CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
TENTH SESSION, HELD JULY 28TH, 1890.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE.
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND, BY
Short-hand Writers to the Court,
ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
THE POINTS OF LAW AND PRACTICE
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OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW.
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On the Queen's Commission of
OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
The City of London,
AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY, WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
Held on Monday, July 28th, 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 WILLIAM LAWRENCE , Knt., Sir JAMES CLARKE LAWRENCE , Bart., Aldermen of the said City; Sir THOMAS CHAMBERS , Knt., Q.C., Recorder of the said City; JOSEPH SAVORY , Esq., PHINEAS COWAN , Esq., GEORGE ROBERT TYLER , 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.
FREDERICK KYNASTON METCALFE, Esq.,
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
ISAACS, MAYOR. TENTH 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, July 28th, 1890.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. RICHARDS Prosecuted; MESSRS. BURNIE and WILLES Defended.
ETHEL MADELINE BROWN . I am a clerk in the postal branch of the Receiver and Accountant-General's Office of the General Post Office—this requisition form was issued for the supply of postal orders to Mr. Richardson, of the Chancery Lane Post Office—it came into my possession on the 5th of May, and among other things 300 twenty-shilling orders were supplied, in numbers from 163871 to 164170—in the ordinary course of business this form would be sent to the Comptroller of Stamps, and then on to Chancery Lane.
FREDERICK SMITH , I am superintendent of the postal branch at Somerset House—on 6th May I received this requisition form, and supplied Mr. Richardson, of the Chancery Lane Post Office, with 300 postal orders; I obtained his receipt for them—no other orders of those numbers have been issued by me.
CATHERINE FRANCES ELMES . I am an assistant to Mr. Richardson at the Post Office, Chancery Lane—on Thursday, 8th May, I was at the counter there—about half-past four a boy came in for eight orders for 20s. each—I had to go to the safe for them; I took out about 130—I sold the first eight to the boy; the rest I put in the portfolio, lengthways, which was fastened by an elastic band—I afterwards sold two more; I do not remember at what time—the portfolio lay in the front of the counter, which was protected by a net work—there are two pigeon-holes through which we take the money and pass the stamps; the portfolio lay between the pigeon-holes—these seven orders are part of those that were stolen from the portfolio; none of these were issued by me—these have the signatures of Robert Reed, Robert Jones, and Lyon—there are no such persons in our office—I went off duty that evening at a quarter to seven, and Miss Mayne took charge of the counter—these orders all bear the stamp of the Greek Street Post Office of May 10th.
KATE ELIZABETH MAYNE . I am one of the assistants at the Chancery Lane Post Office—On Thursday, 8th May, I took charge of the counter when Miss Elmes left—I went out at six and came back at a quarter to seven—I did not issue any twenty-shilling postal orders after that time—I did issue one before I went out to tea—I took that one from the portfolio on the counter—at half-past seven I gave the portfolio to Mr. Richardson; we then found that all the twenty-shilling postal orders were missing.
Cross-examined. I can't say how long it was before I went to tea that I issued the order; it was while both Miss Elmes and I were there.
JAMES RICHARDSON . I am the Post Office Receiver at Chancery Lane—on 6th May I received these three hundred twenty-shilling postal orders mentioned in the requisition—I placed part of them in one reserve book and part in another; I put one hundred and thirty of them in a portfolio in the safe—we always use them consecutively—I produce the portfolio—I believe that evening it was about the centre of the counter—it would be possible for a person to reach it through the pigeon-holes—about half-past seven I balanced the accounts with Miss Mayne—the orders were all correct, except the pound ones; I found none of those—none of these seven orders were issued from my office; they form part of the stolen orders—they are not signed by anyone in my office, or by my authority.
CATHERINE FRANCES ELMES (Re-examined). In the course of my duty I should have to turn my back to the counter for a minute—during that time it would be easy for anyone to put their hand through the pigeonholes and reach the portfolio.
LIZZIE HATTON . I am the daughter of the Post Office Receiver in Greek Street, Soho—on Saturday, 10th May, a little after eleven, I had the office date-stamp in use on the counter—a few minutes after I missed it; it has never been found—these seven postal orders bear the impression of that stamp—none of the signatures on the orders are those of anyone in our office—about three the day before a boy who came in for stamps was playing with the stamp, and I stopped him.
Cross-examined. I had used the stamp about five minutes before I missed it.
KATE SMITH . I am assistant to Mr. Bailey, of 166, Edgware Road—on Saturday evening, 10th May, the prisoner came in, and wanted two white pocket handkerchiefs at 7 ¾d., and also some pink hops for his wife's bonnet—he said she was the same complexion as I was, and what suited me would suit her—he gave me in payment a postal order for twenty shillings—this is it (No. 163974)—I made out a bill—I next saw him at Bow Street—I had no difficulty in identifying him; I picked him out from among a group.
Cross-examined. It was in the evening that I saw him at the shop; I think between seven and eight—he appeared sober; if he had been under the influence of drink I think I should have noticed it—the order is signed S. Frost; that was on it when he gave it to me—this was a busy time; there were a good many people in the shop; two others were serving, Mr. and Mrs. Bailey, my employers—I picked the prisoner out
from about eight or nine—I think there was one other about as tall as him—some of the witnesses went in before me—the prisoner was standing at the end, to the right—I looked carefully all down the line—he was in the shop about ten minutes.
CHARLES JAMES WARD . I am a hosier, of 396, Oxford Street—on Saturday, 10th May, about four or five a man came in and purchased a tie and some cuffs, and tendered in payment this postal order for 20s., No. 163,978—it was in blank, just stamped, with the Postmaster's signature—I wrote, "W. Smith" on it; I trade in that name—I believe the prisoner to be the man who came in—he was in the shop about ten minutes—we had a little conversation—I had an opportunity of looking at him—I next saw him at Bow Street—I picked him out from a number of men.
Cross-examined. I believe I went in before the last witness; I won't be sure—the prisoner was in the centre when I saw him—I had never seen him before he came to the shop—I belie re he was sober; I should have noticed if he had been drunk.
THOMAS SECOMBE . I am a salesman at Messrs. Maple's, of Tottenham Court Road—on Saturday, 10th May, I sold two bath towels to the prisoner; he tendered this postal order for 20s., No. 163954—it has my signature at the back; that was put on it by the cashier; it is the custom for the cashier to endorse orders and cheques with the salesman's name.
Cross-examined. I say undoubtedly that the prisoner is the man—the order was not signed in my presence.; it has "L. Gray" on it—I think this occurred between twelve and one.
JESSE CUSHION . I am employed at Newberry and Sons', greengrocers, in Edgware Road—on Saturday afternoon, 10th May, between five and six, the prisoner bought a bundle of asparagus of me, and tendered this twenty-shilling order, No. 163993—the name of "J. Rose" is on the back in pencil: also in front—that was on it when he tendered it—I asked him to endorse it, and he then wrote the "J. Rose" on the back in my presence—I next saw the prisoner at Bow Street on the following Wednesday.
Cross-examined. I do not see a good deal of handwriting, only in business—I see the name of James Hattersley, agent, 347, Cambridge Road, Bethnal Green on this assignment of a bill of exchange (handed to the witness)—I should say the letter "J" in "J. Rose" is very much like the writing of the prisoner's in this assignment—that is the only resemblance I can see.
Re-examined. This is the first, time I have been asked to give evidence as an expert in handwriting.
LAURIE EDWARDS . I am assistant to Mr. English, a hosier, of 298, Edgware Road—on Saturday evening, 10th May, between eight and nine, the prisoner came into the shop—the manager, Mr. Hardy, served him—I was standing behind the counter next to Mr. Hardy—I saw the prisoner give this postal order to Mr. Hardy—the prisoner was in the shop from eight to ten minutes—I picked him out at Bow Street from other persons.
Cross-examined. Other customers were in the shop—I and the manager were serving, and two others—I had never seen the prisoner before——at Bow Street I went in after our manager—the prisoner was standing near the centre of about eight or nine—there was one man as tall as the prisoner.
WILLIAM HARDY . I am manager for Mr. English, of 298, Edgware Road; the last witness is in his employment—on Saturday evening, 10th May, I received this postal order in payment—it purports to be signed by Robert Jones as postmaster—to the best of my belief the prisoner gave it to me—I believe he had laid out 3s.—I heard Edwards's evidence—I should think he had a good view of prisoner during all the time he was there—I went to Bow Street, and saw the prisoner among others, but I would not pick the prisoner out.
Cross-examined. I would not pledge my oath he is the man, but I believe he is—I believe the man who came in was sober—the order was filled in where it was payable at; my employer signed it.
ROBERT TOMLINSON . I am a chemist at 2, Lower Seymour Street—on Saturday, 10th May, between seven and eight, the prisoner came in for a bottle of lavender-water, I think, and tendered this postal order—there was no name on it; he suggested he should sign it, and I stamped the order as it is now—I afterwards picked out the prisoner at Bow Street.
Cross-examined. He signed the order "F. Frost" in my presence—I can give no opinion as to whether the writing is like this signature, "James Hattersley."
ELLEN EASTWOOD . I am cashier to Mr. Brooks, a fruiterer, of Edgware Road—on Saturday evening, 10th May, a man, who to the best of my belief was the prisoner, gave me a postal order for 20s.—I gave him in change 18s.—I took no other postal order that evening.
Cross-examined. It was between 3 and 4 p.m., a busy time—I did not notice the man particularly—I picked the prisoner out of about six or seven; I think he was the tallest of them.
HAROLD BROADBRIDGE . I am manager to Mr. Brooks—on Saturday, 10th May, I served a man who to the best of my belief is the prisoner; I did not take the money, he walked up to the desk, and I saw him tender a postal order.
FREDERICK BARTON (Detective Sergeant E). On 9th May I heard of this robbery—in company with Towers I arrested the prisoner as he left a public-house on 21st May, at Cambridge Road, Hackney—I said, "We are two police-officers; we shall arrest you on suspicion of stealing 120 postal orders from Chancery Lane Post Office, value £120"—he said, "I don't know anything about it"—Towers called a cab, we put him in, and took him to Bow Street—on the way he said, "I don't know anything about this; I may have been mixed up in a few swindles, but I never go to the front; I can always find other fools to do that"—he was placed with eight other men in the yard—the inspector told him he could place himself wherever he liked, and he changed his position as each witness came in.
Cross-examined. Sergeant New went into the street and asked people to come in—the prisoner was under the influence of drink when we arrested him—it took us quite half-an-hour to drive in the cab to Bow
Street—there was conversation during that time—I took no note of anything he said, except what I have said; he said that at the commencement of the journey.
MATTHEW TOWERS . I am a constable attached to the Post Office—I was with Barton when the prisoner was arrested—I confirm his evidence in every particular—almost immediately after we got into the cab I heard him make the statement which Barton has given; I conveyed the persons who were going to identify the prisoner from the room to the yard, but I was not present at the identification—I noticed once the prisoner had changed his position from right to left.
Cross-examined. I did not say before, nor did I hear Barton say before, that the prisoner made the statement directly after he got into the cab, because we were not asked the questions—I searched the prisoner's house with Barton and New—we found nothing relating to this charge—word of his arrest had reached his home before we got there; it was two or three hours after that we searched.
Re-examined. We arrested him at one o'clock, and went to his house at half-past six or seven—I saw Mrs. Hattersley at her house; she said she had been to Bow Street.
Witnesses for the Defence
THOMAS ROSEE . I live at 61, Bishop's Road, Victoria Park, and am a cornchandler—I know the prisoner as an acquaintance—on Friday night, 9th May, I asked the prisoner if he would get this document stamped; it is a bill of sale which I gave to my son, and an assignment from my son to Mr. York—I made an appointment with the prisoner to meet him at White's house on Saturday morning to get it stamped—on Saturday, the 10th, the prisoner called at my shop between nine and ten a.m., and I then handed him the document unstamped, and he went away with it—as near eight o'clock as possible the same evening the prisoner and May came to my shop with the document—I fix the time at eight, because I had to meet a customer at the Princess of Wales opposite between eight and nine—the prisoner was a little influenced by drink, and I wanted to get rid of him to go and see the customer—I kept the appointment—I attended at Bow Street, but I was not called.
Cross-examined. I mentioned nothing about my son at the last trial; I did not think of it—it is my son's signature, not mine—on the first onset I said I signed it for my son—he gave it to me for York to sign at my place, and he signed it at his own—it occurred to me as soon as I got home that I did not sign it—York is a friend of mine—he is not here—he is a guard on the North London Railway—I first saw York on the Friday night, when he signed it in my shop, in my presence, and no one else's—my son signed it in his shop—after May brought the document' back I handed it to York, who lent it to me to produce for the trial—the signature "T. Rosee" is mine—I only saw the witness to it, Biggenden, once—I believe he witnessed it—I last saw him nearly three years ago—I can only tell by the date on the document when I signed it—I am quite sure the prisoner was present when I signed it.
Re-examined. Following the bill of sale and the schedule which I gave to my son is an assignment executed by my eon to York—it is only the first document that I have anything to do with.
of sale in 1887,1 believe—I executed an assignment of it to George York on 9th May this year—I gave it to the prisoner, I believe, to get it stamped—I did not see York sign it—I signed it in the prisoner's presence—I afterwards got it back stamped as it is now—that is my signature at the bottom.
Cross-examined. I lent my father the amount on the goods in the bill of sale; £50, I believe—I kept it after 1887 in my drawer in the parlour—I gave it back to my father just before May to be turned over to York, because I wanted the money—my father negotiated with York because he was his friend—York, when he signed the document, handed £20 to my father, who handed it to me—that was at my father's place, 150 yards from mine—I believe York, I, father and mother were present—York is not here.
BENJAMIN WESTLAKE . I am proprietor of the Dundee Arms, Cambridge Road, Bethnal Green—I know the prisoner by his being a customer on nearly every day for three or four weeks before he was arrested on this charge—Thorogood is my next door neighbour, a bedding' manufacturer—on Saturday, 10th May, about ten, I saw the prisoner in my house with Thorogood—May and Smith came in afterwards, and they were all there together—about twelve o'clock the prisoner called for a pen, and I gave him a pen with blotting paper and wax—I saw a document like this, and a seal was put on it—I heard the prisoner say, "I want this stamped very importantly," and he said to May," Can you get it done for me?"—he said, "I will, but I doubt if I can get to Somerset House in time"—the prisoner said, "If not, get it done at the Law Courts, but at all events get it done"—I said to May, "Go on a Chelsea omnibus," and he left at 12.25—the prisoner said, "I will remain here till three o'clock to see you, because I shall be in the neighbourhood the whole of the day"—the prisoner remained till half-past three with Thorogood, when they left together—I heard of the prisoner being taken, and I went up to the Court—I am sure of the day—I saw May erasing something, and he and the prisoner had the pen and ink, but I cannot swear they wrote—here is the wax.
Cross-examined. I had no conversation with the prisoner; I only handed him the pen and ink—after May went I attended to my own business; mine is not a particularly busy house—I had my dinner in the small room adjoining the bar; I could not say at what time—the prisoner remained in the bar all the time up to half-past three; he never went from one bar to the other with my knowledge—I know it was half-past three, because about ten minutes past three a remark was passed that May had not returned, and the prisoner said, "We will have another drink, and then go and have some dinner"—Thorogood was in the bar all the time—I won't swear he did not go next door, but he was never out of the bar more than two or three minutes at a time—I made the statement that it was ten minutes past three when the last drink was called for when I was called on to give my evidence.
Re-examined. No one serves in the bar but I and my wife.
GEOEGE SMITH . I live at 72, Shrubland Road, Dalston—I was at the Dundee Arms on the 10th May, between 10 and 11, and I saw the Prisoner and May—I remained for three-quarters of an hour—I have known the prisoner for two years—I did not see any document.
JAMES GATES . I am a coach painter and master man, at 260, Railway Street, Poyser Street, Bethnal Green—I was in the Dundee Arms on Saturday, 10th May, at quarter-past twelve, and I saw there a man, who is the prisoner, to the best of my belief; he has altered a bit; I cannot swear to him—as I went in I saw a document on the table, and three people speaking—I hare never spoken to them; I am an independent witness—I stayed six minutes and left—I noticed pen and ink, and blotting paper, and sealing wax from the drawer pass between the landlord and the persons; it was sealing wax like this; this is my own piece; it was joined like this—I had previously given it to the landlord—I did not see the prisoner use the writing materials or sealing-wax; I left.
Cross-examined. I found this sealing-wax in a cab, and I took it into Mr. Westlake's house, and asked him if it would be of any use to him, nine days previously—they used it on the 10th of May, not on the day I gave it to him.
Re-examined. I believe they call the wax bottling-wax.
ROBERT LAMPARD . I am a plumber and general builder, under the patronage of the Queen—I carry on business at Craven Buildings, Poyser Street, Bethnal Green—on 10th May, at fifteen minutes past twelve, I went to the Dundee Arms with George Saunders, a postman, who works for me—I saw the prisoner writing at a table with a man by his side reading the newspaper—that was the only time I ever saw a man writing at a table in the Dundee Arms—I and Saunders remained about ten minutes, and then we went out, and came back about ten minutes to one, and remained seven or eight minutes—the prisoner was standing in front of the bar then—I had to go into Bethnal Green, and when I came out it was three minutes to one by St. John's clock—I and Saunders discussed that day how long it was to Whitsuntide; I said it was one week, Saunders said it was two.
Cross-examined. I am the only working man in Great Britain that wrote a Jubilee ode to Her Majesty—I don't know the name of the man who was by the side of the prisoner reading the newspaper; he was a short, stout man—it was on hearing the case was put on that I came up to assist the prisoner—very possibly I go in the house every Saturday—I looked at the clock because Saunders was going to get his money, and being shortsighted, he asked me the time.
Re-examined. That is the man who was reading the newspaper (May)—he was there at fifteen minutes past twelve, but not when I went back the second time.
GEORGE SAUNDERS . I am a postman, attached to the Eastern District post Office for the last twenty years—I live at 24, Craven Buildings, Poyser Street, Bethnal Green—I work for Lampard occasionally—on 10th May I went with him into the Dundee Arms at ten or fifteen minutes past twelve—I saw the prisoner writing at a table in front of the bar, and May sitting there reading the paper—I never spoke to the prisoner in my life, and I only spoke to May to-day—I remember having a discussion with Lampard on that day about Whit Monday—we left the ho use—I went to put my uniform on to go and get my money—about ten minutes past one I went back to the public house, and I saw the prisoner there, but not May.
Cross-examined. I am still in the Post Office—I volunteered my evidence in consequence of a conversation I heard in the Dundee Arms,
and I said, "That is the very man who was here on Saturday"; and Mr. Westlake said, "Very well, I shall just say what you say."
JAMES THOROGOOD . I live at 341, Cambridge Road, and am a bedding manufacturer—the prisoner was my tenant for three or four weeks till he was taken—I went with him on 10th May to the Dundee Arms at ten a.m., and remained with him till half-past three or four—about eleven May came in, and I heard some document spoken of, and pen and ink and wax were called for—I saw a document like this, and May was asked to get it stamped, and something was said about its being necessary to have it done at once; it must be done that day—at twenty minutes past twelve May left with him—the prisoner left with me, and went to his room in my house—at half-past five we went together to the Pitt's Head, Brick Lane, and remained till eight o'clock, and then we walked to the White Horse, Cambridge Heath, where we met the prisoner's wife and May, who handed back the document—the prisoner and May remained in the bar, and then left and returned in an hour, and we all went home together between ten and eleven—I knew the prisoner as a lawyer's clerk to a man named Biggenden—I did not see the document signed.
Cross-examined. I stopped in bed next day till one o'clock when the public-houses were opened, and then I went to the White Horse—I spent all the Saturday with the prisoner in and out of public-houses—I was at the Dundee Arms from ten o'clock till ten minutes past three—then I slept off the effects—I was at the Pitt's Head for two hours, I also went to the White Horse.
CHARLES MAY . I am a lawyer's clerk—on Saturday, 10th May, I had an appointment with the prisoner, and met him at the Dundee Arms about ten a.m.—Thorogood was with him—about eleven Smith came in, and stayed about three-quarters of an hour—a document was mentioned, and afterwards I saw this document, which the prisoner said he wanted to get stamped that day—I volunteered to take it to Somerset House, and he gave it to me—I said, "It is signed, but unattested and unsealed"—pen and ink were then brought, and he wrote his name and address—I took it to Somerset House and got it stamped, and about ten I saw the prisoner at—the Law Courts, and we went to see Rosee—the document was handed to him, and afterwards we went to a public-house, and afterwards to the White Horse, the prisoner calling on Dr. Humphreys—in the morning the prisoner was not sober, nor was he sober in the evening—I have known the prisoner for three years, and have done business with him—I saw him daily—I saw the prisoner write this signature—I have seen him write many times, and know his writing well—the F. Frost and J. Rose on these postal orders are not written by the prisoner.
Cross-examined. I am not in a situation; I have been working for myself nearly the whole of this year—I was doing so on 9th or 10th March, I should say—I called on that date on Messrs. Slack and Metcalfe, solicitors—I did not say I was working on my own account—I did not say I was clerk to Mr. Harrison; I was asked to call there—I was told Mr. Harrison knew all about it, but subsequently I was told he did not—I called without any intention of wrong—I did not attend an appointment as Mr. Harrison's clerk—I never worked with the prisoner—I don't know that he ever
practised as Biggenden—a detective shadowed me of a night—very likely was in the prisoner's company almost every day till his arrest.
FLORENCE BURGESS . I was at the Pitt's Head, Brick Lane—on Saturday, 10th May, the prisoner came about six o'clock, and stayed till eight—Thorogood was with him—I know the day, because I paid a man wages, who gave me this receipt—I cannot recollect any other of the days on which I saw the prisoner.
Cross-examined. I have a clock in the bar—I saw him when I came down from my rest at six o'clock—we are always busy on a Saturday; we have thousands of people coming in.
Re-examined. I remember this because of paying the money to Master man.
HENRY MASTERMAN . I worked at the Pitt's Head, and was paid and gave this receipt about half-past seven in the evening—I was there at my work at six when the prisoner and Thorogood came in, and they remained until I left—I remember the Saturday, because there was joking about my tools.
Cross-examined. I had been working from about Thursday—I knocked off work about five; I had several drinks between then and half-past seven—I got home at eight or a little after—I called nowhere but at Mrs. Burgess's.
Cross-examined. Masterman drank with us—we had three half-pints.
ROBERT WILLIAM HUMPHREYS . I am a surgeon, at Bishop's Road, Victoria Park, and Mare Street, Hackney—on 10th May, between eight and nine p.m., I saw the prisoner in my surgery, Bishop's Road—I gave him a draught.
Cross-examined. He was suffering from the effects of drink—my attendance-book is not here; his visit is not entered—I have known the prisoner three and a half years—I have not given evidence for him or May in accident cases to my recollection—the prisoner, his wife and child, and father-in-law are patients of mine—I did not enter the draught I gave him; it was of no value—I never get to my Bishop's Road surgery before eight, and I stop there till half-past nine or ten—I got there between eight and nine—I had a few patients that evening; the prisoner is the only one not entered—he did not come specially about the draught; he brought an articulating plate, which he said a friend of his was bringing out—he only showed it to me—he talked about it—he was not speechlessly drunk.
He then PLEADED GUILTY*† to a conviction of felony in March, 1881-. There was another indictment against the prisoner— Seven Years Penal Servitude.
NEW COURT.—Monday, July 28th, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant
560. ROBERT CUMMINGS (88) PLEADED GUILTY ** to feloniously having counterfeit coin in his possession, with intent to utter, after a conviction for a like offence in February, 1882.— Twelve Months, without Hard Labour .
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, July 29th, 1890.
Before Mr. Recorder.
566. THOMAS THOMPSON (52) PLEADED GUILTY ** to stealing seven handkerchiefs, value 10s. 11d., the goods of William Boyd; also to a summary conviction at the Mansion House in May, 1889.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
568. ROBERT CRANE** (31) , To robbery on Cecil Rowe, and stealing a watch and other articles, value £15, and to a conviction in January, 1889.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
569. HARRIET PARSONS (40) , To feloniously sending to William Frederick Hancock a letter demanding money with menaces.— She was recommended to mercy by the prosecutor, and the prisoner's husband entered into recognizances for her appearance if required. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
THOMAS UNDERDOWN (Policeman A 712). About half-past four in the morning of 6th June I was in Great Peter Street with another constable—I saw the two prisoners pass—I noticed that Hunt's pocket was bulky—I stopped him, and asked what he had in his pocket—he said, "I have got nothing much"—I put my hand in his pocket and pulled out six or seven cigars and two silver egg-cups—I said, "I shall take you into custody for the unlawful possession of these things '—at the station were found on him thirty-four cigars, one salver, four egg-cups, four spoons, two wooden boots, one toast-rack, two pairs of white gloves, a leather pocket-book, one pair of sugar-tongs, and a knife—he said the knife was his own—he said he did not know anything of the other things—Finch said that he found them—it was three miles from the prosecutor's house that I found the prisoners.
the two prisoners in Great Peter Street; the last witness stopped Hunt,' and asked what he had about him—he said, "Only a few cigars"—I took Finch into custody—I searched him at the station, and found on him four silver salt-cellars, three cigars, three ribbons, an antimacassar, a salt-spoon, a bottle of scent, and a fish-slice—he said he found them in the road—I asked him his address—he said he came from America.
AUGUSTA JOSEF . I am the wife of Alexander Josef, of 67, Warrington Crescent, Maida Vale—I recognise this property as my husband's—it was safe in our back room on the ground floor, facing the garden, on the night of the 26th June—when I retired to bed at half-past twelve, the shutters of the window were shut and the blinds down, the window was fastened by the catch—next morning my servant called me downstairs—I found the window wide open and the room in disorder.
JOHN COOMBES (Police Inspector). I received information of this robbery, and about nine the same morning I went to the prosecutor's house—I found the catch of the back window had been forced back by some thin instrument, such as a knife like the one produced—I afterwards compared it with the marks on the catch, and they corresponded.
CHARLOTTE ELIZABETH JEFFRIES . I am servant to Mr. Josef—on this morning I came downstairs about half-past seven—the garden door was half open and the back window also, but the blind was still down—I went upstairs and told my mistress, and she came down and missed the property.
The prisoners, in their statements before the Magistrate and in their defence, alleged that they found the articles-concealed near a building, and had no connection with the burglary.
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Hard Labour each.
MESSRS. BODKIN and BIRON Prosecuted, and MR. SANDS Defended.
The evidence in this case was the same as that given on the trial of Henry Lynch, as reported in the Sessions Paper, Vol. CX in page 224.
GUILTY .—He had previously PLEADED GUILTY to a common assault on Tanner— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BIRON Prosecuted.
CHARLES AUGUSTUS GAUNTLET . I am house steward to Mr. "Williams, trading as Hitchcock and Co., St. Paul's Churchyard—on 16th July, a little after two, I was in the counting-house in company with Shortland, the porter—this piece of black cashmere was producedwhich I identify as our property—it is of the value of forty-five shillings—the prisoner had not paid for it; he had no business on the premises.
JOSHUA SHORTLAND . I am a porter, in the employ of Mr. Williams—on 16th July I saw the prisoner on the premises; he passed through the counting-house into the warehouse and tack again—then he again went into the warehouse, and brought out this piece of cashmere under his arm—I followed him into the street, when he dropped the parcel and made
off—I went after him, and brought him back, and gave him into custody—he gave no explanation when I caught him.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I called to the police to stop you—I believe you saw the policeman and could not escape—you were about thirty yards from the warehouse.
Prisoner's Defence: I had been to Covent Garden Market, and coming through Paternoster Row the witness ran into me and charged me with stealing the parcel.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in March, 1889— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. MOORE Prosecuted, and MR. A. GILL Defended. PHILIP DIMMOCK. I am a railway porter at Nine Elms Station—on 23rd July, between seven and eight a.m., the prisoner brought this delivery order for sixteen bags of flour and six sacks of flour and half a sack of meal—the bags and sacks were in a railway wagon in the yard, and they were all there was in that wagon—after the flour had been checked the prisoner loaded it himself, and drove away with it—the railway wagon was empty after he had done so.
ALEXANDER CRABB . I am a biscuit baker, in the employment of Hughes and Co., of Bishopsgate Street—between 9 and 9.30 a.m. on 23rd July I saw the prisoner arrive at my master's premises with a quantity of flour, which I received instructions to check—I stood by the side of the door leading out to the flour-room—the prisoner had to pass me each time—I saw the prisoner take six sacks of flour and fifteen bags, each of the bags containing about 140 lb., to the flour-room—he ought to have brought sixteen bags and six sacks.
Cross-examined. It is foreman Greaves's duty as a rule to check flour delivered at these premises; if he does not do it, whoever is there does it—I first saw the prisoner that day in the bakehouse, where I was at work; he came in, as he generally does, to see where to put the flour—I was in the bakehouse all the time—you cannot see from the bakehouse into the flour-room—the prisoner came through twenty-one times, with only one sack or bag at a time—I had twenty-two pieces of paper, and I checked him with a piece each time he came in; I only disposed of twenty-one pieces—when he had finished carrying them in, he asked me to check them; I said I was busy; he said, "You know how many I have left; you will find the sixteen down in the flour-room"—I did not see Greaves and Lucas while I was counting the number of times the prisoner passed through.
Re-examined. The prisoner only asked me to check the number of bags after he had passed through—I stood at the door of the flour-room, not at the door leading to the wagon outside.
bring them from the van, nor place them in the flour-room—then he brought three sacks of superlative or patent flour, and then a bag, a special, and he continued bringing bags down until I heard him say to one of the men, "That makes twenty-two," and I stepped upstairs to the shop, and told the manageress—the carman was waiting in the shop for his ticket—I asked him what flour he had brought to the firm; he said six sacks and sixteen bags—I said, "Will you point them out to me?"—he said, "Yes," and both of us stepped down to the flour-room—he pointed out six sacks and six bags of flour, and said, "That is twelve, and here are ten bags of special"—I said, "Count them, please"—I had previously marked part of the sacks which we had in the flour-room—when he came to one of those I said, "Stop, that bag is the property of the firm, and was in the flour-room before you arrived; I have a special mark on it, and also a witness to prove that it belongs to our firm; I have had my suspicions"—he said, "It is a pity, is it not; I will go upstairs and look in the van, and see if there is another one"—I said, "Do just as you like; I will report this to my employer"—he went away—this is the invoice for sixteen bags and six sacks that he produced with the flour.
Cross-examined. I saw nothing that took place during the delivery of the flour in the flour-room—I told the Magistrate as something that I saw myself, that I saw the prisoner take a Dundas bag of our flour and put it near the other superlatives, and then he put it on the top of the other superlatives—I did not tell the Magistrate that that was something that had been told to me—I did not see it—I did not see the flour deposited in the flour-room—I don't think I was cross-examined as to whether I saw it done—every time the carman went upstairs for a bag of flour I stepped into the flour-room, and saw what had been done; but I did not see him deposit the sacks or bags—I cut a hole in one ear of the bag of Dundas, and two holes in the other ear—I did that after the carman had been once in the flour-room, making room for his load—the prisoner insisted to the end that he had delivered all the bags—I did not say it was a pity; he said so—he did not say, "You had better look in my van and see I do not take anything away with me"—when I said the bag was marked, he did not ask what the mark was—he said, "That was the bag I brought in"—only he and I were there then—Lucas was a little distance from the dressing-room, which is in a straight line with the flour-room, while the bags were being delivered; there is quite nine yards of space between the dressing and flour rooms, I should say—Lucas was in the pastry-room between the dressing and flour rooms, and he was outside—I was in the coal cellar part of the time; Lucas would have to see the length of the pastry-room, and through the dressing-room into the flour-room—from the dressing-room to the entrance of the flour-room is ten yards—I believe the large sacks were, placed near the middle of the flour-room, which is about nine yards across; it is lighted by one gas jet at the entrance—there are no windows; the gas was alight; it was between Lucas and the place where the sacks were piled—I was not on the premises when the prisoner called the same evening with his employer.
Re-examined. I forget the number of sacks we had before this delivery; the bag on which the marks were cut was part of our old stock—the old stock was all over the room in different parts—the Dundas bag contained very dark-coloured flour; some of the bags the prisoner
delivered were marked Dundas, there may have been nine so marked—we have no book to prove how much Dundas flour we had in stock.
CHARLES LUCAS . I was present on 23rd July when the prisoner delivered this flour—I was standing at the dressing-room, close to the flour-room, and could see what took place in the flour-room—before the prisoner brought in any bag I saw him move a bag marked Dundas flour belonging to the firm from other of their bags, and put it about one and a half yards away from where it stood before—then he delivered his own flour—after he had delivered five sacks he moved the firm's bag on to the top of a half sack of flour of ours—after delivering some more sacks he moved our firm's bag off the half sack on to a bag of special that he had just brought from his van—then he delivered the remaining flour from the van—after he had brought them all down I found there were fifteen bags and six sacks, and the one bag belonging to the firm—they were lying on the top of one another.
Cross-examined. He brought them one at a time; I was four or five yards from the flour-room; the sacks were almost at the end of the room—I was at one time four and at another time eight or eight and a half yards from the pile of sacks—the prisoner could see me, and knew I was there—there were two gas lamps alight in the flour-room, between me and the sacks—I kept my eye all the time on the particular bag that he moved first; I never lost sight of it—there were only two Dundas bags in the room—I keep no book, and have no document showing the number in stock.
Re-examined. The foreman showed me the two Dundas bags in stock, and marked them—the prisoner had no bag with him when he came down the first time.
JABEZ REYNOLDS . I am a carman, trading as R. Chambers and Co.; the prisoner is in my employment—on 23rd July, about five p.m., he said he had not got a receipt for his flour, there was a dispute about it—I told him to go to Mr. Hughes, and I would follow him—I went there, and saw a pile of six bags, which were said to be part of ten he had delivered, one of which was represented to be a bag taken from stock—he ought to have delivered sixteen bags; I asked him if he had delivered sixteen, and he said he had.
Cross-examined. He showed no reluctance to go with me—I was shown a slit in the ears of one bag; the prisoner said they were not there when he delivered the bag in the morning—the prisoner said some of the bags had been shifted since he went there in the morning—I think he has been two or three years in my service—that is since he left the army—I heard he was an old soldier—he has borne a good character; I never heard anything against him.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, July 29th, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. RICHARDS Prosecuted, and MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended.
the 7th June I enclosed in a letter to T. Smith and Co., 90, Chesterton Road, N. Kensington, two postal orders for 5s. and 2s. respectively; I took particulars of them on this piece of paper, and, wrote on the orders the name T. Smith and Co., and Notting Hill as a paying office—I gave the letter to my sister Eleanor to post as she went to school at 9.30 a.m.—I afterwards found the letter had not been delivered, and I communicated with the Post Office.
ELEANOR MARY DODD . I live with my sister—I remember her getting the two postal orders, taking the numbers, and putting them into a letter, which she gave to me—I put it into the Post Office at Enfield Lock, as I was going to school about 9.30—I was at school by 9.45.
JOHN SELBY . I am a clerk in the Ponder's End Post Office, to which Enfield Lock is subordinate—Enfield Lock office is a box in a shop—a letter posted there at 9.30 or 9.45 would come to our office about 12.15; it would be despatched from our office at 12.15—a letter to Notting Hill would be put in a bag labelled West, to go to the Western District office.
Cross-examined. The sorting clerks are responsible for letters in our office before they are despatched—the clerks at the Enfield Lock Office would be responsible for letters there till they left they would be there one and a half hours.
Re-examined. There is a difference between Enfield Lock and Enfield station; letters from Enfield go direct to the General Post Office, those from Enfield Lock to Ponder's End—this is an envelope of the 12th June, with "quarter-past twelve" on it—this is the letter bill from Enfield Lock to Ponders End—the delivery before 12.15 is 9.40—I see the bag go; it is sealed by one of the clerks.
JAMES JOSEPH FOX . I am overseer at the General Post Office—on 17th June the Ponder's End bag, due at nine minutes to two, reached us at five minutes past—the western bundle in that despatch went away at 2.45 from the General Post Office.
ROBERT ROMFORD HOADE . I am overseer at the Western District Postal Office, Vere Street—on 17th June the 2.45 bag from the General Post Office reached us at 3.15—a letter in that despatch, addressed to Chesterton Road, Notting Hill, would be sent away at 3.50 in a sealed bag to the Chesterton Road office.
Cross-examined. The sealed bag which came to us would be opened; the letters would be re-sorted by about a dozen sorters; at least thirteen people would have access to the letters in it at our office.
THOMAS FREDERICK HUNTER . I am overseer at Notting Hill Sorting Office—the prisoner was employed there as extra letter carrier for the afternoon delivery—on 17th June he was on duty for the four o'clock delivery—the Oxford Garden walk includes Chesterton Road, where Messrs. Smith carry on business—I have had complaints from them—the 3.50 despatch from Vere Street comes to us at 4.26 p.m., and the prisoner would start on his delivery at shortly before five, and should finish about 6.30—this book is open in the office for each man to sign his name as he comes back; it is signed 6.30, but I am not certain they are the prisoner's figures—he should be on duty again shortly before eight; the book shows eight o'clock.
Cross-examined. He has been five years at our office—he is in. the parcels post, and an extra letter carrier also—he has always borne a high
character—his wages were 23s. or 24s.a week—he would come on duty at 4.20, when the bag containing the Chesterton Road letters would come—the bag would be at our office till five, about forty minutes—it would be re-sorted—the prisoner would take part in that, with seven or eight others, all at one table, side by side—letters are sometimes mis-sorted; in that case it would be the man's duty to bring it back.
THOMAS SMITH PAINTER . I live at 90, Chesterton Road, and carry on business as "T. Smith and Co.," indiarubber stamp manufacturers—our letters are delivered into a locked letter-box—I did not receive the letter which Miss Dodd says she posted on 17th June—these orders have never been in my office, so far as I know.
CHARLES SAMUEL PARKER . I live at 4, Fowells Street, Lancaster Road, Notting Hill, and am a bricklayer—the prisoner gave to me these two postal orders on June 17th in Archer Street, about fifty yards, or not so far, from the sorting office, at six or seven o'clock, as near as I can say—he asked me if I was busy; I said, "No"—he said, "Would you mind doing a job for me?"—I said, "What is it?"—he said, "Will you take these orders into the post office to change them for me?"—the Norfolk Terrace Post Office was just across the road, it and the sorting office are all in one—I asked him if they were all right, and he said, "Yes"—I said, "What have I got to do with them?"—he said, "You have only got to sign your name"—I asked why he did not go in himself, and he said because he did not wish to go in then, because he appeared as if he had had a drop of something to drink—he was in uniform—I took the orders into the post office, and handed them to the lady clerk, and asked her to change them, and she said, "Yes, sign your name"—I did so, and she said that was not the same name as was on the top; I said, "No," but it was my name—she said, "I don't know what to do about changing these things"—I believe I said they were all right—and she said, "Will you give your address?"—and I said, "Certainly," and I gave her on the back of the orders, 46, Lonsdale Road, where I was then living—I received 7s. from her—when I came out I saw the prisoner across the road at the urinal, in the centre of Norfolk Terrace cab rank—I went and gave him the money, and he gave me Is. saying, "That is for yourself"—I had been laid up with a poisoned hand—I told him I had given my right name and address, and he said, "The more b——fool you"—I said, "Why?"—he said, "Oh, that is all right"—I went one way and he the other—I had known him by sight three, four, or five years, but I had been away in the country—I had spoken to him two or three times, or it may have been oftener—I saw him two or three times after he gave me the shilling, and before he was arrested—I pointed him out to Mr. Woodward, and had some conversation with him in the presence of the Post Office officers.
Cross-examined. The prisoner, from the beginning, said that the story I tell is a lie—on 17th June I was living at 46, Lonsdale Road; I had been there over three months—from there I went to 23A, Bolton Road for about a fortnight, and now we have taken a house at 4, Fowell Street—I last worked for Fray and Son, Elgin Crescent—I finished there on Saturday—I had been out of work three or four weeks when I met the prisoner—I did not know his name then; he was a perfect stranger to me, with the exception of my having seen him about—I did not know there was anything wrong about this; there was no concealment about it—he
gave me the orders quite openly in the street, fifty yards from his own post office—I did not know if they were stolen—I knew some of the postmen by sight, and three or four of the sorters by name—I did not know when the deliveries went out—the post office clerk did not ask me where I got the orders from; I did not say I got them from my master, who was a mason—she did not ask who T. Smith was; she said it was not the same name as that I signed—when I made my accusation against the prisoner the police came to me, and asked me if I knew these notes, and I said it was my signature on them—I told him I got the notes from the prisoner—I suspected nothing wrong—I thought as I was queer and out of work the prisoner gave me the shilling out of charity—he appeared to have been drinking—he could walk straight—I was in the station for a few hours one night for ill-treating my wife; my master bailed me out; my wife did not appear next morning, and I was discharged—that was nearly two years ago, I believe—I have never been in prison—I did not say I got these orders from my master, a mason, I never worked for a mason.
Re-examined. I was laid up for two or three weeks with a poisoned hand—I hardly know why I asked him if it was all right; I had never changed such a thing in my life before—I have sent postal orders to my wife when I have been working in the country, and I knew it would be a cruel thing for anybody to take them out of a letter.
EUPHEMIA IMELDA WHAMOND . I am a clerk in the Notting Hill Post Office, which adjoins the sorting office—on the evening of the 7th of June, Parker came in between six and seven and presented these two orders for payment—I told him to sign them—when I saw his name and saw that they were payable to T. Smith and Co., I said, "I don't think I can pay them, because you have signed a different name to what is on the top"—I asked him if T. Parker was his name; he said, "Yes"—I asked him who gave them to him, and he said his master, I believe; I understood from him that someone had given them to him in payment for wages; I won't swear the word master was used—then, as he seemed to be an honest man, I asked him if he would give his address, and I gave him the money.
Cross-examined. His appearance induced me to pay him; he seemed to be in trouble, and to want the money—he did not say his master was a mason; he looked like a bricklayer—I am perfectly sure I asked him where he got the notes from, and the impression of my mind is he said he got them from his master in payment of wages.
Re-examined. I have since seen the prisoner's brother in the office, and asked how his brother was getting on—the rule is not to pay orders, when the signature differs; I have done it before—I told Mr. Hurst—he said he had received these from his master.
By the COURT. I had seen Parker before, but did not know his name—I had never cashed orders for him before.
WALTER HURST (Post Office Constable). I made inquiries, and found without difficulty that Parker had lived at 46, Lonsdale Road, and where he was living—I was present when Mr. "Woodward had an interview with the prisoner—I charged him—he made no reply—he gave the address 17, Cuthbert Street, Edgware Road—his father and mother live there, but he had not lived there for three weeks—next morning I told the prisoner I had ascertained he had not lived there for about three
weeks, but that he was living at 40, Talbot Grove—he said, "No, it is not 40, it is 44."
Cross-examined. He was known at 17, Cuthbert Street—he had been living at 44, Talbot Grove; it is his sweethearts house—I went to 46, Lonsdale Road, and found Parker had left a week before—I found him at 23A, Bolton Road—the shopkeeper at 46, Lonsdale Road told me where he had gone to—I asked him how he became possessed of the notes—the Post Office clerk told me the man who gave them to her said he got them from his master; I cannot give the exact words—I never questioned Parker on the matter; I only asked him where he got them from—I never mentioned it to the solicitor for the prosecution, but I believe I did to Mr. Woodward—I made no report to anybody—before the prisoner was charged he had been confronted with Parker, who had told his story, and the prisoner had denied every word of it.
Re-examined. The prisoner had been living on and off with his mother—bad characters live at 44, Talbot Grove.
FREDERICK WILLIAM WOODWARD . I am an officer in the confidential department of the General Post Office—in consequence of inquiries I made on 18th July I saw Parker, who made a statement to me—afterwards I saw the prisoner at Notting Hill Post Office in the presence of Parker, Hurst, and the overseer—I said to him," My name is Woodward, I am from the General Post Office"—I pointed to Parker and said he had lived at 46, Lonsdale Road, and that he had informed me he had cashed the two postal orders on 17th June—I showed the prisoner the two orders, and asked him where he got them from—he said, "I never remember seeing them"—I asked him if he had ever given Parker any postal orders to cash; he said, "No, I have not"—I asked him if he had ever seen Parker before—he said, "I have known him for years, but I had not seen him lately"—I said to Parker, "You have heard this statement, what do you say?"—Parker replied, "I deny it"—he repeated the story he has told in Court to-day—I told the prisoner a letter addressed to Smith and Co., Chesterton Road, had not reached that address; he said, "There are plenty of letters for Smith, of Chesterton Road, and there are two or three Smiths in Chesterton Road"—I took the prisoner and Parker to the General Post Office, where Parker repeated his statement—the prisoner said, "I am quite innocent of this; I have never touched any postal order, nor did I ask him to cash those for me"—I asked him where he was living, and he gave the address 17, Cuthbert Street, Edgware Road.
Cross-examined, I put it to the prisoner at the General Post Office, that he would be charged, and he said he was innocent—all through the man has protested his innocence, and contradicted Parker's statements—Parker was placed at the sorting-office door when about ten men were going on duty at 1.20, and he signalled to me immediately the prisoner passed—six or seven had already passed—I could not say if all the ten men would have access to the letters—I have made no inquiries about the prisoner.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. RICHARDS Prosecuted.
CHARLES HALLETT GARD . I live at 15, Pricer Road, Bermondsey, and have known the prisoner about eight months—on May 7th he gave me these two orders for ten shillings and two shillings in Dales' shop, a tobacconist's in Bermondsey—I recognise them by my signature—he said his brother, or brother-in-law, at Peckham, borrowed some money of him some time previous, and was paying it back bit by bit, and had sent him those two orders—they show that they were issued at Peckham—he said he was a scene artist—he asked me to cash them for him, as it seemed rather strange or suspicious for a person in uniform to do so—he was in uniform—I changed them and signed my name to them at St. James's Road Post Office—the prisoner waited for me, and I took him the money to the tobacconist's shop, and he gave me a cigar—I cashed another order for him, but I cannot say whether it was before or after, and he told me the same story about the uniform—on 19th July I met him in Cheapside; he said he was in a scrape at the Post Office about a postal order for 2s. 3d., which he bought for Is. 3d.—I met him again on Monday afternoon at Station Road, Bermondsey, and went to his house with him; we went into the kitchen—he mentioned the orders I had changed for him, and said that the Post Office officials would come to me and ask who gave them to me, and told me to deny flatly that he had given them to me, and if they asked for my signature I was to write differently—he said, "For goodness sake, don't let them know you cashed them for me"—they were blank when I received them.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You asked me if I would shield you as much as I possibly could—I did not tell you that if they came to me I would deny it—I had just come out of the hospital, and was in a very weak state indeed.
RICHARD CLARKE . I am assistant to Mr. Dales, a tobacconist, of Station Road, Bermondsey—in the beginning of May I saw Gard and the prisoner in my shop, and heard a conversation—Gard left the shop and returned, and gave the prisoner some money—the prisoner then bought a cigar and gave it to Gard—since that the prisoner asked me to cash a 5s. Post Office order.
ELIZA COLEMAN . I live at Lausanne Road, Peckham—on 6th May I sent my niece to the post-office to get an order for ten shillings, and one for two shillings; I enclosed them in a letter, addressed to Mr. Mitchell, 222, City Road, and gave it to my niece to post.
SARAH ELIZABETH REED . I live with my aunt—on 6th May she sent me to get post-office orders for ten shillings and two shillings at the,. Peckham Post Office—I did so, and saw her enclose them in a letter, addressed to Mr. Mitchell, 222, City Road—I posted it at six o'clock.
Central Office on 6th and 7th May as a regular postman—a letter addressed to 222, City Road, and posted at 5.30 at New Cross Road, would be sorted at 5.30 a.m., that is the General Post—the prisoner was on duty in the office the next morning, and would have access to this letter for sorting purposes.
WILLIAM ANTHONY NEWLAND (Constable, G. P. 0.) In consequence of information I spoke to the prisoner at the General Post Office on 26th June, and Mr. Wood asked him in my presence whether he had given Gard two postal orders to cash for him; he said he had not.
FRANK ORSON WOOD . I am in the confidential department of the General Post Office—I was instructed to make inquiries as to the loss of letters, which should have been delivered to the Metropolitan Credit Co.—on 26th June I showed the prisoner two orders, and said, "These two orders were on 6th May last enclosed in a letter addressed to Mr. Mitchell, 222, City Road; the letter was posted, but not delivered; the orders were cashed by Charles Gard, who says he received them from you; how did they come into your possession?"—he said, "Gard did not have them from me"—I made my report, and the prisoner was taken in custody.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I did not steal the letters, but I own to the possession of the orders."
Prisoner's Defence. The orders were given me by a man I knew outside the office; he asked me to cash them on the excuse that he could not write; I said I could not do it, being in uniform, but I would when I came back. I met a friend, who cashed them for me, and I received Is. for it. If it had been left in my hands I could have caught the man.
GUILTY of receiving — Twenty Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, July 30th, 1890.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MESSRS. FORREST FULTON and BIRON Prosecuted; and MR. GRAIN Defended.
JOSEPH STEPHEN BROWN . I am a bricklayer, of 3, Enfield Terrace, High Hendon—on 14th June, a little after ten, I was outside the White Bear, Hendon—the deceased, Mr. Butcher, made a communication to me, and I went inside; I saw the prisoner there—the deceased came in with a friend—I saw the prisoner give the deceased two two-shilling pieces and a sixpence, at the same time saying to him, "You will be d——lousy and starving before long"—Butcher made no reply to that—he left shortly afterwards, and Minty left in about two or three minutes—I went out and saw him and Butcher about twenty yards from me, about seven or eight yards apart—Minty was in the act of putting down a parcel on the window sill, and he said to Butcher, "If you come near me I will bash your skull in"—they then walked down the road, having some conversation together about the remark Minty had made in the publichouse—Minty had a stick in his hand, a dark-brown one, like a
blackthorn or holly, very heavy, with a large knob at one end—some boys came up and spoke to me—I went on and overtook Butcher; he made a complaint to me, and showed me a lump on the right side of his temple, about the size of a smallish walnut; it was swelling considerably; I saw it later on in the evening, and it had then swollen considerably—several of us followed on as far as the pond, but no further—I did not see anyone else there at the time—Butcher said to Minty, "Here is Brown, if you have got anything to say against him come and say it now"—I said, "Don't make any bother now, wait till we get to the station"—Minty said to Butcher, "Come along, you b——, if you want anything," and he flourished his stick—they went on to the Hendon Railway Station; Butcher then said to Minty, "Are you going to withdraw those words you made use of in the public-house?"—Minty did not say anything; he did not have time; he lifted up his fist and hit Butcher deliberately on the nose, and he fell to the ground; he got up in about half a minute, and Minty hit him on the nose again and knocked him down again—after that he bled from the nose wonderfully, and felt so weak that if anyone had touched him with a finger he would have fallen down—I went with him into the railway-station, and found a constable there, but he refused to take Minty into custody, as he did not see the assault; he took his name and address, and I persuaded Butcher to summons him—after that I went home.
Cross-examined. I have been in the police—I resigned because I did not like it; that is eleven years ago—I was not told unless I resigned I should be discharged—since then. I have been a master builder and a bricklayer—I have never had any quarrel or dispute with the prisoner—he is the ostler at the White Bear—I was on friendly terms with him, and also with Butcher—I never saw Butcher drunk; he was a most respectable young fellow; I had known him about two or three months—I had nothing to do with this matter; I was going on my road home, and it was from what the boys said that I followed them—I was not egging on the people to worry the prisoner—I did not hear him say to Butcher, "Go away, Jack; why don't you go home?"—there were seven or eight persons following them as far as the pond; I suppose they thought there was going to be a disturbance—I did not hear Minty warn Butcher to keep away from him three or four times before he used the expression about "bashing" his skull—Butcher was not threatening to strike him—nobody but myself followed as far as the station; the boys were some distance behind—they got up to the station a minute or two before me, and as I got there the Mow was struck—before that I said to the prisoner, "If he interferes with you at the station with a stick again I will interfere, but not unless"—I only went as a kind of caretaker; there were not ten or a dozen people surrounding Butcher at the station; they collected after the blows were struck—Butcher was not standing with his back against the railings—I did not see any belt used—the prisoner had his coat off; I persuaded him to put it on—no doubt he intended to have a bother with Butcher; we thought so, that was the reason we followed him—I did not hear the prisoner say, "Get away from me; if you don't——," and then stop—I have not said that I heard him say so—I don't think I said so before the Magistrate; at any rata. I don't remember saying so.
CHARLES BONNEY . I live at Hendon, and assist my father, who is a greengrocer—I am fifteen years old—on Saturday, 14th June, about twenty minutes past ten, I was with Candler, going towards Hendon Railway Station—I saw Minty and Butcher on the road; they were jawing at one another—I saw Minty hit Butcher with a stick about the head about three times; he then swung the stick round his head—the last time Butcher was hit he fell, and as he fell he kicked at him; I did not see whether he kicked him—I was about three yards from them at the time—Brown came up, and I said something to him—I continued walking behind them to the railway station—when they got to the gates of the station, Minty said to Butcher, "Are you going away?" he repeated that several times—Butcher said, "No," and then Minty punched him and knocked him over—I did not see any belt—I saw Butcher's head at the station, I noticed a cut on his nose, and a bump on the right temple—the blows with the stick were hard blows; it was a long blackish varnished stick, an ordinary walking-stick, with a knob on the end.
Cross-examined. There were other boys with me; they saw all that I saw—Candler was with me, Beard was further behind—we were all going away from our home, we expected to see a fight; I thought Butcher was going to knock Minty down.
Re-examined. Butcher was a shorter man than the prisoner.
By the COURT. The prisoner did not strike Butcher; he pushed him—Brown was walking in the middle of the road; he was not with Butcher then; when he caught him up he was with him, talking to him—I did not hear what Brown said—that was before the prisoner pushed Butcher down.
THOMAS CANDLER . I live at Hendon, and work with my father, a greengrocer—I was with the last witness near the pond—I heard Minty say to Butcher, "Will you go away? I don't want you following me; I don't care for you, nor yet the crowd that is following you"—he then walked straight on, and Butcher followed close behind—I heard Minty say to him, "Will you go away?" and then he hit him once, and struck at him twice afterwards—when they got to the station Minty stood outside the gates, and said to Butcher, "Will you go away?" and then he hit him in the face, and he fell to the ground; he got up again, and took hold of him, and knocked him up against the wooden palings—it was after that that Butcher drew his belt.
FRANCIS WILLIAM ANDREWS , M. R. C. S. I am in practice with my father at Hendon—on 5th June, at one o'clock, I was called at No. 5, Burrows Gardens—I was there shown the body of a man lying on his face on the bed, with his feet on the pillow; he was quite dead—I should say he had been dead some hours—there was a quantity of blood on the floor; it had trickled over the foot of the bed, mixed with vomit—I turned over the body, and found injuries on the face, a small cut on the medium line of the nose; also a bruise on the right temple region, raised about half an inch—it was such an injury as might have been caused by a blow from a stick with a knob to it—subsequently, with my father's assistance, I made a post-mortem—death was due to compression of the brain, a large extravasation on the brain, and the rupture of an artery; there was also a very small fracture of the temple bone, over the rupture—I should think that was caused by one and the same blow as caused the internal injuries.
Cross-examined. It might have been caused by a fall.
ROSA MARY ANN TOMKINS . The deceased lodged with me—on 14th June I heard him come in about ten minutes past eleven—at twenty minutes to two I heard something which awoke me—my husband went into Butcher's room, and I heard Butcher say, "I feel sick"—I did not see him at that time—at one o'clock I found him dead, lying with his face downwards—I sent for a doctor—Butcher used to wear a belt; I could not say this (produced) is it; he had two belts; he did not wear braces.
JAMES LOW (Policeman S 244). On 14th June, about a quarter to eleven, I was on duty near the Hendon Station—I saw Butcher, accompanied by Brown—they came up to me, and he complained of an assault having been committed on him by the prisoner; the skin on the bridge of his nose was broken and bleeding slightly; there was also a small lump on the right temple—I called the prisoner out of the Midland Hotel, and said, "This man says you have assaulted him with a stick, and he wishes for your name and address for a summons"—he said, "It is quite true, I did assault him; he came up to me with a number of other fellows, with a belt in his hand, and attempted to strike me, and I then struck him in self-defence"—Butcher said, "You should not have said what you did to me"—I took his name and address, and he went away.
Cross-examined. Brown was very clamorous, and making a great noise; he demanded very strongly for the prisoner to be taken into custody.
The evidence given by the Prisoner before the Coroner, and also a statement made to the Inspector, were proved and read; they were, in substance, to the same effect as proved by the last witness.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. LYNE, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence. NOT GUILTY .
MR. STEPHENS Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON Defended. ALICE HUGHES. I am the widow of the deceased, Alonzo Hughes, and live at 26, Huntsworth Terrace—he was fifty-three years of age, and was a general labourer—on Sunday afternoon, 20th July, he was at home with me—seeing a crowd in the street he went out—I next saw him in the hospital—he never moved or spoke.
ALFEED BUTLEE (Policeman D 170). On Sunday afternoon, 20th July, about half-past four, I WAS in Huntsworth Terrace—I took some boys into custody for gambling—the deceased was there, and said, "I will go to the station as a witness for you; these boys have been a nuisance to
me for the past month"—as he followed me towards the station I heard someone call out, "He is knocked down at last"—I turned and saw the deceased on the pavement; I had a prisoner in each hand; I went on with them to the station.
Cross-examined. There was a considerable crowd and a good deal of pushing and hustling.
MARTIN MILES (Policeman D 221). I was on duty in the Marylebone Road; four boys were taken into custody by two officers; a large crowd followed them—I saw the prisoner go up and strike the deceased in the back, and he went down on his face on the pavement—I at once took the prisoner into custody, and sent to the station for assistance and for an ambulance—the deceased was conveyed to St. Mary's Hospital—the prisoner was charged with assaulting him—she said, "I did not do it, he fell over my foot."
Cross-examined. I was about eight or nine yards from the prisoner when she struck the deceased; it was rather a rough crowd; a good deal of pushing was going on—another woman was charged with assaulting the deceased previously—she was discharged.
JAMES COLLINS . I live at 26, Huntsworth Terrace, and work at a printer's—I knew the deceased—I saw the four boys taken into custody, and the deceased and I followed the crowd—I saw a woman smack him across the face—he turned and looked at her, but I did not hear him say anything—he went on a little further, and the prisoner went up and struck him on the back of the neck, and he fell on his face—he did not fall over her foot; she was behind him.
WILLIAM WRIGHT . I live in Beaumont Buildings, and am an office boy—I was following the boys who were in custody—I saw a woman strike the deceased in the face, then the prisoner went and pushed him, and he fell.
GEORGE WILLIAM PATTESON . I am resident medical officer at St Mary's Hospital—on Sunday, the 20th July, I saw the deceased on his admission, he was very pale and cold, and collapsed, and was bleeding from the nose; he was quite insensible—he had a wound on the outer side of the left orbit, reaching to the skull—he never rallied, and died at five on Monday afternoon—I was present at the post-mortem—the cause of death was extravasation of blood on the left side of the scalp; there was considerable hemorrhage, from which he died—the injury was caused either by being struck on the head, or by falling against a stone or the pavement—his arteries were very much decayed, and his heart rather flabby.
JOHN RECORD (Detective Sergeant.) I was present when the prisoner was taken before the Magistrate on remand, on the 26th—I told her the man Hughes had expired, and she would be charged with causing his death—she said, "I never lifted my hand to him"—I read over the charge to her—she made no reply.
GUILTY.—Strongly recommended to mercy by the JURY — Four Days' Imprisonment.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted.
FREDERICK SWEETING . I am a driver of the North Metropolitan Tramways Company, and live at 7, Milman's Grove, Goodman's Fields—the prisoner's wife lives there—she has been living apart from her husband about six months—some time prior to 5th June the prisoner threatened that he would shoot my brains out—in consequence of those threats I summoned him to the Police-court on 5th June, and he was bound over to keep the peace for three months—I raw him after that, but had no words with him—on 5th July, at 8.16 p.m., I was on my tramcar in Highbury New Park, just about to start; he came across with his hands in his pockets and said, "Fred, how are you?"—I said, "All right"—he said, "What's the matter with you?"—I said, "Nothing"—he said, "Oh, an 't there"—and he drew his hand-from his side coat-pocket and pointed a revolver at my head—he was not more than two feet away—I threw myself down under the stairs of my car, and he fired, and went to run away—I don't know where the bullet struck—I jumped off the car and pinned his two arms behind his back, a constable came up and wrenched the revolver from him—he said, "It is only a play toy, it would not kill a sparrow"—he was the worse for liquor—I followed to the station, and charged him.
TOM CHAMBERLAIN (Policeman K 212). I heard the report, and went to the tramcar—I saw the driver catch hold of the prisoner behind his arms, and I went up and took the revolver from him, and took him to the station; he walked there; he was drunk—this is the revolver, it was loaded; I gave it to the inspector.
WILLIAM JENKINS (Police Inspector N). I was in charge at the station when the prisoner was brought in—Chamberlain handed this revolver to me—it was loaded in three chambers; two were discharged—I charged the prisoner with shooting at the prosecutor, with intent to murder—he made this statement, which I took down: "I never intended to do any bodily harm. I did it because this man is living with my wife. I have been married sixteen years, and I was jealous because he had taken my wife from me. If the man worries me much more there will be more trouble"—he made the statement voluntarily, and signed it—he was drunk, but knew what he was about—he did not appear excited.
ROBERT FINLAY BELL . I live at 88, St. Matthias Road—on Friday evening, 4th July, the prisoner came to me and said he had a funny job; he had one or more dogs to till, and said, "Lend me that pop-gun of yours"—I understood him to refer to an air-gun which I had—I said, "No, I shan't; I will lend you ay little six-shooter if you will bring it back to-night"—he said he would—it was loaded in five chambers—he. appeared to be perfectly sober then—he did not have it then, but he called again in the evening, and I lent it him—I did not see him again till he was in custody.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I had been on the drink all the week, and did not remember till just now where I got the revolver from; I did not remember it till I was told of it on Sunday morning."
The Prisoner, in his defence, stated that he did borrow the pistol to shoot the dogs, but the job fell through; that he did not intend to shoot the prosecutor, only to frighten him, but the revolver went off when he was lying on the step; that he had received great provocation from the prosecutor, who had taken away his wife and compelled him to keep his three children.
The prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, July 30th, 1890.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. LAWLESS Prosecuted; MR. POYNTER appeared for George, and MR. KEITH FRITH for Mazzolini
THOMAS WILLIAM ELDRETT . I am a warehouseman, in the employ of the last witness, at 32, Wood Street; I identify these three boxes of shirts as my masters' property—the lot marked 7674 is a portion of a lot of boxes sent us from the factory—two boys brought them, Kilby and Baston; there should have been thirty boxes; we received twenty-nine—the boys had a hand truck covered, on which they brought them, with the name of Lloyd, Mercer, and Smith on it—the wholesale value of the shirts is 2s. 10d. each—2s. 9 1/2 d. is the lowest—one invoice is April 20th, one 19th May, and the other 14th June.
Cross-examined by MR. FRITH. If the shirts had been sold the sale would have been recorded in a book by an assistant—the book is not here—there was an order for this half-dozen, but I cannot say whether they wore sold—there was an order from the warehouse to send so many shirts, and when the delivery came the box was short—I am the person to whom they would be delivered—the book is here, it contains all receipts which come into the place from the factory—several dealers buy goods of us at job lot prices—goods are sometimes sold at less than cost price, not at less than half price; a person might be in possession of a shirt worth 3s., and ask Is. 4d. for it; I should not consider it dishonest to do so.
Re-examined. I saw the box there with 6774 on it—7180 was delivered right, and missed afterwards—here is a box here with 180 on it.
By MR. FRITH. The numbers are kept in this list—the box is marked "E. H. Baker and Co.," and on this one there is another customer's name.
HENRY ALBERT SANDS . I am a clerk to the prosecutor at the factory, 78, Great Eastern Street—on 19th June I delivered nineteen boxes of shirts to Kilby and Baston, to take to 32, Wood Street—this box 7674 was one of them; they were tied up when I entered them.
HENRY BAKER (Interpreted). I am private inquiry agent—on 17th June I received instructions from the prosecutors, and watched the two boys, Baston and Kilby—I saw them going from the factory to the warehouse with a covered truck—they had three journeys backwards and forwards each day—they stopped at an ice cream barrow kept by George, and both spoke to him—they then went to Wood Street, and I saw them
return to the warehouse—on the 18th the same thing occurred two or three times—on the 19th they left the factory about 9.30, and went to the warehouse—I waited till they came out, and they came back towards the factory—Kilby spoke to George in Fore Street, and Baston proceeded with the truck in a different direction to what I had seen for a few previous days, towards Upper Whitecross Street; they pulled up at the corner of Guest Street, where Baston entered the truck and partially closed the doors—he came out in about three minutes with a parcel partially wrapped in brown paper, which he carried on his shoulder towards Whitecross Street—I followed him, and when opposite Mr. Nelson's shop I turned round, and when I had emerged from the doorway he had disappeared—I waited, and in five or six minutes I saw him in the same place, walking in the direction of the truck without any parcel—I made a report at the warehouse in Wood Street—next day, Friday, the 20th, I instructed the boys, and saw them go to the ice cream barrow, and saw George give the lad some money; I cannot say what it was.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. There was a name on the ice cream cart, and it was broad daylight—that was not the direct way from Wood Street to the warehouse; it was a long way round—Mr. Lloyd employed me on 17th June—I have canvassed for Mr. Dix; before that I was clerk to Inglis and Co., insurance brokers, 90, Cannon Street, for three years—I am not a regular turfman—I was clerk to Mr. Grow for eighteen months—I am forty-one years old—my private address is 217, City Road—I refuse to say whether I have been promised something if this job comes off all right.
JOHN KILBY . I am fourteen years old, and was in the prosecutor's employ as porter till quite recently—I live at 40, Walton Street, Bethnal Green—about three months before this, George said to me in Fore Street, "Do your people make shirts?"—I said, "Yes"—he said, "Can you get me any?"—I said, "I will try"—he gave me some ice cream, and then I went away—he spoke in English, and I spoke to him in English—about a fortnight afterwards I got him half a dozen shirts from the factory in a box similar to this, and left them in the truck—we then both went to George's in Fore Street, and he gave us some ice cream, and said, "Take them to Peter Mazzolini, in Whitecross Street"—I went there and saw the other prisoner—he said, "Who sent them?"—I said, "Jumbo;" that is the prisoner George—I left them and went away—he took them out at the back—I then returned to George, and he paid me 8s.—about a fortnight afterwards George said, "Can you get me some more shirts?" I said, "No"—he said, "Then drop it; our people have been talking about it; drop it for a week"—about a week afterwards I got him two more boxes, and took them to Peter Mazzolini's shop; some workpeople were there, and he called me round the counter and said, "Don't give them while there is anybody in the shop"—when they went out I handed them to him, he took them to the back, and I went back to George in Fore Street, who paid me 14s., and said, "Don't let anybody see you take them round, as it will make it hot for me"—I saw George pay Baston 2s.—on 19th June George said, "Can you get me any more shirts?"—I said, "Yes"—and on the first morning as we were takings the truck to Wood Street we left half a dozen in the truck, and Baston stopped with the truck while I went in—we then went to Whitecross Street, and I looked after the truck while Baston took
the shirts to May's shop—I did not go back to George that day—some detectives spoke to me that evening, and next morning Baston and I went to George's barrow—I said, "George, have you got me the money?"—he said, "No"—I said, "Give me sixpence of it," and he gave me sixpence.
Cross-examined by MR. POYNTER. I have never been in trouble—I have never offered any shirts to George which he has declined buying—I do not know Barfield, who is sometimes with George—there has not been an Italian with him—I have never asked George if Mazzolini would buy shirts of me.
Cross-examined by MR. FRITH. George is well known as "Jumbo" and "Buffalo Bill"—all I said was that "Jumbo" or "Buffalo Bill" would send them round to his place—I have known him about a year; he is an ice cream man—he has no shop—he does not sell shirts.
JOHN THOMAS BASTON . I am sixteen years old, and am porter to the prosecutors—I have heard Kilby's evidence, and corroborate it—on 19th June I took some shirts into Mazzolini's shop—he had said, "Can you get me a box of shirts?"—I told him I would try—when I took them in I said that Buffalo Bill had sent them—he said, "I will give you the same as Buffalo Bill."
Cross-examined by MR. POYNTER. I have never offered George shirts which he has refused to buy—I do not know Raffell, an Italian—I have not offered in his presence to sell shirts—no shirts were delivered to Buffalo Bill; I took them to Mazzolini.
Cross-examined by MR. FRITH. He asked me to let him have a box; I swear to the word "box" being used—it is true that when he asked me to let him have a box I made no answer, and walked away—I have been in the prosecutor's service about six months—they have always been kind to me—I did not know George till I entered the firm—I was first asked to give information on Thursday afternoon by Mr. Smith, one of the firm—he took me up into his room, and asked what we had taken—he said, "If you do not tell the whole truth at four o'clock there will be a policeman for you," and I made up my mind to save myself by telling the whole truth.
Cross-examined by MR. POYNTER. I know George in the streets with a barrow, but don't know him very well.
Cross-examined by MR. FRITH. I am Mazzolini's brother; he has always borne a good character—I have never seen Kilby in the shop—I once saw Baston there; he asked for my brother, and I called him down, and the boy gave him a box of shirts, saying," Buffalo Bill sent those for you"—I know George as Buffalo Bill—the Alderman admitted my brother to bail.
SAMUEL LYSONS (City Detective). On 19th June, about 9.30, I went to the prosecutor's warehouse, and saw Kilby and Baston—I had a conversation with them, and went with them next morning to Fore Street, and saw them go to George's barrow; they had some conversation with him, while I stood at a distance—they subsequently returned, and showed me this sixpence (produced)—I saw George put his hand into his pocket and pass something to Kilby—I said to George," I shall take you in custody for inciting some boys to steal some shirts"—he muttered some
thing in broken English, which I did not understand—we took him to the station, and he was charged with inciting the two last witnesses to steal half a dozen white shirts—on the same day I went with Oats and Baston to 103, Upper Whitecross Street, and saw Mazzolini, and said, "This boy identifies your brother as the person who gave this box of shirts away yesterday"—he admitted that he had made a mistake in speaking of the prisoner's brother, and then the prisoner said, "It was me, and not my brother"—I said, "We are police officers"—we went upstairs, and Oats opened two boxes with a key, one of which contained six shirts and the other five—I took him to the station, and he was charged.
Cross-examined by MR. FAITH. I saw a box marked "E. 4.7180"; that is the trade mark—Mazzolini was admitted to bail at the Police court in £25 and two sureties—he bears a highly honourable character, and has been at his present address four or five years—he is a confectioner—these foreigners deal in a great many things; one man buys a job lot, and gets rid of it to his countrymen—there were plenty of people to bail him.
The prisoners received good characters.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months Hard Labour each.
585. ALFRED MORGAN (35) PLEADED GUILTY to forging and uttering an order for the insertion of certain advertisements, with intent to defraud; also to obtaining £3 2s. 6d. by false pretences.— Three Days' Imprisonment.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, July 30th, 1890
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. HUTTOX Prosecuted, and MR. ARTHUR GILL Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
For other cases tried this day, see Essex cases.
OLD COURT.—Thursday, July 31st, 1890.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MESSRS. FORREST FULTON, HORACE AVORY, and BIRON Prosecuted; MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS and ARTHUR GILL Defended.
ALICE ROSE GRAHAM . I am the wife of Frederick Graham, of 27, Grove Road, Upper Holloway—the two prisoners occupied the first floor with their little boy Arthur, who was about eight years old; he was called Arty—on Saturday, 7th June, about four in the afternoon, I saw the boy go up to their room with his mother—I did not see Mr. Oakes at that time—the boy was apparently quite well—next day, Sunday, I went to the door of their
room about twelve, and called to Mrs. Oakes; she answered me, "Yes" and I went away—about half-past three the same day, as I was passing the door, she called to me to bring a jug of water—I asked her, through the door, if she was well; she said, "No; me and my Arthur are paralysed in our legs"—Arthur was the name she called her husband—she also said something about a hospital, but I could not catch any more; I went downstairs—about half-past five the same day my mother-in-law, Mrs. Graham, went up and knocked at their door, and asked what was the matter—I heard Mrs. Oakes reply, "We are very ill, Mrs. Graham"—mother said, "May I came in?"—she said, "No, I would rather you would not; it might frighten you"—I then went to the door, and asked if she would let me come in; she said, "No, I won't let you in"—I said, "I will come in"—she said, "Wait a moment, then, till I unlock the door; fetch your husband and Mr. Graham"—she then opened the door; she was in her night-dress—I observed that she had a cut in her throat, and blood was all down the front of her night-dress; it was not bleeding at the time, it was dry—I said, "Oh, Mrs. Oakes!"—she said, "Oh, Mrs. Graham, you have been good people to us while living with you; we could not pay the rent we promised your mother, and we thought we would try to take our lives"—I said, "Where is Arthur?"—she said, "In Heaven"—I then went to the bedside and saw Mr. Oakes in bed—I said, "Who has done it?"—she made no reply—Mr. Oakes was lying in bed with a towel round his throat, and blood on it; it was not bleeding, it looked dry—that was all that took place.
Cross-examined. They had been lodging with us a year and ten months—they were six weeks in arrear with their rent, which was 6s. 6d. a week—they were always very kind to the little boy; they were very fond of him—as far as I could see they lived very happily together.
FREDERICK GRAHAM . I am a harmonium maker—on Sunday, 8th June, I went with my wife to the door of the prisoners' room, about five—I saw Mrs. Oakes standing against the bed, with blood on her night-dress—I heard her say, "I promised to pay your mother some money; we don't like to disappoint, so we have tried to take our lives"—I went to the Great Northern Hospital, and afterwards to the police-station.
THOMAS NEWMAN (Police Inspector Y) I was called to the house about six on Sunday evening—I went to the prisoners' room, and found them both in bed, each with their throat cut—the female prisoner spoke first—she said, "We have been out of our senses for nights; it is poverty has made us do this; we took strychnine last night, and meant to die together; finding it did not kill us, I took a razor and cut my throat, and then he took it and cut his. We did not wish to leave the little boy behind, to the cold charity of the world"—I saw an open razor in the room with blood upon it; there was also a quantity of blood—I then went into the back room, and there saw the boy in a cot, dead; he was lying on his right side undressed—I noticed vomit on the pillowcase and sheets—I directed Sergeant Mansfield to take the sheets off the bed, and fold them up for the purpose of analysis—Dr. Cowan then arrived, and Dr. White shortly after—the boy's body was rigid, which made me look for strychnine—I asked the doctors, in the prisoners' presence, what strychnine was like, and the male prisoner said, "I made it into a paste, and divided it into three parts"—I found this letter (marked A) on the mantelpiece, addressed to Mrs. Simpson, 7, Alexandra
Road, Green Lanes, Hornsey; also this other letter (B) addressed to Mr. B. A. Oakes, 27, Grove Road, Holloway, dated 22nd May, 1890: "Please call to-morrow morning, Friday, at 10.30, in reference to reply to our advertisement."
Cross-examined. The female prisoner said, "We have been out of our senses for nights, and don't know what we have been doing. "
CHARLES COFIELD SIMPSON . I am a stationer, residing at Alexandra Road, Hornsey; the male prisoner is my uncle; I know his handwriting—this letter (A) is his writing. The Utter woe as follows: "My dearest Georgie,—Twelve months have I now put up with a most miserable, struggling existence, and I really cannot stand any more; I am completely worn out, and relations who could assist me won't do any more, for such was uncle's last intimation. Never mind, he can't take his money and comfort with him, and in all probability will find himself in the same boat as myself; he never inquires whether I am starving or not. £3, a mere flea-bite to him, would have put me straight, and his security and interest might have obtained me a good situation long ago. I can face poverty and degradation no longer, and would sooner die than go to the workhouse. Whatever the awful consequences may be of the step we have taken, we have, God forgive us, taken our darling lamb Arty with us, out of pure love and affection, so that the darling should never be cuffed about, or reminded or taunted with his heart-broken parent's crime. My poor wife has done her best at needlework, washing, house minding, etc., in fact, anything and everything that would bring us in a shilling, but it would only keep us in semi-starvation. I have now done six weeks' travelling from morning till night, and not received one farthing for it; if that is not enough to drive you mad, wickedly mad, I don't know what is—no bright prospect anywhere, no ray of hope. May God Almighty forgive us for this heinous sin, and have mercy on our sinful souls, is the prayer of your miserable broken-hearted, but loving brother, ARTHUR. We have now done everything that we possibly can think of to avert this wicked proceeding, but can discover no ray of hope; fervent prayer has availed us nothing; our lot is cast, and we must abide by it; it must be God's will, or he would have ordained it differently. Dear Georgie, I am exceedingly sorry to leave you all, but I am mad, thoroughly mad. You, dear, must try and forget us, and if possible forgive us, for I do not consider it our fault we have not succeeded. If we can get £2 for our bed it will pay our rent, and our scanty furniture will fetch another to bury us in a very cheap way. Don't grieve over us, or follow us, for we shall not be worthy of such respect. Our clergyman has never called on us or given us the least consolation, though I called on him a week ago; he is paid to preach, and there he considers his responsibility ends, the rich excepted. We have only yourself and a very few others who care one pin what becomes of us, but you must try and forgive us, is the last fervent prayer of your devoted friend and affectionate but broken-hearted and persecuted brother, B. A. OAKES."
Cross-examined. I am the nephew of Mr. Oakes; he has always been a temperate man—he has been out of regular employment for about a year—during that time he has been seeking employment; he had a hope of some about the end of May from Messrs. Baiss Brothers, wholesale druggists, of 4, Jewry Street but was disappointed, after expecting it for a considerable time; he was told there was no vacancy—among other
things at the lodging I took possession of more than a dozen pawntickets, including among other things the wife's wedding-ring, shirts, sheets, and boots—there were two purses containing a halfpenny in each, that was all the money I could find.
By the COURT. It is more than twelve months since he lost his last regular employment—I believe he lost that because he was getting too old, and they required a younger person to perform the duties—he is fifty-nine years of age—he was in the laboratory department at Messrs. Burgoyne's, drug and chemical manufacturers, seven years and a half—I fancy he had about £2 a week—after that he was for a short time working for a friend who gave him £1 a week, for travelling, that was only intermittent—latterly he was engaged as an agent for an assurance company, canvassing for business, but was not successful; he had no salary, only a commission on what he earned—his friends helped him at different times; his wife has no friends immediately surrounding her—I did not know that they were giving way to despondency—I knew that he had been expecting employment, and that he had just recently lost the only hope he had of permanent employment from Messrs. Baiss.
GORDON LAING . I am house physician of the Great Northern Hospital, Holloway Road—about seven o'clock on the 8th June the two prisoners were brought there—I examined them—I found that the female, who was brought first, was suffering from a large wound in the throat, and the male prisoner was suffering from a smaller wound—while dressing the female's wound she had a very marked spasm; the whole body became rigid—that would not be caused by the wound—after that I dressed the male prisoner's wound—I noticed that he was apparently unable to move his lower limbs, and they were discoloured, apparently bruised—I had heard that strychnine had been taken, and I asked him what quantity he had taken—he answered, "I took five grains of strychnine, and made it into a paste, and divided it into three parts, and we took it"—I did not treat him for strychnine poisoning; I did not see any indication of it—the convulsive movements in the female prisoner were not inconsistent with strychnine poisoning.
Cross-examined. I did not treat her for that; I gave my attention to the injury to the throat—I am quite sure that the question I asked of the male prisoner was, "How much have you taken?"
Re-examined. The female prisoner also appeared to have lost the use of her lower extremities; that might have been produced by strychnine poisoning.
PHILIP COWEN . I am a registered medical practitioner, at Holloway—on 8th June, between six and seven in the evening, I was called to 27, Grove Road, and there saw the two prisoners in bed; the woman had lost a great deal of blood—I went into the back room, and in a cot I saw the body of the boy—he was lying on his right side, and was very rigid, more rigid than from the natural rigor mortis—I should think he had been dead more than six hours—in conjunction with Dr. White, I afterwards made a post-mortem examination—the rigidity was very marked in the lower jaw, what is commonly called locked-jaw—the mouth contained a quantity of solid particles of vomit—my opinion was that that would have been ejected but for the locked-jaw—the hands were clenched and the feet were curved inwards—the hands and feet were blue and livid, and the lips also—there was some backward curving in the legs, that is
the body rested on the heels and the buttocks; it was not marked further than that, not to a greater extent—the internal organs were more or less congested, the surface of the brain more especially—the lungs and liver were more or less congested, the heart was partly contracted and empty, the bladder was empty—except for the congestion, the organs were healthy; there was nothing apparent to account for death—I formed the opinion that he had died from a convulsive condition of a titanic character—strychnine would produce such a condition—the appearances were consistent with death from strychnine—I afterwards put the stomach and intestines in one jar, and the whole of the liver, kidneys, and spleen, and a portion of the lungs and brain, into another jar, and they were sent to Dr. Luff—I also put into a tin box some of the vomit that I found on the night shirt and in the mouth.
Cross-examined. The boy lay on his right side; I did not put him on his back; there was no marked curving of the body at that time—curving of the body is one of the leading indications of death by strychnine—there was lividity; blueness is lividity—I found small pieces of meat on the tongue and on the teeth—I examined the windpipe—there was not sufficient congestion to account for death from asphyxia; it was too slight—congestion of the organs is one of the indications of asphyxia; lividity may be consistent with it—one of the ways in which strychnine acts is by asphyxiating—it is possible that in the expulsion of a full stomach some portion may go back and obscure the windpipe—that has happened over and over again—I have known it in persons swallowing food—I don't know that I have known it block the windpipe and cause suffocation—such a condition is possible—I have read of such cases portions of food finding their way into the air-cells may cause suffocation—there was nothing in the windpipe but bloody mucus—I took it out; not a large quantity; I should say about one or two teaspoonfuls—in death by asphyxia there may be patches of lividity diffused when the body has become cold.
Re-examined If a person had been suffocated in vomiting from natural causes, by the vomit returning into the windpipe, or the air passages, I should expect to find on the post-mortem the right side of the heart filled with blood, and more congestion of the lungs and other organs than I did in this case, but not of the brain, and I should expect to find traces of the vomit in the air passages—in this case I found no solid substance in the vessels—there is no curvature of the limbs in simple suffocation—I turned the boy's body on to the back, and then found curvature—the sort of vomit I found was a sort of gruel, no solid food.
GEORGE WHITE , M. D. I am a Divisional Surgeon of Police, and practise at 428, Liverpool Road—on 8th June I was called by the police to 27, Grove Road—I there saw the body of a boy, and examined it—I have been in Court and heard Mr. Cowen's evidence, and agree with it—we stood the body on end, and so rigid was it that it stood by itself—the jaw was completely locked, and the food was in the vault of the mouth—I formed the opinion that the death was from strychnine poisoning—I heard the male prisoner say that he made the strychnine into a paste, and divided it into three portions—I don't recollect more—the inspector took it down in writing.
Cross-examined. There was nothing in the trachea; the meat was in the vault of the mouth.
ARTHUR PEARSON LUFF , M. D. and M.R.C.P. On the 11th June I received from the coroner's officer a glass jar containing a stomach, liver, a portion of brain, and a portion of a lung; also a second jar containing intestines, kidneys, and spleen; and a small tin box containing vomit, and a paper parcel containing sheets and pillowcase; I analysed all the viscera, and found no poison—in the vomit I found a trace of what I believe to be strychnine; it was too small to be weighed by the most delicate balance—in death from strychnine it does not necessarily follow that traces of it will be found in the contents of the stomach; if it does not produce death very rapidly, it undergoes absorption and elimination, mainly in the urine—the period within which death happens varies considerably, according to the strength of the dose and the constitution of the patient—it might be discoverable elsewhere—it would depend upon the length of time elapsing after it has been swallowed; I could tell of cases where three hours after death none has been discovered—the smallest dose that has been known to kill an adult is half a grain, and the smallest that ever killed a child between two and three years of age is 1-16 of a grain—vomiting is a rare symptom after strychnine—I have heard the evidence given to-day of the post-mortem appearances; they are consistent with death from strychnine.
Cross-examined. No poison was found in this viscera; I analysed it carefully—in my own experience I have always found strychnine in such cases—it is the rule that so much of the poison is absorbed as it takes to produce death, and whatever is over and above that remains—if it is absent from other parts of the body I should consider that the most likely spot to find it would be in the spinal cord—congestion of the upper part of the spinal marrow is not an uncommon post-mortem sign—the spinal cord was not sent to me—I agree with Professor Stevenson in this, that strychnine can hardly fail to be detected in the body within two hours—I stated before the Magistrate, "I should not, from my examination of the organs, be justified in saying that strychnine had been taken, or that the deceased had died from the administration of strychnine, judging from the organs that were sent to me, and from the results by analyses"—that is simply from the result of my examination of that which was sent to me—from my examination of the organs in this case I should not feel justified in saying that the deceased had died from strychnine, but after hearing the other witnessses, combined with my analyses, I say it is possible that it was a death from strychnine; that is my opinion now—if death ensues within two hours after the administration of strychnine, I should expect to find traces of it in the body—a grain would be amply sufficient to kill a boy of eight; if more were given in all probability death would be more speedy.
CHARLES MILLER (Police Inspector Y). About one in the afternoon of 25th June I went with Inspector Newman to the Great Northern Hospital—I there saw both the prisoners—I said, "We shall take you into custody, and you will be charged with the wilful murder of Arthur Augustus Oakes, your son, at 27, Grove Road, Holloway, on 8th June, by administering poison"—they made no reply.
MR. MATHEWS submitted that there was no evidence that the female prisoner administered anything noxious to the deceased, and that she could not be held
responsible for the Utter written by the male prisoner, or for any statement he may have made.
MR. JUSTICE GRANTHAM could not say there was no ease against her, there being evidence to show that she was a party to what was done.
GUILTY of the act, but being insane at the time .— Ordered to be detained until Her Majesty's pleasure be known .
NEW COURT.—Thursday, July 31st, 1890.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. GILL Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON Defended Ball. WILLIAM HOLDAWAY. I live in Vassal Road, Brixton, and am cashier at the London and South-Western Bank, Brixton Branch—on 7th April last an order for a cheque-book containing fifty cheques was presented to me signed, "Kingdon," which I issued—I afterwards ascertained the order was forged—this is one of the cheques (produced)—we have no customer of the name of the drawer—I do not know either of the prisoners.
MAY REEVE . I live at Dunstan Hall, Norwich, and am scullerymaid in the employ of Sir Edmund Lacon—at the beginning of July I was at the house, 14, Groveton Street, and on the evening of the 3rd Twyman rang the area bell, and asked if I would oblige Cadbury and Pratt with their book—Sir Edmund Lacon deals with them—I gave it to them.
RICHARD BUCKLE . I live at Bawden Buildings, Berkeley Square—about six p.m. on 3rd July I was with another boy, Fletcher, at the corner of Bond street, Brook Street, when Twyman asked Fletcher if he knew Cadbury and Pratt's—he said he did, and he asked him if he would take a note there—Fletcher said he could, but could not bring back an answer, and said, "He might," meaning me—we then crossed the road, and Twyman beckoned me to him, and gave me a book and a letter, which he said were from Mr. Lacon, of Grosvenor Street—I was to give them in, and wait for an answer, and he Would wait round the corner—I took the book and letter to Cadbury's, and gave them to the cashier—he said, "This is the man that is wanted"—a few minutes after two men were brought in.
Cross-examined by Twyman, I have an idea that you are the man—I do not swear it.
GEORGE FLETCHER . I was with Buckle when Twyman asked me if I knew Cadbury and Pratt's—I said, "Yea; it is a little lower down on the left"—he said, "Will you take a note there for me? I will give you sixpence"—I said, "I can't bring you back an answer"—he said, "Oh, I want an answer"—I said, "Perhaps this boy can do it"—I left Twyman, and went across the road, and told Buckle what Twyman said to me, and Buckle said, "I will do it," and Twyman turned round and beckoned Buckle towards him—I am sure he is the man that spoke to me.
WILLIAM CHARLES LYVER . I am cashier to Robert Willoughby, who trades as Cadbury, Pratt and Co,—Sir Edmund Lacon is a customer and had an account and book—Buckle brought the letter containing this cheque for £39 10s. I suspected it, and spoke to the principal—a few minutes
afterwards the two prisoners were brought into the shop by two constables.
ROBERT WILLOUGHBY . I am one of the partners trading as Cadbury, Pratt and Co.—this letter was handed to me, and I went out and spoke to the policeman on the point—I then sent the boy and one of the shop-men up the street to the corner of Brook Street, whither the policeman had lately gone—I then went to the other side of the road—as I got to the corner of Lancashire Court, where there is a public-house, I saw the two prisoners talking together, and I heard one say, "Do you know the boy?"—I saw Twyman leave the other and go towards our shop on the opposite side of the road—I then looked after Hall—he disappeared, I thought, in the public-house—I crossed the road to the policeman and spoke to him—on looking round I saw the two prisoners coming up the street together—I said, "There are the men"—they saw me point to them, and they began to run—the policeman ran after them and caught them both in Lancashire Court—they were taken to my shop, and I said, "What about this?"—Twyman said he knew nothing about it—I said to the boy who had already pointed to Twyman, "Are you perfectly sure?" and it was then he said he was not positive—the other boy wasn't there—they were taken to Marlborough Street Police-station, where I charged them—they said they knew nothing about it.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. I lost sight of Hall—the policeman had to run about 100 yards before he caught them—it was I who suggested they should go to Marlborough Street—Hall previously said he knew nothing about it.
GEORGE BOLTON (Policeman E 239). I was at the corner of Bond Street and Brook Street when I saw the two prisoners standing at the corner of Lancashire Court, about one hundred yards from Cadbury and Pratt's shop—they were speaking together—I kept observation on them—I was then spoken to by Police-constable White, who was on point duty outside Cadbury's—Mr. Willoughby spoke to us, and I crossed the road in the direction of the prisoners—they turned down Lancashire Court and ran, and I followed—they ran shoulder to shoulder—I caught them—White came on, and I handed Twyman to him—I told them I should arrest them on suspicion of having passed a forged cheque—they made no remark—as we went back to the shop, Hall said, "What is all this about?"—I said, "We shall see when we get to the shop"—at the shop the boy was asked whether he could identify them—he said he was not sure; he thought it was them; and then Twyman said, "I know nothing about it"—they were taken to Marlborough Street Police-station—I was afterwards present when Fletcher picked Twyman out of six or seven men—six pounds in gold, four shillings and sixpence in silver, sevenpence-halfpenny in bronze, and two pawntickets were found on Twyman.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. Lancashire Court leads out of Bond Street, between Brook Street and Grosvenor Street—I was looking towards Cadbury and Pratt's.
JOHN WHITE (Policeman C 203). I was on special duty outside Cadbury and Pratt's when Mr. Willoughby spoke to me—I afterwards spoke to Bolton—when Mr. Willoughby spoke to the other constable the prisoners went off, as sharp as they could, down Bond Street, till they got to Lancashire Court—we ran after them, and I took Twyman.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. There is a passage right through Lancashire Court—when I started running I was about twelve feet away from them—I ran about one hundred yards.
SIR EDMUND LACON . I live at Dunstan Hall, near Norwich—in July I was in Grosvenor Street—I have seen this cheque—I know no person named Walter Arthur Russell, nor was the cheque ever in my possession—the endorsement on it is a forgery—I know nothing of the note—I am a customer to Cadbury and Pratt—I know nothing of the prisoners.
HENRY LUNN . I am a gardener, of Putney—I was on Putney Hill on the 28th May about 5.30 p.m.—I was spoken to by Twyman; he was in company with what I took to be the other prisoner—I gave a description of the men—they are the same, to the best of my belief.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. I went to Marlborough Street Police station and identified Twyman on the first occasion—I waited a moment before I picked out Hall, and then did so—I did not pick out Hall at first; he was amongst several others—the man with Hall was dressed in a dark tweed suit on the 28th May—I said at the Police-court, "I can't say how Hall was dressed on the 28th May"—it is only to the best of my belief that I say now Hall is the man.
The Prisoners' statements before the Magistrate Twyman says: "I am not guilty. "Hall says: "I was not running away. I did not see the policeman till he caught hold of me. If we were running away the policeman could not have caught us both at the same time, which he did. "
Twyman's Defence. The writing on the cheque and the letter is not mine; I never wrote a cheque in my life. "
Hall received a good character— NOT GUILTY .
TWYMAN— GUILTY of uttering .— Respited.
MR. LAWLESS Prosecuted, and MR. AUSTIN METCALFE Defended.
CHARLOTTE BESSIE HALIFAX . I made the prisoner's acquaintance in June, 1887, when I was living with my father—he represented himself as a widower, and wished to marry me—on 21st January, 1888, we were married at St. Thomas's Church, Shepherd's Bush—he wished to have a private wedding, but I said no, I would like to have all my friends to see me married, and accordingly it was public—I lived with him at 53, Ledbury Road, Bayswater, till June of this year—I have had a child by him—his father and mother called on me one day when he was out, and made a communication to me—on his return I said, "I hear you are a married man with three children; you have been a bad man to me, and a villain to me, but you don't mean to say you have deceived me so?" and he said, "No, I have not"—he said he was not a married man, and that his wife was not living—he said, "Has my—old father been telling you this?"—as soon as I recovered from my confinement I rave him in charge—he threatened to shoot me and my father if I went to law, and I told him it was the only thing I could do to clear my character—I found these documents amongst his papers. (One was a receipt for money paid at the end of 1888, under a separation deed, and the other was a County Court summons).
Cross-examined. I met him riding in Hyde Park—he kept galloping after me, and then back again and forward, until he turned his horse's
head and spoke tome—he said, "I want to make your acquaintance"—he drove me as far as the turning to my home—he was introduced to my father, and after we were engaged he took me to Brighton for ten days, with my father's consent—he behaved as a gentleman while there.
WALTER DEW (Detective Sergeant F). On 2nd July I saw the prisoner at 53, Ledbury Road—I told him I was a police officer, and should take him into custody for intermarrying with Charlotte Bessie Halifax on 21st January, 1888, at St. Thomas's Church, Shepherd's Bush, his first wife, Emma Mary Suffield, being then and now alive—he said, "I have not seen my wife for fifteen years"—a moment after he saw the last witness, and said to her, "You are not going to lock me up; if you don't do that I will do anything in the world for you; don't charge me, you need not if you like"—he then turned to me and said, "I have not seen my first wife for the last ten years," and on the way to the police-station he said, "If it had not been for the old man (her father) she would not have known I was married"—when the charge was read over to him he made no reply—I produce the two certificates of marriage, one dated August 27th, 1863, and the other 21st January, 1888, in which last he describes himself as a widower—I have compared them with the originals.
Cross-examined. I am no relation of hers; I have known her from childhood—she has a sister named Davis, at Wood Green—she lived at Hackney in 1888—she lived next door to the defendant's brother—I think it was Queen Ann's Road—I have been there two or three times.
CHARLOTTE B. HALIFAX (Cross-examined). I never saw his brother till sixteen months after the marriage—his brother did not seem to communicate with him at all—I went there at night about a year ago because the prisoner wanted to take some harness home to a customer near, and as far as I remember we called there that day—he kept the buggy outside, and would not let me stop there long.
MARY ANN DOBSON . I am married, and live in the Mile End Road. I have known the prisoner's first wife for thirty-three years—she lived in the Hackney Road down to 1880—she is now living at Stoke Newington, 6, Lenthal Road—they lived very unhappily almost from the first.
Cross-examined. She did not live in the same house after that she had lived in with the prisoner.
Re-examined. There are three grown-up children of the marriage—the eldest son is twenty-five.
EDMUND WEST . I am managing clerk to Messrs. C.R. Randall, of Copthall Buildings, E. G., solicitors—we approved the separation deed between the prisoner and his first wife, dated 17th August, 1880, and we afterwards had it in our custody—by it the prisoner agreed to pay his wife £1 a week for the maintenance of herself and children, and he used to come to the office to pay it—the last payment I remember his making was 30th May, 1881.
Cross-examined. Many of the payments he made were those that had fallen into arrear—these receipts (a book was produced) are in the writing of Carman, a clerk in the office, down to the 2nd January, 1882, £2—at the beginning of the book it says: "Received of Mr. Lowe, the following
weekly sums, in accordance with the terms of his agreement, dated' 17th August, 1880. "
THOMAS WILLIAM PALMER . I am a solicitor—I was instructed by Messrs. Randall, towards the close of 1881, to take proceedings against the prisoner on the separation deed—I was informed in the early part of 1882 that he was bankrupt—no proceedings were taken after November, 1881—I issued a summons against him for £14 under the deed, which was paid.
MR. METCALFE submitted there was no case; that it was clear the prisoner and his wife had been continuously absent from each other for over a period of seven years, and there was no evidence that he actually knew his wife woe living while he made the payments under the deed (see The Queen v Tolson).
The COURT ruled that it was a question of fact for the JURY.
GUILTY — Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. PASSMORE Prosecuted, and MR. MARK KNOWLES Defended.
ALICE MARY CURREY . I live at 2, Canonbury Villas, Ball's Pond Road—on 30th January last I was married to the prisoner, and lived with him until these proceedings were taken—I had known him about twelve months—he told me he was married before; he said nothing about his wife—I assumed he was entitled to marry me—he courted me for five or six months—I was walking with him on Saturday, 21st June, when we met Sabina Marshall, who had some conversation with the prisoner—she told him he was married to her sister—he did not introduce me—she asked me if I was married to him; I did not answer—the prisoner said nothing about it, and I never questioned him; and he told me not to trouble about it.
Cross-examined. He did not say he was not quite certain whether his wife was alive, or that he had not seen her for three years, or that he had written three times—he has been a most kind and loving husband to me, and has kept regularly to his work and given me his money, and done all that a good husband could do—after this is all settled I am going, to live with him again—I know now that he is a married man.
SABINA MARSHALL . I am the wife of Police-constable Marshall, of 12, Miller's Terrace, Stoke Newington—I was present on 30th December,. 1886, when the prisoner was married to my sister, Edith Sarah, at East Reedham Church, in Norfolk—he left her the last week in August, 1887—they have one little girl—my sister is here—I met the prisoner with Alice Mary Currey on 21st June last in Stoke Newington—I asked him if his name was Durrant—he said, "Yes; but I don't know you"—L said, "You know you have a wife and child in Norfolk"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "Are you not ashamed of yourself?" and Alice earner forward, and I asked her if she was aware that she was walking with a married man—she said, "No"—I said, "He has a wife and child in Norfolk," and with that he turned to her and said, "Come on, it's an untruth" and I said, "How dare you tell such a lie when I was at your wedding in 1886!" and he tried to get away, but I told him he was not going away till I knew where he lived, and he gave me an address at 79, High Street, Homerton, which was quite untrue—I asked her if that was the address, and she said, "Yes," and he tried to get into a tram in the
Kingsland Road, but she could not get in—I took a ticket for Broad Street, and we got into an empty train—I said, "I don't consider myself safe with him; and he then spat in my face three times and tried to strike me with his umbrella.
Cross-examined. I have been in London eleven years—I went to Norfolk to be my sister's bridesmaid—I don't know of any unpleasantness between them relating to their child, or that the prisoner said it was not his—my sister took him before the Magistrates, and I believe the case was dis missed—she has not had another child since they separated, and she did not say so at the Dalston Police-court; one of the charges at the Police court was that he had given her a black eye—I don't know what sort of husband he was.
GEORGE BROWN (Police Constable J). I took the prisoner into custody at 2, Canterbury Villas, Ball's Pond Road, on 24th June—I told him I was a police officer, and should take him into custody for feloniously marrying one Alice Mary Currey, his lawful wife being then alive—he said, "Yes; quite right"—I took him to Dalston Station—he made no reply in answer to the charge—I produce an office copy of the certificates, which I have compared.
GUILTY .— Four Days' Imprisonment
MR. ROOTH Prosecuted; MR. DRAKE Defended Thomas.
THOMAS BEAUMONT (Policeman FR 22). I was engaged by Mr. James Graham to take charge of his house, 75, Holland Park, Kensington, during his absence from London, and on 5th July, about 4.30 a.m., I was awoke by a noise in the house—I went downstairs with my son, and found the wardrobe broken open, and the next door was broken open—I sent my son for the police—the burglary had been committed by breaking the conservatory door open, and the dressing-room window and shutters—the chiffonier in the drawing-room was broken open; a clock was missing from the drawing-room mantelpiece, which was there when I went to bed—I found in the back garden a sack containing the clock and some underclothing—I did not see the prisoner, but I heard the door slam as I went down.
FREDERICK VINE (Policeman F 314). On 5th July, shortly after 5 a.m., I received information, and saw the prisoners in Uxbridge Road 150 or 200 yards from the house—I asked them what they were doing there, and they ran away; I blew my whistle and gave chase—they ran up Notting Hill Square, where a constable stopped Norris—I lost sight of Thomas; I jumped over the wall of 13, Notting Hill Square, and saw Thomas crouching down—I seized him, and he began kicking very violently—he kicked me several times in the legs—two more constables jumped over the wall, and we took him to the station, where the inspector said that the property was found in the garden, and Norris said, "It was not found at the back, it was found at the front"—I searched Thomas, and found some false teeth, a bottle of lavender water, some matches, a knife, two keys, some scent-bottle tops, and several other articles (produced), which the prosecutor identified.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. Neither of the prisoners uttered a word
when I spoke to them—the inspector came in while I was searching Thomas, and brought these things in.
SAMUEL WARRY (Policeman F 341). I saw Vine chasing the prisoners—I took Norris, and told him I should arrest him on suspicion of breaking and entering 71, Holland Park—he said, "The man has gone over the wall who was in the job as well as me, the job in Holland Park"—I saw a man jump over the wall—I searched Norris at the station, and found four razors, two ivory hair brushes, a tobacco pouch, some keys, and a ring; the butler has identified them.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I was not ten yards from Norris when he jumped over the wall—I swear he is the man; I have not the slightest doubt about him.
Cross-examined by Norris. It is not true that you were two hundred or three hundred yards away from Thomas.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I have been nearly twelve years in Mr. Graham's employment; there is no mark on this bottle of scent, but it has been in the drawer for years—I cannot swear to these teeth, but there has been a set of teeth in a drawer for years—a bunch of disused keys were gone after the burglary.
FREDERICK VINE (Policeman F 314). I produce a certificate that Inspector Harding is too ill to attend—I saw the two prisoners running in Uxbridge Road side by side, and one of them threw away this jemmy, which was found by Moore—I was about five yards off.
Norris's Defence. I found the things tied up in a handkerchief on the steps. I put them in my pocket, and gave some of them to Thomas, and when the policeman stopped me I ran away.
GUILTY — Fifteen Months' Hard Labour each.
MR. ELDRIDGE Prosecuted.
JOHN PEARSON . I am a hammerman, of 18, Archibald Street, Bow—I worked with the prisoner on 8th July, about 8.30 p.m.—we were drinking in a tavern in the East India Dock Road—he said he had had a bad week, and would toss me for his week's wages—we tossed, I won, and he gave me one shilling—we tossed again, and I won again—he then said, "You turned the coin over," and hit me in my chest—I hit him back, and he ran outside the house and came back and stabbed me on my neck, under my eye, in my right ear, in my mouth, in the collar of my coat, and in my waist—I was taken to the hospital—I had had a drop, but I was not intoxicated at all.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. We had been together from one o'clock—you said that I had got your job—I did not knock you down, but I struck you after you struck me.
Tavern in the afternoon, and saw the tossing and the fighting—I saw a scuffle, and Smith ran out at the door, and ran in again with an open knife—I said, "Look out, Jack! he has got a knife"—they closed, and Pearson ran up to me and said, "Oh, Harry, he has stabbed me!"—he was smothered with blood—I led him to the hospital.
ARTHUR WHITTARD (Policeman K 79). I was called to. the Aberfeldy Tavern, and on the way I met Bigley leading the prosecutor, who was bleeding very much—the crowd pointed out the prisoner, and I arrested him—he said, "I must have been a b—fool to wait till you came"—after he was charged he said, "I own to stabbing him, the same as I would anyone else."
FRANK CORNER . I am house surgeon at Poplar Hospital—the prosecutor was brought there on 12th July—he had an incised wound on his left cheek, a punctured wound on the margin of his left jaw, lacerating his lip on the inner side, and a small wound on his right ear—he lost much blood—I dressed the wounds, and he left the hospital at once.
Prisoner's Defence. I don't know whether I did it or whether he did it himself; it was done by three of us together.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding .— Four Months' Hard Labour.
CAROLINE WHITEHORN . I let lodgings at 73, Malvern Road, Kilburn—the prisoner lived in the ground floor front, unfurnished—on 5th July I had £20 10s. from the Prudential Insurance Company—I put it in a tin box in the kitchen, as I was going to a funeral—there was bird-seed in the box—when I came back I took the box upstairs to the first floor, and took out £6 10s. to pay the office for the funeral—I put the box on the centre table, and about 10.50 that night I took another sovereign out, and left the box on the table with the remainder of the money in it; I was sleeping in the room—I did not see the box again till 4 a.m.—I was not in the room all the time; I was away from 11.30 to 12.10, and part of the time the prisoner was in the room with me downstairs talking—I woke up to draw the blind up, and saw the box was not on the table; it had been removed behind a curtain, and the money was gone—the box must have been taken out on to the landing, because there was a great quantity of bird-seed there, and also downstairs, and on the mat, and in the prisoner's room;—I saw the prisoner last about 12 p.m.—she had given me no notice to leave, but she left, leaving her door wide open—when I missed the money and did not see her, I gave information to the police—she left a bag behind and two chairs and a table—I gave her no money on 5th July.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You were talking to me in the kitchen, at 11.45, and you went up and shut the door.
By the COURT. She went out of the house, and came back into the kitchen—she could have got into my room about twelve, or ten minutes past, from out of doors—5 was in the kitchen an hour—she shut the kitchen door about 12.10—I went upstairs about 12.25—when I went up I did not notice that the box had been removed; I did not go to sleep—she could not have come in and done it while I was awake.
—I saw the prisoner on July 5th, in the afternoon, but I had not spoken to her for a whole week—she went out with one of Mrs. Whitehorn's little boys at 10.30, and at 11.30 she returned and said, "Has anyone been for me?"—I said, "No"—she said she was very sorry—I said, "Why?—she said, "Because I have no money to-night," and went into the kitchen with the little boy—he went upstairs and told hit mother—she took a bottle of lavender, and said the place was not sweet after the funeral—Mrs. Whitehorn came downstairs and went into the kitchen, and then into her own room—I stood at the door, and watched her go to the kitchen door and listen, and also at my mother's door—we are on the ground floor—she turned her head to see where I was, but did not see me; she then went into her room, stood beside her box, and took her boots off—she then went' upstairs into Mrs. Whitehorn's sitting-room—I thought it was strange, and closed the front-room door—she was in the room about two minutes, and then came down and stood between the lavatory and the sink; she then returned to Mrs. Whitehorn in the sitting-room, and as she came downstairs I was going out at the front door on an errand, and she went into her room and put her boots on and followed me out—I stood at the gate, and she said, "Alice, I am going to the bottom to get a drink; if my daughter comes tell her to wait, as I have no money"—I found her down the street—she went to the public-house and asked for a cup of coffee, and then turned to a cabman, and offered him a sovereign to take her to Grange Park, Holland Road—he did not want to take a fare so late, as it was twenty minutes to one o'clock—I did not see her again till Saturday.
Cross-examined, You were under the influence of drink—I saw some seed on the stairs and on the landing next morning.
CHARLES STOCKFORD (Policeman F). I was at the Police-court when the prisoner was charged with stealing £13 from the prosecutrix—she said, "I know nothing of the charge made against me"—she had been arrested in Praed Street on another charge, which has been thrown out by the Grand Jury—I arrested her on 18th July on the first charge—she was on remand, and she was re-charged—nothing was found on her.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I did not say I did not know the prosecutrix; no one asked me the question. "
Prisoners Defence. My bag, with 10s. lid. in it, the remains of a sovereign and 2s. piece, was left in Mrs. Whitehorn's kitchen; I said to Miss Wildsmith, "Turn my key; I am not coming home to-night"—I was not in the room after Mrs. Whitehorn left; I had thin boots on, and I put on a stronger pair, and I lent the lodger an umbrella, and I did not go into the room again, and did not touch the money; I did not see it.
ALICE WILDSMITH (Re-examined). She did not say, "Turn my key, I am not coming home to-night"—she said Mrs. Whitehorn had given her the money, therefore the change was Mrs. Whitehorn's—I had my little daughter with me, though I am not married; I dropped some money, and she picked it up and said, "Thank you, I will keep it till my doctor comes"—that is a man who keeps her—she said, "I am sorry I have only a two-shilling piece; that is all I have till my doctor comes"—during the week she had no money—I have had no quarrel with her; I did not speak to her—during Mrs. Whitehorn's absence at the funeral
she took some tea and several knives and forks, even the handkerchief I tied the man's face up with was found in her box.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, July 31st, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. ORMSBY Prosecuted, and MR. TURRELL Defended.
WILLIAM CHARLES MCENTEE . I am a merchant, of 11, Queen Victoria Street—the prisoner was traveller and agent for me—he was paid partly by salary of 10s. a week, and partly by commission of 5 per cent,—on 21st May I gave him twelve watches, value £3 15s., which he was to take to Robert Tucker and Co., merchants, of 12, Coleman Street—he said they were wanted to buy; I asked him if he had a written order; he said, "No"—I said, "Well, you may take the watches, and bring me back a written order"—he did not bring one back, but said the principal would call that evening or next morning, and bring a written order—I was satisfied—no written order came; I sent him again for it, and he made some excuses—the watches did not come back, nor did the money come for them—on 31st May I gave him a liquor-stand with a cigar cabinet at the bottom, value £2 5s.—he brought the order for it from Mappin and Webb—I told him to take it to them—I have never seen the cabinet since, nor have I been paid for it—on 5th June I gave him a similar article of a new pattern, value £2 3s.; he was to take it to Mappin and Webb, and see if they would take it—he came back, and said they had kept it—I have not been paid for it—I did not see him after 5th June till I had a warrant for him—I received this post-card from him on 6th June (This stated that as he had a few days' work, preparing for stocktaking, he should not be in till Tuesday or Wednesday.)—he did not come on the Tuesday or Wednesday—he had no authority to take the watches anywhere else except to Tucker, nor the cabinets anywhere except to Mappin and Webb.
Cross-examined. I first arranged to pay the prisoner commission only, then he said he wanted something for expenses, and I agreed to give him 10s. a week for expenses till the 1st July, and if he did good I would make a steady agreement with him—he travelled very little—there was no arrangement that he was to give me the whole of his time—I left it entirely to his discretion where he should get orders from—he might not have shown the cabinet for the order from Mappin and Webb to any other customer—the terms of credit with Mappin and Webb were a month—the prisoner was arrested a few days after 6th June, I think—he never made claims, nor asked me for a commission, nor has he asked me to give him an account of the orders he obtained for me, nor for a list of the orders executed which had been obtained through him—he did nothing all the time he was with me—there might be trifling orders for samples that I gave away—he called on Booth and Company, old customers of mine, and they happened to have an order for watches which they asked him to bring on to me—I told him he
was not entitled to commission on that—he had no claim to make against me for commission—I have seen his wife since his arrest; she has not asked me for money in respect of commission due to him; she asked me for money—he might have travelled for other persons besides me—he brought three orders from Booth, he did not obtain them—I paid the 10s. a week for several weeks.
ALBERT EDWARD WEBB . I am a buyer to Mappin and Webb, of Mansion House Buildings—on 31st May this cabinet was not brought to us—I gave this order to the prisoner on 22nd May, it was never executed—he brought no cabinet on or subsequent to 5th June.
Cross-examined. I saw the prisoner before 22nd May, and he solicited orders—I did not give him one till 22nd May—previously he left a sample—he showed me a cabinet before 52nd May.
SIDNEY ERNEST BEDFORD . I am buyer to Robert Tucker and Co., of 12, Coleman Street—I saw the prisoner before 31st May—he never brought me any goods—I never ordered watches of the prisoner; he solicited orders, which we gave—we are merchants, and deal in everything—on 30th or 31st W. McEntee himself came round with some watches.
JOHN EGAN (City Detective). On 17th July I received a warrant for the prisoner's arrest, and charged him with stealing the watches and cabinets as a servant—when I read it to him he said, "I protest against that; I never was his servant"—he was searched, but nothing was found on him relating to the charge—the property has not been traced.
Cross-examined. He did not say in my presence, "Any matter between us must be matter of account. "
The Prisoner's statement before" the Magistrate: "I was never in his employment. I was supplied with the liquor frame with other goods asa sample, which was to be charged to me if they were not returned. Any matter between us is a matter of account, and the prosecutor owes me more than the value of any samples I have had, but can get no account from him of what orders he has received."
MR. TURRELL submitted that the counts charging larceny as a servant should be withdrawn from the JURY, upon the ground that the whole of the prisoner's actions were left to his own discretion (Qv. Bowers, L. R. 1 C. C. R. 41). After hearing MR. ORMSBY, the COMMON SERJEANT ruled that he should leave the case to the JURY on the counts charging larceny as bailee, and that there was no evidence to go to them upon counts for larceny as a servant
NOT GUILTY .
There was another indictment for stealing against the prisoner, upon which MR. ORMSBY, for the prosecution, offered no evidence.>NOT GUILTY .
MR. ELDRIDGE Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Friday and Saturday, August 1st and 2nd, 1890.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS and GILL Prosecuted; MR. ABINGER Defended.
The details of this case were unfit for publication.
GUILTY of Manslaughter — Fifteen Years' Penal Servitude.
There were other indictments against the prisoner for forgery and fraud.
NEW COURT.—Friday August 1st, 1890.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. GREENFIELD Prosecuted.
MR. GRIFFITHS Prosecuted.
ALBERT COURTNALL . I am a labourer, of 101, White Lion Street, Islington—I was walking with a friend down Turnmill Street, about 4.30 a.m. on 17th July, when I saw the prisoner and a woman sitting on a doorstep—the woman said to me, "Who the hell are you looking at? You will know us next time—I got about ten yards away, when the prisoner came and hit me on one side of my head and in my stomach on the left side—I walked on and found I was bleeding, and I said to Green, "Fetch a policeman; I have been stabbed"—the prisoner walked away, and a policeman caught him and brought him back, and I charged him with stabbing me—he said, "I only hit him; I did not stab him"—I went to Dr. Miller's and had the wound dressed—I did not insult the prisoner's wife.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You were sitting, and your wife was standing—I used no expression in reply to your wife; I walked on—I cannot say whether you stabbed me; the blood came from my stomach.
Re-examined. The blood came directly after he hit me.
EDWARD HENRY GREEN . I live at 3, Church Grove, Essex Road, Islington—I was with Courtnall; the woman said, "Who are you looking at? You will know us next time"—we went a few yards off, and Courtnall said, "What's that to do with you"—a few other words passed between them, and then we walked away—when we got nearly to the corner of Clerkenwell Road and Turnmill Street the prisoner came running up behind and said, "What did you insult my wife for?" and punched the prosecutor somewhere about the face, and knocked his hat off—I stooped to pick it up, and he followed it up with two more blows—we crossed the road, and the prosecutor said, "He threw some water over me," and he put his hand down his trousers and pulled it out covered with blood—I ran round the corner by the Sessions House and fetched a policeman—he said, "Wait here," and ran after the prisoner and his wife, and brought the prisoner back—he was charged, and said, "I
didn't stab you; I admit hitting you, but I didn't stab you"—I don't think the prosecutor hit the prisoner.
Cross-examined. I believe you hit him twice after you knocked his hat off—the prosecutor said, "Let's get out of it"—I did not run away thinking I should get locked up for insulting your wife.
RICHARD ALLAWAY (Policeman G 248). I saw Green and Courtnall—I saw the prisoner strike the prosecutor one blow on the side of his face, which knocked his hat off, and with his right hand he struck him a blow on the left side—the prosecutor and Green ran away, and about three minutes afterwards Green came back to me and said, "My mate is stabbed"—I went after the prisoner, and overtook him about two hundred yards away—when I got up to him I told him one of the men had been stabbed—he said, "I never stabbed him, for I have not got a knife about me"—I took him back to the prosecutor, who charged him with stabbing him—I took him to the station—no knife was found—we searched all the road—I did not search the woman; she went home—he was charged at the station, and he said he owned striking the man, but never stabbed him.
Cross-examined. You were standing opposite Turnmill Street by the Sessions House when this happened—I saw both the men running away—I was a little further off than I am from you now; it was not dark—I was standing under a lamp—when I came up I said, "One of those men has been stabbed"—you said, "I never stabbed him, for I have not a knife with me"—you had a cat on your arm.
JOHN ALEXANDER MILLAR . I am divisional surgeon of the G Division—I was sent for to the Police-station, and examined the prosecutor—he was suffering from an incised wound three-quarters of an inch long and half an inch deep on the left side of the upper part of the abdomen, just over the stomach—the wound bled freely from the wounding of a small artery—it did not penetrate quite through the abdominal wall—his shirt and trousers were saturated with blood; his coat, waistcoat, and left brace and shirt were cut through—the cut appeared to correspond with the wound—it is a dangerous part—I merely strapped it up—a pocketknife would inflict such a wound.
By the JURY. A man would very likely not know that he had been cut after receiving a blow on his head.
By MR. GRIFFITHS. A bullet may pass through a man's shoulder without his knowing it at the moment.
The prisoner, in his defence, paid that he struck the prosecutor for insulting his wife, but did not stab him.
LITTLE PLEADED GUILTY .— Five Days' Imprisonment.
MR. TUERELL Prosecuted, and MR. LAWLESS Defended Byers.
EDGAR BRETT . I am manager to Frederick Thomas, of 11, Spring Gardens, Charing Cross, who carries on business as Frederick Gray—in May last the female prisoner called, and gave her name, Jane Marsham,
35, Arden Road, Highbury, widow, and letter of apartments—she wanted to borrow £30, either on a promissory note or a bill of sale—I made inquiries with regard to Arden Road, and she called again on 8th March to know whether she could have the loan—she brought this letter (produced), and produced these receipts for the rent at Arden Road in the name of Byers, and also for rates and taxes—I asked her who Mr. Byers was—she said her brother, who had taken the house for her—I said I should want a guarantee to sign—she said she thought he would do that—Dubois, a clerk, was present—on March 10th she came again with Little, her brother—he said his name was Byers, and gave his address Park Street, Park Road—I asked him why he had taken the house in his name—he said for the protection of his sister—this bill of sale was executed by them both (produced), and I gave them a cheque for £30 on the London and South-Western Bank, payable to Jane Marsham and Edward James Byers—£15 2s. 6d. has been repaid.
Cross-examined. I did not represent myself to Byers as Mr. Gray—I did not tell him my name; she may have understood me to be Mr. Gray—I did not say that I would not take a promissory note, I would take a bill of sale—Mr. Higgins is our valuer—Mr. Thomas gave him his instructions; I do not know what he did, or whether a guinea was paid—this is Mr. Higgins's writing (produced); there is something about a guinea on it—on the same day that the £30 was advanced she repaid £10 of her own free will; she could have kept it for a week if she liked—a bill of sale cannot be given for less than £30, and I wanted to bring it under the Bill of Sale Act—she proposed £2 10s. a month, and I said I preferred 12s. 6d. a week—she sent us 12s. 6d. afterwards—I do not know that a receipt for 5s. only was given; 7s. 6d. may have been deducted for expenses—she paid the 12s. 6d. week after week pretty regularly; she paid £5 12s. 6d. in instalments—we advertise as lending at £5 per cent, on safe loans—a bill of sale on furniture is not very safe—the prisoner Byers called on 13th March and said, "I feel uneasy about this advance," and wanted to repay the amount—she did not tell me she had £22, but I saw money in her hand—she did not say she would pay £20 and £2 additional—it was stated to her that she had agreed to pay in a particular way, and no other—this letter is in one of our clerks' writing; he signs as Gray.
Re-examined. I did not ask her for the £10; I did not know she was coming back—the £22 was two or three days after the advance was made—I did not see the money when I said that she must pay according to the bill of sale; she made no further objection.
HERBERT DUBOIS . I am a clerk to Frederick Thomas—I remember Mrs. Byers coming to the office early in March, and on Saturday, 8th March, and on the 10th, when the bill of sale was given—I have heard Mr. Brett's evidence; it is correct.
Cross-examined. I was there on March 13th, and heard her say that she wanted to get rid of the bill of sale, and would pay the remaining £20 and £2 interest—it was settled by letter a few days afterwards.
FREDERICK THOMAS . I trade as Frederick Gray, at 11, Spring Gardens—the female prisoner came for a loan—she said she was a widow, and produced receipts in the name of Byers—I said, "What does this mean?"—she said, "My brother-in-law took the house for
my protection, and I have brought a letter from him in which he states that he has no claim whatever upon the furniture"—I said, "We shall want Mr. Byers to sign"—she said, "He does not live there"—she left, saying she would attend next day with her brother—I did not see her again, but I drew this cheque—I have been served with a notice to restrain me from selling the property, granted by Mr. Justice North.
EDWARD REUBEN GIDDETT . I am managing clerk to Mr. Douglas Norman, the solicitor to Mr. Thomas—I accepted service of a writ in an action for damages for trespass—an injunction was granted by Mr. Justice North.
Cross-examined. We did not put an execution in.
FREDERICK PRIEST . I carry on business in Station Road, Harlesden—on 24th June, in consequence of instructions, I went to 25, Arden Road, Highbury—the female prisoner opened the door—I asked if Mr. Marshall was in; she said, "No"—I asked her if she was Mrs. Byers; she said, "Yes"—I told her I came from Mr. Gray about the bill of sale and the arrears, and asked her to pay me—she said she could not pay—I asked her how it was she had got herself into trouble getting money on other people's furniture—she said the furniture belonged to her husband—I asked her whose signature that was, Edward James Byers—she said it was her brother's—I asked his name; she declined to give it, and said she would do all she could to protect him, and her husband did not know anything about it—I showed her a letter and said, "Is that your signature?"—she said, "No"—I said, "It does not tally with the bill of sale"—she said she got a friend to copy the letter, but she declined to say who the friend was.
Cross-examined, Her husband is a hard working man.
Byers's statement before the Magistrate. "I am innocent of any intention to defraud; I agreed to pay the money back by instalments, and so I did till my husband found it out, and he forbade me to pay any more. "
BYERS NOT GUILTY .
MR. GILL Prosecuted, and MR. GRAIN Defended Green.
WILLIAM PATTENDEN . I am warehouseman to Zachariah Perkins and another, trading as Perkins and Russell, wholesale manufacturers, in Knightrider Street—there have been losses from the premises for some time—I received instructions in July, and went to Green's shop, 94, High Street, Hoxton, and purchased this dolman (produced) for 8s. lid.—I identify the cloth which we had missed; the cost price of the cloth alone was 10s.—I bought another dolman for 5s. 11d., made of cloth which we
missed, worth 8s. 11d. also this jacket for 4s. 11d., the material of which cost 11s. 6d.—I took the things to my employers—I was present when the search warrant was executed—I identify four plush dolmans and twenty-three jackets made from cloth which we have lost—Green was asked if he could give any explanation; he said he bought them of a man named White living at Homerton; I asked him if he had any receipt; he said, "No"—I went into the cellar, and saw some cuttings of cloth, which we had missed ten and a half yards of, but there was no garment in the shop made from it—there were also cuttings of cloth which we missed 42 £ yards of, and there were seven mantles made from that cloth—I saw some mantles marked 6s. 1 1d., the prime cost of which was 8s. 3d.—one garment was marked 7s. 11d. and our price for it was 18s. 3d.
Cross-examined. We have a great many customers, and make large sales in London, Manchester, and Glasgow—this article (produced) is our make, but we only made this one as a sample, and it did not go off—I saw that there was a sale going on—I do not often find that goods are sold at less than the price we sell them at—he gave a straightforward answer at once to everything I asked him—these things were exhibited in the window or in the shop—this ticket was not on when I purchased it; another ticket was—there was an actual notice that the goods were being sold off.
ZACHARIAH PERKINS . I am the prosecutor—Cornell was our porter; we paid him twenty-two shillings a week—it was his duty to deliver goods at the City houses—for about eighteen months we have missed large quantities of goods, and in July I came across a receipt with the address of H. Green, 98, High Street, Hoxton—this is our parcels receipt-book—Cornell had access to it; he used to take the parcels to Carter, Paterson's—I recognised that Mr. Green was no customer of mine, and took a cab there immediately—it is a small mantle shop—I recognised some of my goods, and instructed Pattenden to go and purchase some of them next morning—I applied for a search warrant, and went to the premises with it and a detective—Green said that he only bought remnants—a remnant is not fifteen or twenty yards—we wanted to see his cloth—he said he had none, he only bought remnants—I said that they were rather long remnants—I confirm what Pattenden has said.
Cross-examined. There was not the slightest objection to our looking all over the place, and any questions which were asked he answered at once.
RICHARD ALLEY . I am out of employment—I was the prosecutor's clerk—during the last eighteen months I knew of goods being removed from the premises, and I assisted in the matter—I knew of things going out by Carter, Paterson's, and received half the money—I went to Green's premises last winter; Cornell went in first, and I afterwards, to the back room; Green came to us, and a few pounds were paid—he did not ask what my name was, or where I came from—I gave him no receipt—a few weeks afterwards I waited close by Green's shop—at the first interview I was introduced by Cornell as his partner—I went to a publichouse, and Green came there, and I received my share, £1 10s.—we all three drank together, and Green asked Cornell to get him some more cloth—he said, "I think I can"—I only received money from Green
once—I cannot say the quantity of goods that went out of my employer's place; I got Is. a yard.
Cross-examined. I was discharged on Tuesday, 17th July—I have never been charged as a criminal—I first mentioned it to the prosecutor on the day it was found out, July 10th—I was interrogated by two detectives in the presence of the two partners, and the detectives said, "If you do not confess you will be charged," and the two partners said they would give me in custody if I did not confess—I stood out for some time, and did not say anything, but at last I made a statement; it was not taken down—there was no solicitor there—I gave evidence at the Police-court—Cornell went by the name of White—I never said a word about having come from Messrs. Perkins—as far as I know all the parcels were booked—this is the regular parcels book, open for anyone to see; it is for any booking office—I have never known parcels sent to Green other than by Carter, Paterson's, or some other carrier.
Re-examined. The practice was to send the parcels by Carter, Paterson's, and for Cornell to call for the money—the transactions with Green were entered in the book, and the entry was torn out afterwards—this was left by accident—there was no printed label in this case, but in the ordinary way when goods were sent out the firm put a printed label on to all; those addressed to Green were without any label.
ARTHUR HALL . I was Green's shopman up to the time of his arrest—I was there for a year and seven months—he sold mantles—cloth was received there from Carter, Paterson's, and other carts—there was nothing to show where they came from only the direction—Cornell always came to Green's in the evening—I have occasionally measured cloth which came in, it was from two to seven yards long—I once saw money given to Cornell in the evening—I only saw one book which Green kept, I cannot say what has become of it—I am sure I only saw one book.
Cross-examined. I left on the Saturday following—the goods were always ticketed in the window—I think the rent of the shop was about £80 a year—I have heard that he was very much respected in the parish; he used to go to political meetings—he has lived there about seventeen years.
WILLIAM SAUNDERS (Detective Officer). I executed the search warrant on July 10th about five p.m.; it was read, and Green said, "I don't know anything about it"—I produced this light jacket and said, "Do you know anything about this?"—he said, "I can't say I do"—I said, "It was bought here, and it has been identified as having been stolen from Messrs. Perkins and Russell; in the City"—he made no reply—I searched the place and found jackets, mantles, and other things—I said, "Do you wish to give an account of where you got this cloth from?"—he said, "I bought it of a man I know of the name of White"—I said, "Have you any receipt?"—he said, "No"—I said, "How much did you give for it?"—he said, "I don't know, I buy a lot of piece goods"—I said, "Should you know the man you bought it from?"—he said, "Yes"—Cornell was brought in by Detective Egan, and Green said, "That is the man"—Cornell said, "You have made a mistake"—Green said, "I am sure I have not, you have been carrying it on for the last eighteen months."
Cross-examined. I have found out nothing detrimental to Green's character—when I first went in he denied having any cloth—some of
these things were in the window, and others in the shop, not concealed in any way.
Green received a good character.— GUILTY .
Five Years each in Penal Servitude.
MR. METCALFE Prosecuted.
WALTER ALFORD . I am assistant to George Thompson, a pawnbroker, of 36, Chalk Farm Road—I produce a pair of opera glasses pledged on June 5th—I cannot remember by whom—I have seen the duplicate, and this is the corresponding one.
ALBERT PEDDER (Police Sergeant J). I took the prisoner on 16th July for a robbery on April 11th—I went the same evening to 10, Coopersale Road, and in a front room on the second floor I found a bag and a cheque-book, with a number of cheques filled up, and a number unused—the cheques were drawn in favour of Mr. Collis on a different bank—I also found the two pawntickets, which have been identified.
MART ANN COLEY . My husband is a warehouseman—the prisoner lodged at our house, 10, Coopersale Road, Homerton, from 18th April to 16th July, in the name of Owen—he occupied the front and back rooms second floor—on 16th July I showed Owen's rooms to a detective, and saw him find these articles.
JOHN HENRY COLLIS , jun. I am an engineer, and the son of Mr. Collis, of Bewlay Villas, Finsbury Park—on 16th April I got up about 6.30 and found the gas alight and all the doors open and a window—my father was up last—this bag and silk wrap belong to me, they were safe the night before—this cheque-book is my father's; the separate chequeforms are made payable to him—these loose cheque-forms are not in my father's writing or in any writing which I know—this opera-glass is my father's, and was safe in the house that night.
JOHN COLLIS . I am an engineer, of 16, Bewlay Villas, Finsbury Park—on the night of April 15 I was the last person up; I saw everything safe before I went to bed—I was called by my son, and found the conservatory window broken open which was safe when I went to bed—I missed about £18 in gold from a drawer in the dining-room, and various articles which I have not seen since—none of these loose cheques are in my writing; they were not filled up when the cheque-book was safe.
RICHARD BRIDGMAN . I am a watchmaker, of 34, Filey Road, Stoke Newington—on 20th March I was living at 29, Filey Road, and went to bed at midnight, having seen the house shut up—my daughter called me next morning, and I went down and missed an overcoat with a lettercase and a cigar-case in the pocket—I missed some forks and spoons, which I have not seen since—on 16th July the letter-case was shown to me; it has my name on it in gilt letters, but a piece of paper had been pasted over it—the scullery window had been taken clean out, and the kitchen door forced, from the scullery.
GUSTAVE VILDERMERT . I am a merchant, of 80, King Edward Road, Hackney—on 11th April I locked up my house safely—it was broken into, and I missed a pair of boots, an opera-glass, and other articles—these are my boots, and this handkerchief was in my coat pocket.
ALBERT PEDDER (Re-examined). I received information on 16th April, and about half-past four I saw the prisoner in Kingsland Road, wearing a pair of boots which answered the description of those stolen—I told him I should take him in custody for breaking into a house—he said, "You know I would not do such a thing as that"—I found this handkerchief on him—I asked him where he got the boots—he said, "I don't know"—I found a table-knife on him.
Prisoner's Defence. About ten weeks ago a man came to me and asked me to lend him a sovereign and he would leave these two bags with me as security, as it was too late to pledge anything that night. As he did not come back, I opened the bags and took out the boots and wore them, likewise two handkerchiefs. I know him as Charles Blunt. I have not seen him since.
THIRD COURT.—Friday, August 1st, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
603. GEORGE WILSON (60), JOHN WEST (54), and THOMAS QUINT (51) , Unlawfully conspiring by false pretences to obtain money from Joseph Beazer, with intent to defraud, and obtaining £5 from him by false pretences, with intent to defraud. Other Counts, charging Wilson with conspiring with persons unknown to obtain money from William Baker by false pretences, with intent to defraud, and obtaining £5 from him by false pretences, with intent to defraud.
MESSRS. C. F. GILL and A. GILL Prosecuted; MR. SANDS appeared for Wilson, MR. BESLEY for West, and MR. BODKIN for Quint.
WILLIAM BAKER . I am a horsekeeper to Mr. Morris, a corn dealer—I live at 6, Knight's Place, Holland Street, Southwark—on 8th February I was sent by Mr. Wood to Aldridge's to buy a horse—I went, but the horse was sold before I got there—I saw Wilson, whom I had never seen before, with two or three others in St. Martin's Lane, when I came out, talking about horses—I went into a urinal—Wilson came up and said he had a horse for sale, and was too late to get it into the repository, and he would like to sell it, as he came a long way—he asked me to look at it—I went with him to Neal Street, Seven Dials, and saw the horse; it was a chesnut cob, fourteen or fifteen hands high—I told him I did not want to purchase it, and turned to come back—two men came up and asked me to purchase the horse for them; they are not here,' they were talking to Wilson when I first met him about a horse they wanted to purchase, and which Wilson said he would not let them have because they had had it away and tried it, and they had insulted
him—ho said he was a Salvation Army man, and he would not let a dealer have a horse that belonged to him—when he refused to sell to them, they asked me if I would purchase it for them, and they would give me ten shillings for my trouble—I went back to Wilson, and said I would buy it for £12—he said, "All right"—I came back to the two men to get the money, and Wilson followed me, and said he would not have anything to do with them whatever: if I was going to buy the horse I was to buy it myself; on account of his being a Salvation Army man he would not allow a dealer to have it—he said they were dealers—the two men said, "If you can buy it we will buy it off you"—he said, "Come and have a glass of ale"—I went with him to the Black Horse, Queen Street—the men followed—they said, "If you have any money of your own pay a deposit, and then you can do as you like with it"—I paid a deposit of £5, and went in and got this receipt, which Wilson wrote in the publichouse. (This was signed "Mandate," and was for a mare sold for £12 to Mr. Baker on payment of £5 as deposit, the remainder to be paid before delivery)—Mandale was the name he gave me—I went out of the public-house to find the other two men, telling Wilson to wait there till I came back—I could not find the other two men or the horse—I returned to the public-house ten minutes or a quarter of an hour after I left it—I could not find Wilson—I next saw Wilson in Barrel! Street, Blackfriars, with four or five other men—they had been to Cox's repository in Stamford Street—I followed them, but found I could not speak to them, and so I gave it up; he went through the Subway—I next saw Wilson at Westminster Police-court, in custody on another charge—when I went to pick him out he was with about a dozen men.
Cross-examined by MR. SANDS. I went to the repository, and then to Bow Street, and gave information at once after this happened—I asked a dark man the same day if he had anything to do with it—I thought he had—I gave the police a description of the man who got my £5—the police came on a Saturday and told me they had the man in custody, and I went to the Police-court on the Tuesday—I did not know he was taken on another charge—the police told me to come and pick a man out—I thought they had my man—I had no conversation with anybody about the case—I saw Beazer at the Police-court—I afterwards heard he had got his money back—the prisoner was with twelve men in a row in the police-court yard—the £121 offered I thought was a good price for the horse—Wilson did not put his name on the receipt till I asked him for it—he wrote the receipt straight off in the ordinary way—the men looked very respectable and clean—the two men followed me to the Black Horse—I was never at a horse place before this.
Re-examined. I picked out Wilson from a number of men in the station yard—I have not the least doubt he is the man that spoke to me at Aldridge's.
JOSEPH BEAZER . I was a groom in Mr. Allsopp's employment—I hare lost my situation through this case—on 28th April I went to Tattersall's with a pair of Mr. Allsopp's horses for sale—after they were sold I went to have a glass of ale at the Packenham public-house, close to Tattersall's—I saw Wilson there—he said he had a horse for sale, and could I oblige him by putting my eye over the horse to see what I thought was his valuation, as ho could not get the horse into Tattersall's yard without giving a month's notice, or something to that effect—he said
West wanted to buy the horse of him, but he wanted to knock him down in his price—West was present, and heard that—we went outside about the valuation of the horse, and then Wilson said he would give me £2 for my trouble, and I said, "Whatever you do you must be quick, as my time is precious; it is not my own time"—Wilson said he would not be beaten down in price on account of his religious principles; he would rather forfeit the horse than run away from his price—I went outside, and saw the horse in Trevor Square; a boy led it up and down—Wilson wanted me to deposit a small sum to bind the bargain, so that the horse could be passed through my hands, as he could not take the other man's money; he said he would sell the horse to me, but not to West—West said he wanted to send the horse away next morning to a tradesman in Kent—I said, in the hearing of both of them, that the horse would never be mine, because I had no use for it, and whatever I did I would do to oblige him—I did not want the horse—Wilson wanted to know if I could find anybody to be security—I said I did not want any security; I had only one friend in London, and I should not go to him—then we went to Tattersail's Yard; the men followed me—I put my clothing up, and went to my lodging to get £5, as I had not got it on me; Wilson came with me;. West remained—I and Wilson went back to the Trevor public-house; West went with us—Quint was in there, but he had nothing to do in the transaction with the horse—I paid my £5 in gold—we had a glass of ale when we first went in and another this second time—Wilson made out this receipt in a rough way, "Sold to Mr. Beazer a horse for the sum of thirty guineas Received £5 as deposit—N. WILSON"—after I had paid my money I could see I was swindled—West refused to have the horse; he said I had not paid the full value of the horse, and therefore the horse was not my property, and he could not buy it of me—I understood it belonged to Wilson, who was the seller—I asked for my money back—then Wilson said I had bought the horse, and it was my property—Quint had taken no part in the transaction up to that time—I had no reason to believe he was known to the other two men until I showed him the receipt—I thought his name was Davis, and that he was an old fellow servant of twenty years back—when I showed him the receipt he sidled up to the other party, and said I had bought the horse fair and square—I said to Quint, "It looks to me as though you belong to the same party"—when I found I could not get my money back I gave Wilson and West into custody—Clancy was on duty outside—on the way to the station West turned and said to me, "Davis will give you your £5; what more do you want? You will only get into serious trouble with your master"—I understood he meant Quint by Davis; I had applied the name Davis to him, and he answered to it—he was following us to the station—Howlett said to Quint, "You come up in front, I will take charge of you," and he was taken in charge—I valued the horse at about £15—I parted with my £5 because Wilson was going to give me £2 for my trouble, because he would not take the other man's money—I believed their statement that West wanted to buy it; he distinctly said he wanted to send it away next morning—since the charge has been under investigation a man came to me at the Police-court, and I received from him £5—he said something to me—I never saw him before.
Cross-examined by MR. SANDS. Wilson was to give me £2 for my
trouble—I do not think I said at the Police-court that West was to take it off my hands, and give me £2 for my trouble; I won't swear I did not—I was to help Wilson to get the horse for West—I was to pay £5 deposit, because Wilson would not take the other man's money—West promised I should have my money at once—I asked for it—he was to buy the horse through me—we were together for over an hour altogether; or something like that—I thought the horse was worth £13 or £14, but I was willing to get thirty guineas for it—I believe the police afterwards sold the horse at St. Martin's Lane—when I said I wanted my money back, the horse was outside at Trevor Square—I could have had it if I had wanted it, but I had no use for it; it was understood it should never be my property—I said at the Police-court I threatened to knock it out of Wilson or somebody; he raised my mettle—the clerk at the Police-court wrote down what I said, and read it to me, and I signed it—I did not hear him read out, "The horse is mine, I have bought it;" it was no such thing, I did not say it—no one but the boy was in charge of the horse it was worth more than £5.
Cross-examined by MR. BESLEY. My employer's horses were sold by auction—I cannot tell who were present—when they were sold, someone there said, "Well, they have fetched all they are worth"—I said, "I thought they would have fetched another £50"—I do not think the boy in charge of the horse was so big or old as Harry Flaxen; he was quite a lad—the boy in charge of the horse at Trevor Square was a boy who took the horse to the station, and he gave his name and address to the police; I should not like to swear Flaxen is not the person—I think West trotted the horse up once or twice—I did not say I thought he was worth £30; I said I thought he was a useful tradesman's van horse—I told the Magistrate I thought the horse was worth £14; I may have said £20, but my valuation was £14—I gave the name of Davis to Quint—I said to Wilson, "You consented to let me have the horse for £5 deposit for a month on trial; I did not give security"—I did not say to. the Magistrate," When I threatened to knock it out of Wilson, I ran out to the boy holding the horse, and said, ‘The horse is mine; I have bought it'"—we all went out together—I might have said, "The horse is mine" in a way to blind the boy—it was understood the horse was not to be mine—the boy led the horse to the station, and gave his name and address—I have got my £5; and the police, who sold the horse at Aldridge's, have got the price of it.
Cross-examined by MR. BODKIN. It was about three-quarters of an hour from the time I first went to the Packenham and saw Wilson, to the time I went to Trevor Square with the money from my lodgings—during that time I was in West's and Wilson's company, talking about the transaction—I regarded Wilson as the chief man in the transaction—I did not give Quint into custody; Howlett did—I complained about West and Wilson—I never said a word to Quint, nor he to me, before I parted with my £5—I said before the Magistrate, "West said to me," You had better take your £5, or you will get yourself into trouble with your master'"—I only had £l on me, and they would not have that, and I went to Tattersall's to get my horse clothing, and then the £5 was mentioned—Quint had nothing to do with buying the horse.
Re-examined. After West had said the horse was mine I ran into the street and said it was mine; I did not want to lose the horse as well—I
had no reason to believe Quint knew the others before I showed him the receipt, but he was only five or six yards away in the Trevor, and might have heard the conversation—I addressed him as Davis; he did not say that was not his name.
THOMAS CLANCY (Policeman BR 54). On 28th April I was on duty in uniform near Tattersall's, about 5.45, when Beazer spoke to me—Wilson and West were near, and could hear—Beazer said, "Policeman, these men are trying to do me out of £5"—before he could make his statement to me Wilson took him into the Trevor—West stopped behind and said, "Get that fellow away, and I will give you a bit of silver for your trouble"—I refused to take it, and informed Sergeant Howlett about it—the horse was standing outside the Trevor, a lad was holding it—we called the prisoner outside the Trevor, Beazer followed, and I asked him to state the whole case in his presence—he said Wilson asked him if he understood anything about horses, as he wanted to buy one from West; he said he did understand about horses, and he asked him to judge, and he (Wilson) would give him something for his trouble—I understood from Beazer that Wilson wanted to buy the horse from West—he said Wilson said, "I am a religious, conscientious man; I don't want to have anything to do with that man; if you pay the £5 deposit the money shall pass through your hands, and you can deduct it out of it"—he said he wanted his money, and could not get it; that he gave him a receipt—Beazer said Wilson asked him to try and beat West down in price—I took Wilson and West into custody—on the way to the station I looked back and saw West hand some money to Quint, who was walking alongside of him; I could not see what money it was; I could hear it jingle—that was the first time I noticed Quint—I heard Quint say to Beazer, "You had better take your £5 back, unless you want to get into trouble with your master"—I was walking with Wilson, and Howlett was behind with West—another constable came up afterwards, and we took Quint into custody—Wilson said, "You have bought the horse; what more do you want? You have got your receipt," and Beazer produced this receipt—at the station I searched Wilson, and found £6 10s. in gold, 7s. in silver, and 9d. bronze—West gave an address—Wilson made a statement to the Magistrate that Beazer bought the horse from him.
Cross-examined by MR. BESLEY. I made notes of the conversation that same night—I fancy Flaxen is the person I saw holding the horse—his name and address were not taken, to my knowledge—the horse was sold to a man who did not like it, and he brought it back, and then it was sold at Aldridge's for fifteen and a half guineas; it was a good-looking horse—I understood from Beazer's statement to me and the sergeant that the horse belonged to West, and was to be sold to Wilson through him, and the price to be beaten down was West's price—I have made no mistake—Beazer was excited; I don't think he was drunk.
Cross-examined by MR. BODKIN. Quint walked voluntarily to the station, without being asked to do so by anybody—the passing of the money was the suspicious thing in my mind—Douglas searched Quint—Douglas was called before the Magistrate to speak to the searching, and he is here.
Re-examined. I understood from Beazer that Wilson wanted him to judge the horse, and buy it from West—I saw West's and Quint's hands meet, and heard a jingle; I could not see what money it was—I thought
West passed the money, from the remark the prosecutor afterwards made.
GEORGE HOWLETT (Police Sergeant BR 3). On the evening of 28th April Clancy spoke to me near Tattersall's, and I went with him to the Trevor, where I saw Beazer, West, and Wilson—in Wilson's presence Beazer complained of having been defrauded of £5, and told me how it was done—I called Wilson forward and asked what he had to do with it—he said, "The man has a receipt; what more does he want?"—West came up just afterwards, and said, "I have sold the horse"—West and Wilson were taken to the station—on the way Clancy made a statement to me—afterwards, also on the way there, West put his hand in his pocket and said, "Here, you had better take this five pounds, and let the man have his money, and you can have a bit for yourself"—I told him I was paid for my services; he would have to go to the station—Quint was walking behind, close by the horse; I saw him speak to the other two prisoners; not to anyone else—I searched West at the station, and found on him five pounds in gold, four shillings and sixpence in silver, a halfpenny, a latchkey and memoranda.
Cross-examined by MR. BESLEY. I was not there when Beazer first spoke to Clancy—they told me the horse was to be sold by West to Wilson—I did not hear Beazer's evidence at the Police-court—Wilson told me he gave the receipt—I cannot say if I have made a mistake in saying it was West's horse—Wilson did not say he had sold the horse for thirty guineas; the other man said it—I did not see Flaxen at the station—I did not ask him to come to the trial—I cannot say what name and address he gave.
Cross-examined by Mr. BODKIN. A halfpenny and a farrier's nail were found on Quint by Douglas; on West was found £5 in gold—I saw no money passed on the way to the station.
WILLIAM KEMP (Police Inspector B) I saw Wilson write this authority for the horse to be delivered up to Mr. Pegg, a cab proprietor, after the Magistrate had said it was to be given up to Wilson—I communicated with Pegg, but the horse was sold by order of the Commissioners, and the money sent, to them.
Cross-examined by MR. SANDS. This paper was written in the ordinary way.
Cross-examined by MR. BESLEY. The horse was sold on 31st May for ten and a half guineas—I believe it was brought back and sold again.
Cross-examined by MR. BODKIN. All the evidence was given before I was called to the Police-court—I don't know if anybody was called as to the searching of Quint.
ALFRED SOER . I travel about with horses—I live at 30, Tufton Street, Westminster; I have been just on twenty years in Messrs. Tattersall's employment—I am now in receipt of a pension from them—I have known the prisoners twelve or fourteen years—I have seen them frequently alone and together.
Cross-examined by MR. BESLEY. I was in the police, and left in 1862; my stripes were taken off, and I was discharged.
Re-examined. That was because I stayed out of the station one night; I did not neglect my duty—I joined the police in 1853—I have been c twenty years in the same employment—Tattersall's gave me a weekly
salary—I am a pensioner now; I had an accident there—I travel for them—I am not in their constant employment.
MR. BESLET submitted that the third and fourth counts were bad, because the third named no specific sum of money; and as to the fourth, the false pretences alleged had an element of futurity about them, moreover the prosecutor had not said that they operated on his mind; and further, that there was no evidence to go to the JURY as against Quint (Qv. Sitzoff and Gill) Mr. SANDS submitted that the case should not go to the JURY against Wilson, because of the vagueness and the elements of futurity of the false pretences alleged, and because there was no evidence that the false pretences had operated on the minds of the witnesses. After hearing MR. GILL, and after consulting the RECORDER, the COMMON SERJEANT ruled that the case should go to the JURY as against Quint on the third count only, as against Wilson on the whole indictment, end as against West on the third and fourth counts.
West received a good character.
QUINT— NOT GUILTY .
WILSON— GUILTY generally.
WEST— GUILTY on third and fourth counts .— Six Months' Hard Labour.
WILSON PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction of horse stealing in June, 1888.— Fourteen Months' Hard Labour.
604. HENRY MILLER (32) and PHILIP MIGASSO , Breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Richard Brough, and stealing a watch, chain, ring, and £17, his goods and moneys, to which Miller PLEADED GUILTY ; and also to a conviction of felony in May, 1885.— Twelve Months Hard Labour.
No evidence was offered against Migasso.—NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Saturday, August 2nd, 1890.
Before Mr. Recorder.
The RECORDER considered that the indictment could not be sustained.
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. C. MATHEWS and M. PAUL TAYLOR Prosecuted; MR. H. AVORY appeared for Ross, and MR. LOCKWOOD, Q. C., for Watson.
FREDERICK BARTON (Police Sergeant E). In May last, in consequence of directions, in company with Sergeant Mellow I kept observation on Messrs. Carter's premises in Holborn—on May 24th, about ten a.m., I saw a van back into the yard; it had written on it" W. Watson, Waste Paper Merchant, Sancroft Street, Kennington, and Tiverton Street, Newington Causeway," and the name was on the front—I did not then know the man who was driving it, but I have since ascertained that his name was Aldred—I saw a number of sacks put into the van by Ross and Martin and Harvey—they brought the sacks from the left-hand door
leading to the warehouse—the van was then driven into Queen's Head Yard, Queen Street, High Holborn, with about twelve sacks in it—when it arrived at Queen's Head Yard Aldred opened eight sacks, and emptied their contents into the body of the van—they contained empty sacks—Ross afterwards returned to Carter's warehouse, and after that he returned again with the man Martin, and they spoke to Aldred, and then all three went into the Running Horse public-house, and I followed them in—I then saw them come out, and Martin and Ross left and went back to the warehouse—Mellow and I followed the van to Sancroft Street—it stopped at a waste paper warehouse in Sancroft Street, belonging to a firm named Watson—Aldred then partly unloaded the van that he had received from a printer's, and then he opened another sack and took a very large rope from it, and he showed it to some person at the warehouse—I then followed the van to the Railway Arches in Tiverton Street—there is a warehouse there, belonging to Watson—the van was then unloaded, and the sacks thrown out and taken to the warehouse; I counted 140 empty sacks—on Thursday morning, 12th June, I was again watching with Sergeant Mellow, and between ten and eleven I saw a van driven by Aldred back into the yard, and load—I saw Ross there, but I could not see the other manit was loaded with a large number of sacks, containing something, but none of them were full, and some were nearly empty—the van was then taken to Sancroft Street by Aldred—but before it went back I saw it go to Queen's Head Yard, and I saw Ross there, and they went to the Running Horse—the van' was unloaded in Sancroft Street, and I counted eighty-four sacks removed from it, and taken to the warehouse—on the same evening I was in Holborn with Mellow about 5.30, and saw Ross with Harvey and Martin—they went into the Roebuck public-house—Mellow and I remained outside—on Wednesday morning, 25th June, I again kept observation on the premises with Mellow, and about the same time as before—I saw Aldred back his van into their yard, and Ross and Harvey unloaded the van containing four very large bales—Ross and Aldred then went into the George public-house, Queen Street—I was standing just outside the door—I saw them come out, and Ross was looking at some money in his hand, which he put in his pocket—I followed the van to Sancroft Street first, where they took out some bales that they had received from another place—I then followed it to Tiverton Street, and Aldred unloaded it; after the bags were taken out they were taken to the forecourt leading to the warehouse, where a man named Hurst took a knife and cut the ties—I then saw they contained empty sacks—I had not an opportunity of counting them then—they were folded, and made up into dozens—I then went into the warehouse and saw Rossiter—about twenty minutes after that I went into the house and saw Ross—during that time I was finding another policeman—I made inquiries for Watson; I believe I saw him, but I did not know him—I could not obtain any information—about an hour after I saw him in Sancroft Street, where I arrested him—I told him he had better come to Bow Street and explain the matter, and he said he would go with me—I took him into the back yard, and said, "What about those sacks?"—I can't remember all that passed from memory—about ten minutes after I made a note of what took place—he said, "I received instructtions to clear, and I sent this morning, and this is what they sent"—I asked him if he had anything else on his premises that belonged
to Carter's—he said, I have not"—I said, "Have you any entries in your books to show your dealings with Carter and Co. during the past three months?" he said, "No, I don't think I have. I saw Mr. Rossiter, and told him to put the labels on and send them back. We have the paper in them, and the empties are returned"—I asked him if he had any invoice during the past three months; he said, "No, I have not, and I have been grumbling about it"—he was shortly after charged—Mellow arrested Aldred—I saw him at Bow Street; he spoke to Mr. Conquest and myself—I administered the usual caution, and then took down his statement; I then told Watson that Aldred had made a statement, and read it to him—his statement was: "Mr. Watson told me to go to Carter's and see Mr. Boss, and Watson said, ‘He will load you up;' Watson gave me 18s. to give to Mr. Boss, and I gave it to him at the public house in Queen Street. I have been down Queen's Head Yard, and he (Ross) has come to me and asked me to come over of a night and take these things away, but I told him I could not do it of a night. I know it was not paper that I was bringing away, for I have brought away bags with the paper inside as well. I am only Watson's servant, and he sends me for these things, and gives me money to give Ross, which I have done about twenty times, from ten shillings to twenty-five shillings. There are three at Carter's that have had money from me; that is Ross, and two other tall chaps that were with him"—Watson then said, "I gave him money to pay Ross for what he sent; it is the usual thing in our business to give the carman the money to pay when he receives the goods. The price to pay for waste paper is one shilling and three pence per hundredweight"—the same day I visited the Bancroft Street warehouse with Mellow and Mr. Wallace, and there I found thirty-five sacks of mixed sizes—on the 25th I tried to get into the Bancroft Street premises, but failing, I applied, on the 26th, for a search warrant, and searched the premises with Sergeant Mellow and Mr. Wallace.
Cross-examined by MR. AVORY. ROSS was not present when I read Aldred's statement to Watson, and it did not occur to me that it would be fair to read it to him—the entrance to Carter's premises is down a long passage that backs into Whetstone Park—Watson's vans were loaded in the morning, and it got the only way it could to the warehouse—the third time I went there to watch there were three men there—on, the first occasion Harvey and Martin were also charged with Aldred and Hurst by Carter's, and all four were discharged by the Magistrate Carter's preferred a second charge against Martin, Harvey, and Ross for stealing a bag of mixed seeds—I was present at the time—when I was watching the premises I did not know that Watson and his father had been in the habit of buying old sacks of Carter's, so of course seeing old sacks go away I thought it was wrong—when the van was there were other employes about engaged in their work—the sacks appeared rather heavy, as they were loaded, but on 12th June they were very light—they were carrying three or four at once—on the 24th only four sacks were put into the van—on both occasions I saw waste paper sticking out of them—the sacks I saw at Watson's also had a few bits left in them after they were emptied—it did not strike me that the money Ross had in his hand might have been change from paying for his beer—I arrested Ross on the 25th, after Watson had been arrested
—I said, "I am a police officer, and I take you into custody for being concerned with others in stealing a number of sacks"—he said, "I do not understand you, I should like the matter fully explained"—I said it would be explained at Bow Street Station—that I had seen a number of sacks go away from Carter's in his van, and he would be charged with stealing them.
Cross-examined by MR. LOCKWOOD. I should say "Watson's age is between seventeen and eighteen—I have been told that his father, who died in 1890, carried on this business until then—I have not seen his mother's name, "M. A. Watson," on the van; I have only seen "W. Watson" on it—Watson gave me his name as Thomas; he was always called Thomas—I have seen the van since—I have not taken particular notice of it, but I know it has been done up—I do not know anything about the photograph—I followed the van to Watson's warehouse in Tiverton Street—I saw the sacks thrown out, and could count them up to one hundred and forty—it was in the open street—there were others walking about besides myself—there was waste paper in all the sacks—on 25th June the empty sacks were inside the others when I saw them first—I went down the street and came up again—I found a label on the top, "Return empties to Carter's, by Carter Paterson"—Watson came to me at Sancroft Street—when I searched the premises I found thirty-five sacks—they are all here (produced)—I do not know what the marks are on them—they are used for barley or grain, I think—there are different kinds of sacks—whether the sacks had been there before June or after I could not tell—some of those found in Sancroft Street had waste paper in them.
Re-examined. Mellow searched Watson, and found some cards on him in my presence—this is one (produced), "M. A. Watson, Exporter of Paper Stock, 130, Kennington Road, London, South London Paper Depot; W. Watson, Manager, Railway Arches, Tiverton Street"—Watson did not tell me from whom he received instructions to clear the sacks.
FREDERICK MELLOWS (Detective E).I was directed, with Sergeant Barton, to watch Carter's premises on 24th May and on 12th and 25th June—on 12th June I went with Sergeant Barton, and saw Ross, Martin, and Harvey go into the Roebuck public house, Holborn—I went in after them—they were conversing together very lowly; Harvey said to Ross, "I have done the b—s; there is someone keeps looking out of the office; they have not seen anything; I am going away for my holidays shortly, and want some money"—Ross replied, "Well, we have been getting £1 a week lately, you know, and I hope it will be more later on"—they had some more drink, and Ross left—I was with Barton when he went into Tiverton Street warehouse on 25th June—he spoke to a clerk named Rossiter—I did not hear his reply; I heard the other sergeant's evidence at the Police-court, and have nothing fresh to add.
Cross-examined by MR. AVORY. I agree with him that the loading of the van was always done openly in broad daylight, and in the ordinary course of business, apparently—they were driven into Carter's yard, and filled with sacks in the usual way—I knew that Ross, Martin, and Harvey were all in Carter's service—I arrested Harvey on the charge of being concerned with others in stealing sacks—he asked me if I was joking—Ross, Martin, and Harvey did not all go into the public-house
together—Harvey went in first—it is about a hundred and fifty yards from Carter's place—I have not measured it—I have seen them going there before, not since—they went in shortly after five, when they had done work—they had only been in a minute or two before I went in—I did not join in the conversation—Martin turned round and looked at me, and leant over the counter—there was, no doubt, some conversation which I did not hear.
WILLIAM ZEBEDEE (Policeman M 70). I was called on 25th June by Sergeant Barton to Watson's premises, 8, Tiverton Street, Newington Causeway, and stationed myself outside; there is only one entrance—I must have seen anyone that entered or left the house—I saw Sergeant Barton enter and speak to Rossiter, and heard him reply—I saw Barton leave the house with Mellow—I saw Rossiter and Watson come out—I asked Watson for an explanation as to the sacks that he had taken away—he said, "It is nothing to do with me; they were not on my premises; he (Aldred) is in my employ. I will go to Bow Street and explain all; it is a bad job for me, snowing my firm up; it was good cheek to take my property away"—he went away with Rossiter—when I first saw him he asked me what he had better do—he said, "I can prove an alibi."
CHARLES HENRY SHARMAN . I am general manager at Messrs. Carter's—in consequence of information I received I communicated with the police, and gave instructions to the chief clerk, Bowler—Ross was chief warehouseman in the retail agricultural department, and had been in our service, I think, fourteen years—Martin and Harvey were assistants, working under his orders—Ross was entitled to dispose of the waste paper, and had to account to Bowler at the time of sale—he had no authority to sell any sacks—there is a large quantity always lying about the warehouse—the waste paper is supposed to be removed in bales, which are twice the capacity of sacks—it is our practice to send the old sacks to our seed farms in Essex—I don't know what becomes of them—Boss's duty would be to get a deposit from Watson on the bales, containing the waste paper, and they would be returned to us—the waste paper was removed three or four times a year—we formerly deposited waste paper with Watson's father—in 1888 there was a transaction with him through Ross, when we sold him old junk, or 5,000 old sacks—£27—we had a large accumulation, which I think was due to our changing one of our warehouses—the sales in February and December were much smaller—this card is written on the back by Ross—it is the acceptance of the offer made for the junk in December, 1888. "Accepted by Sharman, 19112,88"—since then nothing has occurred to require the removal of anything like that number of sacks—I have seen some of the sacks taken at Tiverton Street on 25th June—I should not describe them as old junk or old sacks—they would be serviceable in" our business—the canvas bags would not be used to remove waste paper—I have seen them, and identify them as ours—they are in good condition.
Cross-examined by MR. AVORY. Our servants, Sherrard and Bickel, supplied me with some information—I don't know that they admit having a grudge against Ross—the disposal of the waste paper was left to him without my sanction or instructions to whom he was to sell it, and I did not even know who bought it—I do not remember telling him that if it were sent away in bales he was to get a deposit—I said at the. Police
court that we had never sold any old sacks to anybody—I was challenged with Watson's receipts at the next hearing—I had entirely forgotten it—on each floor there are women whose duty it is to pick up the waste paper from the floor and place it in the eight-bushel bales which are fixed generally at the ends of the various counters, and they are taken down periodically to the basement—I have not much experience with women of that class—I should not say that they would sweep up every, thing on the floor, and put it in—they pick the paper up—I have not looked at the bags carefully—we use darned bags again—I am not aware that they have holes in them.
Cross-examined by MR. LOCKWOOD. There were three occasions in 1888 when bales were disposed of—the other six entries are waste-paper—three of them are special occasions—bags of this kind are not left about the floor—these are the canvas bags found under a desk in Tiverton Street.
Re-examined. We have women specially to clear the floors and to collect the bags and put them in certain places—all the sales of accumulations would appear in the books.
By the JURY. I can identify the sacks by this private mark—they are made for us—these are our three stripes, two green and one red.
F. JACOBS. I am floor woman at Carter's—I collect all the small bags and put them into the others, and if I have not time to clean them I lay them at the back till I have—the sacks I send down to the ground floor, where they are cleaned—I do not put the canvas bags into the waste paper bags—I have been there seven seasons.
Cross-examined by MR. AVORY. There are two other women on the same floor—in the slack season some women are sacked—we put all the sacks in one, and send them down the lift to the ground floor—when an order is given to send them out I have to go down and pick them out again—Mrs. Jones was in the employ some months ago—I don't know when she left.
EMILY MAYNARD . I am floor woman at Carter's, on the ground floor—I clean the sacks I find lying about, and bundle them up and put a ticket on, "Ready for use"—I have been there two years—I have never seen the sacks I clean put into the large waste paper bales.
Cross-examined by MR. AVORY. I sweep up the floors.
CHARLES GETKEN (Police Sergeant E). On 25th June I was with Sergeant Barton, and went to Mr. Caps at Tiverton Street with a search warrant-we found there seven dozen canvas bags, under a desk in a railway arch—I pointed them out to Mr. Wallace, who identified them.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. Nothing was put over them to conceal them; there was a quantity of waste paper there.
GEORGE HENRY BOWLER . I am chief clerk at Messrs. Carter's—in consequence of information I received, I kept special watch on the premises at the end of May, and on 24th May, about half-past ten a.m., I saw a van, driven by Aldred, on our premises, and loaded with eight bales of waste paper and three partly full—Martin carried the bales; he worked under Boss—on 10th and 11th June I examined the basement of the warehouse, where Ross would work—there were a number of bales containing waste paper, and other bales containing sacks—there were three sacks, one full, one half full, and one one-third full—that was not the proper place for the sacks to be; they should have been on the ground
floor—on 12th June I saw a van brought into the premises, and saw it loaded with a number of bales—I did not see who loaded it, but a man in the van received them—I went into the basement with Wallace, and marked certain sacks containing sacks, and marked others the following night, and on the Saturday afternoon—on 25th June, between ten and eleven a.m., I saw a van backed into the yard by Aldred; a few minutes before that I had seen two large bales containing sacks on the ground floor where Ross had the control of the working—I saw the van going out of the yard, and immediately looked for the bales, and they had gone—next day I went with the police and Batchelor to the warehouse in Tiverton Street, and identified the bags and other things as the property of the firm—it was Ross's duty to sell the waste paper, and account to me for it—he last accounted for the sale of waste paper in December—it is necessary to remove it three or four times a year.
Cross-examined by MR. AVORY. It was not Ross's duty to turn out every sack of waste paper and examine it before it went away, but he was foreman of the department, and was held responsible—it may be taken down in one sack and shot into another—Ross did not do that, but it was done in his department—he was the foreman of the retail agricultural department, and was responsible for the waste paper being got rid of at the proper time—it would depend upon how much had accumulated whether it was cleared three times in three weeks, and upon whether he chose to send away half a load or a quarter of a load—Messrs. Carter do not object to the place being kept tidy—the sacks of waste paper are sent down the lift to the basement—the bales of sacks are sent to one part of the ground floor—the waste paper is taken away from the ground floor, it has to be taken up before it is delivered—when I once saw some sacks on the ground floor they were in a passage where new sacks are kept—when the old sacks have been cleaned they go to another part of the same floor—they are stacked up in a passage in another wing of the building, not near the lift—it is nearer where the sacks would be brought up from the basement if they were carried up the stairs—supposing some bags were carried up the stairs, I do not think that would account for where I saw them; it would be a very inconvenient place to put them—I cannot say that this is our string, but it is similar to it—December is the last entry Lean find of Ross accounting for waste paper—I saw waste paper go away on May 24th—I asked Ross if he had had the money for it, and if he had it, to hand the money over to me.
Cross-examined by MR. LOCKWOOD. We generally sent damaged sacks to the farm—I said before the Magistrate, "In old days the damaged and old sacks were kept and sold"; that was prior to 1885—we sent. them down to our farm in Essex—when string cuttings or waste paper, or waste was sent to Watson's from Carter's, a large number of bags had to be returned; as many as eighty-three—Messrs. Watson might have eighty of our sacks on their premises to be returned, not 100.
Re-examined. I was watching for the purpose of detection—the sacks to be cleaned would go to the other side; the sacks containing other sacks to clean would go to the other side of the warehouse—I found here (pointing to a model) what I ought to have found here—two of these accounts are in 1889, 22nd February and 26th July—with the exception of those two there is no record of waste paper sent to Watson's in 1889.
—since December last no transactions of any kind have taken place as to waste paper—I had confidence in Boss—I went to Tiverton Street—I examined the sacks found—I found several with a certain mark on them, three of which left our premises since March this year—I see no mark on this lot of sacks, I identify them by the stripes—I have found this private mark on other sacks which have been recovered; I recognise the seas the sacks I marked; they are the sacks sent on the 25th.
MR. FLETCHER. I am an engineer in the service of Messrs. Carter—on 24th May I saw a van back into the premises, and saw it loaded—I know Marks, who works under Boss, and saw him doing something—I saw bales containing sacks; I cannot say in what part of the van they were placed—on 12th June I again saw a van loaded, and noticed the bales or bags, they were small; they contained about a bushel of waste paper in an eight-bushel bag.
JOHN WALLACE . I am head warehouseman at Messrs. Carter's—on 11th June I received instructions from Mr. Sherman, and kept observations on Mr. Bowler—I marked certain sacks in the basement which Ross had the control of, some of which contained empty sacks—I marked some on June 13th—on 25th June I saw a van outside the warehouse, and saw it back into the yard—I noticed some of the sacks I had marked on that floor in the passage; after the van had moved out of the yard I looked for the sacks, and each had gone; the same evening I was shown 132 sacks at the Police-station, and identified some of them—I went to Bancroft Street, and assisted in searching the premises, and found other sacks there belonging to Messrs. Carter—I have been in the force twenty years.
Cross-examined by MR. AVOEY. Some of the sacks I marked were in the basement, and some on the ground floor—the sacks in the basement contained other sacks—those which were in the basement had got there by mistake; they were in the wrong place among the waste paper—the lift goes right down to the basement.
Re-examined. It would be possible for Ross, after working hours, to leave the premises and come out at the other side, and take sacks from where they were placed in the basement.
MR. LOCKWOOD called
HENRY HYDE . I was in the employ of Mr. Watson, who died in January—up to that time young Mr. Watson had nothing to do with the business—this bale, found under a desk in the counting-house in Tiverton Street, had been there twelve months; it was there during the life of the elder Mr. Watson—I went away about the end of July last year on a tour with Mr. Watson—we were away nine or ten days, and came back towards the middle of August, and he was sent to Brighton to finish the holidays with his father and mother—I swear that this bale was under the desk at that time—I remember some sacks coming on 25th June, which were afterwards labelled—Mr. Watson and his clerk went out about 11.30, and the van came home with some sacks; our carman shot them down, and they were left on the pavement, so that anyone passing would have to walk over them—Mr. Watson came home about 11.30 and said, "Where have those bags come from?"—I said, "I do not know; I will call the carman down"—I did so, and he said, "I cannot receive them; Mr. Rossiter must put a label on them, and send them back"—which Mr. Rossiter did.
Cross-examined by MR. TAYLOR. I was with the father about eleven years—Mr. "Watson was not present when the bag arrived; he arrived over three-quarters of an hour or an hour afterwards—during that time Mr. Rossiter was in the office—I was there when the detective spoke to Rossiter; he asked him if Watson was in—he said he was not—it was while Mr. Watson had gone to the coffee-shop to get some dinner; he came down Tiverton Street and entered the gateway—there is only one entrance—the constable came into the office several times, and there being no window he could not see who came in or who went out—70 M told me that if we had any stuff to send away he would shut his eyes to it if we would tip him—he asked if Mr. Watson had gone to dinner; I did not hear the reply—Rossiter did not say to Sergeant Barton, "I told the governor this morning you were on him"—I have not threatened some of the witnesses for the prosecution—I know that I have been complained of to Inspector Conquest, a statement was made the last day of the sittings, when I told a witness to go out of Court, and no communication was to be made with him—Mr. Sharman said he would have me flung out of Court—no witness was called for the defence at the Police-court, but they tried to get at the witnesses I had—Rossiter was outside when I came up—there were other witnesses, M'Dougal or M'Doodle, and Mrs. Jones—I gave my evidence to Mr. Crawshaw, the solicitor, before the case was commenced, at Bow Street—I have given no written statement—Mr. Crawshaw did not take down my statement; I did not sign anything he took down—I told him what I was going to prove—Watson's father was a great friend of mine, and I should tell the truth and shame the devil—I am frequently in Watson's company—I do not identify these canvas bags, but they are like those taken from under our office—I have seen bags like this, but they were no use—we used to give them to the men to put their heads in, to save the dust getting down their necks—we bought big bags for taking waste paper in—we cut them up, and have women to make them into larger bags—I have never shaken my fist in the face of one of the witnesses for calling him a scoundrel—the constable returned after the detectives had gone to Sancroft Street, and Watson returned a quarter of an hour after that in his trap—I never left the office during that time—Watson returned about a quarter of an hour after they left; I had never left the office during that time—when Watson went to dinner, Rossiter remained in the office, and when he came back they adjourned to Bancroft Street—I refused at first to lend the detectives our vans, but afterwards I said, Gentlemen, I will lend you the vans;" and they took a quarter of an hour, and Mr. Watson returned—during that quarter of an hour Rossiter and I were at the works, and Zebedee was in the office with us; he came in time after time—I was not continuously in the employ for seven years.
Watson received a good character.
Evidence in reply
WILLIAM ZEBEDEE . I have heard Mr. Hyde's evidence—it is not true that I was in the office; I was never inside the premises—it was not possible, from the position I was in, for Mr. Watson to have passed in or out without my seeing him—a carpenter was there doing the office up—I did not make a suggestion that I should be willing for a tip to allow the things to be taken away—I never saw Mr. Hyde before I saw him in the office.
Cross-examined by MR. LOCKWOOD. I was there from 1.30 to two o'clock, keeping observation on the premises in uniform—I was watching the gates—I never went inside the yard.
WATSON— NOT GUILTY .
ROSS— GUILTY — Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
THIRD COURT.—Saturday, August 2nd, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. TURRELL Prosecuted.
WILLIAM DIPROSE (Policeman G 83). On 19th June I was on duty in Kingsland Road, and about three a.m. I saw the prisoner in the act of assisting another man down from the window of the Duchess of York public-house—on seeing me they both ran away in different directions—I chased the prisoner, and captured him after about two hundred or two hundred and fifty yards—I told him I should take him into custody for breaking into the Duchess of York—he said, "It was not me"—I took him back to the house, where I found a quantity of rashers of bacon on the doorstep—the prisoner said, "I never stole the bacon"—I called Mr. Reed, the manager, who identified the bacon—I took the prisoner to the station—in answer to the charge he said, "I know nothing about the bacon"—I examined the house, and found the catch of the window had been forced back by a knife—the window is on the ground floor at the side of the house in Howell Street; it is from four to six feet from the doorstep, which is in the same street, to the window.
Cross-examined. I never saw the bacon in your hand.
ALBERT REED . I am in the service of George Whitehead, landlord of the Duchess of York—on 19th June I went to bed about nine o'clock, after securing the house and seeing that everything was properly secured—the kitchen window was fastened with an ordinary catch—I was called up about half-past three by the police, found the kitchen window open, and missed some bacon from the scales, where it was the night before—I saw marks on the window catch, where it had been forced—the scales were just inside the window on the table—I saw the bacon at the station; it was similar to mine—I have seen the prisoner in the house several times as a customer; I cannot say when—the window is about four feet from the ground—there is a sill to it.
The Prisoner's Defence: "I am innocent of this case. I have been previously convicted, but not for burglary."
NOT GUILTY .
MR. TURRELL Prosecuted.
KATE BRETT . I live at 17, Charlwood Street, Pimlico, and am nursemaid in Mrs. James's employment—on Monday, 14th July, I was in charge of her baby, three years old, in her bassinette in St. James's Park, near the water—a macintosh and shawl were in the bassinette—the prisoner came up, and I asked her how old the baby she had was—it was three years old—she kept talking about her baby; it began to cry, and she
asked me to go for a halfpennyworth of cakes, and gave me a halfpenny—I went and got them, leaving the baby in the bassinette with the prisoner, and when I came back the bassinette was gone and the baby was on the ground—I gave information to the police that night—on 19th I went out, and I saw the bassinette and the prisoner's baby; another person was wheeling it—I followed it to Coburg Road, and then went home to my sister, and we went to the Police station, and afterwards I took the inspector to the house into which I saw the bassinette go, and where the prisoner lived—I saw the prisoner there, and the bassinette was in the kitchen—I did not hear the prisoner say anything—she was taken into custody—the macintosh was in the bassinette—the shawl was also taken, but I have not seen it since.
WILLIAM EOSE (Police Sergeant A). On 19th July, about seven p.m., Kate Brett came and gave me certain information, in consequence of which I went with her to Coburg Road, Westminster—I knocked at the door, the prisoner opened it—I said I was a police officer, and wished to see the perambulator that was taken there about three o'clock in the afternoon—the prisoner said it was in the washhouse—I went into the washhouse with Kate Brett, and saw the perambulator, which she identified in the prisoner's presence, as having been stolen on Monday—the prisoner said, "You are the girl I sent for the cakes in the park on Monday afternoon, and during the time you were gone a woman came up to me and said, "I know the child; will you buy the perambulator?' I told her I had no money, and took a ring off my finger and gave it to her for it. I have never seen the woman before, and I should not know her again"—I took her into custody—Mrs. James identified the perambulator, and the prisoner was charged—the macintosh was recovered, the shawl is missing. The Prisoner, in her statement before the Magistrate and in her defence, said she bought the perambulator off a woman in the park, and gave her a ring off her finger for it, as she had no money.
GUILTY †—There was another indictment against the prisoner.
Nine Months' Hard Labour.
MR. HUGGIN Prosecuted, and MR. KITTEE Defended
GUILTY of indecent assault.
Nine Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Monday, August 4th, 1890.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
The Prisoner not understanding English, the evidence was explained to him by an interpreter.
MESSRS CHARLES MATHEWS and GILL Prosecuted, and MR. HORACE AVORY
MARIE PELOMINE DUPOIS . I live in Coburg Street—I am a single woman—I have known the prisoner for eight years, and during that time have lived with him—for some time I lived with him in Belgium, and for about five years in England—during that time I have gone on the streets—I have always done so since I have known him, in Belgium and while in England, that was with his knowledge; the money I earned in that way helped keep him—he did nothing—he professed to be a bottler—he put claret into bottles—he worked once in Belgium and once in London, at other times he did nothing—he got some money from his family after his mother and father died; he lived on that and on what I provided—I can't say exactly how much we each provided—I provided about £5 a week, £4 or £5—I left him on the 23rd May—up to that time we had been living at 15, Gosfield Street—when I left him I went nowhere; I remained about the streets for two nights, then I went to Mrs. De Grave, at 123, Great Titchfield Street—I went to her again on the Tuesday—she is English—I had known her for five years—I had told the prisoner that I was going to leave him—I did not give him any reason for leaving him—he used to knock me about, that was why I left him—after going to Mrs. De Grave's place I had my letters sent there—I only got one, that was from the prisoner, it was addressed to Mr. De Grave's place—the first time I saw the prisoner after I left him was on 5th June, in Leicester Square—he came up to me and asked me if I was coming back to live with him again—I said, "No"—he said, "You don't come to live with me no more, you have got another man"—I said, "No"—he said, "Are you going to say that you won't come to live with me any more? if you come home with me I won't say nothing to you"—I said no, I would not go back—with that he put his hand in his breast pocket, and I ran up to a policeman, and said he had got a revolver in his pocket—the policeman told me to run away, and I ran away, and left the prisoner there—I saw the shape of the revolver in his coat—he did not know where I was living at that time—I got the letter from him the morning before I met him; I suppose he thought I was at Mr. De Grave's; anybody might have told him—I did not go back to Mrs. De Grave when I left him' in Leicester Square; I went there two days afterwards, on the 7th, and had dinner with Mrs. De Grave—I was there about half-past four in the afternoon; Mr. De Grave was there—I went there in the morning about half-past eleven; I remember Mr. De Grave calling his wife up the stairs; I went up with her, and we all three stood at the door while standing there I saw the prisoner coming across Clipstone Street, in the direction of Great Portland Street—I don't think he saw me—Mrs. De Grave went downstairs—a little while afterwards I heard a knock at the door, and I heard the prisoner's voice—he spoke in English—Mr. De Grave asked him in English, "What do you want?"—he said, "I want you or my wife"—De Grave said, "Your wife is not here"—the prisoner said, "Do you know where she lives?"—he said, "No"—the prisoner said, "Take hold of my bag, and come with me round the corner"—I was standing in the kitchen with Mrs. De Grave; she went upstairs and followed her husband round the corner—I stayed in the kitchen—a few minutes afterwards De Grave was brought back to the house.
Cross-examined. I do not know Marie Rigaud; not by name (a woman was called in)—I know that woman by the name of La Fol; it is a nickname—I have not said to her that I was very anxious to see the prisoner hung, and I would do all I could to bring it about; nothing of the kind;.I swear that—I do not know that the prisoner has assisted De Grave by giving him food at times; I never heard of it—they were very good friends—they had a quarrel some time ago about some tools; with that exception they were always good friends, right up to the last, often drinking together—I don't know that they were drinking together in the very week this happened; I did not see them—I repeat that the prisoner did nothing for his living; the only thing he ever professed to do was to bottle wine—I swear that—I know a firm named Amart at 65, Great Titchfield Street, chandelier makers—the prisoner was employed, there three or four months; it was not nine months; it was last winter, I think; not all through the winter—he was a helper there; he got about twenty shillings a week—I said before that he worked in Belgium, and in London once—I did not understand exactly—he was not engaged in bottling wine at the same time he was making chandeliers it was in Belgium seven years ago that he was bottling wine, not in England—I can't tell exactly when he left Amart's; it must be something about the beginning of this year—that is the only occasion that he did work since we have been in England—I don't know that he has been employed at Hatchett's Hotel in Piccadilly; I never heard of it—he did not lose his employment at Amart's in consequence of my conduct; he went there and broke all the things in the shop; that was the reason he left—I know a man named Eugene, a gasfitter—I don't know that he was engaged on work with the prisoner on 7th June—the prisoner's father and mother each left him some money when they died; that was before he came to this country—the whole of the conversation between the prisoner and De Grave at the door was in English—the prisoner can speak English a little, only just enough to make himself understood, broken English; you can't understand him very well, if you do not take notice of it; you can, understand if he speaks quietly—I did not say at the Police court that the conversation was in Flemish; I said what I heard was in English—I gave evidence at the Police-court, and signed my deposition—it was. not read over to me that I remember; the interpreter read some things; I don't know what; I was too much upset—I said that the prisoner said in English, "I want you or my wife," and De Grave answered in Flemish—they did not have many words; De Grave said no more—the conversation was half Flemish and half English—I was in the kitchen all the time it went on—Mrs. De Grave consented to my staying with her, and Mr. De Grave too—I slept in the same room with them—she was not jealous of me; there was no ground for it—I had been there before, and stayed for a few days last year—I slept in the same room with them then—the prisoner knew that I had been there, and he has been good friends with De Grave since that—I quarrelled with the prisoner last year, and was away from him about fourteen days—I was not all that time at De Grave's, only about four days—on 5th June, when I got back to De Grave's, I told them that the prisoner had got a revolver, and I told them I was frightened of it—I did not hear De Grave say that he would try and get the revolver away from him, nothing of the sort—De Grave had got Clements with him on 7th June to move a bedstead and
washing-stand to Euston Road; he had got them in a little truck—I had gone back to the prisoner's lodging before the 5th June, on the Saturday, "when he was out, and I had taken away a clock and a quilt, nothing else—I took them to Mr. Clark's, a pawnshop, in Edgware Road.
Re-examined. That was the day after I had left the prisoner, the 24th May—I was not going to move with the De Graves to the Euston Road; "they were moving there—the quarrel that the prisoner and De Grave had about the tools was two or three months before—I think it was about September or November that I stayed with the De Graves four days—the prisoner fetched me back from there.
GODFREY CHARLES COOPER . I am a gunmaker, of 131, High Holborn—on 29th May last, I remember two people coming together to my shop; I believe them to be foreigners—the prisoner was one of them; he bought this revolver and fifty cartridges to fit it, and paid £1 12s. 6d.
ELLEN DE GRAVE . I did live at 123, Great Titchfield Street, with the deceased, and had done so seven years and a half—I know the prisoner; he was a friend of my husband—I also knew Dupois, who lived with him—she came to my house in May for two days—she after a wards came again, and stayed one night—she was at my house on 7th June; she had dinner with me, and stayed there in the afternoon—After dinner my husband called me up, and we all three looked out of the doorway—the prisoner passed with a bag in his hand, along Clipstone Street—as he passed he looked towards us, and I and Dupois went downstairs—my husband was then at the corner with Clements, who helped to move a bedstead and washstand to Mr. Clark's in the Euston Road—I afterwards heard a knock at the door; I looked up and saw the prisoner; I heard him say to my husband, "I want to speak to my wife or you"—De Grave said he did not know where his wife was—the prisoner said, "Well, take this bag and come round the corner, I want to speak to you"—I went to the door, and said to my husband, "Francis, don't go, he has the revolver!"—I said that from what I had heard—my husband said, "I am not frightened"—they spoke in Flemish, not in English—they then walked away together towards Bolsover Street—I followed, with Clements by the side of me—when they got to Bolsover Street, I said to De Grave, "Don't go any further, he has a revolver"—he asked the prisoner if he had the revolver, and he said, "No, my boy, I have not got the revolver"—he said, "If you have got a revolver I will give you in charge to the first constable I meet"—the prisoner said, "Before you do that you will be a dead man," and he distinctly put his hand in his outside pocket and drawed the revolver, and then fired; Francis fell, and the prisoner ran away—at the time he fired he had nothing in his hand except the revolver—he ran away with it in his hand; I followed him to the corner of Great Portland Street—I then fell—I was picked up by two women and taken back—after I went back I heard him shoot again—I stayed with my husband, and was with him when he died next day at the hospital.
Cross-examined. They were talking in Flemish at the door—they were walking along Bolsover Street at the time my husband spoke of a policeman—Clements was walking by my side, and I was walking close behind my husband—that conversation was in English, the whole of it; I swear that—the prisoner can speak English as well as I can, if he likes
—I do not understand Flemish—when the prisoner came to the door he had a little black leather bag in his left hand; this (produced) is it—he had not his right hand in his coat pocket; I only saw his hand in the bag then—when I turned into Bolsover Street I saw his hand was in his right hand pocket—he put it in his pocket and pulled out the revolver; his hand was in his pocket as he turned the corner of Bolsover Street—I have sometimes done work for the prisoner when I lived in the same house, I worked for his miss is, cleaning his room, housework—he sometimes provided food for my husband when he had no work, and my husband has done the same for him, through starving, when she left him through knocking her about—she stopped one night only with me last year; that was when he knocked her about, stabbed her; he brought her there himself on the Sunday morning, and he persuaded her to go back with him—she was staying at a restaurant in Little Goodge Street, and there he found her and took her away—he fetched her on the Monday from my place—he was good friends with De Grave after that; she was back with him three months after that—I did not tell him on that occasion that I could not possibly have her again, because she lied so—De Grave did not say so; he said he would not allow her or him to come to the house.
Re-examined. It was quite twelve months ago that she came on the Sunday and went back on the Monday; he fetched her—the prisoner first of all passed the bag to De Grave, and he passed it to Clements—the bag was not in the prisoner's hand when they were walking in Bolsover Street, it was in Clements's hand—that was not two minutes before the threat about the policeman.
WILLIAM CLEMENTS . I live in Short's Gardens, Drury Lane, and am a porter—on Saturday, June 7th, I was assisting the deceased, and about half-past five I was with him in Clipstone Street—he left me and went back to his house in Titchfield Street, and after that I saw him and the prisoner come out of Titchfield Street into Clipstone Street together, in conversation—the deceased was carrying a bag—they crossed over to Bolsover Street—I walked behind them; De Grave passed me the bag behind him—Mrs. De Grave was behind me—she said, "Come away, Francis, he has got a pistol in his pocket"—I did not hear what the deceased said; I was not taking any notice—they stopped, I passed the bag behind me, and it was taken by the wife—at the same moment as De Grave gave me the bag, he turned to confront the prisoner, and the instant he did so the prisoner's arm moved in this fashion (describing)—the elbow was visible from behind—it had been straight down; it moved like that, and the discharge went off; I heard the report immediately—they were too close together for me to see anything in his hand; I was on the prisoner's left, exactly behind the deceased—when he turned to confront the prisoner we were all close together; I was one step from the prisoner—he was on the kerbstone, and the deceased was on the pavement; he turned to confront the prisoner immediately he gave me the bag, and the instant he did so the discharge went off, and the deceased instantly fell on his right side—they were very close together at the time when I heard the shot—when the deceased fell, the prisoner stepped one pace into the road, and instantly ran away towards Carburton Street; I followed, calling out that he had shot a man—when he got into Great Portland Street, a young man
stopped him; he was pulled down, and in the struggle the revolver went off again—the prisoner had nothing in his other hand when I saw his elbow move—he was not struck on his right arm; there were no other persons near—the deceased had not time to put his hands on him, the action was so quick.
Cross-examined. I had removed some furniture that day for De Grave—I took it to Hampstead Road with him; at this time we were going to have half a pint of beer; he turned back towards his house, and when he returned with the prisoner, he was carrying this bag in his right hand—it was in Bolsover Street that he handed the bag to me; Mrs. De Grave was then behind me; she was never nearer to the prisoner than I was—the prisoner and deceased were speaking to each other as they walked along Bolsover Street; it was in broken English; I was not taking any notice of what they were saying; after what Mrs. De Graves said my attention was directed to the hand—I said at the Police-court that they were speaking in a foreign language—I call broken English a foreign language; I was not taking notice of what they were saying—I did not hear what they said—the prisoner had his hand in his right hand coat pocket as he walked along Bolsover Street; he kept it there all the time—the deceased did not give me any sign to follow him when he came back with the prisoner; I followed of my own accord—I had not heard from the deceased that the prisoner was supposed to have a revolver, I heard it from Mrs. De Grave when she was walking up the street—they had got about eighty yards from Clipstone Street, when the deceased suddenly turned and confronted the prisoner—they were walking side by side, and then the deceased suddenly wheeled round in front of him—as he did so he put his hands up; they were not actually touching each other, I am positive of that—I was behind them as close as it was possible to get, and I came to a dead stop; I made a small advance, because I turned round to the right, and at that moment the revolver went off—the prisoner did not point it like this (straight) I say distinctly that the hand moved from the pocket, and the only indication of it was from the elbow behind, and instantly the discharge went off.
Re-examined. He did not extend his arm—I was near enough to see if the deceased had touched the prisoner; I am sure he had not—they were extremely close—I had had a truck to take the things in, and I had to take that back; the deceased was with me; he had been home after we left the truck, and come out again, and we were walking up to have a half pint—then he looked in the direction of his house and went down—there was nothing in the street to attract his attention, nothing that struck me.
CHARLES THOMPSON . I am a shoeblack, and live at 44, St. Clement's Road, Notting Hill—about five on Saturday afternoon, 7th June, I was at the corner of Clipstone Street and Bolsover Street—I saw the prisoner and the deceased go by with Clements, and Mrs. De Grave behind—the prisoner and deceased were talking rather loud; I could not say in what language—I saw the deceased hand a bag to Clements, and Clements hand it to Mrs. de Grave, and likewise saw the deceased turn round in front of the prisoner, and directly I saw the prisoner's right arm move, and heard the report of the revolver, and the deceased fell—the prisoner ran up the street with the revolver in his hand, and I gave chase behind
him—I was, I suppose, from two to three yards behind him at the time I saw his arm move, it was just the elbow moved; it was done instantly, the elbow just moved, and the man was down on the ground—as I was giving chase I heard a second shot, just opposite the Coliseum publichouse—the prisoner had not a basket in his left hand—no one struck his right hand as he held the pistol in it; I can swear that—the deceased never touched him, while I was behind, before the shot was fired.
Cross-examined. They were talking loudly—it was not in English; I cold not understand their language; I am sure it was not English—the deceased turned round quite suddenly and faced the prisoner; he got in front of him—there was no space between them—he put his hands up at the same time, as if to claim the man, and directly he did so he was shot, and fell—he put up his hands as if to lay hold of him, coming close towards the shoulder; it was done so instantly you could hardly see it properly, the whole thing was so instantly; as he turned round to claim the prisoner he pulled the revolver out of his pocket and fired—I saw the revolver afterwards—: the moment I saw the deceased turn round with his hands up I heard the revolver go off—I did not see the revolver before that—as he ran away the revolver was not pointed over his back, it was straight in his hand as he ran up the street.
Re-examined. The deceased raised his hands as if to put them on the prisoner's shoulder; I could not say that he did put his hands on his shoulder, it was done too quickly.
ALFRED BRISTOW . I am a French polisher, of 17, Gosfield Street, Portland Road—on 7th June, about a quarter-past five, I was looking out of a third floor window of 23, Bolsover Street, and saw the deceased and the prisoner standing on the opposite side of the street, talking, I could not say in what language, it was in a foreign language—I saw the deceased put his hands on the prisoner's shoulders—I am quite sure that he did put his hands on his shoulders; the next thing I heard was a report of firearms—I turned my head away from them and looked towards Clipstone Street, I was looking to see if my mother was coming; that was after the hands were placed on the shoulders, and before I heard the report—hearing the report, I looked round again and saw the deceased fall, and the prisoner step in the road with the revolver in his hand and run towards Carburton Street—I ran downstairs and went after him, and I caught him by the back of the neck in Great Portland Street—in order to stop him I hit him a blow on the forehead with a belt, and he fell on one knee to the ground—he still had the revolver in his hand, and it went off as he was in the act of falling, I believe accidentally.
FRANCIS SINGLETON . I am a shoemaker; I was living at, 12, Carburton Street; I have since moved to 19, Little Drummond Street—on 7th June, about five, I was on the first floor of 78, Bolsover Street, looking out of the window—I saw the prisoner and deceased walking in the street, on the same side of the way as I was—they were talking together; I could not hear what they were talking about—they were between fifteen and twenty yards from me when I first saw them, I was behind them—I saw Mrs. De Grave and Clements behind them—De Grave was carrying a black bag; he gave it to Clements, who passed it to Mrs. De Grave—directly after that I saw the deceased stop, he raised his hands, I thought he was going to strike the prisoner; directly he did so the prisoner pulled his hand out of his pocket and shot him—I did not see that the deceased placed his
hands on the prisoner; I could not swear that; I could not say one way or the other; he may have done so or not, I could not say—it was whilst he had his hands raised that the prisoner took the revolver out of his pocket and fired—I saw him draw his hand out of his pocket; I did not see the revolver, I saw like a simultaneous movement; I could see the motion of his hand coming out of his pocket, and heard the fire—the man fell about six yards past the lamp-post; the prisoner then ran up Bolsover Street; he was caught, and I heard a second report.
Cross-examined. The deceased was not between me and the prisoner at the time the revolver went off; I am sure of that—(The witness's deposition stated," The prisoner was facing up the street when he fired the first time; the deceased was between me and him") that is a mistake, I did not say that—the two men were facing each other when the revolver went off, they were not far apart; if the deceased had stretched his hands out at full length he might have touched the prisoner—their bodies were—actually close together—I did not see the revolver till after the report that was not because the deceased was between me and the prisoner—his back was towards me at the moment he turned and faced the prisoner; it was not exactly at the same instant that the revolver went off, but the next instant.
JOHN BAZZOTELLI . I am a cabdriver, of 13, Rathbone Place—at five, on 7th June, I was in the Coliseum public-house—I heard a cry of "Stop him!" and went out and saw the prisoner running from Carburton Street into Great Portland Street, with a pistol in his right hand; I fell over him as I came out; I seized him, and the pistol went off; it was pointed towards Weymouth Street, straight, not downwards; it was the prisoner's hand that pulled the trigger; I had hold of his right hand thumb with my left hand, and tried to get the revolver away from him, and it went off; it was not pointed towards anybody.
THOMAS ELLIS (Policeman D 65). At a quarter-past five, on 7th June, I was in Great Portland Street—I saw a crowd by the Coliseum; I went up and found the prisoner being held by three or four men—Bristow said he had shot a man—at that time the prisoner had nothing in his hands—I sent for the revolver—I noticed that the prisoner had a wound on his forehead, in consequence of that I took him in a cab to the Middlesex Hospital—on the way there he said, "I did have the revolver in my hand, and it did go off accidentally"—I took him to Tottenham Court Road Police-station, and he was there charged.
GEORGE BASSETT (Police Inspector D). On 7th June, about six, I went to the Middlesex Hospital, and there saw the prisoner—he was having a wound in his forehead dressed—I had him taken to the Police station, and I there charged him with feloniously shooting De Grave, and attempting to murder him—at that time the man was not dead—I had had some description of what had taken place—after entering the charge I said to the prisoner, "The inspector who has taken down the charge will read it slowly to you in English; if there is anything you do not understand I will endeavour to explain it to you in French; you are not obliged to say anything, but if you do it will be taken down, and may be given in evidence"—I then proceeded to explain the charge to him—the inspector read the charge—the first charge was for shooting at the prosecutor—there was a second charge for shooting at Clements—the prisoner asked for an explanation of that, and said, "I never saw him, I never shoot at
him, that is not fair; for Mr. Francis I make not a murder, I go so (placing his hand towards his coat pocket), in the other hand I got a basket; Francois saw me and said to me, 'You got a revolver,' and I said, 'Well, that is nothing to do with you, you have not seen the revolver.' I went to go to Portland Street Station, Francois wanted to take the revolver; I took my hand out of my pocket, with the revolver in it; somebody struck me, and Francois want, to take the revolver; then I shout, 'Got away,' and I don't know how it hit Francois; I ran away; then at the corner of Great Portland Street two or three gentlemen caught me; one took the revolver and I loose shot towards the floor"—I took down that statement, word for word as he spoke it—next day I went to the Middlesex Hospital—the prisoner was there at the bedside of the dying man—I said to him, in the prisoner's presence, "Do you know that you are dying, and without hope of recovery?"—he said, "Yes, yes"—I then said, "What do you wish to tell me?" and word for word, as he said it, I took down his statement—this is it (Read: "He came round to my place twice; the second time I asked him what he wanted round my place. He said, 'Come round the corner; I want you.' When we were round the corner I said, 'You have the revolver with you, have you not? I will wait till I meet the first policeman, and give you in charge.' He said, 'You never will have the chance; before ever you meet a policeman it is all over with you'; and then he shot me, and he ran away after. He has been a vagabond all his lifetime; it is not the first time"—he then ceased speaking, and seemed faint and weak—I asked him, "When he fired, could you see he fired at you intentionally?"—he gave no coherent answer; he died within four minutes of that time; but from the few words I did hear, the impression was conveyed to me that he intended me to understand that he could not say whether or not the act was intentional; he could not see—the question was, "Could he see?" and he began to turn his head, and said, "He took the revolver," then paused, and said, "Pocket," and he died almost immediately—Mrs. De Grave was there—the prisoner was then taken to the Police-station, and charged with murder—he said, "Yes, he is dead; I see it"; that was all.
Cross-examined. There is but one answer there; the other is straightforward—I am quite positive the words, "He has been a vagabond all his life," did not come after my question, "Did you see whether the revolver was fired intentionally? because I have it here word for word as he said it; it was after he said that that I put the question to him—he spoke to Mrs. De Grave after that—I did not hear what he said—it was some expression of affection—the prisoner had but little opportunity of putting any question to him; he expressed no wish; he simply stood with tears going down his face—he had no opportunity of putting any question, except by interrupting him—when I asked if he could see whether the revolver was fired intentionally? his answer was that he could not—the prisoner's statement to me was in broken English, there was no French or Flemish among it—I have only one Flemish word in the whole lot, "1 wit" for "with"—he used the expression "basket"—I do not know of the prisoner having been employed at Amart's, or of his wife going away with another man, and his losing his situation in consequence.
once—I found a bullet wound on the left breast, just below the nipple; the bullet had entered the chest; he was conscious, but in a great state of collapse; he was so bad that no attempt was made to extract the bullet—he died at 3.25 on 8th June—I assisted at the post-mortem—the bullet had entered the cavity of the chest, and was embedded in the backbone—that was what he died from—the bone was produced at the Police-court; it is not here.
The Prisoners statement before the Magistrate: "I say that I am not guilty; I have not had any animosity against that man; it was purely an accident."
ELLEN DE GRAVE (Re-examined). I said at the Police-court, "The prisoner was not holding anything in his left hand when he fired the first shot"—his left hand had hold of my husband's arm when he went from the door.
Witnesses for the Defence.
MARIE RIGAUD (Interpreted), I live at 41, Rathbone Place—I know the prisoner, and also knew De Grave; I used to meet him at the prisoner's lodging several times; I was lodging or staying in a house opposite his place, near the Hospital—they were always on the most friendly terms; on a very amicable footing together—I saw them together on friendly terms as late as the Wednesday before De Grave's death; they were drinking together in the market—I know Marie Dupois—she came to the house of a friend of mine, since 7th June, and said, "You will see, I will have my revenge"—she said it to me and to other people—she used insulting language, and said she would cause the prisoner to be hung, or hang him—she said that to several persons, some of them established in business, who could be called—on Saturday morning, 7th June, about half-past eleven, I met the deceased; he spoke to me, half in Flemish and half in French; I was going to market; he said, "Come with me, we shall have a good lark; we are going to look for Manteau, and we shall pull the revolver from his pocket"—I said I did not trouble myself on such business, and that I was going to my work—I have known Manteau, working for his own living, in lamps and lanterns.
By the COURT. I am a servant and cook, in private service.
EUGENE ART (Interpreted). I live at 15, Whitfield Street, Tottenham Court Road, and am a stove maker and gasfitter—I have known the prisoner for the last three or four years; I also knew De Grave—on Saturday, 7th June, I was at work with the prisoner; he came and fetched me for the work at Madame Cloquet, in Whitfield Street—after going there, I was returning home, and met De Grave at the corner of Goodge Street and Newman Street—I said, "How are you?"—he said, "Quite well"—I said, "How is Francois?" meaning the prisoner—he said, "I have been looking for him all the morning, and if I see him I will give such a hiding as he has had once before; I don't care a bit; he has a revolver, but he shall not have it to-night"—he did not ask me where he was to be found; if he had I would not have told him; I knew where he was.
Cross-examined. The prisoner never lived at my place—I know Rigaud; the prisoner lived at the same place at one time—it was about nine or. ten in the morning when he came and fetched me to work—I don't know
what sort of work he did; it was to sell some cabinet—I did not come here with Rigaud this morning; I came with her on the first occasion.
Re-examined. I knew the prisoner when he was employed at Amart's; I was there for three months; not at the same time as him; he worked before me; I went there after he left—I used to see him there; I went with him to the workshop.
GUILTY — DEATH.
NEW COURT.—Monday, August 4th, 1890.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. TURBELL Prosecuted. SOPHIA MARY BROWN. I am a widow and live at 13, Grey Coat Street—I lived with the prisoner fourteen months as his wife, and left him for about twelve months—he is married—on 7th July he came to my place in the morning and asked me if I would come to him after dinner to arrange a settlement, and he would never molest me again—I went to his house in Regency Street, Westminster, about 3.40 p.m., and went. up stairs—he said, "You have come"—I said, "Yes, I have, what have you got to say to me?"—he said, "Nothing"—I said, "What things I have belonging to you I will bring on Saturday"—I was sober; he got up and kissed me and said, "Come along, Sophy, come to bed with me"—I said, "Oh, we don't want nothing of that now"—he said, "What makes you refuse me?"—I said, "I don't want nothing to do with you"—he said, "Then, I will finish you," and struck me with a hammer on the back of my head from behind as I was going out—I fell down—I don't know whether I fainted or not, but I felt a knife along my throat—I came to myself, and asked him to help me up and give me some water; he did so—I asked him to let me go downstairs to the closet, and he helped one down—I asked him for some brandy, and he sent his little boy for it; and when he opened the parlour-door I tried to make my way out, but he tried to get me upstairs—I got out and got a policeman, who took him in custody—I was taken to the Westminster Hospital.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You asked me if I would bring your wife's things home, which I had had ever since November—I took your jacket to the pawnshop twelve months ago—I did not seat myself on the bedstead; I sat in a chair before you struck me—you kissed me at the side of the bed—my right arm was not round your waist—I was not sitting on the bed—I asked what you had got in your jacket pocket because I saw the handle of the hammer projecting from your left breast pocket—we did not both fall back on the bed in the act of kissing—I had the boy's jacket and trousers, and I told you I was going to bring them home on Saturday.
ALFRET PAUL . I am a hairdresser, of 20, Regency Street—the prisoner lives in my house on the first floor—on 7th July, about three p.m., the last witness came, and went upstairs, and about an hour after that I heard a slight scuffling—they came downstairs struggling about 4.20 or 4.30, and she was all over blood—she said to me, "He is murdering me," and came into my shop, and I sent for the police, who came and took him in custody and took her to
the hospital—in my opinion they had both been drinking—I have known the prisoner from six to nine months, and found him a respectable man—I had only known the prosecutrix a week.
By the COURT. They had not lived as man and wife at my place; I had only been a week in the place when it happened—she did not sleep there to my knowledge during that week, but he had a key of the side door—as they came downstairs the prisoner had hold of her, and was trying to get her upstairs, trying to prevent her going out—there is a closet at the back—he was trying to coax her up—he said, "Come upstairs again"—blood was coming from her throat and head—the prisoner can take a lot of drink, and you cannot perceive it—he was neither drunk nor sober—the state he was in was more from excitement than drink.
WILLIAM TAYLOR (Policeman A 592). On 7th July, about 4.30, I went to 20, Regency Street, and saw the prosecutrix coming out of the door, bleeding from the back of her head and from her throat—I went upstairs and found the prisoner—I said, "Have you done it?"—he said, "We had a row, and she fell back on the bed'—I asked her if she would charge him—she said, "No, on account of the children, I shan't"—I said, "Is this the man that did it?"—she said, "Yes, he did it with a hammer"—I took him to the station, and went back to the room and found a large pool of blood at the foot of the bed; also blood stains on the wall—this knife (produced) was found under the bed near the pool of blood, with wet blood on the point—there were blood stains on the back of the prisoner's right hand, and between his fingers—another constable came up, and I asked him to take the prosecutrix to the hospital; she was sober, but very much excited—I cannot say whether he was sober; he did not smell of drink.
HARMAN ELLISTON (Policeman A 635). I met Taylor with the prisoner in custody—I took Mrs. Brown to Westminster Hospital—she walked, but I assisted her—the blood was clotted then—when in the cell passage the prisoner said, "I want to go to the w. c."—I said, "I can't let you go unless the Inspector comes"—he then said, "Here is my knife; I said I would cut her throat, but I did not do it. "
Cross-examined. You did not say, "If she is not dead, I meant to kill her."
THOMAS GREEN (Police Inspector A). I examined the prisoner's room; it was furnished as a bed and sitting room—it was unlocked for me by the barber—the foot of the bed was just inside the door, and one side of it was against the wall—it was an iron bedstead; the posts were about three feet high, and the tops of them were unprotected by knobs; the upper parts were about two inches long—at the foot of one of the posts there was a pool of blood—I examined the posts carefully, and there was no blood on them—I do not know whether anybody had been sitting on the bed; it was very badly made, and looked as if somebody had been on it—I found this hammer between the sheets; a rug, a blanket, and a sheet were over it—the bedclothes were not turned down; they had been roughly thrown back towards the pillows, as if an attempt had been made to make the bed—there did not appear any deliberate attempt to conceal the hammer.
right side and back of her head, some superficial and some down to the bone, partly punctured and partly contused—they could not have been done by her being pushed against the bed—they might be caused by her being struck with this hammer—there was also an incised wound on the left side of her throat, an inch and a half long and a quarter of an inch deep, which would have been dangerous if it had been a trifle deeper, as it was over the large artery.
By the COURT. She was still bleeding slightly; either of these two knives would cause the wound in her throat—it was not far to take her to the hospital, walking—she was an in-patient for a fortnight; she will not suffer permanently; she was sober—there was wet blood on the knife, and stains on the handle of the hammer—I failed to demonstrate that they were blood, as it had been very much handled.
The prisoners statement before the Magistrate: "I never used the hammer or the knife; in the scuffle the knife may have fallen from the table."
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that he never used the knife or the hammer, but that the injuries were inflicted by the iron railing of the bedstead.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding — Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. TUBBELL Prosecuted.
HENRY JENNINGS . I am a labourer, of 12, Devonshire Street, Hammersmith Road—on 19th July, just before midnight, I was near the Bed Lion, Hammersmith, and the prisoner Inglefield came out from a corner and pushed me; I did not know him before—he said, "Who are you pushing at?"—I said, "Who are you pushing at?"—Smith came round a corner and called to Inglefield, "Who are you pushing at?" and challenged him to fight, and said, "I will stop your pushing people about"—Smith said to me," Don't go away, you stop and pick me up"—I said, "I don't want to have any bother"—Smith snatched my gold Albert and got it away; I seized him, and in the struggle I got down on the ground, and someone kicked me on my head—I feel it now when I stoop—it is from that blow that I wear this bandage—I shouted, the police came and took Smith, and I charged him at the station—Inglefield walked into the station by himself—I did not know he had been arrested, but I said, "That is the other one"—he said nothing—I had spoken to him when he pushed me—there are lamps in the street, but not close to the spot—it was light enough to see their faces—I suppose it must have been moonlight.
Cross-examined by Smith. I saw my chain in your hand—this is it—I might have had about two pints—I had been to a cricket match, and had a drink at several public-houses.
Cross-examined by Inglefield. You did not assist Smith in stealing my chain; you did not help in actually taking it—the doctor did not say I was drunk—after you came in I did not say, "Ah! that looks like him"—I did not exactly charge you with stealing the chain; I charged you with pushing me—I cannot say that it was you who kicked me.
Inglefield standing on one aide of the door; he ran and I ran—he ran to Smith and the prosecutor—I could not see them before I ran, they were on the ground—Inglefield went up to them when they were on the ground, and kicked the prosecutor twice: he had boots on—after he ran away a policeman came up—I saw him again outside the station at 12.45 the same night—he said, "How has he got on?"—I understood him to mean Smith—a constable came out and took him—I do not know Smith.
Cross-examined by Smith. I saw you strike him with your knees when he was on the ground—no one has told me to say this; I saw it I never saw you steal anything.
WILLIAM CRAGG . I am a milk carrier, of Craven Cottage, Hammersmith—on 19th July I was in Hammersmith Road about 11.45, and saw Jennings and Smith struggling on the ground—Jennings shouted, "Police!" twice, and a constable came and took Smith.
Cross-examined by Smith. I did not see the beginning of it—I saw you punching Jennings' face on the ground; you were on top of him.
Cross-examined by Inglefield. I did not see Roberts there; I only saw him in Hammersmith Road; he came up and said, "Did you see anything?"—I said, "Yes; I saw two men struggling on the ground. "
Re-examined. I saw him in Hammersmith just afterwards, about two minutes to twelve.
FREDERICK GREEN (Police Sergeant T). On 19th July, about 11.50, I heard a cry of "Police!" and saw the prosecutor and Smith struggling on the ground—Roberts was standing there, and someone ran away as I went up; I cannot say who it was—with great difficulty I got Smith off the prosecutor, who gave him in custody for stealing his chain and walking stick—he struggled violently—I took him to the station, and went back and found this piece of chain ten or eleven yards from the spot—one shilling and a pawnticket were found on Smith.
Cross-examined by Smith. Your shirt was torn in getting you off the prosecutor.
Cross-examined by Inglefield. I cannot say that I saw you there.
WILLIAM GRIMES (Policeman Y R 48). On 20th July, about a quarter to one a.m., I saw Inglefield in the Broadway, Hammersmith—I told him I should take him for being concerned with another man inside—he said, "You have made a mistake"—a cabman had given me information—I took him into the station—he was charged by the Inspector, and said twice, "You have made a mistake, I have not been near the road"—Jennings was there, and said, "That is the man; I believe it is him."
Smithy in his defence, stated that the prosecutor shoved against him, and they struggled and fell, and that the chain must have got broken in the struggle. Inglefield stated that the Police had an animus against him, and that this was the fourth time they had made a charge of robbery against him in two months.— GUILTY . They both PLEADED GUILTY to previous convictions at Clerkenwell, Smith, on 19M February, 1883, and Inglefield in March, 1886. SMITH**— Five Years' Penal Servitude ; INGLEFIELD— Five Years' Penal Servitude , and twenty-five strokes with the cat.
MR. DOUGLAS Prosecuted; MR. CHARLES MATHEWS appeared for W. Hermann, MR. WARBURTON for E. Hermann, and MR. HUTTON for Davenport.
FREDERICK WINTER . I am a sculptor, of 13, Robert Street, Hampstead Road—on Saturday night, 21st June, I went to the King's Head, at the corner of Euston Road and Hampstead Road, about a quarter to twelve o'clock—I was quite sober—I had one glass there, and while drinking it the female prisoner entered the bar and asked me to stand her a drink, and I gave her two-pennyworth or three-pennyworth of whisky—when the house closed I was going home; she clung to me, and begged me to go home with her, as she was very hard up—I had only nine or ten shillings, and did not care to go home with her, but after much pressure I did so—she took me to 13, Tolmer's Square, close by, about two minutes' walk—she opened the front door with a key, lit a candle, and showed me up to the second floor front room—I saw no one else—she locked the door after I got in, and I gave her between eight and nine shillings, as I had agreed—she put the key in her pocket, but a minute or two afterwards she unlocked the door and admitted the two male prisoners—Hermann took off his coat and sat down, and Davenport came up to me in a menacing manner, and asked me to give him some money; he gave me a push with his arm—I moved towards the door, but he pushed me back into the room, and asked for money several times—I said, "All I have I have given to the young woman here"—he said, "Then leave something with us, and you can redeem it to-morrow when you have got the money"—I said I should not—I had a gold ring on my finger—he then dealt me a fearful blow on my left ear like the kick of a horse, I think he had something hard in his hand; it cut through my ear and made a scar behind—before I had time to recover, he dealt me another fearful blow over the left eye with his hand, that cut like a knife, and the blood spurted out and ran down my face into my left eye, so that I could not see—I seized a chair and broke the whole of the window out, and screamed, "Murder" and "Police"—while I was doing that, Davenport took up a poker and made a number of blows at my head with it—I held the chair in front of my face, and the bending of the poker is, I think, due to its knocking the leg of the chair—I had a number of blows on my head, and he struck the last blow on my elbow, just as I was holding the chair up—that made me drop the chair—I heard the police-whistle in the square, and the three prisoners ran to the door, which was locked—Hermann did not do anything; he was sitting on the bed, and the Woman on a couch—I saw the door unlocked, and they got away, and the next thing I saw was a constable in the room—I did not lose consciousness; I was taken to the hospital, and, under anaesthetics, an operation was performed on my., left arm—I was four weeks and three days in the hospital, and attend there daily now—my arm is still in splints and bandages, and I suffer much pain at times—I do not expect to have the use of it again—I cannot sleep as I did before.
Cross-examined by MR. MATHEWS. I cannot say whether Hermann spoke; my attention was too much engaged—he did nothing beyond sitting on the bed, but at last he got up and stood near Davenport—the contest occurred at the extreme end of the room—there was a lamp on the table between where I stood and the bed.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBUBTON. I am a widower—the King's Head public-house is near my studio—the female prisoner did not tell me she was a married woman, or I should have cut her dead—I had not imbibed a quantity of drink; I was not at all tipsy, or I could not have defended myself—the public-house closed at twelve o'clock, and I had been there a quarter of an hour before—I was alone—she did not tell me in the public-house that she was a married woman, nor did I insist on following her home—I was not drunk, and I could not possibly force myself up a flight of stairs which I had never seen.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. The only instrument I saw in Davenport's hands was the poker—I had one glass myself, and one with the woman—I only had two glasses since seven o'clock—I do not know whether the doctor smelt my breath—I broke the window after I had the second blow—I kept the chair between us, and he kept me constantly occupied by the blows with the poker—I never struck him, but I should have if I could—the room was about sixteen feet long by thirteen feet wide—there was a lamp on the table; it was not knocked over.
FREDERICK ANDREWS (Policeman S 338). On Sunday, 22nd June, about 1 a.m., I was in George Street, and heard shouts from Tolmer's Square—I went there and saw a female standing at the door of No. 18—I do not think it was the female prisoner—she said, "It's all right, constable, there is a row between a man and his wife"—not feeling satisfied, I knocked at the door again, and after knocking two or three times it was opened by a female partly undressed, not the female prisoner—I entered the hall, and the female prisoner passed me and went out of the house—I went upstairs and saw the two male prisoners half way up the flight of stairs leading from the ground floor to the first floor—Davenport said, "I am glad you have come, constable, the man that did it has gone into the kitchen"—I refused to let them pass, but Davenport rushed past me and went towards the front door, which was open—I detained Hermann, and called out to the crowd to stop Davenport—Hermann came down after me to the door, and I left him there—I went into the second floor front room and saw Winter on a couch, bleeding profusely from his head—his clothes were saturated with blood—I shouted for water, and some person came up and gave him some—I sent him to the hospital in a cab.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBUBTON. Davenport said at the station, "The female had nothing to do with it"—I have ascertained that they are married.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. Davenport came to the station followed by a constable and the crowd—persons in the crowd held him, but they are not here, they refused to give their names and addresses.
Re-examined. The female prisoner said at the station that Davenport wanted a loan from her husband, and that was how she became acquainted with him—she said that when Davenport struck the prosecutor she rushed out of the house.
RICHARD NELSON (Policeman S 422). On 22nd June, at 1.10 a.m., I was on my beat, and saw about twenty people outside 13, Tolmer's Square—Davenport was in the centre of them, and Andrews by his side—I went into the house, and saw Hermann in the w. c.—he had no waistcoat, collar, or tie on, and his coat was unbuttoned—I told him a man had been assaulted very seriously and taken to the hospital, and he would have
to go to the station till inquiries were made; he made no reply—I took him to the station—Davenport came with me, and the crowd followed—on the way to the station Hermann said that it was the dark man who committed the assault—at the station Davenport said, "I did not do it all, Hermann did it;" I do not think I said that at the Police-court—the female prisoner followed to the station, and they were all charged with feloniously assaulting Winter, with intent to rob him—the female prisoner made no reply—Davenport said that the female prisoner was not guilty of the assault.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. I took Davenport to the station; he went quietly.
ALEXANDER MAITLAND (Police Sergeant S), On Sunday morning, June 22nd, about 1.40, I went to 13, Towner's Square—Mr. Lewis, the landlord, admitted me, and showed me to the second floor front room—I found a pool of blood on the floor near the window, and about two feet from it this poker, bent as it is now.
HERBERT CAIGER . I am house surgeon at University College Hospital—on 22nd June, about 1.30 a.m., Winter was brought in—I found signs of haemorrhage, and streaks of blood across his face, and his hair was matted together with blood—I cut his hair short, and found a deep cut behind his left ear, going nearly through the ear, and on the left side of his head, rather above the ear, three deep cuts, going almost to the bone, two of them about an inch long, and the third smaller; they were not clean cuts, they had irregular edges—they could have been inflicted with this poker, except the one behind the ear—a fist could have done it, struck hard—there were other cuts on the right side of his head of a similar nature, but smaller, and two bruises on his forehead, and a large bruise on his left temple—I found a compound fracture of his arm, communicating with the elbow joint, but no cut through the sleeve of his coat, shirt, or vest—there was a skin wound communicating with the fracture of the bone; that admitted air to the bone, which constituted danger—Mr. Heath came next morning, and performed an operation by uniting the bone with silver wire under ansesthetics—he was an in-patient three or four weeks, and is still attending almost daily—the wounds on his head have healed perfectly, but the wound on his elbow has not healed yet, and there is great stiffness of the arm—it is very doubtful whether he will have such a useful arm as he had before; it will be stiff for months, and probably for years.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. He appeared to be slightly under the influence of drink; he mumbled in his talk.
Re-examined. That impression was not modified by what he told me—if he had been drinking whisky an hour before, that might account for it, with the subsequent injuries he received.
MR. MATHEWS submitted that there was no evidence that Hermann took any part in the assault, or of his being a party to the intention to commit it, and MR. WARBURTON submitted that there was no evidence of assault against Eleanor Hermann, as she did not incite Davenport, and she went to the station without being arrested. The COMMON SERJEANT, having consulted MR. JUSTICE GRANTHAM, held that there was no case to go to the Jury against Walter and Eleanor Hermann— NOT GUILTY .
DAVENPORT— GUILTY **— Eight Years' Penal Servitude.
The GRAND JURY commended the conduct of the police officers, in which the JURY concurred.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, August 5th, 1890.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MR. TURRELL Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON Defended.
MARY ANN CAPPER . I am single, and lived at 14, Caroline Street—I now live at 27, Southwood Road, with the prisoner's parents—I am a fair sewer—I had lived with the prisoner's parents for six years, except the time that I went away from them—I have walked out with him for seven years—I am not related to him—he paid his mother five shillings a week for my keep out of his wages, because my health has been ailing; I did a little washing as well—there was no reason for his paying for my keep, except his affection for me—he was a telegraph-wire man on the Great Eastern Railway—on Saturday, 21st June, I left the house with my brother, aged seventeen, and a sister, aged thirteen, to take them to my father, to see if he could not provide for them, because the prisoner had been keeping them as well—he took them and father too, out of the workhouse—my brother had been in a home, and was a shop-boy; he had only worked for two months—I left the prisoner because I was so much in debt, and I had made away with all his clothes, and I owed a great deal of rent, and I felt it too much—I met my father, and then we went to my married brother—father took my little brother to the lodginghouse he was then living at, and my married brother took my sister, and I stayed with him till the Monday—I did not tell the prisoner that I was going to do this; I knew it would break him up if I told him—on Monday, 23rd, at half-past eight p.m., I was with my father and brother, going to my married brother's—we went into the Woodbury public-house—the prisoner came in and bought me two-pennyworth of port wine—he tried to persuade me to go home, and said if I would go home he would put the banns up the next morning—I said, "No, wait for a little while and see how things will turn. I shan't go home to-night. If I go any night, I won't go home to-night; I will think over it"—he said, "Do come home, and things will be all right again"—I said, "No, I will not go home to-night"—we came away, and father walked a little way behind us—my brother nudged me to look at a tram—while I looked at it the prisoner drew a razor across my throat—I only saw the glitter of the razor, as it dropped after that; I did not see what the prisoner did with it afterwards—I was taken to a doctor in the Stamford Road, and while I was there the prisoner was brought in—the doctor asked me whether it was with my consent or not; I said "No"—he said, "Who cut your throat; did you do it yourself?"—I said, "No, he did it."
Cross-examined. My brother lived half or three-quarters of an hour's walk from the prisoner—when I left the prisoner I was going to live with my brother; I hardly knew what I was going to do; I was going to stay for a time to look round—the prisoner knew that I had a married brother, and where he lived—on the Sunday the prisoner came
there to see me, but I refused to see him—when father went into the workhouse, five or six years ago, the prisoner supported me and my sister—we were absolutely destitute—the prisoner's wages were £1 a week—he was paying his mother ten shillings a week, and he paid another five shillings for us—after father came out of the workhouse the prisoner supported him for about three months, and my brother, sister, and me—father sent me about £3 during twelve months—I have always been on the best of terms with the prisoner—we had no quarrels—I am not at all frightened of him now; I am willing to marry him.
FREDERICK LACKER , M. D. I practise at the German Hospital on 23rd July the prosecutrix was brought to the hospital about eleven p.m.—I examined her, and found a large wound on her throat, five inches long, rather deep, touching the windpipe, but not puncturing it; the great arteries were not injured—she remained in the hospital for three weeks—she was never in danger—she has recovered, and is as well as she was before—the prisoner had a wound about four inches long, touching the windpipe, but not penetrating—he lost a great deal of blood—the wound will not have a permanent effect on him—I think he has recovered, but he was taken to the station the same evening, and I have not seen him since.
CORNELIUS MCCARTHY (Police Inspector N). On 23rd July, from information I received, I went to Dr. McCulloch's surgery, 84, Stamford Hill—in the garden I found the prisoner sitting on the ground with his back against the wall, suffering from a wound in his throat, and almost in a state of insensibility—I also found the prosecutrix there in a perambulator, suffering from a wound in the throat—I searched and found in the prisoner's right-hand pocket an empty razor-case—I found a razor about 200 yards from the surgery—I toot the prisoner to the hospital—Dr. Lacker attended to him, and then I took him to the station, and charged him.
GUILTY of unlawful wounding.
The JURY requested the Court to use all possible clemency to the prisoner under the circumstances of the case and the prisoner's good character.
The prisoner received a good character from his foreman on the Great Eastern Railway.— Nine Days' Imprisonment. The Court added that a sum of £10, partly from the Sheriffs' Fund and partly from those on the Bench, would be handed to Mary Ann Capper to assist in providing a home for them; and that the Chaplain would be glad to perform the marriage ceremony for them.
MR. LAWLESS Prosecuted, and MR. A. GILL Defended.
WILLIAM SPARROWHAWK . I live at 8, Audrey Street, Shoreditch, and am a general dealer—at half-past seven or a quarter to eight, on 11th July, I was standing at my door, which is two doors from Moe Street—I saw the prisoner driving a dray and two horses—he came down Goldsmith Road, and turned into Audrey Street, very sharp—I saw a child run into the road after he turned the corner—I ran to pull the child put of the way, but before I could get to it the dray was the top of me, and I had to jump out of the way and leave the child there—before I ran to
the child I halloaed out, and held up my hands for him to stop; the dray was then about two houses and half the width of the street from the child—after the child was knocked down the dray went five houses, further on—after it was stopped I saw that the prisoner was very drunk—his mate was with him—the prisoner was driving—I picked up the child and handed it to the mother.
Cross-examined. I did not see the dray in Goldsmith Road; I saw it turn the corner—I saw the child in the road after the dray got a little way down the hill—when the child ran into the road the dray was two houses and half the width of the street off—the houses have about fourteen feet frontage—there are seven houses, I think, between Moe and Maidstone Streets, and two between Goldsmith Road and Moe Street, because there is a public-house at the corner with a long frontage down the street—the child was crossing the road—when I saw it in the road the dray was half-way down from Goldsmith Road to Moe Street—as soon as I shouted the prisoner tried to pull up, but he had no control over the horses, because he had the reins too long—the off-side horse knocked the child down, and the near side horse trampled on it, and the off-leg of the near-side horse trod on its stomach—no wheel touched it, but the dray went over it, and I picked it up at the end of the dray—I did not speak to the prisoner till we got to the hospital—there were a lot of people there—I heard him talking to Mr. Alexander, a shopkeeper at the corner—at the hospital the prisoner told me I did not know anything about it, and I said I had the child's hair on my arm—he called me names—I said it was his fault—he did not walk with the mother to the hospital—I went there, following the mother—I did not see a policeman till after the prisoner was at the hospital; I think the doctor sent for one—Ryan drove the dray to the hospital, and the prisoner walked.
Re-examined. The hospital was about one hundred and fifty yards off.
JOHN PIGGOTT . I live at 70, Goldsmith Road, and am a boot and shoe manufacturer—I had just run out of the public-house at the corner of Goldsmith Road and Audrey Street on this evening, and I saw the prisoner turn, the corner—I cannot say what the pace was, but he was driving recklessly—it was a brewer's dray—I saw a child going across the road, and Mr. Sparrowhawk in the road with his hands up called out, "Mind the child!"—I was behind the dray; I saw Mr. Sparrowhawk pick the child up—the dray pulled up four or five houses further on—the prisoner was drunk, in fact both he and Ryan, the man with him, were—I was at the Police-court, but I was not called—I went to the hospital with Mr. Sparrowhawk, bat waited outside.
Cross-examined. I saw the dray turn the corner—I did not see another dray in front of it which continued along the Goldsmith Road—I heard Sparrowhawk shout as the dray turned the corner—I did not notice the child before that—it is rather a sharp incline, and you must go down there a bit sharp—the child was nearly half-way across the road when I saw it, going to its home on the other side—I cannot remember saying before the Magistrate that I saw the child stepping off the kerb—the prisoner made no attempt to stop his horses till he had got over the child—he was not pulling the reins—the child was picked up just at the end of the dray, which had not stopped, it went four or five doors further on—I afterwards said to the prisoner, "You ought to be a little more careful,"
and they used obscene language to all—no policeman was there. I sent a boy for one—the prisoner and Ryan were drunk, neither could walk straight—neither of them was fit to be in charge of a dray—Harvey walked to the hospital of his own accord.
EMMA BBIDGE . I live at 9, Moe Street, and am the mother of William, Thomas Bridge, who was killed on this night—I was not in the street when the child was knocked down, I came up later when Sparrowhawk put it into my arms, and I carried it to the hospital—I saw the prisoner, I was too flurried to see his condition—the child died in two hours.
Cross-examined. He was two years old—he went from the door alone to meet his little brother, with my knowledge—I was sitting just inside the doorway.
JOHN HODSMITH (Policeman J 154). On the evening of 11th July I was on fixed point duty in Goldsmith Road, about 100 yards from the place of the accident—I received information, and went to the hospital, where I saw the prisoner—he was drunk—he was very insolent and abusive to me, and to the people at the hospital and others—I asked him where the child was—he said it was taken upstairs—he said, "I don't want to stop here all the b——y night; I want to get home; I have a long way to go"—I said I should detain him as long as I wanted him—I had to get the names and addresses of witnesses—I told him it was not laughing matter—he was laughing, and his mate with him—they were both detained at the hospital.
Cross-examined. Ryan was the worse for drink—I let him drive the dray away—the prisoner used other bad expressions—I told him I should take him into custody for being drunk and running over the child—he was examined an hour afterwards by a divisional surgeon, who is not here—I am a judge of sobriety—I should say the signature to this receipt was that of a sober man.
EDMUND PERCIVAL FRANCE . I am surgeon to the Children's Hospital, Hackney Road—on the evening of the 11th July I saw the child when it was brought to the hospital—it was suffering from shock—several rlbs were broken, and there was bleeding from the lungs internally—I saw the prisoner in the casualty room—in my opinion he was under the influence of alcohol.
Cross-examined. I saw him after the child had been in the hospital ten minutes—I made no examination of him—I asked if he knew now the accident happened; he said he did not—I do not think that what I saw in him was the result of excitement and nervousness—I should expect that if a man were considerably under the influence of liquor it would affect his writing—a man is sometimes drunk in the head and sober in his limbs, and vice versa.
GEORGE SUTTON (Policeman J 96). I prepared this plan to scale—it is eighty-four feet from Moe Street to Goldsmith Road—Sparrowhawk pointed out the spots in the street, and from where the van pulled up to the place where the child was knocked down was sixty feet.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I was turning the corner, when the child jumped off the pavement and ran right under the horses' legs. "
Witnesses for the Defence.
one of their drays; about half-past six to half-past seven I and the prisoner were delivering beer at the Cobden Arms—he was sober; he started away first, and I followed him—when we got to Goldsmith Road I was in front—the prisoner turned down Audrey Street—I went straight on; I was then about twenty-five or thirty yards from his dray; I was at a walking pace, and he was following me—he did not turn down Audrey Street at a fast or reckless pace; it is a sharp incline, and you could not go very steady; but he had been walking behind me, and so he could not have been going very fast—I did not see what took place after the prisoner turned down Audrey Street.
Cross-examined. I had my own horses to attend to, but I can look round sometimes—I saw he was turning the corner—he was walking when he turned; before that a narrow way in Goldsmith Road was blocked, and I went on, and the prisoner turned down, and then he turned up afterwards into Goldsmith Road, just behind me—he did not go much faster than I did to catch me up, because I was detained a second or two—he was twenty or thirty yards behind me—I have been in this employment seven months; the prisoner has been there fifteen months, I think—we only had half a pint each at the Cobden Arms—at each place we deliver beer they give us a drink—we had only delivered At two houses that day; the first was at Leytonstone, pretty well an hour before—I think the prisoner delivered at three houses that day—the pot the landlord gave us was nearly all froth.
By the COURT. I worked in the stables all the morning, and started at half-past twelve or one—I had to deliver at Leytonstone, and then I had to follow the prisoner back and help him with the empties, because there were more than he could get on his dray.
HENRY RYAN . I am in the same employment as the prisoner—on 11th July, about ten or eleven, after breakfast (which we go to about eight and return from about nine), I went out with him on the dray, which he was driving—we had to deliver beer at three public-houses—the first delivery was about dinner-time, at Whitecross Street—we took a sandwich with us—the publican gave us half a pint each; they usually draw a pint pot about three-quarters full—we had nothing more there—we had six or seven pint pots about three parts full that day, I suppose—we had no more than usual; that is our usual quantity—we went to the Cobden Arms between six and half-past six, and were there about an hour—that was the last place we called at before the accident—I saw the prisoner sign this receipt there, and these are the receipts he signed at the other houses earlier in the day—we followed Harris in Goldsmith Road at a walking pace till we got to the corner, and then we turned to the right down Audrey Street—it was a four-wheeled dray—I was sitting between two barrels of beer at the side, looking to the side of the road—I heard the prisoner shout; I caught hold of the rail at the back of the dickey and pulled myself up, and saw the child a yard or so from the pavement, and not a foot and a half away from the horses' front legs—the prisoner pulled himself up as fast as he could, and asked me to catch hold of the reins as soon as he stopped them—he stopped them within the length of the dray I should say—I did not see Sparrowhawk, nor did I see the child pulled up—I saw the mother with the child in her arms—the prisoner jumped down as soon as he stopped—I did not get down; I drove the horses to the hospital, and then I got down—I saw
Hodsmith there; I don't think he spoke to me—I drove the dray home to the brewery.
Cross-examined. The first shout I heard was the prisoner's; I did not hear Sparrowhawk shout—the prisoner was sitting on the dickey—I was on the off side of the dray—I saw the child before it was knocked down; it was on the off-side—I pulled myself up, and looked; I could have seen without—I had six or seven half-pints drawn in pint pots; we did not have pints—we have no regular dinner; we have a food breakfast and a hot supper—we were an hour at the Cobden Arms, delivering nine or ten barrels—we had two drinks there; one before we started and one at the end—Harris was six or seven yards in front when we turned into Audrey Street; not thirty yards, nor twenty, I should think—I will swear he was not; he was quite close to us—we were only at a walking pace going down Audrey Street—the near-side horse was walking; the offside may have broken into a trot.
Re-examined. The near horse walked faster than the other—we pulled up in about one length of the dray, which is twelve or fourteen feet—I did not see the child after it was knocked down till the mother had it—I did not see the horse knock it down—I could not see it before, because I had to jump on the dickey and catch hold of the reins—I did not see the man pick it up—the prisoner jumped off on the near-side—the prisoner is driver; he did not drive from the hospital because they kept him there—I have driven for seven years—you cannot pull up horses walking in less than a dray's length, if they have a load behind them, unless you did it wonderfully short; the prisoner pulled them up as short as any man could, I believe—to the best of my belief he was sober—the brake on the dray was on; it is one you use with your foot, and we always put it on going down an incline—the incline was rather sharp here—the prisoner put the brake on as he turned the corner—I saw him; you don't want to see it; you can hear it—I heard no shout by Sparrowhawk—I heard the brake before we got round the corner.
WILLIAM MILLER . I keep the Cobden Arms, Digby Road—on 11th. July, at half-past six, the prisoner called with his dray, and delivered, some beer—he was working there for about an hour—I spoke to him and Ryan—they were sober—the prisoner signed this receipt—they had two half-pints of beer each.
Cross-examined. I gave it to them—I drew half-pints as near as I could draw them, the same as for a customer—I was in the bar all the time, except when they were in the cellar—I was with them the whole time—to the best of my belief they, were sober—I could not leave to go to the Police-court, because my wife was ill.
The prisoner received an excellent character for sobriety and good conduct from the manager and the horsekeeper of the Brewery Company.
MR. LAWLESS recalled
WILLIAM SPARROWHAWK (Recalled). When the prisoner was about half way down the hill the break was put on—I saw when we came back from the hospital the mark of the wheel in the road—I did not hear the grinding of the wheel at the time—I only go by the look of the wheel on the road—the hill is not so steep as Ludgate Hill.
GUILTY. The JURY strongly recommended him to mercy .— Four Months Hard Labour.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
EMMA LECHMERE . I am the prisoner's wife—from October last I have been living apart from him, at 6, Croydon Street, Marylebone—on 25th June, at a quarter to five, he called—my son was present at our conversation, and I had my infant on my lap—I was having a few words with my husband about his not getting work and supporting the children—he said nothing to me—we have had eight children, four are living—the prisoner is a hair-dresser, but he does not do much; usually one and a half days a week; Saturday and Sunday—it does not keep us all—I do needlework—after, the few words we had he put on his hat and coat and came across to me, and held my chin, and began cutting at my throat with a table knife—I could not say whether it had been on the table—my baby was in my arms—the prisoner cut my throat several times; he said, "You started this, and I will finish it"—my baby dropped, my husband left off, and I rushed out of the room to. the front door, and then I thought of my baby, and went back and picked it up, and made my escape from the front door—the prisoner said nothing when I went back—I told a constable—the prisoner had before said he would settle me—I have gone in fear of my life for a very long time—since October he has been to see me about once in six weeks, and then he has been very disagreeable and quarrelsome; he did not use threats then; he did so when we were living together—I don't know how he gains a living now.
FRANCIS CHARLES MATHEW . I am house surgeon at St. Mary's Hospital—on 25th June the prosecutrix was brought to me; she had a cuff across the throat some three inches long, just nicking the cartilage of the air passage; it was not very deep—I don't think it was a dangerous wound—it could have been caused by this table-knife, on which there are marks that might be blood—there was a slight cut on her left cheek—she is entirely out of danger now.
JAMES ELLIS (Policeman D 211). At a quarter to five p.m. on 25th June I saw the prosecutrix in the passage of her house, leading to the front kitchen downstairs; she was bleeding from a wound in her throat—from what she told me I went into the house and saw the prisoner in the front kitchen—I asked the prosecutrix, "Who did that?"—the prisoner could hear it—she pointed to him and said, "He did"—he made no reply—I took him to the station; he was charged with attempted murder; he made no reply—I found this knife among the ashes below the grate; it is in the same condition now as it was then.
The Prisoner, in his defence, said that he had suffered from sunstroke in India, and that sometimes he was not responsible for his actions; that on this day he had been drinking, and he had no recollection of anything that
occurred; and that he did not mean to do her any injury; he was too fond of her.
GUILTY on the second count — Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
LEOPOLD GIBBS . I live at 58, Star Street, Commercial Road, and worked at a fibre factory—I have shared a bedroom with the prisoner, and have always been on very good terms with him—no animosity has existed between us—about half-past five a.m. on 4th July I was awakened by the prisoner chopping my head—he gave me eleven chops on my head, and some on my arms—he said that I had made him lose his work—he chopped me while I was asleep, and made me unconscious, and then he chopped me when I awoke—I holloaed out, and got out of the room—I was taken to the London Hospital, and I have been there ever since—we had no quarrel previous to this—there are chops all over my arms.
WILLIAM PEMBERTHLY . I am house surgeon at the London Hospital—on the morning of 4th July Gibbs was admitted—he had lacerated wounds on his scalp and a fracture of his skull, and several small wounds about his hands—they were very dangerous; he is quite out of danger now.
ARTHUR MASON (Police Inspector H). On 4th July, the prisoner was brought to the station and charged with unlawfully wounding—he made no reply—he appeared very shaky, and I said, "Do you feel ill?"—he said, "No, I feel all right, only that fellow mesmerised me, and done me an injury in my work"—he appeared to me to have been drinking very much indeed—I have made inquiries about him; he bears a very good character; he has been a casual labourer at the docks for twenty years.
GEORGE DOYLE . I am a labourer—I have known the prisoner ever since I was a lad; I know nothing of this matter, but on the morning previous to it, between two and three o'clock, he came into my room and woke me up by pulling the clothes off me—I said, "What is the matter with you?"—he said, "I don't know"—he started laughing, and laughed for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, and then he went out of the room—he lives in the next room to mine; it is a private house, kept by my sister, who takes lodgers—Gibbs lodges there—I believe he had been drinking—I did not see him from the time he woke me up till after he attached Gibbs; then I saw him on the kerb, and holloaed for the police, who came and took him into custody—I thought then he had been drinking—I have known him a great many years, and never knew him to be in any trouble before.
The prisoner, in his defence, said he had blood poisoning in his arm, and had been to the hospital for some time, and that since he came out he had been drinking freely, and had no recollection of doing the act.
MRS. KELLIS. The prisoner has been living in my house for nine or ten years, and I never knew him to be in a row before—he and Gibbs were always on the best of terms—he had been in the hospital with
his arm for some time, and they told him not to drink when he came out, but he had been drinking very heavily.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding .— Twelve Months' hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted. WILLIAM VICTORY. I am a dock labourer—on 15th July, about 10.30, I was with Charles Maiden in Barking Road—we met a woman and asked her to have a drink—I saw the prisoner there with a man she is connected with; I knew her before—a female (not the prisoner) asked my friend to have a glass of beer, but he did not have it—eventually, I was struck by the prisoner's friend, and the prisoner hit me with an umbrella and cut my face, and when I turned to go home, she said, "You b——y f——cow, I will have your life this night"—no conversation had taken place between us before that—she then stabbed me over the ear with a butcher's knife half worn out, which she took from her sleeve—she gave me two strokes, but only inflicted one wound—I was taken to the hospital—I was perfectly sober.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not strike you twice and kick once, but you struck me with an umbrella—I saw a knife in your hand; I do not know what you did with it—there was no provocation on my part.
CHARLES MAIDEN . I am a bricklayer, of Rathbone Street, Canning Town—on 15th July I was with Victory in Barking Road, and saw the prisoner stab him in the ear-hole—she struck at him twice—she was not drunk; she had had one glass in my presence—she took the knife out of her sleeve—I did not see what became of it—there was no conversation before that.
FRANK CORDER . I am house surgeon at Poplar Hospital—on 15th July, about 11.50, Victory was brought there with an incised wound in front of his left ear, about an inch long, and not very deep, from above, downwards; it was done with a sharp edged instrument with force—he was in no danger—he has not been at the hospital, he was attended by his club doctor—the wound has healed.
GEORGE PALMER (Police Sergeant). On 16th July, about 2.30, I went to 16, Carlton Road, and saw the prisoner—I told her I should take her in custody for stabbing a man named Victory—she said, "lam innocent; I do not know the man"—she was sober.
Cross-examined. Victory did not come to the station till two o'clock to give information—I searched the room, but could not find the knife or umbrella.
with the prisoner's friend—he asked me to treat him and the woman—I said, "No, you have had me and the girl I live with quite enough"—the other girl was not there—I meant living on her prostitution—he then came up and struck me on my nose, and knocked me on my back, and when I was. on the ground he kicked me on my right side—I got up and returned his blow—all this time the prisoner was walloping me with the umbrella; she said, "Go away, or I will stab you"—when she struck at me I bobbed my head down and missed the blow, and she struck me on my face.
Witness for the Defence
ANGELINA WHITE . I have a young man to keep me; he is a fireman—I live with my mother, at 67, Buttesland Terrace—I-saw Victory strike the prisoner across her face with his hand, and he struck the man twice, who was with the prisoner, with his fists—they were having high words over some drink, and Victory said, "I am not going to give you drink," and took off his coat, and they fought, and he was struck with the handle of an umbrella, and I saw blood now from near his ear and from his nose—a young man came up and wiped the blood from his face.
Cross-examined. I was not in the public-house; it was in the Barking Road—I stood close to them—the prisoner had apartments in my mother's house, with a man who went to sea—she is not living in my mother's house now; she is on the streets—my friend goes to sea, but only for five weeks—I do not do any needlework when he is away—I saw no knife.
Prisoner's Defence. I am not guilty. He wanted to make a kick at me, and I struck him twice with my umbrella.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
GUILTY on the Second Count .— Four Months' Hard Labour.
MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted.
ELIZABETH ALLEN . I am the wife of Edward Allen, of 2, Rivett Street, Victoria Dock—on 21st July, about eight p.m., the prisoner came and asked if he could have a respectable lodging—I said, "Yes"—he said, "I wish for a room to myself, and a bed to myself. I am the, second mate of the City of Venice, which is in the Victoria Dock this evening; "that he had been away fourteen months and a few days—he asked for some tea, and after tea he said would I let him have a wash, and said, "Let me have some money"—I said, "What did you say the name of the boat was?" and he said, "The City of Venice"—I said, "I have not much money to spare, would 5s. do?"—he said, "Oh, really, 5s. me holding the position I do!"—I gave him £1—he then said, "Will you come and nave a glass of ale at the corner, as I wish to change it into silver"—his representation that he was mate induced me to give him the £1—he said he should be paid off on Wednesday—I went with him
to the Brassey Arms and he gave me a glass of ale—later in the evening he went out, and during his absence Mrs. Johnson said something to me—after that I went with him again to the Brassey Arms—Mrs. Johnson was close by, but not with me—I asked him how long it was since he was on the Marsh, which is the Victoria Dock Road—he said he had not been there for eighteen months—I asked if he had not made a mistake—he said, "Oh dear, no! do you doubt me?"—I went to see Mrs. Johnson—I asked the prisoner whether he had not been at Mrs. Johnson's a fortnight ago for lodgings—he said, "Oh dear, no!"—then Mrs. Johnson came forward, and I asked him if he knew her—he said, "No"—Mrs. Johnson said, "Yes, you were at my house a fortnight ago, and obtained a lodging"—he said he did not know her—I gave him in charge—the silver was on the counter—he put it there before I went for a constable—he told me his name was Charley—I have seen Mrs. Woodward.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not meet you first at the corner of the public-house, and ask if you wanted a lodging; you spoke to me at my own door—another man was with you, he did not speak—you said, "Don't call me sir; I like the name Charley, I am sick of sir; on board the ship I have enough of that"—I gave you a clean handkerchief, which you asked for—you called me back and asked me for the money—my daughter was not there—you had no money before you got to my house, that I saw; only threepence that you put down in the publichouse—no one saw me give you the sovereign, but the publican changed it—I don't know if my daughter drank with you, she was in the publichouse afterwards—I don't know that she took a drunken man home.
GEORGE BATT . I live at the Brassey Arms, 152, Victoria Dock Road—on the evening of 21st July the prisoner came into the bar with Mrs. Allen and her daughter—Mr. Allen came in afterwards—I supplied them with drink; the prisoner tendered a sovereign, and I gave him 19s. 7d. change—later in the evening Mrs. Allen demanded her money, and the prisoner put some on the counter.
HELEN JOHNSON . I live at 19, Hack Road, West Ham—I am a widow, and let lodgings—on 7th July the prisoner came, and said, "I knew your husband; I should be glad to obtain lodgings recommended by a mate of the ship Toronto"—he ordered tea, and I provided it; and after two and a half hours he went out, and never returned—I got a room and supper ready for him—he never came for them.
Cross-examined. You had nothing from me.
ELIZABETH WOODWARD . I am the wife of George Woodward—I let lodgings—in November, 1889,1 was living at Alie Street, and keeping a cook-shop there—the prisoner came and asked me to accommodate him with board and lodging for seven weeks—I said I could—he was to pay £1 a week—he stopped two hours, and had tea—after tea he asked for a sovereign—I said I could not let him have one—I gave him five shillings—he said he was second mate of the St. Vincent, and he belonged to the P. and O. Company—after he got tea and the 5s. I did not see him again till I saw him at the Police-station.
SPENCER EDDOWS COLCHESTER . I am in the office of the agents for the City of Venice—I copied this list; there is no person on board that ship of the same name as the prisoner—Mr. Kidd is second mate, and
has been so for two or three voyages—I have never known the prisoner in connection with this ship—I have been at the office over ten years.
FRANCIS KRONK (Policeman K 573). On 21st July, about 9 30,1 was called to the Brassey Arms by Mrs. Allen—I saw the prisoner, and said to him, "Do you belong to the City of Venice?"—he said, "Yes, I do"—he said he was second mate on it—he put five shillings on the counter, which I took possession of—I took him to the station, where I asked him again whether he belonged to the City of Venice—he said "Yes"—he made no reply to the charge—when searched tenpence and a letter addressed to Captain Watson were found on him—he gave the address, 22, Little Turner Street, Whitechapel—on the way to the station he told me he had dropped some money; I did not hear any drop; it was dark—I afterwards saw five shillings, which had been picked up.
The Prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate, denied having obtained money by false pretences; and in his defence he asserted that the sovereign was his own, and that he had it when he first went to the house.
GUILTY **— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BOOTH Prosecuted.
PHOEBE SHAW . I live at the Brassey Arms, 153, Victoria Dock Road, and am a domestic servant there—on 14th July, about 8.15, I was in my bedroom, when I saw the prisoner on his hands and knees crawling up the sloping roof, which my bedroom is at the side of, and then I heard the breaking of glass—I finished dressing, and then went down and told my master, whom I saw on the stairs—I had never seen the prisoner till I saw him creeping up the roof—the sloping roof joins the main roof.
By the COURT. I am on the second floor; I cannot see the main roof from my window—he was on the roof of the yard—you would have to get up the wall of the urinal before you got on the roof.
GEORGE BATT (the elder). I keep the Brassey Arms, 153, Victoria Dock Road—on 14th July, at 8.20, I heard a crash of glass, and went out at the back—seeing nothing, I went upstairs, and met Shaw, who told me something—I then sent for a constable—we went to the top of the house—I saw the prisoner crouched behind a chimney-stack—when the policeman got hold of him, and told him he would take him into custody, he was very violent, and threw him on the sloping roof—had it not been for the signboard the constable would have fallen into the road, about thirty feet down.
Cross-examined. We found you on the main roof—you were not seen in the house—I did not see you in the bar—the door leading to the back way was not fastened, I am perfectly certain, because I went through it myself; I met a man coming through the passage from the yard—two persons and my own family were in the house at the time.
Re-examined. I do not know the prisoner by sight; I have never seen him in the house.
GEORGE BATT (the younger). I live with my father—on 14th July he called me about 8.30, and I went up on the roof with him, and then he sent me for a policeman—I brought one back, and was sent for another—I had been round the premises earlier in the afternoon, and found all
was safe and secure—the doors and windows were fastened securely—when I went round afterwards with the inspector I found the attic window above Phoebe Shaw's room was broken; the bolts were drawn—that window was safe when I went round before—I had not seen the prisoner before that night.
Cross-examined. The window leads out on to a parapet—the bolt is inside—I locked the window at five, and did not see it again till I saw it broken—nobody could have been up in that room—I am sure nobody could get into it.
HENRY DOMAILE (Policeman K 313). On 14th July I was called by Batt about 8.45—I went on to the roof, where I found the prisoner behind the chimney-stack, looking as though he were trying to hide himself—I had to get over two houses before I saw him—I said, "What are you doing there?"—he made no reply—I told him I should take him into custody—he made no reply—he became very violent, and tried to throw me off the roof—if it had not been for the signboard, and the assistance of Mr. Batt, I should have fallen—we had to get the prisoner through the front attic window—he was very violent—I brought him to the station—he made no reply to the charge—I found nothing on him except his discharge and two telegraph forms—I was not cut or bruised.
Cross-examined. You were bruised in the struggle on the roof; I did not strike you at all.
WILLIAM WAKE (Police Inspector), On 14th July, about nine o'clock, I examined the premises—I found in the urinal a water-pipe running up the wall—I found marks on it as if a person had climbed up; it had been freshly painted, and paint was scraped off—access had been gained in that way to the lower roof, where there is a plate-glass skylight, which had been broken—from the sloping roof access would be obtained to the main roof, and from there he had passed over the parapet where the attic window is—the glass of that window was pushed inwards immediately over the fastening, so that a hand could be inserted, and the catch pulled up—I could not find any trace of anyone having been in the room—at the station the prisoner made no answer to the charge—I found on him a coal trimmer's discharge in the name of Johnson, and these two telegrams from Scotland, in the name of Youngsen—the telegrams were, "Call for letter to-morrow morning—Brown," and, "Mother away, letter following"—he was excited, but quite sober.
The Prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence, said that having landed after a voyage, he was expecting a letter from Scotland with a money-order to take him home; that he was a little the worse for liquor, and he went to the urinal at the back of the public-house and found he could not get back because the door was bolted; that he knocked several times, but it was not opened; that he saw men playing cards, and thought he had got among roughs, and tried to get over the wall and fell through the glass on to his knees; that the noise brought someone, who asked what he wanted; that he said he wanted police protection, and waited till a constable arrived, when he was ill-used and struck, and taken to the station.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. ROOTH Prosecuted, and MR. TURRELL Defended Brown.
THOMAS DOWNS . I live at 25, Underwood Street, Mile End, and am foreman to Benjamin Winstone and Sons—on 6th June I locked up their premises at seven o'clock—on 7th June I went there at eight a.m., and found the two front gates open, and the lock wrenched off—I missed fifty-two kegs of black paint which had been there the night before—I informed my manager.
Cross-examined by MR. TURRELL. The premises had clearly been broken open—no reward was offered.
RODERICK THOMAS . I live at 157, Osborn Road, Forest Gate, and am manager to Benjamin Winstone—on 7th June, about nine, when I arrived, Downs gave me information, and I went to the Police-station—I then returned to the warehouse and found that fifty-two kegs, part of a special order of 400 prepared for Calcutta, had been taken away—each keg contained 28 lb. of paint, and had our special brand on—on 26th June I saw the fifty-two kegs at the Police-station—the value of them was about £10—these are two of the kegs, marked "B. Winstone and Sons, black paint, 28 lb., London."
Cross-examined by MR. TURRELL. I first saw Brown when he was charged on the 26th—the padlock had been forced off the warehouse; no key had been used—I offered no reward—it would take a few minutes to put the fifty-two kegs in a cart.
Re-examined. A man could carry one in each hand, and throw them into a cart in a very short time—this keg has our mark, but it is blackened over; it is ours; it is the only one blackened.
WILLIAM CREAGH . I keep the Sherwood Arms, Bow Common Lane—on 6th June, about nine p.m. or later, I believe Brown came for the keys of Taylor's shed at the back of my place; they were left over the bar with me—I have seen Brown with Taylor—it was the only time Brown came for the keys—I know he came one night, but I cannot swear as to the day.
Cross-examined by MR. TURRELL. I said at the Police-court I remembered it was the Oaks day, the 6th, that Brown came, but it might have been any other day—I won't say it was not the 4th—Brown had the keys for about half an hour.
By the JURY. Taylor rented the place at the back from Deesley, and I let Brown have the keys because there were waggonettes there for sale belonging to Taylor's customers.
Re-examined. Taylor left no one in possession, and the keys were left with me that evening—he gave me no authority to let Brown have the keys—I cannot say if anyone was with Brown.
CHARLOTTE HEMS . I live at 59, Sherwood Street, Bow Common Lane—I am single—my mother keeps a greengrocer's shop—on 6th June Brown came between the lights to ask whether any of us could do a job—I directed him to my brother in Bow Common Lane, at the arch—we lend carts and horses for jobs—my father and mother were at the Oaks on that day, and I was left alone at home—I had not seen Brown before.
Cross-examined by MR. TURRELL. It was between 8.30 and 9—Brown had a brown coat on—I did not ask his name, or what job he wanted done—I was talking to him for about five minutes, I should think, and he went to see my brother, who was left in charge of the yard—I next saw Brown going in the Court, when I went to give evidence, on 4th July.
By the COURT. I noticed he walked lame, and he walked lame at the Police-court.
Re-examined. I am positive Brown is the man.
JOHN HEMS . I am the last witness's brother—I am getting on for fifteen—on 6th June, between 8.30 and 9, Brown came, and said, "You have got to come along with me and do a job for me; your sister said so"—he said he would come with me—he said he wanted the horse and van—I drove away with Brown—we went to a warehouse in Sugar House Lane—Brown said, "Draw in inside the gates"—I was in charge of the horse and cart—when we got up to the warehouse doors, which open into the street, they were right open—when I drew in I saw no light—Brown went and fetched some cans, something like these two, and put them inside the van—I cannot tell how many there were; they half filled the four-wheeled van—after he had loaded the van we went to Sherwood Street, Bow Common, where he took the things out of the van and put them in a shed, a little way behind the beer-shop, the Sherwood Arms—I did not see anyone else" the whole time—it was 10.30 or 11 as near as I can tell when I left Brown—we had no light.
Cross-examined by MR. TURRELL. Brown had a brown coat on, and walked lame—when I saw him at the Police-court, on 4th July, he was dressed as he is now, with a brown coat on—when he came on 6th June, I did not ask him his name, nor did I ask him for money; he said he would see us later on—I had never seen him before—I look after my father's horses and carts when he is out—I cannot tell if the gates were forced; they were open when I went down there—I was with him one and a half or two hours—the first time I saw him after doing the job for him was in the dock at the Police-court—I swear he is the man.
Cross-examined by Taylor. I did not see you at either place.
DAVID CRACKITT (Sergeant Criminal Investigation Department). Information was given to me, and on 26th June, at 12.30, I went with Langrish, Duck and Gardner to Taylor's premises, Sherwood Street, Bow Common Lane—he is a carriage painter—Taylor and two other men who were charged, and discharged by the Magistrate, were there—I said to Taylor, "Who is the occupier of these premises?"—he said, "I am" I said, "We are police officers, and have reason to believe you have stolen paint on the premises, and we are going to search"—he said, 'You can search, there is no paint here other than you can see, and that is in use"—I said, "I should be very careful if I were you, because we mean to search the premises; what are underneath these cushions and carriage cover?"—he made no reply—Gardner found under the cushions fifty-one kegs of paint similar to these—I said, "How do you account for the possession of this?"—he said, "It was left here a short time ago by a man whom I don't know, who gave an address in Poplar" I said, "cannot you tell me the man's name?"—he replied, "No"—I told him to consider himself in custody, and then I charged him with stealing this paint from Winstone and Sons' premises, Sugar Lane, on a date which I mentioned—he said, "This is what you get for allowing people to leave things on your premises"—I also found this can which had been used and blackened—the other fifty-one were not blackened—on 29th June, at 2 p.m., I went to 9, Palmerston Road, Kilburn, where I found Brown—I said, "Brown, I have come to arrest you, and charge you with being concerned with other men in custody with breaking and
entering and stealing a quantity of paint from Messrs. Winstone and Sons' premises, Sugar Lane, Stratford, on 6th inst."—he said, "I know nothing about it"—on the way to Limehouse he said, "How many are there in for this job?"—I said, "Three"—he said, "Who are they?"—I said, "Taylor, a cat's meat man, and a man who works for Mr. Taylor"—he said, "It is a jolly shame; that man knows nothing about it. Who is this Taylor? I don't know him"—I said, "He rents a shed at the back of the Sherwood Arms, Bow Common Lane"—he said, "I don t know it"—afterwards he said, "Oh, yes, I have been in that house"—I took him to the station; he was placed with six others, and Creagh identified him.
Cross-examined by MR. TURRELL. The Hemses did not pick him out from others—he had a brown coat on—the cat's meat man and Taylor's servant were discharged by the Magistrate.
Witnesses for Brown.
SAMUEL JOSEPH BROWN . I am Brown's father—I am a builder, at 28, Salter Street, Limehouse Causeway—on 6th June, between nine and ten a.m., Brown showed me this pawnticket, and said he was going to the Oaks—I persuaded him not to do so, and he and I went to Stepney with a truck to do some repairs to a roof—he was with me all day—we came home between five and six, and had tea—his young woman, Louisa Livermore, was there when we got home—he and livermore went out after six, and he came home about 12 or 12.30—he was dressed in a black coat, cord trousers, and brown waistcoat.
Cross-examined. The house I went to was 9, Maroon Street, Stepney, my own property; Mr. Ellis lives there, I believe—my son lives with me—I did not hear the Magistrate ask my son if he called witnesses—he did not call me, I was in Court at the time.
Re-examined. He was arrested on Sunday and charged on Monday—afterwards I instructed a solicitor, and left the matter in his hands.
LOUISA LIVERMORE . I live at 9, Barchester Street, Guildford Road, Poplar—I am a general servant at 3, Durham Road, Stepney—I have been keeping company with Brown—on 6th June I was at his father's house—Brown came in just before six—he had his tea, and a little after six we went to the Registry for Births Office, Poplar—we were there about an hour, and then went straight to the Paragon, Mile End—we got there a little after seven—the prisoner bad been with me up to this time—we left the Paragon about ten, and went to my friend, Mrs. Charcomb, at 3, Surbiton Street-we stayed there till about 11.30, and then I went straight home, and he came with me—he left me about 12.15 or 12.30—he had on a black coat and scarf and drab waistcoat and cord trousers.
Cross-examined. I was not in service on 6th June; I was living at home—I had been in service before then at Mrs. Gilbert's, 119, Barking Road, Plaistow, for about sight months—I left my last mistress because the business, a fishmonger's, did not agree with my eyes—I went to the registry office to register my sister's birth—I am engaged to be married to the prisoner—my mistress would not let me come and give evidence before the Magistrate, and I had a subpoena to come here.
Re-examined. I was not in service when the case was before the Magistrate—I did not go to the Police-court; I don't know why.
Brown and Livermore came in at 10.30 and stayed till 11.45, and then left together—Brown had on a black coat, an old drab waistcoat, and cord trousers—I asked him where he had been, if he had been to the Oaks, and he said, "No, to the Paragon," and I asked him why he had not got his other clothes on, and he laughed.
Cross-examined. I am married; I am a tailoress—I know Brown very well—I invited him on the following day, 8th June, to my birthday—I had been washing—someone spoke to me about giving evidence, and said that the young man was charged with committing felony on 6th June, and asked whether on that day he was not with me.
Re-examined. Brown asked me to come and give evidence.
Cross-examined. I appeared for him on the last occasion at the Police court—Mr. Baggallay asked whether the prisoner would call witnesses, but intimated that he intended to commit the case for trial—I advised Brown to reserve his defence—I was only instructed the evening before, and at that time I was informed of this alibi, and I asked the father to have the three witnesses in Court next day, and he said he would do his best to do so—next morning he told me two of the witnesses were there, but that Livermore's mistress would not allow her to come without a subpoena, and I advised him to subpoena her—it is not usual at West Ham Police-court to call witnesses for the defence when the Magistrate has intimated that he intends to commit.
Taylor, in his defence, said that his business being slack, he agreed on 3rd June to sublet part of his premises to Brown, who said he was starting a small building business, and wanted to place materials there, but that he had not since seen Brown; that on the morning of the 7th Creagh told him Brown had had his keys on the previous evening, and that when he went into the shed he saw the kegs in the part of the premises he had let to him; that he did not know Brown's name, but only a nickname; that the cushions over the kegs had been thrown there when they were taken out of a carriage that came to be washed; and he denied any knowledge that the things had been stolen.
DAVID CRACKITT (Re-examined). Taylor did not say they were not his goods—the shed is a galvanised building, 42 ft. by 16 ft., not divided in any way—the paint was at the extreme end in a corner, except this one keg, which was in the right hand corner; it was uncovered—Brown is lame.
TAYLOR— GUILTY of receiving .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
BROWN— GUILTY .
He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in February, 1890.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
624. WALTER JAMES LANGLEY (19) PLEADED GUILTY to the manslaughter of Martha Bishop . The prisoner received a good character. COUNSEL for the prosecution stated that the death was the result more of accident than anything else .—Three Days' Imprisonment . And
MR. FORREST FULTON for the prosecution offered no evidence. NOT GUILTY .
MR. FORREST FULTON Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON Defended.
MARGARET JACKS . I live with my husband at 21, Bermondsey Street, Borough—on Tuesday, 24th June, about a quarter past two, I was in bed asleep—I heard the breaking of a window in one of my rooms; I got up with my baby in my arms, and went to the door to see what it was—as I opened the street door the prisoner was outside with her husband and another woman—I asked her what she wanted—she made no reply to that, but said, "Now I have got you," she got hold of my hair and punched me in the face with her fist—her husband ran in the passage and struck me across the nose with something, and cut it open—I fell down insensible; I was kicked on the leg by the man; I was put in a cab and taken to the hospital—I could not see whether the prisoner was sober, it was all done so instantly—I know her by sight, but never had any quarrel with her; I can't assign any reason for doing this.
Cross-examined. The passage was not quite dark, there was a lamp opposite the street door—when the husband came forward the prisoner let go of my hair—I did not have any struggle with her—I had two bruises on my face from this; I could not say whether that was from what her husband did, or from what she did.
CHARLES THOMAS JACKS . I am the husband of the last witness—about two in the morning I heard my wife scream; I went to the door and saw her lying on the stairs, bleeding from the nose—there were the prisoner and her husband and another woman at the front door; they said they would smash my b——face if I came to the door—a brick came in which caught my wife in the face—her husband threw one across the door, and I shut it—I gave the brick to the constable.
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Hard labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. FOX Prosecuted, and MR. BESLEY Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
No evidence was offered NOT GUILTY .
MR. BOOTH Prosecuted.
had a glass of beer—I had been a bit fresh when I went to bed, but after I had been there five hours I was sober—I came out of the public house and went about ten yards, when the prisoner, whom I had not seen before, and two other men, seized me, knocked me down, and used me very severely, and took the money out of my pocket—I had nineteen shillings or twenty shillings there—I am certain the prisoner is the first man that seized me—they knocked me on the floor—I stuck to my money, which was in my left-hand pocket, and tried to save myself with my other hand, and they all kicked me all over while I was down—I did not get up till the policeman came, but I held the prisoner—I shouted for the police—my money was gone when the policeman came—I could not swear to the prisoner being sober.
Cross-examined. I had not been drinking with a lot of women all day: I was by myself.
FREDERICK HOSKENS (Policeman M 246). I was in Southwark Bridge Road on my beat—I saw the prisoner and prosecutor struggling on the ground together—I separated them—the prosecutor said, "This man with two others, has robbed me of about nineteen shillings, and assaulted me by kicking me"—he said he kept his money in his left hand trousers pocket, which was hanging out—the prisoner said, "You are a liar; you never had so much money as that; you are drunk"—he was sober—he tried to strike the prosecutor—he was violent; I had to get assistance to take him to the station—the prosecutor was sober—I found 1s. 4d. on the prisoner at the station.
Cross-examined. You were violent, and tried to throw me in every way.
The prisoner, in his statement before the magistrate and in his defence, said he lived in the same house as the prosecutor, that he had seen the prosecutor drinking with women, and that he was passing by him when the prosecutor seized him, knocked him down, and charged him.
GUILTY — Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. ELDEBDGE Prosecuted.
FRANCIS BOSWALL (Detective Sergeant W). On 6th June I was with other detectives—in consequence of a statement made to me I went to the shop of Mr. Collyer, a large tool maker in Oakley Street—I had conversation with him, and he showed me this large crowbar or jemmy—I watched the shop about—about 8.20 or 8.30, I saw the prisoner come to the shop and received this jemmy—he examined it, and complimented young Mr. Collyer on the make, and then took two sheets of brown paper, and string out of his pocket, and wrapped them round it, and tied it—he put it under his arm and went out of the shop, and lit his pipe or cigarette—he went into the Westminster Road, to the junction where Kennington Road joins Westminster Road, and he stood behind the fire escape box—ultimately he got on the outside of a tramcar—I, Ward, and White got inside the car at different points, we were all in plain clothes—he rode to the corner of Brixton Road, where St. Mark's Church, Kennington, stands—he got out, and got on the outside of an omnibus
—we got inside—he rode to Clapham Road Railway station—he went in and out of the crowd waiting there to see the people come home from the Oaks—he went into the booking-office and out again, and round through the passage, and eventually he took this ticket to Walworth, which was back in the direction from which he came—he went on to the platform, and I and the officers went up, too—he waited during the arrival and departure of two trains; then he came downstairs into the booking-office and waited a few minutes, and then went onto the platform again, and to the extreme end of it—a luggage train was approaching, and when it was fifty or eighty yards away he jumped off the platform in front of the train—Sergeant Ward, who was near to him, jumped after him—I managed to catch hold of him, but he broke away from me—he threw this jemmy away; his hat fell off—I ran after him down the line, I daresay 100 or 150 yards—he found we were gaining on him, and he ran up the embankment, and climbed an open wood fence, eight or nine feet high—in turning off the line, I caught my foot in the signal wires and fell—Ward and White got over the fence—I got up and walked lower down to find a low part of the fence, and then I could hear by the shout that he had been captured—I walked back and inquired for the jemmy and a porter handed it and the hat to me—I went to Clapham Police-station, where I saw both the officers and the prisoner and an inspector—I said to the prisoner, "I have got what you threw away; what were you going to do with it? How do you account for having it in your possession?"—he said, "I know nothing; what do you think?"—I have been a smith, and know something about these implements—the difference between this and an ordinary crowbar is that this is corrugated, and much thicker and stronger in the shoulders here, and it is much heavier—I have not seen one like it before—I am sure it was after 9.10 when the prisoner jumped onto and ran along the line—it was six or seven minutes past nine when he was in the booking office—he ran towards the train, and then turned into the four-foot way, and crossed onto the other line; a train was due in that direction—we did not take him sooner because we wished to find where he was going to.
ALFRED WARD (Detective Sergeant L). I corroborate Boswall's evidence—I looked at the time when the prisoner jumped off the platform in front of an approaching train; it was 9.13—I jumped after him, and caught hold of him by the back of his necktie; he left it in my had, broke away, and ran along the four-foot way in an opposite direction to the train; then he veered off to the left, up the railway embankment, and over the fence, nine or ten feet high; I and White followed—he got into one of the gardens at lie rear of Manor Road, and went from garden to garden for seventeen gardens, jumping the fences in a very clever manner—we followed, and White succeeded in running him down, and had a severe struggle with him, and got on top of him and held him down—immediately I came up, he said, "I surrender"—we were all very much exhausted, and could not speak for some minutes—I said, "How do you account for this business, and the jemmy you have thrown, away on the line?"—he said, "I know nothing; you will have to find out"—he was taken to the station and charged—in answer he said, "I know nothing; you will have to find out"—he also said, "I refuse to give my name and address"—I call this instrument a jemmy; it is the largest I ever saw; it is made of the best tempered steel, expressly for
the purpose of forcing open safes, and weighs thirteen pounds and measures four feet six inches—the maker of it does his work openly, and is a respectable man—he puts his name on in most cases, but he has not done so in this case.
PETER WHITE (Policeman L 119). I was with Boswall and Ward on the platform, and chased the prisoner through the gardens—ultimately I caught him—he broke from me, I tore his jacket; I caught him again; we struggled—I struck him in the eye with my right hand—when Ward came up he said, "I surrender"—we conveyed him to the station—when searched a metal watch, watch chain and other things were found on him—our struggle was rather severe—I injured my kneecap and arm—I was three weeks on the sick-list, but am all right now.
JAMES THOMAS SKINNER . I live at 1, Gonsalva Road, Wandsworth Road, and am a railway porter at Clapham Road Station—on 6th June I saw a man jump off the platform in front of a train—I picked up this Jemmy and a hat—I handed them to the police—next day I picked up a broken tie.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I was lighting the lamps—I picked up the crowbar after the goods train passed—I did not see you jump off, but immediately after you jumped off the platform—the train was then forty yards from the platform, perhaps—all the men jumped off the platform in front of the train.
ARTHUR COLLYER . I am a tool maker, of 90, Oakley Street, Westminster Bridge Road—the prisoner asked for a crowbar, and I made this tool to his order—I should never be asked for a jemmy, but for a case opener—I have made these other goods for the prisoner, specially tempered; he asked for them to be tempered for hard granite—these hammers and chisels I had in stock.
Cross-examined, I can swear I sold you these things—the police came and asked me if I knew these tools—I have only one shop.
The prisoner, in his defence, said the instrument was an ordinary crowbar, such as was used in the streets every day, and that there was no proof of his using it; and that he ran away because he thought the constables were all madmen.— GUILTY .
He then PLEADED GUILTY* to a conviction of felony at this Court in January, 1882.— Six Years' Penal Sevitude.
There were other indictments against the prisoner.
The GRAND JURY and the COURT highly commended the conduct of the police officers.
632. EENEST WILLIS (17) and STEPHEN CRANE (17) PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling-house of Thomas George Jenkins, Willis to stealing a ring, a coin, and £20, and Crane to stealing £1 17s. 10d. therein.
CRANE.— Six Months' Hard Labour. WILLIS.— Ten Months' Hard Labour.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted, and MR. FRANCIS WATT Defended.
GUILTY .— Ten Months' Hard Labour ,
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 8TH, 1890