a dozen places.
WILLIAM HENRY BLAXLAND . I am a confectioner, of 90, City Road—I had a front room to let on the second floor—about 25th July I had an inquiry, and the room was let that week to Walton at 4s. a week for the
first month and 4s. 6d. a week afterwards—Walton said he thought of doing a loan business, and he did not wish the letters to go to Finsbury Pavement to interfere with his other business—his occupation commenced from 30th July—some office furniture came, one or two forms, a chair, and odds and ends—the rent was paid up to January 12th, when Walton was apprehended—£2 13s. was due—the room has not been occupied since Walton and his lady clerks went away, about November or December—no notice was given; I found the key under a doormat the beginning of the year, before 12th January—the furniture remains—I should have seen if anyone went upstairs—there was not at all a brisk business—the name "Walton" was painted up on the doorpost.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. I do not live on the premises—I did not see the furniture come in; I saw it afterwards in the room—he paid me £2 17s. 6d.; it is all in the book—he paid none in advance—he paid 10s. in the City afterwards at the shop to my man, Rye—I am on the premises during the day—the ladies went away about four—I could hear them go upstairs because there was no side door—they were bound to pass through the shop to pass through the passage that led up the stairs.
WALTER ROBERT HARRISON . I am a bookseller, of 272, Strand—on 13th November I let the back room ground floor to Walton at £25 a year, and on 30th November two other rooms on the first floor at £26—I have the agreements—the rooms on the first floor were never occupied—the first rent was due 25th December—I was never paid.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. I applied to Walton for the rent—I believe he called to see me about it.
Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I demanded the rent twenty-one days after 25th December.
JOHN AMBROSE HARD . I am a restaurant keeper, of 5, St. John's Road, Clapham Junction—I am the landlord of No. 14—about 28th March last year I let two rooms to Walton on the ground floor at 6s. 6d. a week, including some furniture—the rent was to be from Easter Monday—he referred me to Mr. Moore, of 91, Finsbury Pavement—I did not apply to him—a board was painted at the bottom of the steps going up, "G. Walton, Auctioneer and Estate Agent," and subsequently a board placed in the window covered with green baize, on which was a sale bill in the middle, and businesses for sale tacked on to the board; it formed a kind of blind—the sale was in June or July last year at Finchley; I did not read it—I saw no business, but I took little notice—about 3rd December I pinned a notice to quit on the door—Walton owes for rent about £4 9s.—I got a little over £7.
ELIZABETH KEEN . I am a widow, of 33, Brook Road, Stoke Newington—I let a front parlour and bedroom to Walton at 7s.—he was there about six months when he was taken in custody—no auctioneer's business was carried on.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. I understood he was an auctioneer on the Pavement—I knew nothing about his business—he paid within a few pounds.
said to belong to Walton, at 33, Brook Road—since Walton's apprehension I have been to 85, Finsbury Pavement—"G. Walton and Co., Auctioneers, Surveyors, and Valuers," was painted on a board in a passage, and "Private" on an inner door—I saw the two rooms on the first floor—on a blind in the inner office was "George Walton and Co., Auctioneers, etc.," and on the blind at the window "Money promptly advanced"—I examined the account books in the office—none are of recent date—there were very old books and papers, old sale bills, and plenty of rubbish, also a letter book—I found the letters which have been produced—they were written by ladies—I have been to 278, Strand—it is a bookseller's shop, the whole surroundings of the place are such that a lady would not be likely to go there; the room was at the back of the premises, with an entrance up a passage like, a conservatory with a glass roof; there was not the slightest convenience for ladies; there were a few glass windows to a counter, the fittings were more like a pawnbroker's than anything else—the conditions were not favourable for a registry office—it is a shop similar to others in Holywell Street, where" specialities "are sold, and which stare you in the face when you enter the passage—on the doorpost was"Mrs. Walton's Employment and Apartment Agency, "and on the door leading to the room"Mrs. Walton"—the furniture consisted of two chairs, a bench or two, and boards covered with green baize for desks, a few books, but nothing to show any business was transacted, only a lot of bills describing the business—I have been to 377, Strand—there was a room divided in two on the third floor front, with two chairs and a table in one room and a bench in the ante-room, which was termed the waiting-room, and some green baize and old papers, a book referring to payments in stamps, and several books with small entries in—on the door was "Walton's Licensed Victuallers and Employment Agency"—no one was occupying when I went—Miss Pope and Miss Yeo were at the other Strand office—I went to 90, City Road—that was the most dirty, dilapidated place I was ever in, to be termed a business place—there were piles of old papers and collections of dirt, the result of years, two or three trunks filled with rubbish, a lot of old books, a table with addressed envelopes with a thick coating of dust on them—there was no trace of recent business—on the doorpost was"Mr. Walton, Second Floor"—some envelopes written by Miss Symons she identified, but there were thousands—there was an accumulation of books and old papers, which would have required a cart to remove, and special clothes in consequence of the filth—I went to 42, Moorfields—that was a very small room partitioned off from a larger one, with two chairs, some boards fitted with green baize—upon the door was"Mrs. Walton, "and on a board on the wall outside"Mrs. Walton, Apartment Agency"—42, Moorfields is behind 85, Finsbury Pavement, but there is no communication—on 12th January Walton was brought to Moorgate Street by Jones in consequence of my instructions—I said, "I am a police officer; I hold a warrant for your arrest for defrauding Miss Pope of £25, and for conspiracy"—he said, "Miss Pope is not likely to get her money back in that way; I should have thought a summons would have mot this case, I should not have run away"—I said, "Very likely other charges will be preferred against you"—I conveyed him to Moor Lane Police-station—f found upon him £3 16s. 7 1/2 d. in a purse, and thirteen
duplicates varying from 2s. to £1 10s., a quantity of papers, a pocketbook containing memorandums and receipts for advertisements in the Daily Chronicle and other papers—at 85, Finsbury Pavement I found some letters relating to the bond produced—I have not heard of any complaint of any lady having robbed Walton of £80 or £100—I also found at 85, Finsbury Pavement a bundle of letters from ladies applying for similar situations to those in evidence—considerably more than 150—I produce an affidavit under the Bankers' Act, showing Walton's account (From April 6th, 1888, to December 19th, 1888, when there was a balance of 2s. 1d. which was drawn out by a cheque, and showing Walton's credits to have increased immediately after the payments made by the witnesses.)
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. The books do not show business done at Finsbury Pavement—I produce Walton's banking book from the Birkbeck Bank—no one is here from the bank—I made no inquiry as to a previous account for ten years in that bank—I do not think Walton's offices contained office requisites, especially when ladies were in charge—I visited them between 12th and 19th January.
Cross-examined by MR. LAWLESS. I did not arrest him on a warrant—I did not ask what he had to say in answer to the charge.
EDWIN SHARPLY (City Detective Officer). I went to 19, St. John's Road, Clapham Junction—I saw a few books, including a call-book with entries, last year's, but during the time the office was open there were no indications of business.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. There was a book showing callers at Finsbury Pavement—this (produced) is the register of business done.
Re-examined. The Euston Road business was done while I was there—most of the business was brought in by the canvassers, and entered in this book—I know only of two sales; I think the particulars were got from newspapers—most of these entries are Trelini's—he left in July last.
Walton's Statement before the Magistrate. "There was no intention to defraud any of the persons who had paid deposits to me, and every penny piece will be returned to them."
The prisoners received good characters.— GUILTY .—WALTON— 5 Years' Penal Servitude. ARNOLD— 15 Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT. Friday, April 12th, 1889.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MR. HOUSTON, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HOUSTON Prosecuted. CHARLES NORTH. I am the porter at Shoreditch Workhouse—on 8th
March I was called to the prisoner in the receiving ward, and found a heap of charred paper there—I reported it to the master, and then asked the prisoner if he did it—he said, "I don't know, but I intend burning the place down"—the master gave him in custody—the door was slightly charred and the flooring—if the door had caught fire there is not the slightest doubt that some lives would have been lost.
MR. LARKMAN. I am the master of Shoreditch Workhouse—on 8th March North called my attention to the prisoner, and I found a quantity of charred paper covering the floor for about a yard square—I raked among the rubbish, and found portions of the Echo—the prisoner had an Echo the night before; I asked him for it, he said he had not got it—the door was smoked—the prisoner was put there on account of his indecent behaviour for a punishment, with five other men—they were fresh admissions the night before—I had left the ward to get a policeman, and during my absence he made a communication to North—the charred paper was packed under the door from the men's ward to the women's ward—the floor was wood, but it was stone on the men's side; he packed the paper underneath, and the draught blew the flame to the wood—this must have been done in the night or early morning—other inmates were there, but they do not give information against one another—the paper was kept in the ward for domestic purposes.
RICHARD WALTER (Policeman G 11). I was called, and took the prisoner—he said, "I don't know what made me do it"; and when the charge was made he said, "No one saw me do it; it was done in the night, when they were all asleep"—he used bad language.
Prisoner's Defence. I have fits, and do not know what I am about half my time. I tore my clothes up. My father was slowly murdered at Shoreditch Workhouse. I don't want to live, I have got nothing to live for. I have been altered since I have been here. I did not do it with the intention to burn the place down; I was in a bad state of mind at the time.
GUILTY — Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. LAWRENCE, Q. C., and MR. GILL, JUN., Prosecuted; and MR. BESLEY Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Friday, Saturday, and Monday, April 12th, 13th, and 15th, 1889.
Before Mr. Justice Cave.
MR. BUCKNILL, Q. C., with MR. CHARLES MATHEWS, Prosecuted; MESSRS. GEOGHEGAN, LAWLESS and G. B. PIGGOTT Defended.
JAMES KEMP . I am managing clerk in the employ of Messrs. Soames, Edwards and Jones, Solicitors, Lincoln's Inn Fields—they are and have been solicitors for the Times newspaper—I produce an office copy of the pleadings in an action for libel, entitled "O'Donnell against Walter and others," tried before the Lord Chief Justice in July, 1888, which resulted
in a verdict for the defendants—in the course of that action there was handed in a statement of defence, an office copy of which I produce—there was constant reference made to a number of articles published in the Times, and after that published in a pamphlet form called "Parnellism and Crime"—I produce copies of all those pamphlets—subsequently to the passing of the Special Commission Act of 1888 there was a meeting of the Commissioners on 17th September last—at that meeting the Commissioners made an order for the delivery of particulars by the Times, with regard to the accusations made and the persons accused—under that order particulars were delivered—I produce a copy of those particulars, certified by the seal of the Commission.
Cross-examined. The only capacity I am employed in is as clerk in the London office of Messrs. Soames—I have never gone to America or abroad—I have been in communication with persons in Ireland in reference to these proceedings—I have written letters to Mr. Walker, directly; he was in direct communication with Messrs. Soames—I cannot give you the date of his earliest communication with me or Messrs. Soames; I think it would be in 1888—a good many letters passed between Mr. Walker and I—I don't know whether he sent over proofs of several witnesses, that would not come under my province—during these proceedings I have been shown a number of documents by Mr. Cunningham, the secretary to the Commission—I have not seen one signed Thomas O'Connor—the names of the witnesses that Mr. Walker sent over to the Times office would not come under my knowledge.
JOHN WALKER . I am managing clerk to Mr. Robert Beauchamp, a solicitor in Dublin, having offices at 5, Foster Place, and a private residence at 25, Fitzwilliam Square—in November last, with the sanction of my employer, I was collecting evidence to be used, if it was thought fit, before the Commission here in London—in the course of my inquiries I learnt of the existence of the prisoner, and in consequence of what I heard I put myself in communication with him; first of all I called at his father's house in York Street, Dublin; I did not see the prisoner on that occasion, I left word for him to call on me at the Hibernian Hotel; I think that was on the 20th November, Tuesday—that evening I wrote a letter to him, asking him to call on me next day at the Hibernian Hotel—I signed that letter in the name of Thompson—next day, Wednesday, the 21st, I sent a message asking him to call at twelve, but I was not able to be there at that hour—I met him at three o'clock at the Hibernian Hotel—I asked him to meet me at the same place in the evening at seven—he assented—I returned to the same place about seven and saw him—I arranged with him to go to 25, Fitzwilliam Square, the residence of Mr. Beauchamp—we went there together between seven and eight—we went into the study on the ground floor—there he showed me a book for which he was canvassing, it was some sort of directory—I looked at it for a minute or two, and then told him I did not want to see him about the book at all, that I wanted to see him with reference to the Times Commission—I think he said that he could not give me any information about it, or he did not know anything about it, some words to that effect—I then asked him if he had been a clerk in the Land League office—he said no—I asked him if he had been a Fenian—he said no, that I must be misinformed—I said that I know that ho could give me information that would be useful before the Times
Commission—he repeated that he could not, that he did not know anything about it—I repeated that I knew he could, and asked him to consider it, and meet me the next day, I think at twelve; that would be Thursday, the 22nd November—I think I saw him at the Hibernian Hotel—I then told him we could not very well have a conversation in the hotel, and I asked him to come again to Fitzwilliam Square, and he came over with me—that was I think about four o'clock, I know it was early in the evening; no, I think on this occasion it was about seven or eight—I then asked him if he had reconsidered the matter, and after some conversation he said he had—I then asked him to tell me about his connection with the Fenians—he told me how he had joined the Fenians when he was a boy of 15 or 16—before that he wanted an assurance that if he gave information he should be provided with the means of leaving the country, or something of that sort—I think also on this occasion he said that his father and mother would probably require to be provided with means to leave the country—I told him I thought there would be no difficulty about that—when that was arranged he told me how he had joined the Fenians when he was about 15 or 16 years of age, that he was introduced, I think, to the Fenian Society by James Carey, and that he was not at first formally sworn in to the society, but that he was sworn in a year or two afterwards; then he told me that he did not attend the regular meetings held in a place called Cuffe Lane—he told me he had been sworn in, I think, by Michael Fagan—he said that the Fenians were engaged in secret efforts against the Government, and in conveying firearms from one place to another—that he had never actually himself conveyed firearms, but that he handed them over to Michael Fagan—I asked him when he had joined the Invincibles—he asked me how I knew that he was an Invincible—I said he might assume that I knew all about it, or I would not have cared to see him—he told me he had joined the Invincibles in the beginning of 1881 or 1882, I cannot remember which very well, and that Tim Kelly had sworn him in, and he mentioned people whom he had met as Invincibles—he mentioned Joseph Brady, Michael Fagan, P. J. Fitzgerald, I think, and he also mentioned Patrick Egan and other names—he said he had met Egan at one meeting in the Winter Palace Gardens public-house, when the murder of Judge Lawson was discussed (at least the time and place were discussed for carrying out the murder) he said that Egan had remained during the whole of that meeting until the business was all over, and then Egan went away by a side door into Cuffe Street or Cuffe Lane—he also said that he met him at another meeting of Invincibles in a public-house in Britain Street, where the failure of the attempt to murder Judge Lawson was discussed—he told me also of another meeting of Invincibles, where the murder of Mrs. Smythe was talked of; she had been murdered, and some men from Westmeath wanted to get Mr. Smythe's address where he was staying at that time—there was a great deal of conversation at this time, but I don't recollect it very particularly—he told me that Egan was the treasurer of the Land League, or rather I asked him if he had met Egan, the treasurer of the Land League, and he said, "Yes"—he said that at that meeting Egan was wrapped up in a great coat, as if he did not want anyone there to know him—he said that he himself knew Egan personally very well, that he had met him in a sort of social way, and he mentioned two places, a restaurant called
the Ship and another place Wynne's Hotel; he told me that he himself was in the habit of going in and out of the Land League offices, but this was merely to account for his knowing Egan; he did not say that he himself was in any way connected with the Land League—he did not want any money then—I think he also mentioned the names of Dan Curley, and a man named Hanlon—I could not say definitely any others—after he had made this verbal statement it was arranged that I should not take it down in writing—this was part of the arrangement about the money; I was not in a position to give him a definite assurance in arranging about giving him means to leave the country in case he gave evidence; it was part of the arrangement that I should not take down any statement in writing; the assurance that he wanted was that means would be provided for him to leave the country—I said that I would communicate with the Times, and see whether I could give him the assurance, and I arranged with him to go to the Star and Garter Restaurant every day between one and two, and I was to go to him there, if and when I had anything to communicate; then the interview closed—I then put myself in communication with Mr. Soames in London, certain correspondence passed between us, and in consequence of that on the following Monday, the 22nd November, I went to the Star and Garter about two o'clock, and there saw the prisoner—I said, "This evening at five, at the same place, in Fitzwilliam Square"—I went there at that hour, he came there after I had arrived, and I saw him again in the study—I told him then that I was able to give him the assurance he wanted, and that I wanted to take down a statement from him in writing—he said that was all very well, but he did not know me or know my name, or that I had any authority—I asked him if he knew Mr. Beauchamp, the solicitor, who had his offices in Foster Place; he said he knew him by reputation, he did not know him personally—I then told him it was Mr. Beauchamp's house we were in, and I asked him if Mr. Beauchamp told him that I was an agent for the Times, and had authority to give him that assurance would he be satisfied—he said, "Yes"—it was arranged that he should go to Foster Place and inquire for Mr. Beauchamp, so that when he met him again in the evening in the house he should know he was Mr. Beauchamp, the solicitor—he then left the house to go to Foster Place, and I followed shortly after; I did not see him till I got into the office, I found him there with Mr. Beauchamp, he was showing him the directory—I said to Mr. Beauchamp, "It's all right, I will want you later in the evening," and I think I said to Molloy, "Meet me at eight o'clock," or something of that sort, or just simply, "Eight o'clock"—Molloy then went away; I remained with Mr. Beauchamp in the office until it closed; I had some conversation with him at that time—after that I went to Fitzwilliam Square, and Molloy came; I think I let him in, and we went into the same room, the study—Mr. Beauchamp was then in the house—I told Molloy that I had explained to Mr. Beauchamp the assurance that he wanted, and that the money involved would be about £50, in case Mr. Beauchamp would have to make it good, that he would be on his honour to do what was necessary—Molloy said that was all right—we collected from Molloy that to go away, and his father and mother to go away, it would take about £50—I then rang the bell for Mr. Beauchamp; the servant came, I met her at the door and asked her to send Mr. Beauchamp to the study—he came almost immediately, and I said this was Patrick Molloy,
who wished to state that I had authority to give him the assurance he wanted—Mr. Beauchamp said, "It is all right, Mr. Walker is an agent for the Times, and whatever he says is all right"—there was a pause for a moment or two, and I said to Molloy, "Will you make the statement to me or to Mr. Beauchamp?" but I added immediately, "I suppose you had better make it to me"—he said, "Very well"—Mr. Beauchamp then left the room, leaving me and Molloy together—Molloy then asked if there was anyone in the next room—the study communicated with the next room by folding doors—I said there was not, but he could go in and see—he went into the room and looked round, and I think cracked his fingers and thumb, and made a noise and listened—I stood at the folding doors just a little into the room—he came back—we then locked the door of the other room, fastened the folding doors, and locked the door leading into the hall—then we sat down at the desk in the study, and I took some paper from a drawer in the desk to take down his statement—he sat beside me with his arms on the desk—he was in a position to see what I wrote, as I wrote it—I began to write the name Patrick; I had written the two first letters "Pa," he said that it would not do to have his name on it, that he was committing himself to me, or something of that sort; so then we agreed to take a letter of the alphabet to stand for his name—I think I scratched out the two letters with a pen, and put the sheet aside—this (produced) is the sheet—I then took a fresh sheet, and on that commenced to take down his statement, he sitting in the same position I have described—he told me what to write, and he saw and followed every word—the statement covered three separate sheets of paper—he took the sheets one by one as I wrote them, and read them, and when it was all over he read the whole through again, and he said, "That is correct," or something of that sort—he then gave it to me—these (produced) are the three sheets. (The statement was then put in and read as follows:—"Am now twenty-six years of age. Have been a member of Fenian movement for ten or eleven years. Joined in 1877 or 1878 when between fifteen and sixteen. Was not sworn in then, was sworn in two or three years later. All who join were supposed to take an oath, I believe; but I did not take it, as I have said, until two or three years after. I was introduced to the Society by James Carey, whom I knew from a very early age. We met weekly, not at any stated place, but on the street or in some public-house, such as Fortune's, of Grafton Street, Cleary's, Grafton Street, The Winter Palace, St. Stephen's Green, and in a house in Britain Street, I think then owned by a man Connolly. We generally met on Sundays. There were, I know, regular maetings held in a house in Cuffe Lane. I never went there. I did not care to associate with many of those who were members, and I tried to keep aloof, only attending such meetings as I was called to. The ostensible objects of the Society were "The Freedom of Ireland" when I joined. I had no definite idea beyond this. Before I was very long in the movement I saw there were some things to be engaged in which meant some sacrifice, namely, engaging in secret efforts against the Government, such as conveying firearms and ammunition. I have never actually conveyed arms myself, but I have handed them over to others. I remember handing over rifles and revolvers and ammunition to Michael Fagan (since hanged as an Invincible). I was sworn in formally in or about 1881. Timothy Kelly (since hanged) swore
me in He was a schoolfellow of mine. The oath I do not perfectly remember; but it was generally to establish independence of the country, and to lose, if necessary, life in this. The Invincible organisation was started in 1882. I was invited to join by Tim Kelly. Was sworn in as an Invincible about February or March by Tim Kelly. Attended the meetings. Met there, among others, Dan Curley, Tim Kelly, Joe Brady, Tom Caffery, Joe Mullett, and Patrick Egan, the treasurer of the Land League, and P. J. Sheridan. I met Pat Egan at two or three of the meetings; one I remember at the Winter Garden Palace in St. Stephen's Green; another in a public-house in Britain Street. I think Reynolds is the name, it is No. 70, at the corner of Moore Lane and Britain Street Hospital. I remember him at other meetings, but can't just now recollect the locality. Egan generally was wrapped up in a big coat, giving me the idea he did not want to be known by any who did not know him. I knew him well. I met him several times in a sort of social way in the Ship and Wynne's Hotel in Abbey Street, and knew him well. At the meeting in the Winter Garden Palace, at which he was present, the removal of Judge Lawson was under discussion. The best time and place was discussed. The method left in the hands of those who were to do the work. Joe Brady, Michael Fagan, Tim Kelly, and Dan Curley were also present. Kavanagh was there with his car outside. Egan went out when the business was over by side door into Cuffe Street. This meeting, I think, was held in November, 1882. At the other meeting at which Egan was present in Britain Street the failure of the attempts was discussed. I remember another meeting held in the Winter Garden Palace (Egan was not present at this), Joe Brady, Dan Curley, myself and Fagan were there. Some men from near Mullingar were there. The subject under discussion was Mrs. Smyth's murder. The men from the country wanted to know Smyth's address. It was not known (that is, where he was staying at the time). I believe Pat Egan supplied the funds. He gave money to Joe Brady and Dan Curley. The latter told me this himself, and it was generally believed and accepted that funds were forthcoming from Egan. I went to America early in 1883. When I went to America I went to a situation, in which I stayed till I got sick. I was afterwards at a lot of things-peddling, canvassing, etc. Frank Byrne employed me for a little in his public-house in New York. I also called on Mr. and Mrs. Ford. They were unable to get me anything to do. They have no influence there"—The date was added subsequently—the letter A at the beginning was the letter selected—when Molloy handed the statement back to me I told him that I should take it over to London, and arrange about his being examined, and we had some general conversation about himself personally—in reading the statement, when he came to that part where he said if necessary they were to lose their life, he got very much agitated, and said something about coming to that or coming to this, meaning the giving of the statement I suppose—he was so much agitated that he could not go on, and I said, "Here's what I have written; if you cannot trust me I will take it and burn it, and all that is in it and what has passed between us will remain between us"—he said, "Go on," and then we continued—he spoke of how different people had been affected by this movement—he said some had got their thousands of money, and some had got their thousands of acres of land (he mentioned P. J. Sheridan in America),
and some had got the rope—he mentioned the number of acres of land that Sheridan had got in America; whether it was a thousand or thousands—I said that as far as the law was concerned the Commission would make that all right for him—that he had an opportunity now of getting rid of the consequences, as far as the law was concerned, referring to the certificate which the Commissioners had power to give, and that he could start again, and leave that all behind him—he simply assented to that; he did not say very much; it was not an observation that called for any reply from him—the interview then closed, after lasting close on three hours, and I arranged to meet him at the Wicklow Hotel when I came back from London—I said I should go to London with the object of giving his statement to the Times and getting a subpoena for him—he said he could not go without one—I think I was to leave a message for him at the office of the Directory, in Fleet Street, Dublin, before 12 on the following Friday, the 30th—directly Molloy left Mr. Beauchamp came into the room—I went to the door with Molloy and showed him out, and as I came back to the hall door Mr. Beauchamp was coming down stairs—we met in the hall, and we both came into the study together, and I took up the statement and showed it to him, and pointed out to him that the paper had a Government stamp upon it, and some conversation ensued between us—it could not have been more than a minute or two after Molloy left that I showed the statement to Mr. Beauchamp—the two dates that are on it were put on at the same time in London—when I was asked to put the date on which it was taken down, I made a calculation in my own mind, and I immediately remembered it was a wrong date, and I struck it out and entered it again—I think it was the 22nd, the tail of the two is like a four—that was struck out and the date was put in—on the 27th I came to London with the statement, and saw Mr. Soames—I obtained a summons for the attendance of Molloy as a witness before the Commission—I received certain instructions from Mr. Soames, and returned to Dublin on the night of Thursday, the 29th, arriving on the morning of the 30th—I went to the office of the Directory, and left a note for Molloy to call at the Wicklow Hotel—he came there—I told him I had got a summons for him—I went over to 8, Dorset Street, a gymnasium—he came there, and I gave him the summons, and asked him to arrange to go across to London that night, and I gave him £4 for his conduct-money—he said he could not go without letting his friends know about his having got the summons, and I think he said he was not sure about going, but he arranged to meet me later that afternoon at the same place—it was at the next interview that he said that he was not sure that he could go at all; he was to meet me later in the afternoon at the same place—I met him—he then said he could not go away without paying some debts that he owed up and down, meaning that he owed several debts—I told him that I could not help him in that, and that there was no reason why he should pay them; that they would not expect him to have money to pay his debts, or something of that sort—he said he had got one name, and he did not want to get another—I then asked him to tell me the amount of the debts, and to whom he owed them—he said he owed £6 to one and £5 to another; he would not say who the people were—I expressed some surprise at his owing so much money to anyone—he said they had lent it to him when he needed it—I said that I could not pay it—he said that unless he got the money to pay his debts he
could not go—I asked him if his friends knew that he had got the summons—he said, "Yes," and expected that he would not go—an appointment was then made for a third meeting on the same day—between the second and third appointment I wrote a letter, and took it with me to the third meeting—no then repeated that he could not go without his debts were paid—I told him I could not give him the money, but I handed him the letter—he read it; he tore it—I told him he had better keep it—he shook his head and said "No," and he went and put it in the fire and it was burnt—(A press copy of the letter was put in and read as follows: 30th November, 1888. Dear Sir,—I have considered your proposal that I should advance you £11 before leaving, and I have come to the determination that I ought not to do so. I am willing to give you the guarantee you require for your father and mother, if your giving evidence should lead to the necessity for their going. I think it also fair to give you a guarantee that you will be provided with means to take you wherever you want to go, because, as you say, you could no longer remain here. I will also give you a guarantee that, as this is taking you away from a present means of remuneration, living, and paying your debts, you shall get a full equivalent; and further, that you will not be dealt with in any niggardly spirit in considering these matters. Beyond that I do not think it would be honourable to go, and I am sure, upon reflection, you will agree with me. P. S.—I gave your statement to the Times solicitor, after satisfying myself I was at liberty to give you this assurance.")—I asked him to think it over again, and to meet me that evening at the same place at nine or half-past, I am not sure which—that was a fourth meeting—I returned to keep that appointment, but he did not come, and I saw him no more that day—next morning (Saturday, 1st December) I did see him; I think I sent a telegram to him—I met him at the Wicklow Hotel in Wicklow Street, and either there or in Dawson Street I asked him if he would go to London with me—he said he would not go, and in the end I asked him, either at that interview or a subsequent one on the same day, if I met him next morning (Sunday) at the mail train Westland Row Station with the money he wanted, would he fetch two envelopes and post the money to the people he owed it to there, and go on to London with me by the mail—he agreed to do that—between that time and the next morning I got the money, a £5 Bank of England note and a £5 Bank of Ireland note, and £1—I took the numbers of the notes—next morning I went to Westland Row shortly after six; the mail train leaves at seven, I think—shortly after the prisoner came alone—he produced two envelopes addressed, and I put £6 into one of them and a £5 note into the other, and we both went down to the letter-box outside the station, and he posted them—we then came back to the ticket office together, he following me—I got a ticket for myself, he went as if to get his, but turned back and said, "I don't think I can go," or something like that—I said he had bettor come—he said "No"—I urged him a little still to go, but he said "No," he would not go until he was fetched, or unless he was fetched—as I had returned to the platform in front of the prisoner I noticed two men sitting on a seat there, and when Molloy came on to the platform I observed that he caught sight of them, and I thought their eyes met—I think that was before we had posted the letters—I am not very sure whether it was or not—we both passed in front of those men, at some distance from them—beyond the
meeting of their eves I did not see anything pass between them, but they both seemed to recognise each other—I think it may have been after posting the letters, because I think at first he did not come right up to the platform, I met him on the steps, I am not quite positive; if it was after the posting, it would be as I was making my way to the ticket office—when I found he would not go I handed him a notice stopping payment of the bank notes, which I had prepared the night before—I said I would put that in the papers—he said I might—he then went away—I did not see any more of the two men—I did not come out the same way—I came to London that night, and saw Mr. Soames on Monday, the 3rd—on the 4th I swore a joint affidavit with Mr. Soames, on which a warrant was granted for the prisoner's arrest, and to bring him over to London to give evidence before the Commission—I was in Court on 7th December when he was called into the witness-box, sworn, and examined—I heard the evidence which he then gave.
CHARLES BUTTON . I am the official shorthand-writer to the Probate and Divorce Court, and the official shorthand-writer to the Special Commission held in Probate Court No. I—on 7th December last I was engaged in taking shorthand notes of the evidence before the Commission, composed of Sir James Hannen, Sir John Charles Day, and Sir A. L. Smith—on that day the prisoner was called into the witness-box—I administered the oath to him—after he was sworn I took down in shorthand the evidence he gave—subsequently my notes were transcribed from my dictation—by order of the Commission the evidence was printed from day to day—I have compared a printed proof of the evidence given by the prisoner with my original notes—the printed proof is substantially correct, with three exceptions, where the word "book" occurs—the differences are not material—the copy affixed to the depositions is correct.
Cross-examined. These two printed reports (produced), containing the examination, cross-examination, and re-examination of Patrick Delaney, I believe, are correct—I may say that I did not take the whole of it myself; I had two assistants.
JOHN WALKER (Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN). There are two Mr. Beauchamps, solicitors; one in Dublin and one in Limerick—the Dublin gentleman is my employer; he is in no way connected with the Times or the Times Commission—I know nothing beyond what I see in the papers, but I believe Mr. Beauchamp, of Limerick, is connected with the Commission—I first began to collect evidence for the Times early in November last or the latter end of October—I was asked to do it by a letter direct from Mr. Soames, directed to Mr. Robert Beauchamp—my salary with Mr. Beauchamp was a yearly one, and averaged between £200 and £300 a year—I was managing clerk and confidential clerk—I was never in the service of the Crown Solicitor in Ireland; I was in three solicitors' offices before Mr. Beauchamp's—none of them were Crown Solicitors when I was with them; Mr. Gibbons became so years afterwards—I am in the habit of taking evidence and taking proofs—I have seen several witnesses besides Molloy; not half a dozen; I have seen a good many persons who were probably witnesses—I think I have taken the proofs of four persons, including Molloy, and a man named O'Connor—two of those witnesses have been called before the Commission—I did not go to Limerick or Kerry; I have never taken evidence out of Dublin; I have not seen people out of Dublin; I have never been out of Dublin
to collect evidence—I should say there might have been nearly a dozen I have seen—I saw them sometimes in my business hours, sometimes not—sometimes they came to Mr. Beauchamp's office; Mr. Beauchamp left me free in the matter—in the first instance Mr. Soames's request was a very limited one, but it drifted altogether beyond my ideas and beyond Mr. Beauchamp's—at first the duty put upon me was a slight one, but it developed in a way we could not foresee—I know Mr. Houston now; I believe he is the secretary of the Irish Patriotic League; I do not know it; I only know it as anyone else knows it, by reading it in the Times, or hearing it in society; I never met him over here till I met him after I was engaged by Mr. Soames—I think that was before Molloy gave evidence—that was the first time I had seen Mr. Houston, or the first time I had any connection with him in reference to this case—I have not received any payment as payment from the Times; what I did in taking the proofs of witnesses was at the request of Mr. Soames, and I suppose Mr. Soames does not intend to take my work for nothing—it was not exactly in the expectation of a reward when Mr. Soames asked me to do what I did; I did not care whether I had money or not; I am expacting more than my money out of pocket for the service I have rendered in this case—Thomas O'Connor was one of the witnesses called before the Commission—I was in Belfast two or three years ago—I have been engaged in an action against the Freeman's Journal, the case is pending; they had been holding me up to ridicule—I saw O'Connor about the same time I saw Molloy—I did not ask O'Connor to try and tell what he knew about moonlighting and about Mr. Harrington, a Member of Parliament—I did not force him to make a statement; the declaration was made by him of his own free will—I did nothing but put it in shape—I think I should know O'Connor's handwriting if I saw it—it is not an easy thing to speak offhand to handwriting—I have a recollection of his handwriting (looking at a paper)—I can't say this is his—it is as likely not to be his as it is to be his—I am certain it is not his composition—I introduced myself to Molloy as Thompson—that was the first time I have taken the name of Thompson, or any other name—I did not tell Molloy that I had a friend a director of a railway company—Mr. Day is a clerk in the office of the Patriotic Union—he is a friend of Mr. Houston; he is not a friend of mine—I can hardly say how long I have known him—I have been for months past at the office of the Irish Royal and Patriotic Union—I went there because I knew the assistant-secretary, Mr. Cox—I never met Mr. Houston there—I did not take the guarantee from Houston in the first instance—I never took a guarantee from Mr. Houston—I understood it came from Mr. Soames—I did not tell Molloy's father and mother that I had a friend a director of the London and North-Western Railway Company—I did not tell Molloy that I would buy a number of copies of the directory if it was a good advertising medium—I think on the Sunday after Molloy would not come across to London I sent him a memorandum in pencil which was something to that effect—I then had his statement—I wrote that memorandum because I had heard that Molloy had been got hold of by the Land League, and that he was trying to get money from the Times, and I went to see Mr. Soames before I could know what was to be done—the memorandum is "Sunday, 1st December"—when I first went to Molloy I knew it was to get evidence
to establish a connection which they believed to exist—I did not know the names mentioned before the Commission—I knew the class of evidence I was to get up—I did not know the names the Times thought most material to get evidence about—I mean to say that I had not the slightest idea of the evidence Molloy was to give me—the evidence wanted was to prove the connection between the Land League and crime—I had not in my mind any person—I did not care about the names; as a fact I did not know them—I did not suggest Patrick Egan to the prisoner, I swear that, and I was surprised to hear him say so—I never suggested the name to him—he said that Egan was present, and then I said, "Is that Patrick Egan, the secretary of the Land League? n—I mentioned the name of Eugene Davis, of Paris, but not till after his statement was taken—I mentioned the name of Michael Davitt after his statement—I did not mention Mr. Parnell, or John O'Connor, or Mat Harris; no other name but Michael Davitt and Eugene Davis—we had a great deal of general conversation, and I said, "I have never heard Mr. Davitt's name in connection with anything"—I was referring to the character for honesty which Davitt has among friends and foes—I did not first hear of Davis's name from Mr. Houston; I think it was from Mr. Cox; not in connection with letters—my recollection is that I simply heard that Davis and Davitt had been in Dublin together—I had no object in mentioning Davitt's name—I knew that he was a prominent leader in the Irish party—I mentioned Davis's and Davitt's names without any object; I swear that—I did not ask Molloy if he could give any information about them—I did not mention Mr. Biggar, or any other name—I first told Molloy I was an accredited agent of the Times the evening I met him in Fitzwilliam Square—that would be 21st November, I believe, and it was next evening, the 22nd, that he first gave me the verbal statement—I took his written statement on the 26th, it was almost the same that he had told me on the 22nd—I showed that written statement to Mr. Beauchamp—the alteration in the date was made in London; I can't say the date—I think it was made in Mr. Soames's office, I am not sure; both were made at the same time, with the some pen; you will see there is a difference in the ink, one is in plain ink, and the other in copying ink; they were done at one and the same moment—when I said I would like to have more particulars as to the terms of subscription for his book, I wanted to give him the impression that I had fallen into his trap—I don't think I was trapping him except about the money; it was a deliberate trap his wanting to get the money, I have no doubt about that—I don't think it was a question of diamond cut diamond—when I wrote the letter I did not know into whose hands it might come, and I did not know the extent as to which he was in communication with other persons at the time—he mentioned to me a man named Boland, and I knew enough of Boland to think he would probably try and get Molloy to get money from me—I did not write this letter in order to entrap Molloy into a reply, I simply wanted to keep him there till I should see Mr. Soames—when he came to the part in the written statement about sacrificing life he was agitated, I don't say with fear—he was not laughing at me, I think it was because he could not reflect upon what he had gone through; if he was at all a human being he could not but be agitated by what he had passed through—I can't say when he first knew my real name—there was no attempt to
conceal my name after I explained to him who I was—I don't know whether he knew it before—he may not have known it on the 26th, but there was no attempt at concealment—I think probably he may not have known my name was Walker, and that I was in Mr. Beauchamp's office, because he said afterwards, "I do not even know your name;" he was satisfied that I was an agent for the Times—the paper I took the statement bears the Crown stamp—it is not such as was in on which use in Mr. Beauchamp's office, it is such as Government officials use, it is Government paper—Molloy told me at the second interview that Boland knew more about these things than he did—this guarantee was communicated to me, as I understood, from Mr. Soames, not from Houston; there was no communication from Houston, or from me to him—Q. What was the meaning of your swearing at the Police-court,"I communicated first with Mr. Houston as to the guarantee previously spoken of?"—A. That was not directly with me at all; that was done through Mr. Cox; I never wrote to Mr. Houston myself at all, it was not done at my dictation; Mr. Cox wrote of his own motion—I asked Molloy if he had met Egan at a meeting which he mentioned—I did not say "at a meeting of the Invincibles," not till he told me—I can explain that—that was at another meeting; I was taking down his statement that there was a meeting of Invincibles where Mrs. Smythe's murder was discussed, and I asked him if he had met Pat Egan, the treasurer of the Land League, at that meeting; that was after he had told me that he had met Egan at a meeting where Judge Lawson's murder was discussed—when I got this statement in writing I did not intend that he should sign it; I did not ask him to sign it—I got it to give to Mr. Soames—I did not reduce into writing what he told me on 22nd December, because I told him I would not do it—I told him at 25, Fitzwilliam Square that Mr. Beauchamp would become personally bound to the extent of £50—Mr. Beauchamp was in the room then; it was mentioned in Mr. Beauchamp's presence—. I have not told the jury that after that was discussed between me and Molloy Mr. Beauchamp was rung for—we had discussed it before, the sum that would be necessary, in Fitzwilliam Square on the 26th, not at the interview you are talking about, at another, later—he came there twice that day—he first came there, and then went to Foster Place—I did not describe it to the jury as all one interview—he first came about five in the afternoon, and we talked over the amount that would be necessary; then we went to Foster Place, merely to identify Mr. Beauchamp, and then in the evening I told him I would get Mr. Beauchamp to give the guarantee—the interview when I took the written statement lasted about three hours—if I was merely copying the statement it would not perhaps take more than twenty minutes—he did not dictate it fluently, we discussed it, as anyone has to do who is taking down evidence from a witness; you must always discuss evidence to get it—the reducing it into writing did not take three hours; there was of course Mr. Beauchamp's interview, the whole of it would take some time, first arranging to get Mr. Beauchamp, then his coming, and his having it—Molloy said he was committing himself to me by giving me the statement; that was his view of it—I should have asked him to sign it in the first instance if he had made no objection, of course it was no use asking him to sign it when he objected to his name being on it—I believed that he was telling
me the truth—I asked Mr. Beauchamp to explain how the Crown-stamped paper came there—I had never seen paper like that at Mr. Beauchamp's before, it is not an ordinary thing to find Government paper in a private house—of course I had seen paper like that before—I had not been at Mr. Beauchamp's house before—my object was simply to ask Mr. Beauchamp how it came in his house—it was not for the purpose of identifying the statement that Molloy had made; I had no thought of that kind in my mind—I don't know that I would apply the word "dishonest" to Molloy—it first struck me that he would go back from what he had said when he began to ask for money; I then knew he had been tampered with, that some influence was brought to bear upon him—I was not trying to trap him at the latter end—I wrote one letter to him, that was intended to deceive the persons who were influencing him—I did not write one letter at the beginning to deceive him, not when I wrote as Thompson, that was with a desire to bring about an interview; not that I wanted to see him about the directory, but that I wanted to see him—he spent some time with me during these two or three hours at the Star and Garter, and visiting me both morning and evening—when I arranged to meet him at the Star and Garter I gave him a pound to pay for his dinners every day—on the day that I gave him the subpoena I gave him a pound—he said he wanted to get some underclothing; that he could not go across without—I suppose he meant shirts—I gave him one or two pounds then—altogether I gave him £7—I don't consider that I gave him the £11—Mr. Soames gave me £5—£4 of that was his conduct-money—I did not give him anything for loss of time, or promise him any, nothing beyond what was in the letter—I did not tell him that I knew Davitt was in touch with Eugene Davis—I did not say that I knew Davitt was a Fenian, or that I knew Davis was a Fenian—I did not say that I knew Mr. Kerry—I have said before that I did not suggest that Davitt and Davis were not in any way connected with this case—it was a matter of gossip after his statement was closed—I began by asking him if he was a member of the League and then a Fenian—I was not anxious to establish a connection between the Land League and the Fenians—my asking him if he were a clerk in the Land League was a slip at the time, I confused him with some other name—I know that name, but I would rather not tell it you—I would rather not give you the names of the other two persons who were not called as witnesses, because I believe it would endanger their lives—I communicated with Houston the day after Molloy made the verbal statement, on 22nd November, it came to me from Cox—I consider that Mr. Soames must have heard of me through Houston, but I had never met Houston.
Re-examined. Molloy first mentioned the name of Patrick Egan—that was in his verbal statement—he mentioned it among others he had met at a meeting of the Invincibles—he said Egan was present at one meeting where the murder of Judge Lawson was discussed, and at a meeting where the failure was discussed—when he mentioned Egan I said, "Is that Patrick Egan, the treasurer of the Land League?" and he said, "Yes," or "The same"—it was in consequence of thinking that Molloy had been tampered with that I wrote the second letter—I wanted Mr. Soames to have an opportunity of seeing what he would do with Molloy, and I thought it probable if these persons were likely to get more money Molloy would not be found—I could not tell that he might not intend to go off with the £11, and it occurred to me that writing that letter would
suggest to those persons who were influencing him that there was more money to be got—Molloy mentioned the name of Boland—I had heard of him before—I could not identify either of the men I saw on the platform of the railway station.
ROBERT HENRY BEAUCHAMP . I am a solicitor, practising in Dublin, at Foster Place—I have a brother in Limerick, also a solicitor—I have done no work for the Government or for the Times—Mr. Walker is my managing and confidential clerk—in consequence of a communication from Mr. Soames, in November last, I gave Mr. Walker permission to inquire into evidence for the Times—on 22nd November I recollect Mr. Walker being in my study at my private house in Fitzwilliam Square—he asked my permission to bring somebody there that evening—on Monday, 26th, the defendant came to my office just as I was signing my letters; it was after five, he came in and asked me about a book; I did not know him at the time—I said I had not time to buy books—Mr. Walker came in immediately afterwards, and said it was all right; of course, I guessed then that it was some evidence about the Times—he said something to me about his seeing me afterwards—I saw Molloy again that evening at my private house, in the study—I knew he was to be there—Mr. Walker asked me not to be out of the house—the servant came and said I was wanted, and I went down into the study—Walker asked me would I give a guarantee to Molloy that he, Walker, was engaged for the Times—I said I would, and I told Molloy he was quite safe in anything Mr. Walker promised him to do—Mr. Walker said my promise would involve me in about £50—I said I was quite willing to give my promise; I knew that it was to pay for Molloy and his family—I left the room immediately afterwards—when Molloy went, I heard the door shut, and came down immediately, and met Mr. Walker in the hall, coming from the hall door; we went into the study together, and the first thing he asked me was what was the meaning of the Government stamp on the paper which he had used—I said, "Oh, that's all right; it is easily explained"—my brother-in-law had just been engaged on relief works in the West of Ireland under the Government, and when they were finished he came to my house to stop with me, and left a few sheets of stamped paper in an open drawer in front of my table in the study—at the same time that Walker showed me the statement he showed me another sheet of paper with something on it; of course I looked for myself afterwards, and there was "Pa" on it; I saw it at the time—there were three sheets of paper with the statement—he handed them to me afterwards, and asked me to read them—I said, "No,"I did not want to read anything out of curiosity—when I came down on being called by the servant Mr. Walker turned to Molloy, and asked him whether he would like me to take the statement or himself, and because I looked surprised he said immediately afterwards to Molloy, "Perhaps it is better I should do"—Molloy said he would sooner have Mr. Walker take it, and I walked out of the room; my-brother-in-law is now in Mexico; he is an engineer.
Cross-examined. The desk in my study is on a writing-table containing notepaper and a lot of my own loose papers and brief papers—the Crown paper was on the top—Mr. Walker appeared vexed, and said, "How did this come here? it is awkward"—I quite understood that he meant something might be said about the Government being mixed up with it, there was a paper in his hand; he might have shoved this aside, and
taken other paper underneath if he had liked—I don't remember ever having seen the statement after that night; I don't remember ever seeing it again—the other piece of paper he handed to me when he walked out of the study; he asked me would I like to read it; I did not read it; I had no curiosity in the matter—I was not examined at the Police-court—this is the first time I have given evidence in this case.
The evidence given by the prisoner before the Commission was put in and read. In substance it amounted to a denial of Mr. Walker's evidence, and that he had ever made the statements attributed to him.
Saturday, April 13th. HENRY TAGAART. I live at 59, Mount Pleasant Square East, Dublin—I was for many years a client of the late Mr. William Stewart, a solicitor, of 5, St. Andrew's Street, Dublin-; he died in October, 1882—I am not in any profession; I am of independent means—I am now a client of the son of Mr. Stewart—for about, sixteen years I have been in the habit of going to the office at 5, St. Andrew's Street; that is a street off Dame Street—I saw the prisoner from time to time when he was employed in that office; I think he went to the office very young—in January, 1883, I had not read in the newspapers the examination of Robert Farrell before the Magistrate—one Monday morning, towards the middle or end of January, I remember going to Mr. Stewart's office; I could not fix the date; it was about half-past eleven to twelve—as I was going there I saw the prisoner in Grafton Street, about half a mile from the office; he spoke to me; I cannot actually fix the words he said, but he gave me to understand that he was the Molloy that was mentioned in the paper that morning, and that Farrell was after swearing against him—he did not say where he had seen what Farrell had said, but every person in Dublin at that time knew who Farrell was—I did not know Until I read the paper; I read the paper after I had seen Molloy, the next day, I think—I saw no more of Molloy until he came back from America, twelve months or more afterwards.
By the COURT. He said nothing more to me than I have stated; he did not say that he was the Molloy mentioned in the paper that morning—I knew him for five years in Mr. Stewart's office, and if I met him in the street I could speak to him—he did not go on to say what he was going to do, or why he wanted to tell me this, and I did not ask him; I did not want to know anything about him. By MR. MATHEWS. He seemed to be in a hurry, and a little nervous, that was all; I was not three seconds speaking to him—I think it was next day that I read the paper; or perhaps that evening—I could not fix more definitely what was said—I always Knew him to be a decent fellow in the office, and I never thought of his having anything to do with the Phoenix Park—he mentioned the name of Farrell, and that he was after,. swearing against him; he did not say when, it should have been the Saturday before—I read next day some of Farrell's evidence—the name of Molloy was in the paper.
Cross-examined. I was not called by the Times at Bow Street—I did not go to the Times or they to me—I mentioned the matter to Mr. Stewart, and somehow or other it came to Mr. Walker, and he sent for me, and took a statement from me—that would be about last Wednesday week, I think; the date is on the document—when I met Molloy he did not appear to be in a hurry; I have not said so.
Re-examined. I made a statement and signed it; this (produced) is it.
PATRICK DELANEY . I am now a convict undergoing a sentence of penal servitude for life for the murder of Lord Frederick Cavendish and Mr. Burke—the first conviction was on 3rd January, 1883, for attempting to assassinate Judge Lawson—my sentence for that was 10 years—it was two or three months afterwards that I was sentenced for the Phoenix Park murders—I was first sentenced to death, and that was commuted to penal servitude for life—I was a Fenian first in 1869, when I was about 19 years of age—the object of the Fenian Brotherhood was to establish the independence of Ireland by force of arms—I became a member of the Invincible organisation at the latter end of 1881—the object of that organisation was to assassinate all the Government officials in authority in Ireland—I first made the prisoner's acquaintance in 1880—I met him at James Mullett's public-house in Dorset Street—I do not know whether Molloy was a Fenian at that time, but there was no one present at Mullett's but Fenians; it was the Anniversary of the Manchester Martyrs—James Carey was there; Thomas Brennan, then secretary to the Land League; Daniel Delaney, my brother; Daniel Curley, John Tarff, and several others—I knew Michael Fagan; he was at that meeting—there are officers in the Fenian brotherhood called Centres, Sub-centres, and B. 's—the prisoner was a Sub-centre to Michael Fagan at the latter end of 1881 or the commencement of 1882—Fagan was afterwards hanged for his participation in the Phoenix Park murders—arms were served out to Fenians by the Fenian organisation at large—generally the Sub-centres handed them over—Molloy gave me a short Snider rifle and a sword bayonet—I had a long rifle before that—James Mullett had some rifles for the American organisation; that was how they came to that Circle—there were different Circles—the Centres were duly elected from the body of men they represented—James Mullett was a Centre at one time; he was the Centre of Molloy's Circle; after him Thomas Fitzpatrick, he was before Fagan—Fagan was not Centre at the time—Molloy was Sub-centre; he was on the directory, and chairman of the Centres at Dublin; he would be duly elected to be put on the directory—I first knew Patrick Egan about 1875—I knew him to speak to—I knew Thomas Brennan about that time too—Egan was then manager of the North-East Millen Company in Dublin, and he was the recognised leader of the Fenian organisation in Dublin at that time—about 1880 I saw Egan several times; I saw him at a Land League meeting in the Rotunda about that time, I am not sure—all the prominent members of the Land League at that time were there—when I became an Invincible in 1881 there were also among the members James Carey (I knew him to be a leader of the Fenian organisation in Dublin in 1875), P. J. Sheridan, Thomas Curry, county Sligo; No. 1, Tynan, he would not tell his name, he used to go as No. 1; James Mullett, Peter Carey, brother of James Carey; Daniel Curley, he was hanged for his part in the Phoenix Park murders; Joseph Brady, he was also hanged for the Phoenix Park murders; Tim Kelly, he was hanged; Thomas Caffery, Edward McCafferty, Joseph Hanlon, Laurence Hanlon, he got penal servitude for life; Robert Farrell, William Maroney, Edward O'Brien, Thomas Doyle, James Boland, Michael O'Dwyer, a man named Duffey, I don't know his Christian name; and several others whose names I can't think of—I have met the prisoner at the meetings, I am
sure of that, because the Invincibles allow no person except Invincibles to be present at their meetings—the principal leaders of the Invincible organisation were Patrick Egan, Thomas Brannan, and P. J. Sheridan—all their funds were supplied by the Land League—I have seen money passing from Frank Byrne, the secretary of the Land League in London, to Joseph Brady; he was an Invincible—Daniel Delaney was present when the money was given, and Joseph Mullett—I do not know what money passed at that time—all the money was sent from Paris at that time for the support of the Invincible party—they got no money from any other source except the Land League—they had an oath administered to them when I joined—I had the oath administered to me by Daniel Delaney, my brother—in 1882 the Right Hon. W. E. Forster was Chief Secretary for Ireland—I attended meetings as an Invincible in relation to him; the first meeting about Mr. Forster was on Queen Street Bridge, Dublin—the object of that meeting was to assassinate the Chief Secretary; that was the first meeting I attended, there were several before that—at that meeting there were present James Carey, Daniel Curley, Joseph Brady, Timothy Kelly, Laurence Hanlon, Joseph Hanlon, Henry Rose, Patrick Molloy, I am sure he was there; William Maroney, Edward O'Brien; I don't remember any others, there might be, unknown to me—they would watch Mr. Forster every meeting; he was to be assassinated that morning in passing the Quay—the parties I have named were told off to watch him, with the object of assassination—I watched him, where he was to pass near the Quay, that was Ellis Quay; I think that would be a road he would go from the Phoenix Park to the Castle, that was the way he would have to pass—on that occasion I saw the prisoner coming from chapel with James Carey that morning, whilst I was standing on the bridge where I was posted—they were coming from Arran Quay Chapel towards the bridge—Mr. Forster did not pass that morning—he was watched again in the evening by the same party—the prisoner was there—Mr. Forster did not pass that evening; I think his carriage passed with luggage in it, but he was not in the carriage—he was watched next morning at half-past six; the prisoner was there—Mr. Forster did not come—Joseph Mullett and Michael Fagan always accompanied the prisoner on these occasions; they always went together—the Phoenix Park murders were on 6th May, 1882—after that a man named Hines was executed—he was tried in Dublin before Mr. Justice Lawson—Mr. Anderson was Crown Solicitor at that time—after Hines's trial there was a meeting of the Invincibles with the object to assassinate the jury that tried the case, and the Judge and the Crown Solicitor—at that time I had never seen Mr. Justice Lawson or Mr. Anderson—the prisoner was present at the meeting I have spoken of, in the Four Courts, Dublin—he was not present at the meeting to consider the assassination of Mr. Justice Lawson, the jury, and Mr. Anderson; it was only the executive and leaders of the Invincibles who were present—four of them were elected to carry out that deed, and then they would elect the party they would bring with them—Molloy and Boland were not at the meeting I am talking of, they were afterwards; it was Molloy that pointed out Mr. Justice Lawson; he knew him, also Mr. Anderson—he also got means to find out the addresses of the jury, their capacity of life—they could do it better than any other men because they had more time to themselves during the day; that was arranged at a meeting; I do not know
whether Boland and the prisoner were at that meeting—Frank Byrne brought the orders; No. 1, Tynan, was there before him, and said that Frank Byrne would come—I am speaking from my own knowledge; I was there—the Crown Solicitor and the Judge were to be assassinated one night, and the twelve jurymen on another night, all together—I remember going to the Courts to have a look at Mr. Justice Lawson; James Mullett, Brady, Laurence Hanlon, and Patrick Molloy were with me—the Court was sitting when we got there; we went out before the Court rose, and went to Chancery Place at the back of the Four Courts, and stood against the private gate coming out of the Four Courts for Molloy to point out Mr. Justice Lawson and Mr. Anderson—the Judge had his robes on in Court—while we were standing at the gate, the Judge and Mr. Anderson came out through the gateway; Molloy pointed and said, "This is Mr. Anderson and Judge Lawson now"—this was on Friday evening, the 9th or 10th November, 1882, I am not sure—we followed Mr. Anderson and Mr. Justice Lawson to the Law Temple, the King's Inn, Bolton Street; the prisoner was there with Mullett, Brady, and Laurence Hanlon, and myself; he was on the opposite side of the street—I and Brady followed the Judge and Mr. Anderson, and Joseph Mullett and Laurence Hanlon followed after—the Judge and Mr. Anderson went up Henrietta Street to the Temple, and Molloy and Laurence Hanlon were left there to watch them coming out; the remainder were told to return at half-past eight—we did so—on my return I saw James Mullett and McCafferty coming down on Kavanagh's car—Molloy was there and Laurence Hanlon—Molloy and Hanlon were told off to watch the way the Judge and Mr. Anderson would go from the Temple—we all retired then to Little's public-house in King Street, where the remainder of the Invincible party was—Molloy was there; he came in immediately afterwards—orders were given to be at Fitzwilliam Square at ten next morning, and Merrion Square South—the Judge was to be assassinated that morning in passing; that would be the Saturday morning about 11th November, I think; every person was told to have a six-chambered revolver with him—I had three to carry that morning, one belonging to Brady, and another belonging to James Mullett; I think they were afraid of being arrested with them on them; they gave them to me the night before to carry—I met Molloy that morning at the Queen's Quay, Brunswick Street, going there; he was the first I met—I complained to Molloy at having to carry the revolvers without having the price of a car—he said my brother had got plenty of funds for that, and he should supply me with it—I know that Molloy had a revolver; I saw the mark of it on his coat, he had a short light coat—it was one of the revolvers which James Boland brought—Molloy showed it to me; I did not see the pattern of it before that; it was a different pattern to what we had—we went to Merrion Square South, and more went to Fitz william Square and Fitzwilliam Street—Molloy showed me the revolver in a laneway as you go in to Merrion Road, I think, leading from Westland Road to Merrion Square—I went to Merrion Square, and there met the same party of the Invincibles—the Judge did not pass, or he passed some other way, and he was missed—the party then retired to a publichouse in Bagot Street, and an arrangement was come to to be in the same place at half-past four; I went there at half-past four—the prisoner was there, James Mullett and Joe Brady; I and Laurence
Hanlon were at the comer of Fitzwilliam Square; I was along with him; Molloy was at the corner of Bagot Street, and just as the Judge left his house, with four men guarding him, Kavanagh's car came down with Mullett and Brady on it from Fitzwilliam Place—Mullett said to me, "Follow on, Pat" and he went straight down to Merrion Square on the car; we passed the Judge and his four men—Mullett and Brady told Molloy the same as me, to follow on—I know that of my own personal knowledge; I heard it—the car went on to the corner of Holles Street, Merrion Square North—I followed on the Judge and the four men; two of them were walking behind him and one on each side of the street; I followed the Judge until I was arrested—the car stood at the comer of Holles Street—Molloy and the others were intended to go round Denzil Street and Great Brunswick Street, and meet the Judge in the face coming round by the college—the car went by Denzil Street, Westland Road and Great Brunswick Street to meet the Judge that way—after passing Lincoln Place I plucked one of the guards on the opposite side by the arm or elbow, and told him to mind the Judge; he took no heed of me; I was on the opposite side of the Judge then—when I got to Kildare Clubhouse I plucked him again by the arm, but he took no notice—I then crossed the street to where the Judge and the two men were behind him; there was a young man along with the Judge at this time—just as I left the street getting into the tow-path I was knocked down; I was just getting on the tow-path to tell the other two policemen behind the Judge as I was knocked down—I can't say who knocked me down—I was just tripped on my knee; I was not knocked down altogether, just tripped up on the left knee—I have been in custody ever since—at the time I was tripped up I had a six-chamber revolver on me—the other two I gave up to the persons that owned them, Mullett and Brady—the last time I saw Molloy was driving on the car the way they were to come round to meet us—I knew Robert Farrell; he turned informer—I have since heard a statement of his read from a paper in Court—it was Robert Farrell, Kavanagh and James Carey who identified me—Carey turned informer—the places where the Invincibles used to meet were Little's public-house in North King Street; the Winter Palace at the corner of Cuffe Street and Stephen's Green was a favourite house; Clarey's public-house, off Grafton Street; Ready's public-house in Britain Street, opposite the Rotunda Hospital; the Royal Oak, Park Gate Street, King's Bridge—James Mullett's public-house was in Dorset Street; it had no sign—at all these public-houses the Invincibles used to meet; there was another favourite house, Doyle's, in Great Brunswick Street, the corner of Shaw Street—there were several drill-rooms for the Fenians, except the Centres, they met in private houses by themselves—one drill-room was in Cuffe Lane; one at 39 or 49, Bolton Street; one in Peter Street, and one in Upper Bridge Street—these houses were used as drill-halls for the Fenian organisation—different circles used to have them, because the men of one circle did not know the men of another—the offices of the Land League were in Sackville Street—I have seen several of the Invincibles whose names I have mentioned go into those offices; Molloy I saw several times going in and out of them—I know the prisoner well—he was a lawyer's clerk at some place off Dame Street, and was a Sub-centre to Michael Fagan.
Cross-examined. The Royal Oak is by the Royal Barracks, on the right side going to Phoenix Park, opposite the King's Bridge—it is a public place—the jaunting-cars do not stop there going to the Strawberry-beds—it is one of the smallest houses—they met there once in a month in the bar: Mr. McGuinness is the landlord—he did not know that they met there—the Winter Palace has no private rooms—it has a very large gin palace on the right-hand side going into Harcourt Street—I do not suggest that Fentams was one of the houses—I have a good memory for faces; if I saw a man once I should know him again if I took particular notice of him—I never saw Justice Lawson to my knowledge—I have been convicted three times—I pleaded guilty to the murder of Lord F. Cavendish and Mr. Burke—I was not innocent, I was present when the transaction took place—it was not with my consent—I was taken by force there—I did not know it was going to take place—I saw it take place—I did not attempt to prevent it—I did not give information to the police about it—I was sentenced to ten years for the attempted assassination of Justice Lawson—that was against my will, too, because I said it would never take place—my third conviction was for highway robbery; I pleaded guilty to that—I never defrauded a man of a penny in my life, it was more the wild freak of a young boy than anything else—I got five years' hard work—I do not know that the wild freak was assaulting a man and stealing money from his person—I do not know what Judge sentenced me—that was on 18th June, 1870—I did not know that it was before Mr. Justice Lawson till after the assassination—I did not know the face of the Judge who sentenced me, and I did not inquire—I only saw him while he was passing sentence, if it was him—I was about two minutes in his presence—I gave evidence at Bow Street and on the Commission—P. G. Fitzgerald is not an Invincible to my knowledge—I don't know the year he was tried in Dublin—I gave evidence against him while I was undergoing my present sentence—I identified him as the Supreme Councillor of the Irish Republican Brotherhood—I mentioned that in the hearing of the Dublin jury—the Invincibles were started about the latter end of 1881, shortly before Thomas Brennan's arrest under the Coercion Act; that was the last time I saw him—I never saw him after he came out—I represented to the jury that he was leader of the Invincibles; he was one of the principal starters of it—I have not met him at the Invincible meetings—I do not know that he was arrested in 1881 and released in 1882—the Invincibles were started before I knew anything about it—I have met P. J. Sheridan at Invincible meetings, and shook hands with him and spoke to him under the garb of a Roman Catholic priest—Sheridan, of Cupper-curry, is the man I mean—I never met him or Brennan at Invincible meetings; the only man I met there was Sheridan among the leaders of it—I spoke to him coming out at the door (The Witnesses deposition before the Commission stated—"Did you speak to Sheridan at all? A. No. Q. Have you ever spoken to Sheridan? A. Never.")—I met Sheridan at the hotel in Dublin; D. Curley was present, and Captain Cafferty—I might have made a mistake before the Commission—I spoke to Sheridan at the door on a Sunday evening—when I gave evidence at the trial of Fitzgerald, before the Commission and at Bow Street, I was in custody under the same rules as any other prisoner—I was in Court yesterday with the witnesses in charge of two warders—I was first asked
to give evidence before the Commission five days before Christmas, and I was examined about the middle of January, on Wednesday and Thursday—I came from Maryborough Convict Prison; that is the invalid prison in Ireland—a man named Shannon came and saw me unexpectedly; I had never seen him before—the governor asked me if I had any objection to see him, a visitor had come to see me—I said, "No"—he told me he was a solicitor before he took my statement, but did not tell me his name till the end—I am not sure whether he said he was a Crown solicitor—he showed me a letter, but I did not read it or look at the signature or the writing, I did not think it necessary—he did not tell me what it was about—he opened it and said, did not I make a written statement in 1882 or 1883 in my own writing—I said, "Yes"—he said, would I corroborate that statement now, and I said, "Yes"—he brought it as an introduction, as far as my opinion goes—I do not remember reading it; he commenced to read it, and I could see it was like that, but I never read it; I had it in my hand and handed it back, and I said it was not required—it was open, not in an envelope—I cannot say whether it was in pencil or ink—I did not look at the writing—I cannot say whether that was before or after he told me he was a solicitor—the money paid by Frank Byrne was in notes and gold, at 49, Conbasson Street, a vocal lodge—that is a one-storey house, three apartments—there is a blank wall on one side and adjoining houses on the other, and a garden in front—you go from one room into the middle room or bedroom, and then into a third, the kitchen—this meeting took place in the front room—I saw Frank Byrne take the money out of his pocket from a purse—he had it on the table before him and gave it to Jas. Brady—saw him coming in a car to the house—I only saw Byrne give money once, that was at the second meeting; I saw no money at the first meeting—it might be a week after the first meeting, I cannot give you the date—I was placed at the glass door to guard it at both meetings—there were two meetings, Frank Byrne was there twice; I think there was money on the table, but I did not see him give it—I think I mentioned to the Commission that I saw him take the purse out of his pocket, but I cannot say—I mentioned it to Mr. Shannon distinctly—I read my statement to Mr. Shannon myself, I cannot say whether that was in it—I took an oath upon it, he handed me the book—I mentioned in my information that I saw Byrne take money out of his pocket—Boland mentioned me as an Invincible, working on the extreme course—there were three plots, one to assassinate Mr. Forster, another Justice Lawson, and the murder in Phoenix Park—I did not know Boland till the middle of the summer of 1882—he was not mixed up in the attempt to assassinate Mr. Forster to my knowledge, I did not know him then—Dublin was a proscribed district in 1882—I do not know whether it was from 1880—I had a long rifle—a short rifle with a sword bayonet was given me, a military rifle—he brought it to me at a church in Dublin at the top of the Rotunda, in the open air—it was dark, about 8. 30 p. m.—I don't know where he brought it from—I had a Snider rifle at my own place—the agreement for me to give the long rifle for the short one was made with Michael Fagan and carried out—the Sub-centre had charge of the arms—there was one Centre to every Circle—in every Circle of 40 men there would be about four B. 's, and the Centre was the authority over them—if the Centre was away in the country the Sub
centre would take his place—he was a man in authority, and had charge of the arms and ammunition; his post was next to the Centre—the Fenians never knew each other by any sign; a man might be a member of one Circle and meet a member of another Circle, and there was nothing to show to what he belonged—I heard that the Invincibles had a sign, but I never saw it—I spoke before the Commission of my arrest on November 7th; that is a mistake, it was the 11th—I found out next day by looking at an almanack for 1882 that I was wrong—I was in Mr. Soames' office the day after giving my evidence, two warders in plain clothes took me there; I was there four or five hours sitting in a room with them, and I saw the old almanack under my feet in a little parcel of paper—one of those warders brought me from Ireland—there were other almanacks round the wall of the office—a photo on the almanack drew my attention, and I picked it up, and saw that I had made a mistake in the date—I did not tell the warders—about half of it was torn, the latter half said that November 11th fell on a Saturday, and I was under the impression that it was the 7th—I did not see Mr. Walker there nor Mr. Soames that day—I saw Mr. Kemp every time I went there, which was three or four times, before I gave my evidence, and on two occasions I was in a room by myself—it appears that an appointment was made for me to be detained three or four days, thinking I should be wanted in the Commission Court again; I heard the application made—I saw Egan to speak to about the spring or summer of 1880—that was not at a Fenian meeting, nor was it at the Rotunda—it was not a public meeting, it was a kind of Corn Exchange on the quay—I was at a meeting at the Rotunda, but I have no idea of the date; to a great extent that was a conspirators' meeting—the Rotunda will hold three or four thousand; no ticket was required at the door from me—I dare say there were 2,000 persons in the hall, and to a great extent they were conspirators—there were some gentlemen of position on the platform, and Egan was one—I next saw Egan at the commencement of the summer of 1880, he stopped me and spoke to me—his brother-in-law, O'Rourke, was with him—I have shaken hands with Egan—it was by accident that I met him in 1880; the conversation was about the meeting in the Rotunda; it may have been about a month before, it was not a year—I cannot say whether it was two months—the conversation was about a row which took place—he did not say that it was got up for it, he mentioned that it was against his wish, because the Fenian organisation and the Land League movement had one and the same object—I assented to that—Mr. O'Rourke said nothing, he walked on—I did not speak to him about the Fenians breaking up the meeting—he said he thought the leaders in Dublin knew the nature of the Land League; one was to organise the country and the other was to supply arms for it—that was after the meeting; it was in the same year as the meeting in the Rotunda—the conversation made an impression on me, especially coming from Egan—I mentioned distinctly in the Commission that I may have seen Egan and had conversations with him—I met him outside the Corn Exchange some time after the meeting at the Rotunda—I did not mention before the Commission about having one and the same object, because it was put in my mind to-day—I was not asked about it to my knowledge in cross-examination by Sir Charles Russell—it was in my mind very often—I don't think I
mentioned to Mr. Shannon that the object of the Land League and the Fenian movement was the same—I am not sure whether I mentioned it to Sir James Ingham at Bow Street, a man in my position in prison has something else to think of; the more questions are asked the more it is revived in my mind—it occurred to me, several times it occurred to me, to-day, on your cross-examination, and before, but I have not mentioned it up to the present time—I saw Egan shortly before he went to Paris, and bid him the time of day—I think I identified five letters of Egan's before the Commission which I had seen before, James Carey had shown them to me and I read them—I do not remember the whole of the contents—it was at the end of 1882, it might be September—I think there were three from Paris—I remember one undertaking to pay £200 sterling—that was Egan's, he sent that to Mullett—this is the letter; I swear James Carey gave that to me in 1882 in Hines' publichouse—Carey showed me the letter: "March 11, 1882, Dear Sir,—I understand you cannot act as directed unless I forward you money by Monday next; here is £50. Yours truly, Patrick Egan;" and at the end of 1882, October or September, he had the bundle in his hand, and he showed that—I identify that as Egan's writing—I swear that letter was in existence in 1882, I saw it—it offers £50; that was in it—the letter said that I might speak with confidence to Mr. Shannon; that was the nature of the letter, I did not hear it read, but I guessed so; I knew he would not come to prison to visit me unless he was a person who could be depended on—I knew he was a solicitor, because he said so—I knew he was not solicitor to the Land League—I declined to see anybody in prison unless he was a Government official, and I thought he was one—I recollect Mr. Michael Davitt asking me that question before the Commission—Mr. Shannon did not state to me that he was a Government solicitor, but that was the impression left on my mind from what he told me—I believed him to be a Government official from what he told me, and I made a statement, and he swore me—I saw Byrne give money to Joe Brady on the night that he came; there were three at the table, Joe Brady, Delaney, and Mullett; that was the occasion when he took the purse out of his pocket, the second occasion I think—on the first occasion Peter Carey and the same three were present—I saw the money given on the second occasion—Brady never gave money in my presence—Sheridan never gave money—I have never stated that Byrne gave Carey money in my presence; I really mean to adhere to that—James Carey was in prison at the time Frank Byrne came to Dublin—James Carey was a stonemason; it was Peter Carey that Frank Byrne gave money to—I never stated that I saw Frank Byrne give James Carey money, because he was in prison—I only saw him give money once—I never saw him give money to James Carey—I am giving my information more from love of justice than anything else.
Re-examined. I was at two meetings at which Frank Byrne was; money passed I think at the second meeting, but not at the first; the first was at 49, Conbasson Street, the vocal lodge—I was placed as sentry there to let no one pass—it was an Invincible meeting—I was standing close to where he got off the car, and at the second meeting I was standing at the back of the house—there was a glass door between us, and I saw through it—I have seen Boland with six-chambered revolvers, they came from some part of England; he was sent specially from Dublin
for them as an Invincible, in the summer of 1882, shortly after the visit Frank Byrne paid—Boland and Molloy were known personally, they belonged to the same Fenian organisation—after I gave evidence Mr. Road applied that I should be detained a few days to be recalled if necessary, and that Mr. John O'Connor desired to be confronted with me, and I was brought down to Mr. Soames' chambers to wait to see if I was wanted again, and I think it was while I was waiting there that I found I had made a mistake in the date of the Saturday—there were two O'Connors—I was not recalled—I saw Egan write several times in 1874 and 1877 at the Mechanics' Institution, sending notes to some of the delegates of the Amnesty Association—I saw Sheridan in the disguise of a Roman Catholic priest several times in Dublin in 1881 and 1882, but never spoke to him—I was told not, because it would rouse suspicion—he was one of the recognised leaders of the Invincible Association, and previous to that he was one of the Supreme Council of the Fenian organisation—that was previous to the Land League—I made a statement in 1883 in my own writing to Surgeon Carty, J. P.—that is the gentleman (pointing to him), he was the doctor of the gaol and a resident Magistrate—I saw the letters in Carey's hand, with regard to which I have spoken to-day, this and others—five of them are in Egan's writing, to the best of my belief.
Monday, April 15th.
JOHN MALLAN . I am Chief Superintendent of the Dublin Metropolitan Police—in May, 1882, at the time of the Phoenix Park murders, I was Superintendent of the detective department in Dublin—I had charge of the investigation of the Phoenix Park murders and other crimes committed there—in January, 1883, I heard Robert Farrell give evidence; he was one of the Invincibles who became an approver—on Saturday, 20th January, he was examined before Mr. Keys, the divisional Magistrate—at that time the following prisoners were in custody in the Court, Joseph Brady, Henry Rose, Thomas Martin, Timothy Kelly, Joseph Hanton, Laurence Hanlon, Peter Doyle, Edward McCafferty, William Moroney, John Dwyer, Daniel Delaney, Joseph Mullett, Peter Carey, Daniel Curley, Patrick Whelan, George Smith, Edward O'Brien, and Michael Fagan—: those persons were then under charge for conspiracy to murder certain Government officials in Ireland, and others—that was a month or six weeks after the attempt on Mr. Justice Lawson, Mr. Forster, the Phoenix Park murders, and Mr. Field, one of the jury who tried Hines—I heard Farrell's evidence at that time; I did not know Patrick Molloy, except by repute—after Farrell had given his evidence, I directed two officers to inquire for and arrest Molloy, for conspiracy to murder—I have the warrant here; it was issued by J. R. Curran (It was put in and read)—the officers entrusted with that warrant were Sergeant Wilson and Detective Gibling—Molloy was not arrested under that warrant—I knew him by sight before that, in October or November, 1884, that was the time ho returned; I don't know where he was; he was out of Dublin; he returned to Dublin in October, 1884—I did not arrest him under that warrant when he returned; he has not been arrested on it.
Cross-examined. I have been Superintendent of Police in Dublin fifteen years; I am still a Superintendent, but not in the detective department—I cannot tell you how many of the Invincibles who were tried in the Dublin Commission Court are still living; there are more than Patrick
Molloy confined in prison throughout Ireland and England—I think five were hanged for the Phoenix Park murders: Fagan, Joe Brady, Tim Kelly, McCafferty, and Dan Curley and Thos. Caffery; five have been executed, and others are serving terms of penal servitude, except Thos. Doyle, he has finished his sentence, and James Carey who was shot—the Dublin police are in communication with the English police when necessary—I have not been to Liverpool since these proceedings against Molloy, nor have any police officers to my knowledge—I heard Molloy examined before the Commission—I heard his statement that he went to America in his own name, in the Pennsylvania, and that Liverpool was the port of departure—since he came back he has been walking about openly in the streets of Dublin, passing his time as he could and in his own name—I had not charge of the warrant then; I left that department in 1883—Thomas Brannan was arrested under Mr. Forster's Act as a suspected person in May, 1881; I arrested him—I don't know the date of his release—the Invincible Conspiracy was hatched in October or November, 1881.
PATRICK WILSON . I am an officer of the detective department in Dublin—in January, 1883, I received a warrant for the apprehension of the prisoner—he was then living with his father in Peter Street, Dublin—I went there on or about 20th January, I think it was on a Saturday—I did not find him there—on the Sunday I still kept a look-out for him, and on the Monday morning I went to Mr. Stewart's office where he was employed—I there saw Mr. Stewart; I did not find the prisoner—I assisted Mr. Stewart in opening a desk there; we forced it open by firetongs—I went two or three times to the house of the prisoner's parents with another officer, Gibling, but did not find the prisoner—I next saw him, I believe, in October, 1884, in Dublin.
Cross-examined. There are a good many of the name of Patrick Molloy in Dublin.
LUKE GIBLING . I am a member of the detective department in Dublin—in January, 1883, I accompanied the last witness to the prisoner's house on more than one occasion, but could not find him—I searched for him elsewhere in Dublin, but did not succeed—I was in the office of Mr. Stewart on one occasion when a desk, pointed out as the prisoner's, was opened—I next saw the prisoner at the latter end of 1884; I am not certain as to the month.
WILLIAM STEWART . I am a solicitor, practising in Dublin, at 5, St. Andrew Street—my father was in practice there before me—in the year 1882 I was constantly at the office—my father died in October that year—I was admitted in about December, 1882, and then took over the practice during 1882, and before that the prisoner was employed in the office—he was employed there about five years, as well as I can recollect—he was first of all an office boy, and afterwards got on the staff of the office as a clerk—I did not see him at the office on a Monday in January, 1883; I believe he came; I don't think I saw him on the Saturday—I last saw him at the office, I should say, about the previous Thursday or Friday—he did not give me any notice of his intention to leave—I did not see him on the Monday; I heard he had been in the office; I never saw him after—I remember the police coming when a desk was forced open; that was done with my sanction—Mr. Walsh had made a communication to me about the prisoner—I next saw the prisoner about a year afterwards, in
Dublin, I could not tell the date—I read in the newspapers the evidence given by Robert Farrell before the Magistrate, in which the name of Molloy appeared—at that time I had a clerk named Martin; he is now dead—I had a number of books kept in the office, amongst others a day-book and a cash-book; the day-book would not show the attendance of the clerks, only by their handwriting appearing—this (produced) is the day-book, the whole of the entries on 10th and 11th November are in Molloy's writing—there is a note showing that Walsh posted the letters on the 10th, that is in Molloy's writing, and also on the 11th, that Walsh posted them; they would generally be posted before six in the evening—the entries were usually made on the same day, they might be made the day after—if Molloy was out during the day, and anybody called, the name would generally be put on a slip of paper by whoever was there, and he would enter it in the book when he came in; he might do it on a subsequent day—it was the habit to pay the wages on Saturdays—Molloy's wages were paid on Saturday—the book was kept in Walsh's writing—the entry on the 18th, 1883, is Walsh's, also the entry on the 20th.
Cross-examined. The entry in the day-book on 1st November is "posted by Walsh;" also on the 2nd—that is Molloy's writing—it was unusual for Walsh to post the letters—I have been in Dublin all my life, and in practice from December, 1882—the police called on me more than once after Molloy's return from America—my books and papers were not at their service; it would depend upon what they wanted to see—I attend here on subpœna—Mr. Walker came to my office I suppose three or four times—I cannot give the date of his earliest visit—I should say it was somewhere near Christmas, somewhere previous to the time that Molloy was first brought up at Bow Street—he saw me after that, not before—I could not tell when I first showed my books to him—he has seen my books, it may be three times—I could not swear whether it was before or after Molloy was committed for trial, but I would say it was after—I was not examined at Bow Street; my books were there, but were not produced—Mr. Walker may have seen them before Molloy was committed for trial—I had the books myself at Bow Street—I was subpœnaed there—I have been subpœnaed three times, but was not called—I am not sure of the wages Molloy began with; he became clerk, and his wages were raised—I was satisfied with him in the office—as far as I knew he was an honest, respectable young fellow.
THOMAS WALSH . I am a book-keeper and accountant, at present in the employment of Messrs. Egan, of Tullamore, King's County; from 1880 to 1886 I was employed by Mr. Stewart, first by Mr. Stewart, sen., afterwards by Mr. Stewart, jun.—the prisoner was employed there from the time of my assuming duties up to 1883; I can't well remember up to what date 1883, but it was some time in the early part, in January, I think—I think he was last at the office on a Monday—at that time I had read in the Dublin newspapers of some proceedings that were going on before the Magistrates—I read the evidence given by Robert Farrell on Saturday night when I went home—I saw several names mentioned—James Mullett, a publican with whom we had had some transaction previously, also the name of Molloy, and various others—next day, Sunday, I went and saw Mr. Stewart, and had some conversation with him—I got to the office next morning about eleven—I saw Molloy there
when I got there, as I thought, in the ordinary course, tying up letters or papers—they were on a seat before him—there was nothing remarkable, more than any other ordinary day, of his doing a similar act—he had a desk there—I did not see him take anything from the desk—it was between him and the seat on which he set his letters or papers—I was spoken to first by Martin, the other clerk, who had been in the office some time; he remarked about the name of Molloy—Molloy was there and heard it—Martin said it was a bad case about Molloy in the papers, and if it was Pat it was a bad case; I said it was, and Pat remarked there were several other Molloy in the world besides him—he went outside the desk, and went away in the ordinary way, as I thought, as his habitude was to go his rounds in the morning to take deeds to the Stamp Office and have them registered—I don't remember whether he took any deeds away that morning—I cannot say what papers he took, they were tied; he did not go away immediately after the remark about Molloy, perhaps in three, four, or five minutes—he returned some year and a half after, some time in 1884—he had not given me any notice of his intention to leave—Mr. Stewart came to the office that day after Molloy had left, about twelve or half-past eleven—I don't know whether I made any communication to him; I may have spoken to him; I forget; in the ordinary course I should about matters pertaining to the business—I remember the police coming a day or two afterwards and examining the desk, which was broken open—the entries in this cashbook on 11th November, 1882, are in my writing—it was my habit to enter in this book the payments I made; not immediately, I made them afterwards; I first made out a list of salaries—the entry of 11th November, 1882, in the cash-book would show the wages paid by myself that day—Molloy's wages were 15s. a week at that time—I find by this entry that he was not paid that week; his wages are not carried out in the cash column; he did not receive them, otherwise he would have signed for it; on 18th November, 1882, he received two weeks' wages; he has signed as having received it—on 1st January, 1883, he was paid his wages and signed for it; also on 27th January.
Cross-examined. I was examined on the part of the Times at the Police-court—these books were not shown to me there—I was not asked about the conversation in the office, the entries in the books, or the payments on the dates I have mentioned—about 11th November, 1882, I remember Molloy saying he was in trouble about a young lady who had gone to America, and he said if he had the means he would go after her; I can't remember the date distinctly—he used to have a red cloth tied about his throat—I know a trial was going on in Court, and he was very bad over at the Court before Judge Lynch—I don't know that he had to be taken out of bed to attend there, but he was very bad—Mullett was a client of Mr. Stewart's—I never knew him till I saw him in the office about an assignment; I never went to his public-house—when Molloy came back in 1884 he came to the office; I believe I shook hands with him; I saw him frequently since—I think Mr. Walker first took my proof—I may mention that I made no suggestion, but Mr. Walker told me that Mr. Stewart could give the evidence I could give; I said, "What is it?" and then he recounted a few matters, and that was how I came here.
By the COURT. Our hours on a Saturday were till two; we close at two, not very regularly, it might be a few minutes before or half an hour
after—wages were generally paid close on two—no register was kept of the attendance of the clerks—I was supposed to write out a slip every Saturday previous to their being paid—a clerk might be away the greater portion of a day without notice being taken of it; he would have to present himself morning and evening, but the business of the office necessitates their being absent—he might be away a great part of the day on business of his own without any notice being taken of it—it very often happened that a clerk did not draw his wages on a Saturday, and he would take it on the Monday morning—it was the habitude of clerks to have cash in hand, and to pay themselves, and account for the cash on Monday morning or during the subsequent week.
THOMAS DOYLE . I am a member of the detective department of the Dublin Metropolitan Police—I know the prisoner—I first knew him some time in 1885 or 1886—I saw him on 25th November at Glasnevin Cemetery in company with a number of young men, James Boland and others—it was the anniversary of the Manchester execution, celebrated in Dublin on that day—on 19th December last I saw him again at North Wall, Dublin, where the Holy head boats arrive—he arrived by boat—there were people there when he arrived, James Boland, John Murray, and about thirty others—when Molloy arrived on the platform they lifted him up in their arms and cheered him, and carried him some distance towards the street to Tower's public-house on North Wall Quay.
Cross-examined. I have been a detective in Dublin since 1881—as a rule, a great number of people go to Glasnevin Cemetery; I would not say half Dublin, I say about 2,000 visited there last year; the prisoner was one among them—I have heard he is about twenty-six years old—I think the Manchester execution was in 1867—I think the young men who met him at North Wall on 19th December belonged to an athletic association.
Re-examined. I believe Boland was one of the athletic association.
This being the case for the prosecution, MR. GEOGHEGAN called attention to the various Counts of the indictment, and contended that as to most of them they were not supported by the evidence, that as to the written statement produced by Mr. Walker, it was not clearly shown to be in exact accordance with what the prisoner was alleged to have made to him; and with regard to Delaney, there was not sufficient corroboration of his evidence for the Jury to act upon it. After hearing MR. BUCKNILL and MR. MATHEWS in support of the indictment, MR. JUSTICE CAVE was of opinion that, although some of the Counts could not be sustained, there was evidence to go to the Jury upon others.
GUILTY — Six Months' Hard Labour.
THIRD COURT, Friday, April 12th, 1889.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. ROOTH Prosecuted.
ARTHUR JOHN COOPER . I am clerk to Mr. Percy James Machin, the prosecutor—on 19th March, at 1. 45, the prisoner called at our warehouse and asked for samples of green and bronze flint paper—he wanted the cheapest we had in stock, and asked if we could do it at 9s. 6d.—I said
if he took 20 reams he could have it at that; if a less quantity it would be 10s.—he took the samples—I asked who they were for—he said Mr. Ship—he went away—about 3.30 the same day a man named Benson brought this order in the name of Ship for ten reams of green and ten reams of bronze flint at 9s. 6d.—before he called our traveller had had a conversation with Mr. Ship, and in consequence when he came I took the order to Mr. Machin, who went outside and spoke to Benson—after that we put an empty case on a truck and covered it with tarpaulin as if there was paper in it, and Benson went with the truck, I and Mr. Machin following—when we reached the end of Manchester Avenue, Aldersgate Street, we saw the prisoner standing at the doorway of a confectioner's shop opposite—Mr. Machin put his hand on his shoulder and said, "You have sent for some paper to my place for Mr. Ship"—the prisoner said, "I did not"—I said, "Yes, you did, "and turned to call a constable—the prisoner ran away—he was eventually caught and given into custody.
ALFRED BENSON . I am a fishmonger, of 10, Shaftesbury Street, Copenhagen Street—on 19th March I went to Machines with an order which the prisoner gave me—he asked me if I had anything to do for half an hour—I said, "No"—he said, "Will you take this to 9, Manchester Avenue, and bring some things from there, and meet me at the corner of Bath Street, Old Street, with them?"—he did not say what they would be.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I cannot read—you did not tell me to take the paper to Mr. Ship.
FREDERICK SHIP . I am a plain and fancy box manufacturer, at 31, Myrtle Street, Hoxton—I know nothing of this order—this is not my signature; it is on my headed paper—I do not know the prisoner, I never saw him before—I cannot say if this is the counterfoil of that order; it is a counterfoil from my invoice-book—I don't know how it came out of my office; it was not given with my authority.
PERCY JAMES MACHIN . I am a paper merchant, in partnership with Mr. Kœnig, at 9, Manchester Avenue—about four o'clock on the 19th March, my assistant, Mr. Cooper, made a communication to me, and I went outside my office into the lobby and spoke to Benson—afterwards I followed the truck into Aldersgate Street—Benson said, "There he is, sir; in the baker's shop"—Cooper said, "Yes, that is the man that came for the samples"—I put my hand on his shoulder and said, "You sent to my place for some paper"—he said, "No"—I said he was a liar, and I told Cooper to send for a constable; the prisoner ran away—I followed him down Aldersgate Street, calling "Stop thief!"—he slipped and fell, I and a gentleman gave him in custody—he was charged at the station—he declined to give his name, address, or any particulars—he said nothing about the charge.
ROBERT MOODY (City Policeman 166). On 19th March the prisoner was given into my custody—I took him to the station—in answer to the charge he said it was not his fault, and before it was over he would prove he was not at the bottom of it—he refused his name and address and any information—I had a reason for indicting him in the name of Pendry.
The Prisoner in his defence said that he had acted for a gentleman he met in the street, who promised to pay him.
GUILTY .— Three Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BESLEY Prosecuted; MR. LOCKWOOD, Q. C., and MR. WITT D Defended.
After the commencement of the case, THE RECORDER considered that it turned on the construction of an elaborate agreement between the prosecutors and the prisoner, who was their agent, and that being so, it would not be possible for the Jury to find him guilty.
NOT GUILTY .
384. HENRY SIMPSON, HORACE EMMERSON , and RICHARD MORICE JONES , Unlawfully obtaining from Edward Arthur Buckingham a cheque for £25, and other cheques and moneys from other persons by false pretences, with intent to defraud. Other counts, for conspiracy.
MESSRS. GRAIN and KERSHAW Prosecuted; MR. GILL Defended Emmerson;
MR. VINCENT Defended Jones; and Mr. HUTTON Defended Simpson.
JONES PLEADED GUILTY to the indictment generally, and EMMERSON and SIMPSON to the Conspiracy Counts.
JONES— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. SIMPSON— Six Months' Hard Labour. EMMERSON— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. BYRON Prosecuted, and MR. P. TAYLOR Defended.
MARTHA BRETT . I am the wife of William Brett, a stableman, of 29, Regency Street—I nursed at Christmas, in her confinement, the prisoner for three weeks, at 6s. a week—I was paid 12s., and 6s. more were due—I called on 19th March, and she said she would pay me—on 23rd I called with Mary Ann Lamb, about nine o'clock—the prisoner opened the door; I went in, Mrs. Lamb stood outside on the landing—I asked the prisoner for 3s. or 4s.—she asked me to wait a minute while she dressed; she put the poker in the fire—after she was dressed she called me a b——y cow—she drew the poker from the fire red hot, and struck me with it, on the side of my neck—I said if she did it again I would charge her—she struck me across my eyes, but I caught that on my hand; here is the blister—I should think she struck me six times, and I was burnt each time—she cut my head open, and my dress was burnt all across the left breast—Mrs. Lamb was standing just in the doorway while this was going on—she said, "Come out, Mrs. Brett, or you will be killed"—the prisoner said, "I will kill her; she has no business to be up here; I will kill her"—she repeated that three times—no one came till after the blows were struck, and then someone came from the room below and took the poker from her—after I had been struck three or five times, Lamb pulled her away—afterwards I went to a chemist's; my husband dressed the wounds—I saw a doctor on the Tuesday after—this happened on a Saturday.
Cross-examined. The prisoner had no provocation; she said she would pay me with the poker—Miss Russell came up after the blows were struck—she did not come up with Lamb—I was not holding forth in
filthy language to the prisoner when they came up—I never use foul talk—Lamb followed me into the room; the prisoner asked who she was, and I said, "A friend of mine"; the prisoner did not tell us both to leave the room—I did not say, "She does not want such a rotten wh——as you for a friend," or anything like it, or "Although you are so much bigger than I am I will jump on you"—I did not rush with my clenched fist towards her, nor did she take up the poker to protect herself—the prisoner was dressed when Russell came into the room—Russell snatched the poker from her and pushed her into the cradle—she owes me 4s.—she did not say she did not—I did not say I would smash her face in if she did not pay—she lodges on the second floor—Lamb was not downstairs with Russell—the prisoner did not call out for her landlady.
MARY ANN LAMB . I am Mrs. Russell's servant—I went with Mrs. Brett to the prisoner's room—the prisoner got up to dress, and put the poker in the fire, and when she was dressed took out the poker, which was red hot, and struck Mrs. Brett three or four times across the head and face—I said, "Come out or you will be killed, "and I pulled her out of the room—Russell came up just as I had dragged her out.
Cross-examined. I said before the Magistrate, "The prisoner took the poker out of the fire in the presence of this woman, who afterwards took the poker from the prisoner"—this woman was Russell, who had come up the stairs—after the assault she took the poker from the prisoner—it was all over when Russell came up; she came up when it was just being done, just as I was dragging Mrs. Brett out—she was in the room while the assault was going on—I had not had anything to drink with the prosecutrix that evening; she had had nothing, we were not excited by drink—I was quite ten minutes in the room before the other girl came up—I did not come up with Russell after hearing the prisoner call for Mr. Sewell—I and Mrs. Brett have not talked this matter over.
GEORGE PARSONS (Policeman A 608). On 25th March I went and arrested the prisoner at her house on a warrant—when I read it she said, "The contaminating b——, what right had she to force her way into my room? Instead of her getting a warrant against me I ought to have taken one against her."
Cross-examined. I heard the prisoner say at the Police-court that she had twice had notice to quit on account of the way in which Mrs. Brett had made a noise in her apartments.
GEORGE PEARCE . I am a Divisional Surgeon of Police—I live at 2, St. George's Square, Pimlico—on 26th March I examined Mrs. Brett—she had two wounds on the right side of her neck about four inches long, crossing each other, one on her right temple, about one inch long, a small scalp wound on the top of her head, then bleeding, and some-blisters from burns inside her left hand; the use of a red-hot poker would account for those wounds—I do not think much violence was used—I did not see the wounds for three days, and they would have partially healed.
Cross-examined. They will leave no injurious effects—I examined them a week afterwards, and they had all healed.
GUILTY of unlawful wounding.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Saturday, April 13th, 1889.
Before Mr. Recorder.
387. JESSE SPARROW (39) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a cheque for £27 18s., of the United Friendly Societies' Building Society, his masters; also to embezzling cheques for £27 18s., £5 2s., and other sums of his said masters.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. FULTON Prosecuted; MR. POLAND, Q. C., and MR. GILL Defended. The Jury being unable to agree upon the first Count, were discharged without giving any verdict; upon the abduction Counts they found a verdict of
NOT GUILTY .
MR. MEAD Prosecuted, and MR. FULTON Defended. FREDERICK BUTCHER. I am a banker at Tring—I know the Rev. John Box, Baptist minister of a chapel in Shaftesbury Avenue—on 25th February I received this letter (This was signed "John Box," and solicited a donation on behalf of the chapel)—believing the contents I sent a £5 note addressed to Rev. John Box, 59, Bedford Street, Commercial Road—I took the number of the note, A236498, dated 30th May, 1888—this (produced) is it—I received this other letter, thanking me for the donation.
Cross-examined. I never saw the prisoner until I saw him at the Police-court.
THOMAS GLOVER . I am a retired grocer, of 4, Park Street, Tring—I know Rev. John Box, a Baptist minister; I belong to that community—on 28th February I received this letter, asking for a subscription—I know Mr. Box's writing, and saw that this letter was not his—I gave it to Mr. Thomas, my minister, and he went to London; inquiries were made, and this prosecution was instituted.
Cross-examined. I do not know the prisoner.
REV. JOHN BOX . I a minister of a Baptist chapel in Shaftesbury Avenue, for which funds were being collected—the letters produced were not written by me or by my authority—I do not know the prisoner—there is a Bedford Street near Shaftesbury Avenue.
WILLIAM EDMUND BURWELL . I am a letter carrier at Stepney; Bedford Street, Commercial Road East, is in my district—I recollect delivering a registered letter at 59, Bedford Street on 27th February, addressed to E. Box; the prisoner is the person to whom I gave it—he sent me a signature in pencil, which I could not understand, and I refused to accept it, and said I should require it in ink—he went upstairs and brought it down signed in ink, E. Charig.
Cross-examined. I did not tell him the signature must be E. Box—I did not know him—if he had signed it E. Charig in ink at first I should have been satisfied.
merit to my knowledge—he went in the name of Nathan Charig; no one named Box lived there—I recollect a registered letter coming—I believe one week's rent, 6s. 6d., was due at that time—the week after the letter arrived he paid me 13s. for two weeks' rent.
Cross-examined. He is a Jew, and his wife is a Jewess.
WILLIAM GILL (Detective H). On 13th March at a quarter to eight p. m. I went with Sergeant Harrison to 59, Bedford Street—I saw the prisoner there—I told him we were police-officers, and were going to take him into custody on a charge of forgery and fraud—I said I had seen a receipt for a registered letter delivered at that house on 27th February, signed "E. Charig" in pencil, and "E. Box" written over it in ink; that I had seen the postman, and he had given me a description that referred to him, and I believed that he signed the receipt—he said, "Yes, I did; it was for a young man that I met about six months ago. I don't know who he is, only that he is a grocer's assistant"—I said, "What is his name?"—he said, "John Box; I met him at the City News Rooms, Ludgate Hill, the next morning, and gave him the letter, and he said that he had got £5 from his father, and he changed the note at the Post-office opposite the News Rooms"—I said, "Has he ever been here, at this house?"—he said, "No, I saw him last Thursday, and he told me he was going to Liverpool last Saturday"—I asked him if he had received any other letters for him—he said, "No," but he expected some—he has not given any further explanation—I searched him and found this paper on him with some addresses on it in pencil—I produce this, written by the prisoner in my presence, "John Box, 59, Bedford Street, Commercial Road East"—I compared that with the address, "F. Seaton, 6, Hermitage Street, Harrow Road," on this paper, and said, "What is that?"—he said, "That is the address of a friend"—I said, "Is it John Box?"—he said, "No"—on the Bank note there is "Thos. Curtis, 14, Wyndham Road, Camberwell"—I have compared these documents with the prisoner's writing, and in my opinion it is the same writing.
Cross-examined. He stated at once without hesitation how he became possessed of these documents—there is great similarity in the writing—I found the note at the Bank of England, and found that it had been changed at the Ludgate Hill Post-office in exchange for stamps on 1st March, and it was paid into the City Bank.
The Prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
There was another indictment for forging and uttering the receipt, upon which no evidence was offered.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Saturday, April 13th, 1889.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
390. CHARLES SCOTT (45) and FREDERICK KELLY (62) PLEADED GUILTY to conspiring to defraud the Malton Biscuit Co. and other people of their goods, and GEORGE HENRY PIGGOTT , to conspiring to defraud the Malton Biscuit Co. of their goods.
PIGGOTT received a good character— Four Months without Hard Labour. SCOTT and KELLY— Twelve Months' Hard Labour each.
For cases tried in this Court this day, see Kent and Surrey cases.
NEW COURT, Monday, April 15, 1889.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted, and MR. BESLEY Defended.
ROBERT PERRETT (Policeman K 148). On the night of February 28th I was on duty in Shirland Road, Paddington, and passed the prisoner's premises at 11.10 p.m., 12.5 p.m., 1 a.m., and 1.50 a.m., everything appeared correct then—about 2 o'clock I heard a police-whistle; went there and saw some people leaving the house; I went inside and saw two policemen there—I assisted in extinguishing the fire and came out—about an hour afterwards I saw the prisoner—he said, "It is a bad job"—I said, "Are you insured?"—he said, "Yes, I don't think I shall get my insurance money as there was a fire two months previous, and I believe there is a statement on my papers that if a fire occurs within a stated time they won't pay the money"—he afterwards said that he wished he was not insured—about a quarter to five I was called to the back parlour and saw a roll of paper smouldering, and there was waste paper and old books in a cupboard; the waste paper was smouldering—a chair had been moved from the cupboard—the plan represents it correctly—I remained till 6 o'clock, and was relieved by another constable; two firemen were left in charge.
Cross-examined. I was about 400 yards off when I heard the policewhistle, and went to the shop as quickly as possible—I saw people coming from the house—the prisoner's children had cloaks on—I did not see the flames coming from the holes ventilating the shutters against the facia, nor have I noticed since any scorching of the facia—three of us went downstairs—I did not notice the vertical boiler on the left—the bakehouse was full of smoke, and everything was indistinct—fire was coming out at the side of the baking-trough—I remained down five or six minutes, and drew water and threw it over the baking-trough as fast as we could—the firemen had not arrived, but they came in a few minutes—the prisoner came and said that the passage was on fire, and we could not get out, and we got out the back way by a ladder—the fire was put out fifteen or twenty minutes after the firemen came—Simpson called me in, and there was another fireman there—neither of them told me that Mr. Ashby had pointed to the smouldering of the paper in the cupboard, but I believe I heard Ashby say that he had called their attention to it—Wildey did not tell me that he had pushed the chair against the cupboard, and so closed the cupboard-door, nor did he tell me that he had put it there—I did not jump to the conclusion that it had been left there by Mr. Ashby—I heard him say that he and his wife went to bed about eleven o'clock, and I believe he mentioned the servant and that the brothers Trussell had gone up to bed an hour earlier, and his children earlier than that—it has the appearance of a new house—it is two or three stories high.
Cross-examined. I should say that this plan of yours is quite correct—this drawing correctly represents the vertical boiler—the shop is over the
bakehouse, and the store-room over the cellar—I noticed a board, and the ceiling above it was blackened by smoke.
THOMAS WILLIAM TOTNELL . I am the engineer in charge of the fire station, Hermitage Street—on March 1st, about 2.6 a.m., I was called by the fire alarm from Warwick Road, and turned out the engine, and went to 1, Shirland Road, where I found the prisoner's shop on fire—the door was closed; I knocked and got no answer—I kicked it open and went downstairs and saw Perrett throwing buckets of water—I went up and found the shop on fire—I got to work and deadened it, and then went down to the bakehouse, and did the same thing there——at the back of the bakehouse there was a thin wooden partition, which divides the bakehouse and makes a store-room—I went round the yard, and pushed open a door in the basement, which was closed with an ordinary lock; I did not notice whether the key was in it; I did not look, because at the fire they had before it was not there—when I got into the store-room I found a lot of sacks alight, and part of the wooden partition burnt away, the side nearest the wall, by the boiler—I threw the sacks into the yard—after that I went into the shop, and had the shutters lifted—I discovered three different fires in the shop, one on the left side behind the counter going in, between the counter and the wall, one in the centre part of the counter by the parlour door, and the third going in by the shop window, between the counter and the lift—the door is between the two windows—the three fires were at three angles of the shop; there was a distinct space between each—there was a quantity of paper biscuit bags in all three places, and in one place a lot of Child's night-lights—the bags had never been used; they were piled together on the floor under the counter, and the floor was alight—the bags covered two or three feet, and were, I think, two inches high—at the second fire there were paper bags partly burnt, and the woodwork was burnt—fire No. 3 had just the same appearance—the night-lights were mixed up in the corner where the fire was, several in boxes, and some loose on the floor—these are two of the singed bags—some of the boxes had the lids on them—there had been a fire in the bakehouse between the two kneading-troughs, which are three or four feet high, and about ten inches apart, and we found several pieces of firewood when we raked it out afterwards, and a lot of debris, which might have been shavings—there were coverings right along between the two to keep the fire underneath, but we put a branch of the hose in at both ends—there was no fire alight near it to have caused the fire—the furnace boiler was about ten feet off, and the partition, which was alight, thirteen feet—the fire in the big furnace was laid but not alight, the other was alight when I arrived, about 2.15 a. m.—they told me they kept it alight all night—the other fire downstairs was by the partition, by the storeroom—I found several feet of the wooden partition alight, and some sacks which were spread all over the store-room; about 18 of them were alight, but some were hardly damaged—I did not see the fire in the cupboard till some days afterwards, when I saw a lot of paper bags partly burnt, with Mr. Ashby's name on them—there was no connection between the kneading-trough and the furnace, and no connection between the two fires in the basement and the three fires in the shop—the floor near the cupboard was not burnt at all, although things in the cupboard were burnt—I examined the flue and found some plaster broken away—we
probed it with an iron rod but found there was no aperture—the lower part of the flue was blocked up, but the upper part was all right—the flue at the top of the boiler went into the chimney—I examined to see whether any sparks could come through into the shop, and found it was quite impossible.
Cross-examined. The vertical boiler has a narrow flue much smaller than the top of the boiler—I did not notice that the iron pipe was quite loose—if the flue was imperfect, burning matter might fall from it on to the floor—I heard that the floor had been put back since the last fire, about Christmas—it was not mentioned that the iron pipe constantly got red hot owing to it being smaller than the boiler—the fire I went to at Christmas was close to the vertical boiler; I cannot say that it arose from it, and I do not suggest that it did not—I saw no marks of burning on the ceiling near the pulley on which the band would run; I examined it on the Saturday after the fire, but did not get on a ladder to look at it—I saw no marks of burning on the lift—I did not pull it up and down—I do not think there are two inches all round between it and the shoot; I did not notice marks of fire there—it was dark, but I had a candle—when one man was above and another below you could not see the light of a candle through the burnt floor in the centre of the shop; the whole of the ceiling was intact, there was not a crack—I picked up over a dozen night-lights loose, and there were four or five boxes not loose—there is some plate-glass on the sides of the shop, that on the right side by the lift was cracked—the front windows were not cracked by the flames—I did not examine the outside at all—when the revolving shutter is down it leaves no door, and there is no door in the shutter, the only exit would be by the side door—I got there about 2. 13 a. m. with a horse machine and a manual engine; we carried a hand pump on the engine—I did not know when I got there that the family had escaped—I' went to the basement first, but I had to pass the shop—I kicked two doors open; one was the door by which the people had gone out and the police had gone in; it had a small catch lock, and no doubt the draught blew it to, but I felt no draught—I do not think the partition was more than seven-eighths of an inch thick—no water had been thrown on the sacks; I carried them out into the yard; six or eight or more had been touched by the flames; I cannot say whether they were the closest to the partition—the furnace is for heating ovens which go under the pavement, and in one I found wooden shavings placed for lighting it—the other fire had burnt out and was warm—I was not a minute in the basement the first time; I then went up to the shop, and they were pumping into it—we opened the shop door from the passage; it was closed but not locked; no one had entered before me—I did not see flames in the shop then, but there was fire burning on the floor, but it never was a full blaze—there was a good deal of smoke in the shop—it is impossible that there was sufficient flame through the revolving shutters to be seen by the people outside—there was plenty of heat in the shop to crack the thick plate-glass, and there may have been a little flame, but not enough for me to take notice of—I could not see across the shop, but when it cleared off we went behind the counter—the floor by the parlour door was partly burnt through, downwards; it was black and charred—I do not suggest that a person holding a candle in the basement would show a light through that part unless they broke the plaster away—I saw some japanned tin
biscuit cases on the shelf above the plate-glass; I did not take them down; I do not think the varnish was entirely peeled off—when the door leading from the shop to the parlour was open there was an aperture between the hinges, and the paint was blistered by the heat on the lower part of the doorpost, within three or four feet of the cupboard—I saw the prisoner, but did not see him helping; I did not see him downstairs; he was in the shop passage half an hour after I went in—I did not see where he came from—he had trousers on, and I think he had a coat—he was not fully dressed.
Re-examined. I was in the basement about twenty minutes the second time putting the fire out.
GEORGE CHARLES WILLIAMS . I am in charge of Faraday Road Fire Station, North Kensington—on March 1, about 2. 30, I received an alarm, turned out four men, and went to Shirland Road—I found smoke issuing from the front shop—Totnell was there before me—I found three separate fires in the shop, one in the centre, and one on each side—I found some paper bags—there was no charring on the floor between them—I found two distinct fires downstairs, one between the kneading-troughs, and one at the wooden partition between the furnace and the store-room—the bakehouse ceiling was intact—some days afterwards I found that there had been a sixth fire in a cupboard, and some paper bags were there—it is impossible that those six fires could have originated in a common cause—I found some paper bags partly burnt, some night-lights in boxes and some out, which had probably fallen out—this one appears to have been ignited; part of the tallow is burnt away, others were melted; there were a lot of them together—we cleared out the cupboard on the 9th, and found paper bags, the same as were in the shop; we picked them all out, and there was a square place under them, where the floor was not burnt; there was a mark where they had lain.
Cross-examined. If the paper bags had been crumpled up they would possibly burn more regularly than when flat—the bulk of the nightlights were in boxes—I have been on duty at nineteen stations in twenty three years, and my experience tells me that fire is a very eccentric element in the way it seizes and burns, but not in this case—I have known a fire taking place, and igniting paper, and going out immediately, the floor not being touched—I attended the Christmas fire, I gave the vertical boiler as the cause—the pulley was not moved at my suggestion, but it is further away than it was before—a quantity of sacks were damaged at that fire, and about six feet three inches of partition burnt—I did not get on a chair or ladder, and did not see that the fire had burnt the pulley, or that the band, was blistered by the flame, or that the flame had gone through the apertures of the roller shutters and burnt the facia—no doubt that was through the heat inside the shop—I never saw any flames—the flames in the shop were sufficient to crack the plate-glass and blister the varnish and the canisters—you could walk with comfort between the three fires in the shop—the hand-pump was being used when I arrived, and the shop was full of smoke—I did not see the prisoner till half an hour after the fire was out; he was then in the passage; he had a coat and trousers on, I do not know what else—I saw marks of heat above the canisters—I examined the lift minutely, both top and bottom, as soon as it had cooled down, about a quarter of an hour afterwards; it was partly down when I got there; the case
up which it goes is an inch and a half or three-quarters all round it; it would not do for it to fit close.
SAMUEL SIMPSON . I am a fireman, of Hermitage Street—I went to this fire with Totnell—there were three distinct fires in the shop, and two in the basement—I was the first to go to the cupboard about 4. 45 a. m., and found bags burning; the door was closed, and an arm-chair against it, which I had to remove to open the door—I found inside a quantity of paper bags and waste paper alight, smouldering—the cupboard doors were quite closed; that is in the parlour, which communicates with the shop by a wooden door, which I opened—the cupboard is about ten feet from the nearest of the three fires in the shop—there were no signs of fire outside the cupboard—before I extinguished the fire in the cupboard I asked the prisoner if he knew anything of it; he said, "No, nothing whatever"—I saw a servant on the premises, and the prisoner's wife and a young man.
Cross-examined. I saw Totnell kick the side door open—I was only a moment in the basement; when I got into the shop I saw a little flame, not much—I did not notice that the show boards had fallen to the ground through the cords being burnt—I could see nothing for smoke—the fire was put out in about twenty minutes; the engines stayed about thirty five minutes—I heard the prisoner say that he thought he could smell fire on the premises; that was earlier than 3.45—I opened the cupboard door at 3. 40—he said, "Don't you think you can smell burning here?"I said, "You have been out in the fresh air, any person coming in from the fresh air will smell fire"—that was before I opened the cupboard door—no one sat down in the easy chair, nor did I see anyone move it to the cupboard door—I did not notice marks of scratching the paint inside the door leading to the parlour.
DANIEL MORGAN (Police Inspector X). On 1st March I received information, went to the prisoner's shop, and told him I was an inspector of police, and as it appeared to be a very suspicious fire, I intended putting some questions to him—I asked him how many persons were resident in the house; he said himself, his wife, nine children, varying from 20 years downwards, two assistants, John and David Trussell, and a servant, Mary Ann Brown; I asked him where they slept; he said that he slept on the first floor with his wife, the two assistants in the room adjoining, and the others above; and in reply to a further question he made this statement in the presence of witnesses, which I read to him, and asked him if it was correct; he said, "Yes," and signed it (This stated that he had been in business forty-seven years, and had a mortgage of £1,000 on the house, and had no interest in destroying it; that he fastened the door overnight, and found it fastened when he was aroused from his sleep by the alarm of fire, and had no reason to suppose anyone had entered during the night.)—I asked him the value of the stock in the shop, he said about £5; I saw he had only seven sacks of flour in the basement—one fire was between the troughs, which are in the form of a "V" with the top covered—the second fire was three feet from the furnace in the partition, and the third in the left-hand corner—I went there again on the Saturday with Totnell and Williams, and carefully examined the flooring, and cleared it away to see that there was no communication from the basement—we also examined the flooring in the back parlour, and the fire had burnt downwards through the floor, but had not reached the ceiling—the prisoner said he had not
done it; he was perfectly innocent—when I arrested him I found these two letters on him. (One from the London and County Bank, stating that his account was overdrawn £6 17s. 9d, and asking him to provide for the payment of a promissory note for £35 due on March 1st; the other was from Mr. Mumford, a miller, pressing for payment of an account)—he pointed out a hole where the back fire was in the basement, and suggested that a spark might come through the chimney on to some sacks—the superintendant of the Salvage Corps examined it, and failed to find that it was so, but on the second visit I knocked the plaster down and traced that hole to its base, and found it was impossible for any spark to have come through from the flue to the chimney, I found it covered with mortar—the prisoner was present and made no remark—there was no communication between the basement and the shop, only the lift; the flue joins the two, but it was blocked up—the smoke from the engine could be conveyed into the chimney—I said, "There appear to be six distinct fires, can you assign any cause for it?"—he said, "No"—I asked if he had any suspicion of any person, or if any person had got in from the outside—he said, "No—I examined the debris between the troughs, and found a lot of firewood, and a board cutting off the trough towards the end of the oven; it is ten feet from the side of the trough to the furnace fire, and three feet to where the sacks were burnt—I found eighty-two night-lights in boxes, ten or twelve were loose, lying with some paper bags on the floor under the counter, one box had the top off, the others were entirely closed as when they were bought—I think they were under the paper, and they were not destroyed; they were put there as if kept there for sale or use—there were new paper bags all round the counter where the fires were, and in the front parlour there was a lot of old rubbish, toys, and odds and ends, eight or nine inches high, and a lot of rubbish, showing that the cupboard was not in use—there were no night-lights at fires 4 and 5, only paper.
Cross-examined. I first examined the cupboard on 1st March, at 1 or 2 p. m.—I think that was after I took Williams's evidence—I asked him if he smelt oil or paraffin—that was before I had been to the premises—I had not made up my mind that I should have to prosecute somebody—I did not say before I put the questions to him that I was going to prosecute him—I had the wife questioned, but did not take any notes—I asked her if her husband came to bed and stayed with her all night, and she told me that from the time she went up till they were knocked up he was by her side—I took the son's statement—it was not necessary to ask him to be a witness—this prosecution is wholly on my responsibility—I never had a complaint from the Insurance Company; I made inquiries there, and took a note—I went there for the purpose of seeing whether his statement was true—the policy consisted of furniture, fixtures, and other property—I had the policy—no notice had been given to me either by the Law or by the Sun—I do not know whether the offices have settled the amount—the Treasury gave me assistance, but would not instruct Counsel, they left the prosecution entirely to me with the exception of advice—I have given notice of the witnesses I intend to call; Mr. Mumford is one of them—I said at the Police-court that I thought the height in the basement from floor to ceiling was 14 feet; I understand I was entirely wrong, and that it is nine feet eight inches—I said that the lift was twenty feet from the boiler, and I have not been told to the contrary—it is four or five feet
from the lift to the nearest part of the kneading-trough—I did not notice that at the point where the pulley rotates, the ceiling had been cut away for the purpose, exposing four laths—I took two engineers with me to examine every part, and the prisoner was present to point out anything he liked—I asked for legal assistance, and was told that the insurance companies were rich enough to defend their own interests, but they refused, for fear of an action—I have no fear of an action—I think the plate-glass was cracked on the left side, and the Japan canisters blistered—I did not notice that the show-cards were on the floor through the cards being burnt—I differ with the other witness as to the nightlights having fallen out of the boxes partially burnt—I do not know of flames being seen outside through the holes made to ventilate the revolving shutter.
Re-examined. I measured some distances, and some I give from memory—the Treasury gave me advice at the Police-court; they would not appear on the scene themselves, as the insurance companies were rich enough to prosecute—it is the custom in arson cases for the police to go on with the case, and leave it to the insurance companies to take it up if they like.
DAVID HOBBS . I am an engineer, of the Metropolitan Fire Brigade—I attended this fire on March 1st, and found three fires in the shop and two in the basement—I corroborate Totnell's evidence—I asked the prisoner if he was insured—he said "Yes," and his policy was upstairs; he got it from an iron safe near his bed—I asked if he had insured the building as well; he said, "Yes," but I found out afterwards that he had not, it was insured by a Building Society, and they held the policy—I asked what time he went to bed; he said, "Between 10 and 11"—I asked if he was the last person downstairs; he said, "Yes"—I asked him if he could account for the fire; he said, "No"—I did not see any connection between the five fires—I saw no burning between them, one could not have lighted the other—I saw the, flue, but saw no aperture.
Cross-examined. I got there about five minutes after Totnell; the fire was not extinguished then—I got there at 2. 23, the engine and hand pump were at work, there were no flames then—I did not notice that the show-boards had fallen down, or the scorching of the facia—I have been there since, and it does not exist—I did not see the prisoner there when I arrived—holes were burnt in the floor, but I do not believe a lighted candle in the basement could be seen in the shop—the shop was injured by heat and smoke—the canisters were affected by heat but not by flame, the flame never reached the ceiling—there was not the slightest trace of fire on the lift—I did not examine the flue of the vertical boiler—I did not notice the cutting away of the ceiling to give free play to the pulley—I will swear there were no laths blackened with fire and smoke.
JOHN PLOWMAN . I am Superintendent of the Salvage Corps—on March 1 I went to these promises, and found six distinct fires—I examined the flue, and probed it with my finger, but could not see any hole—I examined a cupboard in the parlour, and saw a lot of rags—the floor was all right.
Cross-examined. I got there at two p. m.—Wildey, one of my men, was there all night—I did not examine the lift—there was no flame in the basement—the canisters were scorched, and there must have been some flame—I did not notice any scorching of the facia—I searched, but saw no defect in the floor.
By the COURT. I was asked for the claim at the Police-court, and handed it up, and this paper was inside it—the claim sent in was for £53 and £83; the £83 was for fixtures, the other was for stock—after that was sent in he came to my office and agreed to take £37 for the items which came to £83.
Cross-examined. The fixtures were £400, and the stock £200 under the same policy—the gaselier in the shop was a fixture—when he sent in the claim for £83 they talked it over, and the surveyor said, "This is rather a big claim; what can we settle it at?" and he said, "Well, I will take £37"—that is how it was done—the dough mixing trough was specially exempt; that was struck out at once—he kept the salvage and got £37, which was not to include the fixtures—the mirrors against the wall were fixtures, and the shelves above them with tins on them—all the items enumerated here were in the shop; I went through them; there is no appearance of fraud in that column; they put down all they can remember, and then we see whether the articles are really insured or not, and £15 went off at once.
Cross-examined. It is in the prisoner's name, but the mortgagee has it in his possession.
EDMUND WALLER . I am manager of the Harrow Road branch of the London and County Bank; the prisoner kept an account there—he was overdrawn £6 17s. 9d. in February, and he had a promissory note for £35 running, due on March 1st, which has since been paid—I wrote to him on February 14th.
Cross-examined. I have known him since 1882; he has banked there all that time—he lived in the neighbourhood; he lived in Kilburn before he took that shop, and we always considered him a highly-respectable man—he has a credit balance now.
Cross-examined. I have known him fourteen years, and have trusted him to the amount of £80; he never owed me less than he did at the time of the fire—I did not threaten him, or treat him as a suspicious man; he has paid the money since—he has borne the highest possible character.
DAVID TRUSSELL . I am an assistant to the prisoner—on the night of the fire I went to bed at 10.15; Mr. and Mrs. Ashby and the servants were up—I was in the bakehouse at eight o'clock; it was then safe, as far as I Know.
Cross-examined. One furnace was laid to be lighted next morning; it was middling hot; it takes days for the heat to go off; I have seen the iron tubing of the vertical boiler red hot; owing to it diminishing
the size, the draught was very great—it was used on the night of the fire, and appeared safe when I went down—I have never seen soot coming down the interstices where one pipe goes into the other—the wood was usually kept between the kneading troughs—my duties took me into the shop at times—the show-boards hung on nails with cords, and after the fire I saw that the cords were burnt and the boards had dropped on the floor—I don't know whew the night-lights were kept—I slept in the next room to the prisoner—I think the police alarmed him; I heard them rapping at the door and calling "Fire," and we both went to the window—I helped the children into the next house—one is a girl 20 years old, and there were some boys; they were not dressed, nor was Mrs. Ashby.
Cross-examined. One oven was hot enough to bake confectionery—the proper place for storing wood was between the troughs—I saw that the glass front was disturbed—I noticed the effect of the flames on the facia; you can see it now.
Cross-examined. I saw the prisoner sitting in an arm-chair just before he went to bed—the cupboard has no lock—it was nothing unusual keeping the paper bags there—I had seen them there some time—I have seen the space between the troughs used for the sticks for lighting the furnace—I have seen the iron piping of the vertical boiler red hot several times—I have been in the service five years—I was there at Christmas when the fire arose from the vertical boiler, and the partition was removed, but I do not know how far—the night-lights were kept for over eighteen months under the counter where they were found—the billheads were kept in the cupboard of the counter—none of the children were dressed, nor was Mrs. Ashby—the prisoner called to the children,"Make haste down," and they all came down—the prisoner was not dressed, he had his slippers and trousers on—we went next door till the fire was out—I took the cat downstairs between 10.30 and 11, as I do every night, and I saw no signs of any fire then, and then we all three went up together—I heard no one stirring at all, and I do not believe my master would do such a thing as is laid to his charge, he loved his dear children too much.
WILLIAM OWEN . I live at Croydon—on 28th February the prisoner owed me £34 for a worthless cheque which he had given me on February 13th—I paid it in, and it was returned unpaid on the 27th—we wrote to him several times for the money, and then put it into a solicitor's hands, and I was paid in full three weeks ago.
Cross-examined. Mr. Brown, the miller, is my employer—when Inspector Morgan told me that he was going to call me, I did not tell him that the money had been paid a fortnight before the Session commenced, but I told him last Wednesday that it was paid—the goods were had in October and November.
Re-examined. The cheque for £20 was paid on February 13th, and returned on the 27th—the whole amount was paid about three weeks ago.
Cross-examined. This letter is Mr. Robinson's writing and signature: "Dear Sir, I beg to enclose your account, as requested, and sympathise very much with you in your trouble; I hope you will pull through all right"—I did not conceal that from Inspector Morgan; I have known the prisoner two and a half years, but only in business.
THE COURT considered that it would not be safe for the Jury to convict upon this evidence, and directed a verdict of
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Monday, April 15th, 1889.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. DOUGLAS Prosecuted. THOMAS PACKER (City Policeman 807). On 30th March I was with Blunt in Upper East Smithfield, at 12. 15 midday—we followed the prisoner some distance—he crossed Tower Hill into Cooper's Row; there he stood outside No. 42, took his glasses out of his side pocket, put them on, and had a good look round—he went inside No. 42 and remained a few minutes, came out and went into Jewry Street, and into 33; he remained a few minutes, came out and crossed, and went into No. 3; he came out after a few minutes and went into No. 2; he remained a few minutes, crossed the street to No. 37; after looking round he went inside and remained about ten minutes—he came out and went down to the Minories and into No. 3, Lavender Court, Upper East Smithfield—those were all offices—I returned to 37, Jewry Street, and made some inquiries, and on the first floor landing of No. 37 I noticed some large cases similar to this (produced)—I returned to Blunt, whom I had left in Pennington Street; we watched the neighbourhood for some time, and then we saw the prisoner in Ratcliff Highway, with another man, coming from the direction of the City—we followed them to 3, Lavender Court—the prisoner was carrying this case on his back—we stopped them in Lavender Court, and said, "We are police officers; where did you get this case?"—they both struggled—the other man broke away from Blunt—we got the prisoner inside the house where we knew they lived—the prisoner then said, "A man gave us 2s, in a street near Aldgate Church to take this case to 3, Lavender Court, and he was going to meet us there at 6 o'clock to-night"—I told him he could consider himself in custody—the neighbourhood is a very rough one—we were in the house about an hour or an hour and a half waiting for the assistance of other men before we dared to venture out, we feared violence—we then conveyed him to Seething Lane Police Station in a cab—Blunt and I went to 37, Jewry Street, and made inquiries of the housekeeper, who accompanied us to the station and identified the case as a case of Mr. Abraham Ansell, which had been safe on the landing about 2 o'clock—the prisoner was dressed when we first saw him as he is now; when he was carrying the case he was dressed in this piece of sacking as an apron, and this old coat and a skull cap, which was lost in the struggle to secure the prisoner from the crowd.
Cross-examined. I am sure I saw you in Jewry Street dressed as you are now; you were with another man when you came from the direction of the City.
JOHN DISCOMBE . I am packer to Abraham Ansell, of 37, Jewry Street—this case contains a quantity of glass—it was given to me by my employer to pack—on 29th March I saw it on the first floor landing, about 6 o'clock—since then I have only seen it in the possession of the police.
ADELAIDE SPILLICEY . I am the wife of John Spillicey—we are caretakers of 37, Jewry Street—on 30th March I noticed a case on the first floor landing between 1 and 2 o'clock—I missed it when the officer came back about 3—this is it, there is "A A" on it—it belongs to Mr. Ansell.
The Prisoner in his Defence said a gentleman asked him to carry the case to his lodgings, and said he would come at 6 o'clock to fetch it away.
He then pleaded GUILTY ** to a conviction of felony at this Court in December, 1887.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
There was another indictment against the prisoner for a similar offence.
MR. PIGGOTT Prosecuted, and MR. TURRELL Defended. JACOB ROSENBERG. I live at 7, Yelford Street, Commercial Road—on 2nd April I was in Brick Lane at 11 a. m.—the prisoner came past me and said, "You Jew bastard"—he walked by my side a little way—he said he wanted to fight me—I said I did not want to fight—I left him at the corner of Quaker Street—he had a bottle of acid in his hand, and he threw something out of it upon me, and ran away—I felt something burn me; I cried out—a man caught hold of the prisoner—my wounds were dressed at the Police-station—I was burnt all over my face, and my hand as well—I had lost one eye previously through small-pox.
Cross-examined. I said before the Magistrate that the prisoner asked me to fight. (This did not appear upon the Depositions.)—besides the bottle the prisoner had a quantity of glue and sandpaper in his hand—I did not go up and strike at him; he said at the Police-court that I wanted to strike him; I did not—I have never seen him before—I can give no reason why he should throw the acid over me—I did nothing to provoke him—he came behind me at first, overtook me—he did not say at the station that I followed him—a constable came up immediately, and took him; I told the constable he threw the acid over me, and he said, "Don't tell lies"—he did not say, "You and another boy were following me, I shoved the bottle at him, and the stuff went over him by accident," nothing of the kind—there was no cork in the bottle; it was open.
Re-examined. No boy was near him; he shook the bottle wilfully; he threw it deliberately at me.
WILLIAM ATCHISON (Policeman H 100.) On morning of 2nd April I saw the prisoner and prosecutor in Quaker Street, Spitalfields—the prisoner had this bottle in his hand—communication was made to me—a crowd was round the prosecutor, who was crying—he said he should give the prisoner in custody—I said, "What for?"—he said, "He called me a Jew's bastard, and that I should be at home in my own country,
and he threw something out of the bottle over me, and burned me"—the prisoner said, "Don't tell lies; you and another boy were following me up at the time; I told you to go away; I put out my hand in this position, and the stuff accidentally spurted out of the bottle over you"—I took the prosecutor to the station, and the divisional surgeon was called.
Cross-examined. The prisoner made his statement immediately after the occurrence.
PERCY JOHN CLARK , M. R. C. S. I assist the divisional surgeon at 2, Spital Square—I saw the prosecutor at the Police-station on this morning—I found several burns and stains of acid, some on his face, one on his neck, on the backs of his hands, and his clothes and cap—those on his face were one on his chin, one on the side of the bridge of his nose, close to his eye, one on his forehead—if it had entered his eye I think undoubtedly it would have blinded him—he had already lost one eye—the nitric acid in this bottle would have produced those burns.
Cross-examined. The burns might have been caused in the way described by the prisoner, or in that described by the prosecutor—from the stains on the cap the acid must have come from above, down—I did not see the prisoners hands; I cannot say if they were burnt as well—the injuries were not serious; I think he will have two small scars on the chin and the side of the nose, but they will be nothing serious—the acid is adulterated.
The prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
There was another indictment against the prisoner for a common assault, upon which no evidence was offered.
NOT GUILTY .
HENRY LEETMAN . I am a jeweller, of 1, Finsbury Pavement—on Saturday night, 2nd March, I left my place of business all right; I saw my shop window all secure—this case of knives and forks and this plate are mine; on Saturday night they were safe in my shop window near the glass, so that anybody who broke the window from the outside could reach them with his hand—there are iron railings in front of the window—on Monday morning I came to business about 9. 45; nobody had been in the shop all Sunday; I found the window broken and the iron railings bent in front of the smash of the plate-glass; I missed these things—I value the knives and forks at a guinea, and the plate at 9s.; the plate has been broken since I lost it; I found three or four pieces of it inside the window with the broken glass—the hole was large enough for a man's hand to go through.
Cross-examined by Price. This had not fallen through the window, unless the window was first smashed—I said at Guildhall I thought it had fallen from the window, but it could not have fallen through thick plate glass.
GEORGE GOLDSMITH (City Policeman 100). About 11.30 on Sunday night, 3rd March, I was off duty in plain clothes in London Wall; I saw Price coming from Moorgate Street towards me; he suddenly stopped, and went back—I watched him; he crossed Moorgate Street to the corner
of Finsbury Pavement, where he joined Baker and two other men—on seeing me they separated; Price and one of the other men went down Moorgate Street, Baker and the fourth man went towards Finsbury Pavement—I walked some distance down Moorgate Street, and saw Price and his companion go back and join Baker and the other man; they were then in front of the prosecutor's shop a few seconds afterwards I heard a loud crash of glass; 14 men were then round the window—I remained a few seconds and they all left hurriedly, Price leaving the others and going into Fore Street—I ran up and arrested him, giving him into the custody of a uniform man; I followed, and caught Baker on Finsbury Pavement—I told him I was a police officer and he would have to come back with me—I took him to Price, and I then took the two to the window and told them I should charge them with being concerned with two other men in breaking it—they both said they knew nothing about it, I had made a mistake—the back of Price's right wrist was cut and bleeding; it was a jagged cut—Baker's hands were smeared with wet blood—I could not see any cut on his hands—I asked them how they accounted for it—Price said, "I fell down"—Baker said, "My teeth and lips have been bleeding," but they were quite dry, with no blood on them—they were taken to the station and charged—they said they knew nothing about it—this property was afterwards produced at the station.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. There was a crack on the middle of Baker's lip, no blood—he had three or four smears of blood over the backs of both hands—there were no scratches or cuts, only smears—I lost sight of Baker when I took Price—I ran about 150 yards from the shop before I caught Baker—I had a chase through the streets after him—he was walking hurriedly away when I caught him—I was twenty yards from the men when I saw them standing altogether outside the shop—I saw them all conversing together outside the shop—I waited a minute before I heard the crash.
Cross-examined by Price. I had no doubt about you being one of the men when I stopped you—I did not ask a constable to search you—I ran out of Coleman Street after you—I did not run out of Moorfields, and turn back when I saw you turn the corner—I did not say I was not sure of the men, as I only saw their backs—I said at Guildhall another officer examined the window—I could not see which one broke the window—you were all together in front of it when I heard the crash, and then you all left together—I cannot say who took that case—you were walking towards me in Moorfields.
Re-examined. There was not the slightest sign of blood about the crack on Baker's lip; it was quite dry—it looked like an old crack—directly Price left the other men I arrested him—Baker was then twenty yards off—I am sure it was Baker—I only lost sight of him for a moment—no one else was in the street but I and they.
WILLIAM PICKER (City Policeman 119). On 3rd March, about 11. 30, I was on duty at the corner of Fore Street, by Finsbury Pavement—I noticed the two prisoners and two other men come from London Wall and turn the corner towards the City Road—they were all together—I particularly noticed Baker, because he was the smartest dressed—when I first saw them they were in front of and close to the shop, which is at the corner; the window broken is in London Wall—all four passed me, and
directly afterwards Price turned sharp round to the back of me and went down Fore Street—I walked down the street, and then Goldsmith came along and caught hold of Price, and said, "Hold this man, I shan't be a second or two, and gave Price into my custody—I said, "Do you know what I am holding you for?"—he said, "No, I believe the gentleman has made a mistake; would you mind leaving go of my arm? I want to get my handkerchief out of my pocket"—I did so, he took his handkerchief out"—I said, "what have you got in your handkerchief"—he said "Nothing," and shook it; he bound it round his right wrist—Goldsmith brought back Baker, who was one of the four men I had previously seen—when they were charged at the station Goldsmith said to Price, "What is the matter with your hands?"—they were covered with blood; a piece was knocked out of the back of his hand, and his cuffs were smothered in blood—he said he had just fallen down—Baker's hands had a little blood, which he said came from a out on his lip—there was no blood on his lip.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. Baker was a little smarter dressed than he is now; he had a tie on, and a cleaner collar and shirt and a ring; he was much smarter than the other men—I looked closely at his lip; I saw no mark on it or crack—the back of his right hand was smeared with blood; I only noticed that one; I did not look at the left.
Cross-examined by Price. The first constable asked me to search you; I did so at the station—I saw you and the other men walking hurriedly away from the shop; you were 15 to 20 yards from it—I was outside the Globe at the corner of Fore Street—I took no notice of the four men hurrying away.
JOHN KNIGHT (City Policeman 182). On Sunday morning, about 11. 30, I was on duty in Finsbury Pavement—Goldsmith came up to me, and in consequence of what he said I ran after two men (not the prisoners) he pointed out—I lost sight of them up the City Road—I came back to the place where I saw them start running, about 100 yards from the prosecutor's shop—I there found a case containing six knives and six forks, which I took to the station—I there saw the two prisoners in custody.
WILLIAM BROWN (City Police Sergeant 32). I examined the window of 1, Finsbury Pavement on the Sunday night, and found it broken—I found this plate on the window board—I found some recent blood marks on some broken plate-glass, which would require considerable force to break it—there is blood on it now—the hole was big enough to crawl through, only there were iron railings in front.
Witness for the Defence of Price.
LOUISA MOFFATT . I am single, and live at 16, Aske Street—on Sunday, 3rd March, I was walking with Price on London Bridge, about ten o'clock—he was walking near the road, and fell down on London Bridge—I asked him if he had hurt himself, and he said, yes, he had broken his arm—he walked with me to my home, 16, Aske Street, Hoxton, and left me there about ten minutes to eleven, and he went home—I cannot say which way we went—we did not go up Moorgate Street.
BAKER then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony in August, 1888.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
PRICE.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
The Court and the Grand Jury commended Goldsmith's conduct.
FOURTH COURT.—Monday, April 15th, 1889.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
395. MAX MORITZ HEYMAN, alias GOUTHER (55), PLEADED GUILTY to two indictments for not disclosing to his Trustee in Bankruptcy all his property, having been convicted at this Court in December, 1881, of obtaining goods by false pretences.— Twenty Months' Hard Labour.
WILLIAMS PLEADED GUILTY. SERGEANT RECORD stated that the result of inquiries was that it was a case of mistaken identity against FARNHAM, upon which MR. P. TAYLOR, for the prosecution, withdrew the case, and a verdict of Not Guilty was taken, as also another indictment for assaulting the police. And
397. CHARLES WILLIAMS and JOHN COLLINS (22) , to stealing a coat, the goods of James A Field. Williams having been convicted of felony at Clerkenwell, on 7th March, 1887, in the name of Arthur Whitaker, and Collins on 21st November, 1882, at Marylebone Police Court. WILLIAMS— Two Years' Hard Labour. COLLINS— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. KEELING Prosecuted.
WILLIAM JACOBS . I keep the Victoria beer-house, High Street, Uxbridge—there is one entrance to the public and one to the private bar—on 30th March I was having tea in the tap-room, between 6. 30 and seven o'clock, when the prisoners came in—I went out to serve them—Thomas said he wanted a pot of beer "on trust"—my wife came out and said, "Don't give no trust, "and Hunt said, "Draw the beer, the money will be all right"—Thomas put his hand in his pocket and took out a piece and put it on the counter with his hand over it—I drew the beer, and he lifted his hand and I took up a half-crown and gave him 2s. 2d. change—I went back to my tea—in a little while they knocked again, and I went out, and Thomas asked for another pot, which I drew—he tendered the 2s. which I gave him in change—I gave him 1s., a sixpence, and twopence—I went back to my tea, leaving in the till 2s. 6d., a florin, 1s., and 6d.—I am not sure whether there was more—a little while after Hunt went out for a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, and I heard a noise like this (stamping), and the prisoners left the house shortly after—the noise was shortly before Hunt returned—my wife looked to see if the money was all right, which she had put away at the back of the cake glasses, and I looked in the till and the silver was gone—it is about 2 feet 9 inches from the edge of the counter to the till; I could reach it by kneeling on the counter and reaching over—the noise proceeded from the private bar—not a soul entered the house or went out while the prisoners were there—I heard no chinking of money—I went to the Police-station and reported the loss—Thomas came back shortly after, and I told him we had been robbed; he said it was only he had any money, and the others had none—he was served with a pint of beer, and Detective Sergeant Vincent came in and apprehended him—there was a chair right up against the wall next the
till; if anybody stepped over the counter they could put their foot on that chair—it was Thomas McCarthy who said, "Draw the beer."
Cross-examined by Hunt. I am sure there was 6s. taken from the till.
Cross-examined by T. McCarthy. I could not see from the tap-room anybody who went in the private bar.
Cross-examined by W. McCarthy. You asked me to drink, and I said I was just finishing my tea; perhaps I stopped five minutes while you drank the beer—I have a spring latch on the door; you can hear anyone who comes in—I took the florin out of the till—the noise sounded as if made with the foot.
Re-examined. I am positive the side-door between the bar and the taproom was shut that night—I did not lose sight of the prisoners all the time; neither of the McCarthys went out; I could not see which way Hunt went, but I saw him go out and return; he went out of the public bar door.
By the JURY. I know Thos. McCarthy as a regular customer, but the other two came in very seldom.
JOB HITCH . I was in the taproom having tea with Mr. and Mrs. Jacobs when the prisoners were served with the beer; I saw Hunt go out for a minute or two and come back—while he was out I heard a noise like stamping in the bar—Jacobs went out directly—I did not see him look at the till—Hunt turned to the right when he went out, towards the private bar; I could see him through the printing on the glass.
Cross-examined by T. McCarthy. You and your brother were in my view all the time I was in the taproom—I could see through the glass.
Cross-examined by W. McCarthy. You and your brother stood at the bar all the time—I could see through the printing on the glass—I saw Hunt turn to the right when he left—nobody went into the bar or came in at one of the doors.
EDMUND VINCENT (Detective Officer X). From information I received, on 30th March I went to the Queen's Head public-house a little before 7. 30, where I saw Hunt and Wm. McCarthy coming out—I told them I should take them, and they would be charged with stealing money from the till of the Victoria beer-house a few minutes ago—they said, "We shan't go to the station till we know the charge"—I repeated the charge, and they made no reply—I took them to the station; I then went to the Victoria, where I saw Thos. McCarthy, and asked the landlord if that was one of the three, and he said "Yes"—I then told him I should take him for being concerned with Hunt and his brother, William McCarthy, in stealing money from the till of that house a short time previously—he said, "I know nothing about it, and I shan't leave or go to the station"—ultimately I took him to the station; they made no reply to the charge—I searched Wm. McCarthy, and found eightpence in bronze on him; on Thos. McCarthy I found nothing—I was about to search Hunt, when he said, "I will give you all I have about me," and produced sevenpence in bronze, a pawn ticket, and a small wooden box—I then searched him, and in the waistband of his trousers I found two separate shillings and three sixpences—I went back to the Victoria—from the taproom you can see anyone go in and out of the public bar door—the distance from the edge of the counter to the till is 2 ft. 9 in.—a chair stands between the bar and the till; in the private bar there is a stool which reaches up to the bar.
Cross-examined by Hunt. You pulled the sevenpence in bronze and the pawn ticket and the wooden box out of your trousers' pocket—there was a dog licence in the box—you did not pull them out of your watch-pocket.
Cross-examined by W. McCarthy. You walked to the station—it was about five minutes from the time I received information till I made the first arrest.
Hunt, in his defence, said it was not possible they could have gone from the public bar round into the private bar and got over the counter and come back to the private bar in one minute or less, as Jacobs had said. Thomas Mc Carthy said he was coming home from work about 6. 30; he saw his brother, who asked him to go in and have a pot of beer; that he went in and paid for two and then went home. William McCarthy said that he was coming home and had been in the Queen's Head before this, when he met his brother, and they went into the Victoria and had the beer; that Hunt only ran to the door for 30 seconds, and said, "Is that my old woman?"
NOT GUILTY .
MR. TURRELL Prosecuted.
THOMAS WELSH . I am a labourer of 3, Anglesea Avenue, Walworth—on 2nd April I was in the neighbourhood of Stepney Station—I had been drinking—I was assaulted, but do not remember anything until the next morning I found myself at the Police-station—I lost my coat, two waistcoats, a hat, and a document in a tin box out of my pocket—I was kicked on my head, and was very sore the next morning when I awoke—my wounds were dressed by the surgeon at the Police-station—these are the two waistcoats that were taken from me (produced.)
WILLIAM RYAN . I am a cooper, of 18, King John Street, Stepney—early on the morning of 3rd April I heard a terrible noise outside, like somebody being thrown on the pavement—I opened a door and heard someone say, "Give him another one"—I went outside, and saw the prisoner and another man heaving a man up and dropping him down on his back—the prisoner had his head and shoulders, and the other man had his legs, and they picked him up and dropped him down again—I said, "Hallo there!"—the prisoner had his hands under him, and the other man took off his other boot; they had one off already—they dropped him on his back, and ran away—I followed the prisoner to the top of the street; he turned round, and threw the man's waistcoat at me—I followed him to the next street and attacked him; he made a kick at me—I knocked him down, and he got up again, and we struggled, and we went down several times together—when I was on top of him, I saw another man coming across the road—the prisoner said he would knock my brains out—he got away, and I followed him 200 or 300 yards; a constable came up and caught hold of me—I explained what was the matter as well as I could—we could neither of us speak, as we were exhausted, and we then brought the prisoner round to where Welsh lay in the gutter—we stood the prisoner against the wall, and the constable blew his whistle, and Dutch came up—the prisoner put his hands behind him, and put this tin-box on the window-sill—I told the constable to hold him, while I went in and lit the gas—Dutch and I then helped Welsh up from the gutter—his hands were over his face, and he was bleeding from his face and neck, and was insensible—Dutch took the
prisoner in custody—on the way back I picked up the waistcoat which had been thrown at me.
JAMES ANDERSON (Policeman H 159). I heard cries of "Police," and saw the prisoner and Ryan running—I pursued and overtook them—they were out of breath, and Ryan told me the prisoner had been assaulting and robbing a man—I brought him back to where Welsh lay, and on the way we picked up a waistcoat—the prisoner said I had made a mistake this time, and that he had got a b——y punch on the nose for nothing—I found Welsh insensible, with his head and neck cut—the prisoner began to resist me—Dutch caught hold of him, and he said, "I don't want any of your b——y pulling about; you forget the time when your b——y head was cut open in Copley Street"—I took him to the station, and Welsh was seen by a doctor, who is not here.
SAMUEL DUTCH (Policeman H 328). I went to Ryan's assistance—I saw Welsh lying on the ground insensible, with one boot off—the prisoner was then in Ryan's custody—I went up to assist him, and saw the prisoner putting something on the window-sill behind him—I found this tin box there, which Welsh identified—I assisted to search the prisoner—he said, "I have been searched once, and if you attempt to come near me again I will kick your b——y legs off"—he had been drinking but was not drunk—he knew perfectly what he was doing—next morning Welsh said he had lost two waistcoats—I went to the cell, and found that the prisoner had only one waistcoat on, and he had two when he was charged—I examined the cell, and found this waistcoat crammed down the closet—I got it out; Welsh identified it.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate. "I cannot recollect anything of it; I was intoxicated myself." In his Defence he repeated this statement.
He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Hereford in 1884.— Five Years' Penal Servitude and 20 strokes with the cat. The Grand Jury made a presentment expressive of their commendation of Ryan's conduct, and the Court awarded him £3 3s.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, April 16th, 1889.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MR. MEAD and the MESSRS. GILL Prosecuted; MR. WADDY, Q. C., and
MR. FILLAN Defended.
HENRY GEORGE ATKINS . I am manager of the Horseshoe Hotel, Tottenham Court Road—I have known the prisoner using the hotel on several occasions when in this country—I believe he is an American—on February 12th he came at 9.30 p. m. and took a room—there are four or five different bars, one of which is called the Cafe, and I saw him there at 11. 15 drinking and talking with several people, who were strangers to me; and seeing him exhibit some American notes I stood back and beckoned to him, and said, "You are doing a stupid thing there, exhibiting your money in a public place; you don't know who sees you, and after what you told me in the early evening the best thing I
should do, if I were you, is to go to your bed—he seemed excited—he had said on his arrival that he had a very rough passage, and had just come from Queenstown, after a fifteen days voyage, and had a terrible time of sea-sickness, and felt upset—I advised him to have something to eat and go to bed—I took him to the grill-room, and saw him served with a steak, and left him there—when I advised him to go to bed the second time, I said, "If you have any valuables on you, you had better give them in my charge—he gave me his gold watch and fifteen or twenty dollar notes—he was wearing a diamond pin—it was then near 12 o'clock—at twenty-five minutes to one someone told me something, in consequence of which I went to the prisoner's bedroom and saw him sitting on the bed in a state of great excitement—I said, "What have you been doing?"—he said, "What I have done I have done in self-defence; I could not help it; they set on me and robbed me"—I smelt gunpowder, and said, "Have you been using a revolver?"—he made no answer—I asked him if he had one on him; he made no answer—I pushed aside his great coat, and saw the handle of a pistol sticking out of a pocket on his right hip—I took it out and put it in my pocket, and advised him to go to bed—it was examined at the station; there were five chambers, and one charge was left—he was sober—when I left him at a quarter to twelve I told the hall porter in his presence to see him upstairs and see he did not go out again.
By the COURT. I told the Commissionaire to see him into bed, he was in such an excited state, and after, when the police came into the room, he handed me his diamond pin, which he took from his neck; he gave me his chain, which he had retained when he gave me his watch.
Cross-examined. The prisoner collects horses in England and disposes of them in the back States of America; I know nothing of the state of civilisation there—he is decidedly a quiet, inoffensive man—I believe, as well as coming to this country on business, he came to be married to a young English lady—when he was sitting on his bed, the last time I saw him that night, he gave me the notion that he had been crying, but although he was excited and crying, he appeared sober—there is an oyster shop nearly opposite, but I did not hear him say that he was going there—taking all the care I can, people come into the house occasionally who I think it right to keep a careful watch on, from Regent Street and the neighbourhood—when I beckoned to him I was afraid of what might happen, seeing the people he had round him, but I had had a conversation with him, and seeing the excited state he was in, and knowing him for some years I felt a particular interest in keeping him right—I would not only have done it for him but for anybody else I saw exhibiting their money in a public place—I did not know any of the seven or eight men round him; the whole bar was full, and seven or eight were in a cluster round him—Winter has had charge of one of the bars for some time—he was behind the bar, and would be more likely to recognise people coming in than I—I gave the policeman the dollar notes which the prisoner gave me, and he sent me some more from the grill-room, as he had no English money; the two amounts come to 35 dollars—I do not recollect seeing that he had a diamond ring, the pin is really a stud—this (produced) looks like the prisoner's necktie; the stud screwed in, and could not be pulled out without pulling the whole concern to pieces, as this has nearly been—I am not sure that this is the tie; it was dark, but I do not think it had any
stripes—I had it and the stud in my possession two or three days and saw it by daylight as well as by night, and received an order from him to deliver up his goods to his solicitor, Mr. Abrahams—this appears to be the same pin—I did not see a pocket-book, but I believe when he was sitting on the bed he said that he had been robbed of it—I assisted to take off his coat and waistcoat, but did not see dirt on them—I believe it was a dirty night, but I should not expect to find any signs of dirt unless he had fallen flat, and not on his hands—I think he said he had been knocked down.
Re-examined. It was a dirty night, but I think it was after a fall of snow—when he went to pay his bill in the grill-room he had no English money, and he sent to the office to ask us to let him have a sovereign, which I did till he could get the notes changed in the morning—the two lots of notes amounted to 35 dollars—I did not notice that his scarf or collar was torn.
ARTHUR WINTER . I was superintendent of the back bar of the Horseshoe Hotel on 12th February; the prisoner was there that day—I saw him first at the bar at a little after eleven, for two or three minutes, not longer—Mr. Cooper, the superintendent upstairs, was in his company, and one of the young clerks and myself, and the deceased man came up and pushed himself on the prisoner—I did not know his name then—we were outside the bar—I was not serving—when the deceased spoke to the prisoner I said, "Don't leave him here, I don't want him in this bar with this man—I knew the deceased's character by hearsay, and spoke to Mr. Cooper, who took the prisoner away—I saw the prisoner again just before closing the house—he could get from his bedroom through the back bar without passing Hallo way—he walked through the bar into the street just before 12. 30—I believe the deceased was there then—he was not there at closing time, but he was there shortly before the prisoner passed through—the barman served the prisoner with a cigar the first time he came into the bar at a little after eleven—Mr. Cooper was there.
Cross-examined. I did not know what name the deceased went by—I had seen him for some months with other men who I now know frequent the neighbourhood—I do not know any of their names—I had had occasion before to speak to the deceased about his troubling my customers—I have seen the deceased with that woman (Alice Johnson) several times, and there is a stout man here to-day who I have seen him with, and another man who is outside called Mr. Nanty—Robinson came up and commenced to converse with the prisoner; he was the only person I saw speak to him—I desired Mr. Cooper to take the prisoner away, because I saw him speaking to him—when the prisoner came through the bar and went out just before closing time, Robinson and two or three men with him were in the bar drinking; I noticed them two or three minutes before—they finished their drink and disappeared; they were out of the bar before the house was closed—I saw the prisonsr on the staircase after he came back, and observed that one side of his face was red and flushed as if he had received a blow on it—that was after the occurrence took place—I did not notice that his clothes were soiled with mud, but he was half way up the staircase—he was at that time very much excited, but did not appear in any way intoxicated.
shoe Hotel—I saw the prisoner there about 11 o'clock, spoke to him, and went down into the back bar and had a drink with him; and while doing so the deceased spoke to the prisoner, who stood him a cigar—there was a crowd all along the bar—he paid with a sovereign, and I advised him to come away with me, which he did as far as the front staircase, where he paid the waiter for his supper.
Cross-examined. I told him to come away, because I did not like the people who were pressing on him, and they were never together again inside the hotel as far as I know—he appeared perfectly sober.
HENRY LINNETT . I am a barman in the bar where Winter is superintendent—on February 12th, shortly before closing time, I saw Robinson in the bar; Winter served him with a cigar, and I saw him leave—I did not see the prisoner.
Cross-examined. Inspector Robertson showed me four photographs, and I selected this one (produced); I recognised it as that of the deceased; it was taken after death.
ALFRED HALLOWAY . I am hall-porter at the Horseshoe—on the night of 13th February I saw the prisoner in the hall; I had seen him at the hotel before; I spoke to him about going to bed, in consequence of what Mr. Atkins said, and he went about half-way up the staircase, between the hall and the office door—he showed me a pocket-book or purse; I should call it a purse, and wished me to take care of it—I said, "No; as you are going to bed, take care of it yourself"—I accompanied him to his bedroom door on the third floor and lit a candle for him, and saw him go into the room, and heard him lock or bolt the door—I then went down and remained at the hotel door—he did not pass me to go out by the main door—about twenty minutes to one o'clock I heard a rap, opened the door, and saw the prisoner there—I said, "Halloa, have you returned?"—he said, "Yes; I have been robbed"—I noticed that he had a blow on his right eye; I saw the mark on his cheek—he made half a halt—I called him back, but he just looked round, and continued going upstairs—immediately afterwards I heard a noise outside; there was a crowd there and some constables—I went up to the prisoner's bedroom, and found him lying on his bed with his coat and waistcoat off; his trousers and boots were on—Mr. Atkins was in the room before me—the prisoner said, "What I have done I have done in self-defence; there was a gang attacked me and tried to rob me, and did rob me"—when he came into the house his clothes were buttoned up and were perfectly clean, but he had no collar or tie or scarf; I saw a diamond pin in his scarf in his bedroom.
Cross-examined. When he had shown me the pocket-book he put it back in his side coat pocket—he spoke perfectly clear; there was no sign of intoxication, and when I saw him afterwards he appeared sober; I remained with him eight or ten minutes, and then the police came; he said that he had been robbed by a gang who set upon him, and if he had not done what he did do, he thought he should have lost his life.
MAUD PEGLER . I live at 19, Lamb's Conduit Passage, Red Lion Street, and am an unfortunate—on Tuesday evening, 12th February, I went to the back bar of the Horseshoe, from 11 to half-past—I saw the prisoner standing right round the back bar, a little way from it—three or four girls, and a lot of fellows, and Brummagem Bill, who was shot, were with him—I did not know the other men; I had not seen
them with Bill before—they were all drinking—the prisoner seemed as if he was on the drink; he did not look drunk nor sober—he asked me to have a drink—I said I did not mind, and the deceased said, "No, she does not want none"—I walked away and had a drink with another girl in that bar—I went out and met Jenny Wilson, and went with her to the A 1 public-house—I left with her and went towards Hanway Street—we saw the prisoner and Brummagem Bill walking together in front of us, calling for a cab—some fellows and girls were following behind them—I cannot say whether they were the persons I had seen in the bar—Brummagem Bill called the hansom cab; it was going towards the City—it stopped; the prisoner and Brummagem Bill got in—I heard Brummagem Bill say to the driver, "Drive me to a club in Dean Street"—I do not know any club there—I was passing the cab when I heard that—after they got in the cab there was a quarrel—I heard the window smash—I walked on as far as Hanway Street with Jenny Wilson, and then we turned back—we saw Brummagem Bill jumping out of the cab, and the prisoner following him—that was five minutes after they got in the cab, and two shops away from the corner of Hanway Street; it was very quickly done—I only walked to the corner and turned back; it would not take me five minutes to do that—Brummagem Bill seemed to get off the cab front wards, and then turned round—then the prisoner got out—when the prisoner was on the platform he seemed to fire in the air twice—Brummagem Bill seemed to face the man, because this young woman, Ellen Johnson, was screaming by the head of the cab, and he went to pull her away, I think—she was on the pavement by the back of the cab, by the cabman's feet—she was by the wheel—I had not seen her do anything before the man got out of the cab, only screaming—she was one of those walking behind Brummagem Bill—when the first shot was fired, Brummagem Bill like went towards the girl that was screaming—then the gentleman shot again, and he fell right on to the shutters of a shop—the third shot was right towards where Brummagem Bill had fallen against the shutters—he seemed to stagger at the third shot—at the time of the third shot he was against the young woman, pulling her away—the third shot he fired towards Oxford Street after that, and the man falling against the shutter, he fired the fourth towards Hanway Street, and then ran away—after the prisoner fired the third time he could not have seen the effect of the shot man falling against the shutter; he seemed so mad; he turned so quickly and fired again, and then ran away down Hanway Street—I ran after him with Jenny Wilson—I did not wait to see what became of Brummagem Bill.
Cross-examined. This is a photograph of Brummagem Bill—I only knew him by that name—I did not know him as Johnson—I know Ellen Johnson—she was not living with him as his wife—I am quite sure of that—I do not know where she lived—I heard he lived in a common lodging-house in Short's Gardens, Endell Street—I don't know that he was living in Titch field Street—she went to live with a woman I had lived with—I left when she went there—I never knew Brummagem Bill by the name of Barber, or Jackson, or Bates—men and women were following him and the prisoner along the street on this night, I did not know them—I did not say before the Magistrate, "Two of the fellows I had seen with the prisoner in the Horseshoe;"I only knew Brummagem Bill; the other fellows I did not know at all—my evidence
before the Magistrate was taken down and read over to me—I cannot understand writing very much—"There were three or four girls and fellows walking behind them, two of the fellows I had seen with the prisoner in the Horseshoe, but I had not seen the girls there, and I don't know the names of those men;" that is true, I know there were two fellows and this girl walking together, and I have seen them, that is all; I don't know their names—two of the men I saw there were two of the men I had seen in the Horseshoe when the prisoner was there—I have never been to the club in Dean Street; there are three clubs there; I do not know where Brummagem Bill and men of his trade go—when I first saw the cab it was standing with the horse's head facing east, towards the City—it was in the same place when the two men got out of it; it had never moved—it was standing there when I walked past it, and just as I did so the glass was smashed—I walked straight on as far as you are from that wall, and then I turned and came straight back, and then I saw the fires up in the air—we stopped by the cab a little while when the window went smash, and then walked on without stopping, the distance between the wall and you, then turned round and saw the firing—the horse's head was still towards the City when the glass was smashed—Ellen Johnson was screaming out at the cab—I don't know what for, or what she screamed—it was before the shots—she seemed to run up all of a minute when the glass went smash; she was not standing there before—she was not screaming then; she was screaming when the two shots were fired—I did not see her get on the platform of the cab; she was standing on the pavement by the cabman's feet when she screamed—that was as I was coming back after turning round—I saw nothing of her till I had passed the cab and stopped to turn round—I had seen her when she was following the gentleman up, and before that—she was one of the persons following the gentleman before the cab was called—I saw both men get in the cab—Brummagem Bill called the cab first—I am sure they both got in together; the prisoner got in first—I was just passing by them; I was following them up—I followed them from the corner of the All till they got into the cab—I was passing by the horse as they were getting in—the horse's head was standing in the direction I was walking—it was towards the City—I was walking from Tottenham Court Road towards Hanway Street—directly they got in, the front glass, the window overhead, not the side glass, was smashed—I had just passed the side window of the cab as the glass went—whether there was a struggle going on inside the cab I cannot say; I had got a yard too far—the man was standing on the platform of the cab when he shot into the air; he was on the step like as you get in—directly as I turned round at Hanway Street I heard the two shots fired—I turned, and as I came along I saw Brummagem Bill and the gentleman get out, and I saw the two shots fired—I was on the pavement—as soon as I turned round they were jumping out of the cab; they were not out of the cab when I got as far as Hanway Street—I cannot tell you whether with regard to either of the shots Brummagem Bill had hold or appeared to have hold of the pistol at the time they were fired, I only saw him wriggle—I saw two fires up in the air first—I do not know that the men who were drinking in the Horseshoe were friends of Brummagem Bill; I do not know any of his friends, because he has not been home very long—I said before the Magistrate, "The men that were drinking in the Horseshoe
I know to be friends of Brummagem Bill, and they were standing round the cab in the roadway with the girls"—that is true—I did not know a man named Nanty till I saw him the other day in the Court—he was not among the men near the cab when this took place—I did not notice him, and he was not there when I was there—no one has spoken to me about this since; I was with Jenny Wilson in a public-house drinking yesterday, and Nanty asked me which was the girl who mentioned his name, and I said I did not know his name before—I hare said I was afraid of my life if I let any of these men in.
Re-examined. I did not see Brummagem Bill have hold of the prisoner's pistol at any time—I have never been asked such a question before to-day.
JENNY WILSON . I live at Storey's Lodging-house, Great Smith Street, Westminster—about a quarter to one on the night of 13th of February I was speaking to Maud Pegler at the corner of Hanway and Oxford Streets—I had not been to the Horseshoe—I noticed a cab by the kerb between me and the Oxford Music Hall, and I saw eight to ten men and women coming towards the cab.—I knew some of them by sight, I knew one man as Brummagem Bill, and one girl as Ellen Johnson—I had my back to the cab till I heard the smash of glass, and then I turned round because I heard it; I looked towards the cab, and saw the prisoner and Brummagem Bill, who is now dead, coming out of the cab; they stood a moment or two on the footboard—Brummagem Bill came out with his back to the pavement—he and the prisoner had hold of one another; they both got down on to the pavement together; the prisoner was trying to push Brummagem Bill away; they were talking together—Brummagem Bill was patting the prisoner on the shoulder and talking to him; then the prisoner fired; his coat was open, the revolver seemed to come from his back somewhere—at the first shot the pistol was pointed upwards—as soon as that shot was fired Brummagem Bill let go, and as the second shot was fired he ran towards the Oxford Music Hall—the second shot was fired upwards—I should say Brummagem Bill had got ten yards from the prisoner when it was fired, about as far as I am from you—the third shot was fired straight outwards as the prisoner stood near towards the kerb, towards the shops like, towards the Oxford Music Hall—Brummagem Bill was running towards the Oxford Music Hall then; I did not see what happened to him—I saw the fourth shot fired outwards in the same way, and then the prisoner put the revolver in his coat pocket somewhere, and randown Hanway Street—I tried to get hold of his sleeve—he passed close by the kerb where I was standing—I could not stop him—as he ran along Hanway Street he fell on the kerb; he got up and ran on—I lost sight of him; when this matter happened I was standing still—the next time I saw Brummagem Bill he was in the hospital, he was alive—I saw him again when he was dead—I saw Ellen Johnson, whom I knew by sight, close to the cab in the road—when Brummagem Bill had got off the footboard of the cab and was on the pavement she came by the cab and was pulling Bill's coat—I did not hear if she was calling out; she came through the cab and then ran round the horse's head way—I had known Brummagem Bill for some time—I only knew one or two of the other people by name; Nanty, and another man named Bill I knew—I don't know the names of the others—I did not see a constable in Oxford Street—I ran through Hanway Street; I had not come past the corner of Tottenham Court Road; there was a constable there.
Cross-examined. Before I saw Brummagem Bill coming out of the cab I saw Ellen Johnson on the roadway by the other side of the cab—she got on the platform of the cab as they got off, as they were struggling with the reins, not as if she was going to ride with them—when I first saw her she was on the other side of the cab as if she was going to get in, as if she was talking to them—at that time I heard Brummagem Bill say, "Come with me to my club"—when Brummagem Bill got out of the cab he had hold of the prisoner, whose coat was open; he seemed to be clutching at his shirt front, and he was patting him on the shoulder as if he was talking to him—I said before, "Brummagem Bill was clutching at Emmerson's shirt as they were coming out of the cab"—I am quite sure Brummagem Bill ran away; he did not run very far, because people were running about—I could not see if he fell when he was shot, for the smoke from the revolver—I could not see what became of him after he ran—I did not see him fall—I did not stop to see him picked up and taken to the hospital—I did not stop to see anybody fall—there were a lot of men round there, and they appeared to be pushing one another about—I did not see the prisoner at all before they tried to get into the cab—I knew Brummagem Bill by sight before this, only to speak to once; I did not know his real name, or any of his real names; I have only heard him called Brummagem Bill—I knew Ellen Johnson, but never to speak to—I knew by sight eight or ten of the people who were there that night—I have seen those men, or some of them, at all events, on previous occasions with Brummagem Bill—they were companions of his—they were coming towards the cab just as the struggle commenced—I would rather not tell their names, I mean I dare not—two shots were fired in the air—at the time they were fired I was about as far from the man firing as I am from you—when I heard the glass smash I turned, and I was facing in that direction all the time—the smash of glass seemed to come from the front of the cab; I did not see it—after they got out of the cab they were talking two or three minutes on the pavement, and then the prisoner fired, and as he fired the first shot Brummagem Bill left go his shoulder, and as he fired the second shot Brummagem Bill started running—the shots were not fired as they were getting out of the cab together—the eight or ten people had time to get round them on the footpath; they did not get quite close to them—there was a little crowd of pretty nearly twelve people, men and women, coming up—there appeared to be a struggle going on in the middle of the crowd; the prisoner and Brummagem Bill were talking for two or three minutes, but as the crowd came up they never got to the back of the prisoner; they were looking the front way.
ELLEN JOHNSON . I lived at 114, Great Titch field Street—I do not now—on the night of this occurrence I was in the front bar of the Horseshoe with a man I knew by the name of William Johnson, he was the man who was afterwards shot—I took him to the hospital—I don't know anyone of the name of Brummagem Bill—I was not living with him—when I was in Horseshoe bar with Johnson I did not see the prisoner there—we left the Horseshoe about 12. 30, as near as I can guess—we walked towards Regent Circus; you have to go by Hanway Street—I saw a cab in Oxford Street—I was walking arm-in-arm with William
Johnson—he did not go towards the cab, he was going towards Regent Circus with me—we were going by the cab, and the side window of the cab broke and called our attention—I saw a man in dark clothes get out, pass us, and run towards Tottenham Court Road; then I saw the prisoner get out of the cab, afterwards he put his hand inside the pocket of the overcoat he has on now, and pulled out a revolver, I think it was, and he fired; shots came from the thing he pulled out—the first shot was fired towards the air, and the second up in the air; the same I believe—the third I cannot say; it must have been straight out; and when the third shot was fired William Johnson said, "Nell, I am shot," and I screamed and ran half way across the road—he did not fall, he staggered—he was on the pavement near the kerb—I called a cab and asked the man to take him to the nearest hospital—it was not the same cab; after the first cab drove away another one pulled up directly—I helped him into the cab; no one assisted me—we went to the Middlesex Hospital—he died the next day—I did not see the man fire the fourth shot, I was too excited—I saw another man brought into the hospital while I was there, ten minutes afterwards—I don't know him—when I heard the cab window smash I did not see any man I knew besides William Johnson, and I don't believe there were any men about at the time—I know Nanty by sight—I did not see him; he was not there—the man I was with did not call a cab.
Cross-examined. I was coming along arm-in-arm with Johnson from the Horseshoe, where we had been together that night—I had known him from a week before Christmas—longer than six or seven weeks, but I am no scholar, and I cannot tell you—I had not known him before that time—he had been living during that time at 114, Great Titch field Street—I was staying at Great Titch field Street, and I went back to my mother at 49, Great Queen Street a week before the night this occurred—up to that time I had been staying in the house that Johnson lived at, not in the same room; I had nothing to do with Johnson—my name is Johnson; it has been Johnson ever since my father died; I believe that was three years ago in May—I am a Londoner—before my father died my name was Ellen Johnson; that was my father's name—I have a stepfather; I did not take his name—I was in the habit of meeting Brummagem Bill out of doors, and in the Horseshoe, three times a week, and sometimes I used to meet him accidentally—I was at Great Titch field Street until a week before this happened—I have not been living there since—on 13th February I was before the Magistrate—I said then,"I live at 114, Great Titchfield Street"—I was staying there on and off—I left there a week before this, but I have been there—I went and lived on and off in Great Titchfield Street after I left it—when I was before the Magistrate I was living in no particular place—I used to go to Great Titchfield Street and to 49, Great Queen Street—I cannot tell you where I slept the night before I was before the Magistrate; the night before that I was at a club in Saffron Hill—the night before that at 114, Great Titchfield Street; I have been living there on and off—when I could not get into my mother's at 49, Great Queen Street, I went there; I have no fixed residence—I did not get on to the platform of this cab—at no time on this night did Johnson ever have hold of the prisoner that I am aware of; I did not see anything that occurred beforehand—I cannot swear he did not—I cannot answer for what he did before he saw me, but when he was with me he did not do anything of the kind.
By the COURT. I was at the Horseshoe with him in the place where you get 4d. ale, and left with him at half-past 12, and from that time he was with me all the time, and I must have seen all he did—he did nothing, he was not with the prisoner at all; he might have been before I saw him; I cannot say for that; he did nothing when I was with him; I have told you, gentlemen, all I saw; I cannot tell you any more—I did not know Johnson by the name of Brummagem Bill, or any other name, only by the name of William Johnson—I did not say before the Magistrate, "The third shot struck the young man with whom I was walking in the stomach; his name is William Robinson"—I said he gave the name of William Robinson at the hospital, but I did not know his name was William Robinson; William Johnson I knew him as; I explained that.
By MR. WADDY. I and Johnson were walking quietly by the cab purely by accident when we heard the smash—we were going home to 114, Great Titchfield Street—it was not my home, but his; I always went a little way home with him—he was going home, and I was going with him—the first thing I saw was a man get out of a cab—there were two men in the cab, only one ran away; the other stood firing after he got out of the cab—I don't know how he fired—I know he fired twice towards the air, as I could see, and two straight out, as I could see, but I don't know about the fourth shot—I only know about the three—there were there the prisoner, the man that ran away, Johnson, myself, and the cabman—there might have been people passing up and down, but no one else that I saw—I can't say who was there—I did not see anyone else—there was no one else there but mere strangers who might have been passing up and down the street—there was no crowd there—it is certainly not right to say there was a crowd of eight or ten persons—Mr. Johnson had no friends that I am aware of—I was not a friend; I was only keeping company with him—when he was dying I asked him had he any friends, and he said, "No"—I said, "Would you like to be buried by tne parish?"—he said, "No; try and get the money; I have not got a friend in the world"—I don't believe he had any relatives—he must have had friends and companions, such as Nanty and others—he was not without a friend any more than anyone else—I did not see any of his friends that night, neither in the Horseshoe nor anywhere else, that I am aware of—I did not see them in the Horseshoe, and I did not see them outside—I met him three times a week in the Horseshoe by appointment, and sometimes accidentally—I met him accidentally on this night.
JOSEPH CARTER . I am a cabdriver—about 12. 40 on the night of 13th February I was with my cab close to Hanway Street; my horse was facing east, towards the City—the prisoner and another man came towards my cab; they both got in, and almost immediately afterwards I heard some glass break—as soon as I heard that the other man got out of the cab—the prisoner did not get out—the other man, as soon as he got out, started on a trot by the shutters, and the prisoner took about two steps and started firing a revolver—the man in black, who got out first, had got about seven yards before the first shot was fired—the other shots were fired very quickly one after the other—I noticed a woman, I believe Ellen Johnson, standing close to the cab—the first man got out of the cab before it had moved at all; he got out almost immediately—when they got in the prisoner told me to drive to Dean's Club—
besides the man in black, the prisoner, and the woman, I saw nobody till the prisoner ran up Hanway Street, and then they ran after him—I followed in the cab, and came out opposite the Horseshoe.
Cross-examined. I am certain there were three shots; there might have been four, they went off so quickly—I am rather deaf—it was the front window of my cab that was broken; the window that lets down—when the first shot was fired the man who ran away was about seven yards from the man who fired—he kept on running away while the shots were being fired; he did not run very fast—I saw him duck down and turn—I did not see any more—he was not running at the time the shot that hit him was fired—he stopped and turned to look round—he was about ten yards then—I did not know that man Robinson before; I never saw him in my life—I never knew the prisoner before—I can hear better in the street than in here—the prisoner hailed me and came to get into the cab—the other man did not seem to be running after him; he followed in after him, the same as anybody else might—I said before the Magistrate, "I believe the prisoner got in the cab first; it seemed as if the other man was running after the prisoner"—the prisoner got in first and the other man followed—the other man was not running after him when the prisoner hailed me—what I said before the Magistrate was a mistake; I thought they were friends.
Re-examined. The prisoner did not at all resist the other man getting into the cab with him.
GEORGE TYLER . I live at Marshall Street, Soho—on the night of this occurrence I was going towards Oxford Circus, and when I got close to Hanway Street I saw the prisoner outside the cab, and another man close to the prisoner; they seemed to be wrestling; the prisoner pulled out a revolver and fired twice in the air and twice straight out—as soon as the prisoner fired the first shot the other man seemed to run away from the prisoner, who then fired the other shots—I heard no one call out because I was a little distance away against the shutters—as I passed by I heard a man say, "I am shot"—the prisoner put his revolver back in his trousers pocket, and ran down Hanway Street—I followed; he fell in Hanway Street; he got up and ran on—I kept him in sight till he got between the cabs—I followed him to the Horseshoe—I waited at the door and saw him come out again with a constable.
Cross-examined. The deceased is the man who was running away—the man who said"I am shot "was not the prisoner and not the deceased; it might have been Mr. Bunter who said that; I only know him by sight—the sound was at my back, and Bunter was behind me—I knew none of these persons before—I was only passing by at the time—there was a crowd of eight or ten people close round the prisoner at the time the shots were fired—I was too far off to see what they were doing—I did not hear the smash of glass—when the first shot was fired the prisoner was five or six yards away from the man who was running away—I did not say before the Magistrate, "The man was twenty yards from the prisoner when the first two shots were fired"—I was from eight to ten yards away when I first heard it—the prisoner was twenty yards from the man when the first two shots were fired.
Re-examined. The crowd was surrounding the prisoner, and they seemed to scatter when he began to fire.
Street, St. Giles'—on 13th February, about twenty-five minutes to one a. m., I was in Oxford Street, crossing from Charles Street on the opposite side—I saw a crowd between Hanway Street and Rathbone Place—I heard a report—I saw two or three cabs there, there was one by the comer of Rathbone Place near a crowd, and against the kerb—I heard the report of a revolver or pistol; the prisoner fired it; he was standing on the pavement—it seemed to me he fired the first two shots up in the air; the third shot towards Tottenham Court Road—I saw a man about seven yards from the prisoner stagger against a shutter in the direction of Tottenham Court Road—before the third shot the man who was shot seemed to be running away towards Tottenham Court Road—I cannot say whether the shot struck him; I saw him stagger—I saw the fourth shot fired; I cannot say in what direction, there was so much confusion; I did not see the effect of it—after the fourth shot I ran down Hanway Street after the prisoner, calling out, "Stop him, because he has shot someone"—as he ran up Hanway Street he fell; he ran across Tottenham Court Road towards the Horseshoe—before the man fired I should say the crowd were robbing him; they were hustling him about—when he fired the first shot they disappeared.
Cross-examined. All the shots were fired very quickly one upon another; I was about twenty yards off at the time—before I saw the men round him I had not heard any shouting or halloaing out;. I saw hustling, and I heard a crowd, and I was going over to see what was the matter, and before I got over he fired—there was a lot of halloaing, although I could not catch the words; there were eight or nine of them all round him; he was in the middle of them in a bad way.
WILLIAM HENRY BUNTER . I am a saw maker—a little after half-past twelve on 13th February I was walking in Oxford Street towards the City, on the north side; I stopped to look into a jeweller's shop, just west of the Oxford Music-hall; I heard two reports of a revolver in quick succession; I turned round and saw a crowd of men and women between me and Hanway Street, and twenty yards from me—as I turned to look I was struck on the left leg or the thigh by a third shot—I then heard cries in one voice of "Help, help! I have been robbed," or "am being robbed," and in another voice of "Strangle him, strangle him!" then I heard the fourth shot—I did not see the man who fired the shots; I did not see the prisoner there—after I was shot I was taken to the Middlesex Hospital, where I remained till 1st March—I saw no one running away.
Cross-examined. I was standing outside a jeweller's shop at the time—the people who were suggesting that this unfortunate man should be strangled were opposite No. 42—anybody running from there would have had to pass me—I did not see anybody running past there or toward me—the backs of the people was turned to me.
HENRY THOMAS DEPLEDGE (Policeman D 451). On the early morning of the 13th February I was on duty at the Tottenham Court Road corner of Oxford Street, my beat—there is a fixed point in the middle of the road opposite the Horseshoe—there is no other fixed point between that and Hanway Street, and none at Hanway Street—I heard four shots fired—I did not go towards the spot—I stood still at the corner of Hanway Street and Tottenham Court Road—I saw nothing till the prisoner came running down Hanway Street—just as he passed me somebody called out, "Stop him, he has shot a man!"—I ran across the road after him—he
dodged through some cabs into the Horseshoe—I followed him—I saw the manager, and went upstairs and found the prisoner lying on the bed—I told him I should take him into custody for shooting at a man with intent to murder—the prisoner said, "It is quite right I did it; it was in self-defence, as they set upon me and robbed me of my pocket-book containing fifty American dollars"—I took him to the Tottenham Court Road station, where he made no reply to the charge—he was very excited—I could not form an opinion as to whether he was drunk or not—the manager went up to him first, and then called me up—I first gave evidence before the coroner—I said then, "He did not appear the worse for liquor, but he was greatly excited"—I knew the deceased by sight—I did not know him by the name of Brummagem Bill, or by any other name; I have seen him hanging round by the Horseshoe and the Oxford Music Hall—I did not know for certain he was one of a set of men—he was always along with a lot of ponces, prostitutes' bullies; that means he was getting his living by being the bully for a prostitute—I did not know Ellen Johnson before this case—I could not say if there was any relationship between them.
GEORGE BARTON (Inspector D). I was on duty at Tottenham Court Road Police-station at a quarter-past one on the morning of 13th February, when the prisoner was brought in—I read the charge to him, and cautioned him; he made no answer—I asked him if he understood what I had read to him; he said, "Yes"—in my opinion he was very much the worse for drink—I called in the assistance of the divisional surgeon, who examined him in my presence—the prisoner had no collar or tie on—I have not had the tie-in my possession—I noticed that his shirt was not disarranged or torn—I received this revolver from Mr. Atkins—there were four discharged cartridges and one empty barrel—it had been loaded in four chambers only, the other was left for safety; the trigger throws down on the fifth chamber—it had been exhausted—if the fifth chamber had been loaded I should have found the empty cartridge case—those chambers which had been discharged were discoloured—there was no empty cartridge in the fifth barrel, which was round in the position to be fired, supposing it was full—I received a bullet from Dr. Tench, which fits the pistol exactly; it came from the body of the dead man—I had a bullet handed to me that was found at 42, Oxford Street—I found a mark in the shutter there, as if from a bullet—the mark corresponded with this bullet, which afterwards struck against the brass framework of the window and was knocked out of shape—that was not where Bunter was standing, it was too high for him, it was 6 ft. 5 in.—I saw the constable search the prisoner, and take from him a 4 3/4 American silver coin, 1s. 3d. English money, and a letter of credit—we did not find a pocket-book on him containing 50 American dollars, or any more cartridges—I did not notice his clothes as to dirt—I believe I am correct in saying he had a single-stone diamond ring on the little finger of his left hand.
Cross-examined. I believe I found the letter of credit for £500 in the inner pocket of his great coat—I cannot say if this was the ring he had on, it is similar to it—I do not know of the character of Brummagem Bill, Robinson, or Johnson—inquiry has been made.
ham Court Road Police-station shortly before 2 o'clock, I should think—I saw the prisoner, and was asked to examine him as to his state of sobriety—I made a careful examination, and came to the conclusion that he was much under the influence of drink, but that he had been more; he was rather recovering from the influence of drink—I don't remember noticing any mark or bruise on his face, my attention was not called to it; if it had been serious I should have noticed it.
Cross-examined. I am not an expert in the matter of liquor—he appeared to be recovering, I thought he had been worse—he had the signs of drink, a staggering gait—I saw him walk down the room, not down the street—he staggered down the room—I do not say he was a drunken man, he was under the influence of drink—I don't remember hearing that an hour before he had run down a street and dodged between horses and gone up to his room—he was able to walk about, but a man might stagger and walk a great distance—I looked at and examined him, he smelt of drink—I am not certain if I examined his pulse—I asked him to pronounce certain words, "constitutional" and "statistical"—one of the important signs of drink is that a man loses power to pronounce clearly—he did not pronounce "constitutional" as well as he might, but he came to grief over" statistical."
Re-examined. I am not frequently called to the station as regards drunkenness.
MONTAGU TENCH . I am house surgeon at the Middlesex Hospital—on 13th February, at 10 minutes to 1, I saw the deceased, William Robinson, brought in in an extreme state of collapse, suffering from three bullet wounds; one was in the abdomen, about six inches above his navel, and one inch to the left of the median line of the body; one was on the little finger of his left hand, and the other on the ring finger of his left hand—both hands were blackened, apparently with gunpowder—I thought all the wounds were inflicted by the same shot—the man died at 25 minutes past 9 on the same morning—the cause of death was acute peritonitis, resulting from the bullet wound—I made a post-mortem examination; the wound took a direction downwards, backwards, and to the right, passing through the abdominal wall—I extracted the bullet, which had lodged in the right hip bone; this is it—the deceased must have been in front of the man firing, I should say, facing him; the man who shot must have been to his left, and above him.
Cross-examined. From the course of the bullet, and from the blackened hands, the two must have been in close quarters.
FURWOOD RICHARD BUSWELL . I am house surgeon at the Middlesex Hospital—I saw Bunter when he was admitted—I examined him, and found on him two bullet wounds in the left thigh, between the knee and hip—they appeared to have been effected by the same bullet; one was of entrance, and the other of exit—it was one wound really, going right through—he remained under my treatment till 1st March.
Cross-examined. I have heard of Brummagem Bill—I am not quite in a position to say what his real name was—he was convicted in Liverpool in April, 1884, in the name of William Bates, of robbery from the person; at the Sessions in December, 1886, he was sentenced to fifteen
months for stealing £4 and some American coins from the person; and it is alleged, but not certain, that he received one month's imprisonment at Chester Races last year as a rogue and vagabond—he gave the name of Robinson at the hospital, and he was known as Bates in Liverpool, and he appears to have been known as Johnson as well, and as Bill the Barman—I did not know him myself as one of a gang frequently in the Haymarket, and Regent Street, and Tottenham Court Road, but a man under me knew him as an associate of others.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Recorder.
Before Mr. Justice Cave.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted.
MARY ANN GADSDEN . I am now stopping in the Woolwich Infirmary—I was formerly in service at Mr. Vine's coffee-house, 24, Long Lane, Bermondsey—I knew the prisoner as keeping company with my sister Hester for eight or nine months—on 12th February I went out with the prisoner, and stopped out with him the whole night—I saw him again the next evening—he then brought my sister up to me—nothing was said about the previous evening—I saw him again the evening of 21st February—he came to me about nine, at 24, Long Lane—he said I was to come out; I was to tell my mistress I was leaving my place, as my sister was very ill, and I must leave at once, as my father threatened to kill me and turn my boy out of doors—I told my mistress that, and she told me I had better go at once—I packed up some clothes and went out with him—I walked some distance with him—I carried the bundle, he took it from me and said he would take it to his sister's—he went away with it and came back without it—we then went on walking for a good many hours—after a time we came to a place that I have since known as Bostal Heath, where there are not many houses; it is near Plumstead Marshes—he told me to take off my jacket—I took it off and put it on the ground, and sat on it—he then pushed me back, and started cutting me with a penknife—I did not see him take it out, I felt it—I screamed and said, "Sit down, Charlie"—he said, "Hold still, Polly"—he stabbed me fifteen times—I was struggling
with him during the time, and I took the knife from him and threw it away—he then got up and kicked me in the head, and went away, and I did not see him again till he was in custody—I got up and ran to some houses, and asked for a drop of water; I left my hat and jacket behind—about half an hour later on in the morning I met a policeman, and he put me on a tramcar; I was taken to the station, and then to the Infirmary, where I have been going on for five weeks—the scars on my face are from the wounds the prisoner gave me.
HESTER GADSDEN . I am a domestic servant, at 122, Southwark Park Road—I have been keeping company with the prisoner for about nine months past—on Sunday, February 17th, I said to him, "Is it the truth that you kept my sister out all night, and went to a lodging-house?"—he said, "No, it is not the truth"—on the Monday he went with me to my sister, and I asked her if it was the truth—she said, "No, I stopped out with a young girl in my place"—I said, "Did you stop with her, at her mother's?—she said, "Yes"—I asked him if he had not drank with her—she said, "No"—he said, "If that was a sister of mine I should scratch her eyes out for telling such an untruth"—I was present on Tuesday, February 19th, when my father spoke to him—this knife (produced) is the prisoner's, I have seen it in his possession—I know his handwriting, I have seen him write—this letter is in his writing—I received it from him after he was in custody (Read—"Dear Hester, I went into the Infirmary on Monday, and see poor Polly, and it nearly broke my heart; how I came to do it God knows, for I don't; I must have been mad. I beg you to forgive me what I have done, I am very sorry for it. From your true and affectionate lover, but a miserable wretch. Write by return of post.")
THOMAS GADSDEN . I live at 3, Hesse Terrace, Camberwell—I am the father of Mary Ann and Hester—I have a boy of Mary Ann's living with me—I knew that the prisoner was keeping company with Hester—on 19th February I heard that he had kept Mary Ann out, and I said to him on Sunday night I should go to Polly's place and ascertain the truth of it, he arranged to be at my place and have it out with Hester and my wife and myself—I did not turn Mary Ann's child out of doors on the Thursday after that, or threaten to kill Mary Ann.
HESTER GADSDEN, SEN . I am the mother of the two girls—on 19th February I saw the prisoner at our house, and spoke to him about Mary Ann—he said, "I have been up to Mary Ann's, and me and her have settled it as to Hester; she says, I did not keep her out"—I said, "I shall have it proved;" he said, "Well, if you do, and Mary Ann says I did keep her out, I will take her b——life"—I said, "You must not take the law in your own hands, she has a father to protect her yet," then he went away.
Prisoner. I deny that evidence—did I threaten to take her life?—A. Yes—I said, "We shall not be satisfied till we have you face to face," and then you said, "If she says so I will have her b——life."
MARIA RYAN . I am the wife of Thomas Ryan—I manage a lodging house at 24, Bermondsey New Road—the prisoner lodged there for about six weeks before 21st February—on that evening he came in between nine and ten, with a white bundle under his arm, which he gave me to put in the washhouse—he paid for a bed that night—I did not see
him go out again—on Saturday night between 7 and 8 he took the bundle away.
CHARLES THACKER (Policeman R. 19). On 22nd February, about 20 minutes past 4 a. m., I was on duty by Plumstead Bridge, about a mile from Bostal Heath—I saw Mary Ann Gadsden; she said something to me—I saw cuts and stabs about her face and arms; she was bleeding—I put, her in a tramcar and took her to the Police-station, and she was afterwards taken to the Infirmary.
WALTER ERNEST BOULTER . I am medical officer of the Woolwich Union Infirmary—on the morning of 22nd February, about 7, the prosecutrix was admitted; I examined her—she had about seven or eight wounds on the face, and seven or eight on each hand, and one on the left arm—the principal wound on the face ran across the tip of the chin, and was about 4 in long—she was under treatment in the Infirmary until 26th March.
By the COURT. The most dangerously situated wound was on the right side of the neck, just below the ear; that was a punctured wound; it only went through the skin, it was about half an inch deep—the wound on the chest was a long cut through the skin; it did not go deeper than through the skin—she was suffering from the effects of loss of blood—I don't think the wounds would lead to a very great loss of blood—the wounds did not heal at all well; her health was not good when she came there—there was a very slight bruise under her left eye, on the cheek.
SAMUEL GILSON . I am a labourer, and live at 60, Frimley Terrace, Plumstead—on Friday morning, 22nd February, about 8. 45, I was on Bostal Heath—I there found this jacket and bonnet, about fifty yards from the road—there was some blood on the grass near the jacket.
FREDERICK ALEXANDER (Detective R). On 22nd February, about the middle of the day, I went to Bostal Heath, and found this knife lying on a place pointed out to me as the spot where the jacket and hat were found—it was open and wet with blood—on 25th February I went to West Ham Police-station, and there found the prisoner in custody—I told him he answered the description of the man Charles Jearum, wanted at Woolwich for cutting and wounding—he said his name was not Jearum, his name was Philip Murphy—I took him to Woolwich Station, where he was charged—he said, "That charge I deny at Woolwich or anywhere else"—while crossing the ferry he asked if Mary Ann was dead—I said, "No"—he was identified by the Gadsdens.
Prisoner's Defence. I did not know what I was doing at the time. I was under the effects of drink. I have no recollection of seeing her on that occasion. I have no recollection of the place whatever. It is my knife; I identified it as my knife.
GUILTY of attempting to murder.— Eight Years' Penal Servitude.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. KEELING Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON Defended. GEORGE STANLEY. I live at 44, The Grove, Gravesend, and am a pilot
—on 13th March, about 7 p. m., I went in the Dover Castle public-house, Greenwich—there were two men on one side of me and one on the other, and other people as well—I called for a drink and put a sovereign down, and just after I did so I felt something touch my pocket; I turned to see what it was; I found nothing there; I turned back and found the sovereign was gone—I did not see the prisoner there—I spoke to the landlord.
Cross-examined. There might have been seven people in the bar altogether—there are other compartments—I put the sovereign down in the centre of the bar, not near one of the partitions—I took no notice of anyone going out of the compartment—very likely I said at the Police court, "No one had left the bar for two or three minutes after I lost the sovereign"—I don't believe I did say it; it might have been a little over; a minute; it might have been two—I am certain I lost my sovereign.
WILLIAM HALL . I live at 73, Church Street, Greenwich, and am a smith—on 13th March I was in the Dover Castle with my son, about a quarter or twenty minutes past six—the prisoner and prosecutor were there, and about six others—I saw the prosecutor lay a sovereign down on the counter, and the prisoner took it up and went away with it—the prosecutor missed it and complained, and a constable was sent for.
Cross-examined. I did not stop the prisoner, it was done momentarily; he was out of the door in a minute, directly—after he lost the sovereign the prosecutor put his back against the door, and would not let anyone go out—my son, who was with me, has gone to Australia.
MARY SHEAN . I live at 61, Church Street, Greenwich—on 13th March, between 6 and 7, I was in the Dover Castle—I saw the prosecutor, the prisoner, Mockey Bishop, Mr. Hall, and his son in there—the prosecutor put a sovereign down on the bar—the prisoner was sitting down and pretending to be asleep, and he got up and walked up to the bar, and took the sovereign and walked out of the house, saying as he went out, "Here goes—I saw no more of him.
Cross-examined. I did not give evidence before the Magistrate—I could not stop him—I did not tell the people in the bar, nor the constable who came, because Mr. Hall saw it also—the prisoner was sitting on a seat near the bar—the sovereign was placed on the bar, not near the partition, in the middle of the compartment—the prosecutor was standing out from the bar—when the sovereign was taken, his back was to the bar, he was talking to the chap I was with—as soon as his back was turned the prisoner walked up and took it—my chap did not give him a tap on the side to attract his attention—I did not see it—the chap I was with, Hall's son, was talking to the prosecutor—I saw no one touch the prosecutor on the side.
Witnesses for the Defence.
EDWARD BISHOP . I live at 77, Friendly Street—on the evening of 13th March I was in the Dover Castle; I saw the prisoner and the prosecutor there—the prisoner left twenty minutes before I did; I left the prosecutor there—he accused me of taking his sovereign, and Hall said it was not me, it was another man who had gone out—several people had gone out and come in—they asked me who it was—I said I did not know the man
—I never saw a sovereign on the counter—as the prisoner was going out he said, "Good day"—he did not go out in a hurried manner; he walked out in the usual way.
Cross-examined. I was not talking to the prisoner all the time; I was talking to Hall's son and Shean—I met the prisoner by Greenwich Church—we were in there from a quarter-past five to six o'clock; I was not in there after six—I have been charged here with assault and with stealing, and with suspicion of picking a man's pocket; I was acquitted on all three.
By the COURT. I saw the prisoner sit down with his eyes shut; he went dozing off to sleep, and he got up and said to me, "Good day"—I was standing in front of the gentleman, and as the prisoner got up, he said, "Good day, Bishop; I might see you again."
The Deposition of Ellen Urry, who was ill, was read as follows:—I am the wife of the landlord of the Dover Castle, Church Street, Greenwich—the prosecutor spoke to me about the sovereign, but I never saw it—the prisoner was sitting on the seat in the same compartment as the prosecutor—I did not see him leave—he was there three minutes before I was spoken to by the prosecutor.
Cross-examined by Prisoner. I served you with 2d. of whisky—there were about seven in the compartment—it was a little after six this happened.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. MOORE Prosecuted, and MR. SANDS Defended. JOSEPH TAYLOR. I am a painter at 1, Ferry Place, Greenwich—about Christmas, 1887, a ladder was taken from outside my house in Bishop's Buildings; I missed it—I next saw it a month ago in Bridge Street, Greenwich, outside a clothier's shop; I then called a policeman—the prisoner used to work for me—he left me some twelve months before I lost the ladder, I suppose—it is worth £1.
Cross-examined. I lost it a fortnight before last Christmas twelve months—I have a good many ladders—I made this one myself.
GEORGE CARTER . I am a bricklayer, living at 26, Payne Street, Deptford—at the latter end of 1887 the prisoner brought a ladder and offered it for sale to my father—I had known him before—I am positive he is the man—he said he wanted to sell the ladder as he had no further use for it; he wanted to go to Australia, and did not want to leave the things behind—he came more than once about it, and finally my father bought it for 18s. 6d.
Cross-examined. It was just before Christmas, 1887, about the end of the year—I knew the prisoner well for three or four years previously; I saw him before and afterwards; he worked at Trickett's butter shop at the bottom of the street three or four years previous to his bringing the ladder.
ALFRED CARTER . I live at 23, Wellington Street, Deptford, and am a bricklayer—between October or November, I think it was 1887, I bought the ladder off the prisoner for 18s.—I asked him where he lived; he said, "You ought to know me; I was working at Mr. Trickett's for three years"—I had no knowledge of him—my son knew him better than I did—he said he had an offer to go to Australia, and he was going.
Cross-examined. When I was first examined on 27th March, I said I could not swear to the man; I am certain about him now—I had not seen him for so long; but when I saw him outside the Police-court I knew him—I had never seen him before he came to me about the ladder, not to take notice of him—I did not tell the Magistrate I had seen him, perhaps, dozens of times; I heard that read to me.
HENRY BISHOP . I went with George Carter to where the prisoner was working—Carter pointed him out, and said, "That is the man that brought the ladder to father"—the prisoner said, "You have made a mistake; I know nothing about any ladder"—he repeated the same statement at the Police-station.
Cross-examined. At the Police-station he said, "I know nothing of the ladder; I don't know what he is talking about; I don't know what he means."
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
SMITH PLEADED GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. WATTS Prosecuted.
EDWIN TRANGMAR . I live at 18, St. James Street, Hatcham—I am a railway stores superintendent—on Sunday, 3rd March, I missed four coats, which must have been safe on Saturday afternoon; I hung mine up in the lower hall on Saturday afternoon—I cannot say I saw the other coats there, but my little grandson and son came in with me then—this coat is mine, and I identify this other one; only two have been found—I missed them both on the 3rd.
JAMES SCAGGS . I am manager to Mr. Carpenter, a pawnbroker, of 195, High Street, Deptford—on 2nd March the female prisoner brought this boy's overcoat, between 6 and 7 p. m., and pledged it with me for 2s. 6d. in the name of Ann Smith, 51, Hamilton Street—this is the duplicate of the ticket I gave her—I asked her no questions.
ARTHUR HARRIS (Detective P). I received information, and on the 5th I found this coat at Mr. Carpenter's—on the following Saturday, the 9th, I arrested White at Deptford Station, and told her she would be charged with stealing four coats, one of which I had since found pledged—she said, "I got the coat the other side of Brixton on the same day; I exchanged some ferns and flowers for it"—Smith came to the station shortly afterwards.
The prisoner, in her defence, said that the young man, whom she had only known for a fortnight by his living in the same street with her, gave her the coats to pledge, and that she did not know how he came by them.
WHITE— NOT GUILTY .
MR. SAUNDERS Prosecuted.
MORTON PLEADED GUILTY .
ELLEN SMITH . I live at 19, Wickham Road, Brockley, and am servant to Mrs. Elizabeth Pearson, who keeps a girls' school there—on 28th February, at 11 o'clock a. m., I saw these jackets hanging in the hall with a number of other jackets, and boots and shoes on the ground—at 12 or 1
the same morning these and six more jackets and six pairs of boots and shoes were gone—there were clothes for about thirty children there; they had not all gone—I could not say if the door was shut at 11—these are two pairs of the boots—I have seen the articles produced by the police and I have identified them as having been in Miss Pearson's house—the value of the property stolen is about £4.
EDWIN KARSLAKE (Policeman M 339). At one o'olock on 21st February I was on duty in High Street, Deptford, and I was called to Mr. Carpenter's pawn shop—his assistant made a communication to me, and I saw the female prisoner leave the side door with a bundle—I followed and stopped her just outside the door—I asked her "Where did you get those jackets from?"—they were wrapped up—she hesitated for a moment, and then said, "They are mine"—I took her to the station, where she said, "I bought them a month ago at Notting Hill"—she was charged with unlawful possession of them—in answer to the charge she said, "I may as well tell you the truth; I bought them this morning at Blackheath"—they were these two jackets, nothing else.
ARTHUR HARRIS (Detective P.) On 28th February I saw the female prisoner at the Deptford Police-station about half-past 4 p. m.—I said to her, "Where did you get these things from?"—she said, "It is a nice thing for me, Mr. Harris, to be brought into this; I never stole the cloaks; I only pledged them; a man named Bob Morton gave them to me to pledge; me and Poll Bonny went to the pawn-shop; she waited outside; and when I came out a policeman stopped me and took me to the station"—I said, "Is that all you pledged?"—she said, "I have pledged two pairs of boots at Mr. Phillips's; Bob Morton gave them to me; I pledged them for 2s. 6d."—afterwards she said, "Bob Morton and my brother went out this morning with a sack, were only gone about an hour, and brought the things back, the cloaks and boots "; that was to a house in Giffin Street"—several other things were not found.
HENRY PUTNAM . I am assistant to Mr. Phillips, a pawnbroker at Deptford—this pair of boots and this pair of shoes were pledged with me for 2s. 6d., between 3 and 4 p. m. on 28th February, by the female prisoner, in the name of Mary Ann Rouse—I am not certain about the time.
FANNY LAWRENCE . I am a secondhand clothes dealer, of 172, Church Street, Deptford—at the beginning of March the two male prisoners came to my shop with an arm-basket, which contained a little straw at the bottom, and two small reefer jackets, two small ulsters, and two pairs of boots; this is one of the ulsters—Morton asked me to buy them—I said to him, "What do you do for a living to get these kind of things?"—the boy Grogan was there at the time—Morton said, "I and my father sell fancy china in exchange for clothing"—I bought the things, and save him 7s. 6d. for them—I have since sold all the things except this ulster—Grogan said nothing—they came and left together—they did not talk to each other in particular; other customers were in the shop.
Mary Ann Grogan's statement before the Magistrate: "I want you to look over this, as it is the first time; I have had a fortnight. The reason I told a lie was to shield my brother; I am very sorry for it, and it shall be the last time."
George Grogan, in his defence, said Morton encouraged him away from his home, and took him about thieving; he took him to take the things, and then he
(Morton) sold them; that Morton gave him and his sister these things to pledge, and his sister did not know they were stolen.
Mary Ann Grogan, in her defence, said Morton gave her the things to pledge, and promised to pay her for her trouble, but did not do so, and that she was not aware the things were stolen.
GEORGE and MARY ANN GROGAN GUILTY of Receiving.
MORTON then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony in January, 1886, in the name of HENRY MORTON.
MARY ANN GROGAN— Discharged on Recognisances.
MORTON— Twenty Months' Hard Labour.
GEORGE GROGAN— Judgment respited.
Before Mr. Justice Cave.
MR. GILL Prosecuted, and MR. KEITH FRITH Defended.
SAMUEL BRIDGE . I am a grocer and tea-dealer at 258, Southwark Park Road—in February I engaged the prisoner as my manager at that shop as a weekly servant, and he lived there with his wife—after about a fortnight I thought him not suitable for the post, and on the morning of 11th March I said to him, "I am sorry to say what I am going to say, but I have come to the conclusion that you are not suited to the berth, therefore I am disposed to give you a week's salary and pay the cost of your removing, 7s."—he said, "What for?"—I said, "I hardly think it necessary to go into that; your references shall not be impaired"—while speaking to him a customer came in, and the prisoner left the shop while I was serving him—he returned in about a minute in an excited manner, with something in his hand, and said, "You have given me the sack, and I will shoot you"—I was at the end of the counter near the door, and I passed out of the door—I had just turned the corner of the window when I heard the report of a pistol—I went across the road and spoke to a Mr. Clark, and then to a constable, who went to the shop—since the prisoner has been committed for trial I received this letter from him; it is his writing (This expressed his sorrow for what had occurred, and stated that he was so nervous and excited, thinking his wages would not be paid, that he did not know what he said or did; that he had no evil intent, and that he purposely aimed the pistol against the ground)—I did not know that he had a pistol.
Cross-examined. He seemed unnecessarily excited directly I spoke of his leaving; he seemed to take very little notice of what I said—I did not return with the constable—I had a fifteen months' character with the prisoner—his references were good as to the grocery business only—I have since heard that he has been under medical treatment.
March, about half-past eleven in the morning, as I was walking opposite Mr. Bridge's shop, I felt a thud on my right side, and before I could turn round I heard the report of a pistol—I saw Mr. Bridge running from the shop, and the prisoner presenting a pistol at him—he was standing just inside the doorway, three or four feet away—I saw the pistol in his hand—I would not be positive whether it was cocked or uncocked—I found a bullet in my coat, and here is the hole in the coat—I had in my pocket this glove and handkerchief—there is a dent in the glove—I rather think my spectacle-case stopped the bullet from going further—I took the bullet out, and left it at the station—the prisoner was there then.
Cross-examined. The bullet entered a little above my knee—I was from 35 to 40 feet off—I don't think the bullet could have struck the ground and bounded up.
SAMUEL TREDGER (Policeman M 357). On 11th March I was on duty in Southwark Park Road—Mr. Bridge spoke to me—I got another constable and went to his shop—I saw the prisoner standing behind the counter—I said, "Has Mr. Bridge returned?"—he said, "Let me see him, I will put a bullet through him, "at the same time holding up this pistol in his hand—I said, "Mr. Bridge is not hurt, put down the pistol"—I held out my hand to receive it from him; he said, "If you touch me I will put a bullet through you"—I was on the other side of the counter—I said, "Don't be foolish; put the pistol down; listen to the entreaties of your wife; give it to her"—she was saying,"Don't shoot the policeman; give it to me"—after some time he gave it to me—he turned the pistol from the line of fire, so that it was perfectly harmless—I asked him if he had any other pistol or cartridges—he said, "No pistol, but three cartridges, "and he gave me them from his pocket—the bullet found in Mr. Hankins' pocket corresponds with the cartridges—I told the prisoner I should take him into custody for shooting at Mr. Bridge, with intent to murder, also for pointing a pistol at me—he said he should like to go upstairs; we prevented him—he afterwards said he would go quietly, which he did—at the station I extracted the cartridge; it is a pistol that must be reloaded to be refired—when the charge was read over and the part referring to Mr. Hankins was read, he said, "That is entirely wrong; I did not intend to murder that man"—while waiting for Mr. Bridge to come to the station he said, "If he was here I would do it again."
Cross-examined. He was white with passion—I asked his wife if he had ever been wrong in the head, and she said, "Never"—she did not tell me that he had been suffering from brain disease, and had been under the doctor's care.
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY with intent to do grievous bodily harm.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. BROMBY Prosecuted.
Five Years' Penal Servitude. The indictment also charged an intent to murder, upon which the Jury acquitted him.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. SANDERS Prosecuted, and MR. BYRON Defended. FREDERICK LANDON. I am a cabmaster, of 28, Paradise Street, Lambeth—on Sunday, 17th March, about 11p. m., I was in Paradise Street, and passed under the railway arch, which has a lamp in the centre of it—the widening of the line makes it a long arch—somebody came behind me, put his arm round my neck, and tried to pull me back—I overpowered him, turned round, and saw the prisoner—I said, "What do you want?" and struck him three times on his face with my stick—he had loosed me then; two others then sprang on me and knocked me down, and went to the other side of the road, and the prisoner laid on top of me while the two others rifled my pockets and kicked me—I had £51 16s. 6d. in my pocket—they tore my trousers (produced) right down from the pocket—I struggled, and got the prisoner's hand out of my pocket, and called out, and the two others ran away without taking my money—Mr. Mar came up and released me from the prisoner; he took my stick out of my hand, and knocked the prisoner across his legs—a constable came and took him, and he drew the constable's attention to his face, which was bleeding—I do not know the prisoner—I am sure he is the man who first put his arm round my neck.
Cross-examined. I take a certain amount of silver at Watchorne's public-house every morning, and on Sunday I take the gold back—I had no refreshment at Watchorne's, but I had at Kennington, a mile off, and I had two pennyworth of gin at the corner of the arch—the arch was not dark—the other men came up directly the prisoner seized me behind; he had a black coat on—I do not know whether I mentioned at the Police-court that one of the men kicked me.
Re-examined. A man put his arm round my neck, and 1 turned round and saw the prisoner, and struck him three times on his face—I saw nobody but him then.
GEORGE MAR . I am a printer, of Newnham Terrace, Hercules Buildings—on Sunday, March 17th, about 11. 5 p. m., I heard a cry of "Murder," went to the railway arch, and saw Landon and the prisoner lying on the ground, and two running away—the prisoner was underneath; I went up to them, and Landon said, "Take his hands from my throat—I tried to take them away, and the prisoner tried to kick me—I took Landon's stick from his hand and hit the prisoner across his legs, which stopped his kicking—I got one of his hands away, and Landon got up; his trousers were torn as they are now—a constable came up.
Cross-examined. I mean that the prisoner kicked at me—they had got up when the constable came, and the prisoner was standing by himself without anyone holding him; he did not attempt to run away.
JOSEPH OLIFF (Policeman L 58). On 17th March, Sunday night, I heard cries from the railway arch, Paradise Street—I went there, saw Landon and the prisoner three paces from him and Mar—Landon said he had been attacked by three men, and pointed the prisoner out as the man who caught him by the throat and knocked him down—the prisoner heard that, but said nothing—on the way to the station he pushed me on one side and tried to escape—he made a statement to the inspector.
Cross-examined. No one was holding the prisoner when I went up,
but he was pushing "London—I mentioned at the Police-court that he tried to escape.
THOMAS PAGET (Police Inspector L). I received the charge at the station—when it read over the prisoner said that he wished to make a statement—I cautioned him that it might be used against him—he said, "I, William Johnson, voluntarily state that I came out of a public-house at the corner of the street which I went down, and when I got to the railway arch I saw four men, one of whom was struggling with the prosecutor, and another man struck me with a white handled stick, and I fell to the ground, and while on the ground the prosecutor fell on top of me, when the witness Mar came up and asked me to get up, which I did, and stood till the police constable came up, when I asked him for protection, and he took me in custody.
He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of a like offence on 28th February, 1887.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. PARTRIDGE Prosecuted, and MR. FRITH Defended.
WILLIAM SHEARD . I am a butcher of 19, Norwood Road—in December I was in the parlour at the back of my shop and saw two men in a cart outside looking very earnestly into the shop—I then heard the lid of my desk drop in the office two yards from me—I ran into the shop and saw the prisoner running out with something in his hands—I ran after him; he got into the cart, and the three galloped off as fast as they could—I ran after them one hundred yards, and got the police to follow them—I went back to the shop to see what I had lost, and then got a cab and drove in the direction the cart went, nearly three miles, when I caught one of them—they had left the cart and taken to the fields, and I chased them—I missed £19 7s. 10d. in cheques, and £110s. in gold, silver, and copper—I found the gold and silver on the man; that was Morrell; he and Wilson have been convicted—on March 3rd I was called to Streatham Police station, and at once identified the prisoner from ten others—I have never seen the cheques since.
Cross-examined. I had never seen the man before, but I had a full view of him as he got into the cart—it was about three p. m.—I described his face—he had a moustache; I cannot say whether he had whiskers—I pointed him out at once.
WM. BROGDEN (Policeman L 104). On the evening of March 3rd I saw the prisoner in the Elephant and Castle with another man, who said, "Here is a Split," meaning a detective—I looked at the prisoner, and said, "I want to speak to you outside"—he said, "I shall not come"—I said, "Well, you answer the description of a man wanted for several till robberies; I am a policeman"—he seized two glasses, and said, "If you attempt to touch me I will knock your b——eyes out"—I took him to the station; he was placed with ten men, and the witness recognised him without a moment's hesitation—I charged him; he made no reply.
ALBERT WEATHERHEAD (Dectective-Sergeant W). In December I had Morrell and Williams in custody—they were convicted on January 7th of taking Mr. Sheard's money—on 3rd March I saw the prisoner in custody at Streatham Police-station—I told him that what I was going to say to him I was going to tell the Magistrate—I then said, "Your name is not
Joseph Smith, it is Joseph Muggins"—he said "Yes"—I said, "I have arrested Merritt and Wilson, and Wilson told me that the money found on Merritt was stolen from Mr. Sheard, and that he had torn the three cheques up and laid them in the mud crossing the fields when they ran away"—he said, "I did not think he would have rounded; do you think he has done it out of spite?"—I said, "No; the prosecutor said, he should know all three of you again."
Cross-examined. I made no note of the conversation.
Re-examined. That statement was made late on March 3rd; I gave evidence next morning, and it was taken down and signed.
He then PLEADED GUILTY ** to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell in October, 1883, in the name of John Smith— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
414. WILLIAM SPENCER (26) PLEADED GUILTY to two indictments for forging and uttering endorsements to two cheques for £3 3s. each; also to two indictments for embezzling £5 5s., £4 14s. 3d., and £2 11s. 4d. of the Rev. Allen Edwards and others, his masters— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
415. RICHARD STAMFORD (21) PLEADED GUILTY to having in his possession three silver watches, bearing marks used by the Company of Guardians of Wrought Plate-makers, Birmingham; also to having forged dies in his possession; and to unlawfully attempting to obtain £4 by false pretences, with intent to defraud.— Judgment respited.
416. WILLIAM HALFORD, (17) To burglary in the dwelling-house of Isaac Sunderland, and stealing £2 10s. after a conviction of felony in September, 1888; also to a burglary in the dwelling-house of William Tomlin, and stealing tobacco and money.— Nine Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
417. ANGELO FRISCOPOLO (42), ALLI BUSSO (33), PERICLISSO BASSILIATO (35) , To stealing three silk mufflers and other articles, the goods of Mary Moran.— Four Months' Hard Labour each. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
Mr. A. GILL Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. WILMOT Prosecuted.
ALFRED HESTER . I am deputy of a lodging-house, 135, Tabard Street—on 18th March, about 1 a. m., the prisoner came with a woman for a nights lodging; the charge was 1s.—he put down this florin in my wife's presence—I said, "This is bad"—he said, "It is a good two-shilling-piece"—I said, "It if not"—he said that I had rung the changes—I did not know what that meant—the woman left, and he followed her"—I followed him, and got a constable outside, but did not see the woman—the prisoner spoke first, and said, "It is a good two-shilling-piece"—I had not a farthing about me, and was searched at the station—the prisoner was searched too; he had no money.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not go into a room for change—I
keep my money in a little basin on a table in the room in which I was standing.
JOSEPH ASHBT (Policeman M 43). Mr. Hester called me to take the prisoner—I said, "I shall take you into custody for tendering a bad two shilling-piece in payment for a bed"—he said, "It was not a bad one I gave him; it was good, and he is a bleeding wrong one himself"—I spoke to him first—Hester is wrong about that—nothing was found on the prisoner—Hester gave me this coin.
ALFRED BUNTING (Police Inspector M). I was at the station when the prisoner was brought in—the florin was on the desk, and he said, "That is not the one I gave him; he has rung the changes"—I said, "You must have seen him do that"—he said, "No, he went into a back room"—I said to Hester, "Did you go into a back room?"—he said, "No"—the prisoner said, "You did; you know you did, for I had that, the florin, from Wandsworth Prison when I was discharged this morning"—I said, "How much did you have?"—he said, "6s."—Hester turned out his pockets, but he had no money—nothing was found on the prisoner—I have made inquiries about the deputy; he is a very respectable man; indeed, much superior to the deputies of common lodging-houses.
By the COURT. AS you go in from the front door there is a long passage, at the end of which is a little room where all money is paid, and as he takes the money he puts it into a basin on a table behind him; he goes in every time when he gets the money.
The Prisoner's Defence. The money was given to me that morning at Wandsworth Prison, 6s. 2d., and I am convinced it was all good. He is only the deputy of a common lodging-house, and none of them are the best of men.
He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Southwark Police-court on December 17th, 1888.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. WILMOT Prosecuted.
MARY MARIA PIKE . I keep a baker's shop at Denmark Hill—on 29th March, about seven p. m., I served the prisoner with two buns—he gave me a florin, and I gave him 1s. 10d. change—I kept the florin on the counter, and directly he left I found it was bad—I ran out, overtook him, and said, "You have given me a bad 2s. piece"—he said, "Bad! then someone must have given it to me"—he was very reluctant to give me my change, and Mr. Shiel, a neighbour, came out, and the prisoner gave me the change and the buns—Mr. Shiel said, "You will nave to come to the station with me, and give an account of where you got it."
THOMAS EDWARD SHIEL . I am a butcher, of 82, Warner Road, Camberwell—I saw Mrs. Pike and the prisoner in conversation; the prisoner had 1s. 10d. in his hand and some buns—she said he had given her a bad florin—I took it from her—he said, "Give it back to me"—I told him he would have to go to the station and see the inspector—I took him there, and on the way he wanted to treat me two or three times; I said, "No"—he said he had received 3s. in change the previous night—he asked me at the station when he was charged what I thought he would get—he was about half tipsy, but "knew what he was about; he walked straight—I saw another florin found in his watch-pocket.
CHARLES ROBINSON (Detective Officer). I was at the station when Shiel brought the prisoner in; I searched him, and found this bad florin in his waistcoat pocket, and received this other from Shiel—in his trousers pocket I found 4 shillings, 3 sixpences, and 2s. 8d. in bronze, all good; a bank book, and an identity paper of the Army Reserve—I said, "What have you to say about the second florin?"—he said, "I got change for a sovereign yesterday, and I must have taken it in change"—I said, "Where did you change it?"—he said, "Somewhere in London."
The Prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence, stated that he changed a sovereign near the General Post Office, and received the florins in change, and being in drink did not know that they were bad.
GUILTY — Judgment respited.
MR. WILMOT Prosecuted. EDWARD FISHER. I am a general dealer, of Waterloo Road—on 23rd February my wife served the prisoner with a loaf and some eggs, which came to 7d.—he gave her half-a-crown, got the change, and left—I immediately examined the half-crown, but could not find him—I took the coin to the station—on March 1st he came again and asked me for a new loaf and half a pound of lump sugar, which came to 2 3/4 d., and gave me a half-crown; I made excuses to keep him while my mistress sent for a policeman, who came, and I then told the prisoner he had given me a bad half-crown—the constable asked him if he had any more—he said no, but he had a good sixpence—that was more than enough to pay for the goods, but I would not take it—he said that his mother gave it to him, and asked for it back, or part of it—I had not broken it.
Cross-examined. I have sworn to you all through.
ANN FISHER . On this Saturday morning a man came for a loaf and some eggs—the prisoner is very like him, but I will not swear to him; he gave me a half-crown, and left with the change and the goods—my husband looked at the coin, and then went after him; this is it—I was not present on March 1st.
HENRY WHITTINGTON (Policeman L 195). On March 1st I was called to Mr. Fisher's shop, and he handed me this coin in the prisoner's presence, who said he did not know it was bad—Fisher said that he believed him to be the man who came on 23rd February—he said, "I did not come in on that day"—I found nothing on him—there was a good 6d. on the counter, which Mr. Fisher said the prisoner had put there—I asked him where he got the half-crown; he said he did not know—I asked where he lived; he said he did not know—I took him in custody.
The Prisoner put in a written defence, stating that he was given in charge because he bore some resemblance to a man who had been to the shop, but that he had never been there before March 1st, and that he was innocent of the second charge also.
GUILTY of the second uttering— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. WILMOT Prosecuted. EDWARD HENRY ROOT. I keep a pie-shop at 144, Tooley Street—on 25th February my wife called me into the shop and handed me a coin—she had detained a little boy, whom I followed, but he did not know it—he went into a house in Barnham Street, and the prisoner came out, followed by the boy, and they came back to the shop—the boy fetched her because I sent him to say that it was a bad half-crown—when she entered the shop she said, "Oh, my God, is this a bad half-crown? my sister gave it to me; she has just been paid, and I thought I should like a two penny pie, and sent the boy for it"—I gave it back to her, as she lived in the neighbourhood—about a week afterwards I saw her at the station and recognised her—I did not pick her out—I did not know her before—she had a child wrapped up in a piece of rough canvas in her arms on both occasions—my wife is too ill to come here.
JOHN HUMPHREYS . I am six years old, and live at 4, Four Block, Tooley Street—I know the prisoner; she always sends me on her errands—she gave me a bad half-crown, and asked me to go to Mr. Root's shop for a pie—I got it, but the woman took it back when she saw the money—I returned to the prisoner; she was washing a window sill, and said she could not come as the baby was crying, but she sent a girl, and then followed all the way to the pie-shop carrying her baby—she lives at 1, Four Block, near the shop.
ELIZA LETTS . I keep a general shop at 22, Barnham Street—on March 5th a lad came for a loaf, and gave me a bad florin—my son and I followed; he went up to the woman who was standing outside No. Four Block, who said, "Have you got the loaf? give me the change"'—my son put his hand on her shoulder and said, "Where did you get that two shilling-piece from? Do you know it's a bad one?"—she said, "No; my husband gave it me; he is a cabman"—she said first, she had sent for a loaf, but after she said she did not.
WILLIAM ROBINSON . I am ten years old, and live with my mother at Barnham Street Buildings—I was going for coals and wood for mother, and the prisoner said, "Little boy, are you going an errand?"—I said, "Yes; where do you want me to go?"—she said, "I only want you to get me a loaf at Mrs. Lents'"—she stood outside her window—I got the loaf and returned—she said, "Here you are, I thought you were lost; where is the change?" and then the man caught hold of her.
FREDERICK LETTS . I was in my mother's shop on 5th March, when Robinson came in for a loaf—I followed him and saw him give her the loaf—she said, "Come along, I have been waiting"—I said, "Yes, and I have been waiting for you"—this is a bad two-shilling-piece—her husband came and wanted the coin, but I gave it to the policeman, and the prisoner was charged.
JOHN MARTIN (Policeman). Mrs. Letts came to the station and complained, and I went with her to Barnham Street Buildings and saw the prisoner in the house—Mrs. Letts charged her with sending a boy to her with a bad florin—when I entered the room, she said, "I know all about it; I sent the boy for a loaf of bread with the two-shilling-piece, but I did not know it was bad"—a man then came into the room who she said was her husband—I told her she would have to accompany me to the station—she said, "All right"—I took her there, and Mr. Roots saw
her, and said she was the woman who sent a boy to his shop with a half crown—she said, "You must have made a mistake."
E. H. ROOT (Re-examined by the COURT). The coin which I say was bad, was slippery and shiny; I rang it on the counter, and it sounded dead—I did not bite it or put it in a tester; it was lighter than an ordinary half-crown.
Prisoner's Defence. I am not guilty of the half-crown; I am guilty of sending the boy with the coin, but I was not aware it was bad—my husband gave it to me; he is a cabdriver.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. WILMOT Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON Defended. SIDNEY ALBERT CHALKLEY. I am a shopman to Mr. Edwards, a tobacconist, of 3, Borough Road—on March 17th, about four p. m., a man came in for a pennyworth of tobacco, and gave me a bad florin—I went into the parlour to show it to my master, and when I returned he had gone, with the tobacco—a policeman came in, and I gave him the coin—twelve days after I picked the prisoner out at the station from six others—I will swear he is the man.
Cross-examined. He was differently dressed then—the whole transaction only took a minute—Burton, the policeman, asked me to go to the station; he did not say how the man was dressed—five or six men were there; I don't think they had beards or moustaches—the prisoner has a little hair on his face; some of them were taller than he.
Re-examined. When he came to the shop he had a dark jacket, and when I picked him out he had a light one, but I knew him by his face.
GEORGE EDWARD SYDNEY EDWARDS . I am a tobacconist—Chalkley is my shopman—on this Sunday afternoon he came into the parlour and showed me this florin—I went into the shop with him, and found a policeman in plain clothes there, and handed it to him.
GEORGE BURTON (Policeman M 131). On Sunday afternoon, 17th March, I was with Dockrell, and saw the prisoner and a man named Miller leave the King's Arms, Walworth Road, at 3 o'clock—we followed them to the Elephant and Castle, and there lost sight of them—I saw them again in Westminster Bridge Road, and followed them to the Borough Road; the prisoner went to No. 3, a tobacconist's, and Miller went to the other side of the road; the prisoner came out in a hurry, ran down the Borough Road, and turned round New Street; Miller came from the corner of Mansfield Street to the corner of New Street, apparently watching the shop—he made a sign up New Street—I went into the shop, and Mr. Edwards told me something, and gave me a coin—I followed Miller, and Johnson joined him near the Elephant—I went to get assistance to arrest them, and Johnson disappeared, and I did not see him again that day—I arrested them on the 29th, and told Johnson it was for uttering a florin at a tobacconist's in the Borough Road on the 17th; he said, "You have made a mistake; I don't know anything of any uttering"—when he was charged he said, "I can prove where I was on that Sunday; I was at Champion Hill Infirmary, visiting a man named Kick; my name, Johnson, is entered in the visiting-book."—he had on a different jacket to what he had on on the 17th—I had him under my observation three
quarters of an hour from the time he went into the prosecutor's, and I knew him previously.
Cross-examined. Miller was arrested; he has been discharged—I first saw them about 3 o'clock the best part of a mile from the tobacconist's shop; they came out of a public-house with several others—we were about thirty yards from the tobacconist's when they came out—I have seen them both since, but not together; I waited to catch them together—I saw the prisoner a day or two afterwards about the same neighbourhood on several occasions—I fetched Chalkley; I did not tell him what the man was like, or what he was wearing, or that I had arrested a young man—he was placed with Miller and four others about the same age.
Cross-examined. I did not prompt him at all as to who he should piok out.
GEORGE DOCKRELL (Detective Officer L). I was with Burton in plain clothes on the Sunday afternoon, and some men came out of the King's Arms—I am not positive about the prisoner, but I am of the other—I left Burton at the Elephant at 3. 30, and Joined him again in the evening for an object, though I was off duty—I took the prisoner, and said I should charge him with uttering a bad florin last Sunday week—he said, "You have made a mistake, I know nothing about uttering; I was at Champion Hill Infirmary last Sunday week, visiting some man there, and my name, Johnson, is on the register-book"—a good shilling was found on him and 3 1/2 d.—he gave his address 17, Union Court, Walworth Road—that is not an occupied house.
The Prisoner. You made a mistake in the number.
Cross-examined. I fetched in the men, among whom the prisoner was placed—I stood at the door and invited them in; that took five or six minutes—they were young men about his age and appearance.
Cross-examined. He did not complain of the sort of men I brought in; he was allowed to take his place as he liked—after Chalkley picked him out, he said, "I will make it hot for you."
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Recorder.
MESSRS. FULTON and PARTRIDGE Prosecuted.
FRANCIS JOSEPH MCCARTHY . I am a clerk in the Savings Bank Department of the General Post Office—on Friday, 2nd November, I received this notice of withdrawal for £8, from the Richmond Office, to be made payable at the Marsh Gate Office, signed, Mary Jane Saffin, 24, Prince's Road, Richmond, Surrey—I wrote this warrant for the money, and addressed it to Mrs. Mary Jane Saffin, 24, Prince's Road, Richmond, Surrey—there is a receipt at the bottom of the warrant for the person receiving the money to sign—it is signed "Mary Jane Saffin"—it went off on 2nd November, at night—there are an enormous number of them.
Cross-examined by Sheldrick. I wrote the address on the warrant—I am sure I put it all right.
Road, would go out of the post office about half-past six, and would be delivered between seven and eight next morning.
ELLEN MARY SNOW . I am assistant to the post office receiver at Marsh Gate Post Office, Richmond—on this notice of withdrawal the words, "Marsh Gate," are in my writing—that would indicate that the form had been obtained at my office—this warrant was presented for payment on 3rd November, by a woman—I should not pay it to a man when it was signed, "Mary Jane"—when I paid the warrant this book was presented to me—I paid the £8, entered it, and stamped the book Marsh Gate, and put my initials, "E. M. S." against it—the person receiving the money signed this "Mary Jane Saffin"—I cannot say if it was signed in my presence; sometimes they are produced ready signed—I should not pay the money till it was signed—I returned the book to the person.
MARY JANE SAFFIN . I live at Queen's Road, Richmond—in October last I occupied a room at 4, Prince's Road, with the prisoner Harris—I was then out of a situation—I had an account with the Savings Bank Department—this notice of withdrawal is not filled up by me or by my authority—the signature to this warrant, Mary Jane Saffin, is not in my writing—I did not receive from the General Post Office on that date £8—this is Harris's writing on the notice of withdrawal; I knew it directly I looked at it—the signature to the warrant is not my writing; it looks like it; it looks like Harris's writing—I always kept my Savings Bank book in a desk in my room—the desk was always locked—in January I had occasion to draw £3—in consequence of the reply I received from the Post Office I examined my book, and I then first became aware that I had been debited with this £8—the prisoner left Richmond on the 3rd December—I know nothing of Sheldrick—I knew him to speak to—on 3rd December he came to our house about 7.30 a. m., and went out with Harris before breakfast—they came back together at nearly nine o'clock, stopped a short time, and then went out—Harris came back about four, packed her clothes up, and went out a short time afterwards, saying she was going to Cambridge—while she was packing up she wanted me to go and fetch something—I did not go out; I went upstairs—I went out of the room where my box was—I saw nothing more of the prisoner till she was in custody—on 31st October she did not sleep in the room with me; she came back in the morning and told me she had been with Walter; that is the name I knew Sheldrick by.
Cross-examined by Sheldrick. You came between seven and eight on the 3rd November—I cannot tell to a minute or two.
Cross-examined by Harris. I did not ask you to fetch me some whisky—I did not ask Sheldrick into my room that morning; he had no business to come into my room—I did not ask you to sleep with him one night because I had a man coming from Ashford to sleep with me.
By the COURT. I gave no authority to any one to withdraw this money; I knew nothing of it till I got a notice from the Post Office—I had never drawn any money out.
SUSAN JONES . I live with my husband at 24, Prince's Road, Richmond—that house last October was occupied by myself and my husband, the landlady, an old woman, and Sheldrick, who lodged there from 5th October to 3rd November—on 31st October the prisoner asked me to
leave the frontdoorajar, he had no key—between 9 and 10 I heard him come in and go up to his bedroom—I called out, "Is that you, Miss "Walters?"—he said, "No, it is me"—the following morning, 1st November, I saw both prisoners coming downstairs together between 9 and 10—they went out, and he returned between 3 and 4—the first delivery of letters at our house is about half-past 7—on 3rd November I heard the prisoner go out between 7 and 8, before we were up—he did not come back till 7 in the evening, and he then said he should not want the room any more, as he was going away—he never returned—while with us he was at work for a fortnight, and he had been out of work for about a fortnight before he went away—I believe he was a painter—I received no letters on 3rd November—there is a slit in the door through which letters can be put.
Cross-examined by Sheldrick. I believe I was the first one up in the house that morning—my husband leaves at four or half-past three; he left at half-past three that morning—the landlady was not up—I did not hear the postman that morning—sometimes I hear him, not always—he generally knocks when he comes—I saw nothing of any warrant; I don't know if the landlady did—she is never up till half-past seven or eight—she is never up before six.
JOSEPH ROBERT KELLY . I am a bootmaker, at 1, Pensioner's Alley, Richmond Road—on Saturday, 3rd November, Sheldrick came into my shop about 6 p. m., and asked me to take two boxes to the station, one from 24, Prince's Road, and the other from 4, Prince's Road—I did so; on returning from the station I met the prisoners together going towards the station—Sheldrick gave me 1s.
GEORGE ROBERT EVERETT . I am senior clerk in the Savings Bank Department of the General Post Office—in February this case was placed in my hands for investigation—I went with an officer, Shaler, to Cambridge, and on 9th February Harris was brought to the office there by Shaler—I showed her the notice of withdrawal and the warrant, and said, "You are accused of having filled up this notice to withdraw the sum of £8; what do you say to that?"—she said, "That is not all my writing"—I said, "What portion of the notice of withdrawal was filled up by you?"—she said, "I did not write the word Mary; I don't know about the words, Jane, or Saffin; I wrote the address"—that was 24, Prince's Road, Richmond, Surrey—I said, "Who wrote the word, 'Mary' on the notice of withdrawal?"—she said, "Walter Sheldrick; and I think he wrote the word, 'Saffin'"—I said, "Did you see him write it?"—she said, "Yes"—I said, "Where?"—she said, "In Richmond; in the Red Cow public-house"—the Red Cow is exactly opposite the Marsh Gate Post Office, at Richmond—I said to her, "You are further accused of signing the receipt to the warrant produced; what do you say to that?"—she made no reply—I said, "Did you sign the receipt to the warrant?"—she said, "Yes"—I said, "How did the warrant, which was addressed to 24, Prince's Road, reach you?"—she made no reply—I said, "Did Walter Sheldrick bring it to you?"—she said, "Yes"—I said, "Did Sheldrick go with you to get the money?"—she said, "Yes, he stood at the door"—I asked her how she got possession of the deposit-book, and she made no reply—on the same day Sheldrick was brought to me—I told him I had been instructed to make inquiries about the letter
delivered at 24, Prince's Road, on 3rd November, in the name of Mary Jane Saffin—he said, "I don't remember any letter coming there for me; I don't know anything at all about the letter"—I said, "Do you know Mary Jane Saffin?"—he said, "Yes, I know a Miss Saffin"—I said, "Is she the Miss Saffin who lives at 4, Prince's Road?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "How long is it since you saw Miss Saffin?"—he said, "I could not say"—I said, "When, did you come down to Cambridge?"—he said, "In November, but I could not tell you the date"—I asked him if Mrs. Harris had accompanied him, he said yes—I said, "Do you still wish me to believe you know nothing of the letters addressed to Saffin, 24, Prince's Road?"—he said, "I don't remember any letters"—I said, "Mrs. Harris tells me you took the letter to her at No. 4"—he said, "I don't remember it"—I said, "The letter was a Savings Bank warrant for the payment of £8 to Miss Saffin; Mrs. Harris admits having signed the receipt to the warrant, she says you went with her to get the money; you waited at the door; have you anything to say about that?"—he said, "I know nothing at all about it"—I showed him the notice of withdrawal, and asked him if he had seen it before; he said no—he said he knew the Red Cow public-house when I asked him—I asked him if he had ever been there with Mrs. Harris—he said, "Yes, I have been there several times"—I said, "Mrs. Harris tells me you wrote the word Mary on the notice of withdrawal, and she thinks you wrote the word Saffin"—he said, "I am sure I never did"—I said, "She says she and you filled up the names at the Red Cow; do you still deny having done so?"—he said, "I deny it"—he was given into custody—two days afterwards, as he was being taken into Court, he said to me that he hoped I should do the best I could for him.
Cross-examined by Harris. I have down your answer, "That is not all my writing"—I did not say I would keep you there three or four hours if you did not answer; I did not say I knew more of the case than you did, from Sheldrick—I may have said, "I can quite understand your wish to screen Sheldrick"—I did not say it was like your writing.
Cross-examined by Sheldrick. I did not say I knew all of your goings on—before you were given into custody I read this paper over to you, and said you could make any corrections you liked, because probably it would be given in evidence against you; you suggested no alteration—I told you everything Harris told me—the papers are in precisely the same state as I brought them from Cambridge.
HUGH EDWARD SHALER . I am a constable attached to the General Post Office—on 9th February I was with the last witness at Cambridge, and I went to Gold Street, where I saw Harris—I said to her, "I want you to accompany me to the post office to meet a gentleman who is waiting there to see you"—she said, "What does he want to see me about?"—I said, "He will tell you that when he sees you"—her sister was in the room—Harris said, "I am going to see about that affair"—she came with me to the post office, and the interview took place that the last witness has spoken to—I went on to Northampton Street, where I saw Sheldrick—I said, "You are Walter Sheldrick, I believe?"—he said, "No, Edward Sheldrick"—I said, "I don't think I am mistaken in you, and I know where your brother Edward is at this moment; at all events, I want you to go with me to the post office to see a gentleman; I have just seen Mrs. Harris there,
whom I think you know"—he said, "What is she doing there?"—I said, "She went with me to see a gentleman on business, and now she wants to see you"—he went with me there, and a conversation took place between him and Mr. Everett; I corroborate Mr. Everett's evidence—we brought both prisoners to Richmond Police-station, where they were charged—they made no reply in answer.
Cross-examined by Sheldrick. I told you who I was; I said I was one of the officials of the Post Office—I should not have allowed you to escape.
Cross-examined by Harris. I heard all you said at your sister's house; the size of her two rooms is about the size of the dock.
JOHN GOSS . I am Inspector of Police at Richmond—on 10th February I visited Sheldrick, who was in custody, about 3 p. m.—I did not know him before—I said, "All right, Sheldrick?"—he came to the grating of his cell, and said, "Yes; I am all right; I must have been a fool to get into this."
ALBERT ABRAHAM (Police Constable). After the prisoners were committed for trial I conveyed them to Holloway Gaol by train—a good deal of talk took place the whole way up, and Sheldrick said he thought he had given Miss Saffin, the prosecutrix, a good showing up, but one thing he had forgotten to ask her, how many times he had slept with her; he asked if he would be able to ask her questions here—I said, "Yes; I don't think it will benefit you much"—he said, "No, I don't think it will; I shan't ask many questions; there is not much evidence against me; I shall plead guilty, as I intend to stick to her" (the female prisoner)—something was said about refreshments, and Harris said there was not much left when they got to Cambridge, and then Sheldrick said, "Well, we could have had more money if we had liked"—he further said Miss Saffin had encouraged him there, or it would not have happened, and he suggested all sorts of things about that, that she was very dishonest.
Cross-examined by Sheldrick. This was on 13th February—I don't think I was in conversation with a gentleman—Harris was very ill, and you had no money, and I sent for a pint of stout and paid for it—I did not say, "You will never be silly enough to plead guilty, for they will never be able to convict you on the evidence given to-day"—you did not say, "I cannot plead guilty to a thing I know nothing about"—you said, "Miss Saffin ought to be shown up"—I gave you pencil and paper when you asked me—I did not put you and Harris in the same cell.
Cross-examined by Harris. You were very near your confinement, and I sent for stout for you. Sheldrick's father gave him a good character.
HARRIS— Nine Months' Hard Labour. SHELDRICK— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. There was another indictment against the prisoners for forgery.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. BROMBY Prosecuted.
JAMES HOWARD (Policeman R 326). On 12th March, at a quarter-past 1 a. m., I was on duty in Friar Street, at the corner of Southwark Bridge Road—I heard a breaking of glass, and I saw the prisoner snatch the box of cigars out of the window—I ran towards him, and the prisoner
and two men with him ran away as soon as they saw me—prisoner put the box of cigars under his arm, and ran down Collison Street—I gave chase; when he saw I was getting close to him he threw the box over some high railings into 1, Queen's Buildings, and ran through Tolman Street into Great Suffolk Street—I stopped and charged him—he made no reply to the charge—the other men got away.
JOHN GRANT . I am a tobacconist, of 128, Southwark Bridge Road—on 11th March when I went to bed my house was securely fastened—about a quarter-past 11 heard a sound as of breaking glass—I looked out of the window but saw nothing—I came downstairs and found the railing in front of the window had been broken away, and the centre one of three panes of glass smashed—I missed this box of 100 cigars from the window; it had been about two feet from the glass—I missed four packets of tobacco also.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate. "I was along with a chap, and he smashed the window, and said it meant nothing; I was afraid, and ran away."
The Prisoner's parents gave him a good character. GUILTY—Recommended to mercy by the Jury.
MR. TURRELL Prosecuted.
ROSE PALMER . I am a waitress in the employment of Henry Bright, who keeps a coffee-house at 197, Wandsworth Road—on 16th March, Saturday evening, my mistress had gone to Epsom—a little before 9, just as I was going to close the house, the three prisoners came in—Trinder and Cooper left the house at a quarter to 10—I did not see Penman leave—I closed the house at a quarter to 10, and secured the door; I latched it, it was afterwards bolted—next morning, in consequence of a communication, I searched the house and found a piece of beef weighing twelve or thirteen stone had gone from the table, some tea cups, saucers, plates, and mistress says knives and forks are missing—this is one of our cups, I cannot say about the knives—George Rogers was in the house with the prisoner, and two or three others as well.
Cross-examined by Penman. I don't remember serving you.
ARABELLA BRIGHT . I am the wife of Henry Bright, of 197, Wandsworth-road—on Saturday, March 16th, I left home—I returned the following day—a communication was made to me, in consequence of which I searched, and missed beef, sugar, tea, coffee, twelve pint cups, six tea cups, about twelve dinner plates, twelve tea-spoons, knives and forks, a little boy's overcoat—I communicated with the police—on 23rd, Saturday, I went to the station; I saw the prisoners and charged them.
Cross-examined by Cooper. I can swear that the knives, the saucer and cup are my property.
of the shop, and sit under the table—I went outside, and came back, and saw him lying under the form, and I went and sat alongside of Trinder and Cooper—we stopped there about half an hour, and then Cooper, Trinder, and I came out—about ten o'clock on Sunday morning I saw Cooper in Pascall Street—I asked him if Penman got out all right—he said, "Yes"—I asked him what time he came out—he said, "About two in the morning"—I asked him what he had got—he said, "About eight stone of beef, and £6 10s."—I saw Penman about one o'clock, and said, "Good-morning, "and he said, "Good-morning"—I knew all three prisoners before—the table was in the corner of the shop as we went in—there was no cloth on it—I could not say if anyone could see him—I could see Penman's face—he did not nod to me—the form ran alongside the table.
Cross-examined by Penman. You had a cup of coffee and one slice—then you sat down at the bottom—I saw your face under the form as plainly as I can see—if I had told the waitress I should have got a hiding from Cooper and Trinder, which I shall do now from some of their mates—I, Cooper, and Trinder stood outside for half an hour after we came out—the waitress was not there—I told Mrs. Bright on Wednesday night.
Cross-examined by Trinder. It was not all dark at the end where Penman was; there was gas light, two in each window, and one in the shop.
Cross-examined by Cooper. I did not say at the Police-court,"I saw Penman go out of the door"—I went outside to see if Penman was there, or if it was Penman under he table, and when I came back I saw his face under the table—I did not look under the table; I saw his face as I passed by—Rose Palmer had not put the gaslight out because you were skylarking with her—I did not ask you on Sunday how Penman got out of a row—I did not ask you for 2d.; you gave me 2d.
Re-examined. I went to see the prisoners about Mrs. Bright's sister's little boy's coat which was missing; she offered anyone a half-sovereign if they could bring it back; it has not been found.
CHARLES COLEMAN (Policeman W R 10). On Saturday, 23rd March, I went to 31, Pascall Street, and arrested Penman and Trinder—I told them they would be charged with committing a burglary at 197, Wandsworth Road—Penman said—"I think you have made a mistake"—Cooper made no reply—I found these three knives, cup, saucer, and plate, which Mrs. Bright identified, on the sideboard of the room they were sleeping in—I took them to the station, and then I went back at half-past three the same morning and arrested Cooper in the same bed—he made no reply to the charge of burglary—I went back again to the house with Brown, and searched the premises, and found in the kitchen chimney flue these six keys—since the prisoners were committed for trial this key has been found to unlock the kitchen door of Mrs. Bright's back premises—there are no marks on any of the doors, and it is supposed the prisoners got out in that way at the back.
Cross-examined by Penman. I don't know who occupies that part of the house where I found the keys—four of you slept in the same bed—I don't know if there were more tenants.
Cross-examined by Cooper. All the tenants have access to the kitchen
and washhouse—there was other crockery on your sideboard; none of that resembled this, so I didn't bring it—the dinner plates Mrs. Bright lost were of this pattern—the kitchen door, the back door, and the back gate of the coffee-house were left open—you could not open the door from the outside—you would want a key to open the door from the inside, because of the catch over the lock—we had not tried these keys before the committal.
Witnesses for the Defence.
----DAVY. I live at 31, Pascall Street, and am a general dealer—this crockeryware and these knives belong to me—they have been in the house for the last five or six months—I bought them of Graham, a general dealer, at Rule Grove, Kennington—there are three other tenants; I am always away in the country—I left them on the sideboard on 12th March when I went away.
Cross-examined. Penman and Trinder lodged with me; they slept in the same bed—Cooper does not lodge there—I cannot say exactly when I bought these things; six or seven months—I bought a job lot, odds and ends for a shilling—Graham did not say in the Court below it was not the crockery he sold to me; he said they were odd.
JAKES GRAHAM . I live at 38, Beckett Square, Camberwell, and am a rag and bottle dealer—I sold Davy plates and saucers, and I gave him a carpet for helping to unload a van—I don't recollect him having any knives, but he said there were two knives with them—I could not say if I sold him knives—I can't say if this is the crockery; I get so much like this—I have had crockery and knives like these—I have seen a lot of cups like this; it is a common cup and saucer; you can see others like them anywhere—I could not swear to it—the saucer is odd to it.
By the COURT. I sold him fourteen plates and saucers for fourpence and some carpet, and he helped me unload a van.
Cross-examined. That was before Christmas, a long while—the cups are an odd lot—I cannot say if I sold these—I have got knives like these—I don't recollect selling Davy any knives—he says there were some in the shed.
Penman, in his defence, said he left the coffee-shop before the others, and went to a public-house, and then went home.
Cooper and Trinder said Penman left the house before they did; and that they met him and took him home, as he was drunk.
ROSE PALMER (Re-examined by the COURT). When the prisoner came in there were four gaslights in each window and two in the shop, and those I turned out, thinking they would leave; I left one gas burning by the bar for them to see their way out.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON Defended.
MARIA JEFFERSON . I am the prisoner's wife—on 17th March I was living with him at 3, Little Saville Court, Lambeth—he came in at half-past ten shockingly drunk, and asked if his supper was ready—I said "Yes"—we were both drinking together—he asked me for some bread—I said I would go and get some presently—he sat by the fire and went
to sleep—about eleven he got up—someone came for him, and he went out—he came in about twelve—he did nothing to me—I went to strike him with the rolling-pin, and he took it out of my hand and hit me back—he did not call me anything—he said, "I have not got any money for you," and I said, "I never asked you for any money"—he used a wicked name to me—I had some stew ready on the fire—he said he did not want the stew, he wanted some bread—he gave me a slap on the head—he put his foot on my arm to keep me down, so that I should not hit him—he never kicked me—I fell down—he slapped my head with something, I don't know what—I did not see what he had in his hand—I fell down, and then he put his foot on my arm—he did not begin kicking me—I did not say before the Magistrate he began kicking me and hitting me—I told the Magistrate what happened—it is true—I believe I put a cross to it after it was read over to me—I did not say he began kicking me—perhaps I did not know what I was saying then—I stooped down against the fender, and he hit me—he took something up from the fender; I don't know what it was, my back was towards him—it might have been the tongs—I saw nothing in his other hand—when he had stooped down to the fender he said, "Kneel down and say your prayers"—I took no notice of that—he said, "I don't think you are worth living much longer, the way you have been going on"—I did not kneel down; I ran out—I did not come in again—he did not strike me on the head when he came in the first time—it was when he came back the last time, before he told me to kneel and say my prayers—when he turned back from the fireplace I ran out—I ran out after I had the wounds on my head—he caused the wounds with something he had in his hand, I don't know what it was—I did not feel the wounds at the time—I did not feel five distinct stabs; they were only slight—the bandages were taken off on the Friday—they bled a small quantity; blood fell on the floor—he only just hit me a little once with the tongs—I hit him back with them—I was examined by the surgeon at Kennington Lane Police-station—he might have found four or five distinct bruises on my head, they were only scratches—blood and hair was not left on the knob of the tongs—I ran out after that and tumbled down over my dress, after going a little distance—I was found there by a constable—I should not have fallen if I had not had drink—I was taken to the station and examined—I said before the Magistrate,"I think he did these (the wounds) with a tin opener; I saw this knife in his hand as well as the tin-opener"—I did not know what it was—I don't know what he struck me with.
Cross-examined. I struck my head in falling against a post, and I fell down again over some stones and struck my head against them; I fell very heavy three times—I did not know what I was saying before the Magistrate—I went to the hospital on Sunday—I only remained there half an hour—I did not remain there as a patient—I had been drinking on and off all this day; I and my husband were the worse for drink—I hit him with a rolling-pin on the shoulder when he came in—he walked out and had more drink—he hardly knew what he was doing—he never hit me when he knew what he was doing of; he was an awful good husband—I have been married four years—except when he has not been sober we have always been on the best of terms, with never an angry
word—when he said at the station he said he would make it warm for me, it was the last time I should put him away, he did not know what he was saying; he is a good husband—when he told me to say my prayers I did not think he was going to kill me, or I should not have run away.
Re-examined. I did not tell the Magistrate about my striking him; I forgot it—I said, "He has hit me three or four times before."
FREDERICK WILLIAM FARR , M. R. C. S. I practise at 175, Kennington Road—on this Sunday morning, at a quarter to four, I was called to the station, and saw the prosecutrix—she was quite sober—I found four punctured wounds on the top of the head, four or five severe contusions on the back of the head, distinct from the wounds, and caused by a different instrument—the wounds were triangular in shape, widest at the middle, and were caused by a pointed, wedge-shaped instrument, such as a tin-opener—the contusions might have been caused by the knob of a poker or tongs—the wounds were serious; she had lost a very large quantity of blood—she was in a state of great shock from the assault, and faint from loss of blood—she was under my care till the Friday—I anticipated there might be erysipelas; there was none.
Cross-examined. She is quite well now—the wounds were not bleeding, but had been—if I had seen her directly, a great deal of the loss of blood would have been prevented.
GUILTY of unlawful wounding— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
ADJOURNED TILL MONDAY, MAY 6TH, 1889.
The following Prisoners, upon whom the sentence of the Court was respited at the time of Trial, have since been sentenced as under:—
Vol. CVIII. Page Sentence.