CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
NINTH SESSION, HELD JUNE 23RD, 1890.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE.
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND, BY
JAMES DROVER BARNETT
Short-hand Writers to the Court,
ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
THE POINTS OF LAW AND PRACTICE
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OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
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AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY, WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
Held on Monday, June 23rd, 1890, and following days.
BEFORE the RIGHT HON. SIR HENRY AARON ISAACS, LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir WILLIAM GRANTHAM , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court of Justice; Sir ANDREW LUSK , Bart., Sir POLYDORE DE KEYSER , Knt., Sir JAMES WHITEHEAD , Bart., Aldermen of the said City; Sir THOMAS CHAMBERS , Knt., Q.C., Recorder of the said City; PHINEAS COWAN , Esq., GEORGE ROBERT TYLER , Esq., WALTER HENRY WILKIN , Esq., GEORGE FAUDEL PHILLIPS , Esq., HORATIO DAVID DAVIES , Esq., and ALFRED JAMES NEWTON , 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.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
ISAACS, MAYOR. NINTH 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, June 23rd, 1890.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted.
MARGARET DRISCOLL . I am a widow, and live at 40, Sophia Street, Poplar—on Saturday night, 26th April, "I went to bed about nine, in the back room—I shut the outer door of the house when my daughter went out, and left it on the latch—a little after twelve she came home, she woke me up, and I found the bedclothes gone off the bed in the front room, and a pair of flannel drawers, two quilts, and a jacket—I went out and spoke to a constable, and afterwards went with him to Poplar Workhouse, where I saw the prisoner and the things I had missed—in going to the station I said to the prisoner, "Where are my drawers?"—she said, "I will give them to you by-and-by."
JAMES COTTER . I live next door to Mrs. Driscoll—on Saturday night, 26th April, about half-past twelve, I was standing at the corner of the street, and saw the prisoner coming down the street, about six doors off, carrying some clothes under her arm; Mrs. Driscoll's daughter came out, and I told her.
JOHN BARTLETT (Policeman K 182). About half-past one on Sunday morning, 27th April, I was called to Poplar Workhouse—I said I should take her into custody for breaking into a house and stealing some clothing about twelve that night—she said, "You have made a mistake, I bought them of some woman who I don't know"—she was wearing Mrs. Driscoll's jacket at the time—I asked her about the flannel drawers—she said she knew nothing about them—the female searcher was sent for, and she produced them.
The prisoner, in her defence, stated that she bought the things in the street of a woman who she thought was the prosecutrix.
GUILTY — One Month Hard Labour.
474. THOMAS HENRY SYRETT (28) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to two indictments for stealing two post letters containing studs, postal orders, and other property, he being in the employment of the Post Office.— Twelve Months' Imprisonment.
475. EDWARD HENRY EDGLER (28) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to stealing a post letter containing two half-sovereigns, twelve penny postage-stamps, and purse, the property of the Postmaster-General, and to another similar indictment.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
NEW COURT.—Monday, June 23rd, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. A. GILL Prosecuted, and MR. WILKINSON Defended.
The prisoner had asked to look at the prosecutrix's cheque-book, from which, it was alleged, he abstracted a cheque, and filled it up for £32 18s. He was stated to have presented it at the bank, out payment was refused, and it was returned to him. Notice to produce the cheque had been given to the prisoner, but he did not produce it. MR. WILKINSON contended that there was no case to go to the JURY without the production of the cheque. (Cases referred to: Reg. v. Wilshire, C. C. C. Sessions Papers; Reg. v. Dimsdale, Sessions Paper, vol. 87, p. 229; Reg. v. Hunter, 4 Carrington and Payne, p. 128; and Reg. v. Hall, 12 Cox's Criminal Cases, p. 159.) MR. GILL submitted that as notice to produce had been given to the prisoner, and he had not produced the cheque, secondary evidence might be given. The COMMON SERJEANT, having consulted the RECORDER, considered that, though (See R. v. Hunter, R. v. Hall) it was not absolutely necessary to produce the cheque, no foundation was laid for the admission of secondary evidence, as, in order to admit it, he would have to decide the question of the prisoner's identity, which was a question for the JURY, and he directed a verdict of
NOT GUILTY . (See page 836.)
MR. A. GILL Prosecuted.
REBECCA THICKING . I am the wife of Henry Thicking, of 159, Cannon Street Road, St. George's—I know the prisoner as a customer—on 11th April she asked me if I would buy a ticket of fourteen yards of black lace and six yards of broché, pledged for 12s. 6d.—she read it to me, as I cannot read—she asked 4s. for it, and I gave her 3s., as she said her husband was in great trouble, and fined 50s., and she wanted to make it up that he might not go to prison—when I took the ticket to the pawnbroker he said, "There is a mistake here; our 12s. tickets are yellow"—I got for the ticket a table-cloth, which was pledged for 1s.—had I known that I should not have bought the ticket—I gave the prisoner in custody on the 22nd.
FREDERICK FINDER . I am assistant to Mr. Wells, a pawnbroker, of 44, Broadway, London Fields—I produce a duplicate which I issued for a table-cloth, pawned for 1s.; it is now altered to "six broche silk, 12s."—I do not recognise the prisoner.
PATRICK LYNCH (Policeman H 189). On 22nd April, about 11.45, the prosecutrix spoke to me in Gable Street, and I stopped the prisoner and said, "You will be charged with obtaining 3s. by means of false pretences"—she said, "Don't lock me up; I am very sorry that I told you wrongly" speaking to the prosecutor—on the way to the station she threw away these two pieces of paper. (One of these was a duplicate for drawers, etc., in the name of Ann Smith, and the other a paper on which was written, "Six blocher and fourteen silk," the word "broché" being also spelt "blocher" on the altered duplicate.)
JOSEPH PYSICK . I am a pawnbroker, of Cambridge Road, Bethnal Green—I produce a duplicate for a ring, 7s., pledged on 18th April by Ann Smith—this is the corresponding ticket; the number on each is 1908—it has been altered since it left; no drawers, glasses, or carpets were pawned at the same time; everything has been altered except the date.
ALFRED WALKER . I am a pawnbroker, of 2, Merrell Street, Walworth—I produce a duplicate for a ring pledged for 4s. on 26th February, I cannot say who by—this is the corresponding ticket, which has been altered since.
RICHARD FLETCHER (Police Inspector H). I took the charge at the station—the constable handed me two pawn-tickets, and said the prisoner had dropped them on the way to the station—she said, "I bought that at Johnson's sale," and afterwards she said, "My husband bought them, and let me have them, and he has done wrong, and ought to be punished too if I have done wrong"—I said, "There is an individual not far off"—she said, "He is not my husband; he is a man I am living with."
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I was unaware they were altered; I give you my word I can neither read or write. They were bought at Messrs. Johnson and Dymonds."
GUILTY — Eight Months' Hard Labour from last Session.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, June 24th 1890.
Before Mr. Recorder.
480. FREDERICK WHITCOMBE (21) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a spoon and other articles, of John Daniel Viney, in his dwelling-house, and to a conviction of felony at this Court on 27th May, 1889.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. GILL and MR. RICHARDS Prosecuted, and MR. BURNIE Defended.
The JURY being unable to agree, were discharged without returning any verdict, and the case was postponed to the next Sessions,
also to a conviction of felony at Liverpool in October, 1887.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
484. PAUL VAUGHAN LEMISH (24) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to stealing six Argentine Six per Cent. 1888 Bonds, and other bonds and share certificates, the property of William Stannard Green.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, June 25th, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
486. WILLIAM BROWN (36) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image], to three indictments for burglary and stealing spoons, forks, and a coat; also to assaulting David Watling, a constable, in the execution of his duty.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour. and
487. EDWARD HAMILTON** (59) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to stealing an overcoat, the property of John Sampson, after a conviction of felony at Bow Street on 19th August, 1889. (The prisoner had been tried twice before at this Court. See vol. 108, p. 786, and vol. 111, p. 421.)— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
488. WALTER TRAVIS DOVE (21) , Unlawfully obtaining by false pretences a pair of boots and a pair of gaiters from Leonidas Nicholas Tierry; also £5 from Daniel Bailey; also £2 and certain articles of clothing from other persons.
MR. FRASER Prosecuted.
JAMES MITCHELL . I am salesman to Leonidas Nicholas Tierry, of 48, Gresham Street, boot and shoe manufacturer—on 11th December the prisoner came and said he wanted a pair of patent leather boots, that he came from Mr. Pannell, of Basinghall Street, a friend of his, who he was staying with—I sold him the boots and a pair of gaiters, and he wanted to sell me the boots he had on and his gaiters for 5s.—he asked if I would take a cheque—I referred him to Mr. Tierry, and he wrote the cheque at the desk. (This was on the Bradford Old Bank, for £l 9s. 9d., signed William Dove)—this is the bill; it is for £1 4s. 9d.; the boots came to £1 1s., and the gaiters to 4s.—he said he had made a mistake and drawn the cheque for 5s. more, and Mr. Tierry gave him the 5s.
LEONIDAS NICHOLAS TIERRY . I am a boot and shoe maker, of 48, Gresham Street—on December 11th the prisoner came in, and Mitchell asked me in his presence to take a cheque in payment—I said I could not, not knowing him—he said, "Mr. Pannell, of Basinghall Street, is a particular friend of mine; I am staying with him," and on the faith of that I took his cheque for £1 9s. 9d., which he drew in my presence, and said, "I have drawn it for 5s. too much"—I gave him the change, and paid the cheque into my bank; it was returned to me marked "Refer to drawer"—he left his own boots, which were in very good condition—I parted with my money because I thought the cheque was good and would be met.
WILLIAM HARDY KEDD . I am a chartered accountant, one of the firm of Pannell and Co., of Basinghall Street—I saw the prisoner once before he was at the Police-court; he called on, I think, December 11th for an account for mineral waters supplied at Harrogate, for which we had sent an account a few days before to his father, Mr. William Dove, of Harrogate—I had sent the cheque a week before he called, and I told him it had been sent to Harrogate—he expressed surprise that it had not been paid.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. That is the only transaction we had with you—it was three orders, but only one payment, about £6.
By the COURT. I knew nothing of any authority the prisoner had to use his father's name.
DANIEL BAILEY . I am a butcher, of Tottenham Court Road—on 11th December the prisoner came there arm-in-arm with a friend of mine, who was staying at the Bedford Hotel close by—a conversation took place in my shop, and the prisoner asked him if he could cash him a cheque—he said, "No, I have not sufficient"—the prisoner then asked me if I could cash it—I said I could if it was not too large—he said, "I can make it out for any amount"—we arranged for £5, and he took a cheque-book from his pocket, wrote a cheque, and handed it to me—I said, "This is a country cheque"—he said, "That is all right, I have had £1,000 placed at my bank by their London agents"—on the faith of that statement, and believing the cheque would be met, I handed him £5—I paid the cheque into my bank, and it was returned marked "Refer to drawer"—I did not know his name; I had not seen him before—before the cheque came back he came again on the 14th, and asked me to cash another cheque—this is it (produced)—I did so on the faith of his statement, and the other cheque not then being returned.
THOMAS CROSBY HUTCHINSON . I am assistant to Messrs. Blow, tailors, of 17, Holborn—on December 14th the prisoner came and asked if I could make a dress suit for that evening—I said, "No, but we have some in stock, ready made"—he looked at them and said he must consult his father, and would call later on—he came back between five and six o'clock, and selected goods to the amount of £11 6s., and asked if I would take a cheque for the amount—I consulted the manager, and decided not to let him have the goods till we knew whether the cheque was right—he then gave three references, one of which was to Mr. Pannell, of Basinghall Street, who he said was the family solicitor—he handed me this cheque—I made out the bill; the Inverness cape had to be made; we had not time to look up the references on Saturday night—we paid the cheque into the bank, and it was returned marked "Refer to drawer"—he paid 8s. 6d. on account.
WILLIAM GILMORE . I am manager of the Harrogate branch of the Bradford Bank, Limited—William Dove was a customer of ours, but no funds were standing to his credit on December 11th—I have a copy of his account here, but it is not the prisoner's account—it was paid off in January by Mr. Wm. Dove's guarantor—we allow overdrafts if the bank have a guarantee—on December 5th I received a letter from Mr. Wm. Dove's solicitor about his account, in consequence of which the bank was unable to honour any further cheques on Mr. Dove's account—a cheque, of Mr. Wm. Dove, for £5 had been returned on 18th November, and one for £2 2s. 6d. on 21st November, and on 80th November one
for £5 was returned through an irregularity, it was a crossed cheque—we received this letter: "Gentlemen,—Please to honour cheques on my account, signed by my son, who is managing my business, and I confirm any cheque which he may have signed for me already.—Yours truly, WILLIAM DOVE—William Gilmore, witness."
ROBERT GABB . I am a clerk at Messrs. Lloyds' bank, 72, Lombard Street, agents of the Bradford Old Bank, Limited—£1,000 was-not deposited with our bank in December last on account of William Dove—I have searched the books and found no such account.
FREDERICK DOWNES (City Detective Sergeant). On 24th May I took the prisoner at Swaffham, in Yorkshire, at the house of a police officer of the district—I told him I was a police officer from London, and read the warrant to him—it was for obtaining a pair of boots and gaiters from Mr. Tierry, by means of a fictitious cheque—he said he did not see how it could be a fraud, as he had authority from his father to use his cheques—I saw his father in his presence, who said that he had authority to use the cheques, but not in London.
The prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence, stated that he was not aware that his father was in difficulties, or he would not have given the cheques.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, June 25th, 1890.
Before the Right Hon. Sir William Grantham.
NOT GUILTY .
There was another indictment against the prisoner, for assaulting the said person and causing her actual bodily harm. To this, by the advice of his counsel.
MR. THOMPSON, he PLEADED GUILTY.— Judgment respited.
MR. GREENFIELD Prosecuted, and MR. ELLIOTT Defended.
JESSIE CLACK . I am eleven years old, and live in Fair Lawn Avenue, Acton Green—on Saturday, 24th May, between two and three in the afternoon, I was walking with Maud Davidson in Acton Lane on the path—she was about twelve years old—she started to cross the road, and had got about half-way across when I saw a van coming down the hill—I called to her—she took no notice of my call—I did not hear anybody else call—she went on, and I saw the horse knock her down, and the van go over her—I then heard her scream—the driver of the van did not atop till he got to the bottom of the hill—Mr. Barlow went after him—I went up to the deceased—she did not speak—somebody lifted her up
and carried her home—I did not notice whether the van was going rapidly or not—two other vans had passed before this.
Cross-examined. I called out quite loud; the vans were making rather a noise.
SIDNEY HERBERT BARLOW . I am a broker, and live at Shepherd's Bush—on this afternoon I was going along Acton Lane towards the Green—I heard a noise of carts behind, and looked round and saw two vans coming in the direction of Acton Green—they passed me, and shortly after I heard a similar noise, and saw the little girl standing in the middle of the road and the van about five yards off—the child was knocked down by the near side of the horse, and the two near side wheels went over her—there was a distance of sixty or seventy yards between the second van and this one—it was going at a rapid pace—I shouted out—I did not hear the driver shout—I ran after him, and said, Hallo! Stop! You have run over a child"—he stopped in about sixty yards, and said, "What child?"—he got down, and I sent for a policeman and a doctor.
Cross-examined. The vans made a great noise; they might have drowned my voice—it is rather a narrow part of the road.
EDWARD OSBORN FOUNTAIN , M. D., Gunnersbury. On this Saturday afternoon I was called to see the child; she was then alive and conscious—there was a mark across the upper part of the stomach and the lower part of the chest, which might have been caused by the wheel of a van passing over her—she died in about twenty minutes while I was there—on a post-mortem I found two lacerations of the liver and great effusion of blood, and in one place the intestine was cut in two—those injuries corresponded with the external injury.
RICHARD WILLIAM GALE . I live at Acton—on this afternoon I was in Acton Lane, on the bridge over the railway—I saw a van coming down the hill at a rapid rate, and I saw the child lying in the road—I ran and picked her up, and ran for a doctor.
Cross-examined. I could not say whether the van was loaded—it was about thirty yards from me when I first saw it.
EDITH ALICE BYNG . I am single, and live at Hanwell—on this afternoon I was on Acton Green—I saw a coal van laden with coke coming very quickly down the hill—the prisoner was driving it—I saw the child standing in the road; the horse knocked her down, and the wheels went over her—I heard Mr. Barlow call out to the driver.
Cross-examined. I was close by him—I did not call out—the van was nearly on the child when I first saw it.
DANIEL ARTHUR DAVIDSON . I live at Fairlawn Avenue—I am the brother of the deceased—I was not with her on this afternoon—I was playing cricket on the green—I heard two vans loaded with coke coming down the hill at a great pace, and at the same time I saw my sister and Jessie Clack on the path—I did not see the prisoner's van—I heard a gentleman shout, and afterwards heard that my sister had been run over; I ran and saw her on the ground.
WILLIAM TURNER (Detective Sergeant T). I saw the prisoner at the station—I cautioned him—he said, "I will tell you how it happened; I was coming down the hill with a ton and a half of coke on it; when I
was under the bridge the deceased ran between my horse's head and another van in front of me; I did not see the van go over her."
NOT GUILTY .
MR. GRIFFITHS Prosecuted, and MR. FILLAN Defended.
HENRY BEACH . I am a coal porter—on Tuesday evening, 27th May, between six and seven, I was walking along the Kensal Road, and saw the prisoner driving a trolly with two horses; he went by Adela Street about twenty yards, turning to the left—he then turned short to the right into Adela Street—I saw the boy, John Doherty, standing on the kerb, outside the baker's shop, and at the next instant I saw the two right-hand wheels pass over him—I ran up to the trolly and told the prisoner he had run over a child, and he must wait till a policeman came—he said some word, but I could not say what it was—I waited till the policeman came up—I saw the prisoner get off the trolly—I could not say that he was drunk; I was excited at the time, and did not notice.
Cross-examined. He was driving very steadily, about four or five miles an hour, jig-jogging along.
BARBARA YOUNG . My brother is a pawnbroker, in Kensal Road—on Tuesday afternoon, 27th May, I was standing at the door—I saw the prisoner driving a trolly and a pair of horses; I saw the horse knock the child down; I did not notice the trolly until I saw the child fall; he was in the road, about halfway between the kerb and the centre of the road—I did not see the wheels go over the child.
Cross-examined. The child was two or three yards away from the kerb; the prisoner did not seem to be going fast.
ELIZABETH CASE . I am the wife of John Case, and live at 6, Adela Street—on 27th May, between six and seven in the evening, I was standing at my door, and saw the prisoner go by with his trolly; in a few minutes he came back—the little boy was at the edge of the kerb; the horse on the right-hand side knocked him under the chin, and he went down under the front wheel—he raised himself a little to get out of the way, and the second wheel passed over him.
Cross-examined. The boy was standing at the very edge of the kerb—I think the horse knocked him down; the boy might have just got off into the road—the van was not going very fast, he was driving steadily.
JAMES JENKINSON KNOX . I am house surgeon at St. Mary's—the deceased boy was brought there on 27th, about ten minutes past even—he was dead—I made a post-mortem examination; the cause of death was fracture of the rlbs from being run over—there was laceration of the lungs; five rlbs were broken on one side and two on the other.
WILLIAM MUNDAY (Policeman). I saw the trolly in Adela Street, and Mr. Beach keeping the prisoner there—I told the prisoner I should take him into custody for being under the influence of drink, and running over a boy—he said, "Never! I know nothing about it"—with a little difficulty he got down; he was under the influence of drink—he was taken to the station—on the way he staggered—I said to him, "This is a serious matter"—he was told to sit down, and within five minutes he was fast asleep.
Cross-examined. I thought from his general appearance that he was under the influence of drink—I had seen him five or six minutes before; I then thought him sober—I was not near enough to see—I told him to go on and drive—I held up my hand and shouted to him, and said, "Take your trolly away."
Re-examined. There were 300 or 400 people in the road in an excited state, owing to a disturbance which had taken place previously—I can say now positively that the prisoner was drunk.
JAMES NEWMAN (Police Inspector). The prisoner was brought to the station charged with being drunk whilst in charge of a trolly and a pair of horses—he was drunk—afterwards information came that the boy was dead—he was then charged with causing the death—he said, "I did not knock a boy down; I know nothing about knocking a boy over."
Cross-examined. It was fifteen minutes past seven when he was first charged, and about nine when he was charged with causing the death.
The prisoner said he was net aware of what had occurred; that it was quite an accident.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
GUILTY.—Strongly recommended to mercy by the JURY on account of their youth. One Month's Imprisonment, and Five Years in a Reformatory.
MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted.
JOHN ROBERTS (Policeman T 513). About 12.30 a.m. on 5th May I was in Elthorne Road, turning out of Holloway Road; I heard a police whistle, and went to 23, Nicolay Road, where I saw Police-constable McMillan—he made a complaint, in consequence of which I went to the back of 23, Nicolay Road—I there saw George Chamberlain, the prisoner's younger brother—I afterwards saw the prisoner; he got on the roof of the back kitchen of the house, and began throwing tiles and bricks at us; one of them struck McMillan on the head, knocking him insensible—it went right through his helmet—the prisoner then got Back into the house—some more constables came up—we could not find the prisoner, but about an hour, aftewards I saw him in custody—he was sober—he was very violent—he behaved like a madman—I assisted to take him to the station—it took us about a quarter of an hour to get him there; it was only a distance of about thirty yards.
WILLIAM MCMILLAN (Policeman T 427). About ten minutes past twelve on the morning of 5th May I was on duty in Nicolay Road, and saw the prisoner in company with another man and two females; they were behaving in a disorderly manner, and making use of obscene language—I requested them to desist, and to go away—the prisoner immediately struck me in the chest, exclaiming, "I will take your life before you are twelve months in Holloway"—he drew a knife from his trousers pocket, and tried to stab me in the chest—I put up my left arm
to save my chest, and received a stab in the arm—he was going to make a second stab with the knife when I drew my truncheon—he ran away—I pursued him—he ran into 23, Nicolay Road, and fastened the door—I blew my whistle, and two constables, Roberts and Miles, came up—we were endeavouring to break open the door when the prisoner appeared on the roof of the back kitchen, and he commenced throwing bricks and tiles down at us—one of the bricks struck me on the head and cut my helmet through, and rendered me insensible—I was assisted to the station.
ERNEST MILES (Policeman Y 255). I heard a whistle, and went to Nicolay Road—I there saw McMillan lying against the railings bleeding—I saw the prisoner on the roof, throwing tiles and bricks—one struck McMillan on the head, and he fell insensible.
WILLIAM BUCKLE (Policeman Y 454). About quarter-past one on the morning of the 5th I found the prisoner concealed in the washhouse at the rear of 120, Nicolay Road—I told him I should take him into custody for stabbing the constable—he became very violent and said, "If had any knife I would serve you the same as I did the other b—"—we both fell down—I took him to the station—he used very bad language, and said he would kill every policeman that there was at Upper Holloway when he came out.
HENRY PENNY (Policeman Y 509). I saw the prisoner struggling with Buckle, kicking and plunging very violently—I caught him by the leg—he said, "If I had a knife I would serve you the same as the other b—"—we had to turn him on his back, and drag him over a wall to take him to the station; he kicked me, but he had no boots on.
ALFRED NORTON (Police Inspector Y). The prisoner was brought to the station—he was more like a savage than a man—he used very bad language, and said he would kill every policeman in Holloway, especially myself, if he came out again—this knife was handed to me—I produce McMillan's helmet and the jacket, showing the stab in the arm.
PATRICK WHITE RATTRAY . I am divisional surgeon of police, 9, Pemberton Road—on 5th May, about a quarter-past four a.m., I saw McMillan at the station—he had sustained two injuries, a star-shaped wound on the top of the head, exactly where the bruise on the helmet met the scalp, and some hair and blood was adhering to the inside of the helmet; the wound extended through all the tissues, down to the covering of the skull-cap—there were three wounds, each about a quarter of an inch long; he was bleeding freely—the other wound was a puncture at the upper end of the left forearm—the knife produced might nave caused such a wound—he was very bad at the Police-court; he is not fit for active service now—he is still under my care—it is impossible to tell the effects of such an injury to the head—from the nature of it I come to conclude that he has had a fracture of the skull, but I cannot be absolutely certain—he was suffering from great pain, giddiness and sickness, and general exhaustion—both wounds were dangerous; the head injury was the most severe.
Prisoner's Defence: "About quarter-past eleven I was standing at the corner of the street talking to a young man and woman. McMillan came up and told me to go away; I walked down the street to go home, and he rushed after me and put his knee in my back. I asked what he did that for, and he drew his staff and struck me in the chest; he blew his
whistle, and I ran home and got on the roof, and seeing a lot of them below I threw a bit of tile. I went into the back yard, and they came and took me by the legs and threw me over the wall. One of them said, 'Give it to the bastard; we shall not have another chance,' and he said he would break my b—neck. My mouth was full of blood. I am very sorry I was drunk at the time; I never troubled them, and I don't know what cause they have; I am always at work."
GUILTY on Second Count— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted, and MR. WARBURTON Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, June 25th, 1890.
Before Mr. Recorder.
496. WILLIAM OLIVER, alias THE MARQUIS DE LEUVILLE , Conspiring with William Cronin and others to wreck the performance of a play called The Gold Craze, and to injure John Henry Barnes, in his profession as an actor. Mr. COCK, Q. C., appeared for the prosecution, and Mr. GEOGHEGAN for the defence. The witnesses did not appear.
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. BESLEY and GILL Prosecuted.
ARTHUR JOHN SIDNEY MERLEY . I am a cashier in the bank of Williams and Co., of Hurnston—we have a customer named Kingman—on 18th May this bill of exchange was presented to me for £98 15s., and Mr. Kingman's name appeared as the acceptor—I paid it with nineteen of our own £5 notes; the top one was 6689—the bill has on it the name of Putcher and Son—I made some inquiry about it, and the same day I communicated with Williams, Deacon and Co., our London agents—the person presenting the bill wrote on it "James Gordon, Devizes Villa, Salisbury."
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I consulted the manager—it is rather unusual to have a cheque endorsed which is already endorsed; but we do it where we do not know the customer, and we did not in this case; it was written in my presence, at my request—the manager did not see him; the junior clerk did.
By the COURT. This was May 13th, and on May 15th I went to identify the person, and I saw a group, and the prisoner was among them, but I did not recognise him.
EDGAR WILLIAM KINGMAN . I live at Ledlynch, Dorsetshire, and have an account at R. Williams' bank—on 29th April I received a letter with the post-mark of 28th April; I sent a reply, but do not know whether I put my name to it or sent it on a memorandum—the signature to this bill, E. W. Kingman, is not mine, neither is the acceptance, but it is like mine—I never had any business transactions with R. Putcher and Son, I know no such people—I carried on business as a builder between July, 1874, and June, 1876—I received these letters
from Cuthbert Ritson, of Highbridge, Somerset, in the course of my business—I ceased to be a builder last Michaelmas—I ceased to buy timber of Cuthbert Ritson ten or fifteen years ago, there have been no transactions since 1876—I never saw the prisoner that I know of before he was in custody.
HENRY CHAPMAN SALMON . I am a cashier at Stuckey's Bank, Bridgewater—I am here because I am bound over; I am not desirous of giving evidence—I have known the prisoner and his family some years—I have received letters from him, and know his writing—I believe this bill to be his writing, and believe the endorsement, "James Gordon," to be in the same writing, and the R. Stutcher and Son also—this letter and envelope I also believe to be the prisoner's writing. (This was dated April 26th, 1890, addressed to Mr. Kingman, inquiring the character of a servant.)
Cross-examined. The letters I produced at the Mansion House were dated about eighteen months ago—prior to receiving them I had not seen any of your writing for seven or eight years—I compared this correspondence with the letters I had—I speak from the general character of the writing—I always found you honest and honourable.
Re-examined. I know nothing of his position in 1889 in reference to mr. Jewell or Mr. Spooner—I have had no communication with him since 1879 or 1880—these are begging letters in 1888—I know nothing about his conduct in 1889; I made no inquiry.
FLORENCE BUCK . I am single, and assist a tobacconist at 4, Newington Causeway—we receive letters for a charge of 1d.—to the best of my belief the prisoner came there for a letter addressed to James Parsons—he came once to mo and once to Mrs. Kirby, who gave up the letter.
Cross-examined. This was in the first or second week in May, to the best of my belief—it was a week or a fortnight before I went to the Mansion House—I only saw you once—I saw the letter in our place—I do not know that Mrs. Kirby gave it to you.
WALTER PACEY . I am a clerk in the country department of Williams, Deacon and Co., Birchin Lane—on 14th May the prisoner came in, a few minutes after ten o'clock, and presented eighteen £5 notes of Williams and Co., out of nineteen about which we had received information—I found they were all there except No. 6689—I asked him from whom he received them—he said, "From the country"—I said, "From whom?"—he said, "I don't know why I should say"—I asked his name and address, and he wrote on a piece of paper, "John Walker, 37, Angel Road, Brixton"—I said, "What have you done with the other note?"—that seemed to startle him, and he said, "I don't know anything about any other note"—I went with the eighteen notes to the manager, and was away about a minute and a half—I received a communication and came back, and the prisoner was gone.
Cross-examined. When you handed me the notes you said something about their being payable there—I looked at them and compared them with the list; I turned round to a clerk and said, "Here are the notes that are stopped"—that was after I asked you where you received them—when I said, "Here are eighteen notes, what have you done with the other?" you did not reply, "You have all the notes I had sent me"—when I left to see the manager I gave instructions to a clerk that you were not to be allowed to leave the bank.
Re-examined. When he was brought back the manager asked him, "From whom did you receive these notes?"—he said, "I shall not tell you," or something of that sort.
EDWIN WHITE (City Policeman 728). On 14th May, about 10.10, the prisoner was pointed out to me walking at a sharp pace down Grace church Street towards London Bridge—I took hold of him before I spoke to him—he said, "You need not hold me, I could have got away before if I had liked"—I took him to Williams, Deacon's Bank, and the manager said, "Where did you get these notes from?"—he said, "I received them from the country, but if there is anything wrong I decline to say anything more"—he was asked if he had another note; he said, "No"—I took him to Seething Lane Station, and he was charged—he said, "I suppose I shall have to give my right name?"—I said, "Yes"—he gave the name of Henry Ritson, Sherwood Road, Epsom—I found another note in his breast pocket, No. 6689.
Cross-examined. Two gentlemen called my attention to you; they were not there when I took you; you were eighteen or twenty yards in front' of them; they came up afterwards.
ROBERT CHILD (City Detective Sergeant). On 21st May I read the charge to the prisoner, "Forging and uttering a bill of exchange"—he said, "Very good"—he gave me a piece of paper with the address, "John Walker, Angel Road, Brixton"—the name was not known there.
The Prisoner, in his defence, stated that he was not the person who presented the bill and wrote the endorsement; that he received the notes from the country, and when he presented them he found he had been made a dupe.
GUILTY **— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. RAVEN Prosecuted, and MR. SANDYS Defended.
CHARLES ISAACS . I am a carman, of 11, Seymour Row, Euston Square—on the night of April 12th I was at the corner of Drummond Street with my brother Sidney, and saw a fight between Patterson and King—I cried out, "Halloa!" and was struck by a strange man—I turned round to see who it was, and the prisoner's father struck me, and I struck back, and the prisoner and his father and a tall man set upon me—I was knocked down twice, and the second time I could not get up—I was picked up by Mr. Dee, put into the arms of Bird, and taken to the hospital, where I was three weeks, being stabbed in my right chest and left shoulder—I lost a great deal of blood, and lost nearly two stone in weight in the hospital.
Cross-examined. I was knocked down with their fists—they all three closed with me—I do not know who stabbed me.
SIDNEY ISAACS . I am a coal porter, of 19, Pancras Street—on 12th April, at 12.30, I was with my brother in Drummond Street, and saw a crowd—my brother said, "Halloa, halloa!" and was struck by a fair man—four or five assembled round him, and the prisoner said, "I will show you how to stop them bleeding Jews," and he came with an open knife like a dagger at my chest—I caught it between my fingers—he ran away, and I ran after him, and was knocked down by a tall dark man; and before I could recover myself I heard a cry that my brother was
stabbed—I got up, went to his assistance, and was knocked down by a short man—I felt something coming into my boot, and became insensible—when I recovered I found Mr. Drew pulling me from the gutter, and Mrs. Thomas biting the calf of my left leg—I saw the knife in the prisoner's hand about five minutes before my brother was stabbed—my fingers were out, and there was a wound on my shoulder-blade.
Cross-examined. The knife went between my fingers, and cut them both—there was a regular row, thirty or forty of them—I was not in it—I cannot find any reason for his stabbing me, there was no animosity between us—he was not a stranger to me, but I have never been in his company—his father and mother were there—I have had two or three words with them, but never had a row with his father—his father was knocked down, and his mother was on top of me, biting my calf.
CHARLES PATTERSON . I am a coal porter—I was in Seymour Street about 12.30 p.m., and saw a crowd; I went up and saw the prisoner and his father and mother, and the two Isaacs—the prisoner said to Isaacs, "You are too big for me, I will use something else"—at that time my cousin, Charles Patterson, was fighting a fellow named King—when the prisoner said that, he pulled a knife out of his trousers pocket, opened it, and stabbed Charles Isaacs in the right breast—he fell, and the prisoner on top of him, and got up with the knife still in his hand, and I saw blood on it—he went away, and then Isaacs got up and was taken away and put into the hands of Charles Bird and taken home, and then to the hospital.
Cross-examined. I live in that neighbourhood; they do fight there—the prisoner's father was fighting with Charles Isaacs; he is about the same size as the prisoner—I did not see the prisoner there, he came from behind—he was not struggling with Charles Isaacs, but his brother was.
JOSEPH ROGERS . I live at 31, Seymour Street—I was there on this night at a little after twelve o'clock—Patterson and King were fighting, and there was a crowd—Mr. Thomas, the prisoner's father, had a fight with Charles Isaacs, and the prisoner stabbed Charles Isaacs twice on his left shoulder and chest—I saw the blade of the knife glitter in his hand—Isaacs fell—I first saw the knife when he was stabbed in his shoulder.
Cross-examined. I saw him take the knife out of his trousers pocket—Charles Isaacs was also fighting with some tall fellow—the prisoner's father got very much the worst of it from Charles Isaacs—I saw more than half of the row—someone, not the prisoner's father, hit Charley Isaacs on the nose, and then he attacked the prisoner's father.
JOHN MARSHALL . I live at 7, Brandon Place—I was in Seymour Street after the row, and saw the prisoner under a lamp against a coffee-shop closing a knife, he placed it in his pocket, and his mother was biting Sidney Isaac's leg—he picked her up and ran away.
Cross-examined. She was not hurt—I saw Charles Isaacs taken away in a cab—the prisoner did not walk quietly away with his mother, he could not get her up, as she would not leave go of the leg, and he went away—the row went on after he left.
CHARLES DEWAR . I am house-surgeon at University College Hospital—on 29th April Charles Isaacs was brought in early in the morning with a punctured wound on the right side of his chest, an inch and a half outside the nipple, and a similar wound over his left shoulder—there was a
lot of blood on his shirt, and he bled a lot as he was lying on the couch—the wound on his chest was a serious one; it penetrated the lung; he was in the hospital three weeks, suffering a great deal from the shock—he has recovered now—Sidney Isaacs was brought in the same night with two punctured wounds, one on each shoulder, and two cuts on his left hand, as if the knife had passed between; one might have been done by a thrust, and the other by the withdrawal—the wounds on his shoulders were done from behind, or else when he was down; they were about half an inch long, I do not know the depth—there had been much bleeding from them—I did not keep him in the hospital—he laid on a couch for two or three hours.
Cross-examined. The wounds were done by a blade about half an inch wide; I think both men had had something to drink—the wounds might be made by an ordinary pocket-knife, such as men cut tobacco with.
ARTHUR HOWARD (Police Sergeant 8). On 29th April I was on duty in Seymour Street, about one o'clock; I received information, and went to University College Hospital, and found Charles and Sidney Isaacs suffering from wounds—I went to the prisoner's house and found him in bed—I said from information I received I should take him in custody for maliciously stabbing two men with a knife—he said, "I never had a knife in my life; Charley struck me, and I struck him back again; Fil, that is the other brother, made a kick at me, but missed me; they knocked my father down and gave him a punch, and Charley hit me in the eye"—there was a slight mark on his eye—I took him to the station—he was perfectly sober—this was at twenty minutes to one.
Cross-examined. It is rather a rough neighbourhood; there is a good deal of fighting at times—the prisoner lives with his family; his father is a chimney sweep—they live in the same mews as the Isaacs—I hear that there have been frequent quarrels between the families.
By the JURY. I found no knife on him—he lost his hat in the affray—a man named Kirk brought it to the station, and there was a quantity of blood on it—there were no blood stains on his clothes, only on his hat, which he accounted for by saying that he had lost it in the affray, and that the blood got on it when he had not possession of it—there are cuts on the prosecutor's clothes, and they are saturated with blood.
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BROMBY Prosecuted.
Upon the evidence of DR. GILBERT, surgeon to Holloway Prison, the JURY found the prisoner insane, and unfit to plead. — To be detained during Her Majesty's pleasure.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, June 25th, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
500. GEORGE SAUNDERS (20) and JOSEPH MILLER (16) PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling-house of Alfred Price, and stealing a watch, a chain, and other articles; MILLER** having been convicted in February, 1890, and SAUNDERS† in March, 1887.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour each.
501. ALFRED BELL (22) and CHARLES BARNES* (14) , to burglary in the dwelling-house of Thomas Forder, and stealing a locket and other articles. BELL— [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] Ten Month' Hard Labour. >
BARNES— [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] Judgment Respited.
502. ALFRED SPARKS (19) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to burglary in the dwelling-house of Edwin Elbrook, and stealing fifty cigars and other articles, and 3s. 6d.; also to a conviction of felony in September, 1889.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
503. GEORGE FENWICK (63) and GEORGE WILSON (59) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to burglary in the dwelling-house of George Niblett, and stealing two coats and other articles, his property, and a pair of boots, the property of Frederick Niblett; FENWICK** having been convicted in the name of Thorton Fenwick at this Court in April, 1886, and WILSON** at this Court in December, 1878, in the name of Sidney Smith .— Five Years' Penal Servitude each. And
504. THOMAS HEDGES (21) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to burglary in the dwelling-house of Henry Williams, and stealing a coat and other articles; also to burglary in the dwelling-house of John Baker, and stealing a table-cover and other articles.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
ELIZABETH BAKER . I live at 479, East India Road, and keep a fruiterer's shop—I have known the prisoner since last summer—I have occasionally bought German lottery tickets from him—I had bought one just shortly before 27th April, for which I was to pay a guinea a month for thirty-six months, I believe—I suppose the lottery was to be drawn after it was over; I never knew when—on Sunday, 27th April, the prisoner called and said, "I have got some very good news for you"—he opened a newspaper, and spread it out as if he were going to read something, and then he said he wanted to see my cheque-book; he did not say what for—I suppose he knew I had one, by having seen it when I was locking up the lottery tickets in my box—the box contained my cheque-book—I had money in the London Commercial Bank, which had failed—he said nothing on that day about that bank or the West London Bank—he said if I gave it into his hands to get it he would get it all for me—I did not ask what he wanted to see my cheque-book for, but I unlocked the box, and gave it him—it was on the London and South-Western Bank, Earl's Court branch—I had obtained the cheque-book, which contained twenty-five cheques to bearer, in May, 1889; I had only drawn one out of it—I am positive there was only that one cheque out of it when I showed it to the prisoner—when he had it I had to keep leaving him and going away to serve customers in the front of the shop—it is an open shop—he must have been in my room about a quarter of an hour, I going backwards and forwards in the meantime—he returned the cheque-book to me, and I locked it up without looking at it—it had been in no hands but mine and the prisoner's—I had never shown it to anyone else—when he left he was in his usual health; he seemed quite well—on the following day, 28th, I got a letter from my bank, in consequence of
which I looked at the cheque-book, and found a cheque form was gone; the counterfoil was left in the book; there is nothing on the counterfoil—I. went and saw the bank manager next day, and got certain information from him—on 30th April the prisoner came and asked for Moritz Hertz, a jeweller, who rents the front part of the shop—the prisoner knew him; I have seen them talking together—as soon as he was in the shop I asked a lady, who was buying vegetables, to mind the shop (the prisoner heard me), and I went for a constable, and gave him into custody—I said, "I shall give you in charge for stealing a cheque out of my cheque-book on Sunday morning last"—he said nothing—I never drew a cheque for £32 18s. in favour of Hertz; I authorised no one to do it—Hertz never had my cheque-book; J don't think he knows I have one; he never saw it to my knowledge; there is no internal communication between Hertz's shop and mine.
Cross-examined. I have had this cheque-book about twelve months, and always kept it locked up in this box in the back parlour—whenever I unlocked my box to put tickets away or rent receipts the cheque-book was always at the top of the box, and several times I have run through the leaves—I have had two cheque-books—I examined them now and then—I cannot read at all; I can just sign my name, "Baker"—I have never quarrelled with Hertz—he has never been in my parlour—I keep all my bills and receipts in the box, which is always locked—I keep the key in a little box with a spring, which is in a chest of drawers in the back parlour—the drawers are not always locked—when I go to market my niece, sixteen years old, is always in the shop—I am away one and a half or two hours at market, and I go two or three times a week—Rux, the barber next door, introduced the prisoner to me—I don't think he knew I had a cheque-book—the prisoner has always paid me when I won; I have had £2 14s. from him.
Re-examined. I have paid seventy-two shillings altogether this year, and last—the prisoner said nothing when he gave me back the cheque-book.
RICHARD MONAGHAN . I am a cashier at the Earl's Court branch of the London and South-Western Bank—on Monday, 28th April, about midday, a cheque was presented to me over the counter by the prisoner—ultimately I handed it back to the prisoner, and he went away with it (Arthur Peacock, clerk to Messrs. Wontner and Sons, solicitors, here proved having served on the prisoner', on 19th May, a notice to produce the cheque)—the cheque was dated 25th April, 1890, for £32 18s., and purported to be drawn by Elizabeth Baker, payable to Mr. Hertz—it was endorsed "Hertz"—I compared the cheque with the signature-book—I had doubts, and showed it to my manager, Mr. Lee—I then took it back to the prisoner—Mr. Lee asked him from whom he had received the cheque; he said, "From Mrs. Baker"—Mr. Lee asked him to describe Mrs. Baker; he said she was a small woman, very stout—I marked the cheque, "Signature differs"—I believe Mr. Lee looked at the number of the cheque—I believe Mrs. Baker had a cheque-book delivered to her in May last year—by an error the date it was sent was not entered in our book—we have a record of the numbers of the cheques sent to her—up to 28th April only one cheque had come to us from that book, and that was drawn on 2nd July, and was No. A 000651; it was the first cheque out of the book—the last was 000675.
Cross-examined, I will swear it was not eleven when the prisoner came in—I had no suspicion about the cheque when it was handed to me—I referred to my signature-book, and then went to the manager—I handed it back; I should be incurring great risk if I did not, not knowing if it were a forgery.
JOHN WILLIAM LEE . I am manager of the Earl's Court branch of the London and South-Western Bank—on Monday, 28th April, this cheque for £32 18s. was brought to me by Mr. Monaghan—I compared it with the signature-book, and saw it differed from Mrs. Baker's signature, and I went with Mr. Monaghan to the counter, where I found the prisoner—I said, "From whom did you receive this cheque?"—he said, "From Mr. Hertz"—he went on to say Mrs. Baker was a greengrocer, and kept a shop in the East India Dock Road, and that Hertz was her lodger—I asked how he became possessed of the cheque, and there was more conversation, which I do not recollect—the cheque was numbered A 000652, and was the second in the book issued to Mrs. Baker—the first cheque number A 000651 had been presented in July last.
Cross-examined. I am not sure if the prisoner mentioned receiving the cheque from Mrs. Baker or from Mr. Hertz; he said Mrs. Baker gave it to Hertz—I said at the Court below he received it from Hertz; I think he said he received it from Mrs. Baker—I don't recollect which it was—this was half-past eleven or a quarter to one—I know that because one clerk goes out at half-past eleven, and another at a quarter to one—I have a note of the date on which the cheque-book was given out.
Re-examined. It was issued before July, 1889; she drew a cheque in chat month—this is the cheque-book—I have not the slightest doubt that the prisoner is the man.
MORITZ HERTZ . I am a watchmaker and jeweller, and occupy part of Mrs. Baker's shop, 479, East India Road—I nave not known the prisoner long; he came once to the shop a long time ago—I know nothing of a cheque payable to me for £32 18s.—I never heard of it—I never endorsed such a cheque.
Cross-examined. I had not seen the cheque before I saw it at the Police-court—I have known the prisoner about six months, I have seen him about three times—I have done no business with him—I have not spoken to him—he came to my shop a long time before and sold me a lottery ticket, through Mrs. Baker—I did not see him myself—I cannot get from my shop to hers without going outside—she never comes into my shop, and I never go into hers—I have never been in her parlour.
ANTHONY HURRELL (K 177.) On 30th April Mrs. Baker called me to her shop, where I saw the prisoner—by her directions I took him into custody—she said she wished to charge him with stealing a cheque out of her book on the previous Sunday, the 27th, filling it up, taking it to the bank at Kensington, and trying to cash it—he made no answer, and I asked him if he understood what she said—he said, "Yes; all right"—at the station he was placed among a number of others on the same day, and Mr. Lee picked him out and said, "That is the man that came into the bank"—when the charge was read at the station the prisoner said, "I know nothing about the cheque'—Mr. Monaghan was not brought to identify him.
Cross-examined. I saw the bank manager when he came, but had no conversation with him—the prisoner was placed among men of various
ages; I don't know if any of them were Jews—the prisoner lives in a street out of Commercial Road East, about four miles, I should think, from the bank at Kensington.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I have five witnesses to show that I was ill on Monday, 28th April, in bed, and unable to go out, and the same on the following Tuesday, the 29th April. G. Michael, the doctor, attended to me for my throat."
Witness for the Defence.
MARY ALEXANDER . I live at 38, Myrtle Street, Commercial Road—the prisoner has lodged with me for fourteen months—he was arrested on a Wednesday, eight or nine weeks ago to-day—on the Monday before that, 28th April, I saw him at nine a.m., and again at eleven, or close to eleven, in bed, and I saw him again after four o'clock; I gave him a cup of tea—he was in bed, his throat was wrapped up—I spoke to him, and he answered me—he had a bad throat, and he had the doctor—I always found him a respectable gentleman.
Cross-examined. I know he had a bad throat—he had a poultice on with a woollen scarf—this is the first time I have been called as a witness in this case—I was at the Police-court; his throat was wrapped up then in the same way—I saw him in bed at four, and after four till a quarter or twenty minutes to five—I have no idea what time he got up or went out on the following day, the Tuesday; he went out in the morning; he used not to come down to my place when he went out—I cannot say when he went out on Sunday—he was at home by one o'clock—he came home on Sunday very early, and stopped in; I saw him many times.
MR. AVORY, in reply, recalled
By MR. BLACKWELL. I have been in Court; I said nothing about it before, because I was not asked.
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Thursday, June 26th, 1890.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS and HORACE AVORY Prosecuted; MESSRS. WILLIS, Q. C., and WARBURTON Defended. The details of this case are unfit for publication.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Thursday, June 26th, 1890.
Before Mr. Recorder.
507. EDWARD VARRONE (43), CARLO NERI (43), and ANTONIO BIGATI (48), PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully obtaining from the Deutsche Bank certain orders for payment of money, and to conspiring to utter certain forged Spanish Bonds. VARRONE received a good character.— Eighteen Monty Hard Labour. NERI and BIGATI— Five years' Penal Servitude each. And
508. AUGUSTUS CORNELIUS KING (46) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to unlawfully obtaining £3, with intent to defraud, from Arthur William Rolfe, who recommended him to mercy.— Four Days' Imprisonment.
509. HENRY KRUGER (40) and HENRY MORGAN (45) , Forging and uttering an Army certificate, with intent to defraud, to which KRUGER PLEADED GUILTY. He received a good character.— Six Months' Bard Labour. MR. FULTON, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence against MORGAN.— NOT GUILTY . There were six other indictments against the prisoners, upon which no evidence was offered.
MR. SANDERS Prosecuted, and MR. ROOTH Defended.
WILLIAM COLLINS . I am a coffee-house keeper, of 68, Winchester Street, Caledonian Road—on Sunday, June 1st, I was in St. Martin's Lane—it was past eleven o'clock, because the public-houses were shut up—a woman came up and solicited me; the prisoner was with her; they were talking together—she said she felt drowsy and sleepy, and wanted a bed—I said, "I cannot oblige you"—she gave me a saucy answer and spoke to the prisoner, and he came and struck me on my jaw and knocked me down—I got up and was going for him, but two lads, about twenty, came up and threw me down on the pavement, and they went at my pockets, but I do not think that the prisoner took a halfpenny—he was standing over me—I lost 2s. 6d. and a pin; the two who escaped took the money—the prisoner was given in custody.
Cross-examined. I had only had three glasses of ale all that evening—the prisoner was a little elevated, but he never interfered with me.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WILLES Prosecuted.
EMILY CRACKNELL . I am servant to Mr. John Gammage, a jeweller, of 6, Cumberland Terrace, Seven Sisters Road—the prisoner was employed there as a charwoman on 6th and 7th May—on 6th May I had a brooch made of a four shilling-piece on my bed, and a silver watch and chain in a box in my bedroom, and a jacket with 6s. 6d. in the pocket—I saw the brooch and watch and chain safe about 10.30 a.m. on the 6th, and missed them on the 9th—I told my mistress—this is part of my watch, and this brooch is mine.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You saw me put the watch in my box on Tuesday morning; you said it would be the better plan to put it away, as there were workmen in the house—you did not see where I put the watch; I cleared the room and said, "Now it is all cleared you can come in to your work."
27, Seven Sisters Road—I took in a brooch, made of a four-shilling piece, pledged by the prisoner, on May 7th, for four shillings, in the name of Ellis—I am positive of her.
WILLIAM WEIGHT (Policeman N). On 13th May, at 9.15, I saw the prisoner at 14, Lennox Road, and told her I was going to arrest her for stealing a brooch and other articles—she said, "I don't know what you are talking about."
GEORGE SHANKS (Police Sergeant N). I was with Wright—I searched the prisoner's room, and found 131 pawntickets and the inside of a watch—among the tickets was one of a brooch—the prisoner said, "My husband gave me the setting of a brooch; I had the four-shilling piece in paper."
Cross-examined. Your husband is a jeweller.
Prisoner's Defence: My husband is a working jeweller, and one evening before he left work this watch and some watch-glasses were brought him together. He was taken ill, and the brokers were put in. We had sickness in the house for six years, which accounts for the number of pawntickets.
GUILTY — Nine Months' Hard Labour. There were two other indictments against the prisoner.
ROBERT THOMAS MEACOCK . I keep the Blue Posts, Tottenham Court Road—on 13th May I advertised for a barman, and Coote applied for the situation—he said he had been employed at the Old Red Cow ten months, and left on account of the sale of the business, and if I would apply to Mr. Hume, the proprietor, for his reference, he would make an appointment, and Mr. Hume would be at the George and Dragon during the afternoon—I went there and asked for Mr. Hume, and the landlord pointed out Brookes in front of the bar, and said, "This is Mr. Hume"—I asked Brookes what, house he kept—he said, "The Old Red Cow, Mile End Road," and that he had sold the house six weeks ago; that Coote had been in his service ten months, and left in consequence of the sale—I then asked as to his honesty, and so on, all which questions he answered in the affirmative, and said he would have continued with him if he had been in business—Coote entered my service the next day, and I began to discover errors in the sixpences and coppers immediately; I lost from £2 to £2 10s. a day, and communicated with the police and with Mr. Dyne, the landlord of the Old Red Cow.
Cross-examined by Brookes. The landlord of the George and Dragon introduced you to me—you were about ten feet from me—I asked you if Coote was honest, and you said, "Yes"—I said, "Have you any further fault to find with him?"—you said, "No, he would nave been there now if I had had it."
Cross-examined by Coote. I suspected you the same night—I said, "There is a sovereign short," and you said I must have made a mistake—I said, "No, I don't make mistakes in money"—I missed £1 in the afternoon, and £l at night; I cannot prove who had it—Sach was there between 4 and 5.30; the second £1 was missed between 11 and 11.30—you had twenty companions outside the bar—a young
man left the night before you were arrested—I said, "No one can leave," and you said, "I will not stand in the bar and stand this money by the side of the other man."
WILLIAM EDWARD DYNE . I keep the Old Red Cow, Mile End Road—I took possession from Mr. Hume on 3rd December, 1889—Brookes is not Mr. Hume—I first visited the house about November 25th, but did not see Coote employed there—he has certainly not been employed there since the early part of November.
JAMES AYRES . I keep the George and Dragon, Barbican—I know Brookes as Hume—about a month ago I saw him in the bar—a gentleman asked for the name of Hume, and Mr. Meacock came—I called Brookes from the bar, and he and Meacock had some conversation.
Cross-examined by Brookes. I have known you two months—I may have known you on March 10—Hume was the name you left with me—I do not remember you in the Star and Garter twenty years ago; it is thirty years since I lived there—I do not know Mr. Meacock's brother, he was not a customer at my place.
WILLIAM JAMES (Detective Sergeant B). On 23rd May I went to the Blue Posts, Tottenham Court Road, and saw Coote—I said, "I am a police officer; I hold a warrant for your arrest"—I read it to him; he said, "Yes"—it charged him with conspiring with Brookes—lie was charged at the station, and made no reply.
FRANCIS ALLWRIGHT (Detective Officer D). On 23rd May I saw Brookes in Tottenham Court Road, and said, "Mr. Hume, I want to speak to you; I am a police officer"—he said, "My name is not Hume, my name is Brookes"—I said, "There are both names on the warrant; I shall arrest you on this warrant"—on the way to the station he said, "I do not know anything about it; I do not know where the Blue Posts is, and I do not know this man you are talking about"—I fetched Mr. Meacock, who said, "Yes; this is the man who gave me a reference last Tuesday week."
Cross-examined by Brookes. After Mr. Meacock said that you said, "Then I must have been drunk."
Brookes' Defence. I never saw Coote in my life till I saw him in custody. Mr. Meacock asked me if I knew Coote, and if he was all right, and I said, "Yes. "There was no reference whatever; he did not ask anything about a character. I never said I was Hume.
BROOKES— GUILTY **
COOTE— GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour each.
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, June 26th, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. FORREST FULTON Prosecuted.
CHARLES HALWARD . I am a clerk in the office of the Commissioner of Police, at Scotland Yard—on 2nd April I received this letter. (This was signed "James Young," offering himself as a candidate for the Metropolitan police Force, and stating, among other matters, that he had been in the 8th lancers)—I sent him this form with printed details to be filled in, and I
received it back filled up as it now is. (This gave name, age, height, measurement, and other details)—with it I received these two parchment documents (One of these certified that his conduct while with the colours had been very good; that he was in possession of a second-class certificate of education, and was sober, honest, and trustworthy, and was a good groom; and was signed, "Colonel St. Quentin. "The other was a parchment certificate, stating that he was seven years with the Reserves, and was of the second-class of education; and was signed"Captain Vesey")—the Commissioners considered he was a proper person to be placed on the list of candidates if the documents were genuine, and his name was placed on the list—on 22nd April I sent him notice to attend for medical examination—he came; the prisoner is the man, to the best of my belief—he passed the medical examination—inquiries were made, which led to this prosecution.
TIMOTHY WALLIS (Sergeant K 38). I am stationed at Barking—on 5th April the prisoner brought me this form with the measurements on it, and said he was a candidate for the police, and wanted to be measured—he said his name was John Young—I measured him and filled up the form, and gave it back to him.
FRANK NORMAN BUTLER . I am a sergeant-major of the 8th Hussars, stationed at Shorncliffe—I hold a civil position as orderly-room clerk—the prisoner was a private in the regiment for seven years; he served with me for about three years at the depot, and then I was in India lot the remainder of his time—on 28th March this year he was discharged into the Reserve—it was my duty, as orderly-room clerk, to make up for the commanding officer's signature his certificate of character—on the prisoners discharge I filled up an official form, D 439, and handed it to the commanding officer for signature—there are a number of the forms in the office; we use about 100 a month—anyone employed in the orderly-room has access to them; no one else—they are kept in an unlocked cupboard in the clerks' room—I did not fill up this form, or any part of it—this is not the Colonel's signature; it is spelt "ton" instead of "tin"—the prisoner is described in this document as of very good character; that is not the character he bore in the regiment—I prepared this parchment certificate of education, D 426, to be signed by Captain Vesey—I filled up his education qualification as the fourth class, in which he was; the "fourth" has been altered to "second"—the fourth is the lowest class.
THOMAS ASTON ST. QUTNTTN . I am Colonel commanding the 8th Hussars at Shorncliffe—the signature of this army form, D 439, is not mine; it is spelt "ton"; I spell my name "tin"—when Captain Vesey signed this other certificate he was commanding in my absence—I was not with the regiment on the day this one is signed in my name.
HERBERT GEORGE BOORD . I am military staff clerk at the Cavalry depot, Canterbury—I produce the official registry of the prisoner's service in the 8th Hussars—his character was "Bad, and addicted to drink"—he held a certificate of education of the fourth class—he was punished twenty-five times for ordinary offences against military discipline, being late, and so on, and nine times for drunkenness—he was tried by district court-martial for striking his superior officer, and sentenced to eighty-four days' imprisonment.
him—it charged him with unlawfully forging a certificate of character, with intent to obtain the position of a constable—he said, "I did not write the certificate; it is as I received it from the clerk"—on the way to the railway station he said, "I am very sorry that I applied for the police"—I took him to Bow Street—he was charged, and made no reply—the next day he said to me of his own accord, "The original certificate that I received from the regiment I have destroyed; this one I received from Corporal Haligan; I aid not pay him for it."
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I had the certificate given to me."
The Prisoner, in his defence, said that Corporal Haligan gave him the certificate half an hour before he left, and he sent it up to the police, and that he had received the original proper certificate from Sergeant-Major Smithers.
HUGH HALIGAN . I am a lance-corporal in the orderly-room of the 8th Hussars—I did not abstract nor fill up this form and give it to the prisoner; I know nothing about it—I never saw it before—I know of the blank forms—I have never let people have them—a person might come into the room and take one out of the cupboard; there is not always someone in the room—I gave the prisoner this education form, but I know nothing of the character form; there is no truth in what the prisoner says—I have been in the regiment two years, but I have been in the depot nearly all the time.
GUILTY of Uttering— Nine Months' Imprisonment ,
514. THOMAS JOHN ALEXANDER (32), WALTER PENNY (18), CHARLES YOUNG (17), WALTER ALLDAY (18), and MARK KEELEY (29) , Stealing four pieces of silk and two pieces of grenadine, the goods of the Great Western Railway Company, the employers of, Alexander, Penny, Young, and Allday; Second Count, Receiving the same. Alexander and Penny PLEADED GUILTY .
MESSRS. MASTERMAN and TALBOT Prosecuted; MR. HUTTOH defended Young; MR. PAUL TAYLOR defended Allday; and MR. ROOTH defended Keeley.
JOHN POLLOCK . I am a salesman in the silk department of the Fore Street Warehouse Company—on 24th May I received an order from Mr. Coltman, of High Wycombe, and I prepared to meet it, one length of perfection silk measuring 41 1/2 yards, a length (35 yards) of black grosgrain, a length (16 1/2 yards) of soie doublon, and 10 yards of black ottoman—these are the grosgrain and the soie doublon; in both cases the edges are specially reserved for us, and are not made for any other house—I identify this writing on the grosgrain as the writing of one of our assistants—the total value of the consignment I made up is roughly about.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. There would be no paper round the top and bottom of the soie doublon, but I have nothing to do with the packing—all the things were sent out in packets this size, except the ten yards, which was half the size.
WILLIAM MCGIVERN . I am a salesman in the dress department of the Fore Street Warehouse Company—on the 23rd of May I executed an order for sixty-six yards of grenadine, and sent it to the entering-room—this is the same pattern.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. There is no mark on the paper—we got in the piece specially for the order—it is not very rare stuff.
CHARLES SEXTON . I am a porter in the Fore Street Warehouse Company—on 24th May, early in the morning, I packed some four lengths of silk and two lengths of dress material for Mr. Coltman, of High Wycombe, in paper, and then in a wooden box—I put this card on the box, and addressed it, "J. Coltman, High Wycombe"—it was forwarded by Sutton and Company; this is their receipt—this is part of the box.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. I saw the things again at the Police-court on 5th June—these goods are similar—I am not prepared to swear they are the goods.
SAMUEL SELF . I am a packer in Sutton and Company's employment—on 24th May I received a box of goods from the Fore Street Warehouse Company, for Coltman and Company, High Wycombe, and I delivered it at Smithfield Railway Station, to the Great Western Railway Company—this is the receipt, and this is the label that was on the box.
HENRY COOK . I am a checker in the employment of the Great Western Railway, at Smithfield depot—on 24th May I received a box from Messrs. Sutton for Mr. Coltman, of High Wycombe, at 7 p.m., it had this card on—I made out this consignment note—I sent the box to the truck for High Wycombe—the train would leave about 11.58, I think.
DENNIS O'BRIEN . I am sixteen—I live at 18, Tiverton Street, Newington Causeway, and I am in the employment of the Great Western Railway as a slipper boy—I scotch trucks—Penny was my mate—Alexander was a horse-driver; I knew him as Banbury—between twelve and half-past at midnight on Saturday, 24th May, I was on No. 1 line—I saw Penny put a long parcel down his trousers, and button his waistcoat over it—Alexander was with him—across the metals of the Metropolitan Railway there were two other slipper boys, Allday and Young—I went to them, and I saw each of them put a long parcel down their trousers, and button their waistcoats over it—I saw two of them take the parcels out of a box which was inside the metals—I saw them fetch the box from a dark tunnel—I asked them what they had got there—Allday and Young said, "Only silk and crape, and one thing and another"—Young asked me if I would buy his lot for one shilling—I refused it—the box, a large deal one, was at the side of them; it was empty then—Young and Allday broke it up and threw it over the metals behind the heap of cinders—then they came across the lines with Alexander and Penny, and they were getting their horses ready to go home—I went as far as the inner arch, as I had forgotten my hat, and came back to the signal-box to get it—I saw no more of them—I don't know Keeley; I did not see him there—Penny is a horse-driver.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. The parcels Young and Allday placed in their trousers were as large as one of these; I don't know if it was as thick—I don't know if it was wrapped up or not—I saw them put it down their trousers—I was standing close to Young, talking to him—there was dark cream coloured paper on the parcel—I noticed no label on it—I thought it was stolen—I did not like to tell a policeman—a policeman is on duty there night and day.—I
say all the prisoners are thieves—I had been there fifteen months—I have 10s. a week—I was frightened; they did not threaten me; I thought they would—Young did not tell me not to tell anyone—I told Harry Banbury, a driver, the following morning, and he told Bill, his brother, who told Roberts, the foreman, and Roberts told the sergeant—the police came and made inquiries of me on the next day or the day after—when I spoke to Young and Allday they both said together, "We have only got silk and crape, and one thing and another"—I swear that—I said at the Police-court only one of them said it; that is true; I am not certain which one said it—I do not mean that both of them said it at the same time—when Young said, "I will sell you my lot for 1s.," he spoke then for the first time—this conversation took about five minutes, and then they went away—Young has been in the company's employment there about eighteen months.
Cross-examined by MR. TAYLOR.—I was communicated with by the police two or three days, I think, after 24th May—I knew in the interval that the slipper boys were suspected of stealing some property—I am generally on duty on Saturday night as late as half-past twelve—there were three slipper boys and two horse drivers there—there were no others there besides—Allday was there before I went into the employment—I have been down there five months; before that I was on the vans—I have known Allday since I have been there—Harry Banbury is a horse-driver in another gang—the horse-drivers and slipper boys generally go up together—I have said before to-day that I saw them take the silk out of the box.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. I have never seen Keeley about the station—the policemen at the Great Western are all in uniform.
WILLIAM WALMSLEY . I am a policeman in the service of the Great Western Railway Company, employed at the Smithfield goods depot—on night, 24th, and morning, 25th May, I was on duty by the policeman's box at the entrance gate to see the men out—I saw Alexander, Penny, Young, and Allday come out about 12.30—I booked them out—next morning, in consequence of instructions, I went on to the disused platform underground, and searched and found the remains of a broken box; this is one of the pieces; there were several others—they were on the further side to where you come in, against some arches, beyond the Chatham and Dover line—there is a partition between that line and the other—it is the last place you see as you come in—the Wycombe truck stands at the bottom eastern end of the platform against the wall—it is about forty or fifty yards from where it is loaded to where I found this piece of box—this piece of box had this card on it—I noticed nothing suspicious about the prisoners.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. Young went out on foot—I stand there to identify every man who comes out; I had not my light that night with me—there is a lamp in the centre; it was not burning—I could swear to the four prisoners that night—I did not notice them when I booked them out.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. I don't know Keeley—I have never, to my knowledge, seen him about the station; he was not a servant of the company.
No. 1 line, and then is taken to No. 4 by the horse-driver and slipper-boy—at No. 4 it is about fifteen yards from the disused platform that has been mentioned—between No. 4 line and the London Chatham and Dover Railway is the pillar of an arch, then come the London Chatham and Dover lines, and then the disused platform—there is a rubbish heap near the end of the disused platform—I searched it, and found these pieces of paper there—it is about fifteen yards from where the Wycombe truck stands when it is ready to go off—on the night of the 24th there was only one Wycombe truck going by the 11.58 train—there is some pencil-writing on one of these pieces of paper.
JAMES MAYNE (Police Constable O). On the night of 28th May, about ten minutes past eight, I was in Golden Lane,. St. Luke's—I saw Keeley walking along Hatfield Street, westwards, and go into Dean's Court—about ten minutes afterwards I saw him, in company of Alexander, leave Dean's Court, where Alexander lives, at No. 7—they are brothers-in-law—Keeley was carrying a sack on his shoulder, with something bulky in it as they left the court—I followed them some way, and came up with them in Bunhill Row—Constable Small was then with me—I said to Keeley, "What have you got in that sack?"—he said, "Nothing," and threw the sack to the pavement—I caught hold of him; he said, "I will go quietly," but he commenced to struggle, and kicked out right and left—I told him I was a constable—Small took Alexander, and I took Keeley to the station—at the station Keeley, pointing to Alexander, said, "That man asked me to take a walk with him"—I searched and found on him this piece of paper—in the sack were these thirty-five yards of silk, sixteen and a quarter yards of silk, and sixty-six yards of grenadine—they have been in the custody of the police ever since—this piece of paper, which I found in Keeley's left-hand breast pocket, fits a breach in the paper wrapper of the grenadine—he said, as to the paper, "I got that from that man, too; I cannot write"—on 3rd June I went to 50, Roscoe Street, St. Luke's, where I saw Young—I said, "I am a police constable, and I am going to take you into custody for being concerned with others in stealing a quantity of dress material from the Smithfield Goods Railway Station on last Saturday night week, that would be the 24th"—he said, "Not me, sir, you have made a mistake"—on the 29th May Keeley made a statement, which Inspector Burnham took down, and I signed as a witness to Keeley's mark.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. I went to Young's on the 3rd, one or two days after I had information about this robbery.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. Keeley was carrying the sack in an open manner over his shoulder; it was a fairly bulky parcel; I and Small were in plain clothes—when he said he would go quietly I had said nothing about taking him to the station—when we said we should take him to the station he began to struggle—I have never seen Keeley with any of the prisoners, except Alexander—the statements made by the prisoners are similar—I received no harm in the struggle—Keeley gave me a correct address; I searched his house; no property claimed to be stolen has been found there—a great many people were about when I arrested him—Keeley had no sack when I first saw him going towards Dean's Court, but when he came out he had the sack.
me on the right shin, and caused a wound—he resisted his arrest—I arrested Allday, who was charged with stealing silk and satin; he made no reply—I arrested also Penny and Alexander.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. He kicked me trying to get away from Mayne; it has healed up, but there are marks; it was a wound about as large as a finger-nail—he went quietly afterwards—he was charged at the station, first with the robbery, and then with the assault at the same time.
WILLIAM BURNHAM (Police Inspector E). On 29th May I took these statements from Alexander and Keeley—Keeley heard what Alexander said—they were cautioned before they made the statements, and afterwards the statements were read to them before they were signed. (The statements were read as follows:—Alexander said: About 12.10 a.m., on 25th May, 1890,1 was walking up the hill to Smithfield Goods Station, leading a horse, when the horse shied, and I then saw this silk and satin, in three parcels, lying in the roadway in two different places. I picked them up and took them home, and on Wednesday, the 28th, I went to Keeley, and asked him to come with me to get rid of them. We went and fetched the stuff from my house, and carried it as far as Roscoe Street, when the detective stopped us and brought us to the station. Keeley said: About 7 p.m., on 28th May, 1890, I was standing at the comer of Golden Lane and Old Street, when Thomas John Alexander, my brother in-law, came to me and told me that as he was coming home last Saturday night he picked up some goods, which he had now at home, and asked me to go home with him to sell it, and he would give me a few halfpence. He said he should not have noticed the goods only his horse that he was driving shied at them. I went home with him, and he brought a bag with something in it downstairs into Dean's Court, Hatfield Street, and carried it to Roscoe Street, when he gave it to me to carry, and we both walked along together, when the policeman in plain clothes met us, and stopped us, and brought us to the station")—Alexander gave his statement first.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. When Keeley was charged at the station he said, "The statement handed in by Burnham is a correct statement of what I wanted to say."
JOHN POLLOCK (Re-examined). The writing on this paper, which was with the grosgrain, is by one of the assistants in the department, James McSkinning—the writing on this piece, found in Keeley's pocket, is not that of any of our men, that I am aware of—by the marks on it I should think the prisoners had been estimating the value.
Young's statement before the Magistrate:" I have been eighteen months with the company, and this is my first offence."
MR. ROOTH called the following witnesses:—
THOMAS JOHN ALEXANDER (the prisoner). I have been in the employment of the Great Western Railway Company for nineteen years—I have pleaded guilty—I plead guilty to picking the things up, not knowing them to be stolen—Keeley was out of employment; I heard he had done nothing for some weeks, and about seven o'clock on the 28th I asked him to come out for a walk—he came to see me about seven o'clock, and I brought down a bag with these things, and asked him to help me carry them—we walked as far as Roscoe Street; I had the bag—he asked me what I had in the bag—I said, "Some old things, and if
I can get rid of them it will be a few halfpence in your pocket"—the bundle was of middle size, about 12lb. or 13lb. weigh, I suppose, in an ordinary sack—I gave it to him at Roscoe Street—we were arrested—Keeley did not know the contents of the bag—he is my brother-in-law—he is a carman, I believe; he is not connected with the railway company at all—he had not been doing anything since the Saturday—I made the statement to the inspector which has been read.
Cross-examined. I knew that two pieces of silk and a piece of satin or dress stuff was in the bag; two were loose, and one wrapped in paper—I am positive the grenadine was not in paper when I picked it up—I received nothing from Penny—I don't know if I have ever seen this piece of paper before; I did not write this on it; I can write my name, but I am no hand at figuring—I never saw Keeley's writing—I did not see the paper taken out of his pocket by the policeman; I know nothing about it—I cannot say for certain whether I gave it to Keeley; I never wrote it—I am sure I did not give it to him—I have no idea where he could have got it from—I don't know how many yards of grenadine or of the other things there are—I put the things in a sack, which was an old one I had—I had no other things—I was walking with the horse up the circular rise into Smithfield when I found these things, one on the near side, and two on the off side—the horse saw one, and kicked the other—they might have belonged to the railway; I did not know but what somebody might have pitched them over the railings; I was not to know whose they were—I sometimes find things lying in the roadway—I did not know till afterwards that they were silk and satin; I do not know now what this is that had no paper on; it is dress material—I did not tell Keeley I had some silk and satin—I had left off work, and was coming home—I put them in a bag, as I did not want to expose them; I was going to take them anywhere where I could get rid of them by selling them—it did not occur to me to take them back to the railway, or to inquire about them—I told Keeley when I got rid of them he should have a few halfpence—I carried them to Roscoe Street—the detectives make a mistake if they say Keeley had the sack—I did not see them till we got to Bunhill Street, and I did not walk with my eyes shut; I looked to see if anybody was behind—I had just given the sack to Keeley when they came up—I looked behind because with a thing like that about me I was a little dubious; I was rather timid at the time, because I had had it three days at home.
By the COURT. The hill on which I found the things is on the company's premises.
Re-examined. I am quite sure Keeley did not know what was inside the sack; I said nothing to him about it.
By MR. HUTTON. Young told me where he lived; I searched his premises, and found no stolen property there.
Young and Allday received good characters,
YOUNG, ALLDAY, and KEELEY NOT GUILTY .
ALEXANDER.— Five Yearn' Penal Servitude.
PENNY.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Friday, June 27th, 1890.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. BESLEY FOR the Prosecution offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. GRAZEBROOK Prosecuted, and MR. PUECELL Defended. ALFRED COPLEY PEAECY . I am a commission agent, of 16, Lordship Park, Stoke Newington—I have known the prisoner three or four years keep a greengrocer's shop in my neighbourhood, but was turned out fourteen months ago, after which his wife was employed at my house as a charwoman—I have two servants, named Mary and Emily, who have been with me about seven months—I left home on May 5th, leaving my wife's sister, Miss White, and the two servants in charge of the house—on the night of the 10th I received a letter at Brighton from Miss White, and came to town next day, and Miss White showed me this telegram. (Bought hone and trap. Sent it to Marshall's. A man will call for £Q. Pay him. If you have not enough, get off Mary and Emily. A. Pearcy)—I had not sent that telegram, or authorised anyone to send it, nor had I bought a horse and trap—Marshall is a livery stable keeper near me—I went to Stoke Newington Police-station, gave information, and afterwards saw the prisoner in custody—his wife had been to my house in the meanwhile, and I saw her afterwards in custody.
Cross-examined. I had the highest opinion of her honesty; she was again at work at my house on the 14th, after I found I had been defrauded in this way—I did not say anything to her then; I made a stipulation that no pumping should be allowed—my children were in the habit of going up with the servants to dress, and one of them once touched one of their trinkets; that is at least twelve months ago; I think I might say two years—nothing was said about her counting the servants' money.
Re-examined. The servants had not complained to me about missing anything—the prisoner's wife came one day afterwards in consequence of an arrangement between me and the police.
MINNIE WHITE . I am single, and am Mrs. Pearcy's sister, and live at 6, Queen Elizabeth Walk—on May 5th Mr. Pearcy left me in charge of his house, the two servants were there—on 9th May, about three p.m., I received this telegram, and about a quarter of an hour afterwards a man called, and in consequence of what he said and of the telegram, I borrowed £10; I got part from my mother and £2 10s. from one of the Servants, and paid the man, who gave me this receipt, which he had ready written; this endorsement was on it, and the man signed this, "A. Watson," in my presence—I wrote to Mr. Pearcy the same evening; he came up on the Sunday, and I made a communication to him.
Cross-examined. I have never seen the man since.
ANNIE ELEANOR PEARCY . I am the prosecutor's wife—I have known the prisoner about four years—I was in the habit of dealing at his shop in the neighbourhood—I have seen him write business accounts, and know his writing—I have no doubt that this receipt is his writing, and this
(the original telegram) also, and also these four documents (produced)—his wife has worked at our house about nine months.
Cross-examined. When he has written an account I have been on one side of the counter, and he on the other—he sometimes wrote on a billhead, and sometimes in a book—it is twelve or fourteen months since I dealt with him, and had an opportunity of seeing his writing—I do not know that the writing of persons who do manual labour resembles—here is "Lordship Park" on the telegram, and this is the way Mr. Turner usually wrote it—the general character of the writing is exactly the same—he makes peculiar straight strokes in his writing.
Re-examined. I kept his receipts till the last four months, but we removed, and as he was out of business I destroyed them.
By MR. PURCELL. When we were removing Mrs. Turner had charge of the house, and the prisoner was supposed to sleep there, as she was afraid to sleep there by herself.
WILLIAM STEBBING (Policeman N 464.) On 9th May I was outside Clissold Park, opposite Highbury Park Tavern—I have known the prisoner about three years—I saw him cross the road with another man between 2 and 3 p.m.; that is about half a mile from the prosecutor's house—I do not know which way they went.
Cross-examined. I have seen him there before, two or three times a week; he lives about a mile from there—he was a mile or more from Watson Street; I do not know that his wife lives there.
THOMAS BROCKWELL (Detective Sergeant N). I was present when the prisoner was taken in custody—I said, "You will be charged with being concerned with a man, not in custody, in stealing £10, the money of Mr. Alfred Pearcy, of 16, Lordship Lane, by false pretences, by means of a trick"—he said, "I know nothing about it"—I took him to the station and said, "lam going to search your room for books and papers; I don't want to overhaul anything; if you will tell me where they are, it will save trouble"—he said, "You will find some books and papers in a cupboard"—I went there, and found some books and papers, and among them three receipt forms, similar to these two receipts which have been filled up; and two other bills, and an account book (produced).
Cross-examined. I have looked through the book; there appears to be more than one writing in it—one account is for goods made out to Mrs. Pearcy—I did not show this receipt form to the prisoner before I searched his house, as bearing on the signature of Watson, but he may have seen me take it out; I will not swear it was not in my hand—he never told me that he had a book of these receipt forms when he was in business—they are not numbered, they are simply receipts with counterfoils—I know that the Sheriff seized his things, but have not heard that a quantity of them were thrown out in the street—I found this pawn-ticket on him. (For a coat, pawned on May 13, for 5s.)
Re-examined. I have seen no forms like these only in Mr. Moore's possession.
JOHN MOORE . I am a cheesemonger, of 59, Church Street, Stoke Newington—the prisoner lived opposite me—I have had transactions with him—I had this receipt (produced) from him, but did not see him write it.
Cross-examined. I recollect his goods being put out in the street by the Sheriff; there were crowds of people round.
MARY LOGAN . I was servant to Mr. and Mrs. Pearcy when Mrs. Turner was doing charring work—I was there when Mr. and Mrs. Pearcy went away—Miss White came to me on the following Friday, and asked me if I had got any money, and I lent her £4 10s.
Cross-examined. I had been in the service six months—I was with them at their former house—I had saved some money, and kept it in a box—one of the children did not tamper with it and upset it—one child is named Daisy; her father did not rebuke her for upsetting my box that I know of—I mentioned to Mrs. Turner that I had got £5—several people called at the house for orders, but I did not give exactly the same orders when my master and mistress were away—I never told the butcher that my master and mistress were away—there was a young girl a companion of mine who I found it necessary to drop.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. LAWLESS Prosecuted, and MR. PAUL TAYLOR Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. KERSHAW Prosecuted; MR. LAWLESS appeared for Baker, and
MR. PURCELL for Collins.
JAMES MATTHEWS . On 7th May, at one a.m., I was in Queen Street, Seven Dials—two men knocked me down, and cut my lip, and squeezed my throat, and took away my watch and chain and seven or eight shillings—I called out, "Police!"—they came, and lifted me up—I never saw the prisoners till I saw them in the Police-court.
WILLIAM BLUNDEN (Policeman E 100). I heard cries, and saw the prisoners running from the prosecutor, who was lying on the ground—I chased them, but they got away—I went to the prosecutor, and found his mouth bleeding and his pockets turned out; he was the worse for drink—I took Baker at four a.m., and told him the charge—he threw me to the ground twice—another policeman came up, and we were both knocked down—a sergeant then came up, and we got him to the station—he said, "I will make it hot for you in the morning"—on 12th May, at 10.45, I saw Collins with others, and I and another policeman took him—he said, "All right, I know nothing about it"—on the way to the station I was assaulted by a mob, and Collins struck me on the head with a stick, and I fell; he then kicked me on the nose—I drew my truncheon, and lay there, striking out right and left in self-defence—other policemen came up, and we got him to the station.
JOHN BEGG (Policeman E 261). I was on duty, and saw the prisoners and another at 12.50 a.m.; I told them to move on, and the prisoners went down Queen Street—I followed, and passed them, and a few minutes afterwards I heard cries, and saw them run up Neales Yard, followed by Policeman 100 E—I knew the prisoners.
Evidence for Collins' Defence.
or eight, and I saw him next morning, and saw him on the racecourse—I had never seen him before.
ROSETTA CURCH . I live at 20, Gray Street, Waterloo Road—Collins has lodged there two or three years—on 6th May, about 9.30, he said he was going to Ipswich, and left—he returned at ten p.m. on the 7th.
Cross-examined. I heard of his being taken, and then remembered.
NOT GUILTY .
519. JOHN BAKER and PETER COLLIN were again indicted for assaulting William Blunden, a constable, in execution of his duty, Baker having been convicted in February, 1885, to which they PLEADED GUILTY.—BAKER— Nine Months' Hard Labour. COLLINS— Four Months' Hard Labour.
MR. UNDERHILL Prosecuted.
GEORGE COUCHMAN . I am a builder, of 7, Henry Street, Clerkenwell—the prisoner was a lodger of mine—on 19th May I heard a row and went up, his door was open, and I said, "Mr. Clowes, what is this noise about?'—he said, "What has that to do with you?"—I said, "I haw other tenants as well as you, and I want quiet"—he walked to the fire-place, opened a box, came towards me, and said, "Take that, you b—" and stabbed me with a fork—I had a leather belt round my waist, it went through that, and through my shirt and trousers into my abdomen—I said, "Oh, he has stabbed me"—I went down, and my daughter fetched a policeman—the fork was sticking in me, and I withdrew it.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. My daughter is only fifteen—I sent her up to know what the row was about, and f followed her—your wife was getting some hot water to bathe her eyes, as you had given her two black eyes just before—you did not defend yourself from my violence—I did not strike you on your head, or knock you up against a dresser, before this.
Re-examined. I did not strike him; I stood outside his door.
WILLIAM HASSAM (Policeman G 171). I was called, and found the prisoner in the back yard—I asked what he had to say as regarded stabbing Mr. Couchman—he said, "I did do it under the impulse of the moment."
MR. MILLER. I am a surgeon, of Percy Circus, Clerkenwell—on 19th May I was called to King's Cross police-station, and found Couchman with two punctured wounds on the right side of his abdomen, about two inches from the navel, penetrating an inch and a quarter, not quite through the abdominal wall—this fork exactly flatted the two wounds; I found holes in his clothing and belt corresponding with the wounds, which were most serious—he went on well, and is quite well now; he was sober, but suffering from the shock.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that his landlord rushed into his room and assaulted him, kneeling over a table, and in the struggle he struck him with a fork.
GUILTY — Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Friday, June 27th, 1890.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MESSRS. FORREST FULTON and HORACE AVORY Prosecuted; SIR CHARLES RUSSELL, Q. C., with MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS and HUTTON, Defended.
ELIZABETH COLLIER . I am the wife of William Collier, landlord of the Victory public-house, Kentish Town—I had a married daughter named Florence Varney; she lived with me for the last six years, assisting in the business; she was separated from her husband—during that time she was living with me—her husband lived at King's Cross, about a quarter of an hour's walk from us—there was no communication between them for the last three years—I knew the prisoner first of all as a customer at the house last March twelve months—after a time I found that he was paying attention to my daughter—they were in the habit of walking out together—I first knew he was a married man about nine or ten months ago; I thought him single at first—when I heard that he was married I told him I had heard so—he said, "Well, yes, I am like your daughter, but I am legally separated, and have been for two years; I won't sail under false colours"—after that he continued to visit the house, and to go out with my daughter—I told him I did not approve of it, that it might be the means of him and his wife coming together again—he said no, it was not likely—I found out afterwards that he and my daughter were walking out together again—for the last eight months or thereabouts he had been taking his meals at our house, paying for them—he told me that my daughter was the only woman in this world for him; he said how fond he was of her, and he could not give her up, he could not live without her—I had suggested to him on one or two occasions to give her up, and he said he could not; he said he would shoot her if anything parted them—I said he would bring disgrace on himself and his family, and he would be hanged if he did—he said he would not give them the chance to hang him, he would shoot himself, as he did not wish to live without her—on one occasion I saw a pistol in his possession—I think that was about three or four weeks before this occurred; he came into the house and walked down the garden, and I saw it lying on a little table in the garden—he fired one shot off afterwards, when she came down the garden—I was in the bar—I heard the report and was frightened, and said "Oh!"—and he said, "I was only shooting at a cat"—there was no cat there; I think he only fired one off—my daughter was there at the time with him—at the time there was some little unpleasantness between them, she would not speak to him—he laid the pistol on the table—I said, "Don't be cross, he looks excitable to-day"—I had not heard any unpleasantness between them—I don't know what it was—he said, "You are not going to give me up, if you do"—then he showed her the pistol—when he came in she spoke to him, and he unloaded it, and it was put away j but I did not fear, I never thought he would do anything; he was not a spiteful man—he gave the pistol to my daughter, and she put it in the cheffonier; and when he went away he asked her for it, and she gave it to him; he had unloaded it—I remember the prisoner coming to the house about a week before my daughter's death, I think it was the 14th of May—my daughter was not
at home, she had gone to Penge—he was very cross because she had gone out—he asked what time she would be at home—I said I did not know exactly, but I thought about seven—he said he would go down and see her—he said if she intended giving him up he would kill her; he could not live without her—he said, "You don't know how I love that woman"—he stayed talking to me a long time; I was telling him it was much better they should part, that she should go away in the country where he could not see her, and he would soon forget her—when he left the house he said he would go to Penge to her—he came to the house again after that; he never missed a day—he saw her when she came back from Penge—on Tuesday, 20th May, he came to the house, and she saw him; they were good friends then—there was no difference in her manner towards him that afternoon, but in the-evening there was—she went over to her aunt's; he waited for her outside; whatever difference there was between them was as they came home; something she said seemed rather to hurt him, and she refused to speak to him, she refused to wish him good-night—she went upstairs as he left the house at half-past twelve—on Wednesday, 21st May, he came to the bar about twelve in the day—he called for something to drink—I served him with whisky; he asked where my daughter was—I said she was somewhere about; she then came into the bar—the prisoner called for another whisky—she said, "No, you will not have anything to drink, if you want a bother keep your head clear"—he looked very pale and excited; he did not look as if he had had too much to drink; I did not think he had had anything—he said to her, "Flo, I want you to come out with me"—she said she would not—he said he would shoot her if she did not—I followed him out to the door, and talked to him, and tried to calm him; he seemed excited—he then went as far as the back door, and my daughter went down the kitchen stairs—the prisoner then said to me, I Will you let Flo come out?"—I said, "No, she cannot come out this morning"—he stood and talked to me for a few minutes, and then he followed her down the area steps; he had to go outside the house to go down to the back kitchen—I then heard them talking in the area, just at the foot of the steps—my daughter then came up the steps and served a customer—the prisoner then came up, and stood talking to me for a few minutes—my daughter went down again, and shortly after I saw her coming up—the prisoner was standing at the top of the kitchen stairs, and as she came up he put his foot across the stairs, and said, "Flo, will you come out with me?"—she said, "No"—he said, "You shall never have anybody else," and with that he put his hand in his pocket, pulled out the revolver, and fired—she was then about half a yard from him; she put his foot down with her hand, and said, "Allow rue to pass"—he had raised his foot; he fired three times in succession, but the third time I had hold of his hand, and the shot went through the ceiling and through the stairs—my daughter fell back into the arms of her father, who was coming up the stairs behind her—the prisoner then went into the little bar-parlour and fired two shots, and then I saw him lying on the floor, and in less than a second he went out at the garden-door—I rushed into the street, and said, "For God's sake, somebody fetch a doctor!"—my daughter died very soon after; as he passed out she raised her eyes to him, and I think she died directly—I know the prisoner's writing—this letter is in his writing (read)—
"March 27th, 1890.—To my own precious darling, pretty one. It is with the fondest possible feeling towards you that I write these words to you, to tell you how madly, passionately, and jealously I love you. I feel, Flo, that in having your love I have everything to make me happy, but when I offend you, and you are so distant towards me, I feel most wretched, and to lose your love, dolly, would be to break my heart; in fact, without you I feel that I cannot exist. Now, I will go further, and tell you that I will not, and neither shall you. I admit it, my darling, situated as you are, and having had so much trouble, that I am greatly to blame, as I should give way to you more than I do; in future I will endeavour to do so, and by that means give you more happiness. Florence, there is another thing that makes me feel you are so much to me, and it is hardly necessary to remind you what it is; but I am afraid you do not think so much of that as I do. To me it seems all and everything—you should—a love and tie which should be hard to break. I will never, never break that tie through being false to you; it is impossible, I could not. I want you, when you have read this expression of my feelings about you, to seriously think of our relations, and try with me in future to avoid quarrels, and I am sure we shall both be rewarded by more happiness and trust in each other. Flo, it cut me to the heart to-day when you told me you could treat me different to the way you have in the past. Do not let this thought get into your heart; but if you do treat me differently, let it be on the right side, and that you will never regret. My darling, my pet, I daresay you will think it very funny for me to write all this, but as I have never told you so in black and white I feel I should do so, and as time goes on you shall prove by my actions that the contents are true. Do not put this aside with a thought that it is mere rubbish, but think and think, and you will be able to come to only one conclusion, and that is, that no woman was loved by any man in the world more than you are by me; and in return for that love I ask you for yours, and with that I shall always be true as steel—Flo. I must now finish this statement, and I ask you to believe me to be your own true and fond loving Tom. From R. Harding, 20, Haverstock Hill. "I suppose R. Harding is the prisoner's father—the prisoner told me he wasinbusiness as a builder at that address.
Cross-examined. I did not know the prisoner's family; the prisoner himself told me he was a builder—he always expressed himself towards my daughter as he has done in that letter—he has told me several times that he was madly in love with her—there is no suggestion that my daughter was thinking of keeping company with anybody else; she was too fond of him for that—beyond occasional tiffs, they were very strongly attached to each other—up to the time of this sad event, he came regularly to the house, he never missed a day—he continued always to have his meals at our house—it was about a month before this that he fired off the pistol; he did not fire it off at anyone, only in the garden—I never heard that he was in the habit of carrying firearms; he never said so—he drew one of the charges from that pistol, at my request, and then he handed it to my daughter—it was on that occasion that I told my daughter not to be cross to him; he was so excited—before the 21st May, on occasions when he and my daughter did not part on perfectly affectionate terms, I have known him to walk up and down outside the house
till late in the morning—he said he would not go away until she did wish him good-night—I have told my daughter that she ought to show a light at her window, or in some way indicate that she was friendly with him; to tap at the window, so that he would go home; sometimes she has done so, and sometimes I have done it, and then he has gone home—on the 14th May, when he came to see my daughter as usual, she was at Penge, visiting her uncle—he said he must go and see her; he was in an excited state—he was not a spiteful man; he was always very, very kind—in consequence of his state of excitement I telegraphed to her at Penge to warn her—he stayed at the house several hours—I think it was about twelve that he came—I thought he looked very pale and excitable—I think he was sober-rail he had at our place was two pennyworth of whisky—he did not look as if he had had much to drink—I have stated that I believed that the prisoner was not in his right mind—when anybody has come into the bar and spoken to her, or shook hands with her, he has jumped up and taken his hat and rushed out of the bar and out of the house, and my daughter and I have both said, "He cannot be right in his mind to do such a silly thing as that"—(he was very jealous of her)—and when he came back he said he could not eat any dinner, he said it upset him so; he looked very wild then—I have said to him, "I don't think you are right, or you would not be so silly"—I meant, not right in his mind, to be so silly—I did not know anything about his family, either on the father or mother's side.
Re-examined. I forget the exact words I put in the telegram that I sent to my daughter at Penge, but I said "Danger" and "Don't be cross"; I knew she would understand it; that he was excitable, if he should go down to Penge; I mentioned his name, Tom—I have said to him on one or two occasions, "Tom, I don't think you can be right"; and on one occasion he said, "If she gives me up, or if anyone parted us, it would drive me mad."
ANNIE NORTON . On 21st May I was at work as charwoman at the Victory—shortly after twelve I saw the deceased come into the area—I also heard the prisoner there—I heard her say, "Get out of my way"—she had come down to fetch a pewter can; she got it, and returned up the stairs with it—I spoke to the prisoner, and said good morning to him—he looked very wild—a flower-pot stood there with a flower in it, and he crushed it with his foot, and broke it into a great many pieces—that was immediately after she had gone upstairs with the pewter can—a little time afterwards she came down the kitchen steps and went into the cellar—I was standing at the bottom of the kitchen stairs—I did not see the prisoner, but I saw a man's foot across the top of the stairs—the deceased was going up the stairs, and very nearly reached the ton—I heard her say, "Move your foot out of the way, I want to go upstairs," and I saw her knock it with her hand—he said to her, "Ain't you coining out with me?" or something to that effect—she said, "No"—I men heard two shots, and immediately after a third, and the smoke came to me—then her father rushed upstairs, and I saw her fall back into his arms—a little time afterwards I saw the prisoner running away across the garden—I don't know how he got out.
Cross-examined. I did not live in the house, I went there every week to assist, charring—I had frequently seen the prisoner there—on this
particular occasion I noticed that he looked very wild; I was struck with it; I shut the kitchen door lest he should come downstairs; I did not like his look at all—I did not notice him on other occasions; he was always very pleasant indeed—the flower-pot was on the ground—he knocked it down and crushed it into a great many pieces under his foot—when he was pressing the deceased to come out I did not hear her mother say she could not, that she had the business to attend to; I did not hear her speak.
LOUISA LYNN . I am a servant at the Victory—On Wednesday, 21st May, I heard the report of firearms—I went down to the passage, and saw the prisoner going out into the garden; I did not see how he got out of the garden—on the way he dropped his revolver, I picked it up and handed it to Mr. Webber.
HENRY WEBBER . I am an ironmonger—on 21st May, about 12.30, I went into the Victory; I heard a report of firearms, first three shots and then two more—shortly after the last witness handed me a revolver; I gave it to Coomber.
WILLIAM COOMBER (Policeman T R 15). On 21st May, about twenty minutes to one, I was called to the Victory, and found the deceased lying: on the top of the stairs, with wounds on the neck and jaw; she died very soon after—Webber produced this revolver; it has five chambers; I examined it, and found they had all been recently discharged; there was an empty cartridge case in each—I have known the prisoner about twenty years—I believe he was carrying on business with his father, a builder—he was a little boy when I first knew him—I believe he took an active part in the business—I saw him about an hour previous to this affair in Chalk Farm Road—I said, "Good-morning, Thomas;" and he said, "Good-morning, William; I shall see you presently; are you on here?"—I said, "Yes"—I thought he looked rather strange; I did not say anything—he went on in the direction of the Victory.
Cross-examined. He looked rather strange; that struck me before I heard of this occurrence; I don't recollect saying to him, "What is the matter, Thomas? "and him saying, "All right; "I don't think I said so before the Magistrate—he was in company with some gentleman—he said, "I shall be back presently, and want to see you"—I was patrolling Chalk Farm Road—I don't know anything about the history of his family; I know his father and mother; nothing further—I attended the inquest—I think a suggestion was then made by the jury that some inquiry should be made into the state of his mind.
DAVID NEWMAN (Police Inspector T). I was called to the Victory on 21st May, about five minutes to one—I examined the premises—I found a hole in the ceiling of the staircase, just over the inner stairs leading to the kitchen-someone handed me a bullet, which I traced through the ceiling into the bar—in the bar parlour I found another bullet—another was handed to me by Mr. Collier, the deceased's father—I saw a mark about seven feet high over the fireplace, and a bullet-hole just over the window-ledge in the bar parlour—I found a bullet imbedded in the wood-work, about two feet eight inches.
ROBERT MILNE BEETON . I am a registered medical practitioner, of 183, Kentish Town Road—on 21st May, about one, I was called to the Victory, and found the deceased lying on the ground at the top of the stairs—she was dead when I got there—there were two pistol shot wounds,
one at the back of the left ear, and one on the left side of the neck—the lower jaw was smashed on the right side—there was a bullet wound in the hand—blood was oozing from the mouth and nose—I made a postmortem; death resulted from a bullet wound, severing the great vessels.
By the COURT. I produce the bullets; I marked this one that I got from the jaw, the other one was from the neck on the other side; the flattened bullet had passed into the ear, right down the neck, and was found between the eleventh and twelfth ribs on the right side, near the spine—that must have required a great deal of force; the cartridge was a very powerful one, and fired close up, because there were powder marks on the neck.
JOHN MUMFORD (Police Inspector S). On 21st May, about 12.50, the prisoner came into the Albany Street Police-station—I did not know him—he opened the door himself, whistling, shut it himself, and walked up to the window of the inner office, and said, "Have you had a message from Kentish Town Station?"—I said, "What about?"—he said, "About me"—I said, "Who are you?"—he said, "I have attempted to kill the daughter of the landlord of the Victory public-house, Clarence Road, Kentish Town"—that is about a mile from Albany Street—I took him upstairs to the Criminal Investigation Department—I left him in charge of Sergeant Rowan, and sent a sergeant to Kentish Town to make inquiry into the truth of the prisoner's statement, and left the office—about three minutes afterwards Rowan came down and said the prisoner wanted to make a statement—I then went up again, and the prisoner made a statement which Rowan took down, and the prisoner signed it—this is it (read): "I am a builder, carrying on business with my father. About half-past twelve or twenty minutes to one this afternoon I went to the Victory, and saw Florence Varney, the daughter of the landlord, living apart from her husband. We had words, and then I produced a firearm; finding it went off accidentally, I turned it on myself, and the bullet went through my hat"—he called my attention to his hat at the time; this is it; there is a hole through the rim of it—there is no other mark on it, none on the crown—it smelt very strongly of gunpowder.
Cross-examined. He was very excited—his face struck me as strange-looking; he was very pale, and his lips were twitching, and his speech was very jerky and sharp—he must have come almost straight from Kentish Town to our station.
ALFRED ROWAN (Police Sergeant). The prisoner was brought up into my room at the station—after the inspector went down, leaving the prisoner, I was writing at my desk—he said, "Are you taking down what I am saying?"—I said, "No"—he said, "I know you will want a statement, and you will have to show it to the Magistrate; I have been a friend of the police"—I asked Inspector Mumford to come upstairs; he came up, and I took down the prisoner's statement, and he signed it.
CHARLES MILLER (Police Inspector Y). At half-past one on 21st May I went to Albany Street Police-station, and found the prisoner detained there—I have known him well for years—I said, "Harding, I shall have to take you to Kentish Town, and you will be charged with wilfully murdering Florence Varney"—he said, "1s. she dead?"—I said, "Yes "I then conveyed him to Kentish Town Police-station, and he was then formally charged with the murder of Florence Varney, and also with attempting to commit suicide—he made no reply—his father arrived a
few minutes after—the prisoner said to him, "You will find everything all right; I posted the books up to about a fortnight ago."
Cross-examined. I think those were the identical words; there was no expression of sorrow or regret at the occurrence—he appeared quite callous.
Re-examined. I have known him almost since he was a lad, almost twenty years—there was no difference in his manner from what I had been accustomed to, only he seemed a little down, a little depressed—I knew him living with his wife; not in the same house as his father—he was living with his wife up to this time; I knew her as well.
The following Witnesses were called for the Defence.
RICHARD BRAZIER HARDING . I live at 21, Adelaide Road, Haverstock Hill, and am a builder, carrying on business at 20, Haverstock Hill—the prisoner is my son, he lived at 20, Haverstock Hill, and was employed by me as clerk and manager—he has always been of a very excitable temperament from a child—he is thirty years old—during the last eighteen months I have noticed a very marked change in him, in his excitableness and apparent vacancy of mind; I could give many instances—his strange manner caused me great anxiety—a particular change in his manner of conducting the business would be one thing—r formerly he would conduct it more exactly than he has done of late; he used to pay much more attention to his books; his conversation has been very different; he has sometimes said he wished he was dead—I could not give a date, but he has said so frequently within the last eighteen months—I have noticed sometimes that his conversation has appeared vacant, as though his mind was at a distance, as if he did not perceive what was going on, that his mind was on something at a distance—sometimes on speaking to him on business matters he has suddenly become very excited, and has left me, muttering, which I could not understand—I could not hear any distinct remark, except the muttering—I have heard him say he would shoot himself—he has complained of frequent pains in his head, about the fierce pains pressing through the head—on the evening previous to the 21st May he was remarkably calm, so much so that I was greatly struck with his appearance, and on the morning of the 21st, when he came into the office, about eight, I was so much struck with his appearance that I said, "You are not well, my boy"—he was very dejected, his head was hanging forward, he was very pale, and walked very slow, which was so unusual with him—he said, "I am not very well"—I saw him again in about half an hour—he was very dejected, and I said, "I am sure you are not well"—he said, "No, I am not well, I have pains passing through the head," and he put his hand on his head—a little time after, about ten, he was sitting in the office chair very quiet, and he said, "I wish I was in my box"—the last time I saw him was about eleven—the books were not posted up on that morning; he had not posted them up within a fortnight—there has been insanity in my family on both sides (SIR CHARLES RUSSELL handed in two documents purporting to be pedigrees of the prisoner's family on both sides for several generations)—my wife's name is Sarah—she was the daughter of Eliza and Robert Newling—her mother's maiden name was Mason—Fanny, a daughter of Mason, married a man named Carter; my wife knew her, I did not—I knew my wife's sister, Jane, who married Edward Negus; she has suffered from weakness of
mind, melancholy; she lives at Elmington, in Essex, and is carefully looked after—she has three or four children—I know Ann Noble, another relation of my wife's; I have seen her—her condition is occasionally very bad; she has been six or seven times, at least, in a lunatic asylum—my wife and her father were tot cousins—I did not know Ann Mason; my wife will testify to that.
Cross-examined. I was at Kentish Town Station, and had an interview With my son before he was actually charged with this offence, when he stated that the books were made up to within the last fortnight; he was my book-keeper; it was his duty to see them kept in proper order—I have not got them here—I finance the business, and I am there constantly, in and out, and my son looks after the business; I have left the books to him, as I Would to a clerk; he partly superintends the building; we are not so much builders as decorators and house agents; we use the term builder, because it includes so many things—we do repairs and everything connected with dwelling-houses—the management and control of the business has not been left solely to my son; to a certain extent it has, but I am never absent—he has been there, but for the last eighteen mouths he has not looked after the business as he did formerly; that is one of the features that has been so unhappy—I have not had anyone else to look after it; I have done much more myself—the books have not been kept up as formerly, for the last eighteen months or two years—I have spoken to him about the business; I only knew of his connection with the deceased by report—I knew he was going there; I did not know that he Went many times a day, I only knew that recently—he was living with his wife, they have not been separated—I first heard the report that he was carrying on with the deceased about a month or six weeks before the accident—I could not assign any reason for his strange alteration of manner, only that his reason appeared to be going eighteen months ago; always more or less he has been an insane man all his life, more or less; I have no hesitation about it; he has never been absent from me except at school all his life—I have not had him examined by any medical gentleman—I have always hoped it would pass away; but he got Worse—he married about nine years ago—I was not then of opinion that he was insane, not in that sense, except from excitement—it has been simply excitement, tending to insanity, all his life—of course I was of that opinion lone before he married, out I did not observe it at that time—from a child he was always very excitable and very strange in many things he has done, which now show me plainly enough that insanity has been at work, though I might not be able to define it as a medical man would—he was seen by a medical man when he was a boy—I did not mention to his intended wife or her family before his marriage that I had fears as to his mental condition, nor did I mention the instances in the cases of my wife's relations—he has four children by his wife, the youngest is two years old—when I found out, about six weeks before this, that he was in the habit of going to the Victory, I asked him if it was true—he said, "Yes"—I did not ask him whether he was in the habit of going out with the deceased; I simply advised him not to continue Visiting the Victory when I heard the reports, and that he had been seen walking With Florence Varney; he said he did not see that it concerned anyone; he did not see any harm in it,
which showed to me that his mind was not correct—he said ho thought it was no business of anyone to interfere, he did not see anything wrong; I advised him not to go because it would bring the family into disgrace, as I had been in the neighbourhood so many years—I may have said the same thing again to him at another time; nothing further passed between us—I did not take any steps to ascertain whether he still continued to walk out with her; I did not think it wise; I felt afraid to interfere with him—I did not know then that he was infatuated with this woman; there is no doubt about it now—I daresay I spoke to him about it two or three times—he always made the same answer, "There is no harm in it."
Re-examined. I was afraid to interfere, because of his temperament, his excitability, and violence—the doctor who saw him when a boy is not now living—it was Dr. John Hill, of Haverstock Hill, he attended my family; he must have been attending at that time, and we called his attention to the boy, who was very peculiar at the time, making strange grimaces, and calling for his mamma when she was close by his side—he was then about ten—the doctor said that we were not to cross him, not to be severe with him at all, because of his temperament; he thought it might possibly pass away by allowing him to have his way—the change in him during the last eighteen months was a very marked one—my great-grandfather by the mother's side was Stephen Brazier—I know his grandson, Josiah Brazier, he is here—I have another eon William, his mind is weak.
By MR. FULTON. He is older than the prisoner, he is an undertaker; he is married, and has one child—he carried on business on his own account—he is not now in business, he is at Walthamstow; he has an engagement with an undertaker there at weekly wages—I attribute his giving up his business to his weakness of mind; it might have paid if he had been a strong-minded man—most business is given up because it does not pay.
SARAH HARDING . I am the wife of the last witness, and mother of the prisoner; his temperament has been very strange indeed; he would come into our place, and I would say, "Good-morning, Thomas," and he would look in my face and not speak, and walk away without answering me—he is very excitable—I have noticed a very marked change in him for over twelve months—I have noticed so many things, little things; he would come and ask me for things I could not give him, and then he would be very excited indeed with me—he used to be very kind indeed, but lately very snappish—when I have been alone with him I have sometimes been afraid, because he was rather violent to me sometimes; he has never attempted anything, but I have felt that he was very much depressed of late—I have heard him he say ho wished he was not living—he has said that more than once—he was always suffering from his head, pains in his forehead and head, much more so recently; he would frequently mutter to himself—on the morning of the 21st I saw him on the other side of the road; he looked very melancholy, like anyone out of their mind, as if he would not know what he was doing—my mother was Eliza Newling; her father was Mason; my mother's sister Fanny married Mr. Carter—I don't remember him, but I knew her very well; she went to an asylum, and came out again; whether she died in an asylum after that I cannot say—my aunt Mary married Wilson; I knew
her granddaughter Ann, who married Noble j he was a buyer and seller of cattle at Ickenden, Cambridgeshire; his mother is at Ickenden now, or was two years ago; she is in Fulbourn Asylum—she has been in an asylum six times—I do not know of her making an attempt on herself—my mother's brother, my uncle Richard, married Mary Barnes; I do not know what he was, I was young then—I knew his daughter Ann, my cousin; she lived with me at my own home till she went to Bedford Asylum—I don't remember how long she was there; I think she was there more than once, but I am not positive—T have a sister Jane, who married Mr. Negus, a master bricklayer at Holmden, Essex; she is very melancholy; she is carefully looked after.
Cross-examined. I was about nine or ten years old when Fanny Garter was in the asylum—it must be fully fifty years ago—it is over forty years since Ann Mason was in Bedford Asylum; she came out again and is now dead.
By SIR CHARLES RUSSELL. My aunt, Fanny Carter, had a son who married Miss Dallar; he committed suicide; his wife is here.
JOSIAH NEWLING . I live at Ickenden, Cambridgeshire, and am a farm bailiff—I am the brother of Mrs. Harding—I have a sister Jane, now Mrs. Negus—I remember Ann Mason, she used to be with my mother, as she had no parents living—she was taken to Bedford Asylum, and some years after she came back she married—I am not aware whether she was in the asylum more than once; she is dead—I knew Ann Wilson, who married Thomas Noble; his son is here—I know that Ann Noble went to Fulbourn Asylum two or three times—Mrs. Negus has been very weak in her mind sometimes; she has never been to an asylum—I believe she is carefully looked after.
Cross-examined. It is about fifty-five years since Ann Mason went to Bedford Asylum—I don't know how long she was there; I think she went to service after she came out—she was about twenty-one then—she had no family.
GEORGE EDWARD JAMES CRALHAM . I was assistant surgeon at Fulbourn Asylum—I knew Ann Noble quite well; she was an inmate of that asylum six separate times; she did not make an attempt on herself—the last time she was there was from 10th August, 1888, till 10th September, 1888—the first time was from 26th July, 1878, to 27th August, 1878—it was a short time on each occasion; she very soon got well; the cause of her affliction was having an extremely unhappy home; when away from her husband she seemed to get all right again—I do not know where she is now; the last time I saw her was in 1888.
JOSIAH WILSON . I live at Sanston, Cambridgeshire—I am a brother of Ann Noble, she was six times in Fulbourn Asylum—at one time she was in Bethnal House, Bethnal Green, J fetched her out—that is about thirty-three years ago—I have hoard that she made an attempt upon herself, I don't know it of my own knowledge.
SARAH DALLAR . I live at Much Haddam, Herts—I formerly lived with John Carter for eighteen years—he committed suicide six years ago, cut his throat with a razor—he was at times very violent; he once attempted to shoot me.
Cross-examined. He drank very little, he was not a drunkard—he seemed affected in his mind; if he only had a pint or two of beer he
seemed quite deranged—he had not had any for eight weeks when he committed suicide—his mother was in an asylum eighteen months.
JOSIAH BRAZIER . I live at Sanston, seven miles from Cambridge—my father was Richard Brazier, my grandfather was Stephen Brazier—I married Mary Pettitt, she is dead—my father died in a very bad state, he was confined to his bed, strapped down, I expect his mind was affected; he was in that condition when he died—I recollect it well, I was then about thirteen or fourteen—I have a family—one is a son named Arthur, he is now in Fulbourn Asylum, and has been for four or five years, on' account of his mind.
Cross-examined. My father was sixty-two or sixty-three when he died—he had been ill seven or eight months—I don't know what was the matter with him—before that he had enjoyed good health.
Re-examined. He was not an excitable man—he was strapped down because he would take hold of a person and try to throw them down—he had done that before he took to his bed, I can't tell for how long before, perhaps years.
CHARLES WORTH PEARCE . I am an M. D. of the University of St. Andrews, Fellow of Edinburgh, and Licentiate of Physicians, London—I formerly practised at 196, Regent's Park—I am now out of practice—from 1883 to 1887 I attended the prisoner's family—he seemed a very anxious father and husband—in 1886 I attended him for syphilis; I daresay for the greater part of eighteen months—he was under treatment more or less for fifteen months, and I daresay after that—under any little trouble, anything that seemed to go not quite right, he seemed to become very excited; if he fancied anything was not going quite right with himself he was constantly calling on me, sometimes four or five times about the very same thing, he was not what I should call a well-balanced man—assuming an hereditary taint of insanity in his blood, I think syphilis might very likely have an effect in bringing it out—whether there was family taint or not, I think it might set up irritation of the brain; and hereditary taint would certainly add to it—I did not attend him after 1887.
Cross-examined. If he had some little fancied symptom which did not seem to be quite right, he would come to me about it—I do not suggest that as a symptom of insanity, but he would come from the most trivial circumstance—syphilis is a very serious disease, and if not properly attended to would have very serious results—there are a good many timid, nervous people who are not insane—he would come, and converse about some trifling ailment of his own or his family, and get my opinion, and in a very short time I would have him there again for the very same thing; and in conversation he would ramble off from one thing to another—as far as I could tell, he got cured of this disease; I don't suppose he got entirely rid of the taint—I should not like to say that he did get cured of it.
Re-examined. I was treating it as a case of primary symptoms; he had secondary symptoms.
By the COURT. I had no doubt that it arose from connection with some one; he admitted it—he was not cured when he left me in June, 1887.
ARTHUR LATTEY . I now reside at Banstead, Surrey, and am medical officer of that Union—I am L.C.P. and M.R.C.S., and have been in practice twenty years—I was formerly medical officer of the south-western
district of the Maldon Union—in that capacity and in my private practice I have had to consider questions of mental disease, and to give certificates of lunacy as to persons under my charge—in January, 1887, I succeeded to the practice of Dr. Pearce—later in 1887, and also in 1888, I was frequently consulted by the prisoner for a continuation of that disease, and for more nervous disorders in 1888—the disease was in its secondary stage—he was very nervous for the first three months of 1888—he would come with some trifling little pimple, and want to know if that was not his malady coming back again, and when I told him it was nothing of the sort, he would dwell upon it, and insist upon it that it must be—then he had pains in his head, and restlessness, and sleeplessness—they were undoubtedly bond fide statements—I thought he was the most out-of-the-way curious tradesman I had ever met, because it was impossible to get him to pay attention when you wanted him to do anything; he came to my house to take orders for certain decorations, and instead of taking them he would talk about nothing but himself; at last one would apparently drive it into him, and a week afterwards you would meet him, and he had forgotten all about it—he would come again, and go over the same thing, and I had to take an extraordinary amount of trouble to get anything done; whenever he saw me be would talk about himself instead of my business—he had not a retentive memory, quite the reverse; he was most decidedly not a man of well-balanced mind; I should describe him as a most excitable, easily-upset man, a man who would greatly exaggerate any little ailment—I may give an instance: one of his children had an accident, and his state of distress was very pitiable; he would not be satisfied that the child was doing perfectly well, he would come worrying me three or four times about it, and was obviously distressed—where there is a latent hereditary mental taint, I have known marked cases of syphilis develop it—I have attended the prisoner's younger brother Richard; he is also very excitable, very wanting in self-control.
Cross-examined. I would not say he was violent-tempered; he was 28 in January, 1888—I left the neighbourhood at the end of 1888—syphilis is a terrible disease in its results, especially to a married man, but the advice I gave the prisoner was not to be anxious about the pimple, I told him it would go away in due course, but not rapidly—I told him it had nothing to do with the malady—if a person is worried in business, sleeplessness often follows, and the nervous system becomes affected, pains in the head and such symptoms are common in many maladies.
ERNEST FRY . I am an oil and colour man, at Haverstock Hill, next door to the prisoner's, where he lived with his wife and four children—I have known him twenty years—I have been very much struck by his eccentricity—I have on several occasions been away from home with him; once at Ramsgate, about three years ago, when I returned to the lodging about twelve at night he opened the door to me in his night-shirt, and instead of closing it he ran up the street in his night-shirt—I "spoke to him of it next day, and he remembered nothing about it—within the last twelve months or more I have noticed a marked differenceinhis manner—the walls between our houses are thin, and I have frequently heard him playing on the piano and shouting and singing; in feet, he would wake us up two or three times in the morning—I remonstrated with him next day, and he would apologise, and say he was very sorry, and
say, "I don't remember anything about it; I suppose it was me"—it was him, there was nobody else there to do it—I have heard him running up and down stairs in the dead of the night—I have heard him spoken of as "Mad Tom," more than once; I have referred to him myself in the same terms—he used to complain of pains in his head—I saw him a week before this occurrence, he then seemed very much down; he said he did not know what was the matter with him, his mind had been disturbed, he had not known what he was doing for a day or two—he did seem very cast down—he used to ring my bell very frequently at all hours, two, three, and four in the morning; I have spoken to him about it, and he said he did not remember it, he was very sorry if he had disturbed me—he was a very excitable man; as far as I know he was a sober man.
Cross-examined, I have seen him drunk once or twice, I should not like to say more; I don't mean that he was drunk and incapable of taking care of himself; I never saw him incapable or unable to walk; I have not seem him very drunk, it did not strike me that he was drunk on the occasion of ringing the bell and playing the piano; I thought he was a little bit light-headed—he was not drunk at Ramsgate when he ran in his night-shirt; I led him back to the house, and said, "Come, Tom, this won't do"—he only ran a few doors down the road—I told him to go to bed—my opinion was that he was not quite responsible for his actions, because he did such a ridiculous thing—that was two or three years ago; that was the first time in my experience of such eccentric conduct of his—I think we returned home a day or two afterwards; he did not show any further sign—I did not mention this to anybody—I know his wife; I did not mention it to her or to anyone; I did not think it my business to do so; the first time I mentioned it was when I gave my evidence—I have mentioned it to my wife.
Re-examined. Except once or twice I have never seen the prisoner under the influence of drink; his wife has spoken to me about him more than once, as a neighbour.
ARTHUR SMITH . I live at 8, Orchard Road, Highgate, and am a commercial traveller—I have known the prisoner fifteen or eighteen months—I met him often, and have asked him what was the matter; his appearance struck me as extraordinary—on the 19th May, two days before this occurrence, he accused me of a breach of contract in not taking a house of him, which I had promised to do, but owing to circumstances I had declined it—I endeavoured to explain the reason to him, but he appeared to take no heed to what I was saying, and he suddenly said, "I posted the letter myself"—I said, "I have had no letter"—he continued talking in aloud tone, and suddenly seized me by the collar and said, "If you did not show me that letter, who did?"—I flung him off, and said, "I don't know what you mean"—he looked at me in a curious manner, and said, "I was not talking to you, I thought I was talking to somebody else"—I was astonished when I heard of the murder—I saw the report in the paper, and I sat down and wrote to Mr. Harding, sen., at twelve o'clock that night, and in that way the defendant's solicitor came to see me, and took my evidence—the prisoner was talking as if there was a third person present—I had no knowledge of his affairs, and the conversation did not relate to anything I knew of—his conduct attracted the attention of passers-by, and people stopped and watched us—he asked me to come to the corner; having
been with him before to the Victory, I supposed he referred to that; I refused to go with him—at the very same moment I was about to make some excuse, when a girl who had been walking some distance ahead turned round as if to ask her way, when the prisoner darted after her; and when he got within a yard of her he suddenly came back to where he started from—we were going in the direction of the Victory; I left him standing there in the centre of the road—I offered to shake hands, but he took no notice of me—my impression was that he was out of his mind—I left him purposely, to avoid him; under other circumstances I should have gone with him to the Victory.
Cross-examined. This was about half-past eight in the evening; quite light enough to distinguish any features—he got within a few yards of the girl—he might have got near enough to distinguish her features.
JOHN STAPLES . I am a retired tradesman, and live at 42, Adelaide Road—I have known the prisoner between three and four years-his manner is generally very excitable, that was my impression from the first time I had business transactions with him—the first remarkable thing that attracted my attention was that he was always being taken for a detective; he told me so—about twelve months ago I had a tenant who left, shutting up the house and taking the key with him; I appointed the' prisoner to meet me there, to pick the lock—he said, "I will show you how to get into the house," and he went into the forecourt, and dashed his fist through the window of the breakfast parlour, and cut his hand severely, then he drew the catch back, threw up the window, and ultimately let me in, and said, "You will have to pay for this"—on another occasion, some few months afterwards, I was having some repairs done to the roof of a house in Manchester Square, and he said, "Would you like to go up and see what they are doing to the roof?"—I said, "No"—he said, "I will show you how to do it"—there was a ladder there, reaching from the ground to the roof, about forty feet, and he ran up the ladder, and sat on the parapet, swinging his legs for two or three minutes, and then came down again, and said, "It's all right; won't you come up and have a look?"—I said, "Certainly not"—on the Monday before the 21st May he came to my house, which he was decorating; the next door was empty, and he said, "I want to go next door, and take the blossom off those trees, or they will only rot;" he jumped to the top of a small fowl-house, and went through it—I said, "For goodness sake, take care what you are doing!"—he said, "I am only seventeen stone"—he asked me for a knife; I lent him my small pocket-knife, and he said, "I am going to cut off some of these, and take them home to my dad"—instead of cutting off the blossoms, he pulled them off recklessly, and never used the knife at all—my wife was there, and she shouted out, "If Mr. Harding is not a madman I never saw one before"; he was. acting like a madman.
Cross-examined. He made no reply to that, he went away—this was directly opposite the Victory.
GEORGE THOMAS LIFE . I was in the service of the North Western Railway for twenty-five years—I am now superannuated—my daughter married the prisoner about nine years ago—I had known him about two years previous to his marriage—his oldest child is a little over eight years—the prisoner was most excitable and most violent; the least thing would upset him—I believe he was usually kind to his wife and children,
to a certain extent I think lie was—I believe, when not excited, he was very kind to his wife—I had not seen him for six months previous to this occurrence—I seldom called at his house; I used to call to leave the children some sweets—I might call there a dozen times and not see him—just before Christmas last I went as usual to see my daughter; he heard my voice, and came in in a very violent manner, and said, "Go out of my place, you are trespassing!"—he repeated that two or three times—there had been no quarrel between us—I never had angry words with him in my life; we had always been good friends; he always treated me very kindly—after that I never went there again—I know that he almost always had a revolver.
Cross-examined. I am not aware that he was given to drinking; I never saw him the worse for drink.
ANNIE ELMORE . I am now in service at 181, York Road, Camden Town—in March, 1889, I entered the prisoner's service, and was there about eight months—he was a sober man; I have never seen him the worse for drink—he used to get up in the middle of the night and play the piano and sing; that was just after the family had all gone to bed; I could not say the time—he did that occasionally—one night I heard him rush up and down stairs, and pass from one room to another—I think that was about midnight, after we had all gone to bed—I was awoke out of my sleep—he went into the kitchen and broke up a chair—I can't say how; I did not see it, I heard the noise, and I saw the fragments—he was sometimes excitable; when not excited he was kind and affectionate to his children—he very often complained of pains in his head—I have often noticed him walk about the house with his hands to his head, and say, "Oh, dear!"—I left because I did not like to stay in the house with him—I was afraid; that was the sole reason why I left.
Cross-examined. The playing and singing took place several times, quite half a dozen—I had gone to bed, leaving him and his wife up—I was woke up by it—I don't know whether he had gone to bed, or what time it was; I go to sleep quickly—when he was rushing about he did not stay a minute in each room—I did not see the chair after it was broken, it was taken away—they told me it was a chair; I know one was missing, Mrs. Harding told me.
ELLEN ALLEN . I am servant to the prisoner's wife—I entered the service on the 14th May, just a week before this occurrence—on that morning the prisoner came down into the kitchen about half-past eight, went right through, and went out—about half-past ten he came in, and stood by the table, speaking to his little boy—he stood at the bottom of the stairs rubbing his head for about five minutes—he then went into the back workshop, and that was the last I saw of him—I was struck by his appearance that morning—I mentioned it to Mrs. Harding.
Cross-examined. He appeared to live happily with his wife; there was no quarrelling or anything of the kind.
JAMES GIRDLER . I am a traveller, and live at Burton Villa, Willesden—I have known the prisoner eight or nine years—I have seen more of him the last three or four years—in the last eighteen months I have noticed a great change in him—I should describe it that his intellect has not increased, it has diminished—he showed the change first by the look of his face especially, also by his actions, the way he conducted the
business, formerly so smart, now so dull—occasionally he would be talking to an imaginary party, when I have been with him, distinct from anything we were saying—I am no relation of his—I have known him more than once break off in conversation and speak of a different thing altogether—about 5th of May I called at his place and rang the bell, he came and opened the door and asked me to come in—my attention was drawn to a part of a gun on the table that had been gilded or burnished up—I asked him what it was—he said it was part of an old Waterloo gun, which was valuable—I said, "What have you gilded it up for?"—he said, "It gets rusty"—I asked where the other parts were—they were not produced—the conversation went on in the same strain, nothing important, but several times he spoke to himself, and suddenly he turned, round, took out a gun with a bayonet, and said, "You can be accommodated"—I jumped back as far as I could, and said, "Drop that, Tom, Bayonet wounds are bad to heal"—he said, speaking to some other man, not to me, "You shan t," or something; I did not take much notice of it at the time; if I had not moved back quickly, in my opinion the bayonet would have struck me full in the chest—he seemed to treat it as a light matter, more of a laugh—I was thunderstruck—I then looked at him and I noticed that his face had changed, his eyes protruded, and were staring out of his head—he seemed to be talking, not to me, but to some other man beside me—there was then a conversation about revolvers and saloon pistols, he fetched a small saloon pistol to show me, and he offered to show me a revolver upstairs, for which he said he had cartridges—he was perfectly sober; I did not notice the slightest sign of drink—he did not conduct himself like a sane man—that was the last time I saw him, and right glad was I to get downstairs—I have heard him called several names, but nothing particular that I can remember.
Cross-examined. I have known him by calling at my house for trade purposes, and in social life as well—I have known him to have a glass, but nothing more than that, not a glass too much—I have never seen him take enough to excite him—he took the gun from behind the chimney, and said, "You can be accommodated here"—that was not following any observation of mine as to the inutility of the old gun.
By the COURT. I had no reason to suppose he was other than a sober man.
HENRY PUGH . I am a tailor, and live at 68, Chalk Farm Road—I have known the prisoner something like thirteen years—I have noticed recently a change in his conduct; I thought I had offended him; it was sullenness more than anything else—his conversation has been rather disconnected—he has complained to me about his headache, and I have sympathised with him—I consider him a man of excitable temper for slight cause—I saw him on the 21st May—he then appeared very dejected—asked him how he was—he said, "I have got a frightful headache this morning"—I noticed that he was very pale; I did not notice his eyes—that was the last I saw of him—I heard of this occurrence about three o'clock.
GEORGE FIELDING BLANDFORD , M. D. and Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians. I have been in practice over thirty years, and during that time have devoted myself almost exclusively to the study of mental disorders—I was for many years lecturer at St. George's Hospital on the subject—I have been in Court during the whole of this case, and heard D 2
the whole of the evidence—I have also had the opportunity of seeing the prisoner in the prison; I have come to the opinion that he was of unsound mind at the time of his commission of this deed—I have heard the evidence as to the taint in his family on both sides—it accords with my experience and knowledge that diseases of the brain show themselves in the family pedigree intermittently—in some cases something has occurred to develop it in a particular person, which has not applied to other members of the family—I think that in a person with that hereditary taint syphilis is more likely to affect the brain than in a person not so predisposed; my experience justifies that opinion—the grounds upon which I formed my judgment as to the prisoner's mental condition are the pains in the head which he complained of to me, and which have been mentioned by various witnesses, and his forgetfulness; he told me that he remembered nothing at all of the occurrence; that he knew of nothing till he found himself in or near the Regent's Park; the various acts which I have heard related have also caused me to come to the same opinion—when I saw him there was a considerable tremor about the eyelids, and the pupils of the eyes reacted very sluggishly to light—it is in accordance with my experience that men mentally afflicted are still able to transact business and conduct business affairs to a certain extent, it depends on the amount of mental unsoundness, and the extent of the business, unless there are particular delusions which interfere with the business—taking all the circumstances into consideration, I have a strong opinion, such as I have expressed.
Cross-examined. I was with the prisoner about half an hour hero in Newgate—there was nothing irrational in what he said—I did not discover any delusion; I did not expect to find it—I questioned him as to the circumstances of the death of this woman—he told me he remembered nothing at all of the occurrence; that his mind was a blank as to it—he said he remembered going to the Victory that morning, but he remembered nothing more till he found himself in the Regent's Park—he said that he had been to Albany Street Station; that was after ho found himself in the Regent's Park—I had seen the evidence given before the Magistrate, and the statement he made, that he had shot the woman, and that it was an accident—I don't remember that I questioned him about that—I don't know that we went into that matter—I do not remember whether we asked him about it or not; I was accompanied by Dr. Savage—I assume that ho knew he had shot somebody, but he did not remember the occurrence—I asked him how he came to go to the station, so far from his own home—he said he knew the station, because he had been in the habit of going there before—I did not question him as to the reason why he had made the statement that it was an accident—I don't know that I should say that his making such a statement was strong evidence of an acute mind and of a sane man—I don't know that there would be any evidence in that to show insanity or sanity; I don't think I went into that question with him—it would not make me think him insane—I don't think it would have any effect one way or the other, because insane people often give themselves up afterwards, and make statements to exonerate themselves; that is a thing which insane people do every day, when they have committed an act they try to excuse themselves in some way or other, which is not true—I should not consider that evidence one way or the other; ho talked coherently to me,
whilst I was with him; he replied slowly and cautiously to the questions I put to him—I asked him about the occurrence, which he said he knew nothing about—he expressed no regret for what he had done—he must have known that we were doctors—Dr. Savage and Dr. Gilbert were with me—I think we said something about his taking too much drink at times; he did not say that he drank heavily—I don't think he said that he was frequently in the habit of taking more than was good for him—I think he said he had had some whisky that morning at the Victory—he did not say he was in the habit of taking too much liquor; we talked to him about what he drank, and he said what he drank was beer; I found that he had been sleeping and eating well while in prison—it is frequently the case that a man being placed under control in an asylum or prison is very much improved in his mental condition by the quiet and restraint—beyond complaining of his head, I do not think he made any complaint of physical inconvenience—there was no tenderness of the spinal cord, or anything of that kind.
Re-examined. I agree in the opinion "that insanity does not destroy the reactive powers, but occasionally suspends them"—it is common experience that persons admittedly suffering from dementia are cunning, and invent excuses; that agrees with my own experience—he told me his mind was a blank until he found himself in the Regent's Park; he did not give me to understand that he could or could not since then recall what had occurred at the Victory—this is not a case of delusion in the ordinary sense of the word; this might be called a case of insane impulse more than anything else, impulse beyond his control—the fact of his sleeping well does not in any way affect my judgment as to his mental condition—I am familiar with cases in which an insane man, after committing an act, recovers the balance of reason some time after; very often the act itself acts in such a way as to clear the mind, it gives a shook to the whole system—tracing the course of the spine is not in the least a test I think—I looked at the whole aspect of the man—I thought he would very likely become a paralytic by the action of the disease in his brain; in my opinion that was largely developed by the syphilitic taint in the system.
By the COURT. The general history of the case made me think he might become paralytic, the pains in the head and the condition of the eyes—if the act itself clears the mind, he does not necessarily go back on the particular subject, at all events not for a time; if he does not go back he might not be conscious of the act itself; if he was informed of it afterwards he would probably remember it; if he got sufficiently conscious to remember it, he might or might not forget it again, according to the condition of the brain; if he did not go back he would remember from what he was told—my opinion was founded on the history of the syphilis and the alteration in his manner, that was what I was told; the pains in the head he told me of himself; I thought that was a grave symptom in connection with the constitutional syphilis; he told me himself that he had syphilis—supposing he did know about the act, but would not tell me, I don't think that would alter my opinion, because lunatics can tell untruths as well as anybody else—that was a very small part of what went to make up my mind, I did not look upon that statement as necessarily genuine.
of Bethlehem Hospital, and lecturer on insanity at Guy's, and I have written a standard book on the subject—I have also written especially of the connection between brain disease and the action of syphilis on the brain—I have been in Court and heard the evidence in this case; I have also visited the prisoner in Newgate in company with Dr. Gilbert and Dr. Blandford—I have formed an opinion on the case founded on all those materials—my opinion is that the prisoner is of a nervous stock, that, having suffered from constitutional syphilis, he is still more likely to be nervously unstable; that the evidence of his having lost memory, and that he is excitable and impulsive, is consistent with the history given; the interview led me to think that he is dull, and to a certain extent stupid; it was with great difficulty that we could get any answers from him, though he appeared willing to answer what we asked—we examined him as to the occurrence, when he at once said he could not recollect what happened between going into the Victory and finding himself at Albany Street Police-station—physically, one noticed the tremulousness of the tongue and of the muscles about his face, and the sluggishness of the pupil; those are common symptoms in brain syphilis, so that altogether I came to the conclusion that he was probably suffering from degeneration of the brain, depending upon bad nervous inheritance and syphilis, nervous inheritance being in the family, in which there was this hereditary taint—he would be extremely liable to be easily affected either by emotion or alcohol—the appearance of hereditary mental disease is intermittent in the double sense, that some members of a family will escape, and also that it is not perpetually recurring in the same person; that agrees with my experience—this is not a case of delusions—it is in accordance with my experience that persons like this show sometimes a great amount of cunning—the presence of pain along the lumbar region might be due to physical causes which did not affect the brain; it would be no certain indication one way or the other.
Cross-examined. One would take one course or the other; I adopted the more recent method of tapping the knee, but he was too stupid to enable me to effect the test properly—I went with the idea that possibly his stupidity might be intentional, but I was rather impressed that he was more than that—I don't think it would account for the matter—there was no indication of any kind of delusion in him—he would be perfectly able to understand the nature and character of firing at a woman and killing her, so far as any delusion is concerned—I should say his going, within a few minutes, to the station and stating he had fired at the woman, and that it was accidental, might be a sign of sanity, and might not—I could not suggest anything more indicative of sanity, but any one symptom apart would not operate on a judgment" that is formed of many parts—I made yesterday a very full and careful examination of the prisoner at Newgate with Dr. Blandford and Dr. Gilbert, and discussed a long list of things, that led me to think he was insane. Q. Did you find anything indicative of his being a sane man? A. If he were insane I don't see how I can answer that; I should be very willing if I could; mere ability to answer questions may be a sane thing—I should say his sleeping well and eating well in prison was evidence of progressive mental nervousness, dementia—ordinary natural sleep and regular meals would be compatible with progressive brain wasting, such as one suggests, possibly—sound sleep
under such a charge as this would make me think it was rather more an unnatural thing than the reverse—we spoke to him as to the circumstance we had read in the evidence given before the Magistrate, his firing twice, and then at himself—he said, "I don't remember really what did take place," and therefore any further questions were almost stopped—I don't think we asked about his statement that he had fired the pistol accidentally, and that was why he tried to take away his own life—we conducted our examination independently; Dr. Blandford put his questions, and I mine without consultation with Dr. Blandford.
Re-examined. People without brain power are often among those who eat and sleep best—his showing no nervous disturbance, indicated by sleeplessness and loss of appetite, would indicate that he was deficient—I think it is likely there is paralysis in the incipient stage; there are no symptoms of it now, but, speaking prophetically, there will be—with syphiletic brain disease headache is almost always present; it is a known symptom of it—being an authority on these questions, and considering it, I see no reason to modify the opinion I have expressed as to the man's mental condition.
By the COURT. I think the prisoner did not know what he was doing at the time he was doing the act—that is assuming he does not remember—I think as in nearly all these cases of progressive weak mindedness there are outbursts of uncontrollable excitement, so that slight emotional and other causes will produce in weakminded people excitement out of all relation to the outward cause—a weakminded man with very slight cause for emotional disturbance might become suddenly passionate and beyond his own control; not that he would not know what he was doing, but that he could not control himself, then he would do something beyond any previous intention formed in his own mind—I do not connect it with anything anterior—it would alter my opinion if there were proved to be a preconceived idea—a man may have an idea which he does control for some time, and then from the effect of physical weakness or alcohol or other cause, the idea may become all-powerful, and a man who is used to carry firearms would be likely to use them, just as another man would be likely to use a razor; it is the passion of the moment—I should not have the same opinion to the same extent if it were the carrying out of a preconceived idea—in syphilis there is first the acute disease, which after a time possibly is cured (some say it is never cured), then there is the secondary or more constitutional symptoms, and in many cases these only show themselves under certain conditions; in many men predisposed to nervous disease by inheritance and disease and drink syphilis might reappear, though apparently cured for twenty years—as to the hereditary taint, one has seen marked recurrence in great-grandchildren; grandchildren frequently—there was nothing up to Stephen Brazier, four generations back—it is the grandson of the great, great-grandfather; but if you have one fairly strong taint on one side, and ever so slight a taint on the other, it becomes accentuated out of all proportion.
MR. FULTON called as witnesses in reply,
DR. SHEPHERD. I was for twenty years the medical superintendent of Colney Hatch Asylum, and I am late professor of psychological medicine in King's College—I visited the prisoner at Holloway, with a view to ascertain his mental condition, on 17th and 21st June—I thought
him a morose and sullen man; there was not much to be elicited from him, but the questions he answered he answered coherently—he said he had been living rather a fast life—I asked him whether he was in the habit of taking alcoholic drinks, and he said, "No, very, sparingly," but he admitted that he occasionally had a glass of whisky—I don't think he said what effect it produced on him—from my whole conversation with him I did not discover any indication of his being of unsound mind; I thought he was of sound mind—I examined his eyes and spinal cord, but found no indications—I tapped down the spine from top to bottom, and asked him if it gave him any pain, and he said, "No; not the least"—I thumped him rather hard with my fist; there was no violence about it—his pupils were quite natural, sensitive to light—he presented no symptoms to me of general paralysis; I saw no symptoms threatening paralysis—I asked him if he recollected what had occurred on 21st May, and to give me some account of it, if he did it—he said he had very little recollection of it, but it must be true because it had been sworn against him—that was all I could get from him—I repeated the question at my second visit in the same way, and had the same answer—he was evidently dull and stupid, and unwilling to communicate—I did not tell him who I was before I spoke to him.
Cross-examined. I am not in active practice now—I am occasionally consulted, but I have really retired, and do not lay myself out for practice—I retired in 1883—Dr. Savage's opinion on these matters is unquestionably considered by the profession a valuable one, a very high one indeed—the Treasury requested me to go and see the prisoner on the 15th, I think, and I went on the 17th—sullen and morose is not the same as dull and stupid—he was sullen and morose in appearance, not in language, he was very reticent—I thought him dull and stupid; that is the explanation of what I thought his unwillingness to communicate—it is quite true that insanity does not destroy the reactive powers, but occasionally suspends them—it is not necessarily a proof of his sanity that the prisoner was able to give a rational account of what he had done, and reason upon it; it would be a circumstance to be taken into account; it would not be inconsistent with his having been insane at the time he committed the act—no reliable opinion can be formed from one set of circumstances, but the whole history of the matter must be taken into account; the inadequacy of motive, the openness with which it was done, his condition subsequent, and whether the crime was committed against a person he was much attached to, must enter into the question—I have heard of the case of Murray, in which the jury, having acquitted the prisoner on the ground of insanity at the time the act was committed, it was proved the accused had recovered his sanity eight hours after he had killed the deceased—it is a fact recognised by our profession that the mental tension caused by the performance of an act of that kind causes sometimes a temporary recovery of the faculties—it is within my reading and my experience that a man may be calm, and express neither regret, remorse, nor fear; he may coolly contemplate his victim, confess the deed, and at once surrender himself to justice, that is not inconsistent with mental unsoundness at the time the deed was committed—in some rare instances he may conceal himself, hide the weapon, and, like a sane criminal, endeavour to obliterate all traces of the crime, thus showing a perfect consciousness of the illegality and wrongfulness
of the act and a desire to avoid discovery—that is not inconsistent, and my reading and experience corroborate it—in forming my judgment on the whole of the circumstances and history of the case, the family history, if there were hereditary taint, would be a factor unquestionably to be taken into account—assuming hereditary taint to exist, it is consistent with my views and experience that the presence of syphilitic disease might develop that latent mental weakness; it is a recognised mode.
PHILIP FRANCIS GILBERT . I am medical officer to Her Majesty's Prison, Holloway—the prisoner has been under my especial observation in the prison since 21st May—I have seen him almost daily, and have kept special observation on him with a view to ascertain the state of his mind—I have not discovered anything in him to indicate he was of unsound mind—his conversation with me has been quite rational.
Cross-examined. He wan dull and morose, I think—he did not answer glibly, but he did not strike me as being remarkably slow—I latterly had communications from the authorities, which made it desirable and proper that I should observe him closely, but I always examine a prisoner who is charged with murder—I had the papers with what the Coroner's Jury said—eventually I had knowledge of the antecedent history of the case and the man—it was sent to me, but I did not know at first—I saw his father and wife, and so on—I have heard Dr. Shepherd's answers—I agree with him.
GUILTY — DEATH.
THIRD COURT.—Friday, June 27th, and
NEW COURT, Saturday, June 28th, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant,
522. ALEXANDER DENNING (26) was indicted for conspiring with other persons to defraud, and also for obtaining possession of certain moneys and valuable securities by false pretences, with intent to defraud.
MESSRS. GILL and MUIR Prosecuted, and MR. P. TAYLOR Defended.
JOHN SCHOLTES . I am a builder, at Ilford Road, Drayton Park—at the end of December, 1885, the prisoner called on me, and said he was an agent, and that he had seen a house, 14, Corinne Road, Tufnell Park, and that he wished to introduce a lady of independent means, Mrs. Turton, to take it—he said he should want the usual commission of five per cent, on the first year's rent—I said if he got me a good tenant I was willing to pay it—he introduced Mrs. Turton, who gave two satisfactory references—I paid him thirty-five shillings, I believe as far as I remember he said Mrs. Turton was residing at Bromley, Kent, but was staying at the time with a friend in Camden Square; he mentioned the house, I think it was No. 1—before Mrs. Turton moved in I went and knocked at the door of the house there, but could get no reply, and I inquired in the neighbourhood, and got information, in consequence of which I fastened my house up to prevent anyone getting in—a few days afterwards the prisoner came to me, and said Mrs. Turton had her things packed up to move, and unless I
gave immediate possession he threatened me with legal proceedings—at that time he had an agreement from me, and the street door key—I understood from him that Mrs. Turton was a widow—on one occasion he brought a Bluecoat schoolboy, and said he washer son—I let him have possession—when the first rent became due I tried to get it; I did not succeed—I got no rent from Mrs. Turton—I believe she lived in the house, and that the prisoner lived with her—I saw her there once—I never saw the prisoner there—I think the last time I saw him was when he came to me and threatened proceedings—I lost a quarter's rent—the mortgagee took possession—the property was damaged.
Cross-examined. I cannot recollect the names of the references; one was described as a solicitor—I don't recollect that the prisoner told me they were Mrs. Turton's trustees—I said I would call on the references; I called at the addresses; one was a solicitor in Coleman or Fore Street; he told me he had known Mrs. Turton some time before, but that he knew very little of her—the address of the reference was genuine—the other was a commercial office in Tower Street, if I remember rightly, and they knew the name Turton as that of a clerk who had been there some time previously—I heard nothing to his discredit; I had no opportunity of further inquiry—it was after that I let them go into possession—those premises and other of my houses were mortgaged at the time; Miss Lilian Crossman, at Huddersfield, I think, was mortgagee—I was not at all in arrears with my mortgage-money; I only owed the Christmas quarter—I never heard from Mrs. Turton that she had received a printed notice from Miss Crossman's solicitor directing her to pay no rent to me, but to pay it to her solicitors—she received a notice in due course, because the mortgage was called in, not on account of arrears, but it was some family matter perhaps—Mrs. Turton should have paid the March rent to me—I don't know when she received the notice, or whether the solicitor applied for that' quarter's rent—I did not hear that—before she left the premises, or while she was there, the mortgagee took possession—Mrs. Turton was not my tenant when she left—the mortgagee came to me on several occasions, and said they could get nothing—I demanded nothing from them in respect of that quarter's rent—I did not hear Miss Crossman had made an offer to Mrs. Turton to put her into another house; I heard nothing of the relations between them—Mrs. Turton was in the house six or nine months after the mortgagee took possession, I should think—I took no interest in the premises after that—I was never inside the house—I know nothing of Mrs. Turton's means or position.
Re-examined. As far as I know, Mrs. Turton paid no rent to anybody—I gave up possession because I could not find money enough to pay the mortgage when the prisoner came and threatened legal proceedings.
GEORGE ALEXANDER . I am manager to Thomas Hawkins and Sons, of 18, Osnaburg Street, Regent's Park—in June, 1889, No. 20, Osnaburg Street was to let, and was placed in the hands of Messrs. Kemp, house agents, Albany Street—I learned that Mr. George Garland required the house—he was described as an artist, of 41, Tollington Road, Holloway—he referred to Mr. Smith, of Caledonian Road—the rent was £63 a year—
the agreement was signed "George Garland"—he took possession on 24th June, 1889—the first quarter's rent was due on 29th September, and I went there, but could not find him—the house was full of prostitutes—the prisoner came down the yard to me as Mr. Garland—I saw a middle-aged woman there, whom I know as Mrs. Suter—I have seen her with the prisoner at the house, but they had no furniture, and did not live there—a man who gave his name as Roberts was in the kitchen; he described himself as a builder—I asked for Mr. Garland's address, and a person named Frazer, who has been sentenced, gave it me; in the Hampstead Road—I sent my foreman there, who came back and said there was no such person known there—I received this letter from Garland from 30, Lily Bridge Road, and went there half an hour afterwards, and found it was a tobacconist's shop—Garland kept possession till about the middle of the second quarter—he owed half a year's rent; I got none, and the house was damaged—I next saw Garland at Marylebone Police-court, when he was charged as Denning—I recognise the prisoner, but he has grown whiskers since, which makes a little alteration—I saw Mrs. Turton at the door with her crutch.
Cross-examined. I saw Garland five or six times—I did not recognise the prisoner at once—he only had a moustache before—I do not know that at that very time the prisoner was living in the house which was let to Mrs. Cory—the house belongs to Mr. Evans, a very aged gentleman and an invalid, and I conduct the business for him.
ARTHUR FREDERICK ANDRE . I had the letting of 20, Osnaburg Street for Mr. Hawkins—I am managing clerk to Kemp and Co., of Albany Street—I saw Mr. Garland, the prisoner, at the office about May 8th; he asked the rent, I said, "60 guineas"; he offered £60—I said that nothing but 60 guineas would be taken, and he agreed to pay it—I received these three letters. (Signed G. Garland), and this letter. (From Mr. Smith, of Caledonian Road, stating that Mr. Graham was an artist, and a desirable tenant)—after letting the house to the prisoner we served the lodgers with notice to go, as we could not get the rent—we got possession just before Christmas, before the second quarter became due.
Cross-examined. I never saw Mrs. Turton, though I called there very frequently—I saw various lodgers—I never saw the prisoner there—I saw him four times before he took the house; he had no beard then—I have not seen him since till this morning.
HENRY WAINWRIGHT . I am landlord of 563, Caledonian Road—in April, 1889, a man took the house, who gave his name George Smith, at £42 a year, and gave as a reference Mr. Firth, a solicitor, of Waterloo Road—I do not think he took possession, but he took the key, and let the house out in lodgings, and came there weekly for the rent—I took forcible possession six weeks afterwards, and have never seen him since—I do not know the prisoner.
Cross-examined. I find I have seen the prisoner before, but he only had a moustache then, now he has a beard—Smith introduced a fair man, who he said was his brother, who wished to take the next house—I wrote to Mr. Firth, but did not see him.
SUSANNAH ROBBINS . I live at 39, Stainmore Street, Caledonian Road—eighteen months ago I had a lodger named Firth—I lived next door at No. 37, and he lived at 39 in the front parlour; he paid either 6s. or
6s. 6d. a week; the bedstead was taken down for him to make it into an office—I never saw the prisoner.
HENRY FINCHAM . I am a tobacconist and news agent, of 13, Lily Road, Brompton—a man named Garland had letters addressed there, paying one penny each—ho came sometimes twice a week for eighteen months, but there have been no letters for him since Christmas—I cannot swear to the prisoner.
ELIAS POWER (Detective N.) On 31st May I went to 53, Templeton Road, Tottenham, and saw the prisoner and Mrs. Turton—I said to the prisoner, "1s. your name Denning?"—he said, "No"—I said, "1s. it Graham?"—he said, "No"—I said, "lama police officer, and I believe you are Denning; I shall take you in custody for fraud and conspiracy, as there is a warrant out for you"—I took him to the station, and found these papers on him, one of which refers to the last trial, when he was absent.
Witness for the Defence.
HENRY WILLIAM WOODFORD . I am a solicitor, of 14, Red Lion Square, and trustee of some property belonging to Mrs. Turton, which she was possessed of during the whole of last year, and for some time previous—the trust fund was about £12,000, producing between £50 and £60 a year.
Cross-examined. I was not here when she was tried—her husband is living.
Re-examined. She has a brother; his name is Walkenshaw—I believe he is alive; I have not seen him for a long time—my co-trustee and I supplied funds for her defence, in the interest of her children.
GUILTY .— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. BLACK WELL, JUN., Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
GEORGE BELL . I am a clerk, and live at Albert Road, Peckham—on 19th May, about 4.20, I was in Crutched Friars, and the prisoner came across to me suddenly and hit me a blow on my right jaw, which caused me to reel against a van standing by the kerb—he pinned me against the van and wrenched my watch from my pocket, laid it across his hand, broke the chain, and ran up a court which was very badly lighted, and when about half way through I was tripped up by somebody behind, but not thrown down—after getting very nearly through the court I was thrown down violently while I was pursuing the prisoner, and the skin was taken off my hip—I got up and pursued the prisoner with my hat in my hand into Fenchurch Street and Fenchurch Buildings, but lost sight of him—I afterwards picked him out from fifteen or twenty men.
Cross-examined. When I went into the room the prisoner struck me at once—I did not suggest that the men should turn round—I said, "I think this is the man," after which the officer in charge ordered them to turn their backs—that made no difference in my opinion—after I had picked out the prisoner I may have said, "I am not quite certain of him, "I said so at the Police-court—the men were of all sizes, ages, and complexions—the person who robbed me had his hat on; I gave a description of him—Sir John Bridge, at Bow Street, told the prisoner to put on his hat, and I said, "Looking at the prisoner with his hat on, I
should not like to swear positively that he is the man"—the robbery was the work of an instant, and I never set eyes on the thief before in my life—he was not in my sight in Leadenhall Street; he was some yards ahead of me.
Cross-examined. I saw him clearly when the robbery took place—his pale face struck me very forcibly, and he was very well dressed—I have no doubt whatever that the prisoner is the man.
WILLIAM PLACE (City Policeman 952). On 19th May, about 3.40 p.m., I was in Cree Church Lane, and saw the prisoner, who was dressed in dark clothes, and another man, run through the lane towards Leadenhall Street—after they passed, I heard a cry of "Stop him," but they had got out of sight—on 29th May I picked the prisoner out at Bow Street from six or seven others.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was a perfect stranger to me when I saw him running—Cree Church Lane is a thoroughfare for vehicles—I only noticed two persons running—when I went into the room at Bow Street, Mr. Bell had been in; he did not come back to where I was; it was a different time altogether—six or eight men were placed with him; some were bigger men and quite different in complexion and appearance—I had seen the description of the man wanted; the number of men I saw were very unlike the prisoner—we take any men in who are going by—directly I saw the prisoner I had not the slightest doubt in the world.
NOT GUILTY . (See New Court, Tuesday next).
MR. BLACKWELL, JUN., Prosecuted.
MARY MULLER . I am cook to Ann Pidwell, of 52, Addison Road, Kensington—on Saturday night, June 14th, I locked all the windows except one on the ground floor, which was protected by iron bare, and went to bed at 9.50—about twelve o'clock I heard something fall downstairs outside the area which sounded like a flower-pot—I went out on the landing and listened—I heard no more, and got so cold that I went back to bed, but did not go to sleep, and about three o'clock I heard picking going on in the dining-room—I stood on the landing, and then sat on my bed and heard a bedroom door opening—that was about four o'clock—I went out on the landing, stood there a few minutes, and heard another door open, and the cat came up to me, and I knew there was a man in the house then—I banged my door, locked it, threw up the window, and clapped my hands and called "Police!"—the police came in ten minutes, and I saw the prisoner go up the garden—he threw a dark blue skirt in a corner of the garden, jumped over the wall, and I saw no more of him for ten minutes, when he was brought to the front—this is the skirt—these other articles (produced) were in my mistress's house—this writing-desk had been moved from a back shelf in the dining-room, and put in the front of the window and forced open—a smaller desk was safe when I went to bed—this case, with a fish knife and fork, was in the dining-room—the constable knocked, and I went down, and found the doors had all been unfastened—this iron bar had been wrenched from the window and left in the area—the value of the things is £7, and three single shillings and
fourpence was taken from a money-box in the kitchen, which was left on the table—I found this piece of leather (a sheath) in the kitchen.
Cross-examined by Prisoner. I positively swear I saw you in the garden, it was then about four o'clock, and daylight.
GEORGE SMALLEY (Policeman F200). On Sunday morning, June 15th, about 4.15, I was in Napier Road, and heard the last witness screaming, "Thieves" and "Police!"—I saw her head out of the back window of No. 50—from what she said I went round to Addison Road, and saw the prisoner come out of the front gate of 53, Addison Road, and run towards Uxbridge Road; I chased him, blowing my whistle, and he ran into another constable's arms—before anything was said to him he said, "You have made a mistake this time, governor"—I said, "I have made no mistake, come back with me"—I took him to 52, Addison Road, and the servant identified him—admittance had been gained by removing this iron bar from the passage window at the back of the house, which has an area, and the bar was laid in it—I took him to the station, and found on him two pocket-knives, a box of matches, a piece of candle, a metal chain, three single shillings, and sixpence in bronze—he gave his name, William Maslin, and said, "I refuse to give any address"—I searched the garden on Tuesday, June 17, and found two writing-desks, and a fish knife and fork in a case against the dining-room window—a box of silver was moved out of the dining-room—the whole house had been ransacked, and every room entered—in the dressing-room was found a pair of silver sugar tongs and a silver cross—in an avenue through which I chased the prisoner I found this jemmy among the shrubs; it corresponds with the marks on the window.
ALFRED BROWN (Police Sergeant). On Sunday morning, 15th June, I had the prisoner's boots taken off, went to the rear of 52, Addison Road, and saw a number of footmarks in the garden at the rear which corresponded exactly with the boots—I returned to the station, handed the boots to the prisoner, and said, "I have been comparing these boots with the footprints at the rear of the garden"—he said, "Oh, they may do, I suppose, if they were pressed"—this leather sheath found in the kitchen exactly fits the jemmy.
Prisoner's Defence. The boots might correspond if they were pressed into the marks. Two policemen came and said, "Where is your buck?" I said, "I don't know what you mean. "They said, "I have a good mind to punch your head, but we will make it up for you. "They fetched the woman to the door, and she said, "That is the man. "If I threw anything away, the policeman was following me and must have seen it. I know nothing about it.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at this Court on 21st April, 1884.— Two Years' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Saturday and Monday, June 28th and 30th, and Tuesday, July 1st, 1890.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. DOUGLAS Prosecuted, and MR. BESLEY Defended.
After MR. DOUGLAS had opened the ease, MR. BESLEY moved to quash the indictment. The true bill as found at the Chelmsford Quarter Sessions did not contain the substantive words, and it was amended by the chairman at the trial. The JURY disagreed, and were discharged without returning any verdict, and then the case was removed by certiorari to this Court. He submitted that the chairman had no authority to amend the indictment, and it was therefore bad. Moreover, the prisoner was indicted under the 88 and 39 Vict., c. 36, section 7, and by the 16th section of that Act it was laid down that nothing in the Act should apply to seamen and men under the Merchant Shipping Act, and as "seamen" included any person serving in a ship, the prisoner was protected by the Act.
After hearing MR. DOUGLAS, the RECORDER ruled that he should quash the indictment on the ground that the prisoner, being a seaman, nothing in the Act under which he was indicted could apply to him; and also that the indictment as found by the GRAND JURY charged no offence until it was amended by the chairman of Quarter Sessions; and it seemed to him there was no power, after the bill was found, to put in the very words which made the indictment good.
MR. A. METCALF Prosecuted, and MR. LAWLESS Defended.
JOHN THOMAS BARKER . I am a Board of Trade officer—I produce the log-book and articles of the last voyage of the ship MacGarel—the log was lodged with the Board-of Trade, and is sent to this Court through me by the board. (MR. METCALF proposed to put the log in as evidence under the Merchant Shipping Act. MR. LAWLESS objected to its being read, as it was not sworn to.)
CHARLES WENBORN . I was a fireman on board the ss. MacGarel, which sailed from London to Belize, Central America, and then came to Norfolk for provisions and coals, and then started for London—the prisoner was also a fireman on board—we took it in turns to be fireman and trimmer—I was fireman from Belize to Norfolk, and trimmer from Norfolk—at 8.30 p.m. on 29th May we were on the high seas—I and the prisoner were in the stoke-hole—the prisoner had had a little drop to drink—he told me I should see that the fires wanted slicing, and when he looked at the fires he found they were all burnt to the bars, and he said he would have vengeance upon me—I had not spoken about the fires—I said, "What do you want vengeance on me for?"—he said, "You will know pretty well"—I got off my seat, and attempted to get out, and he let the fire-shovel fly, and cut me on the temple and the back of the ear—the shovel weighs about 13 or 14 lb., I dare say—I looked at him again, wondering what I should do, and he lifted the shovel to attempt to strike me again, and I went to the captain, who strapped up my head—about half an hour after, when the skipper told me to go forward and rest, and I was lying in my bunk, the prisoner threw an iron kettle at me, and said he would hang for me—he was about six feet off—the boatswain, who was there, caught the kettle—I crawled out, and told the skipper what he had done—I was not hurt by the kettle—the MacGarel, which is a British ship, arrived in England last Monday week—I was at the Police-station the day after—
the ship has gone to Cardiff to coal—the boatswain will be in England to-night.
Cross-examined. He and all the other officers were in London when I went to the Police-court—I did not bring them before the Magistrate—I spoke to the skipper, and he said what he had on the log-book was quite sufficient—the skipper had not seen the assault; he only put on the logbook what I told him—the boatswain only saw the kettle thrown—I tried to summon him on the 17th as a witness, but he was on board—no one was present but the prisoner and myself when the alleged assault took place—the prisoner came down a little late that evening—if he had looked at his fires when he came down he would have been all right, but he did not look for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour—he was angry with me for not making them up—we were both in the same position; he was not my superior officer—he said I should have told him the fires wanted slicing—I told him it was no business of mine—I swear I did not come behind him and use a foul expression and strike him—I had only had about twopenny worth of drink; I had not had the best part of a bottle of gin—I and others had not been drinking gin the whole evening; we had had some—there is an anvil in the stoke-room—it is not sharp but rounded; it has a point—I did not, when he said he would have vengeance, strike him and call him a name, nor did he close with me, nor did I in the scuffle fall against the corner of the anvil; if I had fallen I should not have fallen on the anvil, because we had a board over it for a seat—we had no struggle—the captain did not put him in irons afterwards; he continued his work for the rest of the voyage—I lay in my bunk—we had no proper medical attendant on the ship—I went to the London Hospital when I got on shore.
JAMES BURKE . I am assistant divisional surgeon to the H Division—on 18th June I examined the prosecutor, and found he had a lacerated wound on his left temple, about two inches long, extending downwards and forwards; I did not try the depth—there was slight oozing from it; it had taken place nearly three weeks before—it was a serious wound at the time it was inflicted—a sharp fire shovel would be such an instrument as would cause the injury I found—I put a compress on it, and bandaged him again—he is going on all right now.
Cross-examined. The wound had somewhat the appearance of not being properly attended to—although it might have been caused by a shovel it could have been caused by falling against any sharp substance, such as the corner of an anvil—it is nearly healed now.
GUILTY of Unlawful Wounding— Six Months' Hard Labour.
The Defendant, by advice of his Counsel, declined to plead to the indictment, and the COURT directed a plea of
NOT GUILTY to be entered.
MESSRS. FORREST FULTON and GILL Prosecuted; MESSRS. HORACE AVORY and MARSHALL HALL Defended.
The particulars of this case are unfit for publication.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. A. F. BURTON Prosecuted, and MR. ABINGER Defended.
In the course of the case MR. ABINGER said that the prisoner wished in the hearing of the JURY to state that he was GUILTY of unlawful wounding.
He received a good character.
GUILTY of Unlawful Wounding.— Six Weeks' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Monday, June 30th, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
529. WILLIAM HUGH FALVEY (32) and EDWIN FOSKETT (38) , Stealing seven impressed £10 stamps, and within six months three impressed £10 stamps and two stamps of like value, the property of Her Majesty the Queen.
THE SOLICITOR-GENERAL and MR. WEDDERBURN Prosecuted; MR. GEOGHEGAN appeared for Falvey, and MR. GRAIN for Foskett.
THOMAS PEACOCK . I am Deputy-Inspector of Stamps at Somerset House—I have the actual dies here from which these two transfer forms marked A and C (produced) were impressed; we have two £10 dies, and these impressions represent them, one is marked B and the other E—there are also £10 dies at Manchester, Edinburgh, and Dublin, they are distinguishable from the London dies—the dates of the dies are moveable, and altered to indicate the day, the month, and the year.
Cross-examined. The printed matter on these two documents is not printed at Somerset House, but at the Stationery Office—the stamps are impressed after the printing—the paper is counted before it is given out to the stamper, and after it is stamped—I cannot tell whether we have missed any paper—through the day, when the dies are in use, a great many persons have the custody of them; there are some eighty stampers at different times, among whom two £10 dies would be worked, but the ordinary number of persons responsible would be four; I am not one of them—the third class superintendent is responsible for collecting the various impressions, and handing then in the stock—he was not called at the Police-court; the responsible person was called on the part of the prosecution—there are two third-class superintendents in the room, exercising a strict supervision—there is a general overseer, he was not called at the Police-court—the dies which are not in use are only locked up at night; they are kept in boxes in the daytime open; a great many persons have keys to the boxes—the dies which can make a piece of paper worth £10 are left with the stampers; there are ten or twelve stampers there—no one in the stamping department has been suspended.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. It is not possible that seventy-two people might have access to these dies in a week—the changes would not be very frequent in a week—the stampers are sometimes changed—not more than twelve or fifteen people would have access to the dies in a month.
Re-examined. The dies are impressed in the room in which they are kept—we have machines, but these stamps are done by hand presses—the other dies not in use would be in boxes in that room—a record is kept of every stamp which goes out during the day—I have nothing to do with
the documents which have been stamped, but I should see them lying about—both the third-class superintendents are in the room, very near to the presses—on some days we stamp, and on other days a great many are required, but we are very busy all day—other stamps besides £10 ones are produced in that room, the £10 stamp would not be in constant use—I keep no record—one of the superintendents alters the dates of the stamps—it is next to impossible that a stamp of yesterday's date would be issued to-day, as the date stamps are kept regularly in wooden receptacles, with holes perforated in them; about 200 of them—they are arranged in cupboards in the store-room, and the receptacle of the day is brought out every morning; the change is made very deliberately, and it is quite inconceivable that a mistake should be made—on one occasion a mistake did occur, some years ago, when an addition had been made to the number of the plugs, some new ones having been made, and, being similar to each other when reversed, a wrong one was put into the receptacle, and used for two or three days, when it was discovered and corrected—that was five years ago, I think.
By the JURY. The mistake was discovered two or three days after the stamping took place—one man makes the change for many days together.
ALFRED STAYER . I am principal bookkeeper in the Accountant-General's Department, Inland Revenue, and am perfectly familiar with the details of the arrangements for obtaining stamps—there are different warrants for the affixing of stamps—there is a cancel warrant when stamps have been cancelled, and there is a transfer warrant, and when the public want stamps they fill up a cash warrant, and pay the money to the clerk of the Receiver-General, and the warrant and the document to be stamped go down into the stamping department—it is entered before it goes down, both by the clerk to the Accountant-General and the clerk to the Receiver-General—it then goes into the stamping department to the teller, in whose duty it is to see that he has a document corresponding to the warrant, and marks the kind of stamp required, and it goes to the stamper without any knowledge of what is on the warrant, simply with a pencil mark; if a £10 stamp is required, "£10" would be marked in pencil in the corner, and then it would go into the stamping office to be stamped, and come out into the hands of the teller-out, who examines the stamp to see that it is a perfect and good impression—he then enters the amount on a slip of paper called a docket, which is sent to an official who has previously come into possession of the warrant; he compares them, and if they agree it is passed on to the delivering-out room, and delivered out to whoever applies for it—the docket remains in my office, and is part of the record—this warrant (produced) covers March 5th—this "Worked 26th February" means that it was issued on that day, and completed on 6th March—the only £10 stamps included in that are the hundred S. E. transfers H. C. B. forms—this document (produced) contains the record of the £10 stamps, which were affixed on March 5th—the 104 includes all the £10 stamps which could be legitimately printed on 5th March; two of those are Manet's, one Waterlow's, one Abraham's, and one Milner's—the two H. C. B. forms put in first, purport to be 5th March, 1890—there were three £10 stamps on March 4th, and this is the warrant and receipt in respect of them.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. This warrant shows the number of £10 stamps between February 26th to March 6th on these forms; this represents 100 £10 stamps which were kept in stock; four more were issued—there is no book to show the number of stamps issued that day, but we have the separate warrants—the dockets are a check on the warrants; if a docket is employed there would be a stamp to match; the warrant and the docket are to check each other—there are ninety-three or ninety-four clerks in my department, and I think four of them have the charge of dockets, six is the outside number—they are not writers—it is the duty of four of them to file the dockets and check them with the warrants—an entry is made of the number of stamps issued in one day; a book is kept in the Accountant General's Department, and another in the Receiver-General's Department—T. W. Garrett is the clerk who issues these; the stamp is not on them—the receiving officer ticks off all the entries—there is nothing suspicious on the face of the stamps—the number would depend upon the accuracy of the person making the record—I have personally examined all the dockets, books, and papers.
Re-examined. Your learned friend suggests that he might, by mistake, pass the full number when the full number was not there, but in this case we produce the actual number—all the books correspond; 104 were ordered, and 104 issued out—apart from the 100 taken into stock there was 100—the money balances too.
By the JURY. The dockets are numbered separately by hand, not printed.
ERNEST CLEVE . I am assistant comptroller of stamps and stores at Somerset House—I send in from time to time printed forms, and get them stamped, to replenish my stock—this warrant includes an application for 100 stamp forms of £10 each; that is issued from my department, and is stamped "Worked March 6th"—I received them into my department, counted them, and looked at the stamp and date on every one—they are all stamped from the £10 E die, and are all printed "R. and S," that is Rose and Son, printers to the Stationery Office; we order 11,000 at a time—the only difference between these and the one produced is that they bear "R. and S., 784 and 785"—that is the date of the order given for the production of the printed forms—I also produce twelve forms of transfer of ten guineas, made up in £10 and 10s.—the £10 stamp is of 6th March, 1890, from the E die, the date of which must have been improperly altered in the morning to the 6th—we have £10 stamps of the 4th, 5th, and 6th—Mr. Garrard, of my department, took stock on Stat March, and it was absolutely correct.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. You cannot make a ten-guinea impression with one machine—there is such a thing as a £20 stamp; we do not require two impressions—£10 5s. would be two impressions—£11 10s. would probably be £10 and 30s.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I give an order for 100,000 of these forms about eight times a year to the outside printers—the stores are under my control; that is a very large department; there are five clerks and about twenty-five warehousemen in the stationery department—the moment printed matter is put into store no one but the officials of Somerset House have access to it—the blank forms are sold at Mr. Burdett's office at the Stock Exchange.
Re-examined. This is an unstamped transfer form; we only issue them stamped "H. C. B."—Waterlows bring their own forms and have them stamped.
By the JURY. If we stamped 100 in the morning and one was a mistake, it would be wasted and we should get another; to provide for mistakes the stamping office has a stock of the forms, and the stamper goes to the chief of the department and gets another form, to replace the stamped one—if a mistake is made the first thing in the morning, it would be corrected immediately; not mistakes, but a faulty impression if the die does not come down properly—I have not known a date to be wrong in the first stamp; Mr. Peacock spoke of one instance only.
ERNEST HARDING ABRAHAMS. MY uncle is a law stationer, of Middle Temple Lane—I assist in his business—we receive deeds from the country and get them stamped—I received a deed on 5th March, and took it to Somerset House and got it stamped—the stamp bears that date.
GEORGE WILLOUGHBY CORNELIUS . I am a clerk in the Stamp and Store Department, Somerset House, and am employed in connection with the allowance for spoiled stamps—on March 21st I was changed to Great "Winchester Street, assisting Mr. Bokenham, and about that day the prisoner Falvev came, and brought three £10 transfer stamps and asked to have an allowance made on them—he gave his name, Rowland Knight, 16, Cork Street, Piccadilly, and said he was an outside broker, and had the stamps to use in a large dealing which had not come off—I reminded him that he had been on a similar errand a fortnight before with a blank transfer; he said that it was part of the same transaction—I went to Mr. Bokenham's office, and came out and went in again with Falvey, who repeated what he had told me—the total value was £30—Mr. Bokenham asked if he could give any reference—he appealed to the Directory—Mr. Bokenham said that he had looked at it—Falvey said that he was simply a lodger in the house; his name was not in the Directory, and he had no office; that he would readily give a reference to his bankers, but did not care to do it on such an occasion—he filled up a form of declaration, but it was not completed, as Mr. Bokenham said he must apply to the Commissioners, and I believe the declaration was destroyed—he had been there on March 7th with a man who he described as his clerk, who filled up the form.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. On the first occasion he called about £14 worth of stamps, and as far as I know he allowed a fort-night to elapse, when inquiries might be made before he came the second time—the documents are returned to Somerset House, and they are destroyed—it is rather unusual to present a blank transfer; it is more common when a deed has been filled up and a hitch occurs—I asked him a great many questions, and he could see by my manner that it was a dealing out of the common with us—in the first case I referred to Mr.
Bokenham, and he took the responsibility—I had not communicated with Somerset House in the fortnight, but I sent the seven forms there.
THOMAS QLIFTON BOKENHAM . I am assistant comptroller of stamps and stores, in charge of the city office, Great Winchester Street—I remember Falvey coming there; he brought some £10 stamps on blank transfers, and wanted the allowance on them—he gave his name, Rowland Knight, 16, Cork Street—my assistant looked at the Directory and communicated with me—I asked Falvey about his office; he said he was only lodging there, and his name would not be in the Directory, and that he was an outside broker—I wanted to know why he wanted to swear off these stamps, they being perfectly blank; he said he had had a big deal, which did not come off, and they were of no use, being of such high value.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. I did not identify him as coming before—we insist on the name and address on every occasion.
ALICE SHAPE . I am servant at 16, Cork Street—a man came there and gave the name of Rowland Knight, and wanted to take a room, but did not take it—Falvey is not the man—he asked for letters to be taken in for him, and a great number of letters came there.
GEORGE MILTON . I am manager to Mr. Vaughan, pawnbroker, of 39, Strand—on March 20th, between 6 and 7 p.m., Falvey came and asked if I would make him an advance on some papers he produced, as it was too late to get a cheque cashed at his bank—I advanced him £3; he gave his name Knight, Cork Street—he called next day about eleven o'clock, and produced four pieces of paper, stamped with N. D. B. in the corner, similar to these, and wanted £20 or £30 on the four, but I declined.
Gross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. He had been in the shop before, but I do not know what for.
JOHN WILLIAM LEE . I am manager of the Earl's Court branch of the London and South-Western Bank—on, I believe, April 2nd Falvey called and opened an account with £160—£150 was drawn out the same day, which left £10, less 2s. 1d. for a cheque-book—on the 8th a cheque for £9 10s. was drawn, leaving 7s. lid.—Falvey called on the 10th, and said he had drawn a cheque for £5, and found he had not sufficient to meet it, and asked if I would allow him to overdraw his account—I said I did not feel disposed to do so so soon after it had been opened—he said he expected to receive a large sum of money from his brokers for some stock which had been sold, but the transaction was not complete, and he had bought a £10 stamp for the purpose, which he produced, and offered to leave it with me if I would pay the cheque—he left it; it was similar to this (produced), and we honoured the £5 cheque, it was dated April 9th, to E. Foskett, Esq.—on 11th April we honoured a cheque to, E. Foskett, Esq., for £2 10s., which left the account £9 10s. 1d. in debt, but we held the £10 stamp.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. He came with an introduction from Mr. Lloyd, one of our customers—he opened the account in the name of "W. H. Falvey, 77, Ravenscroft Road"—I understood that he endeavoured to induce me to let him overdraw, without the security.
Re-examined. He described himself as an engineer—we knew him previously, as he had opened another account as trustee—apart from these cheques, certain cheques were dishonoured for £14, £17, £6, and
£4 2s. 6d., all to Foskett—"no effects" is written on them—I produce the pass-book.
CHARLES RICHARDS (Police Sergeant). On April 5th, at 9.30, I saw Falvey at the Earl's Court branch of the London and South-Western Bank—Inspector Moon, who was with me, told him who we were, and asked him to go into the bank with us, which he did—Moon produced, in Mr. Lee's presence, the £10 form "A," and said, "On the 9th of this month, when you had only a few shillings standing to your account, you deposited this £10 transfer-stamp with Mr. Lee, you must tell us where you got it from"—he said, "I shan't tell you"—Moon said, "It is stolen from Somerset House, and unless you tell us you will be charged with others with being concerned in stealing and receiving"—he said, "Very well, I am a perfectly innocent agent in the matter, and I shall decline to tell"—Moon said, "On 11th March you remember giving a man named Smith £13 worth of 10s. stamps to sell for you in the City, and a few days afterwards £46 10s. worth of £5, and £3 worth of 10s. stamps; where did you obtain them?"—he said, "I must decline to tell you, and you must do what you like"—on that we arrested him—I found on him these two printed cards, "Mr. Edwin Foskett, 8, Essex Street, Strand"—I took Foskett in the Strand on May 24th, and said, "Foskett, I hold a warrant for your arrest"—he said, "Very well, come to the office"—we went to 8, Essex Street, where I read the warrant to him—he said, "I know nothing whatever about it"; and after a pause, "I wish to God I had not allowed that man Falvey to use my office"—I searched the office, and found some cards and a diary in Foskett's writing, which. I know by seeing him write a letter which I forwarded to his wife—two cheques endorsed by Foskett have been produced to me; they are in his writing.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. It was in consequence of what Falvey told me that Foskett was arrested—Falvey gave Foskett's name as the person from whom he received the stamps—the attention of Scotland Yard was called to this about three weeks before Falvey's arrest—I made certain inquiries at Somerset House; every facility was given me—I have arrested no one but these two men—Mr. Highmore, the solicitor to the Inland Revenue, conducted the prosecution at the Police-court.
Re-examined. This is Falvey's signature to this statement; it is the information he gave me. (Mr. GRAIN objected to the admission of this statement, as if it had been a conversation it would have been inadmissible, being made in the absence of Foskett. The COMMON SERJEANT, having consulted the RECORDER, considered that it had better not be admitted.)
GRENADO PIGGOTT MINETT . I am assistant to Waterlow Brothers and Layton, law stationers, of Bush Lane—I have been with them thirty-five years—about March 10th Falvey came and said, "Will you take back these three £10 stamps; I bought them of you?"—I looked at them and said, "No, you did not buy them of us; they are Burdett's forms, and we never had them in stock. "We print our own forms, and Waterlow Brothers' is on them; we send them to be stamped at Somerset House"—he said, "I will take them at a discount. "but I refused—we take back stamps from our regular customers, but we do not give cash, we give other stamps—he came again on 26th March, on which occasion I made a memorandum—we received two deeds from the
country on March 5th, requiring to be stamped with £10 stamps; we got them stamped, and I produce them to-day.
EDWARD FREDERICK CROWE . I am a draper, of 35 and 37, Broadway, Hammersmith—Foskett has come to my shop from time to time to make purchases—he came about April 11th, between eight and nine a.m.—he owed me a little money, and said, "I have come out without my purse, I want you to lend me £1 or £1 10s."—I looked at him, and he said, "I will leave you some security; I have a bill stamp, which I have got for a client of mine for some shares; I shall not want to make use of it just at present. If you lend me the money you can retain this, and apply any goods I may send for, or my wife, and when I want to make use of' it I will come and pay you altogether"—I gave it to my clerk; this is it—I gave him this cheque for thirty shillings, which has been cashed—on 25th April he came again, and in respect of the same stamp I advanced him £1 10s. by this cheque—he came again, and I advanced him altogether £7 18s. 11d. on the stamp for goods and money—he has not redeemed the stamp.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I believe he lives at Shepherd's Bush, not far from me—I have known him two or three years as a customer—he brought me a cheque for £9 after he deposited the stamp, and asked me to change it, and I did so, still retaining the stamp—the cheque was duly met—it was not his own cheque.
HENRY SAUNDERS BURRILL . I keep the Essex Head, Essex Street, Strand—I know Foskett—he came to me about three months ago, and asked me if I would advance him, if he wanted it, something on a £10 stamp—I think he said £2—I did not make the advance, as he did not come again.
Cross-examined. I saw him two or three times between then and his arrest—I said that there were some detectives about, and they seemed to be watching the house where he had offices—he said he did not know what it was, he had done nothing.
EDWARD GREVILLE . I am assistant to Osborne and Gale, pawnbrokers, 264, Strand—about ten weeks ago Foskett came and said he wanted a loan for a friend of his on some £10 stamps, but not understanding them I declined—he produced a roll, but I cannot tell how many stamps were in it.
CHARLES GRAY . I have occupied 8, Essex Street, thirty years as refreshment rooms—I let the back room first floor to Foskett, on an agreement, from February 11, at £32, payable quarterly—he referred to Mr. Falvey and Mr. McDonald, and these are the letters I received from them. (The letter from Falvey stated that Mr. Fish would he a responsible tenant)—I pointed out to Foskett that the name was Fisk in the letter—on 25th March I received this cheque from Falvey for £4 2s. 6d. for the half-quarter's rent, but he had not signed it—I took it to him, got it endorsed, and paid it into the bank, and it was dishonoured—I went and told Foskett so—he said, "When did you pay it in?"—I said, "Within five minutes of the time you endorsed it—he said, "I gave £4 for it"—he has never paid me any rent.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. I determined not to take Foskett unless I got a reference, and he wrote and told me that a perfectly different man, Mr. Fisk, was a responsible man.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I am positive he said he gave £4 for it—I do not know that he said that he gave gold for it—what I mean is that he said that he gave cash for it.
JOSEPH THOMAS BRAY . I am housekeeper at Palmerston Buildings, Old Broad Street—some time in 1889 I found the offices 164, which had been let to a man named Jessop, had been since let to Eastlake and Field, who I have never seen, but I saw Mr. Falgate, who appeared to be in connection with the firm—I keep a book in which I enter registered letters—it contains on October 19th a letter addressed to Eastlake, and signed for "Eastlake and Field, by Falvey, "I recollect the circumstance very well—similar entries on November 2nd and 5th are signed for in the same way—on 12th November a letter came addressed to Mr. Foskett; I do not know who signed for it; it is in the same writing as the previous one, "Per E. and F., H. F."
The deposition of Charles Richard Lloyd, who was too ill to attend, was here read.
GUILTY— Judgment Respited.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, July 1st, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. POYNTER and MR. BLACKWELL Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
GEORGE DAVIS HORNBLOWER . I am a tutor, of 31, Colville Square, Notting Hill—on 21st May I was coming home from the Globe Theatre, and reached Duncannon Street, Charing Cross, about 11.30—I had two ladies with me, one of whom was not quite well, and as the Wormwood Scrubs omnibus came up, four or five persons were pressing round me to get into it—I felt a pressure on my left side, and saw the prisoner looking over my left shoulder—I heard a click at my chain, and missed my watch—it was a silver watch, worth £4, and a gold chain, which was left dangling down—I saw the prisoner walking off towards Charing Cross by the light of a lamp—I ran after him, took hold of him, and shouted out—there was a short man with him.
Cross-examined, My watch was in my left waistcoat pocket, and the prisoner was on my left, a little behind—there was no one behind me except the prisoner on my left—when I took him I said, "You have got my watch"—he said, "Me, sir?"—I did not hear him say, "I have not stolen your watch; it is a mistake"—two or three omnibuses were on ahead, but none behind.
ARTHUR HAILSTONE (Policeman E 199). On 21st May, about 11.30 p.m., I was on duty with Payne in Duncannon Street, in plain clothes, and saw the prisoner and another man moving about suspiciously among the people, who were waiting for omnibuses—we kept observation on them nearly ten minutes; they went to the rear of a number of omnibuses, and as people were getting in they pressed closely behind them; they pressed closely behind the prosecutor and two ladies who
were about to enter an omnibus; the prisoner was on his left, and the other man behind the prisoner, endeavouring to cover him; they suddenly left the prosecutor and walked coolly away—the prosecutor turned round, and I saw his chain hanging down from his waistcoat; he caught the prisoner, who had got ten or fifteen yards away, and I took him in custody, and said, "I am a police officer, and shall take you to Bow Street Station for stealing this gentleman's watch"—he said nothing—he was charged at the station, and made no reply.
Cross-examined. When the prosecutor and the ladies were making towards the omnibus Payne was on top of an omnibus—he was in plain clothes—twelve or fifteen people were waiting to get into the omnibus, some of whom were in the road; I was on the kerb.
By the JURY. I was about two yards from the prosecutor when I saw his chain hanging down—the prisoner could have handed the watch to his friend—I found nothing on him.
JOSEPH PAYNE . I am a plain clothes constable—on 21st May I was in Duncannon Street about 11.30 p.m., and saw the prisoner and another man standing where the omnibuses stop—I kept them under observation ten minutes, and saw them working the 'buses as they drew up—they got behind people who were about to enter, with the intention of picking their pockets—I saw them look at me and speak to each other, so I got on top of a 'bus which drew up, and looked down and saw the prisoner and another man pressing against the people—I got down and saw the prosecutor's chain hanging down; I went towards the other man; he got among the traffic and escaped—I then went to the prosecutor's assistance.
Cross-examined. He was ahead of the omnibus for which Mr. Horn-blower was making, and I got on top—three men were under my notice. G. D. HORNBLOWER (Re-examined). I had looked at my watch in the Strand a few minutes before—I saw the prisoner with the other man, 15 or 20 paces from me—immediately I missed my watch.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at Clerkenwell on November 7th, 1887. Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BLACKWELL Prosecuted.
ARTHUR N. SYMOXS . I keep the Garrick Tavern, 70, Leman Street, Whitechapel—the prisoner was a customer from Wednesday to Sunday, 8th June, as Captain Ramsay; he had a broken leg and walked with a stick—he said, "I broke my leg on board ship, and I shall have £130. due to me to-morrow, Monday, at the American Consulate Office, 13, St. Helen's Place, Bishopsgate"—he had told me he was an American—he had told me he came from Greenwich Hospital—I lent him a sovereign on the Sunday night upon his statement; I would not have done so had I not believed he would receive £130 next morning—in the morning he said he was going to take the compensation due to him, and asked me for another sovereign to pay cab fares and to meet his requirements—I lent it to him; he had some liquor, and left—he came back in the evening and said that he had been there, and the money was not waiting for him; he was to go again on Tuesday morning, and would I lend him
another sovereign, which I did—he said he would pay me on Tuesday morning when he received the £130—on the Tuesday morning I lent him another sovereign, and in the evening he said he had been disappointed of his cheque, and was to go on the "Wednesday; I gave him another sovereign at his request, and another on Wednesday morning—in the evening he said he had been disappointed, but the cheque would be there on Thursday—I lent him £8 altogether—I invited him to breakfast at nine o'clock on the Thursday morning, but he did not come—I went into Cable Street, and saw him in a barber's shop; I asked him why he had not been to breakfast—he said he had been very sick and vomiting—he went to my house and had two new laid eggs and some bread and butter, and then, at his request, we drove together to the American Consulate—I did not leave the cab, he went in alone and came out in a few minutes, and said he was to be there again at four o'clock for the £130—we went home, and on the strength of that he ordered a bottle of champagne and coffee and cigars, and at 3.30 we went out, hailed a cab, and got to the American Consulate about 3.55—he went in, and came out and asked me for one of my private cards; I had not got one, but he found one in his pocket—he went in again and came out, and we drove off, and he said the cheque would be in a letter addressed to my house on Friday morning without fail—I paid for the two cabs there and back—I let him have the champagne and cigars on the strength of his statement—he had tea and supper that night, and another bottle of champagne—I asked what time he would like to be called in the morning; he said, "About nine"—I got up at 6.30, and found he was getting up, I took no notice, and on coming down to breakfast I found he had gone—I went to the American Consulate, and then to Leman Street Station, and got a warrant—about 5.30 I heard that the prisoner was in my public parlour—I sent for the police, and kept him there an hour and a half with convivial conversation and drink.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. The £8 does not include the cab fare, which was 5s.—the lodging and cab fares come to £1 5s. 6d.—I have not charged for the drink we had when we were playing at whist.
OLIVER JOHNSON . I am Vice-Consul-General of the United States, and live at 12, St. Helen's Buildings, Bishopsgate Street—on Thursday, June 12, the prisoner came there and said he expected a man to call and leave £130 for him, or to pay it to him there, for injuries he had received on board a ship on which he had been serving—I told him the man had not been there at that time, but if he would call at four o'clock, if the money was left he should have it—he came at four o'clock, but no man had been—there never was any money coming to the prisoner through that office to my knowledge, or actually there.
Cross-examined. When you came at four o'clock you said if any letter came for you would I be kind enough to forward it; you left the address, "Garrick Tavern, Leman Street"—you said that your owners did not live in london, but were coming up to town.
WILLIAM COOK (Policeman E 268). On 13th June I was called to the Garrick Tavern, Leman Street, and saw the prisoner—I read the warrant to him, for obtaining by false pretences from Arthur Symons, food and money value £9—he said, "1s. this Mr. Symons' doing?"—I said, "Yes"—I took him to the station—the Inspector read the charge over to him, and he said, "This is a very ridiculous charge; I have £130 coming
to me to-morrow, and I shall be able to get out of this"—I searched him, and found two shillings and sixpence in silver, ninepence, and a seaman's discharge of "Robert Ramsay, 45; New York; boatswain."
JOHN PYNE . I keep the Yacht Tavern, East Greenwich—on 29th May, about 10.30 p.m., the prisoner came and asked if I would oblige him with a bed—I did so, and he stopped till June 4th—on June 2nd he asked me for a loan of two or three shillings, as he wanted to send a telegram to his sister in Cornwall—I said, "As you are a cripple, I will pay the telegram for you, I am going that way"; and I paid tenpence halfpenny for it—next day I lent him two shillings and sixpence, as he said he had some money coming from the Consul as compensation for an accident on board ship—on 4th June his bill came to £2 4s. 8d. for food, lodging, bed for a friend, and money lent—he paid for his lodging on the second night, and asked whether it would be any cheaper by the week if he stopped, as Br. Smith, of Greenwich Hospital, said it would be necessary for the bone of his leg to be scraped, and probably it would be a long job—I took him as a lodger, and gave him credit, as he represented that Dr. Smith was going to attend him, and he had to go and see him in the morning—after I sent the telegram he went out, and came back and said he had had an answer, and the money was forthcoming—he left when I was out, and never paid me.
Cross-examined. You paid my wife one and sixpence for the two first nights; you represented that you were going to receive money from Cornwall.
The Prisoner's Statement before the 'Magistrate: "It is perfectly true what this gentleman says, except that I was not captain last voyage, only mate."
The prisoner, in his defence, contended that this was a case for a County Court, not for this Court, as he got into debt expecting to receive money, but was disappointed.
GUILTY of obtaining credit by false pretences.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, July 2nd, 1890.
Before Mr. Recorder,
532. THOMAS JOHN LAUD BROWN (26) was indicted (with SPENCER FLINT , not in custody) for unlawfully obtaining by false pretences from William Parrett ten bills of exchange for £100 each. Other Counts, for conspiracy with Flint to obtain the same.
MESSRS. GRAIN and ARTHUR GILL Prosecuted; MR. ABINGER Defended.
After the case had commenced, MR. ABINGER stated that having had a consultation with the defendant, he desired to withdraw his plea, and to
PLEAD GUILTY, upon which the JURY found him
GUILTY.— Judgment respited.
MR. BURTON Prosecuted.
ARTHUR HERBERT MEADOWCROFT . I am an errand boy employed by Mrs. Chapman, of 65, Cranthorne Road—on 16th June, as I was going to Mr. Wiltshire's, a shirt manufacturer's, with some shirts from Mrs. Chapman,
I was in Finsbury Pavement, when the prisoner came up and said, "Has it gone five?"—I said I thought it had—he said, "What have you got in your parcel?"—I said, "Eight silk shirts"—he said, "Where are you going with them?"—I said, "To Mr. Wiltshire's in Fore Street"—he said, "I am a traveller for Mr. Wiltshire," and he pulled out a pocket-book, and seemed to be writing in it—he said, "Give me the parcel, and let me take it"—I said, "No; as I am very near Mr. Wiltshire's, I will take it myself"—he said, "I have just been down to Mrs. Chapman's," and he asked if I had a note in the parcel—I said, "No"—he said, "You had better run back and get one; Mr. Wiltshire has got an order for fifty silk shirts; I have got to go—," to some street; I don't know what the name was that he said, and then he left—I took the parcel to Mr. Wiltshire, who gave me another parcel of shirts for me to take to Mrs. Chapman—I told him that some person had met me—as I was going back to Mrs. Chapman I saw the prisoner at the corner of Blomfield Street; he came towards me, and I ran to the policeman, and said, "That is the man," and the policeman took him in charge—this is the pocket-book that the prisoner had, and in which he seemed to write—he is the man—I went back with the prisoner and policeman to the station.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I never saw you before that day—I did not give you the shirts, because I knew you were not a traveller, and was not the person to whom they should be delivered—when I told Mr. Wiltshire what had happened he went with me to the police-station, and we gave information and sent the policeman in plain clothes, to whom I afterwards gave the prisoner into charge; he left the station with me—he was standing by my side when I saw you in Blomfield Street—he said something to you about some shirts, and you said, "I don't exactly know what you are speaking about; what is your authority? If there is any misunderstanding we will go to the police-station"; and we all went to the station—the Inspector asked what I recognised you by, and I said, "By his moustache and his height"—you only had a little moustache, not so much as you have now—when I went to Guildhall I talked to the constable and the clerk of the Court about the case before the Court sat—they did not tell mo what to say; they asked what I was going to say—I am quite sure you are the man who accosted me.
CHARLES WILTSHIRE . I am a shirt manufacturer, at 78, Fore Street—I never saw the prisoner till he was in custody—he was not my traveller—Meadowcroft made a statement to me, and I went into the street with him, and not seeing the man there I went to the station with him, where he made a statement—I made up the boy a parcel to take back, and a plain clothes policeman accompanied him—the value of the parcel he brought to me was £3 16s.
Cross-examined. You began to compare my character unfavourably with your own, and I said the case had better go before a Magistrate—you gave us a reference in Bishopsgato Street, to a pork butcher's shop, where you bought things on a Saturday night.
ROBERT MOODY (City Detective). On Monday, 16th June, I saw Meadowcroft at Mr. Wiltshire's door in Fore Street about half-past five—I had instructions to follow the boy, and I did so to Finsbury Circus, where I saw the prisoner standing—ho walked into Blomfield Street, where he stood—as the boy crossed to Liverpool Street the prisoner
stepped into the road to meet him—I was standing on the footway behind the prisoner; the boy ran round him to me and said, "That is the man"—I went up to the prisoner, and told him I was a police-officer, and that he would be charged with attempting to obtain foods or. a parcel from the boy by representing himself as Mr. Wiltshire's traveller—he said, "The boy has made a mistake; I have never seen him before in my life"—I took him to the station—we met Mr. Wiltshire on the way—I asked him before the prisoner if he was his traveller—he said, "I don't know the man; I have never seen him before."
Cross-examined. I did not speak to the boy after I left Mr. Wiltshire's till he came and pointed you out—when I told you the charge you merely asked my authority—you had been employed by Messrs. Burke and Co., wholesale confectioners, of Shepherdess Walk, for five or six weeks, and had left on the previous Friday—I went to another place in Fetter Lane that you referred me to; they were not known there—I called at an address you gave me; you had never lived there—afterwards I went to another address you gave—the gentleman there said you lived there for four months as Heron, and were respectable and sober.
By the COURT. The direction the boy was going was in a direct line from Wiltshire's to Chapman's—the prisoner was wearing a thick moustache, but was otherwise clean shaven when I took him.
The prisoner, in his defence, asserted that there was no corroboration of the boy's evidence, and that he had made a mistake as to the identity of the first man who spoke to him.
GUILTY **.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, July 2nd, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant,
534. FREDERICK HARRISSON (22) and EDWARD COLLINS (31) , For stealing forty-four bracelets, sixty wedding-rings, seventy-six watches, forty-seven watch-chains, and other articles, the property of Robert Belcher Slocombe and another, the masters of Harrisson. Second Count, Receiving the same.
MR. DOUGLAS Prosecuted; MR. BYRON appeared for Harrisson, and MR. PURCRLL for Collins.
BENJAMIN COLE . I have been housekeeper to Mr. Slocombe, of 63, Moorgate Street, nine years—my wife lives on the premises—Harrisson has been there two years as porter; he slept at the back of the shop—it was my duty and his together to fasten the premises—on 16th April it was my turn to go out, and I went out with my wife at 7.45 p.m.—the shop was shut then, and everything safe—I left Harrisson there alone—I returned about 10.45, and could not get in—I called the police, and we forced the outer door open with a crow Bar, which the firemen use—I noticed nothing particular that night—I looked for the key of the shop door, which usually hung on a nail by the kitchen door, but it was gone—next morning we came down a little before seven a.m., and lifted up a curtain and could see into the shop, and saw that a lot of jewellery was gone from the
window—I telegraphed to Mr. Alton, the partner, and his son came—when I got in I noticed a beer jug and two tumblers in the room where Harrisson had been; the glasses appeared to have been used for beer.
ROBERT BELCHER SLOCOMBE . I am in partnership with Mr. Halchin, at 63, Moorgate Street, as jewellers and silversmiths—Harrisson was in our employ two years and three months as porter, and we had every confidence in him—on 17th April I arrived there at 9.20, and the place was in commotion—my partner and his son had arrived, and I found the window was stripped, except three or four little articles—it was full of jewellery when I left at a little after seven the previous night—about £2,200 worth of jewellery was taken from the window, £450 of which has been recovered.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. Collins is a stranger to me—my brother sometimes comes to the shop—he was there that evening, and I believe one of the beer glasses was used by him—there is nothing in the mystery which the police have made about that.
Re-examined. Two pipes were left in the shop, one was known to be Harrisson's; we do not know who the other belonged to—I cannot say whether three persons had been there or only two—we found that beer was sent for that evening.
MATILDA NIBLO . I am the wife of William Niblo, of 5, Beaumont Road, Lower Edmonton—on the Sunday before he was arrested Collins came between six and seven o'clock—J knew him before—he said he wanted a room for a friend, and took the first floor back—nothing was said about rent then; he went away, and on the following Wednesday he came with Mrs. Collins about four o'clock, and brought some furniture in a van, which they put into the room which I had let, and some into the parlour, which they had the use of—on the same evening Collins went and fetched Harrisson, while Mrs. Collins stayed—Collins and Harrisson went out, and then Mr. and Mrs. Collins went home, and Harrisson slept there—I asked him his name, he said, "George Turner, call me George"—I waited on him—the terms were 14s. a week, board and lodging—Mr. Collins came there a good many times, and sometimes with Mrs. Collins—I did not let him in, he used to get over the fence at the back, which is about two feet high; the children came in that way—he came mostly in the afternoon, and went to Harrisson's room—Harrisson and he were arrested on 3rd June, and the police came, and I showed them his room, and saw what they found in the trunk, which I had seen brought in—the furniture was afterwards sold.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. Collins came on a Saturday, my husband being out, and I made an appointment with him to come on Sunday, which he did, and he and my husband went out for about half an hour or so, and I afterwards met my husband alone—on the day the prisoners wore arrested Harrisson was at home all day, but he went out about 7 p.m. alone—I saw Collins that evening, he and Harrisson went out together—my husband is not here—I have known Collins some years—he has been some years in Africa; ho was in the Cape Mounted Rifles—I do not know that Harrisson is Collins' cousin.
he came there about twelve o'clock, and asked me to pawn a gold watch to pay for something in the evening, and I pledged it for 30s.—I gave him the money and the ticket, and he went away—on the Friday afterwards, I first heard about the robbery by Davidson, the detective calling—my husband was not there—I lived there up to the time of Collins' arrest—I next saw Harrisson, I think the day before I went to Mrs. Niblo's, Collins took me down to a public-house at Edmonton, and Harrisson walked in and shook hands with Collins, who said, "How do you do, Ted?"—he said, "All right, Fred," or something like that—I had a few words, and left Collins and went home—after that I went with Collins to Mrs. Niblo's—Collins is a French polisher, he had just left his place the Saturday before the week of the robbery—that was after Easter.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. Davidson came to see me pretty frequently after the robbery—I only saw Collins with him when he called at our place, and Sergeant Lyle saw him; the police were frequently visiting him, keeping a close watch on him—that went on from the Friday till the day he was apprehended—I was present when Davidson told Collins he was quite certain of what Collins told him, and asked him to come to the public-house, and gave him 5s. for himself, and said, "Here is a dollar for you"—he had been to the detective office at the Old Jewry before that—Collins and Harrisson are cousins—I know Mr. Niblo; I have not seen him with Davidson—I have seen Mr. Niblo with Harrisson several times; he was not at Guildhall Police-court, and he is not here.
HARRIS FARKELL . I am a camera-maker, of 24, Hertzlett Road, Holloway—I am not Collins' cousin; I have been a friend of his about eighteen months; we are fellow-workmen—on Friday night, 18th April, Detective Davidson told me about the robbery in Moorgate Street; Collins was with him; he came to my shop for a job—no suggestion was made that Collins had anything to do with the robbery—I saw Collins about three nights running after that, he was after a job at my place, and I spoke to the governor about it—I went with Collins and Mrs. Collins to the Lion and Lamb, where I paid for a drink—I was with them an hour or so; there were other people as well; Harrisson's mother was there—the conversation was mostly about the robbery; Harrisson's mother was upset by it—Harrisson was not there; they did not know where he was—they said what a bad job it was Harrisson had done it—I next saw Collins in the same public-house, about three weeks after the robbery; I asked him if he knew anything about the robbery—he said, "I know a little about it; Fred has wrote to me"—I knew who he meant by Fred—he said he had a letter signed Charlie, asking him to go and meet him; and he should go—I think that was the day before the arrest; he came to the shop at dinner-time, and asked whether I would have half a day and go for a run, fishing—I went with him to Edmonton—he brought some fishing-rods—Harrisson came with him, and we fished for an hour—we had no conversation; we were about thirty yards apart—we met Niblo at night in the King's Head—I did know him before—there was no conversation there about the robbery, and no allusion to it all day.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. On the Friday after the robbery I met Davidson and Collins at the Cock public-house—I knew that Collins had
told Davidson that I should be at the house—Davidson said he was quite satisfied with what Collins had told him, and made arrangements with him to tell him anything else—I have seen Davidson a good many times since that Friday—he worried me a good deal day after day—I have seen Niblo twice since then—I did not see him at Guildhall—I have never seen him when Davidson was there—the first time I saw him he was tight, and he got a fortnight's holiday—Collins had been in Norfolk for some time, but he came from Africa—the first time I saw him was at East Dereham, in Norfolk.
JOHN DAVIDSON (City Detective). On the Friday after the stealing of this jewellery I called on Collins at 2, Peter Street, Islington—I said, "I am a detective; I am making inquiries about your cousin, Frederick Harrisson, he has absconded, stealing a large quantity of jewellery. I find you were in his company on Tuesday, the 15th, the night before the robbery; do you know what has become of him since?"—he said, "No; I have not seen him since the Tuesday night. I went there at his request to his shop. He called on me on the. Tuesday afternoon, and asked me to allow my wife to pledge a gold watch for him, which she did, at Walton's, for £1 10s. I have bought a gold wedding-ring and keeper from Harrisson; I am paying for them weekly"—I saw him almost daily from 18th April to the middle of May, and each time he said, "I know nothing about the robbery, or the whereabouts of Harrisson"—I had no conversation with him for several days prior to Bank Holiday—I pointed out the £100 reward to him—he led me to believe that he had suspicions of a woman, and went with me to an address in Clerkenwell, and pointed the house out where she lived, and said she was in the company of Harrisson on the Tuesday night—he also said that he saw her waiting outside the shop on Tuesday night; that would be the 15th, and that he had had drink with her in company with Harrisson that night—on Sunday, April 20th, I had a conversation with Collins and two of Harrisson's brothers, and I gave Collins five shillings—I did not say, "Here is a dollar for you"—on Monday, the 21st, Collins came to 26, Old Jewry, according to an appointment I had made—the conversation was always about the robbery—Farrell has been in Collins' company sometimes when I saw him, and after the arrest of Collins and Harrisson I caw Farrell by himself—he was a witness at the Police-court—I next saw Collins with Harrisson on June 3rd at Liverpool Street Station, in custody of Parkins and Williams, and Lythol and Reed, who conveyed them to Moor Lane Station—I said, "Your name is Frederick Harrisson"—he said, "Yes"—I read the warrant to him—he made no reply—I said to Collins, "You will be charged with stealing and receiving this jewellery"—he made no reply—Parsons produced a quantity of jewellery, and Williams produced three rings found on Collins—Mr. Slocombe identified them—the charge was read over to the prisoners—they made no reply.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I asked Collins if he could tell me of any persons who had been about with Harrisson, and he suggested this woman—he took me to the place, and I saw her that night—I did not say, "I have a great mind to search your house"—I ascertained from Collins that Farrell might be seen at the Cock—Collins brought him there, and I saw him—£200 reward was offered for the arrest of Harrisson and the recovery of the property—no warrant was taken out
against Collins—I saw him every day after the Friday, but he had not seen me; there were eight altogether watching him.
By the COURT I have lost sight of him from November 19th; I always had him under observation, except on two or three occasions when he went in a direction which it was almost impossible to follow—I did not give him the 5s. on account of the £200, it was in order to lull suspicion.
GEORGE PARSONS (City Detective Sergeant). On 3rd June I was with Sergeant Williams in Edmonton, and saw Collins between three and four p. m; he went to 5, Beans Road, got over the garden fence, about three feet high, and went into a house, we were not certain which, as we were some distance off—we watched; and between seven and eight they came over the fence into a field, into the high road, and went to a public-house close to the station, where they remained some time, and came out together; they came down the road to the Crown and Horse Shoe, and went in; we went to the station, which is opposite, and got the assistance of two men—the prisoners came out in half an hour, and I went up to Harrisson, and said, "I believe your name is Harrisson"—I was in police clothes—he said, You have made a mistake"—I said, "I am police officer, I shall take you in custody for Harrisson"—I took hold of him; he struggled to get away, but with assistance I took him to the station, and found on him a silver watch and metal chain, a gold signet ring on his finger, and a diamond ring in his waistcoat-pocket—he was wearing a pair of gold sleeve links; he had a gold cigar-cutter, a meerschaum-pipe and case, a bunch of keys, and £11s. 1 1/2d.—I said, "Where do you live?"—he said, "I don't know"—I said, "Don't know?"—I said, "Don't you live in the house you came out of?"—he said, "I don't know"—I went with other officers to 5, Beamish Road, and Mrs. Niblo pointed out to us the first floor back room, where I found a tin-trunk, which I opened with the key found on Harrisson and found in it thirteen gold brooches, thirteen scarf-pins, five bracelets, six pairs of earrings, one locket, one pendant, ninety-six gold and diamond rings, two gold Alberts, one packet of diamonds, one of emeralds, one of pearls, a quantity of other stones, and a purse with £83 in gold—they have been identified—I took them to Harrisson at the station, and said, "This is what I have found in your box, I suppose you know all about it?"—they were brought to London, taken to Moor Lane Station, and charged.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I saw Niblo on 3rd June when we searched the house—I saw Collins go into Niblo's house alone between three and four o'clock; I did not see Niblo that day—I did not see Niblo with Harrisson at any of the public-houses.
EDWIN WILLIAMS (City Detective). I was with Parsons when the prisoners were arrested, and when the jewellery was found—I took Collins, and said, "You will be charged with Harrisson with a robbery at Mr. Slocombe's shop in Moorgate Street"—he struggled very violently to get away, but with the assistance of another officer I got him to the station, where I searched him, and found twelve gem rings in his trousers pockets, rolled up in tissue paper—I said, "How do you account for the possession of these rings?"—he made no reply—I repeated the question half a dozen times, and he made no reply.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. He did not say, "I absolutely refuse
—I did not see him in the public-house opposite the Police-station; I watched outside the public-house about an hour—I did not see Niblo go in and come out; I found him afterwards at the house—I have made no inquiries about him.
Re-examined. I have not the slightest reason to believe that Niblo had anything to do with the matter; he is a respectable man, employed at a mantle warehouse in the City. (Mr. Biron here stated that Harrisson would withdraw his plea, and PLEAD GUILTY, upon which the JURY found him GUILTY )—when we got to the station, Parsons asked Harrisson if any other persons were with him, and he said, "No."
ROBERT BELCHER SLOCOMBE (Re-examined). I have seen all the jewellery; it is not all here, as I applied to Sir Andrew Lusk to have as much of it handed to me as the detectives could spare—it is part of the property stolen from my shop—the twelve rings found on Collins are my property; they are worth about £20.
COLLINS, GUILTY of Receiving—Judgment respited.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. AVORY Prosecuted.
The evidence was interpreted to the Prisoners.
WILLIAM BIRKETT . I am chief engineer on board the ss. Ganges, Belonging to the Peninsular and Oriental Company—on 6th June the ship was lying in the Royal Albert Docks—the two prisoners were employed on board as coal trimmers, and on 6th June they were at work in the afternoon—Farren was using a hammer to chip scales off the boiler—between half-past three and four I went down to the fore stoke-hole, to see if it was ready for painting—only Farren was there; he had the hammer in his hand—a fireman, Khamis Zaid, was there—Farren had two lamps, and some oil was being wasted from one—I said to him, in Hindustani, "You must not waste the oil in this manner"—he said, "What does it matter? I am doing my work, am I not?"—I said, "I won't be spoken to in that manner, and I am not going to have the oil wasted"—Farren, who was in a sitting position, got up on his legs, and lifted the hammer to strike me—I grasped his arm to avoid the blow coming on my head—I struggled with him to get the hammer—I could not say this was the hammer, but it was one similar—while struggling with horn I saw Mahina come down the ladder, and as he came down Farren said something; I don't understand the language sufficiently to know what it was—Mahina then picked up a shovel like this from the stoke-hole, and struck me on the fore part of my head with it deliberately—this shovel was afterwards brought up from the stoke-hole—I was stunned, and was semi-unconscious—I don't recollect anymore blows, but
I afterwards found I had received others on the head—I leant against the side of the stoke-hole, and I was conscious of Farren trying to pull me, and Mahina trying to pull my legs away—they tried to throw me into the bilge; the plates were open—I remember a crowd coming" in, but I don't remember any more; I was prostrate—I threw one of the prisoners off when they tried to throw me into the bilge, but I was semiconscious—I was attended by a doctor, and I am still in the doctor's hands—I am partially fit for duty, but not for my whole duty—I had previously spoken to both the men about their work, carelessness, and laziness—Farren is a Zanzibar man, and Mahina is a Somali—I think I was hit on the back of the head with the hammer—I have marks there.
Cross-examined by Farren. Khamis Zaid saw you struggle with me.
WILLIAM: MORRIS . I am a boiler-maker on board the Ganges—on 6th June I was on board—I had been down in the fore stoke-hole shortly before Birkett was assaulted—I saw Farren working there, and there was a fireman (Khamis Zaid) at the donkey boiler—Farren was working with a hammer like this—I left to order some paint, leaving Birkett standing in the fore stoke-hole—I had been away about three minutes or a little more when Khamis told me something, in consequence of which I ran to the fore stoke-hole—I there saw Mr. Birkett staggering, and his head was bleeding in two places, one in front and one at the back—I saw both prisoners running up the ladder—I saw this shovel lying in front of Birkett's feet, who said, "That is the shovel they struck me with"—he was just able to speak—I went and told the second engineer, and then went to the forecastle to look for the prisoners—later on all the coloured men were brought on the forecastle, and then I picked out the prisoners—the second engineer asked Farren if he hit the first engineer, and he said in Hindustani, which I understand, "Yes, I struck the chief engineer"—I reported Mahina to the chief engineer on the voyage for insolence—the chief engineer took him up to his cabin to reprove him; he would not do it in the presence of anyone else—Comba insulted the gunner on one occasion.
ROBERT HENRY COLE . I am a surgeon, at Ealing—on 6th June last, about five p.m., I was called to the Ganges, where I found Birkett suffering from loss of blood and shock, following on three contused wounds on the head, two on the forehead and one at the back of his head; both wounds in front might have been caused by this shovel, and the one at the back by the edge of this hammer—one wound on the forehead was star-shaped, another was three inches long, and the one at the back was quite short—he is under another doctor's care.
KHAMIS ZAID (Interpreted). I am a fireman on the Ganges—on 6th June I was with Farren in the fore stoke-hole—I saw Mr. Birkett come into the stoke-hole—I ran and fetched Mr. Morris, because I saw Mr. Birkett and Farren struggling together—I did not see how Mr. Birkett got wounded on the head—I did not see Mahina there when they were struggling there—Farren had hold of Mr. Birkett by the chest or throat—I did not see the shovel or hammer there.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour each.
MR. ROOTH Prosecuted.
ALFRED PERMAN . I am a clerk, and live at Canning Town—on May 21st, at 8.45 p.m., I was in Freemasons' Road, and the prisoner came in front of me and said, "How are you, old boy?"—I said, "How is your-self?"—he said, "Come and have a glass"—I said, "No, I do not require it, but if you want a glass I will give you one," putting my hand in my pocket—he then took my watch, and the chain gave way and hung down—he ran, and I gave chase very rapidly, although I am nearly seventy years of age—I collared him, and in two minutes I should have throttled him—I felt my watch fall into my pocket, and he said, "I have not got your watch"—I found it in my breast-pocket—I gave him in custody—I was sober.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I saw you snatch the watch from my pocket—you showed me two half-crowns and four penny pieces, which you took out of your pocket—I found my watch immediately I collared you, not after I got to the station—I did not see you put it into my pocket, but I felt the weight.
FRANCIS HYDE . I am a dock labourer, and live at 51, Freemasons' Road, in the same house with the prosecutor—on 21st May, about 8.45 p.m., I was near home, and turned a corner, and heard the prisoner say to the prosecutor, "Go to b—"; he ran away, and I ran and caught him—the prosecutor said, "That scoundrel has got my watch"—I made for him, and said, "You have that gentleman's watch, and if you will return it all will go well"—he seized the prosecutor, and I saw the watch come out of his right-hand pocket—he said, "Hold on for a moment," and put it into the prosecutor's left breast pocket, and said, "Feel in your pocket, and see if you have not got the watch"—I gave him in custody.
Cross-examined. You did not ask me to go and get a policeman—you showed me nothing—I saw you with the watch before the policeman came up; you took it out of your right-hand pocket, and put it in the prosecutor's pocket—I did not see two half-crowns in your hand.
By the JURY. The prisoner broke away from me—I was about two yards from the prosecutor when the watch went into his pocket—I took hold of him, and held him till a policeman came—the prosecutor was sober.
THOMAS GOWER (Policeman K 553). On 21st May I was at Custom House Point, and saw Hyde holding the prisoner—the prosecutor gave him in custody; I told him the charge, he made no reply—5s. 4d. and a knife and key were found on him.
Cross-examined. The prosecutor did not say that you put the watch into his pocket; he did not find it before he got to the station.
The Prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence, stated that he sate the prosecutor in the road with his watch-chain in his hand, calling out that he had lost his watch, and seeing that he was drunk he walked away, and was given in charge.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY** † to a conviction at Chelmsford on May 23rd, 1888.— Fifteen Months' Bard Labour.
MR. SANDS Prosecuted.
GUILTY on the Second Count.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
541. GEORGE SMITH** (58) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to stealing a pair of trousers, the property of Ernest Dearden and others, after a conviction at this Court in September, 1888.— Six Months' Hard Labour. And
MR. FORREST FULTON Prosecuted.
GUILTY .— Six Months Hard Labour.
MR. WILLES Prosecuted.
PERCY BAKER . On Saturday, 31st May, about 11.30, I was going home, and sat down on a bridge in Pashet Lane, and dozed off to sleep—I felt a hand in my pocket, where I had a purse, with a pawnticket and a penny in it—it was the prisoner—he walked away across the fields—I sent for a policeman, and Trappett came—I followed the prisoner, and gave him in charge—this is my purse (produced).
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You were searched at the station, but the purse was not found till next morning—I had not gone out before it was found; the policeman found it before I was up—you are a stranger to me—I put some narcotic in my teeth to stop the toothache, and dozed off to sleep.
JOHN TRAPPETT (Policeman K 307). I am stationed at Forest Gate—on 1st June, about 12.10 a.m., I was on duty in Pashet Lane, and was called to a field, and saw the prisoner, the prosecutor, and three young men—Baker gave the prisoner in custody for stealing his purse—I took him to the station; he made no answer to the charge—I then went to the field, and found this purse (produced) where I took him in custody—that might be an hour afterwards—when I took him he wanted me to leave go of him, and allow him to speak to Baker, and call him on one side—I said I could not allow that, but what he had to say he must say in my presence—he said, "Well, never mind, it does not matter; I see I have made a mistake; I took the prosecutor for someone else."
Prisoner's Defence. The prosecutor was lying on the bridge; I went to lift him up; he used some words to me, and I let go of him—I heard three or four persons ahead singing, and ran towards them to tell them that I thought the man was in a fit, and he called, "Stop him!" and said
that I had robbed him—the moon was shining, and if the purse was there it would have been seen.
He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at Chelmsford on March 1st, 1889.— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. GRIFFITHS Prosecuted.
ALICE ANN WATSON . I am assistant to a confectioner at Bexhill—I was present when Harriett Bowles was married to the prisoner; this is the certificate (This certified a marriage at Bexhill on December 10th, 1881, between Henry Jones and Harriett Bowles)—the prisoner is the man—they lived together two or three years, and had one child—I saw her alive on Tuesday last.
MARY BATER . I live at 61, Whitefield Road, Lee—I was married to the prisoner on 16th December last, at the Registry Office, Lewisham—he represented himself as a single man—this is the certificate—we lived together till March—on 31st May he wrote to me from Margate, and then came up to London—before he came up I heard that he was a married man; I told him so, and he denied it—I am expecting to be confined; he is the father of the child.
FRANCIS NEWPORT (Police Sergeant R). I took the prisoner at Lee, and told him the charge—he said, "I made inquiries of the friends of my first wife, at Bexhill, and I thought she was dead; I had not seen her for two years."
Prisoner's Defence. I wrote and asked her father, and I went down three times and asked about her, and they told me they knew nothing of where she was. I begged them to write and tell me where she was, and they would not, and I thought she was dead. If I had known she was alive I should never have done it.
GUILTY — Six Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
Before Mr. Recorder.
Prosecuted, and MR. POLAND, Q. C., and MR. WARBURTON Defended.
ALEXANDER PHILIP TEBBITT . I am a leather manufacturer, carrying on business with my brother at 48, Tanner Street, Bermondsey, as Tebbitt Brothers—in January this year I required additional capital in the business, and inserted an advertisement in the Times—in reply to that I received this card, with an address on it, "Mr. Bowerman, Belmont House, Peckham Eye," and on the back of it was written, "Personal service not essential. I shall be glad of some particulars of advertisement £15,000"—upon that I wrote to the defendant, and afterwards, in consequence of a letter from him, I went to see him at Belmont House about the end of January—he said he had exceptional facilities for lending us the capital we required; that he was a money broker, or money lender, or bill discounter—he said he could lend £5,000 to commence with—at that time he said it would be on bills of exchange—on 11th February I received this letter from him (read), "Dear Sirs,—The fact is I got filled up over a matter I had in hand before I had the pleasure of seeing you; at the same time, if it would convenience you, I might arrange what you require through a banker at a moderate rate, and continue the accommodation as required—I am, yours, BOWERMAN"—ultimately, on 25th February, I went and saw him, and made an arrangement, which was reduced into writing—these two documents, marked B and C, were drawn up, and signed respectively by me and the defendant—he settled the form of them, and on the one I signed I put this postscript, "We have accepted for you five bills to the amount of £1,886," and I initialed that postscript—at the same time I handed to the defendant five acceptances for the amount stated—I accepted them there and then, at his request—the drawer's name was not filled in at the time I handed them to him—the document which he signed begins, "In accordance with our conversation I hereby agree to enter into the arrangement in connection with bills of exchange, by drawing on you at four months gradually," and on that understanding it was that he was the person who was to draw—on the document which he signed he wrote the words, "Received, in pursuance of this agreement, the following acceptances" (naming the five), and on the back he wrote, "In the event of my not discounting the said bills I agree to return them to you, cancelled, within three days"—the discounting was left entirely to him—on the following day, the 26th, I received from him this telegram, "Put the matter forward; hope to see you to-morrow"—I replied to that with this letter marked D, "In receipt of your telegram, and thank you for your promptness in the matter"—next day the 27th, I received this telegram from him, "Reports disappointing, which creates delay"—on the 28th I received this letter (E), dated, "Dear Sir,—The answer which the bank manager gave was of an admittedly negative character, and thoroughly disappointing; after our conversation a friend he told me might be disposed to take £2,000 in fourteen days if no renewing clause; I will see you in a day or two, increase your balance at the bank, that might probably exist"—I had no conversation with him why he should suggest that; he knew the bank; it was no, secret; he had the necessary power to refer to them if he liked—I wrote to him,
stating that I would call on him the following evening, Saturday, 1st March—I did so, and saw him, and he suggested that I need not put myself out, that it would be all right; I asked him to let me have the bills, I wanted no further transaction, I wanted the bills—he evaded that in every shape and form; I could get no definite answer—I called at his house again on another occasion—in answer to a telegram I sent I received this letter (G), dated 4th March: "Dear Sir,—Your telegram received in my absence; having regard, however, to the fact that our mutual agreement extends over three years, I must say it is extremely arbitrary on your part; however, I have got up already about £1,200, which will be forwarded tomorrow in a registered envelope"—on the following morning I received from him a letter enclosing three of the acceptances for £400, £400, and £398 16s. 8d., which he said he returned in pursuance of the agreement, and without prejudice to the same—I also received on the same date this other letter: "I have heard of the conversation you have had with my wife; pray don't make yourself Unhappy, we will regulate this matter entre nous, bit of a bother, but will cover you at once, and hope to our mutual advantage"—I had had a conversation with his wife—I replied to his letters on 7th March, in which I returned him the three bills, with the signature cancelled, stating that I could not accept a part—I then received this letter from him, dated 8th March, in which he proposed to send me acceptances of an old and respected firm for an amount equal to mine—on 19th March I received this letter (K)—there was a previous letter of the 12th, saying, "I regret to say I cannot report progress; under these circumstances would you mind postponing your call until the end of the week?"—on the 19th he enclosed an acceptance for £417 odd, and a cheque on the Imperial Bank for £121—there is a note at the foot of the letter, showing the way in which he had made out the account in these words: "Met by your three acceptances, £690 17s. 6d.; 80 per cent, on the amount, £562 14s.; four months' discount at 7 1/2 per cent., £13 16s. 4d.; acceptance for £417 and cheque for £121"—upon that I consulted my solicitors, and by their instructions I returned those two documents to the defendant after inquiries—I have never received from him the other two bills for £490 and £217, or any proceeds of them—I learnt that they had been discounted, some time after this correspondence had been going on, through my solicitor; until then I knew nothing at all about them, neither could I get any information—I asked the defendant persistently on many occasions what had become of them, so that I could deal with them—he replied, "Oh, it's all right; don't be afraid; I will see it all right," and those kind of answers—on one occasion he offered me a selection of bills, which did not look to me the right sort of thing, and I did not accept them—I have heard of Mr. Louis Berg, but never had transactions with him; he had nothing to do with my bills.
Cross-examined. I advertised for "£10,000 or £15,000 required to extend an old-established business of merchants and manufacturers; present capital invested £13,000. Principals only, address A. J., care of Pratt and Norton, 9, Old Jewry"—they are charted accountants who keep our books—I had not tried to get the money at my bankers, or at any bill broker's in the City, or any financial houses—this is the defendant's card; it is a private card with a name and address, no description of his business—I have been in business about twenty-five years—this
was not a joint transaction; he was not to have 20 per cent, of the money for himself; he was to hold it, not to keep 20 per cent., to hold it for a certain period as a guarantee—we were to have 80 per cent., 7 1/2 was to be the maximum discount—when the arrangement was made he produced the five stamped bill forms in blank, and I then crossed them, "Accepted, payable at the London Joint Stock Bank, Tebbitt Brothers"—the bills were drawn first; I did not write my acceptance on the blank forms, they were drawn in the way they are now—the drawer's name was not signed; they were dated at the time, for his convenience, for discount, at various dates—I can't be positive whether the address was on the face of them—I can't carry my recollection back at the moment; I should not like to state an untruth in the matter—the amounts were in all of them; I did not understand from the defendant that he could get any drawer's name put on them; we thought we were dealing with an honest man, we did not question hid dealing, I did not think about it—I have accepted bills before on many occasions, not in blank altogether, sometimes sent by firms to us, without their signature—the only part of these two bills in my writing are the acceptances—the defendant was to try and get the bills discounted—he was to put his own name, or get some other person to put his name to them, and convert them into bills of exchange, and then get them discounted—if I got the 80 per cent., less the 7 1/2, I should have been satisfied—I intended to carry out the terms of the agreement—three of the bills were returned to me after pressure—I think they had no drawer's name on them when they were returned to me—I cancelled my signature—I declined to take the bill for £417 which he sent me on 19th March; I think it had on it the name of Marsh and Mackington, of Sheffield—I gave instructions to have it sent back the same day—I don't think I made any note of the original conversation with the defendant—he led me to believe he was a bill broker—he said he was a bill broker—I did not care about his having an office, he could conduct his business privately—in his first letter he said he had a banker and he could do the whole; then it fell through and went to a Liverpool firm—I had never seen him before that day, and I wish I had not seen him then, I knew nothing whatever of him then, I know enough now; of course we were anxious to get the full amount of £15,000.
Re-examined. He spoke as if his business was financing, that was always what he led me to believe—he did not suggest that he was doing it for amusement, he led me to believe that he was doing it as a matter of business—I can swear that the words "Messrs. Tebbitt Brothers" were on the bills when they were filled up, the only blank on them was the drawer's name; the body, of the bills was filled up at his dictation—it. was not understood that he was to retain the 80 per cent, as well as the 20, or that he was to retain the whole of the 20 per cent, on the £5,000 before we pot anything; the 20 per cent, was to be on the amount that was handed over to us—the acceptance and cheque he sent were handed over to our solicitor to make inquiries, and on the result of those inquiries they were returned—I am now being used on the two bills by the bank; I have never had a penny piece from them.
February—he had an account with us at the time, we credited his account with the full value of those bills—on the same day he drew against that amount for £345 by cheque, and we retained the balance until maturity; we are now suing Mr. Tebbitt upon them.
LOUIS BERG . I am a boot and shoe importer and exporter, at 62, Basinghall Street—I have known the defendant since the middle of January this year—I received these two bills from him; I put my name to them as drawer—I must have received them a day or two previous to the time I handed the money over to him—I paid them into my bank on 27th February—I received them from the defendant perhaps two days previous, pending inquiries made through the bank; it may have been three or four days—I paid them in to the bank to be discounted for myself, by the defendant's request; I handed him £372 of it, I think in cash; notes I should say—I drew a cheque on the bank for £345—this is the cheque (produced)—I really could not say whether I got the cash, or whether I gave Mr. Bowerman the cheque; it is payable to myself or order, and it is endorsed by me—I think I got the money myself, and handed the notes to him—he gave me a receipt—this is it, dated 27th February; it is "Received of Louis Berg, £372, account in full settlement of Tebbitt's warrants"—I handed the balance in cash, which I had about me, I suppose—I was to hand over 70 per cent, to Mr. Bowerman, that is to say, I had to retain 30 per cent, as my commission on discounting the bills, and 15 per cent, as a deposit, which I had to pay back to Mr. Bowerman if the bills were not paid; he then paid them, and then I had to hand him over 15 per cent.; altogether 45 per cent, was deducted—I made that arrangement with Mr. Bowerman the first time he was introduced to me, when he brought me the bills—I provided the form for this receipt—I generally keep a book for all monies I pay away; I was credited with the full amount, £690, less discount and charges, which were about £14—I had had two or three transactions with Bowerman before this, of a similar character—I did not see in the paper an account of his having been at the Police-court on this charge—he called on me at my private house after he had been at the Police-court—that must have been two days before I gave evidence at Lambeth Police-court, which was on 22nd April—when he called on me he asked me to give up the receipts which he gave me for the transaction, which of course I declined—he advised me to go away, I suppose to Vienna; I don't know why he advised me to do so—I suppose that is best known to himself—he asked me to give him the receipts, and during my absence he would look after my family—he had not been to the Police-court then—he had been summoned, but had not appeared—he did not tell me particularly what he had been summoned for; it was about retaining these bills, which I discounted for him—I understood that, of course—he did not say why he wanted the receipts; he did not say anything further—he wanted them back, and wanted me to go away, and he would find funds for my family, I suppose to live on during my absence—he said nothing about what was to be done when I gave him the receipts—this receipt is in full settlement—he did not say anything about that—this is my signature to this deposition—I said this at the Police-court: "Bowerman called on me at my private house; he said he had been to the Police-court with reference to these bills, and it. would look rather bad for
me, and would I give him all the receipts, and simply say it was an account payment, and not a settlement"—he did ask me that; I had forgotten it.
Cross-examined. I got the full amount of the two bills placed to my credit, except the discount and the bank charges—I handed the prisoner £372—I was to have 30 per cent, as commission for discounting the bill and drawing it—I earned the 30 per cent, for taking over the liability—I did not think that the acceptors were not worth anything, I thought they were worth something—I had to risk it, and I did risk it—I was offered the 30 per cent., and I did not refuse it—it was kept back in case the bill was not met at maturity; if it had been met the 30 per cent, was not to go to Bowerman, it was mine—the 15 per cent, was then to be returned to Bowerman, not the 30 and the 15 per cent.; there is the receipt—there was no writing between us at the time I discounted the bill—the two bills were brought to me with no drawer's name, and I put my name as drawer—I see the word "account" in this receipt (Read: "Received, London, 27th February, 1890, from L. Berg, Esq., the sum of £372 account, in (or of) full settlement of Tebbitt Brothers' bills, £690 17s. 6d.")—the word is "of"—I did not write it; Mr. Bowerman wrote it—both the bills have been presented and not paid—I have been served with a writ from the City Bank—acceptors are not liable, and I shall have to pay back to the bank the money they put to my credit.
Re-examined. My business with Bowerman was always done on the same terms, I always deducted 45 per cent, in discounting bills for him—I knew Tebbitt Brothers by reputation, as leather manufacturers in Bermondsey, I had known them by name for years—it was not any part of the arrangement between me and Bowerman that the £372 was to be considered as a payment on account, it was as described in the receipt, a payment in full settlement—I had had receipts from him before in the same form, perhaps this may be "in n full settlement—when he came to see me after he had been summoned I did not produce this receipt—he did not ask me to let him see it, he asked for the receipt back—of course I kept it; I did not produce it—he suggested at that time that I should say that this was only a payment on account—it looks as if the receipt was originally written "in full settlement," and that somebody has altered it to "of full settlement"—I am not sure of it, I am not certain, it must have been "in "though, because the receipt did not go out of my hands until I handed it over to Mr. Bowerman; I do not know who altered it.
RALPH RAPHAEL . I am a solicitor, of Moorgate Street, and am solicitor for Messrs. Tebbitt Brothers in this prosecution—they brought me these acceptances and the cheque sent to them, for the purpose of my advising them—I made inquiries with reference to the acceptances and the cheque, and in consequence of those inquiries I returned them to the defendant, with a letter on 21st March, informing him that unless the whole outstanding acceptances were handed to me by Monday morning, I should take proceedings.
ALEXANDER PHILIP TEBBITT (Recalled). It was at the same interview of 25th February, when the agreement was signed, that I wrote my acceptance across the five pieces of paper—the defendant had the agreement, and took it away with the fire pieces of paper with my acceptance on them, at one and the same time as the agreement was signed by him.
MR. POLAND submitted that there was no ease to go to the JURY. In the first eight Counts the document in question was described as a bill of exchange, and an acceptance of a bill of exchange, which was not an accurate description of such a document as that shown by the evidence; it was an inchoate instrument, not having any name as the drawer, and therefore not coming within the meaning of the Statute 45 and 46 Vic, c. 61, sec. 3. In support of this contention the following cases were cited; Q. v. Harper, Law Reports, 7 Q. B., p. 78, and 50 Law Journal, Magistrates' Cases, p. 90; Stowager v. South-Eastern Railway Company, 3 Ellis and Blackburn, p. 549; and McCall v. Taylor, 34 Law Journal, Common Pleas, p. 365. These authorities showed that the instrument must be one representing money or security for money; and this view was supported by Q. v. Danger, Dearsley and Bell's Crown Cases, p. 307; and Rex v. Hart, 6 Carrington and Payne, 106. Upon the point of the prisoner acting as a broker or agent, MR. POLAND referred to Q. v. Portugal, Law Reports, 16 Q. B. Division, p. 487; and 55 Law Journal, p. 567. As to the last Count, no intent to defraud any person was alleged, and that omission must be fatal to that Count.
MR. AVORY contended that there was ample evidence for the JURY. The question was not whether the document was a bill of exchange or an acceptance of a bill of exchange at the time it was handed to the prisoner; but whether he was entrusted with it with authority to complete it as a bill of exchange, and whether in accordance with that authority lie had made it a complete instrument before converting it to his own use; in any case the document, when handed to him, was a security for the payment of money.
The RECORDER held the last Count to be bad, as it did not contain the words, "With intent to defraud. "The question whether the prisoner was, under the circumstances, entrusted with a bill of exchange, or an acceptance of a bill of exchange, within the meaning of the Statute 45 and 46 Vict., c 61, section 3, was one he would reserve for the Court of Crown Cases Reserved.
GUILTY on the first eight Counts .— Judgment reserved.
MR. A. GILL Prosecuted, and MR. ADDINGTON WILLESD defended.
GUILTY .— To enter into recognisances.
553. EDWARD SEWELL and ROBERT LANE, [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] To breaking and entering the Church of St. Jude, and stealing a knife and other articles, the goods of Charles Appleton; also to breaking and entering the Church of St. Paul's, Herne Hill, and stealing a velvet cover and other articles, the goods of Aaron John Barber; also to burglary in the dwelling-house of John Harris, and stealing forty half-ounces of tobacco, and other articles; and also to previous convictions of felony, SEWELLin January, 1889, and LANE† in September, 1889.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour each.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. BLACKWELL Prosecuted.
THOMAS PICKERING , I am a publican and farmer at Newland—I was present when the prisoner married my daughter, Edith Ann, at St. Mary's Church, Hull, in October, 1872—this is the certificate (read)—they lived together three or four years near to me—I remember the prisoner going away, and she commenced divorce proceedings, but did not follow them up, as she never heard of him for over thirteen years—she has been living with me nearly the whole of the time, and her two children, one is turned fourteen and the other sixteen—she is still alive—she has not married any other person.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. She did not marry Mr. Saunderson, she was his housekeeper till he died, that was eight or ten years ago, she was there two years—he went to a lunatic asylum, and died there twelve or eighteen months afterwards—he was an oldish man—she came home when he went to the asylum.
ELIZA COOPER . I live at 239, Tabard Street—on 8th June, 1884, I was married to the prisoner at St. Stephen's Church, Westminster—this is the certificate (read)—I lived with the prisoner six years up to this year; I found out about five months ago that he is a married man, and went with his wife to the police—she came to our house with two children, who she said were his—I have had three children by him, but only two are living—he treated me very cruelly; he got drunk and turned me and the children out into the street—he was pretty fair when sober—I brought no money to him, but I have earned it in the business since—he is a confectioner.
Cross-examined. You did not tell me that you had seen a blacksmith who told you that your wife had married again—when your mother left you some money you made me a present of £20 and a diamond ring and bangles—you saved money for your daughters.
By the JURY. I went back and lived with him after I knew he had got a wife, on account of the little ones—he knocked me down occasionally when he was drunk.
HENRY CORNELIUS (Policeman M 200). On 22nd May I was called to 239, Tabard Street, and saw the last witness and the prisoner—she gave him in custody for bigamy, and said that he had a wife alive—I asked her how she knew that—she said that she saw his first wife and her children about seven months ago, and the prisoner said, "That is quite correct, I have been married twice"—I took him to the station.
THOMAS PUNCHARD (Police Inspector M). I went to Somerset House, and examined the Divorce Register, but could find no record of a divorce between Albert Cape and Edith Ann Cape—proceedings were commenced on 14th August, 1876, and the case was withdrawn on 9th November, 1878, by the solicitor engaged in it—it never went before the Judge.
The Prisoner's statement before the, Magistrate: "I thought the divorce had been obtained and I was free. I had not seen her for twelve years."
Witness for the Defence.
JOSEPH REDDING . I am a confectioner and a mechanical dentist, of 66, Marsham Street, Westminster—the prisoner was a tenant of mine—I went to Yorkshire with him last year, and he saw his wife in my presence, and said to her, "Did you obtain the divorce against me?"—she said, "No, I applied for it, but had not the means to carry it through, so it fell to the ground"—after he found out she was still his wife he gave her two daughters by him £20 each, and either £10 or £20 to his wife, but I did not see that, and also a diamond ring off his finger—we stopped there, and were entertained by his father-in-law at his table, and came back to London in the evening—he told them straightforward and honest that ho had been married again—we took the deed of separation from the second wife with us—it was signed by the prisoner, and the second wife had a copy—he read it to his wife and her father.
Cross-examined. I knew of his threatening his second wife last year—his first wife came to my house and stayed to breakfast after our visit to Yorkshire—I had not heard of her visit to London before that.
By the Prisoner. I advised you to give yourself up three years ago—I was convinced that you thought you were divorced; that was long after the second marriage; you are a little addicted to drink; you are not in my service now.
Prisoner's Defence. I came home from India, and heard that my wife had got a divorce, and got married again—I told my second wife about it, and she seemed to think I was not divorced; so I got my landlord to go down to Yorkshire, and it was proved against me that she had not got a divorce—I was told in 1887 that my wife had married again.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. ELDRIDGE Prosecuted.
WILLIAM RAE . I live at Morley's Hotel, Blackfriars Road, a lodging-house; I am an ironworker—on Thursday, 29th May, I was with Barry and De Rome—I went to Measure Bros, to get my wages, 17s. 3d., at half-past ten or eleven a.m.—I had no other money before I went there—they paid me a half-sovereign, two half-crowns, two shillings, and threepence, and then we went to the Two Brewers in Red Cross Street—we each had a pot of fourpenny ale there; I paid for it with the half-sovereign, which I took from my right-hand trousers pocket; it was loose, I had no purse—I put the change in my right-hand trousers pocket, where I then had 14 s., and I had some money in the other pocket—we left that public-house and went to the Catherine Wheel in the same street—we had two pots of fourpenny ale and some cigars there; we all paid—we went to the Prince of Wales public-house, and had a pot of ale, which Barry paid for—Kelly, whom I and Barry knew before, joined us there—he was invited to join us—a woman joined the party—Barry said, "Pay for a pot, you owe me fourpence"—I said, "I do not owe you fourpence"—I would not pay—I was sitting on a seat opposite the bar—when I would not pay for a pot or give him fourpence, Barry came for my pocket, and Kelly as well—Kelly crossed his arms and put his two hands against my throat, and held me tight against the wall—Barry tried to get at my pocket, but could not, because I had my belt over it, and I held my belt
and pocket—then they pulled me on the ground, and pulled my belt up; some one said, "Get his hands away"—Barry knelt on me as I lay on my back full length, and Barry got my belt up, and then he got my pocket and stood up, and pulled it; Kelly was still holding and keeping me down—Barry pulled my pocket, and pulled me all round the floor by it, and put his foot on me and tore it away—I was hurt—when Barry got my pocket they and the other people ran out of the house and left me—I felt the effect of the knocking about for a week afterwards, when I was at work—when I went to lift anything heavy I felt it across my stomach, where Barry put his foot—I spoke to the landlord after my pocket was taken—when I got outside I counted my money and found I had 1s. 6d., and 7d. or 8d. in coppers left—I had spent about 1s. 4d., and so I lost between 13s. and 14s.—some one kicked me over the eye in the struggle intentionally, when I was on the ground; I could not say if it was one of the prisoners—I was ill for some time after—I told the police on the Sunday.
Cross-examined by Kelly. There were about seven of us in the Prince of Wales when you came in—I was not drunk, because I knew what I was doing—I should certainly not say I was sober, I had had some drink—I had not seen you that day till you came into the Prince of Wales—and I saw no more of you till you were in the Police-station—you were placed between nine or ten others, and the detective said, "Can you see anybody here?" and I said, "There is no one here"—Cox, the officer, said, "I have a look"—it did not require a good look, because I knew you—I touched you on the shoulder and said I had known you for some years, and I said, "I don't think he would do it," simply for the reason that you were trembling like a cur, as if you were going to be hung, and I said it to save you—we only had one pot of ale there before you came in.
Cross-examined by Barry. On 29th May we were supposed to go back to work at nine o'clock—I said, "If we cannot work at nine we won't work at eleven"—we went to the waterside and came away and saw the manager, Mr. Kitson, who said, "Wait a minute, I will see"—we went to the waterside, and I said, "I am not going to work at eleven o'clock, you can go if you like; I am going to get my money"—the other man said he would draw his, and I said, "We will go and have a day together, and a drink together"—we went to a public-house at Bank-side, and then we all went and got our money—I told you how much I drew—you told us you drew 10s.—we went to the Two Brewers—I put down a half-sovereign, the landlord had no change, and I went across to the Coopers' Arms and got change, and paid the landlord fourpence—you changed your half-sovereign in the Two Brewers—I did not call for a pot of ale that I did not pay for—we tossed for gin, and the other man paid—we had two pots of ale at the Catherine Wheel, and all paid alike—you might have had another quartern of spirits before you left the house; I did not—you did not leave me to go home after coming out of the Catherine Wheel; you took me down to the Prince of Wales.
By the JURY. I have known Kelly three years; I don't know his address—I had nothing to drink in the Coopers' Arms.
JOHN DE ROME . I live at 20, Parkhouse Street, Camberwell, and am an ironworker—I was with Rae and Barry when they got their money on 29th May—we went to the Two Brewers, and had beer and gin, each paying in turn—we then went to the Catherine Wheel, and after that to a
third public-house, and from there to the Prince of Wales—after Barry and Rae and myself had been there a little while, Kelly came in—a dispute arose about a pot of beer, which Barry said Rae should pay for; Rae said he had paid for enough, he should pay for no more—Rae was sitting at the end of a seat on the left-hand side at the end of the bar—Barry ran at him, and tried to get his hand in his pocket, and directly he did so Kelly came forward and put his hands across Rae's face and neck and held him; then Rae slipped off the form on to the floor; he was not thrown down—Kelly held him across the face and neck, and Barry got hold of the pocket and wrenched it out—I don't know if he had his knee or foot in Rae's side—as soon as I saw Barry had got the pocket in his hand I ran out of the house; I was frightened; I thought they might make a start on me next—I looked for a policeman—I had 10s. 3d. for my wages—I could not find a policeman for a few minutes, and I went back to the house and found they were gone—I saw Barry next at the Police-station, a little over half an hour afterwards, I daresay—I saw Kelly at the Police-station on the Monday, 2nd June, and picked him out—Barry went by the name of Jack Welfare among us.
Cross-examined by Kelly. You came in the Prince of Wales by yourself—Barry asked you to drink—I never saw you before that.
Cross-examined by Barry. We were supposed to start work at nine; we saw Mr. Kitson—we had a pot of ale, and went and drew our money—I drew 10s. 3d.—we all paid alike at the Two Brewers for three or four pots—Rae went out and got change, and paid the landlord 4d., and I paid for a quartern of spirits—I don't know if you lent Rae 4d.; you lent me 1s., and I paid you in the Catherine Wheel.
By the JURY. I am certain Barry was with us at the Prince of Wales.
GEORGE HENRY DUCKWORTH . I am landlord of the Prince of Wales, Red Cross Street—on 29th May, Thursday, I was serving alone in the bar; I saw Barry, Rae, and De Rome come in together—someone else joined them, and there was a party; Kelly came in, and they were drinking together; a dispute arose—there were five or six in the compartment—I was serving at the other end of the counter, and I heard a noise like a bang, and when I was done serving I came along, and Rae was lying full length on his back on the floor—the flap of has trousers was down—Kelly was lying over his breast, and Barry was in a stooping position, at the back of Kelly, from me—I could not see what Barry was doing—I did not see Rae's pocket; when he got up he put his hand in his pocket and said, "They have not got it," and then he went away—when they were on the floor Rae's head was towards my counter, Barry was at his feet, Kelly next to me—I did not see the two prisoners go out.
Cross-examined by Kelly. You had been in several times during the day, but you were not in when the prisoners came in—the people were talking about work—the prosecutor was sober till you knocked him down, and then I noticed he was not sober.
By the COURT. I saw Barry across Rae, with his arms over him.
Cross-examined by Barry. You and Rae and De Rome all came in together, and you called for a pot of ale—I noticed when Rae got off the floor that he had had a little—he spent nothing with me.
ARTHUR Cox (Detective M). On 29th May, about two o'clock, I was with Divall, at the corner of Marshalsea Road, Borough, when I saw the
prisoners and another man coming from the direction of Red Cross Street—I spoke to Divall, who followed them into St. George Street and Blackman Street—I went to the Police-station, and returned to the stores—I was going in the door, Kelly was coming out, Barry was drinking with another man—I took Barry into custody on another charge—he said, "I am not Barry"—he struggled and tried to get away—I knew his other name—at the corner of Lant Street he struggled and tried again to get away; he lost his hat—I left him in charge of two officers at the station, while I went to see what charge was going to be preferred against him—I heard a scuffle at the station-door, nearly thirty feet from where I left him; he had got on the steps, and was trying to get away—he was taken back and charged—I searched and found in his trousers pocket 16s. 6d. in silver and 1s. 2d. coppers, all mixed up—a few coppers were in his waistcoat pocket—he was taken before the Magistrate next morning and dealt with on the other case—on the Sunday morning I received, information from Rae—on 2nd June, about ten minutes past ten, I was with Divall in the Borough High Street—I saw Kelly, and said to him, "I shall take you into custody for being concerned with George Barry and another man not in custody with assaulting and robbing a man at the Prince of Wales beer-house on the 29th, and robbing him of 14s. 6d."—he said, "Me, Mr. Cox! you have made a mistake. I know nothing about it"—he was taken to the station—De Rome picked him out from ten others, and Rae was afterwards fetched—he looked at Kelly and said, "No; I don't think he was there, or else I 'should have known him"—I said, "Have another look"—he said, "Yes," pointing to Kelly, "I did not want to pick him out; I wanted to get him out of it; I have known him some years"—when the charge was read to Kelly he said, "I was not in the Prince of Wales beer-house"—before the Magistrate he said, "I only went in to have a pint of beer"—I told Barry the charge at the Police-court—he said, "Nothing of the kind."
Cross-examined by Kelly. You said, "You have made a mistake," when I arrested you—I have known you twenty years, but I would rather not say what I know.
Cross-examined by Barry. De Rome followed you to the station and said, "That is the man that robbed a man of 14s. 6d.," and we sent him after the prosecutor, but could not find him—I knew nothing about his knowing Kelly till he told me at the station—you only got one foot on the step outside the station door.
THOMAS DIVALL (Detective M). On 29th May, about two, I was with Cox—I assisted Cox to arrest the two prisoners—there was a violent struggle to arrest Barry, and we had to get the assistance of about five constables to take him to the station—there he broke away and ran to the door; we had a violent struggle there.
Cross-examined by Kelly. You walked quietly to the station.
Cross-examined by Harry. You told Cox when he arrested you that you know nothing about it;—Cox did not hit you with his stick, he threatened you with it—you got to the door and had it opened about two inches.
Kelly, in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence, asserted his innocence. Barry said he left Rae at the Catherine Wheel, and that he was innocent.
KELLY** was recommended to mercy by the JURY — Six Months' Hard Labour.
BARRY PLEADED GUILTY† to a conviction of felony in June, 1885— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour ,
MR. MUIR Prosecuted.
WILLIAM DOVE . I am a son of the prisoner and Edward Charles Dove—on 27th May I was living with my parents at 2, New Cottage Room, Parish Street, Bermondsey—on that night my father came home, not sober, and went upstairs—he called down to me, and I went and said to my mother, "Father says run and tell mother will she give you three halfpence to get half a pint of stout"—my mother was middling sober—I got the three halfpence, and I got the stout in a can, and took it to my mother in the washhouse—she drank a glass herself, and poured the rest into the same glass—she went out of the washhouse, taking the glass with her; I remained there for a quarter of an hour, and then came to my mother, who was sitting at the table in the parlour—I then for the first time saw the stout on the drawers—I did not see my mother put it there—my father was upstairs in the bedroom—mother said, "Willie, tell father I left a glass of stout for him"—she then went out—she and father were not on good terms that night, they had had blows—before I went for the stout he hit mother—no bottle was thrown—I was in when my father came downstairs—the stout was still on the drawers—I said, "Father, mother says there is a glass of stout for you"—I am quite sure I told him that—I remember saying at the Police-court, "I did not speak to him, or give him mother's message"—it was untrue; I could hardly understand what they were saying to me—it was a mistake; I did not mean to say what was untrue—my brother Alfred is six—I did not see whether my father drank the stout or not; he sent me to take his club money—when I went back home Alfred told me something, and I went to the Police-station, and saw father there—I don't know who carried the glass to the station; I saw my father there with it in his hand; I did not do it—my mother poured the stout into the same glass she drank out of—it seemed clean—I have an elder brother, Edward Charles Dove, a soldier—he was a tinker before he was a soldier; he mended some kettles at 3, Angel Court, where we lived before we moved—he had a bottle with some stuff in for putting on solder—I have not seen the bottle since we have been at the house we now live in—father and mother were quarrelling about his not going to Hounslow to see his son.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. When you came home at half-past six I and my three brothers ran up to you, and I said, "Oh, mother, father is indoors, and he is drunk; I should not go in if I were you"—you said you wanted some tea, and I got through the window and opened the door and let you in—you said, "Wash the radishes, and we will have our tea"—father halloaed out, swearing for the stout, and I brought it to you in the can—we had only one glass; you poured out some into the glass and drank it, and then poured the rest into the same glass—father came downstairs, and took a handful of radishes off the table and threw
them at you—he picked the tin saucepan out of the fender that you had made a stew in, and threw at you—that was after the stout was fetched—I was not there when he threw a bottle and cup at you; I cannot say any thing about that—you said, "I think I had better go out, because he seems as if he wants another row, and he will be knocking me about; I think I will go out and see Mrs. Wilshire, a friend of mine"—my father went upstairs after this—you have had to come and sleep in the bed with me when father has come home in the same state, you have been so frightened of him—he does not know what he is doing when he is drunk.
Re-examined. I was the only son at home on this night, the others were all at play—we were together when we spoke to our mother in the street—I am sure my little brothers were not indoors—when father came down, and the stout was on the drawers, I was the only person in the room; mother was out then.
EDWARD CHARLES DOVE . I am a currier; I live at 2, New Cottage Room; the prisoner is my wife—on 27th May I had a little drink; I was about half sober—I called downstairs to my son, to ask my wife for money for stout—I laid down, and then came downstairs—I found a glass of stout standing on a chest of drawers, and I drank two-thirds of it—my son spoke to me about it—after I drank it there was a burning sensation in my throat, and I felt sick—I vomited—I went to the Police-station—I took the glass with me, and about a third of the stout in it—I was attended by the doctor at the station, then I went to the hospital and the stomach pump was applied—I was sick, once going along and twice at the station—I was very bad in my inside after the stomach pump—I and my wife had had a quarrel about my son at Hounslow; she had been there—we renewed the quarrel the next day, that on which I took the stout—I should not like to say if I hit my wife that night, I did not that I remember—I threw no radishes nor saucepan nor bottle at her, to the best of my belief—I remember my son having a medicine bottle of stuff to mend kettles with—I tried to mend a bath a week or a few days before—when I had done with the bottle I put it, to the best of my belief, where we always kept it, on a shelf in the kitchen or washhouse—the liquid in the bottle was rather yellow, almost like whisky in appearance, and there was about a quarter of a gill, I should think—I do not remember putting anything into the glass of stout before I drank it—I could not say I did not put anything in that I thought was gin; I am sure I did not myself—after this affair I looked for the bottle—I don't remember finding it—I had had a little to drink when I looked for it.
Cross-examined. To the best of my belief I did not throw radishes or a saucepan at you—I visited you at Holloway on 10th June; I might have had a little drop then; I should hardly think they would allow me in the place if I was intoxicated—I did not say, "I intended to tell the Magistrate I poured it in the stout, thinking it was rum."
By the JURY. It was only a common medicine bottle, so that if the stuff was emptied into my porter the bottle might have been thrown away, and no notice taken of it—I am sure I was not so intoxicated that I took the stuff by accident.
The JURY here said that they desired to hear no further evidence, and returned a verdict of
NOT GUILTY .
Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, JULY 28TH, 1890.