CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
FIRST SESSION, HELD NOVEMBER 14TH, 1892.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE.
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND, BY
JAMES DROVER BARNETT
Short-hand Writers to the Court,
ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
THE POINTS OF LAW AND PRACTICE
REVISED AND EDITED BY
EDWARD T. E. BESLEY, ESQ.,
OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW.
SESSIONS I. TO VI.
STEVENS AND SONS, LIMITED, 119, CHANCERY LANE,
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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, November 14th, 1892, and following days.
BEFORE the RIGHT HON. STUART KNILL, LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir GAINSFORD BRUCE, Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court of Justice; Sir JAMES CLARKE LAWRENCE , Bart., Sir JAMES WHITEHEAD , Bart., M.P., Aldermen of the said City; Sir CHARLES HALL , Knt., Q.C., M.P., Recorder of the said City; GEORGE ROBERT TYLER . Esq., EDWARD HART , Esq., HORATIO DAVID DAVIES , Esq., M.P., FRANK GREEN , Esq., WILLIAM PURDIE TRELOAR, Esq., and VAUGHAN MORGAN , Esq., other Aldermen of the said City; Sir FORREST FULTON, Knt., Q.C., 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.
JOSEPH RENALS, Esq., Alderman.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
KNILL, MAYOR. FIRST 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, November 14th, 1892.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. MUIR Prosecuted.
MILLICENT LOW . I live at Prospect Place, Edmonton, with my grandfather. On October 20th, about ten minutes to twelve, I was in Wolfs Lane, about a quarter of a mile from my grandfather's house—I saw the prisoner there; he was following me; he overtook me, and passed me on the opposite side of the way; he crossed over to some bushes pretending to look for some berries—knowing that the time for berries had gone by I thought it suspicious, and I began to hurry on—he was up to me in a minute and said something, I don't know what, and I said, "What do you mean?"—he said, "Come, none of that; I mean to have a bit"—he threw me down and put his hand up my clothes—I got up; he threw me down a second time—I got up again; he said he would brush me down—he did brush me down, and while doing so he took my purse out of my pocket, took the money out, and threw the purse at me—he went towards the green and I went towards home, and I met Mr. Wellock and told him what had happened—he asked what sort of man he was—I told him, and he told me to follow him—I did so, but could not see him—a policeman afterwards came to my grandfather's, and I went with him to the station and saw a number of mea standing in a line, and I picked the prisoner out—I had seven shillings, and three pence in bronze in my purse—I was not bruised at all; my dress was torn out of the gathers at the back.
PERCY MORTIMER WELLOCK . I am a coal. merchant, of 5, Harvey Terrace, Wood Green—on October 20th, about ten minutes to eleven, I was on a bicycle in Wolf's Lane—I saw the last witness—she made a communication to me—she appeared to be very excited, and crying—I did not notice her dress—sue gave me a description of a man, and pointed out a direction—I followed in that direction in search of the
man—I saw a lady and gentleman walking, and then I saw the prisoner—they were the only persons I saw in the lane—the prisoner had reached about a quarter of a mile, and near the main road—I said to him, "I want you; you have just robbed a young lady"—he said, "You must be crazy"—I went in search of a policeman—the last I saw of the prisoner was when he was going across the fields to Edmonton—when I first saw him he was slinking along close to the hedge, turning and looking back to see if he was followed—I next saw him in the custody of a plain-clothes constable—I have no doubt he is the man; he was not carrying a parcel when I first saw him—when I saw him in custody he had a parcel.
JAMES FINDLAY (199 Y). On October 20th, about two, I received a description of a man from Wellock—I afterwards met the prisoner near the bottom of the hill—I apprehended him—I said, "I shall take you into custody on suspicion of attempting to commit a rape and highway robbery on a young lady at one this morning in Wolf's Lane"—he said, "It is a mistake; I was not up there"—I took him to the. station—he was searched in my presence—2s. 7d. in money was found on him, and in the parcel was a second-hand pair of trousers and home tobacco—the trousers were neatly rolled up, as if they had just been purchased.
FRANCIS BARNETT (Police Inspector), I was in charge of the station at Wood Green on 20th October at half-past two in the afternoon, when the prisoner was brought there—I called in six working men, dressed similar to the prisoner and about his height, and placed him among them—I then fetched Miss Low; she looked at the man and identified him immediately, without any hesitation—he was then charged—he said, "I am not guilty, I was not there"—Wolf's Lane had been mentioned—what he said was, "This is all for nothing, it is a mistake; I have not been in Wolf's Lane to-day; I have just come from Edmonton"—he said that before the charge.
JOHN BUSH . I am potman at the Sevenoaks beer-house, Wood Green—I know the prisoner; he had lodged there for a few weeks—on the morning of 20th October I was upstairs looking out of window, and I saw the prisoner leave the house, from ten minutes to a quarter-past ten—I saw him go down White Hart Lane and turn into Wolf's Lane, and then I lost sight of him.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I can say this, that I was up at Edmonton at half-past ten, and bought a pair of trousers there, and goes home."
GUILTY .— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BEDDON Prosecuted.
WILLIAM WEBSTER . I am entry clerk to Walter James Glenister, trading as Sanger and Sons, medicine vendors, in Oxford Street—on the afternoon of 28th October the prisoner came to the shop and produced this order for 1 doz. Siegel's, Beecham's Pills, and other things, purporting to be signed by J. Stenson—I examined the order, and noticed that it was not in Mr. Stenson's writing—I took it to the head clerk, and communicated with him—the prisoner was waiting in the passage—
after waiting about ten minutes he asked if the order was ready—I went and spoke to one of the partners, and they were making inquiries—I came back to the prisoner and told him the order was not quite ready, we were rather busy—he waited for a minute or two—one of the partners came down and asked if he came from Mr. Stenson—he said "Yes," and afterwards he said he wished to pay for the things, and he moved towards the pay-box, which was near the door—he rattled a few coins, and then made a sharp walk towards the door—one of the partners stopped him in the roadway, and he was brought back—I said inquiries were being made, and he sat down and waited, and Mr. Glenister gave him into custody—these order-forms are supplied by us to the trade.
Prisoner's Defence. The order was given me by a third person. I had no knowledge it was forged.
GUILTY — Four Months' Hard Labour.
3. PERCY COURTNEY (22) and CAROLINE SUTCLIFFE (28) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing two sheets and other property of the Hon. Hamilton John A. Cuffe; also to stealing of Augustus William West; also to conspiring together to procure for Sutcliffe a situation as a domestic servant; Courtney also PLEADED GUILTY to having been previously convicted at the Surrey Sessions in July, 1889. COURTNEY— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
SUTCLIFFE— Six Months' Hard Labour.
5. AMY KIRBY (21) , to three indictments for unlawfully attempting to obtain a sovereign by false pretences; also to stealing three sovereigns from different persons, and to a previous conviction of felony.**— Three Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
MR. H. C. RICHARDS Prosecuted.
THOMAS AMBLER . I am sheriffs officer for Liverpool—on 15th September I drew this cheque for £6 2s., and enclosed it in a letter to Messrs. Wills and Watts, of 53, Carter Lane, St. Paul's; it was not then endorsed—I think I posted the letter myself; I would not be certain—the date of the cheque has now been altered from 15th to 25th.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I don't know if it is your endorsement on the cheque; I do not know your writing.
JOHN WILLS . I trade as Wills and Watts, of 53, Carter Lane, St. Paul's—I open all letters addressed to the firm; I am the only member of it—this cheque from Mr. Ambler never came to me—I did not endorse it—the prisoner was never in my employment; I know nothing of him.
Cross-examined. I do not know if you endorsed this cheque.
prisoner, brought me this cheque for £6 2s., drawn in favour of Wills and Watts; he said he had come from Wills and Watts, who had been authorised by the drawer of the cheque to pay us a subscription of two guineas, and he said, "I daresay you can manage the difference"—the prisoner was in my office about five minutes before the change was given to him—I looked at him and at the cheque—I gave the prisoner £4 change—about a month afterwards, when the detective came, on the day I went to the General Post Office, I gave a description of my recollection of the man, without any suggestion from anybody—I said, age about fifty, grey hair, thick moustache, thickly built, of ex-butler stamp, height 5 ft. 8in. or 10 in., frock coat, silk hat, fairly good address, scarfpin, with a small pebble, I think.
Crest-examined. I believe you to be the man; I am pretty certain—when you were placed with men at the Post Office I went round the first time and looked at everybody, and failed to recognise you; then I went round again, and failed the second time to recognise you—then I asked the detective to ask the men to button up their coats—the men did so—you had assumed a peculiar attitude; you seemed to have drawn yourself in, which gave you a peculiar appearance, and you seemed also to drop your jaw, and looked different, but I had an idea you were the man—your coat was buttoned up when you came into my office—when it was buttoned up at the Police-court I recognised you—I noticed your voice—when you spoke there was a certain gesture about you—when you gave me the cheque it was endorsed; I did not see you endorse it.
Re-examined. His voice did not recall anything to me particularly—I hardly think I should recognise the pin he wore.
JAMES MOXON . I am a police officer, specially stationed at the General Post Office—in consequence of a number of losses of letters in the City, I was entrusted with this investigation—I traced this cheque for £6 2s. as having been paid through the Children's Hospital, and in consequence of that I saw Pearce, and received a description from him—on 25th October I saw the prisoner in the Fulham Palace Road—I told him who I was, and that he answered the description of a man wanted for forging and uttering cheques which had been stolen from letters going through the post, and it was my duty to take him to the Post Office and place him with other men, so that persons who had been defrauded could see whether he was the person—he made no reply—I took him to the General Post Office, where Mr. Pearce identified him—after his identification I searched him, and on him I found this bill of exchange, drawn by Messrs. Burbage on the Ceylon Tea Company, for £23 14s. lid.—the prisoner said he had found it two days previously in the street, near Victoria—he was going to advertise it—that was not necessary, seeing that the name was on it—it had been enclosed in a letter of 8th September, and should have been delivered on the 9th—when I searched the prisoner's lodgings I found this pin.
Cross-examined. The bill of exchange was in an envelope—a third of it was nearly torn off; it has not been touched—it was in the same condition as it is now—it did not look as if it had been lying in the street or road.
W.H. PEARCE (Re-examined). I cannot say if this is the pin the man who came to me wore.
JOHN CLAUDE FAXON AYRES . I am secretary to the Ceylon Tea and Coffee Company—in September I was in the Isle of Wight—on 8th September, at Brixton, Isle of Wright, I posted this bill of exchange to London; it was addressed to George Edwards, Ceylon Tea and Coffee Company, 5, Muscovy Court, Cornhill—it was never delivered—when I was away it was the duty of Edwards to receive letters.
JOHN EDWARDS . I am in the employment of the Ceylon Tea Company, Muscovy Court, Cornhill—during September Mr. Ayres was in the Isle of Wight, and I received letters—the letter containing the bill of exchange for £23 never reached me—I had sent the bill to the Isle of Wight, and so I knew it.
The prisoner called the following witnesses.
KATE SOPHIA FORSYTH . I am ironer in a laundry at 39, Moleswar Road North—I recollect the last day of September; it was Friday—I thrashed my little girl on account of you sending her errands and not getting her father's dinner ready—you opened the door to my husband, and said you had sent my little girl for half a pint of beer, and liver or sausages—you live underneath us and are quite a stranger to me, only that my little girl goes errands for you and minds your baby—on the day previous there was a disturbance in the house over your wanting to buy furniture of a man who was leaving—you had paid a deposit of 30s.—I could not say you went out on 30th September—I was not at home all day long—in the afternoon you took your wife and baby out—I think that was the first and only time your wife went out with you—I have been at the house about seven weeks, and you had been there only a week or fortnight before.
Cross-examined. I believe the prisoner's name is John Griffiths; all his letters were addressed in that name—I work at my ironing away occasionally—it was the only time I thrashed my little girl, once in September; it was the last time I and my husband had an angry word, and that was over his dinner—I went on the last day in September to get a basket of shirts to iron for my sister, and was absent from half-past eleven to half-past one; it was the only day I did any ironing for my sister—I took the shirts home in the evening at half-past nine—I first saw the prisoner about half-past eight or a quarter to nine on 30th September, when I took down the baby and a bottle of milk—at a quarter to ten I gave him his daily paper—I saw him at a quarter past eleven; he then had on a light coat and no waistcoat—I did not see him after that till nine in the evening—my little girl, who is between eleven and twelve, was in the room and saw him at two: she was not at. School because she was ill with her throat—the man the prisoner had a row with about the furniture is a conductor on the trams, and had only been living there three weeks—the row lasted from Tuesday to Thursday—I had nothing to do with it, I only know what I heard—my husband is a carpenter and joiner.
W. H. PEARCE (Re-examined by the prisoner). I could not say the exact hour you called on me, but it was before two o'clock—I think it was between eleven and twelve; it was in the morning, before the forenoon.
AUGUSTA DAWS . I live at 23, Yeldom Road, Fulham Palace Road—you and I have been living together—I remember the 30th September, Friday, because we went to Pimlico together about a quarter past four p.m.; it was the only time I have ever been to Pimlico; we took my
baby, and we called at the White Horse, and the barmaid warmed the milk for my baby—the day before there was a quarrel about the purchase of furniture; and you told me about running to King Street, Hammersmith—I swear you did not go out of the house on the morning of the 30th.
Cross-examined. I told the policeman I was the prisoner's wife; I have lived with him as his wife since last June—the prisoner is not the father of my baby—I never lived with a man before—my child is illegitimate—I had no occasion to gee my living before I fell into disgrace—I knew the prisoner as John Griffiths—he worked for the Manchester Life and Burial Insurance Company, which has offices in Cheapside—the chief superintendent, Mr. Golding, lives at Hammersmith—as a rule the prisoner went out every day, sometimes at one time, sometimes at another; I could not swear to the time; sometimes he did not go out till between two and three—I went to Bow Street when this case was before the Magistrate—I did not offer to give evidence; I was too late—on Friday, September 30th, I sent the little girl to get me half a pound of liver or half a pound of a usages—she is too young to come and give evidence; I don't know her age—she is Mrs. Forsyth's child, and she has to stay and mind my baby—she was beaten on that day because she did not bring me the liver—her mother says she was beaten because she went out for me instead of getting her father's dinner; that is perfectly correct—the prisoner did not go out till a quarter-past four in the afternoon, and I said he might as well take me, and we went together; and it was the last day of the quarter, and he told them that it was the last day of the quarter, and that they had better pay now.
Re-examined. Mrs. Forsyth wanted to join her two children to the society you were canvassing for, and you made the remark that this was the list day of the quarter, the 30th September, upon which people ought to join, to be free to participate in the benefits, without waiting for another quarter-day.
By the COURT. No one is here on whom we called on that afternoon—I have not had the means to go and see them; my baby has been ill.
WILLIAM HENRY GOLDING I am an insurance superintendent—you have been employed by my society, the London and Manchester Industrial Assurance Company, as collector and agent for about a year—our chief office is at Southwark Exchange, in the Borough—I live at Agate Road, Hammersmith—it is usual for you to call every Friday evening at my office to pay in what subscriptions you had collected during the week—on Friday evening, 30th September, you called at my place—people who joined in the week in which the 29th September was were allowed to date back to the Monday previous, and it is usual to impress on people to join at the end of the quarter.
Cross-examined. We had a reference with the prisoner when he came to us about a year ago, and we had also a security from a lady of independent means, Miss Millington, of Hammersmith.
The prisoner, in his defence, denied any knowledge of the matter; he contended that it was a case of mistaken identity, and stated he had picked up the Sill of exchange in the street.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony at this Court in January, 1884. A Police Sergeant attached lo the Post Office
staled that the prisoner woe one of the most expert letter-boxthieves.— Ten Years' Penal Servitude.
NEW COURT.—Monday, November 14th, 1892.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted.
WILLIAM SIMMONDS (252 H). On October 21st I had the prisoner Ballard in custody, at 12.20 a.m., on a charge of intoxication—Braithwaite followed us and said that it served her right, she should have gone away when they wanted her to—she gave her address at the station, 33, Ernay Street—I went there with Studd and saw Mrs. Hamilton, the landlady, who pointed out a room to us which was unlocked, but I had a key which the inspector had given me and it fitted—we searched, and in a kettle on the hearth I found these forty-nine counterfeit shillings wrapped in paper, all in one lot—I found ten pieces of metal under some coals in a cupboard, a quart of sand, and a crucible containing metal, two metal spoons on the mantelpiece, and a cup containing black powder, two packets of cyanide of potassium, two packets of silversand, and some glass-paper.
Cross-examined by Braithtwaite. I had hold of Ballard by one arm and the other constable by the other—she laid on the ground and you were leaning over her, and when we took her away you followed.
HARRY STUDD (372 H). I went with Simmonds to 33, Ernay Street, and saw him find these articles—on 24th October we went again, and found a complete mould in the dust-hole; it has been used for making shillings; also several portions of moulds, one bearing the impression of a florin and a portion of plaster of Paris.
CHARLOTTE HUNTER . I live at 83, Ernay Street, Stepney—Ballard lived there for six weeks before she was taken into custody, with a man who hired the room—I never saw Braithwaite there—I pointed out the room to the police on October 21st—they brought a key with them.
ELI CONTER (Policeman). On 21st October I took Braithwaite in custody, and said, "Do you know Jane Ballard?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "She is in custody for uttering and manufacturing counterfeit coin; you will be charged with her"—he said, "All right; I am done"—I took him to the station, and found a small piece of white metal in his inside coat pocket, 1s. 6d. in good silver, and 1 1/2 d.—he said, "You must have put that piece of metal in my pocket"—he gave no address, but I had heard it, and after he was charged I went to 33, Ernay Street, and in the second floor back room I found a file with white metal on it, three pieces of copper wire, a piece of plaster of Paris, a piece of cyanide of potassium, a pair of scissors, a box containing three pieces of caustic, apiece of sand-paper, some lampblack, and two duplicates, one bearing
the name of John Braithwaite, which is the name I know the prisoner by—I saw Mrs. Eales give the shilling to the constable.
EDWARD WINTLE . I am employed at the Charles II. public house, Lant Street—on October 2nd, about 7.30 or eight p.m., I served Braithwaite with a glass of ale—he gave me a shilling; I tried it in the tester, bent it, and told him it was bad—I gave a portion of it to the detective—he was alone—I have seen Ballard in the house once with Braithwaite, a fortnight before.
MAUD WINTER . My father keeps the Elder Tree public-house—on October 2nd the prisoners came in together; Ballard ordered half a quartern of rum, and gave me 1s.; I tried it, it bent, and I gave it back to her, and told her it was bad—Braithwaite stood against the door—he had some drink, but she had none of it—she paid for the rum with good money, and they left together.
Cross-examined by Ballard. You did not go out with him; he went first, and you next—you did not stop ten minutes to drink the rum.
WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTEE . I am Inspector of Coin to Her Majesty's Mint—this shilling (The one found on Ballard.) is bad—these forty-nine shillings are all counterfeit, and of different dates and moulds; some of them are from the same mould as the one uttered—this is a mould for shillings, and here are other pieces of broken moulds—all the articles found are used in making counterfeit coin—most of these coins are unfinished—this is a third of a counterfeit shilling.
Braithwaite's Defence: On 2nd October I called for a glass of ale, and put down a shilling; it was broken. If I had been guilty I should have walked out of the place. About three weeks afterwards I went to the Elder Tree, and saw this young woman there, and a policeman took her in custody.
GUILTY —BALLARD* Twelve Months' Hard Labour;
BRAITHWAITE** Eight Months' Hard Labour.
MARY ANN EDWARDS . I am in the service of Mr. Eales, a confectioner, of 20, Leader Street, Chelsea—on October 17th the prisoner came in for change for a shilling—I looked at it; it seemed good; I gave her the change, and gave the coin to Mrs. Eales—in consequence of what she said I went out and found the prisoner half an hour afterwards—I said, "The shilling is bad"—she said, "All right; I. will go down and tell Mrs. Kapper"—she went back to the shop with me, and I asked her to give me another shilling for it, she said she had not got one; but she could go and change one at the Royal Oak public-house—Mrs. Eales gave it back to her, and she went to the Royal Oak and swore that she got it there—I went there with her—she then came out and went to Mrs. Wade's, No. 22, in the same street, and said she had got it there, and that somebody had picked up another shilling and given to her.
WILLIAM SANDERS (63 BR). I was on duty in Leader Street—I went with Edwards to 17, Oakham Street, and saw the prisoner there—I told her what information I had received—she said, "I can't take it; I can't be the loser of it"—she told me that Mrs. Castle gave her the shilling.
good Jubilee shilling, and sent her to get a pint of oil at Mr. Hollis's—she brought it to me at 11.30—there is another oil shop opposite.
ALFRED WADE . I am manager to Mr. Hollis, of 22, Leader Street—I served the prisoner with some oil, price 1d.; she paid me with a shilling, which she placed on the counter—I took it up, bent it in my mouth, and told her it was bad, and she left—at the time she put it down there was no other coin there—she came back a few minutes afterwards, paid 1d. for the oil, and took the can away—I gave her the coin back.
Cross-examined. At the time you were in the shop a man put down a shilling.
HENRY SMITH . I live at 24, Leader Street—on 25th October I was in Mr. Hollis's shop, and saw Wade serving the prisoner with some oil—she put down a shilling; there was no other coin on the counter—Wade took it up immediately, and said, "This is a bad shilling"—the prisoner said she would get change, and went out of the shop.
W. SANDERS (Re-examined). On October 17th Mrs. Eales handed me this coin in the shop (Produced).
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I laid down a Jubilee shilling beside another man's shilling at the oil shop, and Mr. Wade took up the other man's shilling instead of mine; I think he must have done so."
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WILKINSON prosecuted.
FLORRIE SKILTON . I am in the service of David Evans, a milkman, of Great Peter Street—on October 13th, about two or 2.30 p.m., Bottrill came in for 1lb. of bread, 1/2 d. of tea, and 1/2 d. of sugar—he gave me this half-crown (Produced), and I gave him 2s. 3 3/4 d. change—there was only 1s. in the till after I gave him the change—Mrs. Evans took the half-crown out of the till five minutes afterwards.
RUTH EVANS . I am the wife of David Evans, of 22, Great Peter Street—on October 13th, in the afternoon, Mr. Wakeley made a communication to me—I went to the till and found this bad half-crown—I gave it to Mr. Wakeley.
HENRY WAKELEY . I am a grocer, of 29, Great Peter Street—on October 13th, shortly after two o'clock. I was outride my shop and saw the prisoners come from St. Peter's Chambers—I knew them before—they went by my shop—Bottrill went into Mr. Evans' shop and Milliner remained outside with some bread in his hand—they joined—I went into my shop, and Milliner came in and bought some bread and meal of my wife, which came to 3d.—he gave her a half-crown—I examined it and found it was bad, and said to Milliner, "This is a bad piece"—He said, "Is it? give it to me"—I handed it back to him—he paid me in bronze, and joined Bottrill, and they went away together—I put the coin to my teeth; it was very light, and felt rather greasy—I did not see Bottrill again till after he was arrested—they went to the lodging-house, which is only two doors off—I went to Mrs. Evans, who showed me a half-crown, and sent for the police, and I said in Milliner's presence, "This is the man who passed the bad half-crown"—he went down the steps of the lodging-house—I ran after him—he ran into the lavatory,
and tried to put something into the basement where they wash—I took hold of him, and went back to the constable, who refused to go down—I then went to Rochester Row—I afterwards went down with the deputy, but did not find Milliner—I gave the coin to Inspector Watson.
JOHN WATTS (Detective A). On 11th October Inspector Watson handed me this half-crown—I went to Mr. Wakeley's shop, and afterwards to St. Peter's Chambers, and found Bottrill standing outside—he came towards me and said, "Do you want me governor?"—I said, "Yes, the girl says you passed a bad half-crown at her shop"—he said, "Yes, I did, but I did not know it was bad; another man gave it to me"—I found a farthing on him.
CHARLES BEARD (Detective A). On 13th October, about 10.15 p.m., I was with Watts in Wandsworth Road and saw Milliner there—I said, "I believe your name is Morris Welch?" he said, "No, it is not; you have made a mistake; my name is Jackson"—I said, "I am a police officer, and shall take you in custody for being concerned with a man named Bottrill in uttering a bad half-crown in St. Peter's Street"—he said, "You have got me for somebody else; I know nothing about any half-crowns"—he had a number of people with him and threatened us with violence—he said, "If you don't let me go I will kick your b——guts out," and clenched his left fist and said, "I will knock your b——brains out"—I called a cab—he said, "If you put me in that cab I will kick the back out"—I said, "Then you will walk"—he was taken to the station, put with eight others, and identified—he said to Wakeley, "When you discovered it was a bad half-crown did not you give it to me back and I paid you 8d. for the goods?"—he said, "No."
Bottrill's statement before the Magistrate: "I was not standing outside when Milliner went in with the half-crown, I was standing on the steps of the lodging-house, I called the constable. If I had known it was a bad half-crown I would not have changed it; it was a mistake."
GUILTY —BOTTRILL Three Months' Hard Labour.
MILLINER Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
11. ROBERT DOWNEY (24) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a quantity of cigars and tobacco in the dwelling-house of Jonas Woolf, and after-Wards burgarious breaking out of the same; and EPHRAIM JAMES FROST* (16) to feloniously receiving the same.— Both Discharged on Recognizances.
13. GEORGE STOCKDALE **† (28), to stealing a pair of boots, the property of Thomas Baxter, having been convicted at; West Ham on May 17th, 1892.— Six Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
14. GEORGE BROWN** (30) , to receiving two cloaks and other articles the property of Mary Ann Watkin, knowing them to have been stolen having been convicted at this Court in the name of Davis, on March 9th, 1891.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, November 15th, 1892.
Before Mr. Recorder.
16. WILLIAM BOWDLER WILSON (54) , to three indictments for embezzling £111 3s. 2d. and other sums of the Warehousemen and Clerk's Permanent Building Society, his masters.— He received a high character Discharged on Recognisances . [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
17. SAMUEL JAMES WAY (41) , to embezzling £22 and £40 of Lord Colville of Kinross and others, his masters; also to falsifying the books of his employers.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
18. WILLIAM EVANS (27) , to breaking and entering the warehouse of Henry Meyer and Co., and stealing a locket and other articles; also to a previous conviction of felony in 1890; also to breaking and entering another warehouse.— Three Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
19. JOHN FREDERICK NICHOLLS, alias COX (41) , to unlawfully conspiring with Henry Wright and others to obtain possession of certain houses, with intent to defraud.— Three Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
23. ALFRED SMITH (27) , to burglary in the dwelling-house of William Charles Grace, and stealing a watch, a jacket, and other articles.— Four Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. DRAKE Prosecuted.
EDWARD HUDSON . I am a seaman—on 3rd November, about halfpast ten p.m., I was standing in Crown and Shears Place, Leman Street, smoking my pipe, and the prisoner and five men ran me into the back yard and got me down; I struggled with them—they robbed me of eighteen ships' discharges, and tore my ring off my finger—I have scratches where I was held by the wrists—I reckoned altogether they robbed me of £3 10s.—they tried to take off my boots, but pulled the soles off instead—I was considerably injured; I have a strain in the groin that I 'am afraid I shall not get rid of for a while—the men went away afterwards, and a few minutes after a constable came along and I' spoke to him; I was trying to get my trousers up, for the men tried to get the clothes off my back—I am sure the prisoner is one of the men—I went round to see if I could see the men, and I saw the prisoner in a publichouse bar, close to where this happened, just across the road—I called a constable and gave him into custody, and told the constable what had happened.
robbed by five or six men—he had been drinking, but knew what he was about.
WILLIAM HUNT (453 H). I went to the Crooked Billet public-house, Tower Hill, with Hudson, who pointed out the prisoner as the man who assisted in robbing him, with several others—when I told him he would have to come to the station he said, "I shan't come"—another man in the bar said, "Go along, Bill"—I took him to Seething Lane, where he was charged—I searched and found 2d. in bronze on him.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I am quite innocent of the charge."
NOT GUILTY .
MR. LEYCESTEE Prosecuted.
BARNET LAVINE . I am a tailor at 101, Turner Street—at 9 o'clock p.m. on October 22nd I went out, leaving a little girl, Annie Williams, and my children in the house—the front-room window was shut, I cannot say whether it was fastened; and the shutters were closed, I cannot say if they were bolted—at a quarter to ten I came back—I found a policeman in my doorway and a lot of people round the house, and I was told to go to the station—I went and saw the prisoners and charged them—I missed from the house a silver watch, which has not been found—it had been in a wash-hand stand drawer in the room of which the window was quite open when I got home—all the rooms the men had been in were ransacked.
Cross-examined by Roach. I am quite sure the window and the shutter of the room from which I missed the watch were closed.
GEORGE BELL (306 H). About 9.30 p.m. on October 22nd I was on duty in Turner Street, and when passing No. 101 I saw a light burning and two men inside in the ground-floor room, which is about 4 ft. above the ground—there is no garden in front—the men were searching about—I watched and knocked at the door—I got no answer—I pushed up the window and asked them what they were doing there—they made use of obscene language to me and told me to mind my own business, and asked what it had to do with me—by that time a crowd of people had got round; other constables came up—the girl came up from below, and when the prisoners heard steps in the passage they made for the window, and we pulled them out of the window and took them into custody—I took Roach—he made no reply—the prosecutor afterwards came and charged them at the station—they made no answer to the charge—I have searched for the watch, but have found no trace of it—there were no marks on the window.
Cross-examined by Roach. You were sober.
WALTER GASK (42 HR). On this night I went to 101, Turner Street—I saw both prisoners there, standing in the front parlour—Bell was there—I took White, and asked him what he was doing there—he said, "I have come here to have a kep"—that is a slang term for a cheap lodging—they appeared to be sober—they showed no violence.
Roach's statement before the Magistrate; "The window was open; we were in drink, and did not know what we were doing."
Roach, in his defence, stated that they were drunk, and teeing the window open went in to have a cheap kep, with no bad intention.
GUILTY .— Four Months' Hard Labour each.
MR. DRAKE Prosecuted.
ALFRED SMITH . I am assistant to Messrs. Veitch and Sons, nurserymen, florists, and seedsmen, 554, King's Road; we sell all gardeners' tools—on Friday, 4th November, the prisoner, whom I did not know before, came and produced this order: "November 4th.—Messrs. Veitch.—Please supply two gardeners' aprons; two pruning knives, ivory handles; two bedding knives, No. 24; and charge the same to us.—WINSETT AND SONS"—Winsett and Sons deal with us; I knew them by name, as customers, they had an account with us—I let them have the goods upon that order—while I was putting up the parcel the prisoner asked me if a man named Sinclair was still employed by Messrs. Veitch; I told him he had been dead some five or six years—that was all the conversation I had with him.
WILLIAM NAPPER . I am book-keeper to Messrs. Winsett and Sons, Ashburnham Nurseries, King's Road, Chelsea—I did not know the prisoner before I saw him at the Police-court the other day—I did not give him this order; it is not written by anyone connected with our firm—I did not authorise anyone to give it—every order would come through me unless it was given by the governor himself, and if he had given it I should know of it, and should enter it in the ordinary course—I know nothing of this order—we have an account with Messrs. Veitch.
Cross-examined. I write all orders, except those written by Mr. Winsett—I was in the office all that day, except during meal times, and at those times sometimes Mr. Winsett is in the office and sometimes the boy.
CHARLES DAWSON (387 B). I arrested the prisoner on November 5th, about three o'clock—I took him to the station and charged him with unlawful possession of two palm plants—when he was searched there four knives were found in his pocket—I charged him with having them.
The prisoner, in his defence, said that he knew nothing about the matter.
GUILTY .— Six Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, November 15th 1892.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
27. THOMAS HITCHINGS (21) and ARTHUR DURMAN (18) PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling-house of Joshua Ellis, and stealing two bottles of brandy and other articles value £3 in money. Hitchings having been convicted.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour each.
MR. SANDS Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
SAMUEL RUBY . I am a fish curer, of 17, Hambrook Street, Homerton, and keep a stall in Well Street, Hackney—on Saturday, October 8th, about 9.30 or ten p. m, the prisoner came to my stall and asked for change for 1s.; I said I had not got it, and she went away, and came back for two penny haddocks, and tendered 1s.; I tried it with my teeth, and it bent double—I gave it back to her, and said, "Give me another, and you shall have the two haddocks"—she said, "I will take it back to where I got it," and went away—on 17th October I picked her out from seven or eight others.
Cross-examined. I had not seen her between those dates—on the day I picked her out I did not go into the Railway Tavern public-house, where she and her husband were, nor did the police then come to the station, nor did I then go and identify her—the only public-house I went into was the Plough, in High Street, Homerton—the detectives were not with me—a young chap was with me who used to work with me—he was not at the stall with me—no other man was with me on 8th October—I never went into the Railway Tavern in my life, it is out of my district—I had never seen the woman who passed the bad shilling before—Saturday is a very busy night in Well Street—my stall is lit by a naphtha lamp, and there is a light from a grocer's shop—that was not behind her, it is not directly opposite my stall—there is a greengrocer's shop facing—I saw Mr. Ellis at the station—I did not go therewith him—there were seven or eight women there, they were all dark—I recognized the prisoner by her face and her hat and her general features—she had a dark dress and a cap at my stall, but she had changed it when I identified her—she had a similar hat, but with red poppies in it.
JAMES ELLIS . I am a general dealer, of 61, Manton Road, Homerton, and keep a stall at the corner of Marlow Road—on Saturday, October 15th, between 7.30 and 8.15 the prisoner came to my stall and looked at some celery—she bought 1 1/2 d. worth and put 1s. into my wife's hand, saying, "Mind, it is a shilling"—I saw her give her 10 1/2 d. change, and she went away very quick—my wife then tried it and found it was bad—I broke it up and gave the pieces to Kemp—on Monday, the 17th, I identified the prisoner from among a number of women.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was only there a minute or two—I had never seen her before—I know Mr. Ruby; I saw him on the 17th at the police station—I saw the prisoner's husband at the station on the Monday evening—I was not sent there to see whether I knew the man and woman who were there—I never went into the Railway Tavern in my life—the prisoner did not say to her husband in my hearing and Ruby's, "Who are these two men who are following us about?"—I did not speak to the husband about how bad trade was, or take a reference out of his pocket.
AGNES ELLIS . I am the wife of James Ellis—I was serving at his stall on Saturday evening, October 15th, when the prisoner purchased 1s.—of celery, and gave me 1s.—I gave it to my husband—I saw her again on Tuesday, the 18th, at the station, and picked her out from other women.
Cross-examined. I had never seen her before, to my knowledge—she was not very long with me; she had on similar clothes, and a similar shaped hat—I did not go to the station with my husband on the 17th; I
was in bed—I went to Dalston Police-court on tho Tuesday, and picked her out from several other women.
MARIA GODFREY . I am the wife of Henry Godfrey, of 27, Crosier Terrace, and keep a stall in Well Street, Hackney, close to Mr. Ellis—on Saturday, October 15th, from 7.30 to eight o'clock, I went to his stall for change, and saw the prisoner there—she asked for 1 1/2 d. of celery, gave a shilling, and said, "Mind, that is a shilling I gave you"—I picked her out on 18th October from six or seven others.
Cross-examined. That was the morning she was brought before the Magistrate—there were one or two women round Ellis's stall—there was no light on the stall—I had not seen Mr. Or Mrs. Ellis between the Saturday and Tuesday.
WILLIAM KEMP (Detective J). On the evening of October 15th I was watching 91, Cardigan Terrace, and saw the prisoner's husband come out, and afterwards the prisoner—I followed her along Kirwan Terrace to Wick Road, where I lost sight of her, about 7.30-that is about 120 yards from Ellis's stall—it runs into Well Street—I went into Well Street and spoke to a constable—I went to Ellis's stall, and he handed me a bad shilling, broken up—on Monday night, the 17th, I was with Sergeant Brown outside the prisoner's house—Sergeant Brown took her and I took her husband, who was afterwards discharged—on Saturday, the 15th, I saw the husband go towards the Milford Castle—there is a music-hall there, which is about a mile from where I lost sight of the prisoner—on Monday evening, the 17th, I was at the Milford about seven o'clock—Brown was outside—the prisoner and her husband came in; I was in a corner talking to the landlord—a man and woman came in and got into conversation with the prisoner's husband; I could not hear it—I went out and joined Brown, and waited till the prisoner and her husband came out, and we followed them to the Bail way Tavern—they went in—I saw nothing on the way there of the man who spoke to them in the Milford Castle, but he may have been there—it was not Ruby, a man with red hair, nor did he go into the Milford Castle—he was a man of about forty-five—neither Ellis nor Ruby were at the Milford Castle—the prisoner and her husband came out of the Railway Tavern, and we followed them to outside their house, and took them both—I ascertained that they had lived there eighteen months—I did not find a single bad coin there, or any article used in making bad coin—the husband is collector to Singer's Sewing Machine Company.
Cross-examined. The Milford Music-hall is about one and a quarter miles from Ellis's stall; it is a public-house with a music license.
GEORGE BROWN (Police Sergeant J), I was with Kemp when the prisoner and her husband were arrested—I told the prisoner I should take her on suspicion of passing bad money in Well Street on Saturday, the 15th—she said, "Oh, my God, don't make me faint; it cannot be me, for I do not think I was in Well Street on Saturday night"—when identified by Ellis she said, "I don't remember passing any bad money"—when she was charged she said, "I was in the Milford Music-hall on Saturday night; I have had no celery this year"—I took the broken coin, and gave it to Mr. Webster.
Cross-examined. I was not at the Milford Music-hall on the 17th inst., nor outside it, nor near it—I met Kemp later on—it would not be correct
to say that he was inside the Milford Castle at any time—I did not see Ellis or Ruby till they were fetched to the station—I had not seen the prisoner early that evening; I had not been watching anybody at the Milford Castle, but I had passed there—I met Kemp above the Railway Tavern—I did not see the prisoner or her husband till I found them outside the house at 10.30—she was taken at the gate of her own house, going towards it—I had seen neither of them till then—it would not be correct to say that Kemp and I kept them under observation from 7.30. WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER. This shilling, broken into three pieces, is bad.
Evidence for the Defence.
JOHN CURZON . I am a boot laster—T have been employed as a waiter at the Milford Castle or Palace of Varieties, about four weeks—the prisoner's husband is a check taker there—on October 15th, about seven p.m., I saw him in the bar and the prisoner also, and they were there till 11.20, when it ended—I saw him taking checks at 8.15, and saw her in the hall about 8.30—she was in the place from before seven till eleven—I was not watching her, and did not see her the whole time—the Palace consists of one floor upstairs—I can either go down or get the orders up by the lift—I should not be away above four minutes at the longest—I did not see her in the saloon till 8.30, but I saw her downstairs—I had seen them there on the Saturday before, and served them with drink—I saw them there till all was over—I saw them between 9.15 and ten; they did not go out at all—it would take about a quarter of an hour to get from there to Well Street.
Cross-examined. They go there often—she was up in the hall in the second seat from the front, on the right-hand side of the room, from 9.15 till 10.15: she never went out at all—I fix the time, because the orders generally drop off before ten—I always observe all the customers—they are all very regular—nobody comes till eight, as you cannot get into the hall before eight, but you can get downstairs—I was told about this the next day, after she was taken—I went to the police-court twice, but did not give evidence; no witnesses were called.
By the COURT. I saw her first on October 8th at 9.15—the hall opens at eight, and the performance begins about 8.20—they had been there before; they were there, I think, on Monday, the 3rd; I daresay they were there about nine; it might be 9.30 or 9.45, and went out at 11.20, and they were there on the Saturday before that—their time was generally about 8.45—that is the reason I say that I saw them at 9.15 on this night, because I served them with drink—it was not so late as 9.45—there is another waiter in the room—they go on drinking till the place closes, but there are not so many orders—this hall is about a quarter of an hour from Well Street, but it might take a female longer—her husband came next night and said, "My wife has got into a little trouble," and asked me if I would be kind enough to go up—he said that she was charged with passing the bad shilling at 9.30, and I said she was not there at all.
ALFRED RAINSBY . I am manager of the Milford Castle—I have known the prisoner going on for two years—she has always borne the character of an honest, respectable woman, as far as I know—her husband has been employed temporarily at the Palace, as checktaker at the reserved seats—her husband told me next morning that she was locked
up I saw her at the Palace on the Saturday before that Tuesday at a few minutes after seven, and again about nine o'clock near the beer-engine—she was in the bar from 7.30 to eight, and about 8.5 or 8.10 she said to me, "Where has my husband gone?"—I said, "He is upstairs taking checks"—she said, "What am I to do?"—I said, "Go upstairs to him"—she went out into the street—that is the way to go upstairs—I saw her in the bar at nine, and cannot recollect seeing her again.
Cross-examined. She comes there very often—it was a common thing for her to be both in the bar and upstairs—I am sure I saw her in the bar at nine, I cannot say to a few minutes—she might have been in the bar on the 14th—I cannot call to mind whether she was there on the 8th or the 10th, I serve so many customers—I cannot say for certain any other night when she was there—Detective Kemp did not come there and ask me questions in the presence of Mr. Edwards the landlord—he did not ask me if I had seen Mrs. Trew on the Saturday before, nor did I say that I had not seen heir—an interview with Kemp and the landlord may have taken place on Wednesday the 19th, but I cannot call it to mind—I knew on the Tuesday that the prisoner had been arrested—I went into the bar about 7.20 and saw her there—I was in front of the bar all the evening, and I saw her at 8.10—she was charged with passing a bad shilling between 7.30 and eight, but I do not think she had moved out of the bar.
Re-examined, This policeman has not been threatening me to-day or yesterday, or speaking to me—I was not at the police-court—on Saturday, the 15th, I saw her in the bar at 7.30, and again at 8.10, and during the interval I had only been absent from the bar two or three minutes—there were a number of people in the bar—I saw her and her husband standing there at 7.10, and about 7.55 I told him he had better go up and take the checks for the reserved seats.
By the COURT. The prisoner was there then—he said he would do so, and went out—she stayed there a few minutes, and then asked me what I had done with her husband—I had called him on one side when I spoke to him, because so many people were in front, and she could not hear it—when I saw her at nine she was not with her husband, she came down by herself.
CHARLES LEWIS . I am a general dealer, and have been employed three years at the Milford Castle as checktaker—the prisoner's husband came to me on the Tuesday and told me she was locked up—I had seen her in the saloon bar on Saturday, the 15th, at 7.15—she said, "Can I go upstairs without paying?"—I said, "If you will come back about eight o'clock I will let you go upstairs without paying," and about eight o'clock I was standing on the staircase and she came through—it bad just struck eight—we always open the doors at eight or about eight, never after—I saw her afterwards, she sat at the end corner, by the door, till about 8.45—I went to the police-court, but was not called.
Cross-examined. I saw her leave the hall about 8.45—she returned at nine and remained till 11.30—I did not see her leave—I see her very often; she always uses the house—she does not always go up without paying, but I knew her husband was out of work—she is in the bar three or four times a week—I do not look at the clock every time—I looked at the clock when she came in, and the barmaid said to me, Charley, you are jolly"—I said, "Yes, I have had some money left
me"—I looked at the time again at 7.30, because the governor wanted me to go and put up the lights—I did not know that the prisoner was locked up for passing a bad shilling, but her husband said, "Do you know where my wife was at a quarter past seven?"—I was at the police-court, but I did not give evidence—I was at the Milford when Kemp came there with the governor,. either on the Monday or Wednesday—I did not see Kemp speak to Mr. Rainsby; I do not know him.
Re-examined. The police came to see me after the first hearing before the Magistrate. The prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. PARTRIDGE Prosecuted.
MR. SIMMONDS. I am an oil and colourman—On October 14th the prisoner came in for two pennyworth of insect powder, and paid with a half-crown—I told him it was bad; he gave me a sixpence, and I took the twopence out of it—I afterwards pointed him out to the police.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You had been drinking, but you knew perfectly well what you were doing.
THOMAS JAMES GODLEY . I keep the Blenheim public-house, Cable Street, Chelsea—on 14th October a constable made a communication to me, and the prisoner came in and called for a small soda, price twopence—he tendered this half-crown (Produced.)—I told him it was bad; he made no reply—I gave it to Webb.
Cross-examined. You had had a glass, but if you had been drunk I should not have served you.
CHARLES WEBB (119 B), On October 14th Mr. Simmonds made a communication to me, and I kept observation on the prisoner—he went into a public-house, he looked round the bar, came out, went to another house and pushed open all the compartments—he took something which looked like silver from his pocket, put it on the pavement, and put his heel on it, put it into his pocket and went into the Blenheim publichouse—about two minutes afterwards I saw him drinking in front of the bar and told him he had tendered a bad half-crown—he said he was going to drink up what he had got—the landlord showed me this half-crown—I told the prisoner he would be charged with uttering it, searched him, and found 5 1/2 d. on him—he was charged at the station, and gave his address 25, Eagle Street, Holborn, but No. 25 is done away with and a mission hall is built.
Cross-examined. You did not tell me that No. 25 was two doors past the milk shop—you were not the worse for drink, but after you got to the station you appeared as if you were drunk.
The prisoner produced a written defence stating that he met a man who gave him some drink and the half-crown, and being drunk he gave the wrong address, but did not know that the half-crown was bad.
GUILTY — Two Months' Hard Labour.
MR. PARTRIDGE Prosecuted.
THOMAS JEFFREYS . I am barman at the Sir Isaac Newton, 18,. Union Street—on 18th October, between eleven and twelve p.m., I served the prisoner with twopenny worth of hot rum—he paid with a florin—I said, "This looks like a bad one" and took it to Mr. King, my master, who said it was bad—I took it back to the prisoner—he said he would take it back to where he had it from—he went away and came back and paid with two penny pieces—the coin was returned to him—about a week afterwards I saw him with a number of other men, and picked him out.
WILLIAM MAY . I am an assistant at Lockhart's coffee house, Fleet Street—on October 19th, about 5.10 a. m, the prisoner had somefood, price 2 1/2 d., for which he paid with good money—he then asked for an egg and bread and butter, which came to 1 1/2 d., and paid with this florin (Produced.)—I broke it and asked where he got it—he said, "At the Ben Johnson,"' and wanted to take it back, but I kept it and he opened the door and bolted—Horner went out and Catchpole brought the prisoner back—he denied having been in. the shop—I have no doubt he is the man.
BERNARD CATCHPOLE (421 City). Horner pointed the prisoner out to me, walking very fast by Bride Lane towards Ludgate Circus—I stopped him and said, "I am informed you passed a bad two-shilling piece at Lockhart's this morning"—he said, "What do you mean?"—I took him back and found 3 1/2 d. in coppers on him—he was remanded for a week.
CHARLES MOTTRAM , I am barman to Mr. King, of the Sir Isaac Newton—on October 24th I served the prisoner with twopennyworth of hot rum—he tendered this half-crown, which I took to my master, who broke it.
WILLIAM KING . Mottram brought me this half-crown, and I said to the prisoner, "This is cheek to come and try a second time within a week"—he ran out of the house and hid himself in the mews—my potman went for a policeman.
ELI FRED GILBERT (367 V). I was called on October 25th, and found the prisoner under a costermonger's barrow about 150 yards from the house—I asked him for his address at the station—he said, "I refuse my address':—he made no answer to the charge.
WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . This half-crown and florin are bad. The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate; "I was in custody on the Thursday that Mr. King says I uttered the florin; I was never in the house in Fleet Street on the morning in question."
GUILTY .— Two Months' Hard Labour.
MR. PARTRIDGE Prosecuted.
ADA STARKIE . I am barmaid at the Blind Beggar, Whitechapel Road—on 27th October the prisoner came in for half a pint of ale, price 1d.—he tendered a sixpence—I bit it; it was bad—I told the foreman; he was taken into custody—he stopped in the house.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You made no attempt to leave the house; there were a good many people in the bar, and they could hear me say that the sixpence was bad.
PATRICK PINLIMMON . I am a registered medical practitioner—I examined George Evans, P. C. 518 J., last night—he is suffering from rheumatic fever, and could not attend this Court without risk to his life.
The deposition of George Evans. "I was sent for, and saw the prisoner in the bar. The last witness gave me the bad sixpence produced, and a florin. He said nothing when charged."
GEORGE YEOMANS (1 J R). I was at the station when the prisoner was brought in—he was charged with uttering a counterfeit sixpence and with having a bad florin in his possession—he said nothing—Evans gave me these coins (Produced.)
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I picked up the coins in a piece of paper. I did not know they were bad."
GUILTY .— Two Months' Hard Labour.
MR. PARTRIDGE Prosecuted.
GEORGE GROVES . I am assistant to Mr. Williams, a hairdresser, of High Street, Hounslow—on November 1st Milton came in and asked for "Westward Ho," price 4 1/2 d., and gave me a half-crown—I took it to my mother and gave Milton the changer-1 afterwards picked him out at the station—I took no other. half-crown that day.
REUBEN BUTTON . I am a baker, of 26, High Street, Hounslow—on November 1st, Milton came in for two penny sponge cakes, and put down a half-crown—I put fourpence on the counter and pretended to look for a florin—I took it to my wife, and put it between my teeth—I went back to the prisoner and said, "I won't take this; you know it is a bad half-crown"—he said, "Is it? I have just taken it in change for a sovereign"—I bent it, and handed it back to him—he went out and I followed him to High Street and saw Dawson join him, who was standing about 300 yards from my shop—I followed them to Cavanagh's shop, and saw Dawson ass something to Milton, who went in—when he came out, I went in, looked in the till and found a bad half-crown—I saw them taken into custody.
SALVONI ANDREA . I am in the employ of Mr. Cavanagh, a confectioner, of Hounslow—on November 1st about seven p.m., Milton came in for a twopenny cigar and gave me a half-crown—I gave him 2s. 4d. change, and put it in the till and he left—there was another half-crown there, but it was in a bag—Mr. Button came in and looked in the till, and I gave him the half-crown.
o'clock, in High Street—I saw them go into Mr. Cavanagh's shop—I gave Button directions, and then arrested the prisoners—I searched them at the station, and I found a half-sovereign on Milton, and 10s. in silver and 1s. 7 1/2 d. in bronze, and on Dawson four counterfeit half-crowns wrapped separately in this piece of newspaper—I received this half crown from Williams, and another and 3d. from Button—later on I received from a little girl named Bateman ten half-crowns—a place was pointed out to me exactly outside the station—the prisoner made no answer to the charge.
WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . These seventeen half-crowns are bad—these three produced by Jocelyn are from the same mould as two of those found on Dawson, and these two are from the same mould as some of those in the packet of ten.
Milton's Defence. I saw something drop from a trap and said to Dawson, "Go and see what they are," and they were half-crowns. I put one in at Mr. Button's; the next one was a Jubilee; that proved to be right.
Dawson's Defence. The trap went by and the things were dropped; I picked them up; the first turned out to be right and the second wrong.
GUILTY.— Judgment respited.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, November 16th, 1892.
Before Mr. Justine Bruce.
MESSRS. C. MATHEWS and HORACE AVORY Protected; MR. GUY STEPHENSON Defended, at the request of the Court.
The prisoner being a foreigner, the evidence was interpreted.
LOUIS HERNOULD (interpreted). I am living at 48, Cromer Street, King's Cross, and am a baker by trade—I have been in England about five years—for the last eight years I have been living with the prisoner as her husband—in September, this year I was living at 10, Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square—I ceased to live with her in September, and went to Cromer Street, leaving her at Charlotte Street—I left her because I was always disputing with her—we were not happy—I did not leave her any money—on the night of 1st October I was in Shaftesbury Avenue—a woman was with me—I saw the prisoner there—she said to the woman who was with me, "He is my husband"—the woman did not answer, she ran away—the prisoner was going to strike me, and I pushed her, and she fell to the ground—she only fell once—she had two other persons with her, and they lifted her up—T did not assist her—after that we went together to 10, Charlotte Street—that was about an hour or an hour and a half after she had fallen—during that time we were disputing in the road, talking—when we got to 10, Charlotte Street, I went to my old bedroom—I got into bed—can't tell
whether the prisoner undressed, because I had a little drop too much—I believe she did undress, I don't recollect whether she did or not—I slept throughout the night—about half-past six in the morning I was awoke by feeling something in my neck—I saw nobody in the room—the prisoner was not there—I saw my razor on the ground beside the bed—it was usually kept in a case on a chest of drawers—I called out, and the landlord of the house came and assisted me to the Middlesex Hospital, where I was seen by a surgeon—I remained there eight days, and then returned to Charlotte Street—I was refused admittance there, and I then went to Cromer Street—I did not go to the police—the police came to me on October 25th, and I then gave evidence before the magistrate—I did not wish to give evidence; on the contrary, I did not wish to charge her at all—if the police had not come to me I should never have come forward.
Cross-examined. I was in America for three years before I came to England—I went there by myself—I only travelled to go to New York—I never stopped in America—I lived in Brussels and Lillie—I was a soldier in the Fourth Regiment of Guides—I only lived with the prisoner four days before this happened—I left her because we were always disputing, we were not happy together, with the misery of having no money, and because I had no work—I did not leave her because I wanted her to go on the streets to support me, and she declined—I swear that (I understand English a little)—I had no money then—I worked only two or three days in the week—it was on Tuesday I left the prisoner—I did no work on the Wednesday—I worked on Friday—I earned 5s. by that as a baker—I am the father of a child by the prisoner—it is five years old—I have been twice in hospital since I have been in England—I was in a hospital from this wound—when I came out I went to the proprietor to get my shoes—I had a shilling and a Denny or two—that did not last long—then I went and found some friends, men friends—I went with a woman—I was all alone, but I found a woman, with whom I live at the present moment—I work with my old master three days a week at baking—I do not swear that I do not get my living by sending the woman out on the streets—she sometimes brings in money, and sometimes I bring money—she is a prostitute—I still swear that I did not send the prisoner out on the streets—I did not want to come as a witness, because it is my fault, what I received—that was why I would not prosecute—I admit that I was drunk that evening.
JOHN GIDNEY (Police Sergeant V 2). On the early morning of 2nd October, I wont to 10, Charlotte street, and there found the last witness in a room with his throat cut—I assisted to take him to the Middlesex Hospital—the prisoner had been to the station, and it was from what she said that I went to the room.
MARSH WEST . I am house surgeon at the Middlesex Hospital—I was there on the morning of 2nd October, about half-past six, when the prosecutor was brought thereby Sergeant Gidney—he was suffering from an incised wound in the right side of the neck, about four inches in length—none of the large vessels were severed—it was not a dangerous wound—he remained under my care for six days and then left, and I saw him no more.
prisoner came to Tottenham Court Road Police-station with a police constable—she said, "I have cut my husband's throat"—I said, "Where?"—she said, "At 10, Charlotte Street"—I sent Sergeant Gidney to that address—on his return he made a communication to me, and I then told the prisoner she would be charged with attempting to murder Louis Hernould—she made a statement which I took down in writing—I read it over to her and she signed it—this is it (Read.)—"I am a married woman, but I left my husband about eight years ago, since which time I have been living with Hernould as his wife—but he left me four days before—I knew he was going to live with another woman—I was looking for him since ten last night, and I saw him at half-past one in Shaftesbury Avenue with another woman—I said to the woman, "That is my husband"—she said, "You can't take him"—he knocked me down three times—after that we went home—he went to bed, but would, not let me get in—he said if I did not go on the street he would not live with me any more—I laid on the top of the bed with my clothes on—he went to sleep, but I kept awake all night—this morning I awoke him and wanted to make it up—he said he would take all the. things belonging to him and leave me, and would not work any more—I got off the bed in a temper, took the razor off the shelf and cut his throat, and said "There"—he screamed, and I ran into the street, and seeing a constable I asked him to look me up—he said, "What for?" and I told him I had cut the throat of my husband.
GUILTY of unlawful wounding. Strongly recommended to mercy by the JURY . She received a good character from two witnesses. Six Weeks' Imprisonment.
The evidence was interpreted to the prisoner.
RICHARD MARTIN GRAEFE . I am a cabinet maker, of 56, Besborough Place, Pimlico—my workshop is at 74, Hampstead Road—I have known the prisoner four or five years—he was in my employ about a fortnight—he left about three weeks before this occurrence—I told him his work was badly done, and I should have to get it done over again, and on Saturday I gave him 10s., and I said when I took the work home he should have the rest—he said he would not have the 10s., he would have all or none, and he would go to my customers and show me up—he was angry, and two or three days after he threatened me in the street, and said, "he would break my b——neck"—I took him over to the shop and showed him a marble slab that I had to do up for a customer, which he had broken—he denied doing it—I did not see him again till I was taking the job home—I had a man helping me with it on a barrow—I took the man into a public-house and gave him some refreshment, and the prisoner came in, and said, "Ain't I going to have anything?"—I said, "Certainly not, you shall not drink at my expense; you have annoyed my customers and made a disturbance"—I went out with my man, and going along the prisoner came behind me and struck me, and I gave him into custody—I did not see him again until the 18th November—I
heard a ring at the bell—I was in my shop—I went to answer it, and as I opened the door he stood before me, and stooped down with a white galipot in his hand, and he threw the contents of it in my face, and shut the door and went away—it was vitriol, sulphuric acid; we use it in the course of our trade—I was much burnt; I was literally drenched with it—it burnt my hands and face and clothing—he said nothing when he did it—I was taken to the hospital, and my eye was taken out after some time, and the sight of the other eye is damaged—the prisoner occasionally spoke to me in English and in French—he can speak English and make himself thoroughly understood.
Cross-examined. He is a cabinet maker—during the four or five years I have known him he has only worked for me fourteen days—I don't know whether he worked at other places in Hampstead Road—there are various workshops in the neighbourhood—sulphuric acid is used by cabinet makers who do a certain class of work—I have no doubt whatever that it was the prisoner who threw the vitriol—he was there a sufficient time for me to see—it was in the afternoon—he was dressed just like he was when working for me—no words passed between us—it was nine or ten days since I had seen him—when I gave him in custody for striking me they detained him to find out whether he had given a correct address, and if so they would let him go, and said I could take proceedings—I did not go to a Magistrate—this happened at the door of my dwelling-house—there is a step up to the door—the shop is at the back—I do not know where the prisoner lived at that time—I never went to the station to ascertain—this happened between four and five—I had not lit up the shop—I was at work in the shop—there was light enough for me to go on with my "work—it was light enough for me to lee the prisoner—he was close to me when I opened the door, not half a yard away, close to the door—he was stooping down in this way (Describing.) and threw it right up—I have known him five years—I have seen him frequently—he used to come up in shops where I worked.
ROBERT STOWE . I am a French polisher, and live in Goodge Street, Tottenham Court Road—I was working for Mr. Graefe the day this happened—I went out about a quarter to five, and I was out when this happened—when I returned I found Mr. Graefe in the passage, moaning and groaning, smothered all over with some burning material—he said, "Oh, my eyes, take me somewhere"—I took him to the London Temperance Hospital, and left him there—I had seen the prisoner three or four days before at 74, Hampstead Road, Mr. Graefe's—I went to ask fur a little job—the prisoner opened the door and asked me what I wanted—I said I had come to see Mr. Graefe to ask him to give me some work to do—he said Mr. Graefe was not in—I told him I would wait a little while, and as he passed me down into the workshop he said, "I will do something to Mr. Graefe if he don't pay me all my money on Saturday"—that was said in plain English—I understood him.
Cross-examined. Mr. Graefe was not at home on that day—it was three or four days before November 18th, as near as I can recollect—I don't think I told anybody of this conversation before I gave evidence before the magistrate—I have heard before this men get angry at not getting their money.
Re-examined I am certain the prisoner used those words.
THOMAS YOUNG . I am a cabinet maker, and live at 32, Seton Street—about a fortnight before 18th November, 1891—the prisoner came to my workshop in Cornelius Place, and said he had given Graefe a good thrashing—about a week after he came again, I think on Friday evening, and said, "He would give him something for his Christmas"—he spoke English on both occasions—that was all he said—I ordered him out of the shop.
Cross-examined. Mr. Graefe's workshop is about 200 yards from Cornelius Place—the prisoner had been working there for Mr. Graefe, in fact, Mr. Graefe came into the shop—the prisoner was not working there then—he said, Mr. Graefe owed him money, and he would not work there any more—he used to come to the shop—he was a friend of mine, just as workmen know one another—what he said was in the presence of others besides me—I heard that Mr. Graefe was injured on the 18th, the first day I went up to the Court—I have heard of other workmen complaining of not getting what was due to them—I have been in the same position myself, and probably have said ill-natured things.
Re-examined. The detective told me Mr. Graefe was injured two or three days after it happened; it was about fourteen days before that, that this conversation with the prisoner took place, and I told him about it.
GERALD MANSFIELD . I am a surgeon, living at Colchester—in November, 1891, I was house-surgeon at the Temperance Hospital—on 18th November, about seven p.m., I saw the prosecutor, his face was stained all over, and the back of his hands were puffy from some corrosive substance—he was in a very collapsed state, his clothes were charred, and his apron, with some corrosive substance—he could not open either eye; one eye was actually injured, the sight was gone, it had suppurated, and had to be taken out—Inspector Bannister brought me some wood shavings from the wall or passage—I tested them and also the apron the man was wearing, and I have no doubt the stains were the result of sulphuric acid.
THOMAS BANNISTER (Inspector S). On the evening of 18th November last I went to 74, Hampstead Road—I found the floor in the passage and the wall stained with some dark fluid, some of which I scraped together and put into a bottle and took it to the doctor at the Temperance Hospital—I made inquiries for the prisoner, but could not find him till the 28th of October, when he was detained at Marlborough Street Police-station—I asked him if he understood English—he said, "Very little"—I then said to him in German, "Are you Roman Marwig?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "You worked last year a little while for Mr. Graefe, in Hampstead Road?"—he said, "Yes, he owes me 32s., and I can't get it"—I said, "He could not possibly pay you, for neither he or I have been able to find you since last year; you are charged with throwing fluid over Mr. Graefe at the doorway, 74, Hampstead Road, on the 18th of last November, by which he has entirely lost one eye, and suffered other severe personal injuries"—he said, "I know nothing about it, I have never seen him since"—I took him to Albany Street Station in a cab—on the way, he said, "It is not likely I should remain about here if I had done such a thing as that"—I said, "You did not remain here, you went to Paris"—he said, "I went to Paris to get work, but it was
so frightfully paid that I returned"—I said, "You returned when I wrote to the Paris police"—he said, "I struck Mr. Graefe in the street, and was arrested, but I know nothing about what you say now"—when I mentioned Paris, he said, "You seem to know a lot about it"—I said, "I know a lot."
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "All I know of it is, that I had a fight with him."
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, November 16th, 1892.
Before Mr. Recorder.
37. GEORGE SMITH (22) , to burglary in the dwelling-house of John Robert Hanchard, and stealing twenty-four boots, having been convicted at Clerkenwell in July, 1888, in the name of William Jackson.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. GILL and MR. RICHARDS Prosecuted; MR. GEOGHEGAN and MR. TODD Defended.
THOMAS HOLMES . I am manager to Messrs. Farrington, wholesale news agents, of Fetter Lane—the witness Sawyer was our carman—we receive 100 copies of the Times every morning, and have entered into negociations with the Times that they are not to be disposed of in London—it was Sawyer's duty to receive them and bring them direct to our office; he had no permission to sell or deliver any—we get them to send to Scotland and Ireland by the early morning mails—we have no time to check the numbers.
Cross-examined. Sawyer has been with us about two years—100 copies is the first instalment; there is a considerable quantity afterwards; we get 200 more about twenty minutes later; the Scotch mail goes at 5.15; those are for country agents, and they may not be sold in London—we get a third lot about 4.45—Sawyer generally brings all three lots—we have not been able to check them for the last two months, as they arrived a few minutes late—I charged Sawyer of my own free will, and determined to prosecute him as a dishonest servant, but t«o or three days after he was let out on bail it occurred to me to take him back—that was not on condition that he should give information—I read in the paper that he was a supposed dupe; he has a large family, and I thought I would give him another chance, and make him an honest man if possible.
JOHN SAWYER . I live at 44, Alpha Square, Camberwell Gate—I have been in Messrs. Farrington's employ some time—it was my duty to go to the Times office, get the early lot, and take them to my employers—I have been doing that about two years—I have seen the prisoner in Fleet
Street at different times, and about twelve months ago he spoke to me in Fleet Street, where I was with my cart—he asked if I could let him have a copy of the Times every morning, and he would make it worth my while—I agreed to get him a top part copy out of my early lot, and he agreed to give me 8s. a week—I was to take it to 131, Fleet Street, and leave it on the landing on the first floor—he generally paid me the 8s. in Whitefriars Street—that was on my way from the Times to Fetter Lane—I took the copy out of the first 100—that went on for a few months, and then he said it had better stop for a little time, as they were trying to find out where he was getting it from, and I discontinued leaving it—he said that if I was stopped I was to say that I had not given a copy away, and he would see. that I got out of it all right—about two months afterwards he spoke to me one morning, and said he thought it was all right, and that I could begin and leave it at 57, Fleet Street on the window-sill—that continued for nine or ten weeks, up to the time of my being arrested—he spoke about my getting a second copy, and I made arrangements with a second carman to let me have one—I paid him 1s. a copy for it, and the prisoner paid me 5s. a week extra—sometimes he met me in the passage and took it, but on the morning I was arrested I left it on the bill—I could not take two out of my bundle because they would have been missed—I was stopped by a constable, taken to the station, charged, and remanded—I wrote a letter from prison to the detective, telling him what I had done, and making a full statement—nobody induced me to do that.
Cross-examined. Five or six other carmen besides me get early copies—among them are W. H. Smith's man, and Marshall's, of Fleet Street, Marlborough and Co., and Southwell and Co., all London people—when the prisoner came up to me in Fleet Street I think I had spoken to him before, but that was the first time he proposed to me to do anything dishonest—I agreed at once to rob my employer, and induced another man to do so—this has been going on for over a year, except nine or ten weeks when it was stopped—I know Henley—I gave him a paper for Hawkins—Henley has never given me any money—there is no other man in addition to Marshall's man who I have tempted to go astray—the prisoner was to pay for an early copy of the Times—I was not afterwards to make it up to my employers by buying another copy—not one complaint was ever made by Farrington and Co. that I was a copy short—I was not to get copies in the public market at a little after five and supply the deficiency—it did not occur to me to do that—I am now reinstated, and am driving the early morning cart—I saw the inspector at Holloway when I was in custody, and after that the prosecution was dropped against me, and I went from the dock into, the witness-box—I do not think the early issue of 100 copies was ever checked, there was not sufficient time.
THOMAS HOLMES (Re-examined). The papers were not checked for eight or nine weeks because the carman was in the habit of stopping on the road, and therefore there was no time—I do not think they have been checked since June or July this year—we pay the Times by the number of copies we receive.
anxious to find how this news was disseminated—on September 20th Mr. Hanson called on me and made a statement, in consequence of which I communicated with the manager of the Times, and acted in conjunction with him to trace the matter out—on October 3rd the prisoner called on me in consequence of an appointment I made—he offered me an early copy of the Times, which, under the circumstances, was accepted—he said that in consequence of the very strong efforts the Times was making to prevent the early copies, the offer of Mr. Hanson to supply them at 15s. a week could not be carried out, but it would be Ms., and he would deliver it himself at a few minutes past 4 a.m.—he said that they had been very much interfered with, but now they were able to overcome all difficulty, and on previous occasions they had great difficulty, in obtaining early copies—a copy was delivered at my place every morning from the 5th to the 15th, which was delivered to a clerk to Mr. Soames, the solicitor to the Times.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN I am the Dalziel whose name is at the bottom of telegrams—our agency has been established in London since 1889 or 1890—it is in the Outer Temple—our cablegrams do not circulate largely on the Continent—we have no offices on the Continent; we do not do business on the Continent for ourselves—I decline to say whether the Times supply us with an early copy, on the ground that it has nothing to do with the case—if you read my deposition you will see that I have paid persons myself to supply me with an early copy—I have received an early copy for my agency and paid for it—I had it from Mr. Hawkins—we did not know that it was improperly supplied to us—it was within this year—I think Boulden is the man who carried it to the office—we paid about 15s. for it, though it was only 3d. a copy, simply because we could not get it for less—we never sent information to the provinces: we transmitted the leading articles to America; frequently matters of great importance occur between the United States and England, and the Times opinion is highly useful; by procuring a copy of the Times we are able to give information to America the same morning, if we get the copy early; it really never entered my head to write to the Times and get the same thing for eighteenpence; the arrangement was made when we were first established in London, and it was carried on entirely without being brought under my notice—we do not still pay fifteen shillings a week for early copies—we get an early copy now in the morning—we send telegrams to the Continent—the commercial crisis is the least important information—we are not subscribers to Jones' Commercial Bureau—I know nothing about it; I do not know that it contributes the current price of grain from America—some time ago Jones complained to the Times about us, and the Times complained to us that we had taken their prices and sent them to the Continent without being subscribers—I do not know that Jones' Bureau told the Times that we put down false quotations, or that the quotations went all over Europe—the manager of the Times called me up on the telephone and said, I am informed by Jones that you have been taking for the commercial telegrams you have been sending abroad a price which is wrong"—I said, "No, if such a thing is being done I will put a stop to it"—I knew afterwards that a statement was circulated before that—I know very little about the business of Reuter and Co.; it is a very well-known
firm—I never heard that they complained that my firm were taking their information and sending: it to the Continent, or that they trapped us in some way—when Mr. Hanson called on me, I did not understand that Hawkins was stealing the Times, but it was my impression that he was getting it by illegitimate means—I never had to get early papers from the dealers in London—I had not the common curiosity to inquire where the copies came from—I presumed they were legitimately obtained—he assured me so till we stopped taking it, and I thought it was—there Was a complaint about the early copies being got, and immediately it was brought to my knowledge by the proprietor of the Times we stopped it—when the prisoner said that the difficulty had been surmounted I did not say I would have nothing to do with it. because my desire was to put a stop to the whole thing—I wanted to find out how it was done—I have had considerable experience in America—I let the prisoner go on bringing the paper from, I think, the 5th to the 13th October, and did not tell him I was in communication with the Times—the money was at the office waiting for him—country papers do not acknowledge what they steal from the Times—we have no agreement with the Daily News, we have with the Standard, Chronicle, and Advertiser—it is possible that we get an early copy of the Daily News—we do not get our information from any papers—we utilize the early copies of the London daily papers; we pay a regular subscription for them—we pay 15s. for, the Times, because we cannot get it for less—we do not supply the Daily News with telegraphic information; we exclude the Daily News, and I am not aware that we utilise the information contained in it—I am the person who gave the information to the Times, and the person who is interested in putting a stop to this kind of thing.
Re-examined. That is because we find our telegrams are reproduced in the newspapers in an enlarged form—we have a special service with which we supply the Times—we wire in the morning to America for the morning papers, and to France and Belgium in the afternoon—the prisoner said nothing to lead me to suppose that he had improperly come by the copies of the paper—Mr. Soames made a communication to me, and then the matter was put a atop to.
CHARLES ROUSELLE . I am a clerk in Dalziel's News Agency, and know the prisoner—for some months prior to October 14th he brought a copy of the Times to the office about 4.15, and delivered it to me—I handed every copy to Mr. George Dalziel.
HENRY WILLIAM EDMUNDS . I am clerk to Soames, Edwards and Jones, solicitors, Lincoln's Inn Fields—on 13th October Mr. Dalziel handed me a copy of the Times, and Mr. Soames marked it with his initials in my presence.
WILLIAM STEPHENSON —I am the publisher of the Times—it is my duty to see the papers delivered every morning to the several news-agents—Mr. Wood assists me—it came to my knowledge that certain early copies
had been surreptitiously obtained and the news telegraphed to the country—there was an arrangement that they were not to be sold in London under any circumstances—the publication of the Times begins about 3.45—early copies are only delivered to five or six agents—Smith and Son are served first, and they are only for posting—they have none till 4.30—the next firm is Marshall and Son, and three or four others, and among them Messrs. Farrington—no news-agents are supplied till the second and third lots are delivered at 4.20 or 4.30—in consequence of a communication, I made a machine mark and a cross on all copies delivered to Messrs. Farrington, and they were the only papers so marked—I had a man to count the papers on the 13th, and afterwards I counted them myself—they were in four separate quires, and I never lost sight of them from the time they were counted till they were in Sawyer's possession.
Cross-examined by MR. GOGHEGAN. Marshall's, Marlborough's, Farrington's and Dawson's receive copies at four o'clock—we send a copy to Daiziel's under cover—this has been going on eighteen months or two years, so they had no occasion to pay fifteen shillings for another copy—I could find out the exact time—the Central Press Agency never gets a copy nor the Central News—the Melbourne Argus, the Melbourne Age, and the Associated Press each have copies under cover—if a country agent, say at Ipswich, orders 500 copies, and 250 are unsold, they are not returned to us, we receive returns only from a few special agents—only from Messrs. Smith and Sons—I have now communicated with the office, and found that it was about the middle of June, 1892, that Mr. Dalziel was supplied with a copy of the Times under cover at four a.m.—all those people are supplied under special conditions.
JAMES DAVIDSON . I am 17 years old, and live at 33, Granville Square, King's Cross—I have known the prisoner two or three years—I am employed at the Express News Agency, 57, Fleet Street, and have seen him there and Hanson—I was in the prisoner's employ—I remember a boy named Mitchell bringing a copy of the Times from Marlborough's, the news-agents—I saw a constable with him—I did not actually see him stopped—I saw the prisoner there—he spoke to me about it, but I do not recollect what he said—I do not rememember what month it was in—after that, no copies were got from Marlborough's that I am aware of—on 14th October I was going to the Central News office with some papers, and was stopped in the street by the police—I had a copy of the inner part of the Times, which I found on the stairs on the second floor—I was taking it to Daiziel's because the prisoner said any morning he did not appear I should find a copy on the second floor, and I was to take it to Dalziol's—he was nearly always there—October 14th was the first morning I took it—I do not know where it came from—I know Sawyer by sight—I have conversed with the prisoner sometimes in Fleet Street, and sometimes in Whitefriars Street, usually of a Saturday—the police took the copy from me, and I made a statement how I obtained possession of it—every morning before that I had seen a copy of the Times on the stairs.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. In addition to the copy of the Times on the staircase I saw the Sporting Life and nearly all the morning papers—I used to take them up—from February to June the prisoner got a copy of the Times from Marlborough's about 4.15, and I was told
that he also got an early copy from W. H. Smith and Son—the police have stopped me in the street twice; once when I was going to the Central News and once to Dalziel's, but I only had a copy of the Times on one occasion.
Re-examined. Other papers were left on the window-sill at 4.15, but this was the only one that was left in that way—I fetched the others.
FREDERICK HOLMES (City Detective). From instructions I received I was in Fleet Street on October 14th, and saw Sawyer about 3.55 a.m.—he pulled up his cart in Bouverie Street and went into 57, Fleet Street—he came out immediately and returned to his cart and drove away—shortly after four o'clock I saw him leave No. 57"—I followed him some distance and stopped him—he knew me very well—I had a conversation with him, and he handed me a part of that morning's Times—I went back with him down Fleet Street, and when we got near No. 57 the prisoner looked up and saw me, and ran into No. 57—I said, "Hawkins, stop; you are mine"—the more I halloaed the more he ran—I followed him to the third floor, and said, "I shall charge you with receiving a copy of the Times newspaper, this day's issue"—he said, "I have received no copy"; I said, "No, but somebody else has for you"—I called Davidson, who said, "Four or five days ago Hawkins said to me, 'If I don't chance to be here you go and look on the staircase; you will find a paper which you are to take to Dalziel's'; I was taking his paper this morning on the instructions received"—the prisoner said, "I have received no paper"—I took him to the station, and on the road I said, "How much has Dalziel paid you for this copy?"—he said, "I have received nothing"—I said, "How much is he going to pay you?" he said, "Nothing"—prior to that I had watched Sawyer and Hawkins; I saw Sawyer a morning or two before go into the doorway of 57, and hand something to Hawkins, who put it in his pocket; they walked down Bouverie Street, and Sawyer went to his cart.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. I have been told off for this special duty several months; six months, occasionally, not regularly—I have arrested no one but the prisoner in connection with these early copies—I have stopped two persons besides the prisoner; one is here, Davidson, the other was a messenger—I stopped a man in connection with the New York Association Press—he had a copy of the Times on him—I did not charge him; he told me he got it from Dawson's; they are newspaper agents, and special, early copies are sent to them—I did not stop anyone last year with the Times, except Hawkins and his messenger, and the person from the New York Herald—I did not stop them because I thought they had a copy on them; I had reasons for it—I have not stopped other persons believing they had early copies of the Times on them.
FREDERICK LAWLEY (City Detective Inspector). Mr. Soames gave me instructions, and I made inquiries in April and May, and later on I kept observation on the prisoner and Mitchell and Davidson—Mitchell was stopped coming from Marlborough's; he had two early copies of the Times—he made a statement, and the prisoner came up—I said, "I have stopped the boy with two copies of the Times, and he says they are for you?"—he said, "Yes, that is all right, I am a customer of Marlborough's"; I said, "It is rather early"; he said, "They are for post,
it is all right"—the boy was traced as coming from Marlborough's—I communicated with Mr. "Soames about June 18th, and discontinued watching for a while—I commenced again on October 5th, and saw Sawyer meet Hawkins in Fleet Street, and walk away—I saw him come back afterwards to 57, Fleet Street, and Sawyer came up and had a conversation with him, and then got into his cart and drove on—I watched on other mornings, saw the same thing repeated, and communicated with Mr. Soames—the prisoner met Sawyer on the second delivery at the corner of Bouverie Street, and at 4.25 I saw them speak together—on the morning of the 14th lawyer went into the passage, and remained a few minutes, and was arrested, and I saw the prisoner in Holmes' custody—I told him he would be charged with stealing a part copy of that day's Times—he said, "I have received no copy"—he was charged, and made no reply—the carman's bundle was counted, and found to contain ninety-nine.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. I have been to W.H. Smith and Co., in the Strand, in connection with obtaining an early copy of the Times; they did not tell me to mind my own business—I stopped the boy who was going to the Associated Press, and I stopped Mitchell and the prisoner—no criminal proceedings were taken against Marlborough and Son; Mitchell is not here as a witness for the prosecution, he is ill in bed—I have known the prisoner about ten months about Fleet Street.
F. HOLMES (Re-examined). Three or four years ago I stopped two men who had a part copy of the Times; I took them in custody, and they were remanded, and next day they were charged with receiving, but the evidence failed and they were discharged.
GUILTY.—Recommended to mercy by the JURY.
He received a good character.— Six Weeks' Imprisonment Without Hard Labour.
MR. GILL Prosecuted, and MR. BESLEY Defended.
HAMILTON LINDSAY BUCKNALL . I am a civil engineer, and live at Mr. Collier's house, 29, Colchester Street—Mrs. Vernon lived with me, and left me seven or eight years ago—I was living there when the prisoner and Mrs. Vernon were there; they were there two days before I arrived, but I did not know they were there; that was in January this year—that is not the house where Mrs. Vernon had lived with me before—they left the house because they made so much noise; they called out "Murder" and "Police"—about the beginning of October Mrs. Vernon came to the house and spoke to me—I wrote a letter to the prisoner,. because she accosted me in the street, announcing her wedding, and she used language to me which induced me to write it—this is the letter: "Dear Sir,—Excuse my troubling you with this note, my reason for so doing will be apparent. Some few days since, your wife came up to me in the City to announce your recent union, and made use of most offensive language; will you insist upon her letting me alone? Please ask her not to call here, as I prefer not to see her, and if she continues her noisy visits I must do as the gentleman did who occupied the rooms you did, which would be rather hard on people who have given us so much consideration.
H. LINDSAY BUCKNALL."—on 18th October, about eleven p.m., I was called to the hall door and saw Mrs. Vernon and the prisoner, who said, "I have called about this letter; I want it explained"—I said, "It does not want explanation; your wife ruined me, and if I am to be followed in the street, and crowds come round me, I am ruined in this country"—he immediately struck roe on my forehead—I fell, and he tried to kick me in my groin—I put my legs together, and he kicked me on my stomach—I have a mark on my head—the blood seemed like water coming from a garden hose—it ruined my shirt and my drawers—the police doctor saw me that night.
Cross-examined. Mr. Dutton appeared for me—he is not acting for me now—I called Mrs. Vernon and she was bound over—I have changed my solicitor since—I walked to the station, but I did not tell the inspector about this—I was still bleeding—I did not smoke any cigarettes—my landlord brought me some whisky, and I drank it out of a bottle, when I was very faint, at the station—I did not have some more when I got home—I may have had some more next day when I went to the Police-court—I did not smoke cigarettes next day—I saw Mr. Neville next day, and I think I told him about my being kicked in my stomach, and told the Magistrate, to the best of my recollection—I lived with Mrs. Vernon before she was married to Mr. Vernon—I did not advise her to get a divorce from her husband, but Mr. George Lewis did—we lived together as man and wife after she was divorced, sometimes for three or four days—I lived with her in Mr. Collier's house for two months—I swear I never had a halfpenny of her money—I have an office at 47, Easthampton, Devonshire; that is the only place where I practice—I had an office in London at Victoria Mansions, and at Victoria Chambers previously—I acted as a civil engineer at Messrs. Siemens, of Queen Ann's Gate, and I have forests where there is rook and china—Gow is a friend of mine; he lived with Mrs. Vernon—I never drank in a public-house at her expense—Gow was not with her when I met her, nor with me—I swear by everything that is sacred I never drank with her at her expense in Gow's presence—I asked her not to annoy me—I wrote to Mr. Hay ward instead of to Mrs. Vernon, because she was generally drunk—Mr. Collier was my landlord at another house, Cambridge Street, S. W., four and a half or five years ago—my intimacy with him had ceased three or four years before I went to that address; when I went to his place I did not know that Mr. and Mrs. Vernon were stopping there—I do not know that Mr. Collier is indebted to Mr. Hay ward.
Re-examined. My evidence was taken very shortly before the Magistrate on the first occasion—my solicitors are Messrs. Williams; they do not attend to Police court work, and Mr. Dutton was employed.
BROWNIE COLLIKR . I am a tailor, of Colchester Street—Mr. Bucknall was living there on 17th October, and about 11.20 the prisoner came with Mrs. Vernon—he said, "Is Mr. Bucknall in?"—I said, "Yes." and called him—he came out without his hat, and the prisoner said, "You can go; I do not want anything to do with you, I can settle with you afterwards"—I left Mr. Bucknall sitting on the door step with his hands behind his back, and went into my sitting-room to my wife, and in a minute or two I heard screams of "Murder!" and went out and saw Bucknall lying on the ground in a quantity of
blood, and the woman pulling the prisoner away from Bucknall—a constable came up.
Cross-examined. I was bail for the prisoner—I have known Mr. Bucknall some years—I do not know Mr. Gow; he has not lived in my house—the prisoner and Mrs. Vernon lived in one of my houses formerly, at a different address, and there was a disturbance with her, and we had to turn them out—it was their wish to come and live there—there has not been a broker in the house—Mr. Bucknall was not drinking whisky and water with me the same evening; he had a pipe and a glass of ale with me when I came home at nine o'clock—there was no termination of the friendly relations; they went on up to last night—I saw no attempt at a kick, but I heard of it next day—it does not strike me as very odd that there is nothing in the depositions about a kick; it was never suggested—the kick came in a week afterwards—he is a sober man.
HERBERT WESTOWAY (135 B). On October 17th I heard screams, and saw the prisoner and prosecutor standing at the foot of the stairs—blood was oozing from the prosecutor's forehead, and the steps and his clothes were covered with blood—the prosecutor charged him with assault—he said, "Yes, all right; I will go quietly, I have received a letter from the prosecutor, and I went to his house for an explanation"—this is the stick (Produced).
Cross-examined. They had both risen from the ground—there was blood all over the steps—I was present on the second occasion, a week afterwards, when the prisoner was represented by a solicitor—I did not hear Mr. Bucknall say that the prisoner attempted to kick him in the groin, which he prevented by closing his legs, and received it in his stomach.
THOMAS NEVILLE . I am the divisional surgeon, and live at 133, Sloane Street—on the night of October 17th I was called to the station, and found the prosecutor suffering from a star-shaped wound on his head—it would require a good deal of force to do it with a stick—the bone was exposed; the bone is very thick there—it would have been very likely to fracture the skull if at the side of the head—there was a good deal of blood, but I could detect no objective symptoms.
Cross-examined. There is no fat there—he came to me five or six times between the 7th and the 25th—he was sometimes smoking—I never saw him drinking spirits—he did not complain to me the first day about having had a kick on his stomach—I did not hear it till two or three days afterwards.
The prisoner, being allowed to make his own statement, said: "Gentlemen, Mr. Collier opened the door and said, 'Mr. Bucknall?' and he came out and Mr. Collier with him I said, 'I don't want to see you, I want to see Mr. Bucknall alone. I had the letter in my hand, and said, 'I want to know what you mean by writing me this letter; I was 150 miles away; Mrs. Vernon was in your house this morning. 'He squared up as if he was going to hit me, and then I hit him with the stick, and we all fell together. I was 25 yards from the house before the policeman came.
Witness for the defence.
to him—on this letter coming, I asked Mr. Hay ward to go, and I went with him—I have known Mr. Bucknall about thirteen years and Mr. Collier about five years—when we got to the door Mr. Collier answered it, and Mr. Bucknall heard it and came out without his hat—Mr. Hayward said to Mr. Collier, "I will speak to you afterwards"—he held the letter in his hand and said, "What is the meaning of this?" and they got to high words and Mr. Hay ward struck him with the stick; I got between them and we all fell on the next doorstep—Mr. Hayward did not try to kick Bucknall on the groin or stomach while he was on the ground—Bucknall has spent my money—I had £2,000 and he never earned a penny, and my jewellery and clothing went—Mr. Hay ward has been the only friend I have had.
Cross-examined by MR. GILL. I went into the City one day to do a little business, to buy some gloves—I wont in a 'bus to the Mansion House Station, and when I got out I saw Mr. Bucknall and two or three of his friends—he did not stay two minutes to speak to me—his friends asked me if I had any money, and if I could pay for a glass of whisky, and Mr. Bucknall pushed the door open and called them out—I bought the gloves afterwards at Nicholson's, in 8t. Paul's Churchyard—I was staying at 84, Tatchbrook Street—I had not seen Mr. Bucknall for three years—I have lived in Colchester Street, and I went there in October because Mr. Collier owed £13, to get the brokers out of the house, and I went round and gave him a bit of my mind—I was there on the morning of October 17th—I was not turned out of the house in consequence of making a disturbance when I was drunk—I was not turned out at all.
Re-examined. I had nothing to do with bringing Bucknall to live there; I did not know he was coming—he has not complained to me that I was persecuting him—Gow is one of the men who had the drink, and Noble.
By the COURT. I did not tell him that Mr. Hay ward had married me, or that he was going to; if I did it was in a jocular way—there is not a word of truth in that letter—Mr. Collier knew he was going to get a County Court summons for him, and he was very polite to me, and said, "Will you take a seat?"—Mr. Hay ward did not know I had been in the City; he left very early to go to Aldborough, and came back in the evening.
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY.— Judgment respited.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, November 16th, 1892.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. PRIDHAM-WIPPELL Prosecuted, and MR. SANDS Defended.
DOUGLAS BROAD . I am a professional entertainer, and live at Harringay—on 3rd October I went out of town, after securely fastening my house—when I returned on the 19th I found my front door fastened from the inside, bolted; I could not get in with my key—I found the
back door had been forced, and was open—I had left it fastened—I went for a policeman—I could not find one—I returned, and found one there—I found my house in great disorder; everything turned out, drawers and so on—I missed a coat and vest, trousers, shirts, and other things—I slept in the house that night—I left at eleven o'clock the following day, after fastening the place up—I left no one there—when I arrived home the same night about 11.30 I found that there had been a second entry—my wife had arrived at home meanwhile (The Common Serjeant here intimated that as there were two distinct burglaries, the prosecution must elect upon which they would proceed. MR. WIPPELL elected to go upon the second)—I found the back window had been broken open, and a second entry made into the house; a hand could be put through the broken glass, and the latch undone—I cannot say if the window was open—I missed six American dollars made into buttons, an overcoat, a blue serge jacket, and several Moorish coins—they were there on the Sunday—I communicated with the police—I wrote to them at the same time, and I afterwards identified five of the dollars and the coins two days later, on the 14th, I think—I think it was on the Tuesday or Wednesday; I am not quite certain about the date; it was at Vine Street—these are the dollars and coins.
EDMUND ATHELSTONE SMART . I am a gold and silver refiner, of War-dour Street—on Saturday, 14th October, James came into my shop, and I saw Brown outside—James offered these things for sale—he said, "How much will you give me for them?"—I weighed the coins, and offered him 3s. 9d. for each of these dollars—he said he would take that, and I paid him the money—then he pulled out these Moorish coins—I looked at the police-list of stolen articles which I am provided with, and found they were entered there, and I asked the prisoner for the money back—he gave it back to me, and I told him he would have to come to the police-station with me—I asked him how long he had had the articles; he said, "Five months"—when we came outside I saw Brown standing on the kerb; he and Brown spoke together in a whisper; I did not hear what they said—I took James to Vine Street; Brown followed a little way, and then left.
Cross-examined by MR. SANDS. It was quarter or half past twelve midday when Brown came in—I have a good business—the police-list is loose on our counter where anybody can see it—we keep them all for about twelve months in a pile—I had no suspicion when he first offered the articles—there was nothing in his manner to suggest anything wrong—I offered him a fair price—if I had not been struck by the Moorish coins I should hive given him a fair price for them—James went perfectly quiet to the station—he wanted to go back once and look for the other man, but I told him he had better come—I should have told a constable, if I had seen one, to take the other man.
ARTHUR FULLER (Detective Y). On 14th October I apprehended James—I found on him five American gold dollars and seven Moorish coins, which the prosecutor identified—James said he had had them in his possession about five months—on the 15th he said, "I may as well tell you the truth; a man of the name of Ben Brown gave them to me; you will find him at the corner of Holloway Road"—I circulated information, and Brown was apprehended in the Holloway Road.
Cross-examined by MR. SANDS. We found Brown through the information
given by James—the prosecutor came to the station and identified the things on the same day, the 14th.
SAUL EASTON (253 Y). On 25th October I was in the Holloway Road with Detective Thomas at 2.30, and I took Brown—he was charged with being concerned with James in breaking into the house—he replied, "All right"—when charged he said, "I own I was with him."
Cross-examined by MR. SANDS. At the time I had not spoken to Brown about the shop in Wardour-Street.
MATILDA BROAD . I am the prosecutor's wife—on Monday, 10th October, I came back to our residence at 4.30 p.m., from the seaside—I found the kitchen window broken; it was dosed; I did not notice the fastening—I did not notice if the doors were unfastened—I missed the dollars when the detective came, not the Moorish coins—I had been away about a fortnight—the dollars were in a small drawer; I saw them safe before I went to the seaside.
The COMMON SERJEANT considered that there was no evidence against the prisoners of breaking and entering; but that the question of receiving must be left to the JURY.
STEPHEN NEWNHAM (a prisoner). I am undergoing sentence on a charge of bigamy—I only know the prisoners by seeing them at Holloway Prison when we were exercising about a fortnight ago, or a little longer; they were talking very loud, and I happened to overhear them—then they were shifted, and Brown was put behind me, and he said to me, "What are you here for?"—I said, "Bigamy"—he said, "What do they give for burglary?"—I said, "I don't know; I never done such a thing"—he said, "I done one, and I got £20 worth of stuff out of it; there were some coins among it; I gave them to my mate, and they catched him with the coins on him. He told them that I gave them to him, and I said I did not"—I said, "Did he know you did the burglary?"—he said, "No"—I said, "Did he know the coins were stolen?"—he said, "No"—I said, "Did he know the coins came from the burglary?"—he said, "No"—I said, "You mean to say he is here and knows nothing about it?—he said, "Yes; nobody knows nothing about it only me. He gave his wrong address; that will go against him, won't it?" ("speaking of James) and it will be a feather in my cap. He has got one conviction against him; I think I shall manage to get out of it."
The Prisoners' statements before the Magistrate. James sags: "They were given to me by Brown on Monday night; he said he found them, and asked me to take them and show my father. I did. He said he could not tell what they were. "Brown sags:" He said just now he gave them to me on the Tuesday. I could bring witnesses to prove he showed me the things on Monday night. I am perfectly innocent, and know nothing of it."
James was permitted to make a statement before MR. SANDS addressed the JURY on his behalf. He said that he met Brown in a public-house on
the night of 10th October, who showed him the coins, and asked him to take them to his father to see what they were, and that then they went to sell them.
Brown, in his defence, said that he went for a walk with James on the 14th; that James produced the coins, and tried to persuade him to take them into the shop, but that he would not; and that the evidence of Newnham was all wrong, and that Newnham must have misunderstood what he said.
GUILTY* on the Second Count. — Six Months' Hard Labour each.
MR. FOOKS Prosecuted.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Thursday, November 17th, 1892.
Before Mr. Justice Bruce.
43. FRANCIS CHARLES SCOTT SANDERS (32) PLEADED GUILTY to eleven indictments for forging and uttering acceptances and endorsements to certain bills of exchange and promissory notes for the payment of £4,000, £1,500, and other sums with intent to defraud.— Judgment postponed.
44. FRANCIS EDWARD YOUNG (36) , to uttering a deed of conveyance with intent to defraud, also to obtaining £4,385 by false pretences.— [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] Judgment postponed. And
For other cases tried this day, see Kent and Surrey cases.
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, November 17th, 1892.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. COLLINS Prosecuted, and MR. LEYCESTER Defended.
After the case had been opened to the JURY, the prisoner stated in their hearing that he was guilty of unlawful wounding, and the JURY thereupon found him GUILTY of unlawful wounding. He received a good character.— Discharged on Recognisances.
MR. ABINGER Prosecuted; MR. WARBURTON Defended Fardell; and MR. BURNIE Defended Fitzpatrick.
HENRY BENDER . I am a tailor, of 3, Great Prescott Street—on October 23rd I was in Commercial Road at a quarter to one a.m.—I bad been out with my sweetheart, and was going home alone—I was sober—as I passed Limehouse church Fitzpatrick ran up to me screaming, and
saying, "Please help me; this is my husband; he wants to knock me about"—I saw Fardell just behind—I said, "That is nothing to do with me"—Fardell came to me and asked what I was doing with his wife, and gave me a blow in the face which knocked me down, and left a mark for some time—he fell on top of me because I laid hold of him—when I was on the ground I got a kick at the back of my head, which raised a lump; that must have been done by the prisoner; there was no other person near me at the time except the prisoners—I held Fardell by the legs; I don't know that he kicked me; it was in the struggle—I had on a silver American lever watch and a braes and metal chain, when I met the prisoners—while I was on the ground, before I had a chance to get up, I felt for my watch, and found it and the chain gone; I only found the bar and one link—I held Fardell, and called for assistance—a constable came up; I was still on the ground, holding the prisoner—it was a very dark place—nobody else was there at the time; people might have come up afterwards—when the constable came up and held the prisoner I told him that this man had knocked me down and taken my watch and chain—Fardell said, "You have made a mistake"—the constable took him; Fitzpatrick remained one or one-and-a-half yards off, until another constable came and took her—I have never recovered my watch and chain—I found this bar on the pavement where the struggle was—there was no crowd there when I recovered it—the constable was the first person to come up; I did not notice any passers by come up before that.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. This was early on Sunday morning—I live and work at Mr. Bowick's, 3, Great Prescott Street—I had only been into one public-house that evening, and had not had much to drink—I did not catch hold of Fitzpatrick and say, "Old girl, where are you going?"—I did not strike or bite Fardell; he complained to the police that I had assaulted him—his face was bleeding—I was very excited at the time—I have no recollection whether I bit him; I may have bitten him in my excitement, or I may not.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. This took place very quickly; the moment I was on the ground I began calling for the police, and one came pretty quickly—I am prepared to say that only the prisoners were there before the policeman—there was not a crowd there when he came; the crowd did not get together directly—I did not notice whether there was any crowd—I am not prepared to say other persons were not there when I was on the ground; I cannot say one way or the other—there may have been a crowd round me when the policeman first came up; not when I was kicked; there were no other people there then—I saw the man a few yards behind the woman when she came up—I cannot give exactly the precise words she used.
Re-examined, Nobody was about when she came up to me—there might have been a few persons when I was knocked down—I could not say exactly—blood came on the prisoner's face by my struggling with him—I caught hold of him the best way I could when I found my watch gone—I had just left my sweetheart.
JOHN ALCOCK (377 K). At a quarter to one on 23rd October I heard a call of "Police" and ran round into the Commercial Road, and saw a crowd of people, and two persons struggling on the ground—by the time I got to them they had got on their feet—the prosecutor said, "This
man" (pointing to Fardell) "has knocked me down and taken away my watch and chain, while I was on the ground"—I saw Fitzpatrick standing close beside—Fardell said, "I think you have made a mistake"—I arrested him and handed him to another constable while I looked about to see if I could see the watch—Fitzpatrick said, "Oh, my God, my God!" when I took Fardell into custody—the other constable took Fardell to the station, and I took Fitzpatrick—I said, "I shall take you for being concerned with the man in stealing the prosecutor's watch"; she said, "All right, I will go with you to the station"—I saw the prosecutor take this bar of his chain off the ground close to where we were standing—it was a very dark place—when the prisoners were charged at the station, Fardell said, "You have made a mistake; you have got the wrong party this time"—Fitzpatrick said, "Oh, my God, my God!"—when I arrested Fardell he bad a scratch on his cheek from which blood was coming—he said nothing about it then; at the station he said something about the prosecutor having scratched him on the cheek—I did not hear him say anything about being bitten.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. I should think there were about a couple of dozen people there when I came up; I saw two or three women there—Fitzpatrick was standing there—she said, "Oh, my God!" when I took Fardell, and before I took her—the said it again at the station when she was in the dock—she might have added, "I have nothing to do with it"—I did not say before the Magistrate that she said so—this is my deposition, which I signed; I cannot explain how it comes into the depositions if I did not say it—Fardell said, "I have nothing to do with it"—I must have said this before the Magistrate.
Re-examined. The Inspector asked for their addresses, and they both laid, "Find out."
By MR. WARBURTON. They both gave their names and addresses later on I believe; I did not hear them—I have been twenty years in the force.
GEORGE DAVEY (280 K). At a quarter to one on 23rd October I saw a crowd of people in the Commercial Road; the prisoners were in the middle, and Alcock was there—I asked what was the matter, and the prosecutor said, "I have been knocked down and robbed of my watch and chain"—I said, "Do you know who did it?"—he said, "That is the man that done it," pointing to Fardell—I took Fardell by the arm, and said, "You will have to come to the station with me"—he said, "We will go to the station together"—I searched him at the station, and found nothing relating to the charge—I said, "What has the woman got to do with it?"—the prosecutor said, "The woman came up and said the male prisoner had teen assaulting her"—that was in the Commercial. Road—at the station Fardell said he had been bitten in the face by the prosecutor—I saw a slight mark on his face, and a little blood; it might have been the result of a bite.
Fardell, in his statement before the Magistrate, said: "I don't believe the man had a watch. "Fitzpatrick said: "I plead Not Guilty."
GUILTY . FARDELL then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony, at this Court, in May, 1888, and FITZPATRICK** to one in November, 1889, at Thames Police Court.—Fardell, Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. Fitzpatrick Three Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. PIGGOTT Prosecuted.
ROBERT SIREY : I am a labourer, employed by the East London Waterworks Company, and living at 2, Albany Terrace, Lea Bridge Road—about a quarter-past twelve on 4th November I was at work in the garden of the Waterworks Company when I heard two reports of a gun in quick succession—I looked round, and saw a pigeon drop about 200 yards from me, nearer the prisoner—I saw a dog hunting about—I went towards the pigeon, picked it up, and turned, and was going back with it—I saw the prisoner on the other side of the river, with his gun on his right arm; two men were by his side—directly I walked away with the pigeon I heard another report, and felt a stinging on the left side of my neck—I put my hand up, and felt a place on the left side of my neck, and I called out to the prisoner, whom I did not know, "All right, old man! I will mark you; you have hit me in the neck"—he said, "All right; you can do as you like with it now"—he then started running away; I followed him—he ran half-way across the marsh-towards a policeman, and when I came up to him he was standing there with a policeman, who had stopped him—he said he was loading his gun, and it went off accidentally—I told the policeman I would give him in charge for shooting me—the policeman said, "You will both have to come to the station"—we went there, but they would not take the charge because I did not see the prisoner put the gun to his shoulder and fire at me—I afterwards applied for a warrant—when this happened I was on the Essex side and the prisoner was on the Middlesex side of the river Lea—he was in a direct line with me, straight across—England was on the same side as the prisoner, behind some railings.
EDWIN ENGLAND . I am under-foreman to the East London Waterworks Company, and reside at Waterworks Cottage, Lea Bridge Road—on 4th November, about twelve o'clock, I was standing on the bank of the river, on the same side as the prisoner, and about 120 yards to the left of him—I heard the two reports of the gun in quick succession, and saw the pigeon shot by the prisoner fall on the Waterworks Company's garden on the other side of the river—the prisoner sent his dog across the river, but the dog could not find the bird—the prosecutor, who was working close by, picked up the bird, and turned to go away, when the prisoner called out, "Give the dog the bird," and immediately on that I saw him take his gun from under his arm and lift it up to his shoulder and shoot in that direction—I heard a report; I saw the prosecutor then put his hand to his neck—I was 150 yards from him—I called out to the prisoner, and I called to two or three of my men to go and get a policeman—as soon as the prisoner saw my men going to get assistance he ran away.
SAMUEL PHILLIPS . I live at 27, High Cross Road, Tottenham—on 4th November I was on the East London Waterworks Company's ground—I saw the prisoner shoot the pigeon, and I saw the' pigeon fall into a garden among some cabbages—I saw the prisoner reload his gun, and stand with it about two or three minutes under his arm at the time his dog went across the garden; then the prosecutor picked the pigeon up, and the prisoner then put the gun up to his shoulder and fired in a line with
the prosecutor, who put his hand up to his neck—I heard the report—the prisoner took to his heels, and ran away towards the White Lion.
SAMUEL WILSON (255 J). At twelve o'clock on 4th November I was on duty in Hackney Marshes—I saw the prisoner running with a gun—when he got near to me I called out and asked him what was the matter he stopped and came to me, and said, "I have just shot a pigeon; it dropped on the Waterworks ground. A man at work there picked it up. I asked him to chuck it down for the dog; he did not. I then reloaded my gun. In closing it the hammer struck one of the caps; the gun went off. I think some of the shots have hit the man in the neck. Come back and meet him"—I said, "They are coming"—the prosecutor came up and said, "I charge this man with shooting me"—I said, "Where did he shoot you?"—he said, "In the back of the neck"—I saw a small red place at the back of his neck—I took them to the station—the charge was not taken there on account of deficiency of evidence—neither Phillips nor the other man was there then.
JAMES HENRY TURTLE (Divisional Surgeon of Police). I live at the Poplars, Gascoigne Road, South Hackney—on 4th November I was called to the Victoria Park Police Station, and examined the prosecutor—I found on the left side of the back of his neck a small red swelling; the skin was not broken in any way, and I am unable to say how it was caused; it is possible that a spent shot might have caused it.
THOMAS SKINNER (446 J). I took the prisoner on a warrant on 5th November on Hackney Marshes—I read the warrant to him; he made no reply—he was sitting on a bench close by the White House publichouse—he had a breech-loading gun and a dog with him. The prisoner called the following witnesses:—
HERBERT COLLINS . I live at 57, Churchhill Road, Homerton, and am a painter—I was called before the Magistrate—on 4th November I was with you, and saw you shoot the pigeon—you had a double-barrelled gun, and fired both barrels—the pigeon fell—the dog went in search of it—Sirey picked up the bird, and walked away with it—then I heard the gun go off—I was three yards from you I should think—I had my back to you at the time, but I looked and saw you had the gun on your knee as if you were reloading it, and it was then it went off—I saw you run away.
Cross-examined. I did not see the prisoner shoot the gun off; I was looking in the direction of the bird—he looked as if he was taking the gun down and loading it again, putting in another cartridge—he was looking in the same direction an the prosecutor.
HENRY TILLEV . I am a comb maker, of 28, Archer Street, Hackney—on 4th November I was with Collins and you on the Marshes—I heard the two barrels go off—I saw the prosecutor across the river—I did not see the gun fired again; I heard it—I saw the gun across your knee and you were trying to force two more cases in when one barrel went off; the cases had got thick edges, and the gun has just been done up.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner about twelve months—this was the first time we had been out on one of the-e expeditions for a long while—I never saw a cartridge stick in the gun before—I was looking at the prisoner the whole time—the bird did not interest me—I did not know the dog had gone across the river; I knew he was about somewhere—I did not see Sirey pick up the bird.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that he was reloading his gun when, by accident, it went off; he contended that at the distance he was from the prisoner more than one shot would have hit him if he had aimed at him.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. COLLINS Prosecuted.
ROBERT STEWART . I live at 17, Warwick Road, West Ham, and am an agent—on Saturday night, November 5th, I was near Aldgate—I wished to get a tram-car to West Ham, and I inquired of the prisoner the nearest way to Aldgate—he said he was going that way, and would show me—he took me down some back streets, and when we got to what I thought was a particularly bad-looking lane I said, "I don't like this place"—immediately I said so he seized me from the side—I felt as if I were being strangled; my arms were held—two men came in front, and I felt my watch, of the value of £6, being dragged out of my pocket—the bow of the watch was broken—my chain was left behind—I have never seen my watch since—this all happened in half a minute—a policeman must have come on the scene, for the men all scattered—I pursued the prisoner—a policeman stopped me—I struck at him, and exclaimed, "I am the man that has been robbed," and I and the policeman ran after the prisoner—the policeman blew his whistle, and a speedier policeman took up the chase and caught the prisoner—I never lost sight of him—I was sober.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I was with you for twenty minutes from the time I met you at Liverpool Street corner—we had one drink together—I saw no one with you when I met you—I don't know the names of the streets we went through—I have been in London about three months—I had my eyes on you all the time—I don't remember asking you to speak when the policeman caught you—you are the man I went into the public-house with.
GEORGE MANSFIELD (447 H). I was in Short Street on Saturday night, about a quarter to eleven, on 5th November—I saw the prisoner with two men robbing the prosecutor—I was about twelve yards off—I ran towards them, and they released the prosecutor—I caught the prosecutor by the neck by mistake—he turned round, and said, "I am the man they robbed"—I let go of him, and ran after the men, and blew my whistle—I ran some six hundred yards; the prisoner was caught by another constable—when I blew my whistle the prisoner halted, and walked past the other constable.
Cross-examined. I saw you holding the prosecutor—I saw you quite distinctly—I never lost sight of you when you ran away—I had my eyes on you when I caught hold of prosecutor; you were close to him.
THOMAS MASTERMAN (104 H). On this night, at a quarter to eleven,. I was in Wentworth Street—I heard a police whistle blown—I ran in the direction, and saw Mansfield running after the prisoner, who had gone into a walk—I passed him, and as soon as I did so he set off running again Mansfield pointed him out; Iran after him about 300 yards, and caught him—I searched him, and found this rope, which the
prosecutor complained at the station of being put round his neck—the prosecutor was sober; he had a red mark across his neck, as from fingers or from this rope, I could not tell which—it was consistent with his being seized by fingers.
Cross-examined. It was after the charge was read that I searched you, and then the prosecutor said it was the rope that had been round his neck—at the station you refused your address; I did not hear that you gave it to another constable.
Re-examined. When charged the prisoner said that he was in the prosecutor's company, but he was not the man who had anything to do with the robbery—the prisoner was quite sober, but he pretended to be drunk.
The prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate, said: "At the station the prosecutor said nothing about the rope; he did not mention it was found on me. He said ho had no marks on his neck. We were both drunk."
The prisoner, in his defence, said that he was walking arm-in-arm with the prosecutor, when suddenly someone came up, and he walked away.
GUILTY .†— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. CONDY Prosecuted.
EDWARD LOWS . I am a fireman on the ship James Beere, which is either at Newport or Cardiff now—I live at 55, Martin's Road, Customs House—on the night of 11th November, after twelve o'clock, I was not exactly sober—I came out of a public-house with a man who punched me on the left side of my jaw, and left me, because I accused him of putting his hand in my pocket to take my money—that man is not here—he went away, and then Marks, whom I did not know before, came up and said he would see me right—he bathed my mouth, which was bleeding—then Lewis came up and said I should be all right; he would punch the other man for hitting me, and they said they would see me to my ship—I went along with Marks, I don't know what became of Lewis, and we got into a dark corner when Marks hit me with his fist on the other side of my mouth, and split my lip—Lewis came up; while I was on the ground I heard Marks say to Lewis, "Kick him! kick him!"—he did not kick me—I did not see Lewis at the time, but I put my hands over my head because I thought that I was going to get a kick, and while I was doing that they either cut or pulled my left-hand trousers pocket out—there was 21s. 8d. in it as near as I can remember—I saw Lewis there—I called for police and one came up, and I told him about it—Marks and Lewis ran away and the policeman ran after them, they were caught and I identified them—I saw the doctor—I ran after the prisoners with the first constable who came up; we lost sight of them, but afterwards we caught up with them and I saw Marks put his hand into his right pocket and throw something over the hoarding—I saw him caught and taken to the station.
Cross-examined by Marks. Another man had put his hand into my pocket, and after accusing him I holloaed out, "Police!" and he struck me in the mouth—he then walked down the street—you took an open knife out of my hand; I said if the man came up to me again to hit me I would put the knife into him—you gave me my knife back—I took my money out to count it, and when the man hit me in the mouth I put it back in my pocket—I had not counted it.
Cross-examined by Lewis. You were there when Marks knocked me down—I never said you kicked me down; I was up as soon as you would let me, and I saw you running—I told the policeman you had gone round the corner—I can swear to you.
HENRY HOLLAND (97 H). On the early morning of the 2nd November I heard screams of "Police!"—Iran in the direction of Church Street, Whitechapel, where I saw the prosecutor, who made a communication tome—I ran to the top of Church Street, where I spoke to a City policeman, and ran in the direction of Swan Street—when I got to Royal Mint Street, I saw Marks running, and I saw him throw something which rattled like money over a hoarding—afterwards we came from the station, and searched Sugar Loaf Court, which is on the right of Swan Street, and found this part of the trousers, which had been cut out—I was present when Marks was arrested—I told him I should take him into custody for robbing a sailor; he said, "Where is the money? I have done nothing"—a sergeant and another constable took him to the station.
Cross-examined by Marks You threw the money as you were running—you did not run into a policeman's arms; you turned to go back when you saw us.
Cross-examined by Lewis. I did not see anything of you.
WILLIAM BUCKSEY (796 City). On the early morning of the 12th I heard cries of "Police!" and ran into Church Street, where I met the prosecutor and Holland—I spoke to them, and went to the Minories, where I met Cooper—I spoke to him—I went after the prisoners, and saw them arrested.
Cross-examined by Marks. A policeman stopped you as you were running—you went up Mansell Street.
Cross-examined by Lewis. I saw you run up Mansell Street and Royal Mint Street into Upper East Smithfield—you and Marks parted at the corner of Royal Mint Street, and were not arrested together; Marks was arrested first.
WILLIAM FORD (110 H). On this morning I saw the prosecutor and Bucksey running—the prosecutor spoke tome—I had previously seen two men come from that direction, walking—I ran through the archway into Royal Mint Street; I saw Marks running, and on seeing me he pat. his hand into his right hand pocket, and threw something over a hoarding, and it dropped and sounded like money—I got up to him, and then he turned back, and as he saw the sergeant he came towards me again—I arrested him, and handed him over to Holland—I then went to search behind the hoarding, and I picked up four florins, two shillings, and 1d. in bronze—as the prosecutor complained of being struck in the mouth, I examined Marks at the station, and found three of his knuckles and his thumb were bleeding, with all the skin knocked off—at the station when I brought the money in Marks said, "That is part of 14s. that jiggled out of my pocket as I was running."
Cross-examined by Marks. I did not knock the money out of your hand, nor did I hit you on the jaw.
Cross-examined by Lewis. You were with Marks.
Re-examined. The hoarding is about eight feet high.
Cross-examined by Lewis. I saw you running away and chased you—you passed by me and I saw nothing more of you till you were brought back by another constable—I assisted to take you to the station—I did not strike you three or four times on the left cheek or throw you to the ground—I did not say, "That is what I will give you for stabbing people"—I did not know what the case against you was—you said to the Inspector, "This man struck me two or three times under the jaw, and I will tell the Magistrate so"—I said I did not.
HENRY BLAKE (448 H). On this morning I found Lewis in a court called Herne's Buildings, Upper East Smithfield, sitting down—when I turned my light on I saw his eyes on my lantern, and when I got near him I saw him close his eyes, and turn his head as if asleep—I said, "Come on out of it"—he made no answer—I said, "Come out," and he said, "Eh, eh?"—I caught hold of him; he appeared as if helplessly drunk—I called two constables; we took his arms and took him into the street, where the other constables arrested him; he was as sober as you or I.
Cross-examined by Lewis. Your eyes shone like oat's-eyes on my lantern—when Bishop took hold of you he said, "You appear to be a little bit different to when I saw you running down"—he only helped me with you—he did not say, "I will give you that for stabbing people"—I asked him what you were wanted for, and he said he did not know—he did not hit you three or four times on the cheek.
JOHN PERCY CLARK (Assistant Divisional Surgeon). About three o'clock on this morning I examined the prosecutor, and found he was suffering from a severe contusion of the lower lip on the right side; the inner surface was out—the upper lip on the right side was split through; it was necessary to sew it up—the wounds were such as would have been occasioned by a severe blow—he was not sober—he appeared to have been rather badly knocked about.
Marks, in his defence, asserted that he knew nothing of striking or robbing the prosecutor.
Lewis stated that he had not seen the prosecutor, but that he got drunk and fell asleep on the doorstep.
GUILTY . Marks then PLEADED GUILTY**† to a conviction of felony in November, 1889, and Lewis**† to a conviction of felony in August, 1891.
A constable stated that the conviction to which Marks had pleaded guilty was for robbery from the person, and that the prosecutor in the case was kicked, and was now a cripple with a stiff knee.
MARKS— Twenty strokes with the cat and Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
LEWIS— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
THIRD COURT.—Friday, November 18th, 1892.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. LEVER Prosecuted.
CHARLES ROBERTS (225 H). On November 6th, at 5 a.m., I met the prisoner carrying a bundle covered with an overcoat—I stopped him, and said, "What have you there?"—he said his sister's clothing—I asked him where he got them from—he said, "34, Cannon Street Road"—I asked him where he was going to take them—he said, "Over the water"—I asked where he meant—he said, "Marshalsea, Borough"—I told him I was not satisfied, and asked him to let me have a look at the parcel—he pulled out a boot, and said, "My sister's boot"—I said, "It looks like a man's boot to me; what else have you got?."—I put my hand on a clock—I asked what that was—he said, "A clock"—I told him I was not satisfied, I should take him to the station—I charged him with unlawful possession—the parcel contained these things: a clock, looking-glass, brass pestle, lady's skirt, a black overcoat, a lady's black cloth jacket, and other goods—he was wearing this coat and two pairs of trousers—in his pocket were two knives, a screw-driver, a key, a box of matches, a brass candlestick—this piece of brace was tied round some of the articles—when charged he said he bought the goods down Petticoat Lane off a stall for £1 15s., and he produced this receipt in pencil, signed Hennessy—"This is to certify that I, W. Smith, bought of George Hennessy one clock, one body, one skirt, two candlesticks, one pair trousers, two pairs boots,. one silk handkerchief"—I and the sergeant asked him what stall it was—he said, "I don't know what stall; here is the receipt"—the property was afterwards identified, and then the prisoner was charged with burglary.
REBECCA ROSENBLUTH . I am married, and live at 10, New Road, Commercial Road—at eleven p.m. on Monday, 31st October, I left my house all safely locked up, and went to bed—I awoke at six o'clock next morning, and found the street door, which I had bolted and looked before I went to bed, had been unbolted and unlocked on the inside, and was only fastened by the latch—the kitchen gas, which I had turned off the night before, was alight, and a paraffin lamp had been lighted, but had gone out—one of three iron oars outside the kitchen window had been removed—the kitchen window could be opened from the outside by pushing it back; it opens like a door—it had been shut, but not bolted the night before; it was rather swollen—it looks on to, and is level with a yard—there is a door from the passage outside the kitchen into the scullery, and another door leads from the scullery into the yard—ours is the next house but one to the corner, and the corner house is divided by a low wall from the street—you can get over the wall from the street, and so into our backyard—the kitchen is under the main roof of our house—I missed that morning four overcoats and two jackets which had been on the top floor in our workshop; my husband is a tailor—I also missed a pair of scissors—I found an old jacket which had not been there before—we sent it to the Police-court—this jacket and overcoat were among those we missed—I reported the robbery at the station that morning—the constable accompanied me to our house, and examined the premises—I do not know the prisoner.
ALBERT HARRISON (Sergeant H). On 1st November the last witness complained of a burglary, and I went with her to her house—I found marks of a person having passed over the wall at the back of the premises, and there having forced the bar of the kitchen window, and entered through the window—a jacket was brought to the station, which I kept till 5th November, when I saw the prisoner in the station; I said to him, "You might as well put on your own coat"—he took off his overcoat and put it on—he was charged with burglary, and made no answer to the charge—I accompanied him to the cells; I said, "That is your coat." (The COMMON SERJEANT said that this was most improper conduct, as it could only have been done with the object of making evidence against the prisoner, and that he should not admit it.)
WILLIAM GILL (Detective H). On 5th November I saw the prisoner in the dock at Arbour Square at ten o'clock—he was wearing this jacket, which Mrs. Rosenbluth afterwards identified—I put no questions to him, and he made no statement to me about it.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that he had bought the things.
GUILTY .—He then
PLEADED GUILTY* to a conviction of felony in June, 1891. There was another indictment against him for another burglary— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
MESSRS. GRAIN and KERSHAW Prosecuted, and the HON. BERNARD COLERIDGE Defended.
ALFRED BRETT . I am Superintendent of Records in the London Bankruptcy Court—I produce the file of proceedings in the bankruptcy of Pearce and Banyard, of 13 and 15, Rigely Road, College Park Estate, Kensal Green, builders and contractors—the petition was filed on 27th April, 1882. Richard James May was appointed trustee on 24th May—they were adjudicated on that petition on 6th May—the public examination was on 16th June; neither Pearce nor Banyard attended—there was no statement of their affairs, either of liabilities or assets—an order was made on 16th June.
Cross-examined. On 22nd May, 1884, I had the order closing the bankruptcy, which runs, "the Court being satisfied that the whole of the property of the bankrupt has been realised for the benefit of the creditors, and a dividend of 5 1/2 d. in the £ having been paid."
Re-examined. That was under the 1869 Act—the order goes on, and "on reading the affidavit of Richard James May, etc., and no creditor appearing to oppose"—the bankruptcy was closed at the instance of the trustee.
WILLIAM MEMORY . I live at The Poplars, Willesden Park—in March, 1882, the prisoner, who was then trading with Pearce, was carrying out some building operations for me at Grange Villa. Harlesden, under a contract by which I paid him certain sums weekly, according to certificates—about 12th March, 1882, Pearce and Banyard wanted me to advance them £150, as they told me they had been disappointed in getting some money at Dulwich; it was £100 in excess of the architect's certificate; I
refused it at first, but ultimately I advanced it in silver, gold, and notes, at Broad Street Station, where I met them by appointment—I took a receipt, which I produced at this Court in March, 1883, but it has since been destroyed—on the Wednesday previously to that I had paid them about £250 under certificate which was produced here in 1883, I think, and has been destroyed since—I gave them as well a bill for £60 for money lent previous to that; that was not part of the £100; it was paid, I met it—I cannot find it—there was £100, £230, and the acceptance of £60 from me within practically a week—on the night of the day on which I gave the prisoners £100 at Broad Street I saw them at No. 9, I think it was, Oatlands Road, Shepherd's Bush—I asked them what they had done with the money, and I said that they had not paid their men—they made some excuse, saying it was not sufficient to pay the men—Pearce was generally spokesman in the matter—I asked them if they would return it because it had been paid to me; they said they had not got it—when they asked me to advance the £100 they said they wanted it to pay the men, and that was my object, because the men were working for me, and the prisoner and Pearce said they had not enough; they had not been able to get it from Dulwich or anywhere else—then I spoke to them about removing their furniture—I had previously been to their late residences at Rigely Road, where they lived at Nos. 13 and 15, separate, but adjoining houses, up to the night previous to 30th March—I found their houses empty; I made inquiries, and then went to 9, Oatlands Road—I asked them if they would let me have the money; they said they could not, or would not—I said, "You certainly could let me have some of the horses and carts you got for the money advanced"—they refused, but wished me to meet them on the following Sunday morning at Acton, and they would see what they could do—I met them at Acton Station, and at first they refused to give me an order for a horse and cart; but I got into my trap and was driving away, and they whistled me back, and said they would give it to me—we turned into a refreshment room, and Pearce wrote out an order for me to have the horse and cart on the Monday morning at six a.m.; and they also gave instructions to their foreman to hand it over to me—however, at six o'clock next morning I sent for it, but I did not get it—I noticed a considerable amount of furniture in the house 9, Oatlands Road—I could not say if some of it was furniture I had seen at 13 or 15, Rigely Road—when I went to Rigely Road on 31st October the doors had been burst open by the men—I went in and found the houses empty of all furniture.
Cross-examined. Pearce and the prisoner had been doing work for me for a couple of months previously, possibly—they were undertaking building work in several parts of London, and a considerable amount of it, I should think—my work was part of a large business—I have no documents now to prove my advances of £230, £100, and £60; I had, and I produced them in this Court, and before the Magistrate who committed—they have all been destroyed—for the £100 I took a receipt for £105—these payments were not all for work which had been done; they were made in respect of work to be done, the £100 as well as the others—the greater portion of the work for the £230; I paid it on the architect's certificates; he is not here—they were indebted to me more than £390—I proved in the bankruptcy; I don't remember exactly the amount; it was not the same amount I say now they are indebted to me
in, because part of the £230 had been earned, and was not a debt—I could not be certain if I proved for £233; they owed me something for cartage—I think Banyard was Dot well at the time, but he was still in his business—I believe I went into Pearce's house at Rigely Road, and I went into Banyard's to inquire for him—I saw at Oatlands Road furniture resembling that which I had seen at Rigely Road—I was desirous of getting this horse and cart; I made no claim to it—I claimed by an interpleader action a different horse and cart; I was ordered to sell it.
Re-examined. The £100 I paid at Broad Street was paid to the prisoner personally—the receipt is, "Received from Mr. Memory £105 on account of two building contracts."
THOMAS FREDERICK TURNER . I am a jeweller, of 1, Rigely Road, College Park—I am Pearce's brother-in-law—in March, 1882,1 had the house, 9, Oatlands Road, about four miles from Rigely Road—Pearce lived at 13, and the prisoner at 15, Rigely Road, next door to each other—in March, 1882, I let 9, Oatlands Road to the prisoner—he came with Pearce to see me about March 31st—the prisoner said he wanted the house-for occupation, and eventually I agreed to let it to him for £30 a year—he and Pearce were to have the house together on a joint tenancy—I gave them possession—on the same night, October 31st or thereabouts, I bought a horse and cart from the prisoner—the day after I let the house I went to 9, Oatlands Road—there was a conversation between the prisoner and Memory—eventually I had to give up the horse and cart.
Cross-examined. I think I paid the money to Pearce—I don't know if he financed the business—I paid £20 for the horse and cart, and then they paid me back a quarter's rent—I don't think Banyard was there when I bought the horse and cart, so that Pearce was the person by whom I was paid for the house.
FRANK JAMES TURNER . I am the last witness's brother—in 1882 I was working for the prisoner and Pearce—on the morning of the 1st April I saw them together at Oatlands Road in the same house—there was furniture there—I knew they had resided at Rigely Road, and had been into the house there—I cannot say if I saw anything at Oatlands Road which I had seen in Rigely Road; it was many years ago, and I never took notice of anything special—I think I saw the same furniture at Oatlands Road that I had seen at Rigely Road—I afterwards went to Colchester, and in consequence of something my sister said I brought some articles of furniture back; they had been at Rigely Road; I cannot say about Oatlands Road—I took some of the things to a broker, Buchanan, at Colchester, by my sister's order, and they were sold—I gave the money to my sister; a portion was paid to bring the other things up to London.
Cross-examined. I am speaking entirely of Pearce's furniture.
MR. GRAIN was proceeding to call other witnesses as to the removal of furniture, but upon the intimation of the Common Serjeant that the substantial charge was the non-disclosure of money to the trustee, and that there seemed some doubt as to whose house the furniture was in, MR. GRAIN stated that he should abandon the charge with regard to the furniture.
1882, the prisoner and Pearce called at my office, and I paid £120 by this cheque as an advance on mortgage security—it was an open cheque, and was paid the same day.
Cross-examined. I cannot say I am positive that they were both there—I had security, of course—I had dealings with both of them; they usually came together, I think, to my office—I am not certain about the prisoner's writing, it is too long ago.
RICHARD JAMES MAY . I am a timber and slate merchant, at Acorn Wharf, Old Kent Road—on or about 3rd April, 1882, an acceptance of Pearce and the prisoner was falling due—it was dishonoured—in consequence of that I sent a clerk named Dalton to the prisoner's premises—he came back and reported, I think between that and the 20th I heard nothing, but on the 20th I sent him again to Rigely Road—again he came back and reported with no result—I then consulted my solicitors, and a petition was filed in bankruptcy against Pearce and the prisoner—on 25th April I saw them at their offices, Adelaide Place, London Bridge—I put questions to both of them; we asked where their goods were; they declined to say—I asked them about money they had received, and they both declined to give any information—I had not then heard that they had received money, £100, or £230, or £120—on 24th May, 1882,1 was appointed trustee by the Court at the first meeting—neither Pearce nor Banyard ever attended—they have never filed any statement of affairs or given any information of any kind—claims came in for about £2,000, actual proofs—we had also to pay some preferential claims in the shape of wages for labour—I recovered about £300 for certain equities on mortgages by process of law; neither Pearce nor the prisoner assisted me in the least—that sum went to provide the 5 1/2 d. dividend, and the bankruptcy was closed after that in 1884.
Cross-examined. I don't recollect if the assets' amounted to £500—the securities were estimated at about £300—there were law charges—the builder's business was a considerable one; they built a lot, and at the time of the failure works were going on at various places—something like £177 was realised from building materials; I don't know about the costs of realisation—workmen's wages left unpaid amounted to about £80, I believe—when I had the interview with Pearce and the prisoner, and they answered no questions with regard to their property, I had not been appointed trustee.
Re-examined. I cannot say what the gross liabilities were; I believe they were much more than £2,000—when I had the interview with Pearce and the prisoner I gave them every opportunity, of disclosing to me about their property.
JOHN WINSER (Detective-Sergeant V). I received a warrant for the prisoner's arrest in July, 1882—I did not hear of him till October this year, when I found him detained at East Grinstead on a warrant—I said, "You have heard the warrant read to you?"—he replied, "Yes; I thought it was all done with when Pearce was sentenced; he was the worst."— GUILTY .— Two Months' Hard Labour.
MR. CLARK-HALL Prosecuted, and MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended.
During the evidence of the first witness the COMMON SERJEANT intimated it would be difficult for the JURY to find a verdict of felonious shooting with intent to do grievous bodily harm, as it appeared that upon a dark night the prosecutor had heard constables at his back door, and had fired a revolver.
NOT GUILTY . There were other indictments against the prisoner for shooting at the individual constables, upon which no evidence was offered.
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. BESLEY and TRAVERS HUMPHREYS Prosecuted; and MR. PURCELL Defended.
The prisoner, by the advice of his Counsel, stated in the hearing of the JURY that he
PLEADED GUILTY to one of the conspiracy counts; the JURY thereupon found him
GUILTY. He received a good character. Judgment respited.
MR. KERSHAW Prosecuted.
LIPMAN HART . I am a boot-laster, of 5, Philpot Street—at about one a.m. on 6th November I was in Toolery Street, and I saw the window of a house open—Barnett was standing at the corner of the street—I could see Darkin leaning over the window of the house, and several things being dropped out of the window—I informed the first constable I saw, and came back with him, and he arrested the prisoners—I am sure they are the two men.
Cross-examined by Barnett. Darkin heard my footsteps and turned his face, and I saw him distinctly.
CHARLES MCLAREN . I live at 16, Toolery Street, Hackney, and am a brushmaker—on 5th November my house was safely shut up—I was aroused about one, and found my house broken into; I missed the articles named in the indictment.
EDWARD BAILEY (241 H). Hart came to me on this morning, and I went with him to Toolery Street—I saw the prisoners about 150 yards from the prosecutor's house, walking quickly—I stopped them, and told them I should take them back, as there was something wrong in Toolery Street—they said they had done nothing—I took them to the station; in answer to the charge they said they had not done anything.
Cross-examined by Barnett. I saw a female there; the did not say you were not the men.
The prisoners, in their statements before the Magistrate, said that the woman had said they were not the men, and in their defence they said that thy had met, and were walking to a lodging-house when they were arrested.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. KERSHAW Prosecuted.
The prosecutor did not appear.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Saturday, November 19th, 1892.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. BESLEY Prosecuted, and MR. GRAIN Defended.
HENRY MARSHALL (Police Inspector, Scotland Yard). On 13th November. 1881, Mr. Wegelin's loss of jewels was first reported to me; I was then inspector in charge of the district—the jewels and their value were described to me, and were put into the pawnbrokers' list and the police information; they were an emerald shirt-stud, as far as I remember, a cat's-eye pin in the form of a bee, and other things—inquiries were made, and a warrant was granted on 24th November, 1881—we had the prisoner's photograph—on 26th November, 1881, at 8.30, I went to 89, Elizabeth Street, Eaton Square, where the prisoner's mother lived—I there saw the prisoner—I said to him, "I am Inspector Marshall; I hold a warrant for a person named Lonergan, I think you are he, for stealing some jewellery from Mr. Wegelin, at 22A, Ebury Street"—he said, "Yes, that is my name, but I know nothing about it; tell me more particulars," or words to that effect—I read the warrant, which states: "The said Lonergan, on 2nd November, did feloniously steal one emerald stud, one diamond tie-stud, and other articles of jewellery, of the value of £100, the property of Hugh Wegelin"—he said, "Good God! it cannot be that jewellery I picked-up in Ebury Street, that was wrapped in brown paper"—he said, "How many articles are there?"—I said, "Four"—he said, "Have you found them?"—I said, "Three out of the four"—he went on to say that he had sold two to a pawnbroker near Golden Square, and the emerald to a pawnbroker in the same neighbourhood, who said it was false; and he said, "The fourth, a pin, I sold on the same day to Mr. Attenborough, of, I think, Oxford Street"—I said, "I suppose you mean No. 68 1/2?"—no pin is mentioned in the warrant; it comes under the head of "other articles"—he volunteered the statement about the pin—he went on to say, speaking of Attenborough's, "I gave my own name as Lonergan, and my address, 4, Park Race, which is my club. I have no doubt I did wrong in selling them; I ought to have taken them to the police-station"—after the evidence was completed the Magistrate committed him for trial at the January Sessions of 1882—he was admitted to bail in £250—a true bill was found at this Court—when he was called on his recognisances he did not appear, and his bail was estreated—a certificate was issued from these sessions, in consequence of which this warrant of 30th January, 1882, was issued—I did not see him from that time till October this year—I tried for some two years to find him—on 10th October, at two a.m., he called at Scotland Yard—I was telegraphed for, and I went and found him detained at King Street Police-station—I asked him his name, I hardly recognised him for a moment, and he said it was William Ernest Lonergan, and that he knew I had a warrant for him—he desired to surrender, as he wanted to get the matter off his mind.
Cross-examined. I had done my best to execute the warrant for several years; I had been inquiring—I have not done much for four or five
years perhaps; I heard long ago he had left the country, and I never heard of his return—I practically, in a sense, ceased looking for him after some years—since he has been in custody I have heard that he has been back to this country for two or three years, and has been in the Park and at Brighton and other places openly—at the time of his arrest he was living with his mother, a lady of position; I do not think she lives there now—I had traced the prisoner through various places in Yorkshire—I had been hundreds of miles after him, and traced him back to London from Beverley, where he had been visiting a nobleman—he was a lieutenant in the 66th Regiment at the time, and when I arrested him—in consequence of the original arrest he was dismissed the Army—I was present at the Police-court when the information was sworn—we had this photograph of the prisoner, and Mr. Wegelin would be sure to have given a description of the prisoner—Mr. Wegelin said, "In fact, my friend Lonergan of the. 66th Regiment has stolen my jewellery"—I cannot say he used those words, but the prisoner was described as a friend, and it was known he was Lonergan because I went in pursuit of him to Yorkshire and other places—I got the warrant because I was under the idea that the prisoner had gone out of the metropolitan district—I went to the nobleman's house at Beverley, where the prisoner had been visiting and found he had just left—he left in the ordinary way a guest would leave—he was moving in good society—I was seeking the prisoner between 10th November and 24th November, the date of the granting of the warrant in the metropolitan district—then I traced him to Yorkshire, got the warrant and went to Yorkshire, and then traced him back to London, and went to Elizabeth Street and arrested him—I have forgotten from whom I obtained the photograph.
Re-examined. Mr. Rose was the person who gave information of having seen the prisoner on that occasion; Mr. Wegelin knew nothing except what he was told, and as the loser of the property; I am not certain whether Lee did not give some information.
HENRY LEE . In November, 1881, I was Mr. Wegelin's valet, and I am now—I remember certain articles of jewellery being brought to the Police-court by pawnbrokers in whose hands I had previously seen them—I identified them as Mr. Wegelin's—that jewellery was afterwards destroyed in a fire on a house-boat on the Thames—those articles of jewellery were usually in my care—on Monday, about 7th or 8th November, 1881, we came up to London from Cambridge, and the jewellery was brought to Ebury Place—at half-past seven p.m. on November 10th I was going to put the emerald stud in Mr. Wegelin's shirt, but, as Mr. Wegelin said he would not wear it that night, I put it back in its case and in the drawer, and took another one—within a day or two I found it and other articles of jewellery were missing—on November 10th, when my master was dressed, he went out—later in the evening I let Mr. Albert Stopford in, and I went to bed at half-past eleven I should think—I don't remember if I let anyone else in—Mr. Rose was a friend. of Mr. Wegelin—I went to bed before he came—I heard they were there, but did not see them—I happened to come home at the moment that Mr. Stopford arrived at the front door—I had a latchkey and let him in—that was about a quarter-past eleven—I had been out that evening for a couple of hours—I told Mr. Wegelin I might be late,
and he said he should be in early—I think another gentleman came up in a cab just at the time I was letting Mr. Stopford in—they were the only persons I saw—I know nothing of Mr. Rose's arrival—as soon as I missed the property I told Mr. Wegelin.
Cross-examined. I had been Mr. Wegelin's valet for four or five years prior to November 10th, 1881—I have since heard that he was on intimate terms with the prisoner during a portion of that time at ail events—I did not see him visiting my master—he called once afterwards—I don't remember seeing him there before—I don't know that my master and the prisoner were together with the same tutor in Paris—the prisoner was not at my master's house very often, or I should have remembered him—I don't know if he was there at all—the emerald stud went in the centre of the shirt—I valetted my master, and saw him go out—I went out about half-past eight—there were no other servants besides myself—my master occupied the whole of the top part of the house—a woman came in to clean—the ground floor was let to someone else, and my master occupied the two floors above it; they were like chambers divided off—my master had no meals there—my master had a separate door for his apartments—I don't know if anyone else had a latchkey' besides my master and me—I found no gentleman already inside when I got back—I let Mr. Stopford and a gentleman in; my master was not at home then—Mr. Wegelin had told me he expected a few friends, and should be in early; there was no preparation for them except brandy, whisky, and soda—I don't know how Mr. Rose got in—the ground floor was a shop, I think, and my master's rooms were separate, and had a front door opening into the street—I missed the jewels on the evening of 13th, I think; I went to look for the emerald—I asked Mr. Wegelin if he had had the emerald stud, and he said no—I went back and looked in the drawer again, and opened all the cases, and found they were empty, and I went and told him—I don't remember what he said—the prisoner, I think, called some few days after the things were missed; Mr. Wegelin was out; he saw me and left a card, and I told Mr. Wegelin, and I think he said, "I think that is the gentleman who has got my studs," but I would not be quite certain as to those words—I don't remember seeing the prisoner again till I saw him at the Police-court—when I left the house, at a quarter to nine on 10th November, it was empty.
Re-examined. I don't remember if the occupant of the ground floor was a wine merchant—none of his clerks slept on the premises—the occupation of the shop was a separate occupation, and quite, apart from the dwelling-house—Mr. Wegelin had two floors, one above the other—on the first floor were two rooms, the bedroom through the sitting-room, on the first floor—I slept on the second floor—only Mr. Wegelin and I slept on the premises at that time—the other articles, besides the emerald, that I brought up from Cambridge were in cases—when the prisoner called and my master was out I did not remember having seen him before.
BATEMAN LANCASTER ROSE . In November, 1881, I was living at Cromwell Road, South Kensington—Mr. Wegelin, a stockbroker, was a friend of mine—I am also a stockbroker; he has been working with me ever since he was about eighteen; we have offices together—I had never seen the prisoner before 10th November, 1881—I was a very constant visitor at 22A, Ebury Place; I knew most of Mr. Wegelin's friends for years prior to November, 1881—I had never heard the prisoner's name; Mr.
Wegelin never spoke of him to me; I did not know he knew him—on 10th November, 1881, I went to 22A, Ebury Place, after dinner, to meet Mr. Wegelin—I wanted to see him particularly; I was not expecting him home early—Mr. Stopford, I think, let me in, and I think Mr. Harcourt was there; I am not sure—the prisoner was not there—I did not see Lee—after sitting there some time Mr. Harcourt and Mr. Stopford went away about twelve or one o'clock—I think then Harcourt and Horace West went and Mr. Stopford remained on with me a little while—then he left and I remained—I went with Mr. Stopford to the front door; I noticed a cab coming down, and I thought it was Mr. Wegelin returning, and I waited at the door to see if it pulled up, and then the prisoner came up, walking I think, and asked me if Mr. Wegelin was in—the cab did not stop—I said that Mr. Wegelin was not in, but that I was waiting to see him, and I was expecting him in every minute—I think he said, "Oh, then I will come in; I want to see him," or something: to that effect—I think he was dressed in evening dress, but I should not like to say—he was dressed as a gentleman, and I allowed him to go in—he went upstairs first, and I followed up almost immediately behind—he went into the sitting room—later on I went downstairs again intending to go away; I got to the front door, and then I came-up thinking I would wait a little longer—I then saw the prisoner in the bedroom, which opens by folding doors into the sitting-room; the doors were just half open; he was standing at the dressing table he came and talked to me a little while, and then I went home—in conversation the prisoner referred to Mr. Wegelin as if he was one of his friends—I left the prisoner behind me when I left about two o'clock—I closed the front door behind me—up to that time there had been no alarm, no throwing of parcels on the pavement—I next saw the prisoner at the Police-court—two or three days after the 10th, when I was out shooting, I got a telegram from Mr. Wegelin saying, "Have you taken my jewellery for fun?" or something of that sort—I saw Mr. Wegelin two or three days afterwards, and told him what had occurred that evening, but I could not tell him the prisoner's name; I described him as nearly as I could—I had not asked the prisoner's name, and he had not given it to me; I did not know it.
Cross-examined. I got to the house before twelve I should think—Mr. Stopford (who let me in I am almost sure), Mr. Horace West and Mr. Harcourt were there prior to the prisoner coming about one o'clock—I left about two—before the prisoner came I was the only person, except the valet, in Mr. Wegelin's rooms—I might have been out of the room five or six minutes, just time enough to go downstairs and alter my mind and come back—I was talking to the prisoner from the time he came in till the time I left, believing him to be a friend of Mr. Wegelin's—most likely I was smoking—I have not seen the prisoner since he absconded—the only times I have seen him were that evening he came there, one day at the Police-court, and to-day.
HUGH WEGELIN . In November, 1881, I was living at 22A, Ebury Street—I do not live there now—Lee, my valet then, is still in my service—I think the ground floor was occupied by a wine merchant—no one lived there—the front door to my rooms was the only access to the upper part of the house—I used the first floor, and my valet slept above on the second floor—I should think it was on 10th November that I saw
the emerald—I did not wear it that night—I went out to dinner and got back about half-past two a.m. on the 11th—I got in by my latchkey—no one was in my rooms—I knew within a day or two that my jewellery was gone; my valet reported it to me—I sent a telegram to Mr. Rose—I knew he had been in my rooms that evening—afterwards Mr. Rose told me of some person, whose name he did not know, coming to the door, and asking for me, and going in—the description he gave me of that person induced me to think it was the prisoner—I had been intimate with the prisoner; I had lived in the same house with him for six months in Paris three or four years before; in the interval we had not seen much of one another, only on and off—I don't think I had ever invited him to my rooms—at Paris we were studying French for six months at an establishment where we were taught by a Frenchman—that is what I mean by our intimacy—I do not know of his coming to my place at 22A, Ebury Street at all—I had never seen or entertained him there—on hearing of the loss of the jewellery I communicated with the police—I was shown the jewellery at the Police-court, and I identified it as my property—I actually saw the emerald when I was dressing on the evening of 10th November, 1881; it was a very good stone, I believe—the jewels I lost were worth about £95; they have since been lost in a fire—I do not remember if Lee afterwards gave me a card.
Cross-examined. These were real jewels—I gave the value at the Police-court as £100—very likely that was the estimated value—I and the prisoner had mutual friends—we both knew Mr. Farrer and other persons; we were moving in the same circles—I knew he was a lieutenant in the 66th, and that his regiment was in the Mwand action in South Africa; I don't think I knew that the prisoner was one of the few surviving officers—after sending a telegram to Mr. Rose I had a conversation with him, and he gave me a description of the prisoner, which I suppose I recognised—I do not think I really then believed that he had stolen my jewels; I believed he had when I swore the information at the Police-court—I don't remember whether I gave a photograph of him—I don't think I saw the prisoner between the 10th and 15th or 16th—I don't remember it; I don't say I did not—I saw him at Brighton, two years ago I think it was, walking in the street; he spoke to me—I knew the warrant was out against him—he said, "How do you do?" I think, and I said the same, and then he said something to the effect either that he was doing very well or was not getting on well; I forget which; and I said I was very glad—I did not care whether he was getting on well or not—I did not tell the police I had seen him in Brighton; I took no steps at all—I did not intend after he had absconded to take any step—I wished the matter to drop, and I do so now—I would rather not be bothered with coming here at all; it is a long time ago—I think I saw him also last year at Brighton; I think he spoke to me then.
Re-examined. At one time I thought the prisoner could not be the person who had stolen the jewellery, and then what Mr. Rose told me made me think that possibly it might be.
JAMES BENGER . I was in 1881 an assistant to Richard Attenborough, of 142, Oxford Street, who had a shop at 68 1/2, Oxford Street—on 11th November, 1881, about midday I believe I bought a diamond and cat's eye pin of the prisoner; he asked £2, and I gave him 30s., and had it reset before I showed it to the owner—I do not recognise the prisoner
now, but I said before the Magistrate that he was the man—he gave the name of Lonergan, 4, Park Place.
WILLIAM COX . In 1881 I was a pawnbroker, at 79, Wardour Street—before the Magistrate, when the prisoner was there on this charge, I produced an emerald stud—I said I could scarcely tell the value without taking it out of the setting—the prisoner is the person who brought it to me on 11th November, 1881—he asked about a sovereign, saying it was not real—he said it had been given to him, but that he had no further use for it—I bought it for about 15s—he gave the name of A. Lonergan, 49, Denbigh Street, Pimlico, I believe.
EDWARD CLOUGH .—I was a sergeant in the B division; I am now retired—a description of Mr. Wegelin's lost jewellery was circulated on 14th November, 1881, and on 22nd or 23rd I saw the carbuncle bee stud and the horseshoe pearl pin at a pawnbroker's, 1, Lower John Street, Golden Square, kept by Mrs. Fleming—Mr. Hatchard, who was manager, is now dead—the pawnbroker produced the ticket before the Magistrate, and kept possession of it—I afterwards saw the emerald in Mr. Cox's possession, and I took a cab to Mr. Wegelin's, and took Lee with me to Wardour Street; and Mr. Cox produced the emerald, and said he had bought it for paste.
HENRY MARSHALL (re-examined). I got this photograph of the prisoner from Captain Fairer, Wellington Barracks—Clough rot these articles from the pawnbroker's—Mrs. Fleming's business has changed hands; it is now Messrs. Attenborough's.
ARTHUR WRIGHT . I am manager to Mr. James Attenborough, who has succeeded to Mrs. Fleming's business at 1, Lower John Street, Golden Square—this piece of paper is in the writing of John Hatchard, a witness, ten or eleven years ago in this case, for the purpose of comparison with his signature to the depositions—I lived there with him; he is now dead.
HENRY MARSHALL (re-examined). I was present at the Police court—the prisoner had an opportunity of cross-examining Hatchard—this is Hatchard's deposition and his cross-examination—I was present when he signed it; it corresponds with the writing on this paper just produced.
(The, deposition of John Hatchard was read. It was to the effect that he was assistant to Mrs. L. Fleming, a pawnbroker, of 1, Lower John Street, Golden Square; that he produced a horseshoe pin and rose diamond stud, pawned at their shop on 11th November for 30s., he believed, by the prisoner, not in his own name; that he gave the person a duplicate, and he produced the ticket made at the time; that as near as he could remember it was in the morning; that to the best of his remembrance he asked £2.)
A witness deposed to the prisoner's good character.
GUILTY. The JURY recommended him to mercy. MR. BESLEY stated that Mr. Wegelin desired to join in this recommendation. — Four Months' Hard Labour.
After the prisoner had been given in charge to the JURY, the prisoner stated in their hearing that he desired to plead guilty, and the JURY thereupon found him
Discharged on recognisances.
MR. SYMONS Prosecuted, and MR. ABINGER Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, November 17th, 18th, and 19th, 1892.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MESSRS. C. MATHEWS and PAUL TAYLOR Prosecuted, and MR. GILL Defended.
EDWARD DUNMORE . I am a clerk at the Union Bank of London, Tottenham Court Road—prior to July, 1891, the prisoner had an account there—on 4th August, 1891, £75 was paid into his account in notes, Nos. 02,846 to 50, five £10 notes, and five £5 notes, Nos. 83,311 to 15—on the same day the prisoner opened a private account by a payment of £250, all in notes, a £200 note, No. 30,047, and ten £5 notes, 83,381 to 40—on August 12th a partnership account was opened in the name of Marc Vallee and Co. by a payment in of £200, which was transferred from Mr. D'Alkemade's private account by one of his cheques—I have made a short extract from the prisoner's account—I have examined it with the original, and find it correct—the private account was kept by us—the balance on 31st July was £7 3s. 9d.—this is the pass-book of the partnership—I have compared it with the account; it is correct—the defendant overdrew his account in 1891.
GASTON DE ROEST D'ALKEMADE . I live at 24, Fitzroy Square—I first made the prisoner's acquaintance in October, 1890; I was then resident in Brussels, but I came backwards and forwards to London—he was living at 29, Alfred Place, Bedford Square, and was in business as a photographic enameller—I took lodgings in his house—I was connected with the cigar business—I became somewhat intimate with him—in May, 1891, I became entitled to a sum of money on the death of my mother, and communicated the fact to the prisoner—he was in Brussels on June 30th, 1891, and spoke to me about the enamelling business, and asked if I would join him a: a partner; he spoke of two firms in London which could he had for £200 each—I said that I did not want to give so much, but I might perhaps make an arrangement with him; that £200 was too dear, but if he could get a reduction I might do it—we spoke in French—Mr. Maesen was present; he is here—I returned to London two or three days afterwards, and shortly afterwards received a letter from the prisoner—I often received letters from him—my wife burnt them because I was leaving Brussels for London, and I had a lot of letters—the first letter said that he could get the business for £150, and lie wanted it as soon as possible—that was about the middle of July—I answered him, and said he could buy the business for me for £150—I left Brussels and came to London on August 1st, 1891, and brought with me a draft on the London and Westminster Bank—on August 4th
I cashed a draft on the London and South-Western Bank, which was paid in Bank of England notes—the defendant was with me, and after lunch he said he wanted to settle the matter, and we could not do it there—we went to the New Inn, Tottenham Court Road, when he asked me to give him the £150 which he had given to Edward Coster for his business—I gave him the money—it was part of the notes I had received that morning at the Westminster Bank—on the same day I went to the Union Bank, Tottenham Court Road, and opened an account for myself with £250, the balance, and on 12th August, I opened a partnership account; the prisoner was then with me—he paid £75 into his private account—after the payment of the money I entered into partnership with him at Alfred Place, Bedford Square and Charlotte Street—this is my signature to this deed of partnership of August 20th (produced)—I did not pay more than £200—I read this through before I signed it; I had the draft in my possession a week—I saw no solicitor—there was a provision under which I was to find £1,000; the prisoner said it was always done like that; I said, "Why should I sign that?" he said, "It does not matter, we are quits; it is like as if you had really paid £1,000"—after that I lent £40 or £45 to the partnership, and I lent the prisoner money for himself besides—I do not think I took out £6 altogether; no quarterly account was taken between us—I managed the business almost entirely; I was in the studio the whole time, except when I was with the customers—I continued in partnership with him till July this year—the prisoner nearly always took the money, and banked it except at the beginning, when he went to Paris, and at that time I was obliged to sign the cheques—he left for Paris in July, and a few days afterwards I went to the Union Bank, where Mr. Jay made a statement to me, and I examined the partnership account, and found there were a lot of cheques paid to persons having nothing to do with the business, and there was a very small balance—some cheques had been returned, and the partnership account was closed in consequence of what had happened—brokers took possession of the house, and I consulted a solicitor, and under his advice moved the business to another address—during the prisoner's absence I received a communication from someone in reference to the sale of the business, and was shown this letter (produced), and acting under the solicitor's advice I took steps to obtain the attendance of M. Cauchefort—I had never seen him before—I instructed the solicitor to communicate with him—prior to applying for a warrant I had some doubt as to the prisoner's address in Paris—I intended taking proceedings for his extradition, and I went to the postoffice in Hoi born and instructed them to send letters and parcels to my new address in Fitzroy Square—one of the letters I received was addressed to Mrs. Marc—she passed as Friedlander's wife—I recognised his writing on the letter, and opened it, to communicate his address to the police—it was dated about August 25th or 28th—I had no other reason for opening the letter.
Cross-examined. I swore before the Magistrate I knew the prisoner's address in Paris; he told me he went there to raise money—he went to Paris during our partnership three or four times and returned—while in Paris he was writing to me and I to him—I wrote him these letters of August 13th and 17th; I knew his address then—I opened Mrs. Marc's letter over a kettle, and read the contents—this is it (produced)—
here is the address, "17, Rue Verron, Paris"—I seriously say that I opened it to get the address, because I had been told that he had changed it—I did not open another letter next day in the same way, nor did anybody else in my presence—I was the prisoner's lodger in October, 1890, when I was living in London—he told me what he was doing—my mother died in May. but I did not say anything to him about having money at her death; I did not expect any—I did not know that she had disinherited me—she had made a will, and I told him that it had been informally made and set aside he first spoke to me about a partnership on 30th June, 1891, when he came from Brussels—I had asked him to go. into business—I do not know whether he is an Englishman; he told me that his father was French, and he was educated in France—I asked him to burn one letter which I wrote to him; I do not remember more than one—in May, 1891, he and Mrs. Friedlander were in Brussels—I returned to England on August 2nd, and went again to him at Alfred Place on August 4th with my wife and child, and lived there till July in the following year—I did not pay anything for our board and lodging or washier, nor for the entertainment of our friends—after the partnership had been entered into I was for six weeks there carrying on the business for myself, and had complete control of the books and business, and of the banking account, and I formed the opinion that the business was a good one, and wrote to him to that effect during August, September, and October. (Letters from the witness to the prisoner were here put in, expressing fits satisfaction with the business,)—it was my honest opinion that it was a splendid business, and that there was abundance of work—I formed a very good opinion of the business in six weeks—I had the books of Mare and Co. and of Vallee and Co.—the Vallee business was not so good—I was desirous of taking in another partner when I had had six months' experience of the business—I could have gone to the bank at any time I pleased—I did not frequently nave the pass-book—I had my friends to dinner and so on at Alfred Place—in February, 1892, when I had had more than six months' experience of the business, I desired to sell a third share of it to an aunt of mine for £750—the prisoner told me that it was worth that, and I would not take advantage of my aunt. (Several other letters from the witness to the prisoner were here put in, in which he stated: "More satisfactory still; more orders than ever; everything goes as could be wished. "All is going on very well; we will drink your health and sing your praises." "All that I possess and shall possess belongs to you as well as to me.")—he was in Paris to borrow money of Mr. Levy—he came back, and went away again in July—I said this, "I knew the prisoner's address in Paris; he told me he went there to raise money"—that is true—I continued to write to him in friendly terms up to 17th August—this is my letter. (Dated London, August 10th, 1892, and stating: "I am delighted not so much by the letter I received this morning, but from what my uncle tells me. I had a good mind to wait till your return, but I want you to take a share in my joy, etc. The moment has come to make up our accounts.") that was not an honest letter—I wrote this letter (produced) to my uncle in Belgium about that time, but I never sent it—I wrote to him to see Victor Cauchefert and ask him to come back at once, and I was afraid
to send the letter—I preferred to tell him viva voce; I was afraid to tell my uncle the truth—on August 11th I wrote, "I will have the illustrious Marc Friedlander coppered," that is locked up; "I am safe from any kind of loss"—I wrote that so that be should not be excited—"This is for me an excellent stroke of business"—I wanted to satisfy my uncle—I wrote to "My dear Marc" the next day, under advice—the solicitor told me to write in that sense. (This was signed: "Your devoted Gaston.")—this is another letter. (Dated August 13th, and stating, "the orders are nearly double; cordially yours, Gaston")—that is not an honest letter; I wanted to get him back here; I have kept some of his letters since August; I did not produce any of them before Mr. Lushington—it was not a great shock to me when somebody came to seize his goods; that is not what upset me—I remember going to Mr. Rusher on 15th or 16th August, who had lent Friedlander money on a bill of sale; I did not tell him that Friedlander's affairs had all gone wrong, and that he would never return from Paris, whither he had absconded—I do not remember telling him that he had absconded; if he says so I will not contradict him—I told him that the bill of sale which he had was fraudulently drawn up, and that I was going to take out a warrant against Friedlander, and asked him to employ the same solicitor so that we might both prosecute Friedlander—I did not know the meaning of the word "absconded" at that time, but I said that he would not come back; I first learned the meaning of the word when I applied for a warrant at Bow Street—I swore in the information, "I subsequently entered into partnership with the said Friedlander, and he has appropriated the partnership funds, and committed fraud and has absconded"—I thought the meaning of the word was "gone to Paris"; I afterwards heard it meant "run away"—I had a solicitor with me when the information was prepared; he wrote it out for me—I said that the best thing Mr. Rusher could do was to come and take possession of the things in the house—it was not by my desire that he put the brokers in—I asked to see the bill of sale, and Mr. Rusher pointed out that the plant of the business was included in it—I went to him again on August 16th, and told him that if he did not put someone in possession at once, the furniture would be taken, and he then put a man in possession—I told him I was going to remove the business plant, and I removed it three or four days afterwards to where I am now, and gave notice to the Post Office with regard to the letters—Mr. Rusher did not remove the furniture—I did not tell Mary Baker that the prisoner had run away—I would not tell her anything—I told her that he never would come back—she was crying all day—I said that there were warrants against him, and that I heard the furniture was not paid for—there are nine warrants against him—his brother came over here with a power of attorney to act for him, and he himself came over here—I was served with a writ at his instance—I have moved the plant, and am carrying on the business—I did not write and say how good the business was—we have lost a lot of customers—the good man who was not to be frightened came over—I am paying him 25s. a week—when he came over I took him to work—his wife and family came over—they lived at 65, Charlotte Street—I say that this man bought Valle's business for me—I have not got any scrap of paper to support me in that—I have plenty of confidence, and I lent him £150—he did not say
that he was going to pay £150 to Cauchefert—I understood that he had paid it part in cash and part in bills—nothing was said about my baring a receipt for the £150—I have said, "I subsequently asked him if he had paid Cauchefert the £150, because I had a little suspicion, and I asked him if the bills were paid"—he told me the man had gone to Brussels, and had transferred all his things—I do not think I told the Magistrate that he told me he had paid the £150—he may have sent me two or three letters in July—he was to buy the business for me—these seven, eight, or nine letters are all in my writing—the prisoner did not buy the business for himself and tell me so—in my letter of 7th July I have underlined "You have acted perfectly, well; that is all I can tell you"—there is one letter missing; that was alter he wrote to me saying that he could have the business for £150—two businesses could be carried on with much less expense—he spoke to me about that—it was an advantage to get rid of one person engaged in the business—I did not see in the books of Valle and Co. what the receipts had been; if I had liked I could have seen what the takings were up to July, and for two years before—the parchment deed distinctly puts the two businesses as his property—I went to the solicitor's office, and the draft of this deed was shown to me, and remained with me for a week, because Friedlander said, "You may go with it to any solicitor; it is entirely in your favour"—he was the man who understood the business; I knew nothing about it—his capital would be his knowledge of the business and of his customers, the plant of his business, and the plant of Cauchefert's business—he said that the two businesses were not worth £1,000, and I did not believe they were worth £2,000, but in February I believed that a third share was worth £750, as I always believed what he told me—having had seven or eight months' experience in February, I believed that the business was worth £2,000—there were two Caucheferts in the business—Victor Cauchefert is now carrying on a business of exactly the same kind in London—I took the two businesses at the same time, Cauchefert's and Vallée's—I was not to introduce any capital—he asked me to advertise in the paper, and said, "As you are my lodger we can talk over that; will you oblige me with £70 or £75?" I said "Yes"—I told him that shortly after my mother's death a received 20,000 francs—he said it was just as if I had paid £1,000, we were perfectly quits—there was to be a settlement of accounts, between us—I had the advantage of living for a year with my wife and child in the house, but look at what I had lent him, and I was going to lend him some more—I wrote, "Next week I go to Belgium to receive my legacy; now, my dear Marc, the moment has come to make up our accounts; I want to do everything regularly and get you out of your difficulties"—I wrote that because I wanted to make him come over here—I did not get the money, and I got a loan in Brussels on September 8th—at the time I was talking about settling accounts, I did not think there might be a claim on me under the partnership deed, though I had not paid £1,000 in—the prisoner commenced an action against me for having removed the plant; he came to the station on August 29th and surrendered to the warrant—Oldaores, Dear, and Co. are the solicitors who prepared the partnership deed—Cauchefert had undertaken not to do business within ten miles—he is now working for me—I told Mary
Baker I would lock her up if the prisoner came over—I was very anxious to prevent her seeing him—I did not know that she would be likely to be a witness—she knew what was taking place in the house when he was away—she saw the opening of the letter over the kettle—I had been with her to her father's house, and he asked me to keep her—I wrote this letter to her father on the day she went away (Produced.)—I remember Mr. A. Gill addressing the Magistrate, and the hearing was adjourned to October 3rd—someone told me that the witness Morrell got an invitation to go to his brother's funeral, saying that he had died on 30th September, and was to be buried on October 2nd—this is the first time I have seen the letter—Mary Baker gave evidence—my letter to her father did not stop her, and Morrell did not go to his brother's funeral, because his brother was alive—before I swore the information I did not believe the documents relating to the Vallee business had been lost, nor did I tell Mary Baker so—I was represented, at the Police-court by a solicitor and counsel—I do not remember how many hearings there were, but Mr. Lushington dismissed the case, and made some remarks, and I elected to be bound over to prosecute—I have retained possession of the business, and from August to November the prisoner has had nothing to do with it—I do not know whether I should still be in possession of it if he is convicted—I know perfectly well how much it has cost me—if the action was tried the prisoner would be able to tell his story, and to say whether there was a receipt for the £150—I never thought of trying it when I could swear it and his mouth was shut—I did not tell a man named Charles that there were two warrants against Friedlander, and I was going to take out a third—he asked what I meant by it, and I said that he had cheated me on the sale of the business—I said that I had bought the business for £18, and he said it was impossible—he may have told me that there were documents in connection with the sale of the business—I must have said that they were forged documents—I do not swear that I said anything about them—Charles said that he could go over to Paris and see the prisoner—I did not tell him to say to the prisoner that it would be more to his interest not to come back—I said before the Magistrate, "I told Mary Baker that the prisoner would not dare to come back"—Charles suggested that I ought to go and see, Friedlander and speak to him about the matter, and give him an opportunity of explaining—I know that Charles went over to Paris—I believed the prisoner would not come back to the business.
By the COURT. I saw an assignment by Cauchefert to Friedlander for £150 shortly before—I say now that that was a forged document, and that he never did pay £150—the man who I have got in my employ (Cauchefert) is not a man who I think is practically in conspiracy with the prisoner—I think he is the dupe.
Re-examined. I asked Cauchefert for an explanation, and he gave me one—I did not know him till August this year, when I came over from Brussels—it was not my intention that he should remain here; in fact, he was provided with a return ticket—I swore an information on which the warrant was issued—he was a witness before the Magistrate—he had no agency in this country—he had been the photographic enameller, he had been Valee, and he went into my service, and worked at 25s. a week—he was quite a stranger to me when I wrote to my uncle, and
did not send the letter—I do not remember whether I tore it up; I left it in a desk at Albert Place most probably—I do not know how it came into Friedlander's hands—I did not intend to send it—that was the first communication in writing with regard to Cauchefert—afterwards, from other circumstances, I got into communication with Cauchefert—it is true that I wrote two letters of August 10th and 12th, which are not genuine letters, seeking to induce the prisoner to return to this country; I gave him till August 16th, which had passed when I swore the information on the 18th—I had no knowledge of the bogus communication sent to Morrell—he appeared as a witness before the Magistrate, and Mary Baker also—I wrote to Mary Baker's father, because he asked me to keep her with me and my wife—my takings were £5, £6; or £7 a week, it depended on the season—there were separate accounts of the Vallee business and Marc's business, and those are the takings of the two together.
By MR. GILL. It was proposed to open a branch of this business in Dublin and another in Manchester—this (produced) is the letter which I asked the prisoner to burn. (This tinted, "As I know this individual is dishonest I hope we shall be able to arrive at a result as soon as Jules will have returned. I will write to tell you what will have taken place. Now, quick, only what I ask you is to burn this letter, as if ever my father knows I wanted to undermine him slyly, it will mean hatred ad vitam in eternam")—I wrote, "As I know this individual is dishonest" because he had taken out a patent—I knew he was not very honest, and I thought I should be able to get hold of the patent, although he had sold it to somebody else.
By MR. TAYLOR. I was going to Brussels, and the prisoner asked me to try and manage this at the same time—he was not interested in the question of a laundry—before I opened the letter I had the address "Hotel Turin, Paris"—it is not true that I have been disinherited; I have fallen out with my family because my parents liked me to marry a person of my own position, and I married a ballet-girl—as to my living with my wife and child at the prisoner's expense, I paid £200 into the partnership account, and followed it by a loan of £45, and in addition to that I lent Friedlander money very often—it was in reference to that money that I was seeking a settlement of accounts about the middle of this year—in my letters of September and October, 1891, I spoke of the business being in a flourishing condition—that is the best time of year for the business—that was the Friedlander business—Friedlander asked me to put £2 10s. to his private account, as he had no more money in Paris, and I did so, thinking it was to be used for his return—in my letter of June 3rd, 1892, I say, "Give me news of your legatee"—that means the legitimate wife of the prisoner—as to this letter of July 7th, he came over to Brussels and was very anxious that I should make some arrangement with him—I said, "I cannot give you any promise; I cannot tell you when I shall be able to do so; I am waiting for a sum of money, and I cannot take any step till then"—I would not make any arrangement without having the money—as to taking in a third partner, Friedlander suggested the £75, and he was present when I saw my aunt about it; she was in London at the time—I told Mr. Lasher I knew the furniture was not paid for upon which he advanced money—I acted on my solicitor's
advice as to the removal of the plant of the business; and at that time a brokers' man was in possession—he had said nothing with regard to the plant—the information I swore at the Police-court was prepared by my solicitor after an interview with him, at which no interpreter was present—since the beginning of this year the accounts of the two businesses have been kept distinct—the Friedlander business was really the paying business of the two—the Valle business did not pay more than about £22 in the first six months of this year—it would be right to describe it as a diminishing business—in my letter of June 4th I say, "It is not pleasant to be always hard up"—I wrote that because Friedlander was pressing me to lend him £16 to pay the landlord—apart from the £200 and the £45, I lent the prisoner £20 on one occasion, and I gave him £2 5s., and my wife lent him some money and gave him some of her jewels, which he pledged.
By MR. GILL. Friedlander wrote to me and told me I was a blackguard for telling people that he was not married to the woman he was living with—I did not do it for the purpose of annoying him—many people knew it.
ABEL CAUCHEFERT . I was formerly in business as a photographic enameller, at 65, Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square—I was doing pretty well in 1890, but not so well in 1891—I spoke to the prisoner about it in the spring of 1891, but I never offered to sell him the business for £200—I am the brother of Victor Cauchefert—at first I offered the prisoner £20, and he offered me £15—I accepted it, and said, "If I can give you £20 I will"—at the time I sold the business to him I was in great distress, and my wife was in the hospital—the £15 was paid to me so much one day and so much another—part of this book is my writing and part Friedlander's—this 15s., 19s. 6d., and £1 18s. are his writing—this word "Paper" was for the work which I gave him money for, because he had no paper for the work—these sums amount to £3 12s. 11d.—all that I spent from my pocket, and he returned it to me—I told him if I stopped two weeks with him I could spend it out of the £15, and there are the expenses of two weeks while I was working for him, and he paid me back—beyond the £15 and the £3 12s. 11d., I have not been paid a penny by him—this is my signature to this assignment—it is not true, as expressed in it, that I received £150 for the business—I knew it was a false statement, but he said it would make fictitious capital; it said that I was not to come back to London to do business in the same trade—about the same time I was putting my name to certain bills—this is my endorsement on these bills; I think I first saw them on the day I signed the agreement—the prisoner showed them to me, and said that it was to make things right, to make the documents agree—there was in addition this receipt for £75, and this, "M. Valle, received from Marc Friedlander £150 sterling, in payment of assignment of business as per account.—VICTOR A. CAUCHEFERT"—if even I had not received £150 he said when I signed that that it was to make it all right with the gentleman—I signed it at the solicitors'—I knew I had not had the £75—after I had signed the bills for £25 each the prisoner kept them, I only had them in my possession to sign them—after I got my £151 went to France on the Sunday morning or evening—the prisoner paid me in small sums and a bill for £3 10s.—I did not part with the bill to anybody before I
went to France—my mistress was coming out of the hospital, and I sent it to her—she came to me—I heard Victor Charles give his evidence at the Police-court—it is not true that I asked him and the prisoner not to let my wife knew that I had received the £150—I was first communicated with in Brussels on 15th August about this case; I knew nothing about the prosecution before that, Mr. Hens spoke to me first, but I had received three letters before that, one from a solicitor—I then came to England with this return ticket (Produced.)—I was at a shoemaker's at Brussels, and my wages were twenty francs a week—I wrote this letter to Care my sister-in-law, before I saw Mr. Hens—that means Caroline—I then came over and swore an information at the Police-court—I did not know the prosecutor before I saw Hens; that is why I wrote to my sister—when I came over here I went into the prosecutor's service; my wages now are 25s. a week—I have been served with a writ for breaking my cove nant not to work in this country.
Cross-examined. I had been four years in business for myself as a photographic enameller before I left England—I had been with my brother before, but left him because he would not pay me enough, and I started for myself as Valle and Co.—my brother had made complaints of me and said a lot of things against me, and laid I stole his money; I do not think my father interfered to prevent my being prosecuted, but my brother said he would not prosecute me because of my father—there were more than a dozen photographic enamellers in 1888—I do not know whether my brother had seen Friedlander when he said I stole his money—I think I made a clear profit of £110 in 1889, the books will show, and in 1890, £123 16s. 10d.; my wife had been working with me—in 1889 the gross takings were £175, and the expenses £65 4s. 9d., leaving a profit of £110; and in 1890 the gross takings were £207—part of the expenses were the gas and the rent—this page of this book is my writing; the net profit in January, 1892, was £8 9s. 4d., but there are no gas expenses or rent; in February, it was £9 13s. 2d.; in March, £7 18s. 5d.; in April, £7 16s. 9 1/2 d.; in May, £11 0s. 1d., and in June, £11 10s. 8d.—those are not the worst months; the season begins in March and goes on till November, and July, August, and September are very good months—just now we are doing nothing till the middle of December—outside those figures of net profits there were a few other accounts on which I made a profit, which are not included—Manders' was, I think, a profitable account—I went to see my brother when he came to London, and he told me Mr. Marc wanted to buy his business for £40, and he would not give it to him—there are a lot of things required in the business, but not special tools—I sold tubs, racks, gas-fittings, stoves, grooved cupboards, and a quantity of goods, with my business—Friedlander did not complain that some of the things were not there or that some of them were claimed by my brother; he never spoke to me about it—the agreement was read to me in English at the solicitor's office—I undertook that I would not myself, or by any agent or servant, do any work in this country for a certain number of years—I am now working for the Baron (The prosecutor) because I could not stop in London doing nothing—I live at 65, Charlotte Street—I have got the first floor; the rent is 8s.; the landlord comes for it every Monday—it is the same place where I lived formerly, but on the second floor—the Baron does
not find the money for my rent; I pay it out of my wages—I came over here first by myself, and told my family to come—I brought my furniture—I got twenty francs in Brussels; that does not go so far as 25s. in London—I did not tell my brother Victor when I came over here that I would not go back to Brussels as Gaston would be obliged to have me as I had a hold on him—Friedlander never complained of what I had paid with regard to the customers, or with regard to the business during the two or three weeks—he never complained about the customers, or about the plant; we never had any dispute whatever. (The witness's deposition was here read.)—I still adhere to those statements; they are true—Hens is a cabinetmaker living next door to me—I think he is a friend of M. D'Alkemade or the Baron; they take their meals together—he took me over and brought me back—when I was going back to Brussels they asked me to stop, and offered me the situation, but not till after I was in London—I took the ticket myself, the Baron found the money, or I should not have come—Mr. Hens gave me the money, but the Baron paid it—I said before the Magistrate, "I think I was to have the situation whether I gave evidence or not"—I was at work in the same business—when I went to Brussels I made my business there—I took a shop as a provision dealer—that lasted three months, and then I failed, and went to France to my father—I went to Brussels about one month after—I did not become bankrupt there, but the business did not pay, and I sold the plant and the stock-in-trade—my father gave me the money to start; it cost him about £40—I then went and worked at a shoemaker's—at the time I. swore the information and gave evidence I did not believe the receipt had been lost.
Re-examined. The rent, rates and gas from January to June are not allowed for in this book—I had no rates and taxes to pay, only 11s. a week for my lodging—the gas was about £2 quarterly—the net profit for 1889 was £110, after deducting the costs-my wife was working with me during 1889 and 1890—she was taken ill, and went to the hospital in January or the beginning of February, 1891; she was ill all that month, partly at home and partly at the hospital—I had three small rooms on the second floor, and paid 11s. 6d. a week—my brother said that Friedlander asked him to buy his business for £800, and he said at the Police-court he wanted to give him £200—I said, "No"—he said, "I will give you 125 francs as you are ill; you can go to Nice for two years"—I said, "I will think about it," and in about two days he said, "I will give you £40 in two years"—there is not a word of truth in the suggestion that I asked Friedlander and Victor Cauchefert not to mention to my wife that I was getting £150 for my business; she was in the hospital, and I went there and told her—it is not true that on a certain day on which Victor Cauchefert was present I was paid £17 and two £5 notes and some gold—Friedlander never paid me a bank-note—it is not true that I received £17 from him, and that I then said, "Now that makes £50," at the same time writing something on paper—bills of exchange for £75 were never in my possession—Friedlander never said to me that if the business went better he would pay me the amount of the bills, and that it was merely a matter of confidence between me and him—we had no discussion as to the way the business was falling off—it was not falling off since my sale to Friedlander—my
evidence at the Police-court was given through an interpreter—Mr. Arthur Gill did not express his dissatisfaction with the interpreter—when Victor Cauchefert was examined another interpreter was there—I recollect Jules Moon giving his evidence; he was interpreted by the gentleman at the Police-court, and the witness objected, and said it was not French—I was examined without an interpreter at first, and when I was cross-examined the interpreter was only sworn for one word, which I could not understand.
By MR. GILL. Looking at this book (produced), I know whose writing it is, and I should not like to swear that my brother did not ask £800 for the business.
MARY CAUCHEFERT . I am the wife of the last witness—he sent me a bill in September last year in a letter—I went to see Mr. Marc to get it exchanged; he gave me £3 for it, and told me to call in the afternoon and he would give me 10s. to make it £3 10s., which he did—I came out of the hospital on Friday, September 25th, and this was Saturday, the 26th I went to Brussels with my child with the money, and took out my watch and two sheets from the pawnbroker's.
Evidence for the defence.
ALBERT WEATHERHEAD (Detective Sergeant). I was bound over at a witness for the prosecution; I had the warrant—on the morning of August 29th the prisoner came to the station, Tottenham Court Road, and said his name was Marc Friedlander—I told him I had a warrant for his arrest—he said he had been to Paris, and while he was there he heard of the warrant and came over to meet the charge.
EDWARD ARTHUR RUSHER . I am in the employ of the Prudential Assurance Company—some money was lent to Friedlander on a bill of sale on furniture at 29, Alfred Place—on August 15th the prosecutor came and told me that Friedlander had been discovered, and had been deceiving and defrauding him in money matters, and he understood that the bill of sale which I had on his furniture was not accurate, that it was fraudulent, that he was in Paris, and it was his opinion that he would not return, that he was about to take out a warrant against him, and asked me if I took any proceedings under the bill of sale if I would join him and employ the same solicitor—he said he was under the impression that the business plant was included in the bill of sale, and asked to see it—I showed it to him, and the plant was not included—I think he said about Friedlander, "He will never return"—I don't think he used the word "absconded"—he asked me before I took any steps to wait for a week—I said that I could not see my way clear to it, but ultimately it was arranged that I would wait till Thursday—he inspected the bill of sale on Tuesday, June 16th, and came again next say, "Wednesday, and said that Mr. Friedlander had been taking some of the goods in the house which were included in the bill of sale, and pawning them; that he had seen him go out with a large bundle of goods and pawn them, and unless I put a man in possession he would urge others who had a claim to take steps to enter into possession and raise a claim prior to me, and unless I aid it in the next two hours he would go to other people—he gave me to understand that he was a partner with Marc, but had no claim on the furniture, only on the business plant—in consequence of these statements I put a man in possession—I inquired whether any furniture had been removed; he said
as far as he could ascertain nothing had been taken away—the bill of sale had a schedule—next evening, Thursday, and Friday morning, De Roest moved the business plant and some furniture of his own—a man named Hens assisted him—on the following Monday Mr. Friedlander's brother came over from Paris, and went into the matter with me—I have no ground for complaining of Friedlander's conduct to me; I withdrew the man in possession, and assisted him in his defence; I thought it right that the truth should be known—I have been twelve years at the Prudential.
Cross-examined. We had a bill of sale on the furniture; that was in our possession—we were in the habit of receiving the instalments monthly—he appeared very uneasy in his mind as to what was going to be done at 129, Alfred Place—I was forced to do something to protect our security, but not against the landlord—it is the custom that there should be a declaration on a bill of sale that it is his own property, but I did not require it—there was no separate declaration, but there was a statement by Friedlander that the property was his—I had had transactions with him, and I did not trouble myself—the bill of sale was renewed in May this year—it was a fresh bill two or three years ago, not a renewal—there had not been dealings with him as to his furniture—he wanted money, and I lent it to him on his note of hand—I did not advance it on furniture—I was the original lessee of 129, Alfred Place—I was to give the lease up, and Mr. Friedlander took it and bought the furniture which was in the house—he did not wish to pay cash, and I gave him a note of hand, after which I gave him several small amounts when the prior transactions were nearly cleared off—I did not look at the schedule very carefully; I had no valuation made—I should not have assisted in such a bill of sale unless I had known that the furniture was claimed by a person, because having gone so far I should have asked the prisoner to make out a statement—when M. D'Alkemade called on me he was extremely uneasy as to what was going to take place—he told me something about people holding over—the furniture which was supposed not to belong to me was assessed by Mr. Marc's brother, not by me—my furniture was the major part—I believe there was a very small quantity, nothing material.
Cross-examined. My husband has a very bad opinion of his brother, and he has sent me here to say so.
ALFRED SIDNEY GEDGE . I am a chartered accountant, of 3, Great James Street, Bedford Row—I have seen the books of the business of M. Vallee for 1889-90, and the first six months of 1891—I have had experience of the sale of businesses, and the price they fetch—this business being sold for £15 is ridiculous.
Cross-examined. I do not know Mr. Mills, an accountant—the letters A. S. S. A. means an association under the Companies Act—I believe certain stock was taken over which was more than £2 a week, but I have not seen it—when I say that £15 is a ridiculous price my opinion is based on the fact that the stock was worth something in addition to the takings; but supposing there was no stock, I should consider it equally ridiculous—if a business produces £2 5s. a week, on which a man has to
support himself and a wife and child, £150 is not an exaggerated price for it—£75 would not be sufficient—if the man was able to obtain employment elsewhere on equally remunerative terms, my opinion would not be affected; if he sold his business that would not be a reason for holding out for a larger price—it is out of the net profit that he would have to live week by week—I know that two people were working during the whole period—other people were employed in it, I believe—the wife had been ill—I examined the books for 1891, but not for 1892—£25 would be a ridiculously low price for the concern supposing there was no stock—£150 would not be excessive with the stock—I have not seen the premises—a business sometimes fetches a higher price If the purchaser thinks he can work it into a good thing.
THOMAS OLDACRES DEAR . I am a solicitor, of 90, Southampton Bow—in July, 1891,1 received instructions from Friedlander to prepare an assignment of the Cauchefert business; I took the instructions from him, they are partly his writing and partly mine—I wrote the words, "half-a-dozen," and "bills," and afterwards struck them out—I forget whether he said he had paid or was going to pay one-half the money down, and give bills for half—Cauchefert and Friedlander came to my office together on July 23rd, and I read the document to them; Cauchefert occasionally did not exactly understand, and Friedlander explained to him in French—he made no objection to the sum of £150, and I am sure he perfectly understood everything—on August 11th, 1891,1 received instructions from Friedlander to prepare a deed of partnership. between him and De Boost—I sent him a draft, and about a week afterwards I called at his place at Charlotte Street to know why he had not returned it—De Boost came into the room, and we went through the partnership deed clause by clause—they were both satisfied with it, with one or two slight alterations which I was to make—I then had it engrossed, and on August 20 it was executed in duplicate in my office—about August 23 I received a letter from Friedlander in Paris—his brother told me he would be in London the following week—I saw his wife and brother two or three times afterwards—they consulted me about the partnership, and I prepared the writ in a partnership action, but it was postponed several days before it was issued—I had no actual knowledge then of any criminal proceedings against Friedlander—the brother said he understood that De Boost had commenced some proceedings—some people said it was a writ, and others a warrant—I saw Friedlander the first thing on Saturday morning, and afterwards I went to Tottenham Court Road, and saw Inspector Weather head—on Sunday, the 28th, Mr. Baker called on me with Friedlander and Charles, and Friedlander brought me an envelope a day or. two afterwards; it had been fastened up again—directly I saw it I said, "This looks to me as if it had been opened"—on 29th August Friedlander surrendered at Bow Street, and has been allowed out on his own personal recognisances ever since.
Cross-examined. I cannot say what day I saw the prisoner's brother, but he was fresh from Paris, and brought a power of attorney—I prepared the writ some few days before I was examined—there were rumours that a warrant was out against him—I did not consult Counsel before August 24th—I attended on the 29th, and consulted Mr. Grill after that—I said, "You have a warrant against Friedlander?"—he said, "Yes"
—I said, "He is willing to surrender himself on Monday morning; I don't want him to be locked up to-night"—he wrote me a letter, and wished me to apply to the Magistrate about De Roest having removed the partnership plant, but I did not like to do that—I drew up the partnership deed in the usual way; I also prepared the assignment—I did not see a penny piece pass—I never saw the bills till the case came on at the Police-court, and never saw the receipt for £75 signed by Cauchefert.
Re-examined. As to applying to the Magistrate, I thought it better to wait—I have prepared dozens of partnership deeds—some very slight alterations in it were suggested by both of them.
By the COURT. If the property had not been removed, I could have applied for an injunction, but I understood that the plant was removed on August 19th—if there had been any payment I should have put, "The receipt for which is hereby acknowledged," but here one man brought in the business and the other the cash.
MARY BAKER . I have been working with the prisoner in the enamelling business for the last seven years—the prosecutor became a partner in August last—Mr. Marc found the money to carry on the business all through the year that followed—the prosecutor did not pay any wages—when Mr. Marc was pressing for money, De Roest said that he should come into his money shortly—I knew him as Mr. Gaston De Roest—he often said that when he came in for the money he would make it right—at the beginning of this year the documents relating to the buying of the Cauchefert business were asked to be looked for—I looked for them, but could not find them, and the loss was referred to two or three times afterwards—on one occasion he said, "It is no use asking Mary, she always forgets"—as far as I know the documents were lost; I do not know when or where they were found—I remember Mr. Marc being away in Paris in August this year; Gaston said to me, "Mr. Marc will never come back again," and that several people had warrants against him, and if he did not take one other people would—I said I could not believe it was true—he said it was quite true, and he would never be able to put his foot in London again—he said that the warrants had something to do with the furniture—he told me he had applied at Bow Street for a warrant against Friedlander, and he was going to take everything belonging to the business—I said, "I don't think you can, because it has been Mr. Marc's property for years and and years"—he said, "Yes, I can, because I have paid for it"—he said Marc could not possibly come back, and he was to keep the business for himself—I went with him to my father—I continued working after he went to Fitzroy Street—I was present when the letter was opened—I saw Mr. Friedlander when he returned from Paris on Sunday, the 4th—after that I went back to Mr. Gaston's house—I wanted to leave on the Tuesday, but he said he did not want me to go till it was all over—he wanted me to stop till Monday in the following week—I left on the Tuesday and went home with Mr. Marc.
Cross-examined. My age is twenty-one—when the prosecutor first told me that there was a warrant out against Mr. Friedlander I was very much distressed and actually crying—I liked him very much—he is not a relative of mine—my father lives at 336, Uxbridge Road—I am living
now at 29, Alfred Place—my father did not disapprove of my returning: to Mr. Friedlander's; he did not know what to do, and he said, "You had better keep on to your work"—I first gave a statement to the solicitor at the end of the week after I left, and he took it down—I said a great deal more than is put down—I hare only made one statement—I have seen him once or twice since the case was sent for trial—I have been living in the same house as Mr. Marc; I have not frequently talked over the matter with him—my father never requested me not to return to Mr. Marc—the statement I made was not in answer to questions put to me by the solicitor—Mr. Marc never mentioned the conversation in which the papers were referred to as having been lost.
By the COURT. My father showed me a letter from the prosecutor after I had left—the suggestion that there was anything wrong in the relations between me and Friedlander is not true.
VICTOR CHARLES (Interpreted). I am employed as a chiseller; I live at 29, Alfred Place—in July last I heard of Friedlander buying Cauchefert's business for £150—I have seen Friedlander lend money to Cauchefert at Charlotte Street, £17 at one time, and when he received that he said that it would make more than £50; something was added up on the wall by the side of the dresser, they made a mark with a pencil—I knew of Friedlander borrowing money for that purpose; I have lent him money—I know Albert Levy, of Paris—I did not see him give money to Friedlander—I was present when Friedlander had a dispute with Cauchefert; he reproached Cauchefert for taking the business because he did not work exactly as he ought to, and wasted the materials—he said he neglected the business, and the customers were complaining, and they quarrelled about the materials and the instruments for the work, and he said, "You could not sell things which do not belong to you"—it was said that they belonged to his brother Victor—when they were in violent discussion, Marc asked for the bills, and Cauchefert said he would give them up, and asked if he had to mark them—he said, "It don't matter; you can sign them or not sign them"—Cauchefert signed them and gave them back to Marc, and said that the things were his brother's, and Victor had lent them to him—Friedlander asked him to come round to Victor's place with him; he consented, and Friedlander asked him several times to go round to Victor Cauchefert's—Cauchefert said he would not let his wife know of the sale of the business or the price—I left for Paris on August 17th; the Baron sent for me before I went and said he had got two warrants against him, and was going to take a third because he had robbed him—I said, "It is impossible"—he said, "It is true; he has robbed me of £150, and I shall have him locked up"—I was present when the sale of the business was carried out—I said "I am going to tell Marc what you suggest"—he told me not to tell Marc then, to see him and caution him not to come back to London, "But don't say that it is myself that warns him"—he saw me three times on the 17th on the subject—I went to Paris and saw Friedlander.
Cross-examined. I saw him at 6, Rue Victor—his brother lived at Rue Verron, the one who had the power of attorney to come over to London with me—the £75 on the bills has never been paid by the prosecutor to Cauchefert—the only thing I know is when the £17 was paid in my presence it was marked on the wall, and Cauchefert said, "That makes
more than £50"—beyond that I know nothing of what was paid—I lent £12 to the defendant in cash at the beginning of July—I did not take a receipt for it; it was put on a little piece of paper, where the other sums were—I refused to pay my landlord, because the house was in a filthy state, and I wrote to the sanitary authorities about it—I did not say at the Police-court, "I was in debt to my landlord because I had advanced the £12 to Friedlander"—I have known Friedlander three and a half years, but have not been in the habit of frequently receiving money from him—I have received more than eleven cheques from him in a single month to pay the employes and the travelling expenses, and sometimes Gaston got me to change a bill—I changed bills and cheques when he was by himself—I gave the money to Gaston or Mdlle. Mary or Mrs. Marc—I did not personally pay the workmen—the Union Bank of London, Tottenham Court Road, is five or six minutes' walk from Alfred Street, Bedford Square, where this business is carried on—the cheques were made out in my name because they always wanted two shillings or half-a-crown to change them, and by putting them in my name they got it without a fee—I continued to receive cheques through Friedlander's private banking account after the commencement of the partnership—I know no other gentleman named Charles to whom the defendant was in the habit of paying cheques in the same way that he paid them to me—when I was seen by the prosecutor on August 17th he was in a very excited condition; he told me he had been robbed—I said, "Wait till I come back from Paris; it is impossible he can have done such a thing"—I went to Paris the same day—I had no interest in the partnership business, but I was a friend of both—in my capacity as a metal chaser I was not employed by either of the partners; I worked for other people—Friedlander handed back the bills on the evening before my departure for Paris—I am positive Cauchefert left before the end of July, 1891.
Re-examined. I have been in London four years in August—my evidence before the Magistrate was interpreted before it was written down.
THE RECORDER considered that Hens ought to have been called, as he was examined before the Magistrate, but refused to allow the prosecution to reopen their case by calling him now.
NOT GUILTY . The COURT ordered the prosecutor to pay the costs of the prosecution.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. SANDS Prosecuted;
ALICE WRIGHT . I am the wife of Frederick George Wright, an officer in the P. and O. service—I live at 41, Earlham Grove, West Ham—my husband went to sea on 26th September, and is now in Shanghai—I have been living with my little boy and Mrs. Harrington,
my regular servant, and the mother of Rolf e, who is married, and has frequently come to my house to work; she assisted in the house for about two months—I am never very well; I suffer from my heart and from nervous depression—I have not been treated for drinking too much; I don't know what is the matter with me—in September I knew Mulloch as the servant next door—I think, on 13th September, before my husband went to sea, she came in at the back; I was ill in bed, and she came upstairs and told me she had left next door, and asked if I would allow my servant to help her to the station with her box—I said my servant was out—from that time Mulloch stayed in my house as my nurse—she stayed the first night because it was too late for her to go home, and she said she had nowhere to go, so I allowed her to stay, and the next day a lady friend called for me to go for a drive, and said as Mulloch seemed a very nice girl, and had been a hospital nurse, I had better keep her till I got better—I did so—shortly after my husband went away, and I was taken very ill—Mulloch stayed with me about a month—a few days after she came Scorey came to the house; he said he was Mulloch's husband—I gave her a day's holiday, which she asked for, saying she was going to get married to him—afterwards she came back, and told me she was married; she brought Scorey with her—he said the rice was all down his neck—he stopped in the house too—all the time Rolfe was coming into the house now and again—on 20th October I got better, and went through my things—I had been confined to my bed all the time since my husband went till 30th October—I missed silks, two gold rings, a gold brooch, a silver knife, fork, and spoon in a case; a petticoat, a chemise, a night-dress, a silk wrap, two pieces of China silk, six silver teaspoons, six silver dessertforks, and a pair of drawers—I gave nobody authority to take those away—the wearing apparel was in my bedroom, and the silver in a cabinet in the dining-room—some of the things taken had just come home from the wash—on 25th October I sent for Rolfe, and had a conversation with her, and her mother-in-law went to fetch the silk from pawn; two nieces of silk were brought to me—on the 27th I went to the station and charged Rolfe—she came to my house and I gave her into custody—then Constable Foster produced a number of articles of dress to me—while I was ill I did not go to Southend—I told nobody to deny me to my friends—I have not seen other of my stolen property—I never authorised Mulloch or Harrington to say I had gone to Southend, or anywhere else, or to deny me to Mrs. Jackson, or Dr. Cheetham, or anyone else—I told that to no one.
Cross-examined by MR. KEITH FRITH. I have no doubt I first became acquainted with Mulloch on 13th September this year—a letter purporting to be written by me was found in her box, stating that I had known her for twelve months, and that she was a perfectly honest and respectable woman—I did not write that letter—I was too ill—I gave it to her; it is not my signature to it, I swear (The witness here wrote her signature.)—I simply gave the letter to her to get her out of my house—I only authorised someone to sign it to get rid of her—it is not in Mulloch's writing—I did not know when she left that she was not respectable—she had not been with me twelve months—she could be industrious and a good nurse if she liked, and she could work if she liked—she was not Miss Scorey, which is the name in the letter—I knew her as Mrs. Louisa
Thomas; I did not know her as Mulloch till after she left my house—I had never seen her till she walked into my bedroom—she told me then her name was Thomas—I was quite sober—I went into her bedroom on the Monday morning when she left me, and told her to go by the doctor's orders, because she was not doing me any good—I did not say I was thankful for the kindness and care she had displayed to me—I did not give her any underlinen—when she first came my husband's Teasel was lying in the East India Docks—I did not communicate with him about her; there was no necessity—he did not come to the house—I have a boy seven years old; I did not tell Mulloch that my husband had come to my house to try and see if he could take the boy from me—he was six days in London before he sailed in the Ganges—I could have sent to him by Mrs. Harrington—I took Mulloch as a nurse while she behaved herself—I took her on recommendation of Mrs. Crawley, a widow, of Warwick Road, Forest Gate, whom I have known for months—she asked Mulloch to go and fetch the doctor to me—Mulloch did not ask me for some linen the night before she left—she did not say there was a man in my bedroom—only my sister was with me; there was no man in the house—Mulloch did not complain to me next morning of what she had seen—when I told her to go she swore at me, and swore she would not go out of the house until I had given her a reference and money to go out with, and a month's wages in advance—I did not say, "If you do leave, don't tell anyone, and I will give you a twelvemonth's character"—I gave her a twelvemonth's character, which was false—I paid her what was due to her and a month's wages, a sovereign in advance, to go; she was in my house nearly a month—I had made no arrangements to keep and pay her—I did not give her a false character and £3 10s. not to say there was a man in my bedroom—I might have suspected her a fortnight before she left my service; two rings were lost.
Cross-examined by MR. BLACKWELL. Scorey did not come to see me about becoming my groom—I was not in want of a groom; I cannot afford to keep a horse and carriage—I saw him on Wednesday or Thursday at my house as Mulloch's husband—I was ill in bed at the time; he came with Mulloch—he stayed there from that time till they left together on Monday morning—he did not come as my groom—I had nothing to drink with him when he came and saw me in bed—I think I had some brandy and water with him once—the first time he came I did not suggest that as it was late he should stay and sleep with me and Mulloch—I have never invited him to sleep with me—another man came with Mulloch and Scorey; I am not sure whether it was the same day—I don't know how long he stopped in my house; I don't know whether he stopped all next day, because I was not down there; it might have been a mistake on my servant'a part—I don't know Mrs. Becroft—a Mrs. Wainwright called on me—I don't know if she called about a man who had slept at my house all night—there was a disturbance in my house about it—I think I charged Rolfe on 27th October—that was over a week after the other prisoners had left my house together.
Re-examined, I had advice from my doctor—then I saw Mulloch, and I gave her this letter to go away, because she swore she would not go away—I suspected her at that time—money was taken out of a bag under my pillow, and she put it behind a glass, and told Rolfe to get it—Mulloch came back after she left, and I had some conversation with her
about things I had lost, and she said she knew where they were, and she turned to Mrs. Wain wright and asked her if she should speak the truth, and Mrs. Wainwright said, "Yes"—these things (produced) are my property.
MARY ROLFE (The prisoner), I used to live at 55, Blythe Road, Stratford—my mother is in Mrs. Wright's service, and I have been in the habit of going there to do work—I have pleaded guilty to stealing, in this case, Mrs. Wright's property—I saw the two other prisoners at her house—I was in her bedroom on a Monday in September when the other prisoners were there—we all had something to drink, including Mrs. Wright; after we had been drinking all day Mulloch gave me a ring and said, "I have got two rings; you have one and I shall have one"—we were both drunk—she did not say whose ring it was; I did not know; it had a stone out—I did not ask her where she got it—I pawned the ring the same day at Mr. Bressay's, in Stratford—the same day I and the other two prisoners went to Mrs. Wright's drawing-room, and we began singing and dancing and had some drink, and Scorey took some silver forks and spoons out of the cabinet, and gave me the case, and put the spoons and forks in his pocket, and said, "I will take these"—I don't know whether I took a brooch, or whether it was given to me, but I pawned it at Mr. Posner's, Bow Road—while we were upstairs in Mrs. Wright's bedroom singing, Mrs. Wright went to sleep, and Mulloch told me to take some silk out of a drawer, and she laid on the bed with Mrs. Wright; I took it out and pawned it at Mr. Bressay's, but I never gave her the ticket—I kept the money to support my dying husband at home—my mother-in-law took it out of pawn, and gave it back—in October Mrs. Wright sent for me, and I made a confession to her, and she said she would forgive me if I told her where the things were.
Cross-examined by MR. FRITH. She said Mulloch was there yesterday, and said I had pawned them—I hoped to get off myself by telling the story I have told—I hope so now—I say this to save all three of us—I never knew Mulloch before she came into Mrs. Wright's service—Mrs. Wright called her Louisa or Louie—my mother, Mrs. Harrington, told me she gave her a twelvemonth's character, which was false, and £2 10s. to go away with—Mrs. Wright was supposed to be ill—drink was something towards it; I know we all used to have plenty of drink, including Louie and Scorey—the whole household had a great deal too much to drink—that went on for three weeks or a month—I daresay when Mrs. Wright was in that state there were many times when she scarcely knew what she was saying—she always seemed to know what she was about—she drank heavily; we all drank—she knew everything—I did not sleep there at night—I saw her once under the influence of drink.
Cross-examined by MR. BLACKWELL. Scorey was in Mrs. Wright's bedroom with us pretty frequently—the servant told me another man came there; I never saw him there—I have not made up this story about Scorey to screen myself; it is true.
ELIZABETH HARRINGTON . I live at 41, Earlham Grove, and am servant to Mrs. Wright—Rolfe is my daughter—I was out when Mulloch came to the house, and when I came back I found her established there—she afterwards came back with Scorey, and said she was married to him—after Mulloch came there Mrs. Wright was very ill—Mulloch took
charge of her, and gave orders to me—Mrs. Wright gave her orders to take charge of the house—before she was ill Mrs. Wright's friends came to see her—after Mulloch came her friends did not come—Mulloch told me it was because she was too ill—one evening Mulloch sent me out for a bottle of marking ink—I got it, and gave it to her—Scorey was there; he and Mulloch marked these chemise and drawers with the name of Scorey in the dining-room; they were Mrs. Wright's drawers.
Cross-examined by MR. FRITH. They did it before me—Mrs. Wright drinks a little—she is very generous—I think she is too freehanded—she has often given me things.
SARAH JACKSON . My husband is a gardener at 45, Chats worth Road—I have known Mrs. Wright two years, and have been in the habit of going to see her—I saw Mulloch there on the evening of September 20th—she opened the door to me, and said Mrs. Wright was very ill indeed, and no one was allowed to come in by the doctor's orders—I said that if she told Mrs. Wright it was Mrs. Jackson she would be sure to let me in—she said she could not admit anyone—I went the following morning—Mrs. Wright's little boy opened the door, and Mulloch called over the stairs, "Who is that?"—the boy said, "Mrs. Jackson"—Mulloch said I could not come in, but I did go in, and I saw Mrs. Wright, who was very ill—Mulloch remained in the room all the time—the following Monday night I went again—Mulloch opened the door on the chain; she slid Mrs. Wright was very ill indeed; she could not let me in; the doctor had just been and given her a sleeping draught, and she had gone to sleep—I went again on the Wednesday, and Harrington opened the door, and Mulloch said Mrs. Wright had gone to Southend for two or three days—that was at the end of September—I spoke to Dr. Cheetham—on the following Friday I went; Harrington opened the door—Mulloch called down the stairs, "Mrs. Wright is out, and may not be back till to-morrow morning; shut the door, and don't stand talking there."
Cross-examined. Mrs. Wright did not drink so far as I know; she was quite a sober person—I had known her eighteen months—I did not know Mulloch till she opened the door to me that night—I said, "Are you a new servant?"—she said, "No, I am a hospital nurse"—I think Mrs. Wright called her Louise—during that month I called there Mrs. Wright never told me how she came there; she has since the committal—I know Mrs. Wright intimately—Mulloch had on a grey home-spun dress, and cap and apron, and a band round her waist with keys.
Cross-examined by MR. BLACKWELL. I know Mr. Wright, he is a purser on board ship—I have been on board with him and Mrs. Wright.
SIDNEY WILLIAM CHEETHAM . I am a physician and surgeon at 8, Norwich Road, Forest Gate—Mrs. Wright was my patient; I attended her constantly between 16th September and 8th October, and then up to 26th October—she was suffering from considerable anxiety of mind, and the use of alcoholic stimulants—she was not in a condition to manage her own affairs—I have seen Mulloch there the first time I saw her I gave orders that she was to see nobody but the folks in the house and the doctor—in the course of a few days I said she might see a few friends just for a few minutes—after about a week Mulloch refused me admission, saying that Mrs. Wright had gone to Southend, and would not
be back for a few days—two or three days afterwards I called again—I passed the house three or four times a day sometimes, as it was between my surgery and my residence—it was very brilliantly lit up for the house of a person who was ill; I have seen it lit up both back and front—I afterwards saw Mrs. Jackson, and then I communicated with some of Mrs. Wright's friends—I resumed my attendance upon Mrs. Wright from 8th October to 26th intermittently, and then I dismissed her as being cured—in consequence of what she told me I advised her to send for her friends.
Cross-examined by MR. FRITH. From a medical point of view I attached little importance to what she did and said—I considered her memory impaired, and her judgment warped—she might have forgotten from day to day what she had said and done or she might not; possibly she would, not probably—she was not suffering entirely from the effects of alcoholism; I put the mental effect down as being a large one—her mind was not unhinged to that extent—she was very ill from anxiety of mind and the use of stimulants; I don't say the excessive use—it is a very common thing for a medical man attending the wife and family of a seagoing man to be asked to take charge of the house while the patient is ill, if the husband is away—I knew she was taking alcohol, not to an excessive amount—the going away of her husband was the chief thing that upset her.
Re-examined, The chief cause of her illness was mental depression, and then she would take alcohol to relieve it, and that affected her.
By the COURT. I have not got my attendance book here, and cannot say the exact dates I attended her—I attended her up to October 8th, and then intermittently up to 26th—I attended her on and off from 8th to 16th October—about; three days was the longest time I was absent from her—after 8th October I was very much dissatisfied with her condition—I directed Mulloch that Mrs. Wright might have a tablespoonful of alcohol three times a day if she insisted on having it, not otherwise—I never recognised her as a nurse; she was not represented to me as one—from what I saw of her between 8th and 20th October I formed the opinion that, off and on, Mrs. Wright was taking a great deal more alcohol than the three spoonfuls a day; she would be well for two or three days, then go hack for a whole day—I used to hold a conference in Harrington's presence in the dining-room after I had seen Mrs. Wright, and my instructions were always on the same lines—I had not seen the husband before he went—on many occasions I told Mulloch that Mrs. Wright was having more alcohol than I had directed—she generally said, "Yes, she was having it"—I got a bit disquieted, and felt like throwing the thing over several times; I could not tell who was telling the truth in the house—I don't know if Mulloch first sent for me to attend Mrs. Wright; in my note it was the servants who did so.
HARRY CARN (Detective-Sergeant K), On 28th October, at 7.30, I went with Foster to 31, Beckton Road, Plaistow—I saw Mulloch there—I said, "We are police officers, and we are going to take you into custody for being concerned with another in custody in stealing some articles of jewellery and clothing from Mrs. Wright, 41, Earlham Road, Forest Gate"—she said, "I have nothing belonging to Mrs. Wright only what she gave me"—I said, "Have you a box?"—she said, "Yes, in the front room; you can search it"—I did so, and in a small hand-bag
I found this reference letter, two pawntickets, and four other letters; in a hat-box I found two more pawntickets not relating to this charge—I asked her if she had Mrs. Wright's latch-key—she said, "Yes," and handed it to me, saying, "I intended sending it to Mrs. Wright, as you can see by the label which I have tied on the key"—I took her to the station.
EDWARD FOSTER (467 K). I went with Carn to 31, Beckton Road—I searched Mulloch's box; I found these articles of clothing, which I afterwards showed to Mrs. Wright—on 4th November about ten I saw Scorey outside the Police-court in West Ham Lane—I asked if he was Sidney Scorey; he said, "Yes"—I told him I should have to take him into custody for being concerned with two others in stealing a quantity of property from 41, Earlham Road—he said, "I know nothing about it"—I took him into the Court, and he was charged—I have known Mulloch for some time; I obtained the certificate of her marriage.
Cross-examined by MR. BLACKWELL. I found afterwards that Scorey had come to the Court to give evidence.
MRS. WRIGHT (Reexamined). These three articles of jewellery are mine.
The COMMON SERJEANT allowed Mulloch to make a statement. She said that she had nursed Mrs. Wright, and had sent far the doctor; she denied having stolen anything, but said that Mrs. Wright had lent her the linen, and she made allegations as to Mrs. Wright's drunkenness and immorality.
SCOREY NOT GUILTY .
MULLOCH— GUILTY .
She received a good character. Recommended to mercy by the JURY on account of the temptation offered to her by the loose manner in which the home was conducted. The prosecution recommended Rolfe to mercy.— Judgment respited.
There was another indictment against the three prisoners for conspiring to steal, upon which no evidence was offered.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted.
MARY ANN WESTGARTH . I am the wife of Robert Westgarth, of 28, Bengo Street, Canning Town—about eleven p.m. on 22nd July I went to bed after seeing the house properly shut up and fastened—next morning, about 10.30, I went down, found two chairs and a table gone from my front parlour, and the window open—I also missed two egg-spoons and two little boxes in which were three likenesses, a glass dish, and two pairs of curtains; these are them; one pair of curtains is not produced.
Dock Road, and saw Ellen Coughlan—I said, "Have you a son named John?"—she said, "Yes"—I said I wished to look over the rooms—in the first-floor front room I found the pair of curtains, a table, two ashtrays, and two fancy boxes—in the back room I saw these two plush chairs—I said, "Where did you get these chairs from?"—she said. "I have had them twenty years, or about fifteen years"—I said, "I believe they are the proceeds of a burglary, and I shall take them away"—she said, "I will make you pay for taking them away"—at 9.20 the same evening I arrested John Coughlan on another charge outside the Mechanics' Arms, in the Dock Road—he was in conversation with two men—at the station I asked his address, and he said, "31, Whiteman Street."
ROBERT MARSH (Police Inspector). On 2nd November I was in charge of the station when John Coughlan was in custody—these two chain were brought in, and when he saw them he said, "Oh, I bought them of a man who was going to sea, and he would sell them cheap"—he did not say when.
WILLIAM BROWN . I live at 19, King Street, Tidal Basin—my house was broken into on 1st November, and it was also broken into before the middle of July, when this flower-pot, honey-pot and wooden tray were stolen.
PETER MCDONALD (38 K). At 10.15 on 23rd November I went to 31, Whiteman Street, with other officers; I found certain articles, and I arrested Agar on the first-floor front room upstairs, the same room as that occupied by Ellen Coughlan—he represented himself as a lodger——I told him I should take him into custody for being concerned with two others in custody (he knew who they were, as he was there when I went to the house first) in receiving the proceeds of various burglaries—he said, "I am perfectly innocent, I know nothing about them."
The prisoners' statements before the Magistrate.—John Coughlan saps: "I beg your pardon; can you settle my case?"Ellen Coughlan says: "I did not know they were stolen; my son brought them home to me;"Agar sags:"lam quite innocent of the affair; I aid not know they were stolen. I pawned them for John Coughlan."
Ellen Coughlan, in her defence, stated that she did not know they were stolen; her son brought them home.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted.
WILLIAM BROWN . I am a labourer, and live at 19, King Street, Tidal Basin, occupying the ground floor; the upper part is let to lodgers—I went to bed at 10.30 on Tuesday, 1st November—the window was properly fastened—these three pictures were standing on a chair 4 1/2 feet from the window—later in the night I was awakened by my brother-in-law, who lives upstairs—I went down and found Watkins, who lives opposite, at the door—I examined the front room and saw the window was not latched—the Venetian blinds, which were down when I went to bed, were drawn up, and the three pictures were standing up against the
window-ledge; they had been moved about 4 1/2 feet—next day I saw the prisoner in the Mechanics' Arms—I and my brother in-law had a glass of ale, and then we called the prisoner out, and asked him if he had been in King Street the night before—he said, "No; why?"—I said, "Because my place has been broken into, and I have been informed that you are the man"—he said he was never in King Street that night, that he went to the Princess Alice public-house, and went down Alice Street and Victoria Dock Road home—my brother-in-law in his hearing said he was the man—Watkins came across the road—I said, "Here is the man; face it out"—Cooper came across the road and asked if I gave him in charge—I said, "Yes."
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I notice my window every night; the Inspector asked me about it, and I said I saw it myself; and I say so now.
HENRY WATKINS . I am a labourer, of 18, King Street, just opposite to the prosecutor—at 11.30 p.m. on 1st November I was coming up the street, and I saw the prisoner coming from the prosecutor's window, and turn into the porch—my attention was called by the window being open, and I went over to knock at the door, thinking they had gone to bed leaving the window open—I said to the prisoner, who was in the porch, "re ✗ a ware your window is open?"—he said, "Yes, sir"—he came and shut the window from the outside, and went back into the porch again—shortly after he came out, tapped at Brown's window, as if someone was inside, and walked away to the top of the street—I followed him found he had gone, and I knocked Brown up—next day I saw the prisoner with Brown outside the Mechanics' Arms, and identified him as the man who had been there the night before—he was given into custody.
Cross-examined. I identify you by knowing you, by seeing you round the dock gate waiting for employment.
HENRY COOPER (Detective Sergeant). At 9.20 on 2nd November I saw the prisoner, Brown, and Watkins outside the Mechanics' Arms—I said to Brown, "Is your name Brown?"—he said, "Yes"—I had previously received a description of the prisoner from Brown's wife—I said, "Is this the man that tampered with your window last night?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "Will you charge him?"—he said, "I will"—I told the prisoner he would be charged with breaking and entering and stealing three pictures at 19, King Street, about midnight last night—he said, "I know nothing about it"—on the way to the station he called the prosecutor, and said, "Governor, don't charge me"—I found this pocket-knife on him.
JAMES ANDREWS (Police Inspector), At eleven on 2nd November I went to 19, King Street—an entry had been effected in the forecourt by forcing back the catch—a pocket-knife would do it; it is a very common catch.
EOBERT MARSH (Police Inspector). I was in charge of the station when the prisoner was brought in on 2nd November at 11.45—he made this statement when charged—I read it over, and he signed it (This stated that he saw Brown and Crackitt outside the Mechanic' Arms; that Brown said he had heard he was in his doorway, but that he need not take much notice of what was said because they did not know whether it was him or not; they only went by what the other man said).
The prisoner, in a written defence, stated that he bought the property of a man in a public-house, who said he was going to sea, for fifteen shillings, not knowing it was stolen; that he took it to his mother's house and told her he had bought it; he denied that he was the man who was seen near the window.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
No evidence was offered.— NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Justice Bruce.
MESSRS. HORACE AVORY and GUY STEPHENSON Prosecuted, and MR. WARBURTON Defended.
FRANCES PERKINS . I have been staying with my sister since this happened—my husband is a lighterman and waterman—he is away very often in his business—the prisoner is the landlord of the house, 2, Bellwater Gate—I occupied two rooms in it—he has two children—he is a widower; his wife died about eighteen months ago, or a little more; I have looked after his children since then—he is in the same business as my husband I think, a lighterman and waterman—on the morning of 1st October I went out shopping about a quarter to eleven, and I went into a public-house and was having twopennyworth of whisky, and the prisoner came in; he had nothing to drink—he asked me to treat him; I said I would not; I told him to go home to his children—I drank up my whisky and came out, and soon after I saw him up the street—he asked me to have a drink—I said, "No, I am going home"; he went up the street by himself—I next saw him about half-past two, when he came home—I asked him to give me the money he owed me (18s. 6d.) to get something for his children's dinner—he said he would pay me when he thought he would—about half-past two I went over to the Crown and Cushion and had twopennyworth of whisky with him—two of his mates, Digby and Foster, were there—before that, in the morning, I was in the Red House, and the prisoner followed me and asked me to treat him—I told him to go home and feed his children, and I pushed him on the chest or arm with my umbrella—I don't think it hit him in the face; I just pushed him with the handle; this is the umbrella—he said nothing; he took it quite calmly—when I came out of the Crown and Cushion I went straight indoors—he followed after his daughter Susan; she is known as Mrs. Brummett—I went to the back-way door on the ground floor, and spoke to her; the prisoner was standing by the stairs—he went upstairs, and called me up into the children's bedroom—I went up to see what he wanted; he closed the door and put his arm round my neck and kissed me, and walked up to the fireplace, and I saw a revolver in his hand; it was not in his hand when he kissed me; I did not see
him take it from anywhere; I was standing facing him; he was holding it down—I can't remember whether he said anything, for when I saw the revolver it frightened me—I said, "Jack, don't be so silly"; he fired at me—before he fired he said something, but I can't properly remember, my head has been so bad since it happened; I think he said, "It is all over," or something to that effect—I think he said, "I mean it now," or something like that—then he fired at me; he let the pistol go off—he stood by the mantelpiece—he pointed it at me almost as soon as I said the words "Don't be so silly "; I reeled once or twice and fell to the ground—I was hit in the ear; it went through—I heard it go off again, but I was on the floor then, and I did not see anything then nothing else had taken place between us that day but what I have told—I have told everything.
Cross-examined. He has five children—he has lately been taking a good deal to drink to excess—I did not know him till I went into the house to live, just after his wife's death; I believe he has been a peaceable man; I never heard anyone say anything about him—the room I went up to was the children's bedroom on the third floor—he slept on the first floor—I occupied the front room downstairs and the front room first floor—I had nothing to do with the third floor; he called me up and I went—I think he had had a little to drink that day, because he got up early in the morning; he seemed about the same as he did any other day—when I said, "Jack, don't be so silly," I thought he was up to something; he fired at once—I don't remember seeing Digby come in—I heard somebody come in—I had not been out having drink with the prisoner and Digby that morning; they had been out all the morning—I never said anything to Digby about wanting to make away with myself—nothing of the sort was mentioned.
Re-examined. I don't think the prisoner did any regular work, only a job now and then—I have seen him a good deal the worse for drink—on this day he seemed the same as other days, nothing strange—I think he knew what he was about; he could walk and talk.
By MR. WARBURTON. The garret is a very small room—I was quite near him.
HENRY BORER . I am a fireman, of 77, Beresford Street, Woolwich—I know the prisoner well; I do not know the prosecutrix—on the 1st October, between eleven and twelve, I was in the Cooper's Arms, Woolwich—there was a lot there—I saw the prisoner and Digby—as the prisoner came in I touched him on the back arid said, "How are you going on, John?"—he said, "I am all right; you won't see me alive in the morning after now"—he showed me a revolver, it was in his trousers pocket; he pulled the handle out—I said, "You are joking"—nothing else was said—he and Digby went out together; I stayed there.
Cross-examined. I took it as a joke—I could not say he was sober; he was a rare man for a lark at the best of times—he was a good deal drunk; he was more drunk than sober—I have seen him worse in drink—he seemed to know what he was about.
ISAAC CHARLES DIGBY . I am a waterman, and live at Woolwich—I know the prisoner, and know Mrs. Perkins—on the morning of the 1st October, about nine or a little after, I met the prisoner in the street; later on I went with him to the Cooper's Arms—I did not see Borer there—as we came out of the Cooper's Arms I saw Mrs. Perkins on the opposite
side, going along—the prisoner said to me, "There goes Mrs. Perkins; I will bid you good-day"—he left me, and I saw him go and speak to her—an hour or two after I saw him again on the Market Hill, and went with him to the Crown and Cushion—there was a man with me—the prisoner left and came back in about half an hour—Mrs. Perkins then came in; there was a little bit of jangling between them; I can't say what it was about exactly; it was about family matters, money—at the first onset, when she came into the public-house, she got hold of him by the collar and pulled him out, and said, "Give me the rest of my money"—they came back about an hour afterwards, and were then jangling about the money; we all drank together—before they left the house he said, "It is all over with us "; they both said to me, "Better have a drink; you won't get another chance"—the prisoner had been drinking for the last eighteen months—I have seen him drunk, but he was not out of the way this day—they left the house together; he could walk—I left about five minutes afterwards, and went to their house, and I heard a report of firearms upstairs; I went up and saw the prisoner falling down, with the pistol in his hand—I took it from him and gave it to the constable—I saw Mrs. Perkins on the floor, bleeding.
Re-examined. I have known the prisoner for years—as far as I know he has borne the character of a peaceable man—I went into three public houses with him on this day, and stayed three or four hours in each—he had a good drop of drink—he had complained of his head for weeks past; and said he felt as if a gun had gone off in his head, and could get no rest—he said in the public-house that he was unwell, and something was troubling him, and Mrs. Perkins suggested another drink—they seemed to be on friendly terms—they did not say they meant to do away with themselves—they did say something about doing for one another, or something similar.
Re-examined. I had had as much drink as the prisoner, and a little more—I believe I knew what I was about.
SUSAN BRUMMETT . I am the prisoners daughter—I live at 48, Beresford Street, Woolwich—I was in my father's house on this afternoon about three—I sent one of the daughters out to look for Mrs. Perkins—about a quarter of an hour afterwards my father came in, and she followed—they went straight upstairs to the children's room—I heard the report of firearms and went up, and found Mrs. Perkins on the floor, bleeding, the prisoner standing by the mantelpiece with a revolver in his hand—I ran to the house door, Digby came, and went up after me.
Cross-examined. Father was very drunk—I did not hear him say, "Good God! what have I done?"
JAMES WHEAT (26 H R). On 1st October, about 3.5, I was called by Digby to Bellwater Gate—I went upstairs, and found the prisoner lying on his back on the floor, unconscious, and Mrs. Perkins lying on her back, bleeding very much from a wound in the face—I saw a slight wound on the prisoner's forehead—he could not understand what was said during the time I was there—the woman made a statement—I got the revolver from Digby; I unloaded it; two chambers had been discharged, and four not—the doctor came, and I took the woman to the infirmary on an ambulance.
about 3.45—the prisoner was lying on his back unconscious—he presently recovered, and said, "Where did I hit her; good God Almighty! what have I done?"—he afterwards said, "The thing would not go off when I put it to my ear: it would not go off at the right time"—at the hospital he was taken to her bedside, and her deposition was taken—he asked no question—I took him back to the station, and formally charged him with shooting with intent to murder—he made no reply.
Cross-examined. At the time I first saw him he seemed very drunk, and also at a quarter-past five at the station—at the infirmary he still seemed dazed from drink.
JAMES TEES . I am a surgeon, of 144, High Street, Woolwich—on 1st October, about a quarter to four, I went to the top room of the prisoner's house—I found him lying on his back on the floor, and Mrs. Perkins lying on her back propped up with pillows, bleeding from a wound or two in the face—there was a penetrating wound on the right side of the nose, and an exit wound on the left side of the ear—she had lost a considerable quantity of blood—I probed the wound gently, and considered it was one wound; it was not serious—the prisoner had a slight grazing wound on his forehead—I sent the woman to the infirmary—this bullet might have produced the wound—I considered her in danger, and recommended that her deposition should be taken.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner thirteen years—he has always borne the character of a peaceable, well-conducted man—it is very possible that a person whose hand is shaky from drink, in attempting to commit suicide by firing at the right temple, might probably graze the forehead; it was a slight graze.
Re-examined. I made him recover consciousness by putting my finger in his eye—he seemed dazed, like a man who had been drinking for months—he did not speak to me at all—I shook him up, and he was able to walk to the station.
ROBERT PERKINS . I am the husband of Frances Perkins—on Saturday, 1st October, I returned home about seven in the evening—I had left on the Thursday morning before—I am often away for a day or two on my work as a lighterman—I know the prisoner as the landlord of the house—when I got home on this evening I heard what had happened—I went up to the children's bedroom; I saw marks of blood on the floor, and also saw marks of a bullet in the wooden partition behind the door; there was also another mark on the floor close against the wainscot, about three feet from the other—on the Thursday following I found this bullet near the fireplace, about six feet from the mark in the partition—I should say it had rebounded from the opposite side of the room.
HENRY JOSEPH BAINES . I work for Mr. Andrews, a gunsmith at 37, New Road, Woolwich—the prisoner came there on a Friday night, I forget the date; I think it was in September—he said he wanted a revolver—Mr. Andrews showed him two—he said he would take the 18s. one and would call for it—he went out; I saw a young woman waiting for him outside—he came again next morning at half-past eleven, and said he wanted the revolver that he had seen the night before, and half a dozen cartridges—he said he was going to shoot some big rats down his area—I handed him the revolver and the cartridges to fit—he paid
me for it and went away—he was quite sober both times—I heard of this occurrence the same evening that he had the revolver.
Cross-examined. I could not say that Mrs. Perkins was the woman who came with him to the shop the night before, her back was turned.
FRANCES PERKINS (Re-called). I was with the prisoner on the Friday. night, 30th September, when he went to buy the revolver; I was outside the shop—he told me he was going to buy a gun for a gentleman, and if the gentleman called for it he had told Mr. Andrews to charge a sovereign for it—when he asked me to come up to the children's room he did not give me any reason for it; he only said he wanted to speak to me.
GUILTY on Second Count. — Three Years' Penal Servitude.
Before Mr. Justice Bruce.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS and BODKIN Prosecuted; MR. THOMPSON appeared for Waller; MR. DRAKE for Batch; and MR. E. BEARD for Noble.
JUSTINIAN PICKUP (85 M). I am well acquainted with the preparation of plans—this (produced) is a plan of Whitecross Street and its immediate surroundings—it shows the Lord Clyde public-house—there is also an enlarged plan of the bar of that house and its compartments—the house is situate at the corner of Whitecross Street and Peter Street; those streets cross each other at nearly right angles—Peter Street leads through Marshalsea Street into Southwark Bridge Road (The witness pointed out on the plan the position of the various places afterwards referred to in the evidence).
ELIZA HABDLEY . I am the wife of Mark Hardley, of 212, Brixton Road—the deceased, Dr. Kirwain, lodged with me, first from May, 1890, to February, 1891—he then returned in September, 1892—this (produced) is a photograph of the doctor; it is not a good likeness at the present; it would be a very good one two years and a half ago, when he first came to lodge with me—he was lodging with me down to 11th October, 1892—I let him out at eleven that morning; he then seemed in excellent spirits and good health—to the best of my recollection he was wearing a very dark brown morning coat, a high hat, carrying a silk umbrella in his right hand, and light tan gloves—at the breakfast-table in the dining room he had on a watch chain; he used to wear it much the same as you are wearing yours, across—I could not say whether he had any watch that morning—he wore a ring generally, on this left-hand little finger; it was a gold ring with a plain stone—I did not notice whether he was wearing it that morning—when he went out he left behind him a port manteau and a bag containing the ordinary wearing apparel for a gentleman—I expected him to return to tea in the evening, but I never saw him any more—the whole time he was in my house he was a very
sober, abstemious man, a man who seldom drank a small bottle of ale at his dinner.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. I knew him very well—I never knew that he was hard-up for money—he paid me most regular, once a week; he never seemed short of money—I had not the slighest idea that he ever pawned anything in the summer of 1890—he dined frequently at home, but not latterly—he was always exactly the same in his habits—I never saw him drunk—he had nothing but a small bottle of ale for dinner, and cocoa for supper; he never had ale for supper—he always came home at night; except in the summer of 1890, on, I think, three occasions, when he was doing practice for different gentlemen—so far as I know, then he was not home at night, but his habit, as a rule, was before eleven o'clock in bed—he only lodged with me about eight days on the second occasion—when I heard of his death I mentioned something to my house agent, Mr. Hopham, about a betting lot—I bad no reason to suppose he had got in with a betting lot, but I could not understand how such a quiet gentleman could get into such company.
JAMES MCLACHLAN . I live at 200, Barking Road; I am an M. D.—I knew William Kirwain since 30th January, 1875—he was about thirty two years of age—he assisted me on several occasions as a locum tenens, and as an assistant as well: he was acting for Dr. Moser, I think, before October—on the 11th October I was with Kirwain; he was in my company that evening from about half-past five up to about six—he was then in the best health and spirits; he had afternoon tea at my place—I noticed that he wore a chain; it was a gold chain, a curb pattern; it was worn right from one pocket to the other, going through the buttonhole—I could not say whether he had a watch that day, I had previously seen him with a gold watch, an open-faced one, as well as I remember, but I could not swear to that—he had a silk umbrella that day—I could not say if he was wearing a ring—I could not say what money he had—he left just about six—I saw him again a little before ten—I was with him about twenty minutes the second time—he left me about ten minutes or a quarter past ten to go home—I left him opposite my own door; my brother came with him; he would not come in—my brother was transacting some business, and I went outside the door and saw Kirwain alone—at that time he was quite sober—during the years I have known him his character was exceptionally steady; I should describe him as a sober, abstemious man—after hearing of his death, on 13th or 14th October, I went to the mortuary, and saw and identified his body—I first gave evidence before the Magistrate on the 21st October—on the 28th October I went with Sergeant Dybal to Mr. Attenborough's, the pawnbroker's, 193, Fleet Street, and there saw this diamond ring, which I recognised as Dr. Kirwain's—I also went to Mr. Nathan's, a pawnbroker, of St. Leonard's Road, Poplar, and there saw this coat, which I recognised as Dr. Kirwain's—the distance between my house and the commencement of the East India Dock Road is, I think, about three-quarters of a mile; I am only guessing at it, I don't know the locality very well—going from my house to Barking Road, I think you would go down East India Road, Commercial Road, through the Borough, and so on to Brixton.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. I have never walked that way; I
have gone on 'buses—I knew the deceased very intimately; I knew him in Dublin—I am not aware that he comes of a medical family; his uncle was a medical man—I cannot tell exactly what we were doing between from a quarter to five until six on the evening of the 11th; we were talking; he just called in to see me, then he went to my brother's, and dined with him; it was not a dinner-party; he was not expected—then he came back with my brother, who had to see me on business—nothing was taken on that occasion; he was as sober as any man could be—my acquaintance with his habits did not extend to the knowledge of these three pawntickets—I did not think he was in want of money; I knew very well he was not—I cannot account for his pawning these articles; I know he had money—sometimes when he had money he would pawn things; he was eccentric in that way; he liked to be considered poor—he was unmarried—I have seen him take drink frequently—I have seen him take drink in a public-house often—the longest time he has stayed in a public-house at one time would be probably ten to fifteen minutes—he very seldom took whisky—if a man took half a dozen glasses of whisky in a day I think that would be a little excessive; I know that he did not take half a dozen in a month—he had acted for me as deputy three or four times a month in the course of the last year or two, perhaps oftener; a week at a time, or a fortnight it might have been, in my absence when I was on a holiday.
Cross-examined by MR. BEARD. He never suffered from a weak heart; I never heard him complain of it, and never heard of it before.
Re-examined. I. never knew him drink to excess; he drank lemonade and beer mixed, very seldom spirits.
EMILY TATLOR . I am barmaid at the Aberfeldy public-house, in East India Road—I was there on the night of 11th October last—I knew Dr. Kirwain; he had been at the house before the 11th; he came there that night between half-past ten and a quarter to eleven; a man was with him—they called for drink; they had twopenny worth of Scotch whisky each—they remained there half an hour, till about a quarterpast eleven, and then they left together; Dr. Kirwain was perfectly sober when he left our house, and his companion also.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. Dr. Kirwain generally came in of an afternoon about four, and again in the evening—that was his customary habit—he did not come in regularly about four only when he was seeing his friends over the bridge; that would be about twice or three times a week—I had known him bout eighteen months—I have seen him several Himes; he seldom stayed an hour; he sometimes came alone—on this night I served him with three Scotch whiskys, two for his friend and one for himself, twopenny worth each time—I did not know his friend; I have not seen him since; I should not recognise him—I don't see him in Court to-day—Dr. Kirwain had been in the day before; I then served him with Scotch whisky; that was in the evening, about seven; ho was with one of Mr. McLachlan's brothers—he had not been in another time that day; he had not more than one drink, I am quite sure.
Re-examined. He had one drop of Scotch, twopennyworth, about seven; they were in a hurry—I had seen him in company with that same friend on previous occasions; they were friendly together on those occasions—he was quite sober when he left this night.
EDWIN STIRLING . I am a barman at the Alfred's Head public-house, at the corner of Newington Causeway, close to the Elephant and Castle—we open at five in the morning—on "Wednesday morning, 12th October, I was serving—about half-past five two persons came into one of the public bars; they were Dr. Kirwain and Blanche Roberts—I did not know him then; he had on a tall hat and a black coat, and he was carrying an umbrella (Roberts was called in)—that is the woman who was with him, and this photograph resembles the doctor; I could not positively say he asked for a glass of bitter for himself and twopennyworth of Irish whisky for the woman—I served him with it, and he paid for the two drinks—they appeared sober; they stood at the counter—they remained about ten minutes—I heard them talking together—they left together—I had not seen the woman before that morning; I knew her by sight as a customer—I don't remember whether the gentleman had any gloves; I did not notice, Or whether he was wearing a ring.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. They held a quiet conversation together; I could not hear what it was about; it was a distinct conversation that anybody could understand—I don't remember whether she was in the previous night; the doctor had not been, that I recollect; I think his overcoat was buttoned; that would prevent my seeing whether there was a chain or not—I did not observe any yellow gloves in his hand—I did not notice if he looked tired, as if he had been up all night.
Re-examined. He had a dark coat on; I could not say whether it was an overcoat or not; I believe it was buttoned; I could not positively say.
BLANCHE ROBERTS . I am an unfortunate woman, living now at Hale Street, St. George's Road, Borough—I was not living there on 11th October—I had a room; I hardly know the name of the street; I think it was Southwark Street, Blackfriars Road—I took a room, and I went there one night—I don't know when; it was about a month ago, I think; it was either on a Friday or Saturday—I know I slept there one Sunday night—then I went to a coffee-house one night, and to a friend's house in the daytime—I don't know which coffee-house it was; it was one of three—I had been drinking heavily; I don't remember—one coffeehouse was in York Street, London Road, and one was in London Road, and the Temperance hotel; those were the only houses I would go to, I think—I was in the habit of taking men to those houses—I can't remember where I slept on the Tuesday night, because I had been drinking so heavily; I don't remember anything—I have a recollection of being out all night, but who I was with or where I was I don't know—I use the Alfred's Head occasionally—I don't know whether I was there on the Tuesday morning—I remember waking up at my friend's; I was on the floor; she could not get me on to the bed—I went home in the middle of the day; I was awfully tired—I don't remember what day of the week it was, neither does she—I think the room I took in Southwark Street was at No. 10, or 13, or 15—I was in that house when I woke up in the morning—my friend's name is Patten, a woman—I stayed there all day; I had been doing so all day for a fortnight, and I slept at a coffee-house at night—I can't say where I was sleeping on the Monday night; it was at one of the coffee-houses—I have no recollection of anyone being with me—I know I was out all one night—I have no recollection of being at
the Alfred's Head early on Wednesday morning, or being with a gentle man, or drinking Irish whisky; that is the drink I always take—I have no recollection of being at a florist's in Great. Dover Street, or being at the One Distillery in High Street—I don't know Marshalsea Road—I don't know Redcross Street exactly; it is near St. George's Church, is it not?—I have been to a lodging-house there, that is all; not many times; five or six times perhaps—I have not taken men there; I was taken there one night by a I young woman; that was months ago—I don't remember taking a gentleman to the door of that house on the Wednesday morning, or going into the gardens there—I have no recollection of a number of children following and calling after me—I don't remember being with anyone or speaking to anyone—I do not know any of the prisoners; I have not seen them, to see their faces, I don't know whether I have ever spoken to either of them; I can't say—I can't say what I did that day, because I was in drink—I never did speak to the prisoners at any time—I have never seen Walker, to my recollection, or Balch, or Noble—I have no recollection of seeing them that day or any other day; I do not know Lee; I don't know anyone; I never saw any of them before, to my knowledge—I did not see their faces before the Magistrate, I was at the back of them—I was in the witness-box, but I did not turn round to look at them—I do not use the One Distillery; I did when I went to the lodging-house, just for a few days only; I go in there pretty frequently—it must be along time ago that I went to the lodging-house, about nine months or more, perhaps, I can hardly tell; that was the last time I used the One Distillery—on the Wednesday night I wore a large light coat, the tippet belonged to what I had in the morning that I went with the doctor, and a black hat with roses; I don't remember what dress—I know what I had on when I was stopping at the lodginghouse, the one you are speaking of, in Redcross Street; I don't know the name of the turning—I don't know what clothes I was wearing on 12th October; I have got no black hat; I was not wearing a hat with a feather.
MATTHEW JOHN THOMAS . I am a florist, of 2, Great Dover Street—that is the second shop round the corner from St. George's Church; on Wednesday morning, 12th October, about a quarter-past ten, two people came into my shop—the gentleman I recognise as Dr. Kirwain, and the girl they call Blanche—I had not known Dr. Kirwain before, but I recognise him from his photograph; I have seen Blanche outside to-day—I should think they had been recovering from drink, rather steadying themselves—the woman smelt very strongly of drink, and was very dilapidated—the gentleman seemed rather an aristocratic gentleman; she understood quite what she was doing; she came in first; she was wearing a fawn-coloured or drab three-quarter cloak and a broad felt hat with a dark-coloured bow in it, blue I think—she asked me to pin a flower in her jacket or cape, and I did so—it was a blue and white, I think—the gentleman was wearing a tall silk hat; I thought he was a professional gentleman—he seemed the most sober of the two, the other seemed skittish, larkish—the gentleman had on a dark overcoat, not buttoned; it was open, and underneath was a dark coat buttoned across, and he had a curb chain from one pocket to the other, tan coloured gloves, not on his hands, and an umbrella—I believe he was
wearing a stone ring, if I remember right, but I would not be positive—it was gold, a kind of signet, on his left hand—the woman came in first, the gentleman was immediately behind her—she said she wanted a flower; he gave her one, a chrysanthemum—she would not have it, she wanted a rose; he said, "Let her have what she wants"—he paid for it—he pulled out from his trousers pocket a handful of money; I should think there was some loose silver, half-crowns and two-shilling pieces, and two or three gold coins, all mixed up with some coppers—he was quite sensible and understood, but seemed weary, and leaned on the counter; I watched him through a looking-glass, and he leaned back and looked tired; the shop is entirely glass—I did not turn my face to him; the woman smelt of drink very strongly—they were in the shop from five to ten minutes; the man was able to give me the right money, he quite knew what he was doing—I drew his attention to the gold at the time—they went out, and walked across the road in the direction of the church; I watched them.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. The gentleman was not very pale, he looked rather stale, as if a wash would have done him good—he was a darkish man, and had a thickish moustache—I am not positive about the ring—there may or may not have been one; my impression is that there was.
LEWIS WILLIAM DURANT . I am manager of the One Distillery, High Street, Borough, and have been so for three months—opposite the entrance there is a long passage with compartments opening out on the right—on 12th October I was in the bar from about eleven in the morning—about half-past eleven a man and a woman came in—I was afterwards shown a photograph at the Police-court; it was the photograph of the man I saw—I saw Blanche Roberts at the Police-court; she was the woman that came in with him—the doctor asked for a small lemon and a dash of bitter beer, and two penny worth of whisky for the lady—the doctor paid—they remained in the house from five to six minutes—they appeared to me to be quite sober; the woman was sitting down, the doctor was standing—they left together—when they came in some children were standing round the doorway, and they remained there till the two went out; I don't remember that the children were doing anything—I remained in the bar up to about a quarter to two; they did not come into the house again—I had never seen the woman before—I have seen Balch and Waller in the house, and I think on one occasion I saw Noble, but I could not swear to that—I had seen Balch and Waller there together on several occasions, I could not say how many—I could not swear to having seen Noble with them; I have a slight recollection of having seen Noble with them on one occasion, and others with them—at the Police-court I saw Lee; I could not swear to having seen him in the house; he might have been with the others, but I could not swear to him exactly.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. The gentleman did not appear to be recovering from the effects of drink, the woman appeared to be very sleepy; I did not notice anything peculiar about the doctor.
Cross-examined by MR. BEARD. I have not seen Waller and Balch together at the same time in the house as the gentleman and the woman—I have seen Waller and Balch there together as customers, drinking
together and talking together, and with friends they have hid with them.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I could not swear that I never saw Noble in the house—I have never noticed him.
By the COURT. I have seen Waller and Balch there together a number of times; they generally came together and left together—we are generally very slack at eleven, and also at two.
ALFRED PITT KELLY . I live at Lloyd's Row, Clerkenwell, and am a bottle-stopper maker—on Wednesday, 12th October, I was in the Marsbalsea Road about a quarter-past eleven, and saw a gentleman going along with a woman—the woman seemed drunk, and the gentleman not far from it—the woman was Blanche Roberts; I did not know her then; I recognised her on Monday—this (produced) is a photograph of the gentleman—they stood in the Marshalsea Road, and then went on—I saw Balch, Noble, and Lee standing near them; when the woman and the gentleman walked on Balch and Lee walked behind them, and Noble followed them—in a turning out of the Marshalsea Road I saw the woman leave the gentleman two or three times and go and speak to Balch and Lee several times and then go back to the gentleman, and by the lodging-house I saw Balch get hold of the gentleman's arms and shove him to the lodging-house—there are nothing but lodging-houses there—they tried to get him into the lodging-house—the woman stopped him there—Lee and Balch came up together—Balch got hold of the doctor's arm at the same time as the woman did, and they tried to shove him in there—the gentleman slung his umbrella round and nearly cut me on the chin with it—Balch then let go of his arm, and the woman and the doctor went on; Balch still followed them, a little distance off, with Lee, and Noble still followed—Lee was not a foot from Balch at the time he was trying to get the doctor in—I did not see Noble when they were doing that—I did not see him till they got just round the corner; he was standing by the house at the corner, about three yards away—after leaving the lodging-house the doctor and the woman went up the Marshalsea Road again to the One Distillery; the same three men followed them, and in the same order, and I followed them—the man and woman went inside the One Distillery, to the bottom of the bar—Lee followed them into the house; Balch and Noble stood outside—Lee then came out, and Balch and Noble went in; then they came out—Balch said to me, "What the b——hell are you waiting for?"—I took no notice; I walked away to the little sweetstuff-shop, about two doors from the Distillery—I waited there until they all went in again and came out—a lot of children standing there laughed at them, and they turned in the opposite direction into the Borough High Street—the three men still followed them into Union Street, and so did I, to the second or third turning—then they turned into a small entrance leading to the Recreation Grounds, or Redcross Gardens, and a lot of children pelted at them—the caretaker there was sweeping—the doctor and the woman were going to sit down, but they were pelted by the children, and they went right through the Recreation Grounds and out into the street facing some model buildings—the children still followed, and so did I, straight through Redcross Street into Marshalsea Road, and into High Street, and then into Lant Street, the three men still following—they stood there, then came down Lant Street again, High Street into the
Distillery—the three men stood outside until, the doctor and the woman came out and went into Union Street again, the three men following and I following the men—I saw them go to the corner of Union Street and Southwark Bridge Road, and that was where I left them—the doctor and the woman were then on the piece of waste ground near the road, and the three men were on the other side, where there is a provision store, some yards off—they could see the doctor and the woman from where they stood—I think I was following them from place to place for two hours and a half or two hours and three-quarters, speaking roughly—Rothwell was the caretaker I saw—when I was sending the children away Lee nearly shoved me off the kerb—Balch and Lee were together then, and Noble was about three to four yards behind them—I don't think he saw what was done to me.
By the JURY. I never suspected violence because so many people were following, and seeing the sort of woman she was.
Cross-examined by MR. BEARD. The other people did not follow so long as the prisoners—I did not say before the Magistrate it was Lee who asked what the b——hell I was doing there—I contradicted that, and pointed out Balch at Stone's End (Read from deposition: "The prisoner Lee came to. me and asked what the b——hell I was waiting there for")—"Lee" is a mistake—it was Balch who said that—I did not catch the name, but I pointed out Balch to the clerk—I did not know their names then—I corrected that on Tuesday, I think, here—Balch took hold of the doctor's arm, the doctor resisting he immediately let go—when I last saw the doctor he was drunk.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I first saw the doctor, the woman, and the three prisoners about 11.15—I watched them about two and a half hours—I have said I never knew Noble was with the other two before 12.15, not 12.30—I saw Noble following a few yards behind—I did not know he was with the other two—f did not see him come within speaking distance of them—he was not so much as twenty or thirty yards behind—I was following, not nearer than Noble, and on the other side of the road—I could see and hear everything as distinctly as Noble—Noble did not get nearer the prisoners than I did till he got to the One Distillery—I went to the lamp-post just before you get to the public-house, about a yard off—if the proprietor, Durant, says Noble did not go into the public-house twice, that would not alter my opinion—I saw Noble enter the doorway, but I do not know whether he went to the bar—the children were out of school, and were following—the prisoners had been five minutes in the recreation ground when Noble spoke to Balch and Lee—I was within hearing distance—the gardener was the other side of the garden when they first entered the burial-ground—I never saw Noble drive the children away; I did not see him speak to them—I did not drive the children away—the prisoners went by the "models" through Redcross Street to the One Distillery—up to that time Noble had not spoken to the doctor or the woman—I was still within hearing distance—I followed them to the One Distillery the second time—Noble did not speak to me nor molest me—I do not think Noble saw Lee push me off the kerb.
By MR. THOMPSON. Other men followed the doctor and the woman besides the prisoners and the children.
Re-examined. I followed in the middle of the road—Noble followed
behind the two other prisoners on the same side, three or four yards—they spoke together in the recreation ground—I could not hear what passed—then they walked on in the same way—children and others followed them in the Borough High Street—they were still followed by young men and children on their second visit to the One Distillery; also in the Marshalsea Road, and till they got to the lodging house—the woman only spoke to Balch and Lee and the doctor—I only saw Balch and the woman touch the doctor—two or three were following when I left—that is the smallest number—the greatest number was at the recreation ground—the garden was nearly full of people—I pointed out my mistake in the name Lee to the Grand Jury on Tuesday—I told them what I have said to-day, that it was Balch.
By the COURT. I did not see the same people following the whole time, except the prisoners.
By MR. THOMPSON. I did not take note of the others; I should not have noticed the prisoners if I had not been spoken to.
L.W. DURANT (Re-examined). There is one wide entrance to the One Distillery from the Borough High Street, through a lobby framed with tiles—the lobby is inside an outer door—in the daytime the door of the lobby is open—the lobby floor is on the same level as the pavement, but within iron gates shut at night and fastened back in the day—looking down the lobby there is a long passage with compartments partitioned off on the right-hand side with wooden partitions five to six feet high—there is nothing to prevent a person passing from the Borough High Street, down the lobby without, going into any of the compartments—I should not notice them in the private bar—opposite the other compartment I should see them, if they passed the first compartment.
By MR. DRAKE. The outer door closed by the iron gate leads into the passage—the inner door is also left open in the daytime, and latched back—immediately past this door is the the first bar, about two yards in—a second and third hand besides myself served that morning.
JAMES ROTHWELL . I live at 6, Redcross Gardens, Redcross Street—I am caretaker of the recreation gardens, which are entered from Whitecross Street, or up a passage from Redcross Street—on 12th October I noticed a man and woman enter from Whitecross Street—the man wore a high hat and overcoat, and had an umbrella in his hand—he had a gold chain on his waistcoat, and a ring on his finger—he had a pair of yellow kid gloves—this photograph is of the man I saw—at the Police-court I saw the woman Roberts; who was with him—children were following, pelting things at them—I stopped them in the park at that—after a little while they went out into Redcross Street—about twenty minutes later I saw the gentleman again near Stanhope Buildings, in Redcross Street, facing the gardens, with a man wearing a soft felt black billycock hat, walking towards Union Street—he did not seem so flurried, and walked more upright—they were walking side by side, and the gentleman stepped off the pavement into the roadway; not by accident—the pavement is not wide—the woman was not there—when I saw her in the gardens she looked three-parts drunk.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. The children followed through the woman being three-parts drunk, and they were calling out "Tottie Fay!"—I think the woman answered it—I took the man to be perfectly sober—the lower part of the woman's things were dirty; she had a
brown ulster, and her hair was down—only children were in the gardens, unless someone followed me round—I saw no men there—the gentleman did not stagger, but looked round wild, as if he did not know where he was going.
ELIZABETH KNIGHT . I am the wife of Thomas John Knight, who keeps the Lord Clyde public-house, at the corner of Peter Street and Whitecross Street in the Borough—I was serving on 12th October, when Waller, Noble, Lee, Balch, and the doctor came into the smaller bar from Whitecross Street, about 1.30, together—the doctor sat on a form opposite the bar—Waller sat on his right, and Balch on his left—they seemed to speak to him—Lee leaned on the counter—Noble stood in front of the doctor talking and drinking with him—Noble called for a pot of mild and bitter—he paid for it—it was served in a pewter pot with a spout, and two glasses—it was handed round by Noble, first to the doctor—he drank—I did not see him rise till he went out—Noble gave him a second glass—he put it to his lips and threw it down and broke it—I said the glass would have to be paid for—Noble paid for it—he said, "This is my uncle from the country"—the doctor was in the house from 1.30 till 2.10—he seemed sober, but sleepy, as though he had been up all night—I did not speak to him—I could see he was speaking to them, but I did not hear his voice—the doctor went out of the compartment last—I was standing in the bar a little while after, when I saw people running round Whitecross Street—I lifted the spar and went to the door, and I saw an ambulance being wheeled down Whitecross Street—I followed to the passage, and saw a policeman lift the doctor on to the ambulance—he was dying or dead—that was about 2.50—on Thursday, 13th, I saw Waller, Balch, and Lee at the Southwark Police-court, and on Saturday, 15th, Noble—I am positive the prisoners are the men.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. I thought I said at the Police-court not "he drank a little," but that he drank the whole of the glass of beer—I wish to say so now; he seemed to take long enough—they all drank out. of the glasses—I swear the boy who serves did not serve them—I was at the other end when the glass fell, but I could see them under the screen—I thought he threw it; it went down with a crash—they were all sober—when the doctor got up to go out he was bent a little—when sitting he seemed round-shouldered—I thought he was much older—when I saw him come in he was not so much bent, but seemed round-shouldered, and I thought he was an old gentleman—he did not look ill—I recognise him in this photograph, but he looks much younger—when going out he seemed to need assistance, as if he was in pain, from the way he had his hand—they all appeared to be friendly—saw nothing that caused my suspicion.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. The boy was serving at the same time as I was—he was helping me in the same bar, but he did not serve these men—I did not notice Williams there—they talked pleasantly together—Noble said the doctor was his uncle from the country, in a jocular way.
Re-examined. Noble paid twopence for the glass—the doctor did not seem to get worse, but seemed in pain all the time; but when he went out more so—he walked by himself—Noble was in a brown coat, the
Others in dark clothes—I could not say if they have on the same clothes now, but they are the same men.
GEORGE WILLIAMS . I live at Walpole Road, New Cross—I am a chemist and Licentiate of the Society of Apothecaries, London—on the 12th October I went into the Lord Clyde public-house about 1.15, into the bar leading into Whitecross Street—about 1.30 five men came in—Waller and Noble are two—this gentlemen was one of the five, in a high hat (looking at the photograph)—the landlady served them with a pot of beer—the gentleman was going first to pay, and took a sixpence and a half-sovereign from his pocket, but Noble said, "I will pay," and took the sixpence to Mrs. Knight, and put the half-sovereign in his pocket—Noble appeared sober—the gentleman appeared dazed, as if on the borders of delirium tremens, or recovering from its effects—he had a dark overcoat open, and I could see a gold chain—he was sitting between two of the men on the form—the lady who served them took up a paper and sat down, and when a tumbler was broken she came backhand one of the men said, "I will pay for it; what is the price?"—I noticed the crash of the tumbler, and then the landlady asked who should pay for it—she valued it at twopence—Waller said, "Let us go out," and they filed out, the doctor going last, and as they went Noble smoothed down the gentleman's coat with his hands—they turned to the left—I remained in the bar—I believe the street they went into is Whitecross Street—the gentleman went in the centre of two men, I believe Waller and Noble and two others were behind—I went to Margate the next day—I next saw Waller and Noble on the 28th, when I recognised them among twelve or fourteen men—a woman came in for half a pint of beer and spoke to one man, but I saw no woman in their company.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. The deceased was sitting, and only stood up to pull some cash from his pocket, when he sat down again—I have been used to see men suffer from delirium tremens in the Service—I stayed in the bar till two o'clock—I should not have been surprised at anyone offering assistance—I saw nothing suspicious, only the doctor looked superior to the other four men—I saw them, through the window, assist the deceased.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. They conversed together in the bar, which holds about nine—six were in it—they appeared willing to pay for the drink, and not as if without means—if I said at the Police-court Waller stroked the deceased's coat, it is a mistake.
Re-examined. I had not seen the men before I saw them in the bar.
EMMA SMITH . I am the wife of Henry Smith, of 5, Whitecross Street, which is near the entrance to the George IV. public-house, and entrance to the passage in Whitecross-street—between two and three p.m. on 12th October I was in my parlour, which looks out upon Whitecross-street—it was nearer three than two—I looked out and saw three men and the deceased—he wore a high hat, an overcoat, a ring on his finger, and a watch-chain, and in his hand was an umbrella—his hands were bare—I did not see him carry any gloves—two men were on one side of the deceased and one on the other—they were all arm-in-arm, and humming to themselves, and looked as if they were out for a day's spree, had had a drop, and got dazzled"—they were walking towards the passage—I went to my door to let a lady out—the little girl Lizzie
Williams was standing by the entrance to the passage, beckoning to a woman—I went and looked up the passage, and saw the gentleman doubled up on the ground, about a yard and a-half up the passage—I saw no umbrella, chain, or ring—I noticed a little foaming at the mouth when the policeman picked him up—I sent to the potman of the George IV., but the constable came and sat the man up—I saw no one touch him till then—about twenty-five minutes elapsed from the time I saw him from the window—I have no clock—I could not tell the time exactly—the door of the passage is always open in the daytime—people pass through it to the Southwark Bridge Road.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. I said at the Police-court it was nine minutes after they had passed that I saw the little girl, but when they picked him up it was "again three"—it would only take two or three minutes to go down the passage, walking slowly—my door was closed—I could hear them sing a-ra-ra Boom-de-ay" in my parlou—I do not say right up the street—I saw a lot of people there—the deceased's head was between his legs, his right knee under him, and his left leg out—I thought he was in a fit—he was not alive when picked up—I could not say if his head was on the ground—no one could see his face—his forehead must have been on the ground—the step into the passage is not very high.
ELIZABETH ANN WILLIAMS . I am ten years old—I live with my parents at 1, Whitecross Street, Borough—on 12th October, between 2.30 and three, when near my home, I saw three men and a gentleman like this one (in photograph) come along the street—one was a tall man (Waller), one had a bowler hat on (Noble), and one had blue eyes, with a cap on (Balch)—the tall man had a bowler hat on—the prisoners are the three men—they were coming from the Lord Clyde—Waller had hold of the gentleman's right arm; Balch had hold of his left; Noble was walking behind, he kept catching hold of Balch—they were telling the gentleman to sing "Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay"—I could only hear them singing the song—they came from Whitecross Street and went into the passage that leads into the George IV.—I went to Johnny Wentworth's donkey-cart, which was standing outside No. 4; he was piling up his wood; then he took it from the passage into No. 4; then I called him out—Mrs. Short came out of No. 4, and told me something, and I ran up the garden-way, up the passage leading to George IV.—I saw Noble looking each way up and down—he was straddling—I could see through his legs into the passage—I saw some one with white cuffs on lying on the ground—I could see his arms and both hands—I went with Wentworth past the entrance to the passage, near to the entrance of the recreation ground—Wentworth went into the ground—Noble had popped his head in, and when I ran back down there saw one man rolled up there like a ball on the ground—I called Wentworth from the gardens, and he saw the man rolled up—the man had a high hat, no umbrella—I called Mrs. Smith, she called the potman—other people came—the police came and sent for an ambulance, and the man was taken to Guy's Hospital—I saw Lee standing against the Lord Clyde on the pavement in Peter Street, at the corner; that is, between Whitecross Street and Peter Street—I picked out the prisoners at the station as the men who had come down Whitecross Street, and Lee
as the man standing at the corner of Peter Street—I was examined at the second hearing before the Magistrate.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. I ran about six houses further than the passage, then stopped—they did not sing very loud—the gentleman appeared very tired—his feet were dragging along the ground—his face was white—I saw him go in the passage—I did not see him stumble—on the ground his head was "bundled" under him.
Cross-examined by MR. BEARD. I did not see any people near me and Johnny Wentworth—a good many people use the passage during the day.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I first saw the men against the Lord Clyde—then they started walking down the passage—they were armin-arm till they came to Mrs. Smith's door—Waller went first up the passage with the gentleman—it was six houses to Redcross Gardens—when I got there I looked round immediately—I also looked round when I was running, and passed the passage; on each occasion I saw Noble—when I came back he was looking out of the door of the passage.
Re-examined. I was against the gardens when I saw him draw his head in; then I ran back and saw the gentleman; his cuffs were nearly against his boots—when his feet were dragging two were holding him up, and the other in the brown coat (Noble) was holding on to the man with blue eyes (Balch)—the tall man (Waller) was on the other side.
JOHN WENTWORTH . I live at 4, Whitecross Street—I am thirteen years old—my donkey barrow stands outside to load and unload—the street lies between the Lord Clyde at the top, and: the passage leading to George IV. at the bottom—on Wednesday, 12th October, my barrow was outside No. 4 between 2.30 and three p.m. I saw the prisoners and this gentleman (looking at the photograph) walking arm-in-arm—Waller held his right arm, Batch held his left, and Noble held Waller's arm—they went towards the passage, and said, "Sing up" to the gentleman—he did not sing—they sang, "Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay"—the gentleman was leaning over—they entered the passage—I know the little girl Williams—she spoke to me—with her I went past the Whitecross end of the passage—Noble was looking each way at the bottom of the court, towards the Lord Clyde, and the top of the street—we went to the entrance of the recreation ground—I went inside the ground, then came back to the entrance to the passage with Williams—when I got to the top. of the passage I saw the gentleman lying dead, with his head under his legs—Williams spoke to Mrs. Smith, a potman came, and a policeman; an ambulance was sent for, and the gentleman was taken to Guy's Hospital—I identified Waller and Balch at the police-station the next day, and on the Saturday I picked out Noble—I was called before the Magistrate on the third hearing (28th October), and the week after Williams was examined.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. The gentleman's legs were not dragging on the ground—he was leaning forward, and would have fallen if he had not been supported—I followed Williams; she said she was going to her aunt's—I sat inside the gate of the recreation ground about two minutes—Williams was going to sit down, but did not sit down—we could not then see up the passage.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. Noble was looking each way, and had his hands on the wall on each side—Williams was not running but walking along, not very quick—before the men got past the donkey's head I went into the house, then I came out, and ran after Williams—Williams said, "He is looking at us."
SUSANNAH MCSWINEY . I live at 1, Whitecross Street, the same side as the entrance to the George IV—on Wednesday afternoon, 12th October, I looked through my window and saw the deceased, dressed as a gentleman, with a tall hat on, pass, led by one man on the right and two on the left—they were coming from Whitecross Street in the direction of the passage—Williams touched me on my arm and said something—I watched them—they did not all go in together—two went in together, one man and the gentleman—they all went in—I went round to the front of the George IV. and got my half-pint of beer; to do that I went up Whitecross Street, in Peter Street and Southwark Bridge Road—I met the three men coming out of the door, but no gentleman—they bore to the right, crossed the road, and up Union Street towards the Hand and Flower public-house higher up—I do not think more than five minutes elapsed between then and when I had seen them go up the passage, it is only a few steps—after I got my beer I went back into my house by the same way, Peter Street—I then went out for my milk and saw them looking for a policeman—I looked into the passage and saw the same gentleman sitting there.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. I am a milk carrier, and serve many of the public-houses in the neighbourhood—I have bad eyesight—I wore glasses at ten—I cannot get any strong enough to suit me now—I could not identify the men—I can see you are a gentleman, but I could not tell your features.
JOHN JOSEPH TAGG . I am potman at the George IV.—I was there about 2.25 on 12th October—I was spoken to, and went down the back entrance to nearly the further end of the passage in Whitecross Street—I saw a gentleman lying doubled up across the passage, which is about 3ft. 6in. wide—a person could not pass without stepping over him or between his legs—his head was on the asphalte—his right arm was under him and his left down—his hat was lying a foot from him—I went for a constable—I found one in Flatiron Square, a junction of the Southwark Bridge Road with Union Street—we found the gentleman in the same position—we lifted him, and I undid the collar of his shirt—he was still breathing, and foam came from his mouth—he could not speak—his collar was separate from his shirt—it was fastened with this stud in front, or one similar—the collar was so tight I could scarcely put my finger down his neck to undo it—his head was hanging forward—the constable undid his collar and I undid his tie; the constable slipped it with a penknife—it was a white tie—I think it was tied in a sailors knot—these are the collar and tie—an ambulance had been fetched, and he was put on it—he died directly he was put on it—I saw no watch-chain or ring—he was searched at the hospital, and fourpence found on him.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. The wall of the passage is cemented half-way up—the cement projects about 1 inches, not more—one part, near the urinal, the cement is about 3 feet 6 inches, the other only about a foot high—the cement is thicker at the bottom,
and levelled off round at the top; not sharp out—the door of the passage is fastened by a 2 or 3-inch padlock and chain—I heard no scuffling or anything to attract my attention—the man's head was on the side of the cement, his right forehead touching the ground—I first hastened to fetch a policeman, and then to the policeman to relieve him—the collar was not unstiffened—I did not see a pin in the tie—I see pin marks in this tie—a number of people use the passage in the day—it is lit by a big lamp at night.
WILLIAM OVENS (147 M). I was called by the potman about 2.45—I saw the deceased lying near the entrance of the passage on his right side, partly with his back against the wall—the right side of his head was on the ground—it was twisted forward, the chin touching the chest—his right hand was under him, his left hand out—his right knee was bent under the left leg, which was straight—I raised his head, and tried with the potman to lift him on his feet—he was wearing a white scarf tied in a sailor's knot—that and the collar were very tight round his neck—I tried to undo it—I could not—I then cut it with my knife—the potman undid the shirt—the top band of his shirt was tight up against the flesh—the stud must have touched the flesh—I sent for an ambulance, and with assistance put him on it—he died on the way to Guy's Hospital.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. His clothes did not seem pulled about nor dirty—the collar was a stand-up collar, and stiff—I thought the throat was a little swollen—I saw a little mark on his neck about an inch long, and a mark on the finger of his left hand—he seemed doubled up—the collar bears no appearance of a struggle; it has been rolled up since the 13th October.
Re-examined. The mark on the neck was near the windpipe; it was red, like a scratch.
THOMAS MILLS . I am bath-man at Guy's Hospital—on the afternoon of 12th October I received the dead body of Dr. Kirwain—from the shirt I took a collar-stud similar to this—he was wearing this overcoat and this morning coat, buttoned three or four buttons from the top, and this waistcoat—I was present when he was searched, and fourpence in coppers was found on him.
THOMAS DVBALL (Sergeant M). On 12th October about four p.m. I received information and a description of some men—that same evening about eight p.m. I was in the Marshalsea Road near the Lord Clyde—a number of persons were returning from the City, and the prisoner Waller was hurriedly walking along, putting a white-yellow kid glove on the left hand—the fellow glove was on—I, with Sergeant Gentle, went to him; I seized the prisoner by the coat and said, "lama police officer; I am going to arrest you on suspicion of causing the death of a gentleman this afternoon in Whitecross Street"—he replied, "Oh, very well, but I think you have made a great mistake"—we took him to the Southwark Police-station—I searched him; I found 10s. 6d. in silver, and a penny in bronze, also these three pawn duplicates—one was in this envelope; they were in his waistcoat pocket—I said, "Are these your tickets?"—he looked at the one referring to the watch of 30th September, and said, "That is the ticket for my watch"—I showed him the ticket for the coat, and he said, "That is the ticket for my coat"—I showed him the ticket for the diamond ring—he said, "I know nothing about that"—I
said, "How do you account for having it in your possession?"—he said, "I do not know"—I took from his waistcoat pocket this dirty white handkerchief, stained with fresh blood—I said, "What is this?"—he said, "Oh, that is nothing, governor; I scratched my throat the other day and I wiped it"—I said, "But it is very fresh"—he said, "It is all right, I cut my chin; look here, here is the cut, and that is off that"—I saw a clean cut on the left side of his chin, and dried fresh blood—he said of the handkerchief, "Give me that, you do not want that"—I said, "Under the circumstances I shall keep it for the present"—I handed him back the gloves, when he was taken to the station, about 8.5 p.m.—the next morning he was taken before the Magistrate—I have never seen the gloves since—I last saw them in Waller's possession—the next morning, 15th October, Noble was placed with seven or eight persons for Mrs. Knight to identify him—in the station Noble said, "What do I want to be picked out for? I give myself up, there is no getting out of it"—he was identified by Mrs. Knight—later he was put in the dock at the Police-station and charged—on leaving the dock I was near to him, and he said, "I cannot help what the others have done"—I attended the Coroner's inquiry on 17th and 19th October—the prisoners were present—my evidence was read over on 19th—opportunity was given to them to give evidence if they desired; they reserved their defence—they did not tender themselves as witnesses—I was cross-examined.
Cross-Examined by MR. THOMPSON. The Coroner told them they could say whatever they chose, or cross-examine any witness—I did not know, when I arrested Waller, whether he would be charged or not; I had only heard of a man being taken to the hospital—I did not then know of the gloves; I did not know what was stolen—I saw nothing suspicious about the gloves; they were only an ordinary pair—he was detained—he had plenty of opportunities to make away with the gloves—he did not say he had a watch and coat of his own in pawn—I have made inquiries, and find the watch and coat are the property of the deceased, and that he has not pawned a watch and coat of his own—he did not say Dr. Kirwain had given him those tickets, nor that he had those tickets from the public-house—I have seen tickets and a pocket-book in Dr. Kirwain's portmanteau, at his lodgings—I examined the portmanteau, not closely—I found nothing in it relating to betting transactions—after we found out a gentleman had been murdered the prisoner was going to make a statement at the Police-court; I said, "You must not make any statement now."
THOMAS COULSTON BRADY . I am a medical man, of 13, Cullen Road, Rotherhithe—I knew Dr. Kirwain intimately—prior to 28th October I accompanied a detective sergeant to Messrs. Osborne and Gall's, pawnbrokers, in the Strand, and identified the deceased's gold hunter watch—this is the ticket of this watch.
FREDERICK COOK . I am assistant to Mr. Nathan, of 131 and 133, St. Leonard's Road, Poplar—I received this coat in pledge on 12th July last from Dr. Kirwain for £1—I gave him this ticket, and kept this duplicate.
of 264, Strand—I received in pledge on 30th September the gold watch produced for £2—this is the duplicate—it bears his initials, I believe.
L. W. DURANT (Re-examined). I was serving opposite the third compartment when the prisoners came in, and in various parts of the bar during the morning.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. You go direct from the door into the first bar, from the Borough High Street—from there you can see right up the bar—there is a space of about two yards from the outer door, which is open in the day—there are no doors to the other bars, except the private bar at the top of the passage—that is always dosed.
Re-examined. A person might pass the bar partitions without my seeing them if I was not looking.
WILLIAM GENTLE (Detective-Sergeant M). In company with Dyball I went, about three a.m. on 13th October, to 19, Redcross Street—it is 300 or 400 yards from the George IV.—I saw Baloh, dressed all but his coat and hat—I said, "We are police officers"—he said, "Well, what do you want?"—I said, "I shall arrest you on suspicion of being concerned with others in causing the death of a man in Whitecross Street and robbing him"—he said, "Bobbing him? what of?"—I said, "A gold watch and chain and locket"—he said, "Oh, that is all wrong"—I took him into custody—coming out of the passage he said, "Oh, that is a mistake"—outside the door he said, "You have certainly made a mistake this time"—en the way to the station he said, "Where do you say this job was done?"—I said, "In Whitecross Street yesterday afternoon"—he asked, "What time?"—I said, "Bettween two and three o'clock"—he said, "Well, how could I know any thing about it? I went over the water that morning, and did not come back till just before the houses closed, so you have certainly made a mistake this time"—he was taken to the station and charged—I searched him—I found upon him seven shillings in silver and threepence in bronze—the same day the prisoners were identified from other men by Mrs. Knight.
Cross-examined by MR. BEARD. He went quietly; he could see we had one or two policemen—I arrested Lee—I searched him—I found a knife upon him—there was no knife upon Balch.
WILLIAM STEVENS (Inspector M). About 8.30 a.m. on 15th October, Noble came to Southwark Police-station—he said to me, "I have come to give myself up"—I said, "What for?"—he replied, "The old gentleman"—I said, "What old gentleman?"—he repeated, "The old gentleman"—he said his name was Noble—Mrs. Knight identified him from others—he was charged—I read it to him: "Being concerned with other three men on suspicion of causing the death of a man unknown; further, with stealing a gold watch, chain, and locket, and with assaulting him"—I took his reply down in writing: "I never saw the old gentleman after we all left the public-house together"—I was present when Balch was charged; it was the same charge—I have that also in writing on the same paper—it was made at 12.15 p.m. on 13th October: "Excuse me, sir, the gentleman you speak of I was drinking with, and he wanted me to take two pawntickets"—and turning to Lee, "This man was not in our company when we were with the
gentleman in the public-house; he came in after, the gentleman told me he pawned his gold watch for £4 yesterday, and offered me the ticket."
Cross-examined by MR. BEARD. I did not caution Balch—there is no regulation that we should caution—it is not the practice generally—I am sure he said £4, not £2.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. Dyball was not present when Noble came into the station, he came in afterwards—several constables were present—none spoke to him, not in my presence—Noble did not say, "I have come to give myself up for drinking with the old man"—Sergeant Eveson was present when he came in, also Sergeant Pickup—I took down his answer to the charge, but not any previous conversation.
JOHN FEATHERSTONE . I am undergoing a sentence of imprisonment, after conviction at this Court in October, for receiving bonds, knowing them to have been stolen—there was also a charge of forgery, which is on my ticket—I was committed from Marlborough Street on 13th October—I went in the ordinary prison van to Holloway that evening, arriving a few minutes to six—I was placed in a reception box, which is about six feet by three feet six inches—Waller and Lee were put with me—I see Waller, but not Lee—I saw Lee at Southwark before the Magistrate—Waller said when he came into the reception box, "What are you here for?"—I told him, "For the West-end bond robbery"—I asked him what he was there for—he told me "For murdering an old toff in the Borough"—I said, "Whereabouts in the Borough?"—he said, "Up a court"—I said, "Haw much did you get from him?"—of course he was charged with robbery and murder as well—he said, "£1 6s."—he said he had robbed him—I said, "What was he?"—he said, "A mouthpiece"—I said, "What?"—he said, "A solicitor"—I said, "That is not much to kill a man for"—he said, "We thought he had a lot of stuff on him"—"stuff" is money in some class of people's mouths—I said, "Did you get his watch and chain?" he said, "No, he had not one"—I said, "Did anybody see you?"—he said, "There was an old woman up the court, I fancy she saw us," but he was not quite certain—he said he had been identified by someone from a publichouse, and that his mate that was locked up with him, meaning Balch, who was in one of the reception cells, was going to stab the old gentleman, and in the scuffle Waller received a stab in his chin—I asked if there was any blood about—he said, "No. only what there is from my chin; there is no blood about"—he said he would take twenty years for his chance—I asked him how he did it—he put his hands to show me—one (right) there (the throat), and the other (left) over his mouth—I wish he had not done that, and I got up off my seat, as we were sitting side by side, and got out of the way of him—he did not mean any good. I could tell; I was afraid—then he talked about the diet as we had our supper, and about the work—I asked him what he was—he said he was a stoker, and Lee said he was a stoker too—I said, "Well, I have been doing all the stoking here"—I had been working in an engineer's shop—I had been a month on remand—Waller said, "Can you have any books to read?"—I said, "Yes, you have a library book once a week"—he said, "It is all right for him; he can read, but I cannot read"—he said Lee was innocent; he had only to wait till next Friday, the remand, he would be discharged; the landlady of the publichouse had made a mistake; that he was not drinking with them, he
had a drink to himself—he said he would take twenty years for his bleeding chance, several times—he said he did not care so long as it did not come to a hanging job—he said Lee was innocent, and he and his mate that was locked up with him, and a man they had not got, had robbed this man, and he held him until they got the money from him—he said, "We had been to two or three public-houses, and got him boozed before he goes up the court—he said he was very sorry the man was dead; they did not intend to loll him—he said that several times—he said he would not care if the man was alive—he was sitting to my left—he put his hands in front of me to illustrate—we were together for half to three-quarters of an hour—Lee spoke very little—I said to Waller, "How much money had you when the police got you?" he said, "Ten shillings and sevenpence"—the next day, 14th October, I left Holloway, and came here to await my trial—on the Monday I got a Sunday's Lloyd's paper from a prisoner had made a short acquaintance with in exercising—I saw the heading "The Borough Mystery," and read the first paragraph—I wrote to Inspector O'Dea to come to me, and I would tell him what I knew about the Borough mystery; they seemed to make a mystery of it, so I thought it was my duty to write and clear up—(Fourth edition of Lloyd's of 16th October produced)—this is not the paper, it must have been Reynold's—it was a different report to this—it mentioned other persons being locked up, and they did not seem to know what the charge was—in consequence of reading the report, I wrote to Inspector O'Dea, who had charge of the case, this letter from this prison (Read letter of October 17th, 1892, to Inspector O'Dea from the witness, asking O'Dea to come to Newgate, "as I can about clear up the mystery)—the next day O'Dea and a police sergeant came—O'Dea said anything I said should be taken down in writing—I made this statement which he took down and read over—this is my name on it (Read: "Newgate Prison, 18th October, 1892—John Featherstone said: I am a prisoner awaiting trial at the Central Criminal Court for felony. I was committed for trial from Marlborough Street, on Thursday, 13th inst., and was conveyed to Holloway Prison on the same day, when I was placed in a reception cell with two other men. One, who told me his name was Waller, said, 'Me and Lee (meaning the other man) are charged with killing a bloke. "I said, 'Where?' He said, 'In the Borough.' I said, 'Where abouts in the Borough?' He said, 'We had been drinking in a public-house or two, and got the old toff boozed; we took him up a court, three of us; one man they have not got, and my mate (Batch) and myself.' I said, "How did you do it?' He said, 'I put one hand inside his shirt collar and the other over his month, and held him, while Balch, who had got his knife out to stab him, but was prevented from doing so by me, through which I received a slight stab on the chin with the knife, struck him on the head with his fist, and the other man not then in custody went through his pockets with Balch. I said, 'How much did you get?' He said, 'One pound and six shillings.' I said, 'That's not much to kill a man for.' He said, 'We didn't intend killing him, and if we had known he had only a little bit like that we shouldn't have touched him. I asked him (Waller) what sort of a man it was. He said, It's an old toff, "'a mouthpiece. I said, 'What?' He said, 'Why, a solicitor' I asked him whether
anyone had seen him with the old gentleman (deceased). He said,' Yes, a woman from the public-house where we were in, and she has identified us, but she has made a mistake in this man (indicating Lee; he (Lee) went in and had half a pint, but he didn't drink with us. I'll take twenty years for my bleeding chance.' I said, 'Why, you'll get off if nobody saw you. 'He said, 'There was a bleeding old cow (woman) in the court where we took the old man, and I believe she saw us, and is sure to come up against us. I'll take twenty years for my bleeding chance; I don't care as long as it don't come to a hanging job. 'This he repeated several times. Yesterday (Monday) I saw in Sunday's issue of Lloyd's newspaper an account of the murder that Waller mentioned above. I thought as I had been told what I had by Waller that I would help to clear up the mystery about the affair and I wrote to Inspector O'Dea to come and see me, and I would tell him what I knew also, as I thought Lee was an innocent man and should not suffer. I have no other object in making this statement. All the men in question are strangers to me. I expect nothing at the hands of the police, or anyone else; my only object is the innocent should not suffer. I am also willing to give evidence to the above effect on oath against the men in question. (Signed) JOHN FEATHBBSTONE. Witnesses: William Gentle, policeman; James O'Dea, Inspector. "That statement is true—the paper I read was dated Sunday.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. I am undergoing a term of nine months' hard labour—I have never before been convicted—when arrested a counterfeit five-shilling piece was found on me—the bonds were said to be worth £2,500—I told the magistrate I bought the bonds—I told the same story at this Court—I gave the addresses of the men I bought them of—I found that out in prison—I told Inspector Strood where one of these men lived—the Inspector gave me one man's address—I did not know where he was; I knew he was in prison—I gave the Inspector another name—someone came to the prison who found it out for me—I had not seen the men before I got the bonds—I innocently got the bonds from strangers—I saw the inspector's name in the paper—the report was about half a column—it says "Surrender" in this copy, but it had not the surrender when I read it—I signed the statement as absolutely correct—the forgery charged was on account of a cheque I received for £5 11s. 6d. for work I did, and it turned out to be bad—(two more editions of Lloyd's were produced)—this is the one (the third edition), but there is a whole column instead of about half, but that is all I read (The first paragraph of the report. This was read. It was headed, "Borough Mystery," and was a report of the body being found)—I finished reading at the line that O'Dea was watching the case—a prisoner Haynes lent me the paper—when exercising he threw it in the window; I put it in my pocket, and gave it him next morning, and a man Clegg got the Chronicle before I got there—between leaving Holloway and making my statement no one came to see me—Mrs. Hodgson came on 19th or 20th—I did not see her on the 12th; she left some washing, but I was in the engineer's shop—Waller said Balch hit Dr. Kirwain on the head with his fist—I did not think it strange Waller should confide in me; as a rule prisoners tell one another—I know that only from this experience—I have always had a good character—Lee
heard the conversation—a man was putting prisoners in their cells as they came from the bath—he could not hear it unless he listened at the door—when Waller put his hands on me I said, "Do not touch me"—I have not said that before, because I was not asked—I said, "If nobody saw you you will get off"—I was not particularly sympathising with him—I do do not think he used the worn "suspicion"—I do not expect a remission of sentence or anything; I am here for pure motives of justice—Waller was very excited all the time of the conversation——Inspector O'Dea asked me questions—he had no newspaper with him—I made the statement without any aid—O'Dea asked if I was doing it to get a reward—I told him no, because I never expected to be convicted at that time—I think Gentle was present—I have been employed by several firms in London—I do not want my last employers to know I have been locked up—(The witness wrote the name and address, which was handed to the learned counsel)—I had also eighteen months' reference from one of the largest firms in London when I was arrested.
Cross-examined by MR. BEARD. I asked Waller his name, and he said it was Waller—Lee's name was given—I did not know the man's name in the other cell before the Tuesday, when the police told me it was Balch; I did not take any notice of the "Charles"—I could not remember from the paper, only that it was a peculiar name—I saw Balch the same night of the conversation—Waller said, "My mate in the other cell"—Batch's name was not mentioned.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I never mentioned Noble in my statement—I do not think I have said, "I never heard Noble's name mentioned"—I did not hear his name mentioned.
Re-examined. I heard that the fourth man the police had not caught—his name was not mentioned by Waller—when the inspector asked my object in making the statement he did not suggest the answer; I gave it as it appears, "that the innocent should not suffer."
JOSEPH LUMLEY . I kept the gate at Holloway Prison on October 13th, through which the prison van passed from the Police-courts—the van from Marlborough Street went through at six p.m., with one male and one female, and the van from Lambeth and Southwark at 6.46, with seventeen males and two females.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. Newspapers are permitted to be sent to prisoners under remand—the prisoners are not permitted to have them in the yard when exercising.
JOHN BROWN . I am a warder at Holloway Prison—on the 13th October I received prisoners from the Police-courts—when the prisoners are discharged from the vans they are put into one of twenty-seven available reception cells—the van from Lambeth and Southwark, arriving at 5.46, brought Lee, Waller, and Balch—a few minutes later the van from Marlborough Street brought Featherstone—that evening the prisoners received were forty-seven, so that I had to place three in a cell—the regulations allow one or three in a cell, not two—it was possible for Waller, Lee, and Featherstone to have been placed in the same cell.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. I do not keep a record of prisoners put into each reception box; it is not a cell—the prisoners are only in the reception box a short time; while they are bathed, dressed, and get their supper—then they are taken to cells.
Noble were charged—Waller gave the address 17, Glengall Road, Peckham, and describod himself as a stoker; Balch, 19, Redcross Court, general dealer; and Noble, 40, Redcross Street—Redcross Court and Redcross Street are within 100 yards of the Lord Clyde, and about forty or fifty yards of the lodging-house—Redcross Court runs into Redcross Street—the street runs into Marshalsea Road, nearly opposite St. George's Church—the court leads from the Borough High Street into Redcross Street—I received from Mills Dr. Kirwain's clothes—I caused the coat, waistcoat, and overcoat to be put upon a constable, with a watch-chain from pocket to pocket—when buttoned with three buttons you could plainly see the chain—on 17th or 18th October I received Featherstone's letter, dated 17th October—in consequence, I went to Newgate with Sergeant Gentle on 18th, about three p.m.—Featherstone was Drought into a room to me—he made this statement, which was taken down by Gentle as he made it—it was read to him, and he signed it—Gentle and I signed as witnesses—I put this question: "For making this statement do you expect anything?"—he answered: "I have no other object in making this statement; the men in question are strangers to me"—I have been stationed in the Borough six and a half years—I know the lodging-house in Whitecross Street—it bears a bad reputation—from 200, Barking Road, to the Abergeldie publichouse in the East India Dock Road is about one and a quarter miles; from the Abergeldie to St. George's Church would be about four and a quarter miles; or five and a half miles from 200, Barking Road, to St. George's Road; another half-mile to the Alfred public-house at the end of Newington Causeway—I have been in charge of this case from 12th October—during the time I have not communicated with Lee—he is charged on another indictment with highway robbery with violence, and is awaiting his trial.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. I have not taken any statement from Lee, because he is a prisoner—I have no recollection of seeing a copy of Lloyd's paper in the cells—I had not seen that paper at the time of the statement—I did not ask Featherstone why he had let four days elapse before he made the statement—I did not say, "Why did you not tell me earlier?"—I knew there was a long examination of witnesses on 15th at the Police-court, and there was an inquest.
WILLIAM CARLING . I was house-surgeon at Guy's Hospital on 12th October—about three p.m. Dr. Kirwain was brought to the hospital—he was dead—the body was quite warm—his face had a leaden appearance—I noticed a small graze on the front of the neck, a little on the right side, a little more than half-way down—very little of the superficial skin had been removed—it was recent, and about the size of a sixpence—I thought at the time it might have been due to the collar-stud or to the finger nail—the left chin had a small recent graze upon it—there was a recent graze on the second joint of the middle finger of the left hand—it was dry—the graze upon the chin was wet—the left knee had a bruise on the inner side—the body was well nourished and developed—the deceased was a man of good physique; a strong-looking man—I made a post-mortem examination on 14th, two days after the admission—Dr, Stevenson attended—over the scalp and forehead were a lot of little blood-points of extravasated blood—beneath the skin of the neck was a great deal of extravasated blood, between the muscles and the
tissues—that was continued all round the larynx, but it was more marked on the right side than on the left—the cartilages composing the larynx on the right side were broken, and one on the left—the bone of the tongue was also broken on the right-hand side—that is the bone above the bone, high up, right under the jaw—I have made a sketch of what I saw (Produced)—considerable violence would be necessary to produce those injuries—the tongue was in contact with the teeth, but not indented—it did not protrude, and there were no teeth marks on the tongue—the wind-pipe was red—the lungs were full of air, there was dark blood in them, and some blood in the smaller air tubes—there was small hemorrhage in the left lung, and the surface of the tongue had rather a silvery look—the front of the heart was contracted—on the left side was a patch of some extravasated blood points—there was very little blood in the cavities at that part—it was healthy—the stomach contained a partially digested meal—I could not say how long the meal had been taken—I should think some hours before death—the larger organs of the stomach were healthy—the Sidneys were healthy, but a little red; congested—I removed the gullet and lungs for examination—a smell of beer was perceptible—the spine was not fractured—the spinal cord was healthy—the brain was healthy—there was no fracture of the skull—I believe the deceased died from asphyxia, due to strangulation—the blood points and the leaden hue of the face help me to form that opinion—I saw no froth at the time of admission—tae fractures of the cartilages of the larynx, and of the tongue bone, and the extravasated blood, help me to form the opinion that great pressure must have been applied to those parts to produce those "conditions—the silvery appearance of the lungs, which showed they contained a great deal of air, is consistent with death by asphyxia, due to strangulation—I have taken into account the organs were healthy, except for the extraordinary appearances which I nave described—there was no other appearance to cause death except those I have described—I am positive strangulation was the cause of death.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. The strangulation was from external causes—I do not think it is very difficult to give an expert's opinion on strangulation—I am aware the deceased had broken his leg; I found that on examination—I did not know his age was forty-two—I took him to be between forty and forty-five—I should not think his bones were brittle; not more than a younger man—I did not find any trace of disease—I should not conclude he drank alcoholic liquors—it would be impossible to tell if he took them twice a day for three days a week—the parts were red, but not inflamed—I noticed no effect of alcohol—I noticed nothing to show he took alcohol to excess—if he had should have expected to have found some signs of it—I am not astonished to find he had been drinking heavily for the last twenty-four hours—the only sign of that was the smell of beer when I took out the gullet and the lungs, and when I opened his stomach—I did not examine for drugs—I was not asked—I am not an expert chemist, that is not my duty; I am a surgeon—if I had found traces of poison I should have handed the case over to a chemist—I did preserve the viscera—at the Coroner's Court I said there was no evidence, I could see, that the man had been poisoned—I remember the question of a juryman: "Was there any trace of an irritant poison?" and I said, "No"—I signed the
Coroner's depositions—(Read, "No evidence of the deceased having been drugged, no appearance of any irritant poison")—that is correct—I cannot account for his being supported by three men, and his feet dragging on the ground, and that but for support he would have fallen—I did not say he was not drunk—I have not said there was food in the epiglottis—I said there was some in the gullet, the passage from the mouth to the stomach—the gullet is behind the larynx—I do not think the food in the gullet was caused by the man trying to vomit—food often regurgitates back from the stomach while the body is lying in the mortuary; but no food got up to the epiglottis, and there was none in the larynx—that is my experience at the hospital—I cannot quote any book of authority for that—I have made a number of post-mortem examinations—food goes back from the gullet when you take it out and hang it up—I do not know of a case of food going back into the stomach on the removal of the body, because you cannot tell if there is any food in the gullet till you have the gullet out of the body—it is possible—it would be possible for a particle of food to almost choke, or cause such sensations as to bring about vomiting or violent retching—epileptics, in consequence of the regurgitation of food, frequently die from being suffocated in that way—persons who drink to excess usually vomit, but I do not think the food in the gullet was through this man's effort to vomit—I have been house surgeon since the 1st October—I have never had a case like this before—the injuries to the neck would have been sufficient to cause death by asphyxia, not the hand on the mouth—the wound on the finger appeared older than the other wounds—the wound on the chin is consistent with tumbling over a step, assuming that he fell on his chin, but that would not account for the injuries to the delicate bones injured—I have had experience of a case in which the larynx has been fractured—I cannot say in which direction the force was applied—the fractures described did not loosen the muscles—I found no trace of blood on the skull—there was simply capillary hemorrhage or bleeding of the small vessels, caused by pressure, not by a blow on the head——I do not think the pressure from loosening the stud caused the injuries, they were too extensive—nor would violent vomiting have a tendency to injure those parts of the throat; nor struggling for breath—I should describe the deceased as being rather long-necked—supposing strangulation, the time of death would depend upon circumstances—it might not be immediate, but might be very rapid; perhaps within a minute—his dying two or three minutes after violence, and being put on an ambulance, would be consistent with strangulation—I do not understand a man being half-strangled—in this case the man may have lived four, five, or six minutes—the drunken condition of the man would not affect these injuries—I should agree with Dr. Taylor when he says, in his book on "Medical Jurisprudence," "In homicidal strangulation, from the unnecessary violence used, we may expect to find the skin much lacerated or excoriated"—in this case I do not find it—I cannot account for these injuries—I have no doubt they were inflicted—sometimes you may have internal injuries without any external wounds or bruises, although that is the exception—I was surprised to find those injuries without external marks—I should think the pressure would have been sufficient to disturb the shape of the collar if the hand had been between
his neck and the collar—the stud would not account for the amount of pressure even if he fell on the stud, and it would not be like a hammer, because the injuries are too extensive; they go beyond when the collar-stud is and below it—I do not think choking from a particle of food and the stud combined would cause the injuries, nor tend to produce any result like them; nor would the man struggling for life, in addition to the two other conditions, account for the injuries; not even with the fourth condition of the pressure of the stud in trying to loosen the collar—to paralyse the respiratory centres a man must be very drunk—I do not think that the drunkenness would have a certain effect upon the respiratory centres—if he was very drunk he would get a change in his respiration—you might have heavy breathing—the breathing might be more labored and difficult—ecchymosis does not extend considerably beyond the actual place to which the force is applied—it prevents extravasations of blood, which extends beyond the area covered by the fracture—an oyster has been known to choke a man; also potato peel—a sudden violent jerk of the head would not cause the injuries—I cannot imagine that any kind of force arising from a fall could have produced these injuries—a to-and-fro movement of the head would not cause them—protrusion of the tongue is a symptom of strangulation—a man's head. would not be doubled up under his legs by a fall—a fall would not account for injury to the neck—given the conditions you have stated, it is absurd to suppose the man inflioted the injuries on himself in trying to get breath—I think it is impossible—I never heard of anybody committing suicide by pressure on the windpipe, if you mean by manual pressure; I should think it highly improbable—a pressure of food on the epiglottis and falling violently would not produce the fractures described—I have received my diploma since Christmas.
Cross-examined by MR. BEARD. I found no contusion on the head—I should expect to find it if there had been a blow on the head—if there had been a blow of the fist I should have expected to find some evidence.
Re-examined. Even where the head is covered by the hair, on removing the scalp I should probably find something—it would depend upon the violence of the blow—I saw nothing in the gullet to suggest suffocation—there was no food in the mouth, nor towards the epiglottis—there was food in the stomach—the air passages were slightly congested; but there was no foreign body in them—there was food nearer the stomach than the epiglottis end—the injuries to the throat from the top of the tongue bone to bottom of the ring cartilage would be 3 1/2 inches in extent—those injuries must have been occasioned by force directly applied to the parts—the hand would be sufficient, if the body was supported so that he would not fall back or give way, to cause the injuries—in my opinion that is the way to cause those injuries—there was no appearance to suggest suffocation from vomiting—one hand on the mouth, and the throat gripped by the other hand, would account for the injuries, and probably did account for them.
By MR. THOMPSON. My study of medicine is gained from Dr. Taylor's and other books, lectures, and experience of cases—it is exceptional to find internal injuries to a large extent without corresponding external signs; but I have seen that it is not beyond medical experience—I have
been house-surgeon since 1st October—before that I was assistant housesurgeon—I have been connected with Guy's Hospital four years, and had several years' experience at Cambridge before I came to London; and I attended the lectures—nearly all my medical work has been at Guv's.
THOMAS STEVENSON . I am lecturer on Forensic Medicine at Guy's Hospital, and analyst ordinarily employed by the Government—I wag present at the post-mortem examination on Dr. Kirwain—I had seen the body on the previous day—on the 13th the face was an ashy or leaden hue; the lividity of the face, neck and shoulders was very marked—there was a peculiar and significant form of blotchy ecchymosis over the forehead and scalp, which was somewhat bald—I saw a livid mark on the right-hand side of the neck, laterally to the right of the centre, and rather below half-way down; it was co-centric with the hollow or cavity upwards, and about the size of the mark which would be made by the middle finger or thumbnail—it might have been done by the collartud, although it was not in the position the collar-stud would press when worn—he was a rather long-necked man—when I saw him he had no shirt or collar—the mark was to the right, and the shirt must have been worn at an unusual height to naturally press on that part—it was higher, and not on the spot where the stud would press, but if the stud did press there it might have produced the mark—I observed a bruise on the left knee and a graze on the chin, both recent, and the second joint of the middle finger was considerably grazed—I formed the opinion that had been done several hours before death—it was older than the graze or the bruise, but within a day—I formed the provisional opinion that asphyxia would be found to be the cause of death—on the 14th the post-mortem was conducted, twenty-four hours later, by Dr. Carling—I was present—I agree generally with him in all the important points of his evidence—I did not see the brain then—I saw it afterwards—I saw nothing to account for death—I was present at the examination of the throat, not of the brain—there was a very extensive effusion or extravasation of blood around the larynx, and the tongue bone; all round, but most on the right side—the air passages were free from any foreign body or obstruction; the epiglottis, or covering of the larynx, being raised, and the chink of the glottis through which the air passes open—the windpipe was red, or injected with blood—by "the chink of the glottis" I mean the chink below the valve which closes the aperture when food is swallowed; that was open, so that any food could pass in—the cartilages of the larynx were broken in three places; the lowest, or ring cartilage, at the entrance of the gullet, was broken on the right, and the two broken pieces overlaid one another; the larger, or shield cartilage, was split from the top on the right side to the bottom ring, cracked through, and the little horn, back of that cartilage, was broken off; on the left the cartilage was broken below the horn, so that the little triangular piece of cartilage was broken off—the bone of the tongue was broken across on the right, close behind the little horn there is on it—the blood-points on the forehead of the scalp were in the same condition as the day before; there was no bruising of the scalp—I had the liver, kidneys, and spleen—the liver and kidneys, the organs which would be affected by chronic drinking, were healthy—I saw nothing to indicate
habitual drinking to excess—the silvered condition of the long was very apparent, what I may term asphyxiated, a most significant form, one special form of asphyxia—another sign I thought significant was the small effusions of blood on the surface of the lung and in the substance of the lung and heart; also the general condition of the lung as regards blood and air—all these appearances induce me to form the opinion that asphyxia was the cause of death, and strangulation was the cause of the asphyxia—I formed the opinion at the time that it was caused by external violence—the violence must have been considerable—his organs appeared to be healthy and strong; he was a well-built and well-nourished man, and I discovered no disease—an attack with one hand on the mouth and another at the throat, with his body supported, with grasping or pressing at the throat, more likely grasping, would, or might, result in these injuries—I think Dr. Carling's measurement of the injuries as covering some three and a quarter inches fairly accurate—on 24th October I received for analysis sealed jars containing the stomach, liver, spleen, kidneys, and brain, also a bottle of clean blood, and a bottle of urine—I did not see the stomach opened, but when examining the gullet, that is in the chest, I observed smell of beer, and a very small quantity of half-fluid and half-food appeared to be there, which smelt strongly of beer—the food in the stomach amounted to three-quarters of a pint, but it was so dead I could not make out any solid food—I should say he had not taken solid food in any quantity within four or five hours, or even more—the alcohol in it would delay digestion, and possibly the food might have been his breakfast that morning or supper the. previous night, or a meal early on the day of his death—in the three-quarters of a pint of food there was as much alcohol as would be contained in a pint of ordinary beer—I should like to add that after death, when alcohol is in the stomach, it becomes weaker; it passes away from the stomach; and it points to this, that at the time of death there must have been something considerably stronger than alcohol in the stomach—that led me to the opinion that some short time before death the deceased man had drunk something stronger than beer—it might have been spirit or strong wine—I found no drug or irritant poison beyond alcohol, irritant or stupefying—in strangulation generally the tongue is forced upwards against the teeth, but not necessarily.—it is not invariable—in some cases the tongue is found in its natural position, as I believe in this case, not forcibly pressed against the teeth, or indented—I might add that when the strangulating medium is removed from the neck, either before or at the point of death, the tongue, being very flabby, might easily fall back into its place; and if it did there would be no marks afterwards—the effect of a sudden and violent pressure of the windpipe is to cause almost immediate insensibility.
Cross-examined by MR. THOMPSON. Strangulation does not include suffocation from any cause—I should define strangulation as death from asphyxia produced by pressure of the windpipe or air passage, and not produced by suspension of the body, and not including hanging—the pressure would be external in case of violent vomiting, and some food in the epiglottis or larynx that produces suffocation—you would not produce that in strangulation, because there is no pressure of the air passages—I examined the injured bone—a bone is an osified
structure—it was not brittle, it bore handling very well, and bent fairly well—the cartilage was a little more ossified than generally in a man the age of forty-two, a little more than the average—that would render it more liable to fracture and more liable to accident than in any quite young person—strangulation is rare in adults—there are not more than fifty cases of strangulation in a year in Great Britain, I suppose, all recorded—it was not the horn of the tongue bone, but the horn of the cartilage that had become detached—the horn of the cartilage may become detached through ulceration, but this was snapped off—the left ventricle of the heart was empty; the right had a little clotted blood in t, not much—an empty heart is not a sign of the person not having been strangled—the heart in strangulation is more often found empty than in any other form in the case of death from asphyxia—I should suspect the man had been drunk: his stomach was full of liquor—as a drunken man he would be more likely to fall, and receive serious injury when he fell, than a person who is not drunk—alcohol fives rise to paralysis of the respiratory centres, if a person drinks ardent spirits so as to become absolutely unconscious and comatose, but not in a person ordinarily drunk.
Re-examined. I did not find a sufficient quantity of alcohol to indicate paralysis of the respiratory centres—I think the injuries could have been occasioned by external pressure without outward marks being visible—that is not inconsistent with my experience, and I have actually cut down a woman, when the mark was not seen, within a few minutes—in this case the blood had gone inwards—ordinarily I should expect to find more marks—it would much depend upon the force applied, but external injury more than I saw is not necessary—I cannot conceive any other way, than by external violence, that these injuries could be produced.
WM. OVEXS (Re-examined). At the Southwark Police-station this morning I arranged the limbs and arms of a man against the wall of the yard in the same position as I found Dr. Kirwain in the passage (Counsel for the prisoners severally stated they did not object to the photograph which had been taken of this position, and it was put in)—this is the photograph which I saw taken—the deceased was lying with his head towards and his feet away from the public-house.
GUILTY of Manslaughter. —WALLER and BALOH Twenty Years' Penal Servitude.
NOBLE Fourteen Years' Penal Servitude.
Upon this indictment MR. MATHEWS, for the prosecution, offered no evidence, and a verdict of NOT GUILTY was taken.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
CHARLES STEWARD . I am a whitesmith, living at 14, Bridge Road, Hammersmith—at half-past twelve a.m. on 21st October I was in High Street, Borough—Courtney, who was alone, followed me for about thirty yards, and said, "1 want to speak to you. Don't you know me? Have
I seen you in a place called Isle worth? I am a police detective; what have you got about you?"—I said, "I have got nothing belonging to you, and I have got nothing out of the way"—he put his right hand on my throat, and his left hand in my right pocket—I put one foot on the pavement and the other on the road—he stood on the pavement—I wrenched his hand from my pocket, and Cleary, whom I had not seen before, came from a doorway—he caught hold of the bundle which I was carrying on my left arm, and tried to wrench it away—I holloaed "Police!" and the prisoners said; "Let the old b——go"—they let me go, and Cleary ran towards St. George's Church, and the other towards the Elephant—the detectives came from the other side of the road inlets than a minute—I saw them the same night in custody, and charged them—there was a surgical instrument and two woollen shirts in the bundle.
Cross-examined by Courtney- I said I had not seen you in Isleworth—I never saw you there—I have been there scores of times—I was on a tram there for eight months—I never saw you before I saw you at Southwark.
Cross-examined by Cleary. I never saw you before you came from the doorway—you said, "Shut your mouth; let me see what you have got about you.
WILLIAM GENTLE (Detective M). About one a.m. on 21st October I was in High Street, Borough, and saw the prisoners walking about three or four yards apart; Cleary near the house and Courtney near the edge of the pavement—Courtney seized the prosecutor by the right-hand side of his Coat-collar—the prosecutor appeared to push him away, and called out "Police! police!"—I ran across and seized Courtney—I said, "We are police officers; what is the matter?"—the prosecutor said, "Oh, sir, these men are trying to rob me"—pointing to Courtney, he said, "He says he is a detective, and wants to know what I have got in my bundle; that man" (pointing to Cleary) "Put his hand into my trousers pocket, and tried to get my purse"—Cleary was there—I did not see him do anything—he came close up to the prosecutor; but I did not see what he did—Cleary walked away, and was brought back by a constable—I said to the prisoners, "You will both be charged with attempting to rob this man"—Courtney said, "That is quite wrong"—Cleary said, "We have no wish" to rob him; what he says is lies"—I took them to the station; they were charged, and in answer to the charge Courtney said, "That is quite false; I know him, and have no wish to rob him"—Cleary said, "You are a d——old liar," speaking to the prosecutor—they gave correct names and addresses.
Cross-examined by Courtney. I did not see you put your hand into his pocket—you made no resistance when I said I was going to take you to, the station—I found fourpence halfpenny, I think, in your pocket.
WILLIAM CROSTON (Sergeant M). On the 21st October, about one a.m., I was with Gentle—I saw the prosecutor and Courtney on the opposite side of the road—they struggled together—I heard a scuffling noise like someone trying to call out—we stopped to watch, and Cleary jumped out from a doorway close by, and got hold of the prosecutor on the other side—after a scuffle the prosecutor got away, jumped on to the road, and shouted "Police!"—I ran across, and Cleary ran, or walked very quickly one way and Courtney went in the other direction—I followed Cleary,
and said, "What have you been doing?"—he said, "Who are you?"—I told him, and took him back to the prosecutor—I found Gentle had brought Courtney back—Gentle asked the prosecutor what they had been doing to him—he said trying to rob him; "One got hold of my throat and the other tried to steal my bundle," and also he pointed to his trousers pocket and said they tried to rob him—Cleary said, "You are an old liar"—Courtney said he had no wish to rob him—the prosecutor said, "You told me you were a detective"—they were taken to the station, and charged with assaulting, with intent to rob him—I saw Courtney holding the prosecutor—in the prosecutor's pocket I found a purse with two shillings.
Cross-examined by Courtney. I did not see you put your hand in his pocket; we were too far across the road—you were holding him either by the shoulder or the throat—I ran across the road—this was in Borough High Street, about 100 yards from the Police-station.
Courtney, in his statement before the Magistrate, said that he spoke to the prosecutor about seeing him at Isleworth, and in a joking way put his hand on his shoulder, and said he should lock him up, as he was a detective; that he had no intention of robbing him, and that Cleary had nothing to do with it.
Courtney called the following witnesses.
MARY ANN GIBBINS . I live at 19, Harrow Street, Marshalsea Road, and am a widow—I never saw you before that night—I was about half a yard from you and the prosecutor—you made no attempt to rob him; only tapped him on the shoulder—I could have seen if you had done anything else—you did not put your hand to his throat or anything else.
Cross-examined. I had been drinking with the prisoners that evening—we had two pots—I had known Cleary three or four months, but not Courtney—I never lived with Cleary as his wife—I went to see him in Holloway Prison three times, I think, while he was waiting trial—I get my living charing, cleaning, and ironing.
Cross-examined by Cleary. You were outside the Hole-in-the-Wall when this happened—I was having some words with you—I did not see you go against the prosecutor.
ELLEN GIBBINS . I am a laundress, and single—I live at 8, North Street, Isleworth—one evening last summer I was talking to you, when the prosecutor came up and asked us if we could direct him to Mrs. Dixon, and as we were directing him a policeman in Isleworth told him to shift along, or he would give him a night's lodging, as the prosecutor was the worse for drink—I don't remember if he had a letter for Mrs. Dixon—I am sure about the prosecutor, because we passed remarks about him.
Cross-examined. That was the only time I saw the prosecutor; it was in August, I believe—I have never seen him since—I did not go to the Police-court as a witness—Courtney wrote last Tuesday to ask me to come here and recognise the old man—I had not seen him then, but directly I saw him outside here I knew him as the old gentleman who was the worse for drink in the summer, because a lot of us girls passed remarks about him.
Courtney in his defence said he owned that he had said he was a detective; he had had a drop of drink, but he had no bad intent.
Cleary contended that if he had put his hand in the man's pocket he would have taken his money out; and that having 5s. 6d. in his own pocket it was unlikely he wanted to rob him.
NOT GUILTY .
68. GEORGE COLLINS (58) PLEADED GUILTY to Feloniously uttering counterfeit coin, having been convicted of a like offence on December 10th, 1888, when he was sentenced to five years' penal servitude— Three Years' Penal Servitude, after completing the term of his former sentence.
MR. WILLIAMSON, for the prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
70. JOHN LYLE was again indicted with JOHN COLLINS (20) for Unlawfully uttering a counterfeit double-florin; Second Count, Uttering a counterfeit half-crown— COLLINS PLEADED GUILTY to the Second Count — To enter into recognisances, and MR. WILLIAMSON offered no evidence against LYLE.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. PASSMORE Prosecuted. ELIZABETH HILL. I am the wife of Henry Hill, and lodge with Mrs. Harris at 8, Tennyson Street, York Road—on 26th October, about 9.20 p.m. I was upstairs with my little girl, and heard a noise downstairs—I went down and saw the prisoner in the kitchen looking into a chest of drawers—I called out, "Is that Mr. Harris?"—there was no answer—I called again, and there was no answer, and the prisoner ran into the area and up the steps—I followed him round Sutton Street, and gave him in custody without losing sight of him—the window was open about two inches—I had seen it shut previously, but it was not sound; some pieces of glass were broken; anybody could put their hand in and undo it from outside.
EDITH HARRIS . I am the-daughter of Edwin Harris, of 8, Tennyson Street—Mrs. Hill lodges in the house—on October 26th, about 9.15,1 heard a noise downstairs, and saw the prisoner at the drawers—Mrs. Hill called, "Is that you, Mr. Harris?,"—there was no answer, and I called, "Is that you, dada?"—there was no answer, and I went down, and saw that two clocks and a lamp had been removed from the bedroom to the kitchen shelf, and the drawers were open, and the window, but I shut it—it was shut before I saw the prisoner—the door was fastened previously, and locked too.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I was on the stairs, and saw you in the kitchen—Mrs. Hall had a lamp in her hand, and there was a light in the kitchen—I could see your face.
duty in South Street, York Road, and Mrs. Hill came to me, followed by the prisoner—she said he had broken into 8, Tennyson Street—I went there with her, and found these two clocks packed up on the table—I found this piece of curtain in the prisoner's pocket when he came up on remand—it corresponds with a piece missing from the house—I took him to the station with assistance; he was very violent all the way—when he was charged he said, "No one saw me get in at the window"
Cross-examined. You had boots on but no socks, and you wrapped the piece of curtain round your foot—you had had a week's remand when I took it out of your pocket.
The prisoner in his defence stated that he lost three toes ten years ago, and always kept something round his foot.— GUILTY .—He then
72. JOHN EARLS (22) , Feloniously wounding James Simpson, with intent to do him grevious bodily harm. He stated that he was guilty, but without the felonious intent, and the felony charge was abandoned.—GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. — Three Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
74. WILLIAM DOLBY (18) , to two indictments for Stealing pieces of paper, and to three indictments for forging and uttering orders for the payment of money.— Discharged on recognisances. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
WILLIAM MAXWELL also PLEADED GUILTY†† to a conviction of felony in July, 1891, in the name of James Mason. WILLIAM ALDRIDGE was further charged for having been convicted of felony at this Court in January, 1889, to which he pleaded
MR. MORRIS Prosecuted.
WILLIAM TURRELL (Warder, Her Majesty's Prison, Pentonville). Aldridge has been under my charge—I identify him as George Clark, sentenced to twelve months in January, 1889, at this Court for burglary—I saw him repeatedly during that twelve months.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I identified you when you were on remand on this occasion at Reigate—that was the first time I have seen you since 1889. to my knowledge—I did not identify you in January, 1891—I identify you generally by your appearance, and also by the
deformed finger on your left hand—I saw you frequently during the twelve months, and have not the slightest doubt you are the man—I can say what you were employed at prison.
The prisoner stated that he did not dispute the conviction, but that Turrell did not know him.
ALDRIDGE Three Years' Penal Servitude.
MAXWELL Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
WELDON Six Months' Hard Labour.
DAY and COOK PLEADED GUILTY .
Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. ROCHE Prosecuted.
PETER WHITE (119 L). I was on duty in plain clothes in Waterloo Road on the morning of 2nd November, with Burrell, also in plain clothes—about twenty minutes past twelve I saw Day and Cook together, loitering about the York Hotel—I followed them alone the York Road, and just outside York Place I saw the prisoners hustle a gentleman—Day put his arm round his neck—there were five of them in company together at half-past one—I went to a lodging-house and arrested Day, and afterwards at another lodginghouse I apprehended Cook—next morning I arrested Lewis at the York Hotel—he said, "I know nothing about it—I got this watch from the garden of 5, York Street—when I first saw them, there was a good light from the his lamps—I have no doubt of the men; I have known them a considerable time.
WILLIAM BURRELL (123 T). I was with White and saw the four prisoners and another man, not in custody, together—I knew them all—they were outside the York Hotel—they met a gentleman and surrounded him, and hustled him—Cook and the one not in custody ran away down York Street; the other three ran down York Road—I have not the least doubt they are the men—Straney was apprehended on the Saturday.
JOHN BAILEY ROSSITER . I live at Wandsworth, and am a clerk—on the morning of 2nd November I was in Waterloo Road—I missed my last train—as I was walking into the York Road I was hustled, and my watch was snatched away—I had been liquoring up rather heavily in the Strand, and was the worse for liquor—I cannot identify either of the men; they disappeared suddenly—the police were close on their track—it was merely a push, they did not touch my neck—this is my watch.
GUILTY .—All the prisoners
PLEADED GUILTY to having been previously convicted— Six Months' Hard Labour.
78. JAMES MILLER (36) , to a Burglary in the dwelling-house of George Wellings, and stealing a cap worth 12s.; also to a conviction in 1885, and other convictions were proved against him.— Five Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
79. FREDERICK NICHOLLS alias COX (41) , to Unlawfully conspiring with Henry Enright to obtain possession of houses with intent to defraud.— Three Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
80. JOHN CLIFFORD ARNOLD (49) , to Feloniously marrying Harriet Phillips, his wife being then alive, having been previously convicted of a like offence— Nine Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
81. WILLIAM DOLBY (18) , to feloniously forging and uttering an order for £100, with intent to defraud. He received a good character.— Discharged on recognisances. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
MR. WILSON Prosecuted.
HENRY EDMENSON . I am a manufacturer, of 87, Rock Road—on the morning of 8th November I went to bed at two; before doing so I examined the premises, and the windows and doors were all closed—I came down between eight and half-past, and I found the back kitchen window broken open, plenty of room for a man to get through, and I missed a gun and two overcoats and a scarf—these (produced) are the gun and scarf—the property lost was worth £20.
GEORGE SEDDY (inspector L). On 8th November I inspected the premises—I found an entry had been made by climbing over a back wall about eight feet high, and forcing back a skylight, and so entering the kitchen.
WILLAM BURGESS (Detective L). On 10th November, about 9.30, I was in the Walworth Road, and saw the prisoner with this gun over his shoulder—I stopped and asked him what he had there; he said, "Have a look"; I said, "Where did you get it?" he said, "Find out"—I took him to the station, searched him, and found on him this knuckle-duster, a knife, 15s. 10d. in silver, and 4d. in bronze, and he was wearing this scarf—the inspector asked his name and address; he said, "Find out."
Prisoner's Defence: I met a man on Wednesday, at the Elephant and Castle, who asked me to take care of the gun for him, and meet him on Friday night.
GUILTY of receiving. He
PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction in May last.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MESSRS. C.F. GILL, A. GILL, and GUY STEPHENSON Prosecuted;
EMILY BAGWORTH . I live with my mother at 51, Camilla Road, Bermondsey—my father, William Low Bagworth, was living there up to the 15th November, 1890, when he died—this (produced) is the certificate of his death—in July last a paper was left at the house with reference to some claim—it was called for in August—I don't know who called for it; he seemed to be a young man between thirty and thirty-five,
of rather slim build—I do not see anyone in Court like him—the prisoner rather resembles the man—my landlady opened the door to him—he asked for the paper (this is it)—I said, of course, that my father was not living; my mother was away on business, and would not be home till Saturday evening, the paper was not signed; would he call again, or would I do he said, "Yes"—my landlady then called out, "Take the young man into the front parlour, to save the trouble of coming upstairs"—we then entered the parlour together—I said, H William Low Bagworth?"—he said, "Yes"—I had the paper in my hand, and I signed the name—after I had done so I asked if that was correct—he said, "Yes"—he pointed with his finger where I was to sign—it was with either red or black ink, or mixed—I handed him the paper, and he then left—about a month later two gentlemen called and made inquiries with reference to the paper—I gave them information with reference to my father, and they went away—the prisoner wrote nothing in my presence.
Cross-examined. I did not see the man who left the paper, or the man who called for it before the prisoner came—I told my mother that a certain paper had been left, would she see to it—she said she would, but it slipped her memory—I did not understand what it was—I never troubled my head about elections—I never wrote letters for my father when he was alive, nor my mother; I did it for her—since his death I have written letters for my mother; I never signed them in matters like this—I have signed her name—to the best of my belief I had not seen any man before I saw the prisoner, or given him my father's name—I was not asked about this until two months afterwards—I was not then absolutely certain as to what took place—if the man who left the paper had asked if Mr. Low Bagworth was the person who lodged on the first floor I should have said Mr. Bagworth was not living; I should give my mother's name—I did not see that man—my landlady brought the paper to me, and said it was a claim which she expected must be filled up, and I put it away and thought no more of it—I am positive I did not take in the paper when the prisoner came; the landlady opened the door for him, and called up to me, "Emily, there's a man called for the payer"—I was rather annoyed that I had not reminded mother of it, and I took it from the drawer and went upstairs—the man was standing at the door at the time—I told him dearly that the paper was not signed—I did not say, "Father has not signed it;" or "Father never did any writing"—I said, "Mother is not at home, will I do?"—I did not hear him say anything—we went into the front room; there was no one there but myself and the man—I spoke first—I said, "William Low Bagworth?"—he said, "Yes"—I had the pen in my hand, and said, "Where?" and he said, "There," pointing at the same time—when I went to the door I said I was sorry the form had not been filled up—after signing it I never saw him again.
Re-examined. When I said, "Will I do?" to the best of my belief he said, "Yes, you will do."
By the Court I told the prisoner that my father was dead—I tell all the men who come with papers that Mr. Bagworth is not living, that he has been dead two years.
Camilla Road, Bermondsey—I remember a paper like this being left at the house for Mr. Bagworth, I took it in; I could not be sure whether it came by post or by hand—some time afterwards I remember some man calling for the paper; to the best of my belief it was the prisoner—I opened the door to him—he asked for Mr. Bagworth—I told him there was not a Mr. Bagworth; there was Mrs. Bagworth, that Mr. Bagworth had been dead some time—he asked me for the paper that was left to be filled in—I told him I did not think it was filled in; I would ask Miss Bagworth, and asked him if she would do—he said, "Yes," she would do—I asked him to come inside—I called for her, and she came down into the front room; I had shown him in there.
Cross-examined. This was some time in August—I could not say the date; it was a Friday morning—it was three weeks afterwards that I was asked about it; I was then examined at the Police-court—to the best of my belief I said then that I told him Mr. Bagworth had been dead some time; there had been a lot of these papers, I was quite upset answering the door to one and another—I don't remember any of the other canvassers asking for Mr. Bagworth—there are no other lodgers; I think four or fire canvassers called.
THOMAS COX . I live at 77, Southwark Park Road—I am an accountant and registration agent for the Bermondsey division of Lambeth—I knew William Bagworth, of Camilla Road, and knew that he died on 15th November, 1890; in the course of my duty I inspected the claims for lodgers' votes for Bermondsey; among others I saw this one, signed William Low Bagworth—seeing that, I made inquiries, and at the revision I objected to the claim—I handed in my objection to the Revising Barrister on 16th November—I was present that day—the defendant was there sitting opposite to me at the same table—I remember the name of William Low Bagworth being mentioned—I raised an objection, because I knew the man was dead—I presume the defendant heard me—he said nothing—by direction of the barrister, two agents left the Court; when they returned, the barrister impounded the claim, and made this endorsement.
Cross-examined. I represented the Conservative party at the revision—these proceedings were taken at my initiative—no other claims were made for men who had. died, to my knowledge—I will not swear it—many canvassers on the other side sign the claims as witnesses—Bagworth was very well known to me—he did some canvassing for us once—this was the first time I had ever seen the defendant—some canvassers are not so strict as they ought to be in witnessing claims—an occupier's claim does not require a witness; a lodger's claim does.
JAMES BUCKMAR . I am clerk to the Overseers, and act as assistant overseer to St. Mary Magdalen, Bermondsey—51, Camilla Road, is within that parish, and within the Parliamentary Division of Southwark—it is my duty to receive lodgers' claims in the ordinary course—this claim, among others, would be received by me on 20th August—from those claims a list should be made out, to be submitted to the barrister; I produce a copy of that list—the name of William Low Bagworth, of 51, Camilla Boad, appears on it as a lodger claimant—I was before the barrister on 24th November, at Bermondsey Town Hall, when the list was gone over.
Cross-examined. There was one other case that I remember.
WILLIAM CROSTON (Detective Sergeant M). On 19th October, in consequence of instructions, I went to 51, Camilla Road, and saw Miss Bagworth and Mrs. Cross—I took statements from them—I afterwards received a summons to serve on the defendant—I went to his house, 29, Burnaby Street—on 29th October I saw him in Orange Road—I told him I had just served a summons at his house for him in respect of an offence committed by him concerning a lodger's claim to vote in the name of Bag worth, 51, Camilla Road—he said, "Oh, yes, I know; I signed that claim as a witness, but they want to make out that I saw the young woman sign it, and told her what to do, which is false"—I told him I had left my address with his mother, in case he wanted to see me about it—he said, "Oh, no; I say nothing; I shall say no more; our party will see me through it; they will see me defended."
Cross-examined. I understood that he denied having seen her sign it, and also having told her what to do.
GUILTY .— Six Weeks' Imprisonment.
Before Mr. Justice Bruce.
NOT GUILTY .
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, DECEMBER 12TH, 1892.