CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
THIRD SESSION, HELD JANUARY 9TH, 1893.
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.
STEVENS AND SONS, LIMITED, 119, CHANCERY LANE,
Law Booksellers and Publishers.
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, January 9th, 1893, and following days.
BEFORE the EIGHT HON. STUART KNILL, LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir WILLIAM GRANTHAM , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court of Justice; Sir REGINALD HANSON , Bart., M. P., LL. D., Alderman of the said City; Sir CHARLES HALL , Knt., Q. C., M. P., Recorder of the said City; GEORGE FAUDEL PHILLIPS, Esq., HORATIO DAVID DAVIES , Esq., JOHN VOCE MOORE, Esq., JOSEPH COCKFIELD DIMSDALE, Esq., MARCUS SAMUEL , Esq., and WILLIAM PURDIE TRELOAR, Esq., other Aldermen of the said City, and 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 CRIMIN AL COURT
KNILL, MAYOR. THIRD 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, January 9th, 1893.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. ALDOUS Prosecuted.
THOMAS FARNHAM . I have retired from the City Police Force—on 17th December I was in the force—at 11. 30 I was in Upper Thames Street—I saw the prisoner coming from the direction of Messrs. Keeling and Hunt's warehouse, and carrying a barrel On his back—I stopped him and asked him what he had got there—he said, "I don't know"—I asked him where he was going to take it—he said, "Up the lane"—I said, "Where to up the lane?"—he said, "Up the lane, that is good enough for you"—I said, "Where did you bring them from?"—he said, "Thames Street," and pointed to Lower Thames Street, and said, "A man asked me to carry them for him"—I said, "Where is the man?"—failing to see anyone I took him to the station and charged him with unlawful possession—I went back to search, and found that Keeling and Hunt's warehouse was opened—this bar and padlock lay on the floor—the padlock had evidently been forced by the bar—I saw a number of barrels in the warehouse corresponding with the one the prisoner was carrying—I secured the premises and went back to the station, where the prisoner was charged with breaking and entering, and stealing a barrel of grapes.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You did not say you were engaged from the corner of Fish Street Hill to carry these, as they were a present sent from the Fishmongers' Hall people.
LEWIS SHERBORNE . I am warehouseman to Keeling and Hunt, warehousemen, of Lower Thames Street—Mr. John Blake and another gentleman constitute the firm—on Saturday, 17th December, I secured the premises about seven p. m.—on Monday morning I found handcuffs on the door, and the lock had been forced off—the officer brought me a piece of paper with the mark of the barrel of grapes on it, and asked me
if I knew the mark—seven barrels were missing on the first tier of grapes—I have seen the barrel in the possession of the police; there is the mark of the same ship on it—I have no doubt it is one of the missing seven—I have known the prisoner as working about there as a porter at different warehouses.
Cross-examined. I have known you working—I know nothing about your honesty.
HENRY THOMAS ARROWSMITH . I live at 3, Peabody Buildings—I am deputy turncock to the New River Company—this bar belongs to them—on Saturday, 17th December, I had left it against London Bridge in Lower Thames Street, about half-past ten, near Keeling and Hunt's warehouse—when I came back at half-past eleven it was gone, and I next saw it in charge of the police.
The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate, and in his defence, asserted that a man asked him to carry the barrel.
GUILTY of receiving. He then
PLEADED GUILTY* to a conviction of felony in June, 1891.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. SYDENHAM-JONES Prosecuted.
WILLIAM CHURCH . I am in the employ of the Cabinet Printing Works, 20 and 22, Bride Street—about six p. m. on 16th December I was near those premises and saw the prisoner putting printing formes containing sixteen stereotype plates on a barrow; he had seven on the barrow, and I saw him put one on—I asked him where he was going—he said, "Hatton Garden"—I went in and saw my employer, William Tarver—the outside of our shop is well lighted with electric light—there were sixteen of these plates; two of them go into each for me.
WILLIAM TARVER . I am manager of the Cabinet Printing Works—on 16th December Church called me downstairs, and called my attention to something outside, where I found the prisoner with a barrow on which were these formes; they are mine—the prisoner had no right to be in possession of them—I gave him into Constable Morbey's charge—the plates are valuable as waste metal, but the chasing could be sold to any printer.
ALLEN MORBEY (481 City). On the night of 16th December the prisoner was given into my custody—I took him to the station, where he said, "I did not know I was stealing them; I was called from Robin Hood Court, Shoe Lane, by a man who asked me if I would like to earn a few coppers to give him a shove with the barrow up to the Rose public-house, Hatton Garden"—I went to the Rose public-house, Hatton Garden—I did not see anyone there who expected a barrow—the barrow had been stolen—the weight of these formes was seven or eight cwt.—with a bit of trouble one man could have pushed the barrow.
The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate, and in his defence, stated that a man had asked him to put these formes on the barrow and wheel them for him to Hatton Garden, and that he thought it was all right.
GUILTY . Three months' hard labour.
159. ALBERT GODDARD, Burglary in the dwelling-house of Hugh Patterson, and stealing a jacket, a ring, and a brooch, his property, and two overcoats and other goods, the property of Arthur Francis Thomas Grundy.
MR. BAYLIS Prosecuted.
ARTHUR FRANCIS THOMAS GRUNDY . I lodge at 119, The Grove, Hammersmith; Hugh Patterson is my landlord—I am a bank clerk—on 14th November, about one a. m., I was in bed in the third floor back room—I heard a noise, got up and dressed myself, went out of my room, and in the children's bedroom I saw two men emptying the drawers, bending over and examining the contents—I asked them what they were doing there, and they ran out of the house—I have not identified either man since—subsequently I examined the premises—I found two overcoats, a pair of boots, and a cap belonging to myself missing from a small back room on the ground floor, which I use as a sitting-room—I have seen none of those goods since—I bolted the front door just before I went to bed, about half an hour before I heard the noise—I know nothing about the window—in the morning I or the policeman found this chisel underneath the table in the front room—I afterwards saw some footmarks on the window-sill—the window was open about a quarter of an inch in the morning—it looked as if it had been opened, and then attempted to be shut again—I should say this was the chisel that was found; I did not notice it very particularly.
EMMA PATTERSON . I am Hugh Patterson's wife—we live at 119, The Grove, Hammersmith—on the early morning of 14th November Grundy called me—I got up, went downstairs, and found a window had been opened and things taken from Mr. Grundy's room—a coat of my husband's was taken from a wardrobe in another room—before going to bed, about 10. 80, I shut all the windows and looked round the house—there was no fastening on the window that was opened, as the catch was broken—I saw footmarks on the sill next morning—I saw a chisel like this—it does not belong to our house.
CHARLES BARNARD (687 T). On 14th November, about one a. m., I heard cries of "Police!" and went to 119, The Grove, where I noticed the side bay-window of the front room was open half an inch, and marks on the window-sill—entry had been effected by the window—I saw this chisel lying inside the window—there were no marks on the window from the chisel; there were scratches on the window-sill.
ALFRED BAILEY . I live at 6, New Cottages, Chiswick, and am errand boy at Mr. Cowle's—the prisoner worked there also—about the beginning of November something was wrong with the drains, and workmen were called in to repair them; and while they were there the prisoner took a chisel from their bench, and said it would do for him and Ginger, one. of his associates, to break into houses with—I had seen a boy called Ginger—this is the chisel (Produced)—the prisoner said Ginger would be pleased to know he had got it; and a little later on he said they broke into a house in The Grove, and got £4, but had to leave the chisel behind in the house because they were pursued by two young men; and they put wire across the stairs and jumped over the wire, and then the two young men tumbled over the wire—I cannot say when it was that he told me that—it was when he was still in Cowle's employment; he was bakehouse boy and I was shop boy—the day the chisel was taken
I and the prisoner were going home together on an omnibus, as we always used to do, and he had the chisel on him—I left him against the Wesleyan Chapel, Hammersmith, and told a constable something, and then went with him and pointed out the prisoner to him, who ran away round a corner—the constable chased him—next morning the prisoner told me that he got round the corner before the constable, and threw the chisel over the wall, and then the constable caught and searched him; and that afterwards he (the prisoner) met Ginger, and they went back and got the chisel—he told me, the night he took the chisel, that if I told anyone he would do for me—he came back to work at the confectioner's after that for about two months, I should say—I did not tell my master about his stealing the chisel and throwing it over the wall—before the prisoner took the chisel I had had a few cross words with him, not exactly a quarrel—I threatened him once, some time before he took the chisel, and he kicked me into the road, and I threw a ginger-beer bottle at him.
ARTHUR JUDKINS . I am a plumber, living at 63, Compton Street, Notting Hill—about the beginning of November I was at work at Mr. Cowle's and missed this chisel—the prisoner was employed there at the time—I have no doubt that this is my chisel; I can see traces of my own work on it; I had altered the blade of it the night previous.
EDWARD WILLIAMS (688 T). On 9th November Bailey made a statement to me with reference to the prisoner; and I followed the prisoner, who ran away along King Street and Down Place—I caught him near Heatherington's stables—I did lose sight of him as I followed him—I said, "I believe you have a chisel that is stolen property on you"—he said, "No, I have nothing; I work for Cowle, the confectioner"—he allowed me to search him; I could not find anything on him, and let him go—I subsequently made a communication to the inspector in this case.
By the COURT. On the evening when I chased the prisoner he was in the street with four or five others, one of whom was Barclay, alias Fisher, and Ginger—when the prisoner saw me he ran away through Down Street—I lost sight of him at the bend of the road—there was a place, near the stables where I caught him up, where he could have thrown a chisel away—about 10. 15 the same night I came out of the station in plain clothes, and saw the prisoner again with the same gang near the Swan public-house—I followed them a little way, but lost sight of them.
EDWIN MOTT (Detective-Sergeant T). On 14th November I received information of this burglary—on 14th December I saw the prisoner outside the West London Police-court—he said tome, "How has Ginger and Redcap got on?"—those two men were charged with assaulting the police—I said, "What is your name?"—he said, "Albert Goddard"—said, "I shall take you into custody for breaking into No. 119, The Grove"—he said, "I have been along with Ginger every night"—he was taken into the station—he made no reply to the charge—he has been at work at Cowle's.
By the COURT. I had seen Redcap, Ginger, and the prisoner together on the night of the burglary, about five minutes' walk from this house, outside the Hop Pole public-house—the prisoner was living at this time at a common lodging-house, Jubilee Chambers, close to the Hop Pole, and about five minutes' walk from where the burglary was committed,
Cross-examined. I followed you there several times, and you gave it as your address.
By the COURT. I have followed him home as late as three in the morning with Ginger and Redcap—several burglaries had been committed, and I and five constables were told off to keep them under observation.
Witnesses for the defence.
ALBERT GODDARD . I am the prisoner's father—I am gardener to Mrs. James Bird, Phoenix Lodge, Brook Green—on the night of 13th November, you came in about 11. 15; you were living and sleeping at my house then and up to the following Monday, when you left home—I am quite sure you could not get out of the house without my knowing it—you used to sleep in the same room with me.
Cross-examined. The prisoner lived with me up to the Monday following the Sunday evening when this robbery was done; he left home the day after the robbery—he has lived with me all his life, and always slept in the same room with me—he is never out at night—on 13th November I had not gone to bed when he came home about 11.15—I generally go to bed at 11. 30, sometimes a little earlier or later—I have to do my fires at night; I generally make them up and get home by twelve—the garden where I work is three or four minutes' walk from where 1 live; I live on the lady's premises—I am certain the prisoner was at home that Sunday night—the following night he left me—he was never out at night—I do not know Ginger or Redcap; I did not know the prisoner was associating with them—I remember the Sunday night, because the prisoner was a little later; he was generally in before eleven, but he was later this night—I was sitting there—I said he was rather late, and he said he was; he did not say where he had been—I had done up the fires when he came in, and I did not go out again till seven or 7. 30 a. m.—he always slept in the same room with me, and was never out at night—there are two rooms on the landing, but my two grown-up daughters slept in the other room—I remember he slept at home on the night of the 13th through his leaving the next day—I cannot say what time he finished work at the confectioner's-sometimes he came home early and sometimes at eleven or twelve—I never knew him to be out till three—I am certain he could not have got out of my house without my knowing it—when I have done my fires I go to bed—I sleep pretty soundly—I knew the prisoner was charged at the Police-court—I did not go to the Police-court, because we employed a solicitor, and I thought I should not be wanted, knowing nothing about it, except that he was at home—my wife went instead of me.
RICHARD ANDREWS . I live at 38, Claybrooke Road, Hammersmith, and am gardener to Mr. Simmons, of Sloane Street—I am a friend of your father, at whose house I was on the 13th November—I saw you come in about 11. 15—I left the house about 11. 45, and just before I left you went up to bed—your father was sitting downstairs—I think he went and did his fires afterwards—I visited the house on 27th November; you were still living at home—I did not hear your father's evidence—your mother told me on the 28th that you had run away from home.
Cross-examined. I did not see the prisoner that night after twenty to twelve—I saw him on each Sunday up to the 27th—I saw him on the
21st; he was sleeping in the house then—I should have been informed if he had run away.
EDWIN MOTT (Re-examined by the COURT). About a week previous to the burglary I first noticed the prisoner out as late as three a. m., and he went into the Jubilee Lodging-house with Ginger; Redcap went into the Anchor Lodging-house—I was about eight weeks after him altogether—the prisoner was bailed after the second remand.
The prisoner, in his defence, asserted that he knew nothing of this robbery; that he had not been out later than twelve o'clock, or been in the lodging before 29th November, and it was through being seen with the others that he was charged.
GUILTY. The sergeant stated that he believed the other men had led him astray. Mr. Wheatley, of the St. Giles' Christian Mission, undertook to see the prisoner before the next Session .— Judgment respited.
MR. PURCELL Prosecuted.
ELLEN HAWKES . I live at 43, Victoria Road, Kensington—on 5th December I went to bed about 9. 45, leaving my place all safe—the next morning my servant spoke to me, and I missed a quantity of property—these things were taken from a plate-basket on the top of the drawers in my bedroom; this watch and watch-chain was taken from my dressing table.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. When I got up in the morning the front door was locked, not the back door into the garden—there is a low garden wall, and a man could get over that garden wall and in at the back door.
MISS HAWKES. I live with my mother at 43, Victoria Road—I secured the bottom part of the house before I went to bed on 5th December—the lavatory window, which opens outwards, was shut as fast as I could make it; I could not bolt it, it was too stiff—it is on the first floor and gives on to the garden—I should not think it was large enough, for a man to-get through.
Cross-examined. The garden door was locked when I went to bed, and the key was in it.
GEORGE SMALLEY (200 F). About 5. 40 a. m. on 6th December I was in Victoria Road—I saw the prisoner (whom I afterwards identified at the Police-station) at the side door of 40, Victoria Road, and I stopped him and had a conversation with him—he was wearing this lady's watch in his left pocket with the chain across his breast, and the end of it in his right-hand pocket—after we had been in the house and come out he took the watch out of his pocket, looked at it, and said, "I have lost one train, but I think I shall be in time to catch the 6. 20"—it was ten minutes past six then—I let him go about his business.
Cross-examined. You were leaving the side door of 40, Victoria Road—you were in front of the house at the right-hand side—I was in the road going my round—I saw nothing wrong—I asked what you were doing, and you said, "I am the son of the proprietor; I live here with
my sister, the female servant"—I said, "I shan't believe jour statement, I shall want to see someone"—you said, "Ring the bell and the servant will answer"—you rang it three times, and then rang the electric bell at the front door twice, and then you said, "I will show you myself"—taking a key from your left-hand pocket and opening the side door, you took me to the dining-room on the first floor and opened the door, saying, "Is that all right?"—I said, "Apparently it is all right"—you said, "Are you satisfied now?"—I said, "No, I must see someone in the house"—you said, "Come on further up"—you went up to a bedroom on the next floor and knocked at the door; there was no answer; you knocked again; a lady said, "What is the matter?"—you said, "Put your clothes on, a policeman has brought me back; he thinks something is wrong"—the lady said, "Who is it?"—you said, "It is me, George Robinson; the policeman has brought me back; he thinks something is wrong"—she said, "How did he get in?"—you said, "I let him in; he thinks something is wrong"—I said, "If it is all right there is no necessity for you to come out," speaking to the lady—I cannot say if the door was locked—the lady spoke from the other side of the door—I allowed you to pass out—you slammed the door behind us—I picked you out of other men the next day—I recognise the watch; it was difficult to open, and that made me recognise it so much.
FREDERICK TWINEY (Constable R). About midday on 6th December I saw the prisoner in New Cross Road—noticing his pockets were rather bulky I followed him into a pawnbroker's shop—he produced two silver salt-cellars and this cream-jug, and offered them in pledge—I asked him where he got them from—he said they were left to him by his father—I asked him where he lived—he said, "28, Old Kent Road "—I said, "Is it a shop?"—he said, "Yes, a shop; I live at rooms over the shop"—I asked him to describe the nature of the business carried on there—he said he had never noticed it—I said I thought it was very unsatisfactory; I should have to make more. enquiries about it—I took him into custody, and charged him with unlawful possession—I took him to the station and searched him—I found on him this sugar-basin, card-case, spoons, purse, two watches, and a knife—afterwards I received information of the housebreaking at Kensington, and the prisoner was then re-arrested by Sergeant Brown.
Cross-examined. I found one watch in one of your pockets and the other in another; no chain was showing.
ALFRED BROWN (Detective, F). I found the prisoner at Greenwich Station on 6th December—I said, "Holloa, burrows, are you here? You will be charged with breaking and entering No. 43, Victoria Road, Kensington, and stealing there from a quantity of silver articles"—he said, "Oh!"—I said, "Where is the other part of the property you have stolen?"—he said, "Oh, if the other one had not been so sharp you would have had it and the other man, but it is not melted up nor pawned yet"—I said, "Where do you live now? Are you going to tell me that?"—he said, "No; I will consider about that, Mr. Brown"—he knew me—he was charged before the Magistrate with unlawful possession, discharged, and re-arrested by me—he made no reply to the charge.
Cross-examined. I did not say, "Tell us. Alf; it would be better for you if you have got it, or any of your pals have got it."
The prisoner, in his defence, stated the things were given him to pawn by a man in a public-house.—
GUILTY . He then
PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in November, 1891.—There was another indictment against him for burglary. Four Years' Penal Servitude. (The COURT and the GRAND JURY commended the conduct of Twiney and Smalley.)
162. LOVEDON BOUCHER (19) to stealing, while employed in the Post Office, a post parcel containing a metal watch and six penny stamps, the property of the Postmaster-General.— Six Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
163. FELIX HENRY BRIGHT (28) to stealing, while employed in the Post Office, a post letter containing two orders for the payment of money, the property of the Postmaster-General, and to stealing another post letter.— Three Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
164. JOHN WILLIAM MOUSLEY (31) to stealing, while in the employment of the Post Office, a post letter containing a cheque for £3, the property of the Postmaster-General, and WILLIAM JAMES WILLIAMS (31) to receiving, while employed in the Post Office, a cheque for £3, knowing it to have been stolen. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] Mousley also PLEADED GUILTY to three other indictments for stealing post letters, and Williams to two other indictments for receiving property contained in them.— Nine Months' Hard Labour each.
165. HENRY WILLIAM CLARK (32) to stealing in the church of St. Barnabas certain keys and 1s. 2d., the goods and monies of William Seeker and another, the churchwardens; also to being found by night with housebreaking implements in his possession. —Nine Months Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
NEW COURT.—Monday, January 9th, 1893.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
168. FREDERICK MCDONALD (19) and FRITZ MEIERS (20) to unlawfully gilding a sixpence to make it pass for a half-sovereign. They received good characters.— Discharged on recognisances. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
169. FREDERICK NEWMAN (24) to attempting to burglariously break and enter the dwelling-house of Walter Harbord with intent to steal.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. — [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
170. JOHN ALEXANDER (22) and JOHN JONES (26) to burglary in the dwelling-house of Thomas Pearce, and stealing a case and other articles, his property— Five Years' Penal Servitude each. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
171. QUALIA GIOVANNI (35) to breaking and entering a certain shop and stealing £140, the money of Cabinero Divians, and a pair of braces and other articles of other persons.— Five Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
172. GEORGE WHITE (32) to burglary in the dwelling-house of Arthur William Egerton Bridges Barrett, and stealing a box of biscuits and a mug, his property, after a conviction of felony.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
(173). CHARLES DAVEY (32) to marrying Emily Cole, his wife being alive. Emily Cole dated that she was aware that the prisoner was a married man before the married him.— Discharged on Recognisances. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted.
JOHN HENRY REED . I am a chemist, of 11, Buckingham Palace Road—on 17th December, between seven and eight p. m., the female prisoner came in for twopenny worth of cold cream—she had three halfpence and a florin in her hand; she said, "Oh, three halfpence, not enough coppers," and passed the florin across the counter—I examined it, weighed it, broke it in two, and told her it was bad—she said, "Oh, is it? What am 1 to do?"—I said, "Take a pennyworth"—she did so, paid me one penny, and left, taking the broken florin with her—I went out and looked up and down the street, but could not see her—I had noticed that she had no shawl on—I saw the male prisoner come by with a shawl on his arm; he peeped into the shop, and then went on and stood under a lamp-post—I spoke to a constable and watched, and in about two minutes the female prisoner joined him, and he helped her on with the shawl; they crossed the road and went into a public—house—they were there about twenty minutes, and came out together, and the male prisoner went into Mr. White's, a chemist's, 45, Buckingham Palace Road, and the female prisoner followed him in a minute or two afterwards—they were there several minutes and came out together—I followed them into a public-house and saw them taken in custody.
GEORGE ARTHUR JOHNSON . I am assistant to Mr. White, a chemist, of 45, Buckingham Palace Road—on 17th December, about eight p. m., the male prisoner came in for twopennyworth of sulphur ointment, and gave me a florin—I weighed it and found it was bad, and told him so; he said he knew where he got it, he would take it back—he gave me a shilling and I gave him back the florin—the female prisoner was in the shop at the time.
Cross-examined by Annie Griffiths. You were there.
FRANCIS HODGINS (592 A). I was on duty; Mr. Reed spoke to me, and I watched the prisoners—I lost sight of them, but afterwards arrested them in Ebury Street, and told them the charge—the male prisoner said, "It is rather rough, governor"—on the way to the station the woman said voluntarily, "I did not think of getting taken so soon again"—I found on the man a sixpence, fivepence-halfpenny, and this small box of ointment without any name, and on the woman a half penny, a dress-hook, and a small box of cold cream with Mr. White's name on it—they gave their address, 63, Great Peter Street, which was correct—they are living together; I cannot say whether they are married—she is better known as Murray—I know her by sight.
WILLIAM DUNFORD (197 A). On 17th December I was on duty outside the station when the prisoners were brought in, and directly they had passed I saw this counterfeit florin (produced) on the footway, which was not there before—a man picked it up and gave it to me.
Cross-examined by Thomas Griffiths. If it had been there before I should have seen it.
Annie Griffiths, in her defence, stated that they had been living together for two months, but that she knew nothing about the coin being counterfeit. Thomas Griffiths said that he received the money for the sale of some bottles, and did not know it was bad.
ANNIE GRIFFITHS— NOT GUILTY .
THOMAS GRIFFITHS**†— GUILTY . Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted.
JOHN ROBINSON . On December 13th, about four p. m., I was with other officers in Farringdon Road in plain clothes—we saw the prisoner and another man, and followed them—the prisoner entered a tobacconist's shop, 72, Farringdon Road, and the other man kept on the opposite side—the prisoner came out, and after entering several public-houses the prisoner remained at the corner of Vineyard Walk—the other man entered 23, Farringdon Road, and when he came out they joined, and were going away—we stopped them, and I said to Parker, in the prisoner's presence, "We are going to apprehend you"—they both said, "You have made a mistake"—they were taken to the station—I found in Parker's trousers pocket a counterfeit florin and two good shillings—I shook his overcoat, and three counterfeit shillings dropped either from the pockets or from the lining—they were charged with passing the coin—the prisoner said nothing—afterwards, from information, I went with Blight and Scott to 52, Woodchester Street, Paddington, where Scott found several articles, and among them these three moulds: one for making shillings and sixpences, one for three sixpences, and one for two sixpences, but only one would act; also two files, a quantity of white metal, some plaster of Paris, a ladle, two iron cramps, a spoon with plaster of Paris in it, a wooden frame, some copper wire, and a sheet of glass—next morning I said to the prisoner, "Last night we searched your lodging, 52, Woodchester Street, Paddington, and in the presence of your wife and Mrs. Bartlett we found three moulds, two files," and mentioned the other things—he said, "Do not charge them," meaning the women; "my wife and Mrs. Bartlett know nothing about them. Only me and this man knew they were there"—on the 28th, the day of the remand, they were charged with having the moulds in their possession, and Bishop said, "They were in my place; my wife knows nothing about them. I was not in a tobacconist's that day"—I had seen the prisoner before the 13th in company with the other man.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. The mould is not the one from which this shilling was cast.
WILLIAM BLIGHT (Police-Sergeant G), I was with Robinson—I told Bishop I should take him for uttering counterfeit coin—he said, "You have made a mistake"—I searched him at the station, and found a purse in his coat pocket containing forty counterfeit shillings done up
in separate packets of ten in newspaper, with paper between each; also two sovereigns, 17s. in silver, 1s. 5d. in bronze, a watch and chain, and two pocket-books—I was watching them the whole afternoon, and saw Bishop enter 72, Farringdon Road, and the other man standing outside—I found a piece of paper with the name of McMorrow on it.
Cross-examined. I believe it is bad; I told the Magistrate I thought it was good—I did not put it there.
JANE JONES I am the wife of Jesse Jones, of 52, Woodchester Street, Harrow Road—the prisoner lodged in our first-floor front room with his wife; they came on 19th November—I knew him as Hyett, a Carpenter—I did not go into the room while he was lodging there.
LOUISA MCMORROW . My husband is a tobacconist, of 72, Farringdon Road—on December 13th I served the prisoner with half an ounce of shag, price twopence—he gave me a shilling—I put it in the till and gave him change—I had no other shilling there—about two minutes afterwards a detective came in, and I gave it to him—he marked it—this is it.
Cross-examined. I picked out you and another man very much like you—I can hardly discern you now, but here is my printed tobacco paper. (This had the name of McMorrow on it.)
WILLAM JOHN WEBSTER . I am Inspector of Coin to the Mint—none of these coins came from these moulds—all these articles form part of the stock in trade of a coiner—these forty shillings are bad, and so is this shilling found in the bed and the one uttered—the three shillings found on Parker are counterfeit, and two of them are from the same mould as some of the forty.
Prisoner's defence. They were given to me by a man to take care of, but the one found in my possession I bought when I went to the man's place. He said he did not want the things, he would call for them. Parker knew nothing about them, nor did my wife. I have been put away through a man.
PLEADED GUILTY .—
BISHOP,** Fourteen Years' Penal Servitude;
PARKER,* Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
177. WILLIAM SAUNDERS (22) PLEADED GUILTY to feloniously having counterfeit coin in his possession with intent to utter it, after a conviction at this Court in the name of William Gassen on February 3rd, 1890.
MR. PARTRIDGE Prosecuted.
LOTTIE VAN . I am barmaid at the King and Queen, Foley Street, W.—on Saturday, November 19th, Connor came in with Mr. Clive and asked for a small lemon and bitter, and tendered this coin. (Produced)—I tried it with my teeth, took it to the governor, and then said to Connor, "Do you know this is a bad piece?"—he said he did not; he got it at the Stores; the governor gave it back to him—he paid with good money and they went out.
HENRY CLIVE . I am a tailor, of Foley Street, and a member of a club in Fitzroy Square, of which Connor is a member—I went with him to the King and Queen on November 19th—I saw him tender a florin—he said he took it at some stall, and did not think it was bad—I lent him a shilling—he owed me sixpence before, and when we got outside he said, "I will pay you now; give me a half-crown and I will give you the florin and a shilling—this is the florin—I found out on the Sunday morning that it was bad—next time I saw him he said, "You have been telling bad stories about me; you must have given me the coin, because I had no other in my pocket"—I gave him a few coppers and left him, and handed the coin to the treasurer of the club.
JAMES PHILLIPS . I am a draper, of 14, High Street, Marylebone—on Thursday evening, November 24th, Saunders came in for some ribbon, price 41/2d., and gave me a half-crown—I put it in the till, and gave him the change—he left, and came back a few minutes afterwards, produced a florin, and said, "You gave me a bad two-shilling piece"—I said, "I have not"—I looked in the till and found a bad half-crown—he refused to give me the florin, and ran out of the shop—I did not see him again till he was in custody.
Cross-examined. When you came back into the shop I asked you to go with me to the cashier's desk—my wife was there—I asked your name and address; you did not give me either—I cleared my till during the day—it might have been cleared an hour or so before you came in; I cannot say for certain—I did not change any gold a short time before. Re-examined. I have no doubt these are the same coins.
ESTHER DAVIS . I live at 3, Euston Street—on Monday, 12th December, I let some lodgings to Connor and his wife—I am not certain whether anybody came with them, but on the Tuesday Saunders and a female were there—they all four lived in one room, and had access to the house till they were arrested—I gave Connor a latch-key.
Cross-examined. I told you I did not like it, and I wished you to go, and I would return your money—Saunders and his wife slept there every night till Friday.
JOHN CANE (Detective Sergeant D). On 16th December I was in Euston Street with another officer, and saw the prisoners—I told Connor I should take him in custody as he was wanted for uttering counterfeit coin in the neighbourhood of Tottenham Court Road—he made no reply—I handed him over to Allwright, and took a key from his hand with which I opened the door of No. 3, where Saunders had just entered, and saw Saunders coming from the direction of the back yard—the window of No. 5, Seymour Street, Mr. Reeks' house, looks into that
yard-Saunders had on him a periodical called Tit-Bits, of which the font part of the cover was missing-half an hour afterwards Sergeant Brown brought a packet to the station wrapped in the missing piece of Tit-Bits—I said to Saunders in Connor's presence, "There are ten five-shilling pieces wrapped in a portion of the cover of Tit-Bits, dated December 17th; you are reading a paper of that date minus the cover 5 there is also missing a piece from the corner, and that piece is adhering the portion in your possession; I will now charge you both"—Connor made no reply-Saunders said, "Oh!"—they both said afterwards that they knew nothing about it.
WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . I am Inspector of Com to H. M. Mint, these three florins, one half-crown, and ten crowns are all counterfeit the crowns are from different moulds and very well made; they are the most dangerous imitations I have ever seen.
Connor, in his, statement before the Magistrate and in his defence, said that he met Saunders, who was, a stranger, who asked him to wall with him, which he did, as he know the young woman with him; that they had some drink, and went to his, lodgings, and played at cards, and it being late they stopped all night and slept in any chair; that they went out next day, but that he did not know that he had any had money on him.
Saunders product a written defence, stating that he was guilty of the ten counterfeit crown, but denying knowing that the half-crown was bad, and stating that Mr. Phillip, gave him the bad florin.
GUILTY . SAUNDERS**— Seven Years Penal Servitude. CONNOR†— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, January 10th, 1893.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. ROACH Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended Mooney.
WILLIAM EDWIN WORLD . I am a coffin-maker and live at 6 Parker Street, Westminster—on Boxing-night between 12. 20 and 12. 30, I was proceeding down Great Piper Street, by the dead wall, when I met the two prisoners, who asked me for a light—I undid my great-coat and gave them a light, and asked them if they could direct me to Mrs. Edwards'—one of them said, you will find it down there, a grocer's shop," and while I was watching his finger the other prisoner pinned me by the throat against the wall, and said, "Go down him"—Mooney went through my pockets; they took out my pipe and hand-kerchief, but put them back again—I had three-halfpence in another pocket but they had not time to disturb that-a policeman and inspector came alone and the prisoners caught sight of them, and ran away as hard they coud—I spoke to the policeman and the inspector—subsequently I went witlh two policemen into a lodging-house kitchen, where
I saw the prisoners in front of the fireplace—there were a great number of men in the kitchen—the policeman said, "Can you point them out?"—I said, "Yes, that is one and that is another"—Mooney went round a sort of nook by the fireplace, and the inspector said, "Fetch him back"—he was brought back, and I was asked, "Will you charge these men?"—I said, "Yes," and I charged them with assault, with intent to rob—it was light where I was assaulted; there was a lamp-post close handy—it took several minutes to give the light and ask the direction—I am sure the prisoners are the men.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I had come straight from Grubb Court on business—I had left Grubb Court about ten minutes to twelve, and I had been looking for Grubb Court for one and a half hours, as I had had a wrong address given to me—I left my place of employment soon after nine—I had been for a bit of a stroll—I only called at one public-house, and had half a pint—that was all I drank that evening—I had had four half pints during the day—I was not drunk—I told Mrs. Edwards about it afterwards—I told the inspector and policeman that I had been knocked about, and an attempt made to rob me, and that the men had run away—they said, "If you can catch them you can charge them"—I said good-night to them, and went to see Mrs. Edwards about the funeral-after I left her I passed a common lodging-house, and saw the two prisoners going into it—that was half an hour after the attack had been made on me—I went into the lodging-house and saw the deputy and told him, and he asked if I had lost anything, and when I said no, he said, "What have you got to grumble at? You cannot do anything with them"—as I was coming out I saw two policemen walking by, and I complained to them and they went into the house with me, and then I saw the two prisoners there—before I got to the lodging-house I saw them coming through a court towards it, facing me—one of them said something to the other; they passed me, and I watched them go into the lodging-house—I had never seen them before that night—the seizing and trying to rob me was all the work of a very short time—the night was a bit hazy, not foggy.
Cross-examined by Dean. I told my foreman next morning that I had locked up two men; I did not say I was sorry I had done it.
Re-examined. I had half a pint of beer with my lunch at eleven o'clock and half a pint with my dinner at two, and half a pint about three or four, and half a pint in the evening; that was all I had had—I had no spirits—I was perfectly sober—when I saw the prisoners coming out of the court, they saw me, and one nudged the other and said something to him—they took no notice of me, but walked down the street and into the lodging-house.
THOMAS THEXTON (624 N). On the early morning of 26th December I was in Strutton Ground on duty; the prosecutor came up and made a statement, and I went with him to a lodging-house, where he pointed out the two prisoners, saying they were the men who had stopped him in Great Piper Street—about thirty other men were in the room—I took the prisoners to the station and charged them—when the prosecutor gave the prisoners into custody, Dean said, "I know nothing about the man whatever"—Mooney said nothing till charged at the station, and then he said, "What does he charge us with? he cannot charge us; we have got nothing from him"—the prosecutor was quite sober—the
lodging-house is about two hundred yards from the place where the assault was committed—it was about 1. 5 that I went into the lodging-house.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. Mooney said, "What is he charging us with? He cannot charge us; we have got nothing from him," after the prosecutor had made some statement to the inspector.
By the COURT. Dean was slightly drunk; Mooney was quite sober.
Two witnesses deposed to Mooney's good character.
Dean, in his defence, stated that he knew nothing about the assault; that he and Mooney went into the lodging-house to get a light, when the prosecutor came in with the constable and charged them.—
NOT GUILTY .
There was another indictment against the prisoners for assault, upon which no evidence was offered.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HEDDON Prosecuted.
KATE HEWETT . I am the wife of Elijah Hewett, a confectioner, of 9, Maygood Street, Barnsbury—about half-past one a. m. on 20th December I was coming through Holloway Road home, as I had lost the train, and I was suddenly seized by four men and dragged into a passage—they put their hands over my mouth, and I was robbed of my purse, a silver snuff-box, brooch and earrings, and my jacket was torn and my hat thrown on the ground—the prisoner was one of them; he stripped my earrings from my ears—I was thrown down, and while I was on the ground the prisoner's face was over mine; I could see him perfectly well—I could not scream, as their hands were over my mouth—I struggled us violently as I could, and managed to get the hands from my mouth, and screamed, and the police came to my assistance—I was kicked very heavily in the side—I have not been able to work since—my lip was cut by their hands over my mouth—when I got up I followed one constable into a house and saw him dragging from under the bed a man who I believe is the prisoner.
EDWIN JAMES WYLD . I am a telegraphist at 161, Highbury Hill—about 1. 30 on 20th December I was a few strides the other side of this court in the Holloway Road—I had seen the men there previously, but did not observe any of them particularly—I heard broken screams of "Murder!" by a woman, and I turned, and soon after the scream she seemed to break away from the passage, and a policeman came very cautiously alongside the shops, and, when he reached the passage ran after a man, and I ran too; and then Aiken came and asked me what I knew about it, and dealt me a very severe blow on the forehead, which gave me a black eye—I ran to the end of the passage and whistled for another policeman, as the one seemed badly handled by the man—a policeman came up and arrested the prisoner and Aiken.
JAMES LANGSTONE (465 Y). About 1. 30 a. m. on 20th December I was in the Holloway Road—I heard screams of "Murder," and Police," and went to Caroline Place, where I saw the woman, who pointed out the prisoner and another man running down a passage, through a washhouse into a back yard—I followed, and arrested them in the yard—they came out quietly, but when in the court Aiken came out of the
house next door to the washhouse and said, "Let them go, you b——," and struck me a violent blow on the nose, causing it to bleed, and knocking me backwards—the prisoner and the other man escaped, and the prisoner went into the house with Aiken—I blew my whistle, which brought two other constables—I knocked at the door and was refused admission—the two men ran upstairs and hid themselves under two beds—I pulled the prisoner out from under one bed, and handed him over to another constable while I assisted Hodder to arrest Aiken, who became very violent—the prisoner was charged with highway robbery, and stealing a purse containing seven or eight shillings and the other things—he said, "I did not take your purse."
Cross-examined by the prisoner. When I caught hold of you in the washhouse you said, "What is the matter?"—I said, "You will know when you get outside"—I said to the woman, "Is this one of them?"—she said, "Yes"—she pointed you out as one of the men at the time.
GEORGE HODDER (61 Y). On this morning I heard a whistle, and went to Caroline Place, and helped Langstone to force the door of a house—we wont upstairs and found the prisoner under the bed—I assisted Langstone to take him into custody.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I was not there at all; the policeman pulled me out and charged me. The woman has made a mistake in me, for I am not guilty. I don't know the fellow."
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
181. CHARLES AIKEN, Unlawfully assaulting Edwin James Wyld, and occasioning him actual bodily harm. Second Count, Assaulting James Langstone, with intent to resist the lawful apprehension of William England.
MR. HEDDON Prosecuted.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You said nothing about chickens.
JAMES LANGSTONE (465 Y) repeated his evidence, and added: The prisoner ran upstairs, and concealed himself under a bed—I took him Into custody—at the station, in answer to the charge, he said, "I admit striking the constable, but I know nothing about the other."
Cross-examined. I was in the light, not in the washhouse, when you hit me.
The prisoner's defence. I ran downstairs, and saw a man in my washhouse, and did not know what was the matter. I am very sorry I did it. When I saw I had hit a policeman I knew I was wrong. There were plenty of chickens and things in the washhouse, and I thought someone was thieving there.
GUILTY**. Detective Murray stated that the prisoner was a terror to the neighbourhood of Holloway Road.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
182. ALEXANDER JAMES GRAY (35) PLEADED GUILTY to embezzling the moneys of Joseph Human and others, the trustees of the Surprise Friends of Labour Loan Society, his masters; also to making false entries in the minute-book.— Four Years' Penal Servitude.
183. THOMAS PICKETT (48) , to marrying Jane Sherar Duncan during the lifetime of his wife, and also to causing a false statement to be inserted in the marriage register.— Discharged on recognisances. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
184. JOSEPH SCROGGINS (24), FREDERICK COLLINS (19), and JOHN JONES (22) , to breaking and entering the shop of Henry Lyons, and stealing 142 watches and other goods; Scroggins also pleaded guilty to a conviction of felony in August, 1891, in the name of George Wilson, and Collins** to one in May, 1891, in the name of William Heather. A detective stated that Scroggins was a trainer of young thieves.
SCROGGINS— Five Years' Penal Servitude. COLLINS — Fourteen Months' Hard Labour. JONES†— Ten Months' Hard Labour. The GRAND JURY and the COURT commended the conduct of the police-officers in the case. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
(185). JOHN JONES (21) , to stealing a purse and £1 8s. from the person of Mary Ann Schwartz; also* to a conviction of felony in December, 1889, in the name of John Herd.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, January 10th, 1893.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. RAVEN Prosecuted.
RODERICK MCKENZIE . I am a constable—on 13th December I was in Victoria Street off duty and in plain clothes—I was just parting with Frederick Rule, who has gone to Madrid—the prisoners came up, and Bevington said, "Give me a light"—I said, "I have not got one"—he became very abusive, and tried to pick a quarrel with me—I said, "You had better go away; I do not want to have anything to do with you"—he said, "That is your game, is it; do you want to fight? I can fight," and took off his coat, and struck me on my chest with his fist—he was quite sober—I said, "Come along, Fred, we will get out of this"—they both followed us across Victoria Street, and Bevington got in front of me, and struck me again on my chest; I struck him with my stick—he closed with me, and I felt a tug at my watch-chain and missed it, and heard him say to Berry, "I have got his watch-chain; here you are, take it"—Berry held out his hand, but I did not see the chain pass—Berry hustled me—I caught hold of Bevington, but after a struggle he wrenched himself away—I followed him into Pear Street, calling "Stop thief"—a soldier stopped him, and I gave him in charge—he had no coat on—Berry ran away—my chain broke and my watch did not come out of my pocket—when Berry was stopped he said, "What do you stop me for? I know nothing about it."
Cross-examined by Bevington. I was not talking to a female in Victoria Street, but she spoke to us as she passed—I did not say, going to the
station, "Give me my chain, and I will let you go"—I did not strike you behind your ear with my stick; I struck you on your arm.
HARRY DEAN (167 T). I was on duty in Peter Street and heard cries of "Stop thief," and saw McKenzie holding Bevington in Pear Street; he said, "I know nothing about it"—I took him into custody, and found Berry's address on him in pencil on the back of this card (Produced).
Cross-examined by Bevington. When I took you you were coatless, and Berry had your coat—you were both searched at one table, and things from your pockets were thrown on the table—the things from Berry's pockets were put at the far end of the table.
Cross-examined by Berry. The card was in Bevington's overcoat, which you brought in; it was not in your pocket.
CHARLES JAPFER (99 A). I was on duty in Tothill Street a little after midnight, and saw Berry running from Victoria Street towards the Aquarium with two coats on his shoulder and no coat on—I said, "What is the matter?"—he said, "A pal of mine has just been having a fight with a top in Victoria Street, and I have been minding his clothes"—I said, "What has become of your pal?"—he said, "He has run away down Orchard Street"—I said I was not satisfied, and took him in custody for unlawful possession of two coats; they proved to he Bevington's—after the prisoners were charged I returned to New Tothill Street, and within ten yards of where I stopped Bevington I found this watch-chain—that is fifty or sixty yards from Victoria Street.
Cross-examined by Bevington. I did not propose that you should give me the chain for me to let you go; but my friend asked me not to take any further steps, because he did not want to be kept here as a witness.
Bevington, in his defence, stated that, as McKenzie struck Mm with a stick when he asked him for a light, he took off his coat to fight him. He denied taking the chain, and said that it must have been taken by a prostitute to whom McKenzie was speaking, and stated that the things taken from their pockets were mixed together at the station, and the card was his.
Berry's defence. If I had been guilty, and this man gave me the chain, should I run away? I walked across the road and gave up the coat, and was taken in custody. I don't know anything about it.
GUILTY of robbery without violence. Berry then
PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Westminster Police-court on May 19th, 1891.
BERRY— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
BEVINGTON— Ten Months' Hard Labour.
MR. SANDS Prosecuted, and MR. LAWLESS Defended.
ALFRED LILY . I am a bootmaker, of Roman Road—the prisoner was in my employ—on Saturday, 10th December, I gave him some goods to take to the Edgware Road—as a rule he brought the money home when he could get it—he came back about five o'clock, and told me he was not paid, and he was to call again on Monday morning, and they would look over the goods and pay him—the endorsement on this cheque is his writing. (This was for £4, endorsed Turner, Lily and Co.)—he had no
authority to endorse the cheque, nor had I given him permission to deduct any money.
Cross-examined. My firm is Turner, Lily and Co.—there is no Turner, and there is no company—the prisoner has never endorsed cheques to my knowledge—I have had transactions with the same firm before, and the prisoner always told me that he was paid by cash, but something was always deducted—Mr. Rogers told me that the prisoner had been paid by cash on December 13th—the prisoner did not come to us with a character from Mr. Rogers' firm; but he said that he had been in their employment—I charged him with this £4 before the Magistrate on 14th December; and I also charged him with forgery at Worship Street—I have not charged him with robbing me in any way—I owed him two weeks and a half, and he had had five shillings in advance—his wages were thirty shillings a week, and I owed him £3—when he asked for his wages I did not say, "You can deduct it from payments you get next week—he has not lent me money—I was in difficulties at one time—I did not remove a weighing-machine to avoid the Sheriff's officer; I had it under a hiring agreement—I did not remove any goods, but the prisoner removed some of my wife's goods after eight p. m.—the prisoner's father once let me have some train mugs; I have not paid for them, hut as soon as he makes application there is the money—Mr. Rogers had not on a previous occasion given him cheques which he endorsed with my authority, and got the money—I have no banking account—I gave three cheques to a man named Dennison, which have been dishonoured, but I met them, and paid them—I had a banking account in November at High Street, Shoreditch, while the prisoner was with me—. the prisoner wrote me a letter, and I had already paid by post.
Cross-examined. I made this charge on 14th December, and again on the 21st—I have found out since the committal that he has taken some work which he received from me to a cloak-room.
Re-examined. I never gave him authority to deduct money or endorse cheques.
ROBERT JOHN ROGERS . I am cashier to Turner and Turner, boot makers, of Edgware Road—on December 10th the prisoner brought me some goods, which I paid for by this open cheque for £4 (Produced)—he gave me this receipt—I know his writing.
Cross-examined. The prosecutor called on me about the time the case was before the Magistrate—I did not tell him all the previous payments had been in cash; I generally pay by open cheques to order—I have known the prisoner about two years—he was nine or twelve months in the employment of my firm, and had the management of one of the departments—I found him an honest, trustworthy lad; I never had a penny wrong with him.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate,"I had a dispute with the prosecutor; he said I could get something on account from Messrs. Turner and Co."
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY—Strongly recommended to mercy by the JURY. Discharged on recognisances.
MR. GREENFIELD Prosecuted.
THOMAS COXEDGE . I am a butcher, employed by Thomas Stubbs, the proprietor of the Manchester Hotel, Aldersgate Street—I was in Aldersgate Street with a barrow of meat, value £5 or £6, my master's property—I left it for about two minutes, leaving a man in charge—on returning it was gone—I saw the prisoner wheel it about 100 yards, and told him it was mine—he said he was employed by a man to take it to King's Cross—I said, "You are going the other way"—he said the man told him to go that way, as it was out of the way of the traffic—I gave him in custody.
CHARLES LAKER (City Policeman). I was called and found Coxedge detaining the prisoner—he said, "I have been employed by a man to take it to King's Cross"—I asked the man's name—he said he did not know it, or his address, but he was on the other side of the market, and described him—I went round with him, but could not find him—he said there was an empty truck by the weighing-machine—there was no truck there.
The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate, and in his defence, said that he was a stranger in London, and a man employed him to take the truck to King's Cross, and wait there till he came.
GUILTY — Ten Months' Hard Labour.
MESSRS. GRAIN and KERSHAW Prosecuted.
HEMMINGTON TUCK . I am a salesman in the tailoring department of Spiers and Pond—on November 3rd the prisoner ordered a cape, and arranged to come and try it on—he came again next day, and ordered a pair of trousers—he said he was appointed inspector of music-halls at a salary of £300 a year, and mentioned Mr. Cox and the London County Council—he left this circular with me about an exhibition, and arranged to come and try the clothes on on Saturday—he did not come on Saturday; but on Monday, the 7th, he came and said he had been to Brighton—he came again on the 9th, and put the things on—he wanted some shirts—I said I had nothing to do with the hosiery department—he was about to leave with the cape and trousers on—I said I would make his account out if he would wait a minute, which I did—he said he had left £1 deposit with the manager, but I could not trace it—he said he would draw a cheque for the whole amount and would settle the £1 next day, and drew this cheque—I took it down to the cashier's office, and left the bill and cheque with him—I heard someone coming down the staircase, and saw the prisoner; he said nothing, but walked out of the premises.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You asked for Mr. Cox, and I told you he was out—I asked you to wait till I brought you the receipt—I was not present on November 3rd when you gave Mr. Cox a cheque for £1 as a deposit.
had a conversation with me about a patent—he then said that he had received an appointment of £300 a year as an inspector, and he wanted to dress up to the locus standi—if the inspector was in evening dress this cape would rather show off his shirt-front—he did not pay me any deposit, nor did he mention it.
Cross-examined. I met you at an hotel a year and nine months ago, but do not recollect asking you to come and give me an order—you did not give me a cheque for £1 deposit on November 3rd; it is not usual to ask for a deposit—you said that you were an inspector of the London County Council, and any time I wanted to go to the theatre you would be most happy to take me.
EDWARD BICKLE WARDLEWORTH . I am an accountant at the London and Midland Bank, Manchester—I produce an affidavit of Mr. Allen, the manager, to the certified copy of the prisoner's banking account—the first payment in was on August 4th, upwards of £45; on August 6th, £5; total £50—on 13th October, £7 10s. was standing to his credit—there was some correspondence between the prisoner and the bank—on 20th October he drew out £3; on the 21st, £3 3s.; on the 26th, £1; and on the 27th, 15s.; that cleared up the £50—we communicated with him when the account was exhausted—after October 27th about six cheques, amounting to £15, were presented and dishonoured—this cheque (produced) arrived on November 12th, and was dishonoured, marked "Balance withdrawn"—nothing was paid in after August 6th.
Cross-examined. I am not aware that the manager's statement sent to you is wrong, or that he has cheated himself of £5; it appears right to me—I intimated to you that you had overdrawn your account—we allow customers to overdraw if they are secured or well known.
MR. PARKER. I am chief clerk of the Committee of the London County Council—the prisoner has never been in the employ of the Council, nor do they pay £600 or £300 a year to inspectors; nor do they wear uniform—the original of this circular was written by me. (This was a circular sent to all owners of music-halls, stating that a person who was not connected with the Council had been going to theatres and obtaining free admissions; that the Council was not in a position to take legal proceedings, but left it to the theatre and music-hall proprietors to take such steps as might be advised.)
ALICE HOLDSWORTH . I am a type-writer, of Old Broad Street House, City—on October 13th, the prisoner gave me an order for type-writing some documents about the Belgian Gas Exhibition, and gave me this cheque of November 8th for £3 in payment—I took it to the agent of the house, who passed it through for me, and it was returned unpaid.
Cross-examined. You did not owe me £3, only £2—you asked me not to have it cashed, but to pass it through a bank.
ROBERT OUTRAM (City Police Inspector). On November 16th I received a warrant for the prisoner's Arrest, and on the 17th I found that he was in prison at Wormwood Scrubbs—on the 9th, when he was discharged, I read the warrant to him—he said, "That is Spiers and Pond's matter"—I said, "Yes"—he said, "I thought it was about some cheques got by Perry and Co."—I said, "I see you are wearing the trousers"—he said "Yes, and the cloak you will find with the manager at the Elephant and Castle; I gave Spiers and Pond's a cheque"—I said, "What was the good of that?"—he said, "I knew I had withdrawn
my account"—on the way to the City he handed me the counterfoil of his cheque-book—he made no answer to the charge.
Cross-examined. You said you thought it was a charge by Perry, and expressed surprise that Spiers and Pond should arrest you—you only wore the coat for an hour, you said you were getting boozy, and might lose it—I wrote to Perry, and received a reply—I took some things from you—the I O U for £5 was in your pocket-book—you gave me every information.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, January 11th, 1893.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
190. WALTER HOSLER (38) , Indicted for, and charged on the Coroner's inquisition, with the wilful murder of Denis Finnessey. MESSRS. C. F. GILL and HORACE AVORY Prosecuted; MESSRS. DRAKE and PIGGOTT Defended.
CHARLES AWKWOOD (Sergeant X). I prepared this plan—the Bedford beer house, in Silver Street, Kensington, is at the corner of Bedford Gardens—opposite the side entrance, on the other side of the way in Bedford Gardens, is a lamp-post, and from the lamp-post to the opposite pavement is 35 ft. 6 in.
Cross-examined. The lamp-post is not exactly where it is marked in the plan; it is level with the frontage of the buildings—it is an oldfashioned lamp, with only one burner and no reflector—light would show from the bar in front of the house over the pavement in Silver Street—there is a partition that slightly prevents the light coming fully into the street, but you can see through the glass doors—there are lights behind the bar and three in the window—light would be thrown out straight into the street and not at the side.
Re-examined. There is a side door half glass, and a fanlight over the door, with gas behind it, showing light into Berkeley Gardens.
WILLIAM THOMAS TILBURY . I keep the Bedford Arms beer-house—before 24th December I knew the prisoner as a customer, and the deceased, Denis Finnessey, as an occasional customer—between six and seven p. m., on 24th December, the prisoner came in, and some time afterwards the deceased came in—I saw them talking together in the bar—I could not say that I exactly saw them drinking together; there was some beer—I heard the prisoner say, as the deceased came in, "Here is my old enemy"—the deceased replied, "Yes, that is quite right"—I afterwards heard the prisoner say, "You are always cross with me, Denny; shake hands, and let us be friends"—I heard them make some remarks about having a fight together on Boxing Day; they were trying to come to some agreement to meet one another to fight on Boxing Day—I did not take much notice of it—the men were quiet—I heard nothing to show what they were going to fight about, or what the cause of it was—a little before nine I saw them leave the house together quietly—there was no dragging by one of the other out of the house, or anything of hat kind—ten minutes or so after they had left someone came in and
made a communication, in. consequence of which I went outside, and there found the deceased standing in front of my window on the pavement bleeding from the neok-1 saw nothing of the prisoner then—the deceased spoke to me, and in consequence of what he said I fetched a—a few minutes afterwards the prisoner was brought back to my house by Bryan—I asked the prisoner for his knife he said he had not one—I asked him for it again; I said, "You must have one"—after a time he said, "I have only my own; this one," producing this knife from his coat pocket; it was shut-it dropped on the ground, and I picked it up—the prisoner asked for it back again—I refused to give it to him—I subsequently handed it to a policeman—the prisoner was soon afterwards taken away by the policeman-both the prisoner and the deceased were sober when they left my house.
Cross-examined. There are two wooden partitions in my bar—I was toe only person serving that night—the prisoner has customer for fifteen! or sixteen months, I suppose, not longer—the deceased had visited my house occasionally—I daresay his brother Ned has visited the house once or twice, but very seldom—I always found the deceased a very quiet man—on 24 th December the prisoner came in about two o'clock; he left, and then returned between six and seven, and remained for some time—he played draughts with Bryan-Cooper was there—I did not see the prisoner playing draughts with Cooper—the deceased came in between half-past eight and nine; so that when he came the prisoner had been there about two hours, and doing that time had been very quiet, playing draughts, and having some drink—he had no word with any one, no quarrel or row of any kind—I think that Bryan and Cooper were that then the deceased came in—the deceased and the prisoner talked together for ten minutes or a quarter of! an hour they no loud words; everything between them was quiet in an under tone; nothing attracted my attention-it was an ordinary conversation between customers—I have heard them disputing on different occasions but on this 24th I heard no dispute—they appeared not to be good friends; I could not say what they were talking about—I have said that they had a dispute which lasted for ten or fifteen minutes; it is true—it appeared there was a dispute, and having heard that the next thing was that the two men went out-it did not occur to me that they went out in consequence of the dispute, because I did not think anything about it—they went out quietly—I said that after this dispute, they went out peaceably together—the prisoner said half jokingly, "Here is my old enemy" when the deceased came in—he did not appear angry, he laughed—the deceased answered, "That is quite right in what you might call a nasty mood; he answered sharply—the prisoner said "You are always cross with me, Denny; shake hands and let us be friends"—he appeared anxious to be had with him—I could not they whether they shook hands—I heard something about a fight which, after as I could gather was to take place on boxing Day—I saw them leave the door—I did not see the deceased catch the prisoner by the coat and pull him as he was going out—he might have done so when he got outside; but I do not think he could have pulled him by the coat as they where going out without my seeing him; there is no partition in front of the door way—I was standing still in front of the bar-it might have taken place-it was
about ten minutes, I should say, after the prisoner left the bar that I went outside—it might have been a quarter of an hour—I saw the deceased standing outside; no one else was there—I did not see Bryan till after I had gone for the cab and come back; that was about a minute or one and a half minutes after seeing the deceased—I only went to the next house, and there was a cab standing on the rank, and I brought it up directly—from the time the deceased left my bar till he was taken off by the constable it might have been, perhaps, a quarter of an hour—the prisoner and the deceased have been in my house together on previous occasions—I don't recollect them being there on Sunday or Monday, 18th or 19th December—I think the last day they were in my house previous to the 24th was on the Monday—they were together then—I saw nothing then that attracted my attention; they seemed very good friends—they never really were good friends, but there was no particular quarrel—I think I have said, with reference to that occasion, that they did not seem very good friends—they were always chaffing one another in a nasty manner, but there was nothing very particular between them—I cannot say that I heard angry words between them on this occasion—I did not hear the prisoner say to the deceased, "Let us have a drink and make it up"—I might have said, "That is the best thing you can do; you are always quarrelling; have a drink and have done with it"—I have on this and other occasions heard the prisoner ask him to play dominoes to keep him quiet—I cannot say I have seen the prisoner leaving my house for the purpose of getting away from a row or from the deceased; he might have left the house, but I did not know what he was leaving for; he would slip out quietly sometimes; I suppose it was to get away from the deceased—I have never seen the prisoner and the deceased and his brother Ned together in my house, nor the brother and the prisoner—I never heard Ned say in my house about the deceased that "he is always quarrelsome when he has a drop of drink"—the prisoner and his brother may have been there sometimes without my seeing them—on 24th December it did not occur to me that the prisoner and the deceased were going out to make up the angry words or to have a row.
Re-examined. I did not hear what the dispute was about; they talked in an undertone—I heard something about a pot of beer—I have heard them disputing before—I never heard the deceased threaten the prisoner in any way.
EDWARD KITT . I live at 47, Pembridge Road, Notting Hill—on Saturday, 24th December, between half-past nine and ten, I was coming along towards the end of Bedford Gardens, intending to go into Silver Street, and when I got to the corner I saw one man standing outside the beer-house at the corner and another man standing round the corner; one was in Silver Street, and the other man, who was the prisoner, was in Bedford Gardens—the prisoner called the other man by a name which sounded something like Sheeny—the other man turned round towards the prisoner, who then struck him, as he turned, a blow in the neck, saying "Take that"—the prisoner did not move before he did that; he was standing right against the corner and the other man was also standing by the corner in Silver Street—directly the blow was struck I saw blood coming from the neck—the man who received the blow caught hold of the prisoner—they struggled together, got into the
middle of the road, and the deceased went down—the prisoner then walked towards Silver Street in the direction of the dairy next to the public-house—the deceased got off the ground and walked after him in the direction of the dairy—he said, "Hold him, I am stabbed"—he was bleeding—a man came up to the prisoner, and somebody came and assisted the deceased man—I went for a constable, and when I came back with two constables, the deceased was over against a chemist's shop—at the instant the blow was struck I was on the pavement, the same side as the public-house, close enough to see distinctly what happened.
Cross-examined. It was a pretty clear night—I did not notice any haze or mist—there is a lamp at the opposite corner—I was coming from the lamp towards the public-house—when I first saw the prisoner and the deceased I was in the middle of the road walking towards them—I was on the corner when I saw the blow struck—from the corner where I was to the public-house is about six or seven yards I should say; it might be ten yards, I could not say exactly—I did not notice anything bar the two men there till I heard one of them speak—I noticed no one else there when I was ten yards off—all I heard was that one man said, "Take that "after the name was called—after the blow they closed and struggled—it was all in an instant—I did not see where they came from—after the wrestling and struggling and the fall of the deceased in the middle of the road, the prisoner walked away quietly, and Bryan came and told him he had better come back, and he came back with Bryan pretty quietly—he made no resistance—there was light enough from the opposite corner to distinguish anyone standing there and see what they were about—it is a dull light, rather faint; you can see anyone standing there, and what they are doing—I remained there from that time, and went to the station with the constable and the deceased.
Re-examined. I could see both men there before the prisoner called out.
DAVID BRYAN . I am a bricklayer, living at Notting Hill Gate—on 24th December I was at the Bedford beer-house about a quarter to nine p. m.—I saw there the prisoner and the deceased, whom I have known for three or four years—they had a few words, something about a pot of beer I think—they said they would have it out on Boxing Day—I saw them walk out of the house quietly together—they were then both sober, as far as I could judge—five or ten minutes after they left I went out; I saw Finnessey just stepping on to the kerb of the pavement—he said something to me, and pointed towards the prisoner, whom I saw twenty or thirty yards away going down Silver Street—I went after and overtook him—I said, "Walter, you have stabbed a man; come back with me"—I caught hold of him; he resisted a little—we had a little struggle, and then he came back with me—I took him back to the beerhouse—Mr. Tilbury came out; he asked for a knife, and then the prisoner, after saying he had not got one, produced this knife—next morning I noticed some blood on the prisoner's waistcoat, and I found some on my own coat the next day.
Cross-examined. I went into the public-house about a quarter to nine on this occasion—I cannot say whether I was there before the prisoner, or he before me—the deceased came in afterwards—I had a game of
draughts or dominoes with the prisoner—I think we had finished our game when the deceased came in—I could not say if the prisoner had been there from half-past six—all the drink I know of was a pot of ale which the prisoner paid for—he was quiet, talking to me, and playing—when the deceased came in I heard them have a word or two; I did not take any notice of it—I had been at work that day up to twelve, and then I had been at home till I came to the public-house at nine—I did not hear the deceased say when he came in, "Hollo! are you here? Can you fight now? Come out now, and have a go"—the deceased and the prisoner were not quarrelling; they were just having a few words—I have heard them quarrelling or disputing, but not on this occasion—they were disputing about something; there was something about a pot of beer; that was all I heard—I have seen the prisoner three or four times a week, perhaps; I never worked with him—I should say the deceased was rather a big man—I cannot say that he looked a very powerful chap; he had the appearance of being a man who could take care of himself; I cannot say he had the reputation of being a fighting man—it was on Christmas Eve I heard them talking about Boxing Day—I don't think they were on very good terms with one another—I have only been in the Camden Arms about once in my life—I was not there in November—I know Quill; I did not hear him tell the deceased one Sunday evening to stop quarrelling with Hos'er, or he would not play with him any more—I think I have seen the prisoner leave the deceased's company after having a few words to prevent a row—on 24th December the prisoner's thumb was candaged up; he was out of work in consequence of his thumb being disabled—I did not hear him say "I cannot fight; I have only one hand"—I don't know whether the prisoner or the deceased went out first; I was not paying particular attention—the deceased did not drag the prisoner out, nor catch his coat as they went out at the door; I did not notice that—the prisoner is a labourer—men of our class of life use knives of this kind for cutting our food; I have seen them frequently—I never heard that the deceased was a quarrelsome man, nor about his breaking the leg of a public-house landlord.
Re-examined. The deceased was called Denny Finnessey.
JONATHAN SKIPMORE . I am a messenger, living at 57, Church Street, Kensington—on Christmas Eve I was in the Bedford Arms—I know the prisoner; I saw him in that house—I did not know the deceased—I saw him in the house with the prisoner—I heard the prisoner say to him, "Come outside"—I went outside a few minutes afterwards, and saw the deceased standing in the middle of the path in a fainting condition, bleeding from the left ear, the left side of the neck—I held his right arm and supported him, and took him across to the chemist's shop, and remained with him there till the police came—he, said when I came up to him, either "stabbed," or "I am stabbed."
Cross-examined. I was in the same bar as the prisoner and the deceased were in; they were there when I went in—I can hear distinctly—I was in the bar five or six minutes from the time I went in till I came out—when I heard someone say "Come. outside," there was one other man in the bar, and the prisoner, and the deceased and myself—I did not see Mr. Tilbury go outside—when I went outside I saw nobody near the prisoner; I was the only one near him—I did not see Kitt or any of the men who had been in the bar—I took the deceased across to the chemist at once—
as soon as I got outside the door and saw him I heard the word 11 stabbed"—I was not more than two minutes in the chemist's shop with him, I should say—I never said I was in there for six or seven minutes; it was taken down at the Police-court that I said I was there for about six minutes—it is wrong.
Re-examined. It was the prisoner who said "Come outside"—I have no doubt about it.
GEORGE TAYLOR (78 F). On this evening, from something I heard, I went to the chemist's shop at the corner of Silver Street—I saw the deceased outside and I took him. to St. Mary's Hospital—I remained there—he died shortly after I got there—I communicated it to the inspector at the station.
Cross-examined. I got to the chemist's shop about twenty-five minutes to ten—it may be about two miles from the chemist's shop to the hospital—we were about ten minutes going in a cab.
Re-examined. I was at the hospital about an hour, I should say, before the deceased died.
THOMAS MORIARTY (139 F) About twenty-five minutes to ten on this night I came to the Bedford Arms—I there saw the prisoner detained by Bryan and Tilbury, who handed me this knife—I took the prisoner into custody, and to the station—on the way he said, "It is my knife; I told him if he hit me again I would stick him. This is the third time he has set about me"—after information had arrived from the hospital of the death of the man, the inspector charged him; he made no answer.
Cross-examined. There was a crowd round the deceased when I came up, and he was attended to by Taylor, who got a cab and took him to the hospital—I charged the prisoner there and then—I did not caution him; the inspector did—a few persons followed us to the station; I did not notice anyone particularly—I did not examine the prisoner the next morning—I did not see a lump on the back of his head; I saw no wounds on him; no remark was made about his hand.
Re-examined. The sergeant came up, and I said, "You detain the prisoner till I see the man off in the cab;" and I saw the deceased off and came back—the prisoner saw Tilbury hand me the knife, and a little way on he made the remark about it.
EDWARD NURSEY (Detective X). On the evening of 24th December I was at Notting Hill Police-station when the prisoner was brought in—I searched him—on his hand, his vest and jacket I saw what apparently were marks of blood—I said, "Your hands, as well as your vest, appear to have marks of 'blood on them"—he said, "I know nothing about that. Dave Bryan got me against the wall"—I looked at his face, but could see no marks on it—he had an old injury to one of the fingers of his left hand—he said nothing about it—I received the clothes and a knife from the inspector, and I handed them to Dr. Thorn at St. Mary's Hospital.
GEORGE BALDOCK (inspector F). I was on duty at Notting Hill Police-station when the prisoner was brought in on Christmas Eve—I told him he would be detained till I learned from the hospital the result of the wound—I learned that the man was dead; and I told the prisoner, and said if he had anything to say I would take it down in writing, and that it might be used against him—he made this statement, which I wrote down—after giving his name, address and occupation, he said,
"I am sober, and know what I am saying. I have known the deceased man by sight for about five years. I went to the Bedford to-night, and played two games of draughts, and paid for a pot of beer. The deceased came in and asked me if I was going to pay for the pot of beer, referring to an affair which took place some time ago. I replied, 'No!' He then said, 'Come out and fight it out.' He dragged me out of the house, and struck me. We fell together in the roadway. We got up again and struggled, and then several men got hold of me. One of them, David Bryan, asked, 'Have you got a knife?' I replied, 'Yes, in my pocket,' and I took it from my pocket and gave it to him. I had not used it, and know nothing of how it occurred. There has been an ill-feeling between us for some long time. I have tried to keep out of his way. When Bryan asked me for the knife, he said, 'You have been and stabbed a man;' I had been in Bryan's company previously, playing draughts. There was no one else present that owed the deceased man any ill-feeling, as far as I know. Last Monday night, when I was going home in Peel Street, he (the deceased) hit me in the back of the neck, and in trying to save myself I hurt my finger on the rails. My niece, Emma Wright, was with me. She lives in the same house as myself. I have met him once since. I believe it was Wednesday or Thursday night. He invited me into the Macaulay and called for a pot of beer, and at once said, 'I have no money' I told the landlady that I would pay for it, and I intended to have done so to-night"—when I had written it down I read it over to him, and he signed the original—I then charged him with killing and slaying the deceased by stabbing him in the neck with a knife—he made no reply—when the knife was brought to me I opened and looked at it, and saw on it what was apparently fresh blood—in consequence of the prisoner's mention of Emma Wright and a person from the Macaulay I took steps to have them at the Police-court.
Cross-examined. I knew neither the prisoner nor the deceased prior to this case—I have made inquiries, and I find that the deceased has been charged on some few occasions with drunkenness and assaults—I did not know him myself—I heard he was not so stout as the prisoner but taller—he was charged on three occasions—from 1878 to 1882 he was a source of trouble to the police, and twice since then he has been charged—on 29th June, 1878, he was charged with being drunk and disorderly in a public-house in the Portobello Road, and further with assaulting the landlord, and it appeared, from inquiries I made, that while the landlord was attempting to eject him they fell together and the landlord's leg was broken—the deceased was remanded week by week till 12th August, and then he had seven days' imprisonment with hard labour—I looked at the prisoner to see if there were any marks about him, but I could see nothing—one finger of his left hand was bandaged—a doctor was sent for—a doctor from Sheffield Gardens, five minutes' run, came, but he was too late and did not treat Finnessey—I did not hear that a doctor in the immediate vicinity was sent for, but refused to come.
Re-examined. Since 1882 the deceased was charged once in 1888 with being drunk and disorderly, and fined 4s. or four days, and once in 1891 he was charged with being drunk and disorderly and fined 7s. 6d. to
pay a doctor's fee for bandaging his head at the station—those are the only charges against him in the last ten years.
Cross-examined. I am the prisoner's niece—I have lived with him for eight years—he had worked constantly during that time as a labourer—on 24th December I saw him when he came home with the dinner—on the previous Monday evening he was drunk, and fell in a gateway and wounded his finger; I was with him—he did not tell me that a man had hit him, and injured his finger—I think it was on the Tuesday morning he went to St. George's Hospital to have his finger dressed, and I believe he went again on the Saturday—the injury to his finger prevented him working for those days.
Re-examined. He was alone when he fell; he. was very drunk; he told me at the gate that he had broken his finger—on Christmas Eve he was not working; he went out about half-past six; he appeared to be sober—he has a wife, but no children.
Cross-examined. I have been employed there for seven months—I saw the prisoner there soon after I came—the deceased did not come in very often—he was rather tall and big; a bit stout—I have seen him and the prisoner together, not very often—I never heard words pass between them—on the Thursday previous to this day they were there—I did not hear the deceased say to him, "I will fight you any time you like"—the landlady was in the bar; I should be up and down the different parts of the bar; it might have been said without my hearing it—I heard nothing about a row—they were perfectly sober.
Re-examined. He ordered a pot of beer on the Thursday—he did not pay for it, but was trusted—I never heard them quarrelling.
ATWOOD THORN . I am house surgeon at St. Mary's, Paddington—about half-past nine on Christmas Eve the deceased was brought to the hospital—he had an incised wound on the left side of his neck, close to the angle of the jaw—it was a deep, penetrating wound, extending into the pharynx at the back of the throat—I could get the whole of my index finger into it—it was about three inches or more deep—it might have been caused by the large blade of this knife—it would require considerable force to cause it—there was no bleeding from the wound externally when I saw it—the deceased never spoke while at the hospital—he was moaning slightly on his admission—in about one hour and twenty minutes he died—the cause of death was loss of blood from the stab—when I saw him first he was dying—I found stains of blood on this knife, and on the handle—I analysed and found it was blood—I also examined a corduroy waistcoat, and a coat handed to me by the police, and found stains of blood.
Cross-examined. It was between half-past nine and ten that the deceased was brought to the hospital, nearer half-past nine than ten, after half-past nine—there was no external bleeding from wound when the deceased came to me—there were marks of blood round the wound; probably it had oozed from the wound—I should say that the hemorrhage had principally taken place through the mouth—I stopped the bleeding by pressing with my hand on the common carotid artery lower down—the man had lost a lot of blood—the external carotid artery was cut into,
but not completely across—it is one of the most important arteries in the body—if it had been completely severed there would probably have been less bleeding, but almost certainly there would have been a fair amount—after some time the blood would have been congested and formed a stoppage—when the deceased came he was dying and almost pulseless—possibly if a doctor had been called immediately he could have successfully stopped the bleeding, in the same way as I did, when he came to the hospital, by pressure a little below the wound—the wound need not of itself have been fatal, if all the apparatus had been ready immediately to be applied—it probably would not have been fatal if it had been ligatured—I do not think a doctor could have tied the artery in the street very well; I do not think he could have done everything we can do at the hospital—I do not think the jolting of a cab would affect it much, because the cab would support his head; but it would probably increase the hemorrhage.
GUILTY .— DEATH .
Twelve Months' Hard 'Labour.
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, January 11th, 1893.
Before Mr. Recorder.
192. FRANK SANSOM (32), CHARLES LUMLEY (35), and ROBERT SILAS CHANNING (33) , Unlawfully conspiring to obtain divers sums of money. Other Counts, for obtaining money by false pretences. CHANNING PLEADED GUILTY to the Counts for false pretences. MR. WALLIS Prosecuted;
MR. WARBURTON appeared for Lumley; and
MR. HUTTON for Sansom.
ANNA HUGHES . I am a widow, of 12, Royston Road, Fulham—on December 3rd Channing called on me and said he came from the Building Society—I asked if he had called instead of Mr. Sansom—he said, "Yes"—I understood Mr. Sansom to be an officer of the society—I said I had got a letter saying that I was to pay no one but Mr. Somera, who I knew as an officer of the society—Channing represented himself as Somers—I paid him 4s. 4d.; he made this entry in my book, and signed it Somers—I said I was not prepared to pay that day, would he call on Monday?—he said if I paid half then he would call on Monday for the other half, and then I should stand a chance under the ballot—he had called once before for Sansom, when Sansom was ill.
SARAH JENNER . I am the wife of Harry Jenner, of 16, Queen's Road, Notting Hill, and am a member of the Provident Association of London—on 3rd December Channing called on me—he had a pink paper in his hand—I gave him four shillings in the belief that he came from the Association—he gave the name of Somers, and I expected Somers to call—I gave him these three books and asked him to take them to Mr. Sansom—I saw him sign "S. Somers" here—the three books are not in the same state now; the front leaf has been torn out of each; the "S. Somers" is torn out.
and 5. 30—about three-quarters of an hour before that Sansom came into my shop and said he was merely passing, and called to see me; that he was promoted, and the agent would be sure to call that evening or the next—he left, and after that Channing called and said he came from the London Provident Association for the money—he did not tell me his name, but he signed "Somers" in my book, and I paid him 48. 4d.—that was my nephew's—I said I would send mine next day if he would give me his address.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. Sansom has collected money before—I had had a notice telling me not to pay anybody but Mr. Somers—Channing did not represent himself as Mr. Somera; I think he was too tipsy, but I thought he was the right man—the collector called once a month, on the 1st or 2nd—when Channing called it was after the call was due—I had known Sanson three or four months, and we had a chat when he called.
WILLIAM SWEET . I am a bootmaker, of 84, Bramley Road, Netting Hill—on December 8th, about 5. 15 p. m., Lumley came—I did not know him before—he asked for 8s. 10d.—I asked his name—he said, "Somers"—I asked his address—he said, "67, Bedford Road"—I said, "It is a strange thing; another Mr. Somers called to-day at one o'clock, and also asked for my subscription, and I told him I did not wish to pay it to-day"—he said, "I can see that someone else has called on you—I asked him what he meant—he said there was another man going round and collecting the money, and signing the book in his name, and he wanted to find him—Somers called before Lumley—I put on my hat and coat and went out with him, and told him he would have to come with me—he said he could see there was something wrong, and he would take me to the man who sent him—we met a constable, and I gave him in custody; he ran away, I followed him, and caught him in Threadgold Street, and the policeman followed—he said, "I am innocent; let me go, and I will take you to the man who sent me; his name is Sansom; you will find him at the Trafalgar public-house"—we went there, and found Sansom reading a newspaper, and said we had his pal in custody, and he would have to come with us—he said he knew nothing about it—on the way to the station he said, "I sent Lumley to Mr. Miller and to your place."
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. I made no note of these conversations—Lumley was only at my shop two or three minutes—the officer was with me when I went to Sansom—Sansom never said that he had sent Lumley for the purpose of ascertaining whether two men named Somers had been there—this public-house is about three hundred yards from my house.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. I have been a member of this society about five months; they collect once a month—I paid all the instalments to Mr. Sansom—Lumley said that he was Mr. Somers; not that he came from Mr. Somers—I did not see his workman's apron; his coat was buttoned up.
WILLIAM MOSLIN . I live at 346, Portobello Road, and rent part of a shop in Bramley Road from Mr. Miller—on December 8th Channing and Lumley came—one of them said, "I have called for 10s. 10d. on behalf of the Provident Association of London"—I said, "I am very sorry, you will have to call again; Mr. Miller is not in"—one of them turned
to the other, and said, "Where is the next?"—Channing said, "Mr. Sweet's"—they walked towards Mr. Sweet's, which is higher up, and said, "We will call as we come back"—Channing returned, and I said, "Mr. Miller is in now"—he came in, but I do not know what took place.
JAMES BROWN (Detective X). On December 9th I saw Channing in Garnet Grove, Chiswick, and told him I was going to take him into custody for obtaining 4s. 4d. by representing himself as Mr. Sansom—he said, "I have not collected any money, and what money I have taken I have signed my own name"—he afterwards said, "I was instructed by Mr. Sansom, the superintendent, to collect the money, and sign the name of Somers; I did so, and handed it to Sansom; I have collected other sums the same way at Fulham"—I told him he would be charged with being concerned in obtaining 10s. 10d. from Mr. Sweet and 10s. 10d. from Mr. Miller, of Bramley Road—he said, "I was with Sansom yesterday; the man who you say is Lumley was introduced to me as Mr. Somers, the agent; I went with Lumley to Mr. Miller's, but I did not go to Mr. Sweet; I called to see Mr. Sweet, but he was out."
WALTER SELMAN (234 X). On December 8th I was on duty in the Bramley Road, and saw Mr. Sweet with the prisoner Lumley—Mr. Sweet said, "This man has been trying to obtain money from me by fraud; I want you to take him in custody"—Lumley ran away—we pursued him. and overtook him in Threadgold Street—he said, "Let me go; I will show you the man who sent me; his name is Sansom; he is at the Trafalgar public-house"—I took him to the station—he said "Sansom sent us to Mr. Sweet's and Jack Miller's; Sansom said to me, 'Give Mr. Sweet a receipt for his 10s. 10d. '"—I found this receipt-book on him—I went to the Trafalgar public-house and saw Sansom—I said, "I believe your name is Sansom?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "I shall take you in custody for attempting to defraud Mr. Sweet"—he said, "You have made a mistake; I am superintendent of the Association, and have been promoted recently; I did send them to Mr. Sweet and Mr. Miller to get the monthly subscriptions"—he had this bag with him, containing books of different sorts, books of sewing-machine companies, and of this Provident Institution.
CHARLES POTTER (Police Sergeant X). I read the charge at the Notting Dale Police station, and Lumley said, in Sansom's presence: "I admit asking for the money, but I was employed by Sansom to do so"—Sansom said, "Yes, that is so; I have never been dismissed from the service of the Association"—I found on Sansom a black bag containing three deposit books with the signatures of two leaves and a half torn out.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. The books were in an envelope, but not sealed down.
HENRY THOMAS MORTIMER . I am superintendent of the Provident Association of London for the west district—they have offices in Bishopsgate Street—it is a building and insurance society employing agents to collect—Sansom was in their service and was dismissed in the middle of November, and had no authority to collect money in December—Channing was authorised to collect money in any district on any business introduced by himself; his authority determined when he was arrested—he had no authority to collect money from Mrs. Hughes or Mrs.
Druce—Mrs. Hughes was one of Sansom's cases and Druce's money was collected by Somers.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. Sansom was the agent who introduced Mr. Sweet's business—I know that from the official notice—as to the business Sansom brought in it was his duty to collect while he was in our employ, but not after he was discharged—Channing was entitled to collect because he was not dismissed—Sansom was with us about seven months, he worked in any district—if he introduced business he got a commission, but it would not go on if he was discharged—if he brought fresh business after he was discharged I should refuse it.
Cross-examined. Sweet was one of Sansom's introductions—after Sansom was dismissed a circular was sent out saying that the money was only to be paid to Somers.
WILLIAM JOHN SOMERS . I am the official collector for the Provident Association of London for the western district—I was authorised to call on Sweet, Miller, Druce, Jenner, and Hughes to collect—I do not know Channing, and never gave him authority to sign my name—I do not know Lumley.
The prisoners' statements before the Magistrate: Lumley stated that Sansom and Channing met him and asked him to collect the money if Mr. Somers had not received it. Channing produced a written defence stating that he was led away by Sansom, who, being his superintendent, he took agency under him, and he did it not knowing he was doing any harm, as he did not know that Somers had been discharged.
SANSOM then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at West London Police-court on April 14th, 1891, and LUMLEY to a conviction at the same Court on July nth, 1892.
CHANNING— Six Months' Hard Labour.
SANSOM— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
LUMLEY— Eight Months' Hard Labour.
GEORGE EDWARD ABBOTT . I am manager of the Stamford, Spalding and Boston Bank, Northampton—the prisoner had an account there—on September 1st he asked me to discount this bill; I did so, and credited the amount to his account, less discount—I sent it to the head office—this is the prisoner's signature.
Cross-examined by MR. COHEN. It is drawn by the prisoner; to the best of my knowledge the whole of it is in his writing; I have no doubt of it; but I did not see him write it—I am an expert to a certain extent—I have known him since April last—it was a small trading account.
SOLOMON FRANKLY . I am a bootmaker, of 21, Commercial Road, and keep an account at the Union Bank of London, Fenchurch Street—I cannot write; my son writes my cheques and acceptances—I did not authorise him to accept this bill, or anyone else.
Cross-examined. I did not owe Holt any money when the bill was drawn—I have never accepted a bill for him; I cannot read—this bill was not presented to me—I am brought here by the bank.
Re-examined. I have had two or three of his bills—I have several bills to meet.
SAMUEL FRANKLYN . I am the son of the last witness, and act as his clerk—I sign cheques and accept bills for him—this signature was not written by me, or by my authority; it is not like my signature—I know the prisoner's writing—this letter is written by him: "Dear Sir,—The bill I referred to Mr. Franklyn is Mr. C. Franklyn, not yourself, as I have no bills of yours, wherever the mistake has arisen.—Yours truly, HENRY HOLT. "
Cross-examined. Nobody else was authorised to sign my father's name—I have got the bill-book here—Mr. Goodman is a shoe manufacturer.
Re-examined. We received a letter from Mr. Goodman—it was in exchange for a bill of £33 12s. 4d., drawn by Mr. Holt on us—we wrote to him for an explanation: "Dear Sir,—We have this day taken from Mr. Holt a three months' bill for £33 12s. 4d., which will be presented in due course," and then received the other letter—I do not know Mr. C. Franklyn.
HENRY TAYLOR (City Detective). On December 20th I was in Northampton with Mr. Goodman, and saw the prisoner with his solicitor, Mr. Daniel—Mr. Goodman asked the prisoner for an explanation of the forged bill—he said, "I can't pay the money"—Mr. Daniel told him to say nothing and asked to be left alone, and when we went in again he said, "I advise my client to go to London to be tried before the Lord Mayor"—I said, "I have no warrant; I shall take you in London"—we went to London, where I took him in custody.
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted, and MR. LAWLESS Defended.
In this case the prisoner's father was charged before Mr. Plowden, the Magistrate, with unlawfully selling intoxicating liquor to persons in a state of intoxication, he keeping a licensed house. He called the prisoner, who the police charged as serving the men, as a witness, and she swore that the men in question were all sober, and that she did not serve them after the police entered the house. MR. LAWLESS submitted that there was no proof that Joyner was licensed, his license not being produced, and it was the license which gave the Magistrate jurisdiction in the case. (See Reg. v. Evans 17, Cox 37, and Reg. v. Lewis, 12 Cox, 163.) MR. BODKIN contended that there was no Statute which compelled the license to be produced, and that there was evidence that Joyner was licensed. (See Reg. v. Von Le Berg, 1 Crown Cases Reserved, p. 264, and Reg. v. Denning, Law Reports, p. 290.) The fact that Joyner sold beer was evidence which gave the Magistrate jurisdiction, and there was evidence that the license was endorsed. The RECORDER held that he was bound by the cases quoted, and directed a verdict of
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, 11th January, 1893.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. PICKERSGILL Prosecuted.
SAMUEL WILDSMITH . lama butcher, of 258, Wick Road, Victoria Park Road—on 28th December I got into an omnibus at Cambridge Heath about 10. 30 p. m.—near the Bedford Hotel the prisoner got in, near the end of the journey—I got out at the Queen's Hotel, went in, and then crossed to the Cassland Hotel—the prisoner went into the Queen's Hotel as I went in—I stayed in the Cassland about five to ten minutes, not longer—as I was going home along the Victoria Park Road, and about forty to fifty yards from the Cassland, I was pulled back from behind, and my watch and part of my chain were pulled off by someone behind—I was pulled on my back; my nose bled—I saw men—I called out "Police! Murder!"—I got up; the men ran away—there must have been two, because one kicked my legs from under me—as I went back I met two policemen with the prisoner, whom I recognised as having seen in the omnibus, and who followed me into the Queen's Hotel—he was taken to the station—I was shown this watch and chain; they are my property, value £3—I was sober; I had had a glass, but was the same as I am now—I heard one of the men say, "Bill, bring my hat. "
ARTHUR GOODRAM (145 J). I was at the corner of the Dagmar Road, a turning out of the Victoria Park Road, about eleven p. m., when I saw two men running in the Victoria Park Road—I had heard cries of "Police!" and "Murder!"—I chased the men, and shouted—I heard Rowland say, "I've got one"—I went to him, and said to the prisoner, "What are you running for?"—he said, "A man struck me, and I struck him back, "and then both ran away—I took him back to where I had heard cries of "Police! "and saw the prosecutor in the Victoria Park Road—he was sober—he said the prisoner was the man who had robbed him—I took the prisoner to the station—I went back and searched the road—I saw the watch found—I found part of the chain—I showed them to the prosecutor—he identified them as his property.
WALTER ROWLAND (275 J): I was on duty at the corner of the Dagmar Road when I saw the prisoner and another man running side by side—I asked them what they were running for—they continued running—I stopped the prisoner, and threw him on the ground—he struggled violently, and tried to get away—I found the watch, and part of the chain was picked up in the Victoria Park Road.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You did not fall, I threw you down—you struggled to get away.
Re-examined. This is the watch and chain.
The prisoner, in his defence, said he heard the cry of" Stop thief!" and followed a tall and a little man; the little one kicked him, he fell, being out of breath, and on getting up was taken into custody.
GUILTY *†—He then pleaded guilty to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell in June, 1892. Eihgteen Months' Hard labour.
ROBERT FEARNLEY . I am a shoe finisher, of 1. Boar Yard, St. Martin's, Norwich—I was present on 9th July, 1888, at Christ's Church, Norwich, when the prisoner was married to Martha Dunthorn—he was described as Arthur Johnstone Bush, 26, bachelor—I was a witness, and signed the register—this is a correct copy—I am the witness so described—I last saw the prisoner's wife in November or December, 1891, at Norwich—the prisoner was away then—he was living with her about two and a half years ago, to about July, 1890—she died in January, 1892.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. Your wife was a "funny" character—you lived together off and on—two or three months she lived with another man before you came away.
CHARLOTTE LOCKE . I live at 15, Mornington Road, Kensington—on 6th January I was married to the prisoner at the Parish Church of St. Stephen's, South Kensington—he described himself as Arthur Johnstone, a bachelor—this is my certificate—he represented himself to me as a bachelor—I first learned he had been married in March, 1892—I have had two children by him—by my directions he was given into custody—he was then living with me—we were happy on the whole.
AMOS ATKINSON (Sergeant X). At eleven a. m. on 23rd November I went to 15, Mornington Road, South Kensington—the prisoner was in bed—Locke was in the room—I said, "lam a police officer; I have reason to believe you have committed bigamy with this woman"—he said, "She will have to prove it"—he got up and dressed, and I took him to the station—on the way he said he thought his wife was dead when he married Locke—I read him the first certificate—he said, "Yes, that's me"—when I read the second he said, "Yes, I dropped the 'Rush' in that"—he was charged.
The prisoner, in his defence, said his wife was loose and a drunkard, and he left her, at first allowing her five shillings a week which he stopped in consequence of her conduct. His mother wrote that she had died in the hospital, but she recovered, and now that she was dead he was willing to marry the prosecutrix.
GUILTY . Judgment Respited.
MR. KERSHAW Prosecuted.
JOHN HARRIS BARNETT . I am a jeweller, of 72, York Road, Islington—on 31st December I was sitting in my shop window at work—a little after nine I saw the prisoner come up sharp to the window, and break the glass—I could not see what he had in his hands—he got some watches from a case and ran away—a workman ran and caught him—I ran out and found he was stopped about fifty or sixty yards from my shop—we picked up three watches, and five others were found—these watches produced are my property.
FREDERICK MOORE (365 G). I heard cries of "Police!" and found the prisoner detained about fifty yards from the prosecutor's shop—I charged him with breaking and entering the shop, and stealing eight watches—he said, "I admit it, policeman; my wife and family are starving."
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I am guilty; I did it from want I have a wife and seven children."
Prisoner's defence: "I admit I broke the window and took the watches, but I dropped them as I went along. I did not think there were so many. They did not bring them all to the Court. 1 have been out of work three months, and have a wife and seven children. "
GUILTY . From police inquiries it appeared the prisoner had lost his situation as a market porter through getting drunk, but otherwise was a respectable man: To enter into his own recognisances of £10 to come up for judgment when called upon.
MR. GRAZEBROOK Prosecuted and MR. KEITH-FRITH Defended.
HENRY SCHAFFER . I am a dealer, of 29, Turner Street, Stepney—on Sunday, 8th inst., I came out of the station in Aldgate East, about 11. 20 p. m., and was looking for a tram or 'bus to go to Blackheath—I took my watch from my pocket, and before I could see the time I received a violent blow in my right eye; at the same time I was tripped up and fell—I was bruised and I ache all over still, and ray eye is still contused—in falling I saw the prisoner—I shouted, "Police!" as my watch and chain were gone—this is the watch (produced)—the prisoner ran away—I next saw him in the custody of two railway guards—a constable came—I charged the prisoner with robbing me.
Cross-examined. I saw no" horse-play" or "skylarking"—I had not been in a public-house—I had taken my watch out at King's Cross Station to see the time about ten minutes previously—I had come from Ked Lion Street—I had been-to see a friend—I had not seen the prisoner before—I was very much shocked.
WILLIAM BOND . I am a porter of the District Railway—I saw the prosecutor standing on the pavement, and the prisoner come from the Essex public-house, which was closed—I saw the prisoner strike the prosecutor in the face and knock him down on the pavement with his list, take his watch from his pocket, and run away—the prisoner slung the watch in the air—I was four yards off—the prisoner ran into Examiner Fenton's arms, then turned back, and I got hold of him and took him into the station—he was detained—Fenton came to my assistance—a constable came and took the prisoner to Leman Street.
Cross-examined. The next day the prosecutor was able to give evidence at Worship Street—he gave it clearly—there is no doctor in this case.
By the JURY. I saw the prisoner detach the chain—the watch-chain was pulled out bodily.
ABRAHAM FENTON . I am a ticket collector at Farringdon Street—on. this Sunday I left Farringdon at 11. 23, arrived at Aldgate 11. 31—while talking to Bond at Aldgate East, five minutes later, I saw the prisoner strike the prosecutor with his fist in the face—he snatched the prosecutor's watch and chain, and made off—he butted me in the stomach with his head—I was trying to stop him—I got hold of him by the collar—Bond came up, and we pulled him into the station, and kept him there till the constable came—the prisoner flung the watch and chain ill the air when he butted me, and as I got him by the collar.
Cross-examined. I saw no woman with the prosecutor.
was standing at the corner of Aldgate about 11. 35—I beard a cry of Stop thief!"—I went as far as Aldgate Station, and saw the prosecutor on the ground, and then I saw the prisoner throw the watch and chain in the air—I picked it up out of the gutter—I saw the prisoner held by the two porters—this is the watch—I gave it to the constable.
ROBERT SMITH (792, City). On Sunday night I heard cries of "Stop-thief!" near Aldgate—I found the prisoner held by Bond—the prosecutor came up and said prisoner had assaulted him, and taken his watch and chain—the prisoner said, "I know nothing about it; I have just come from a christening"—he was sober—Alexander handed the watch and chain to the prosecutor, and the prosecutor handed them to me—I took the prisoner to the station—he was charged.
GUILTY **†.—He then
PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Clerkenwell in June, 1884, in the name of George Collins. Twenty-five strokes of the cat, and Five Years' Penal Servitude. Bond and Fenton were awarded £3 each for stopping the prisoner.
OLD COURT.—Thursday. January 12th, 1893.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MESSRS. BODKIN and ELDRIDGE Prosecuted, and MR. PIGGOTT Defended,. at the request of the COURT.
MARY ANN PALMER . I live at 10, Wright's Road, Bow, and am the wife of Charles Palmer—I knew the deceased as Mrs. Nash; she lived with the prisoner as his wife in one room above mine; they used it as a bedroom—they got on very badly together, quarrelling a great deal—I had known them since August—I have seen her throw a kettle of water at him—she was a great drunkard—I believe she pledged things in the-house—the prisoner has come home and found the door locked, and had to go away again—they were constantly quarrelling—on 19th December, at three p. m., I saw her intoxicated; I did not see him—I did not see-her afterwards that day—between midnight and one o'clock on 20th December I and my husband were in bed: I heard the prisoner and the-deceased come in and go upstairs to their room—I heard her use very bad language, and raving at her husband—I did not hear his voice; I did not hear any scuffle or sound of violence, only a fall, and then I heard her moaning—I took no notice of it, because she was in; the habit of moaning and talking to herself when she was in liquor—two or throe minutes after the fall I heard the prisoner come down and go straight out at the street door—I fell off to sleep—I next heard knocking at the street door—my husband got up and went down and opened the door, and then I got up—I saw a policeman and Mr. Reyden come with the prisoner—they went upstairs, and I followed them into the prisoner's room—I saw the deceased lying on the bed—her clothes had a quantity of blood on them—there was a wound on the right side of her stomach and one on the left of the collar-bone—there was some water upset behind the door; that was the only sign of a scuffle I noticed—I asked her what had caused
her to do such a thing, and she pointed to the prisoner and said he had done it—after that Dr. Roberts came—I saw a knife on the floor by the fireplace—I did not notice whether there was blood on it—I afterwards saw the constable take something, which I believe was the knife, from the mantelshelf—the prisoner was taken into custody—when I saw the knife on the floor it was rather close to the deceased, but she could not have put it where it was unless she was up at the time; she might have thrown it—the prisoner and the deceased had been drinking—next day she was taken to the hospital—I went with her—I had given the prisoner and the deceased notice to quit—the prisoner was very much upset—he was at the foot of the bed crying.
Cross-examined. The deceased was of very drunken habits—when I came up into the room on the morning of the 20th, after the injury, she said she had been to two public-houses on the night of the 19th, the John Bull and the Milton Arms—I never heard the prisoner threaten to take her life—he behaved well to her when she was sober—I noticed no sign of scrimmage on this night except the water—I was very much upset—her clothes were on but all pulled open, everything was unfastened—I cannot say if her boots were on—she looked as though she had thrown herself on the bed in a drunken state with her clothes partly undone, but not taken off—when I came into the room I thought she had inflicted these wounds on herself; I was not surprised, because when my husband opened the door the prisoner said she bad done it, and I had heard her threaten before to stick a knife in him and in herself too—she showed great animosity at times against the prisoner when she was in drink—I did not hear the man's voice after they came home, only hers—9he was violent when she was in drink—I never saw her knock herself about.
HENRY REYDEX . I live at 112, Usher Road, Bow—Julia Augusta Low was my sister—I saw her dead at the Sick Asylum—she was a widow and lived with the prisoner as his wife at 10, Wright's Road, Bow—I knew the prisoner pretty well—T knew they lived very unhappily together—they were both, so far as I know, given to drink—on Tuesday morning, 20th December, about half-past one or two, I was roused by knocking and shouting at my door—I found the prisoner there-the worse for drink—he said, "Come round quick; your sister has been and stabbed herself; Julia has been and stabbed herself"—he followed me upstairs, and then he said, "Make haste; she is bleeding to death"—I dressed myself quickly, and went with him—it took us about five minutes to walk from my house to 10, Wright's Road—when we got there we knocked at the door; we were kept waiting about twenty minutes, and then Mr. Palmer came and opened the door; he was very much put out—the prisoner said, "I am in trouble enough; don't talk about that; let me go upstairs, for my wife has stabbed herself"—I went to get a constable, and came back with Brown, and we went upstairs—the prisoner waited at the door for me, and we went up together; I don't believe Mr. Palmer went up—when we got into the room I saw the deceased lying on her back on the bed; she has one wound on her chest; the other was lower down; I did not see it—she was partly dressed; her skirt was off—the top of her dress was open, and her stays undone; there was nothing covering the upper part of her body—I asked her in the prisoner's presence who did it—she said, "George"—she cast
her eyes round—she was then as sensible as I am now—I think she had been drinking; I noticed the smell—the prisoner did not say Anything then, but Brown spoke—Mr. and Mrs. Palmer came into the room then—Dr. Roberts was sent for—after a little while I went and got Dr. Rich—Dr. Roberts came; the prisoner was out on the landing then, and said, "Dr. Roberts is here;" or something of that sort—when I first went into the room, I saw this boot clicker's knife lying by the side of the fireplace, which was opposite the bed—the knife was two or two and a half yards from the middle of the bed—I saw blood on it when it was picked up—the prisoner is a boot clicker by trade; the knife is one of his—shortly afterwards the prisoner was taken to the station.
Cross-examined. The deceased was of very drunken habits—as far as I know, she was in the habit of getting drunk continually; I had not seen her for three or four months—when she was in drink she was very excited—I never heard that on previous occasions she tried to take her life—the prisoner seemed very confused when he came round to me—I asked her who did it—I don't think I was under the impression that she had done it herself—I don't think I should not have been surprised; I never knew her to hurt herself before—she said "George" when I Asked who did it; and the prisoner then said, "Say I done it. If you do I will leave you"—from the tone of his voice I knew he meant to say that he had not done it—this is an ordinary bootmaker's knife—she was not undressed in the usual way.
CHAELES PALMEE . I live at 10, Wright's Road—the prisoner lodged with us, with the deceased—about two a. m. on 20th December I was in bed—I heard a knocking at the door—after a time I went and opened the door—the prisoner and Reyden were there—I asked the prisoner if he expected me to be a footman to him—he said he was very sorry, but his wife was upstairs, and she had stabbed herself—I said, "I have heard of that sort of thing before," referring to a time about three months ago, when the prisoner had come down and said he was brightened to go upstairs because his wife had threatened to stab him—I said, "You had better send for the police"—Reyden fetched a policeman, and we all went upstairs into the room—the deceased was half flying and half sitting on the bed; she appeared to be resting on her hand or elbow; her head was raised—she was not flat down—I went with the prisoner for Dr. Roberts—we saw the assistant doctor and came back to the house.
Cross-examined. I have heard that the deceased had attempted to take her life once before—I do not know lit; I let her in at half-past one one morning, and she could not get into the room and slept on the stairs, and then she got out of a window, and so into her own room—I never heard the prisoner threaten her, or knock her about—he treated her fairly well.
MARTHA BLACKWKLL . I live at 10, Wright's Road, on the same floor as the prisoner and the deceased lived—at two a. m. on 20th December I heard a knocking at the street door—I had heard no noise before that—after the policeman came I went into the prisoner's room—I saw this knife, I believe, on the floor by the fender—I pointed it out to the constable—I could not say if there was blood on it—I afterwards saw it on the mantelshelf—there is an ordinary partition between my room and the prisoner's.
Cross-examined. I don't think the room is so large as four or five yards square—I heard no sound of quarrelling on this night; I heard nothing.
Re-examined. I don't know who put this knife on the mantelpiece, or who picked it up or cleaned it; I saw nothing of that kind.
HENRY JOSEPH BROWN (512 K). At half-past two a. m. on 20th December I was called by Reyden to 10, Wright's Road—I saw at the door the prisoner, Palmer and Reyden—I went upstairs with Reyden and the prisoner—I saw the deceased lying on the bed; there was a good deal of blood on her clothing, and blood on the floor between the fireplace and the bed, close to the bed, which was about three and a half yards from the fireplace—I saw a knife lying on the mantelpiece covered with blood—I saw water on the floor; it had come from a pail—the deceased was the worse for drink, and faint from the loss of blood—I said, "Who has done this?"—she replied, "George"—I said, "Who is George?"—she said, "My husband," looking at him—I said to him, "You hear what she says, now be careful what you are saying"—he said, "Yes, that is right, say I did it. She stabbed herself, I never touched her"—he was the worse for drink—a doctor was sent for—I saw the knife covered with wet blood on the mantelpiece after sending for the doctor, and before he came—I left it on the mantelpiece—about three-quarters of an hour afterwards I looked for it again, after the doctor had come—I then found it in a box with other knives wiped clean, barring a little blood on the end of the handle—all the knives in the box except one were clickers', knives—the doctor came and attended to the woman—I took the prisoner to the station and charged him—he said in answer, "I never touched her, I never done anything, that is truthfully. If I am detained I shall lose my work"—he was remanded, and subsequently charged with murder—he was admitted to bail by the magistrate when he was committed for trial.
Cross-examined. I believe the bail was small—when the prisoner denied having attacked her with the knife, she did not in my hearing reply and contradict his statement.
CHARLES BRIDGEMAN (Inspector K). I received information of this woman's death, and on the morning of 3rd January I charged the prisoner with wilful murder—he said, "I am innocent of this, and that is all that I can say"—that was after he had been remanded upon the other charge.
THOMAS ROBERTS . I practice as a medical man at Culledon House, Tredegar Road—on the early morning of 20th December I was called to 10, Wright's Road, where I saw the deceased lying on the bed partially undressed, bleeding from two wounds: one on the left side, an inch below the collar-bone; it was quite superficial, only skin deep; the other was in the lower part of the abdomen, on the right side, two and a half inches on the outer side of and one inch below the navel; it penetrated the wall into the abdominal cavity—there was an ordinary bruise on the right upper arm; it might have been occasioned in many ways, by a grasp with a fair amount of force—it was in front—there was no other wound on her—she was weak and faint from loss of blood, and suffering from the effects of drink—I afterwards examined her clothing—I found no cuts to correspond with the wounds I have spoken to—the constable showed
me this knife in the room—the two wounds might have been inflicted by it—there need not have been a great degree of force if the wounds were inflicted with this knife, because of its pointedness and stiffness and edges—the wounds I saw might have been self-inflicted—their appearance was consistent with their being inflicted by a person holding this knife, or they might have been inflicted by some other person holding it—I advised the deceased's removal, and she was taken to the Sick Asylum, and passed out of my care—after hearing of her death I and Dr. Pearce made a post-mortem, and found the cause of death was peritonitis consequent upon the injury to the abdomen—I think the condition of drink she was in would not tend to produce the peritonitis we found.
Cross-examined. I was present before the Coroner—the Jury there returned an open verdict, I believe, that there was not sufficient evidence. (Mr. Bodkin read the verdict of the Coroner's Jury, which was: "That the deceased, Julia Low, died from peritonitis, supervening on a stab in the abdomen, and that the evidence was insufficent to prove if it were self-inflicted or otherwise.")
WILLIAM HENRY PEARCE . I am assistant medical officer of the Poplar Sick Asylum—about twenty minutes to Ave on 20th December the deceased was admitted there—her wounds had been dressed—she had a skin wound on her left breast-bone; I examined her abdominal wound—I was in Court when Dr. Roberts was examined; I heard and agree with his evidence—she died on the 26th, about a quarter past three.
Cross-examined. I do not know that she tried to tear off her bandages when in the hospital; I have not heard that she did—two hours before her death she made application for beer; we were keeping the Christmas Day on the Monday, and she asked a patient in the adjoining bed for beer; I did not see her take any.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Thursday, January 12th, 1893.
Before Mr. Recorder.
WILLIAM FRANK SEWELL . I am a furniture dealer, of 8, Worship Street—I give out work to outside workmen; they bring it back to be inspected by Mr. Harris, my foreman; he passes it, initials the invoice, and they take it to the cashier and sign for it—I employed the prisoner as an outside workman—this document, dated 16/12/92, for 10s., is receipted "Jas. Grant"—I can't say whether the prisoner presented it; it is for a double leg-rest—here is another, dated 24/12/92 for a mahogany leg-rest for 10s.—I paid that to the prisoner; it is in the same handwriting as the other—in consequence of something that came to my knowledge I spoke to Mr. Harris, and afterwards saw the prisoner—it is initialled A. H.—when I paid it I did not think they were Harris's genuine initials, B. but I paid it that I might have something to convict upon, as several, C. bills had been presented with false signatures—I paid the prisoner the
10s., and gave him into custody—he said that he had brought in the rest on a previous occasion.
Cross-examined. I was cashier on the 16th and on the 24th—when Harris initials an order he does not put any date; he only puts his initials in pencil—I put this in as the order issued by the prisoner to me for payment—he has been in my employ five or six years—he has made five or six leg-rests within the last twelve months—when he made this one I did not give him a written order to bring it about three o'clock on Friday—he made it by order in writing—I do not think the order was returned to the firm when the leg-rest was brought in—I can't say whether it was handed back at the same time as the last order—Harris knew that the price was 10s.; the price varies, they have not all been 10s.—this was not the first 10s. leg-rest the prisoner made for us—we put these red letters here, I fancy, after we charged him—I did not put them, or order them to be put; they are Mr. Day's writing; they were not there when we paid the 10s.—Harris's signature is not genuine; these are two forgeries—the red letters are the date on which the bill was paid—Day is not here—here is one order for a leg-rest at 7s. 6d.—the prisoner has probably made four or five at 10s.—when I pay money it is entered in a book at the time—he would not sign the bill till the goods were delivered to him—he would not initial the invoice—it is the custom to exchange the work for the invoice—I keep a record of all sums I pay out to the workmen, and of all goods that come in—if I find four orders to pay for leg-rests, and only three have been delivered, I should see that there was one rest short, or one order too many; the thing could not pass unobserved; the order would show to whom I had paid too much—I was at the cashier's desk the greater part of the day on the 16th; I was there ail the morning, and I should say I was there at half-past three; but I can't say for certain—I will not swear I was there as late as four—I swear that I paid the money on the 16th.
Re-examined. This order refers to the article on the 16th; the receipt of the 16th is No. 1,941—this comes from the stock-book; it refers to a double leg-rest which came in on 16th December, from James Grant; that is the last entry in his name.
By MR. WOODGATE. This entry is not my writing—I did not see it before I gave the prisoner into custody—I do not remember whether the order of the 16th was given by me personally; it was given by my house—it would be in writing—I can't say whether this is the order which was brought in by the prisoner on the 16th, when he got his invoice initialled by Harris; it did not come into the possession of the firm through Harris; it left the firm and went to Grant, who brought it back when the bill was paid on the 24th—the leg-rest came in on the 16th, but whether the order came in that day I do not know—he should have presented it, but he took it away with him, and I did not see it till the 24th.
By the COURT. It is usual to give written orders to workmen, and when they are brought back countersigned by Harris I pay them—it is nobody's duty to date the bills at the time they are paid—the workmen do not generally put the dates on—I might have given Day permission to put the dates on—turning to my book, I find an entry on the 24th December, "Grant, 10s."—I also paid him on the 16th—Harris altered his signature before December 24th, in consequence of instructions.
ALFRED HARRIS . I am in the prosecutor's employ it is my duty to inspect the furniture brought in by the workmen, and if I pass it I initial the bill he brings to me—on 16th December the prisoner presented this bill, and brought in a leg-rest—I can't say whether he brought an order, which I had given him to make it—it was to be returned on Friday, the 16th, and he should have given it up with the goods—whether he did or not I don't know—these are not my initials on the 16th—he did not bring me a leg-rest on the 24th; these are not my initials—sometimes workmen will bring in articles and ask me to take them, and in that case I should not have an order.
Cross-examined, I got a leg-rest from him on the 16th, some time in the afternoon I think—I have no recollection whether I was showing a gentleman over the works; I will swear I was not—I cannot tell whether I had been out for an hour and a half or two hours just before I saw the prisoner—I did show a gentleman over the factory; there are warehousemen there—if anybody bad to get an invoice signed they would have to wait till my return—I had altered my signature during the last week—neither of the signatures to these orders are mine—if this order of the 16th had been presented I should have signed it, if presented with a leg-rest of this description—I have known the prisoner for years as Grant—this (produced) is my genuine signature—I do not always sign in blue; I use all sorts of pencils—I do not trouble myself to see if there is any date on the invoice, I exchange it for the goods—I do not give the signature till I get the goods in return—it was about three o'clock when I saw the prisoner—I am quite sure I inspected the work by daylight—I have no doubt that both these documents are forgeries—no order was given to the prisoner except for the leg-rest on the day it was paid.
PHILIP WILLIS (Police Constable). I took the prisoner on 24th December—I told him he would be charged with obtaining 10s.—he said, "I forged no order"—on the way to the station he said, "I know I must pay for the leg-rest, but I thought I might as well have another 10s. "
Cross-examined. He was bailed on Christmas Eve, the day he was taken into custody, and the bail renewed their bail on the following Monday, but the amount was increased—I know Mr. Newman, one of the bail—I was sent to him by my superior officer—I did not try to induce him not to become bail—since this Session opened the prisoner has applied to me to give up some money—he did not tell me that his Lordship had made an order for me to deliver it up—I did not make any inquiries about it—I did not understand that such an order had been made—I am sure he said he had paid for the leg-rest—I did not say, "I am rather surprised at a young man like you doing things like this."
W. F. SEWELL (Re-examined). We take off 21/2 discount—the entry is "Grant, 9s. 9d."—these two orders were taken away for evidence.
The prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
The prisoner was further charged with forging and uttering a receipt for 10s., upon which no evidence was offered.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT —Thursday, January 12th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MESSRS. TRAVERS HUMPHREYS and J. H. CONDY Prosecuted; MR. BURNIE defended Dare. Dare stated, in the hearing of the JURY, that he desired to PLEAD GUILTY to the 5th and 6th counts, upon which they found him
GUILTY.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. HUMPHREYS offered no evidence against BROWN on this indictment
NOT GUILTY .
HENRY HOFF PRICE . I am factory manager and superintendent of the chemical department of Messrs. Condy and Mitchell, Limited—I have been in their service thirty years, and Brown about eight—Pease was also employed there—Brown was foreman packer—his duties were on arrival in the morning to open the warehouse, of which he had the key, send out goods ordered, and convey them in our, or railway carriers', vans, give delivery notes to carmen, and the invoices to carmen or messengers—it was the duty of the carmen to return the delivery notes to Brown, who would hand them in to the office, and keep a record—Brown would also lock up the premises at night—the country orders are sent in casks of one gross of bottles—Brown had authority to order any goods he required from the warehouse, or he could get them himself—the town orders would go out in trays, and would be entered in the town delivery book—he would order his goods from that entry or from the country delivery book—on 30th July, the Saturday before Bank Holiday, Brown and Pease brought a note to my house, 5, Extine Road, Clapham Junction—they said they happened to call at the factory—I do not know that they had any business at the factory; I was surprised to see them—I searched the books for 1892, and found no entry of casks delivered to Granger Brothers, 202, Liverpool Road, nor of five casks on or about 28th July to Wray's, 110, Fleet Street, nor of the payment of 5s. to Shard, a carman, for the hire of a horse and van about the end of August.
GEORGE GILLIES . I am a convict undergoing a sentence of five years—last October I pleaded guilty to three indictments, one of which was for stealing ten gross of Condy's fluid—I got them from Arthur Pease and Brown—I have known for some years a man named Read in Messrs Condy's employment—I met him in the street last July—I lent him some money—I afterwards wished to see Read—I had a conversation with Mr. Eagles about him—I saw Eagles go to Condy's premises; he brought put Brown—I asked Brown if he knew Read's address—he said he did not, and fetched Pease, who said, "I have seen yon, I think, about Dare's shop; I presume you have sold some goods for him"—I said, "Yes, I have sold some goods occasionally"—as far as I remember Brown was present—Pease asked if I could sell a ten gross lot before the holiday—I said I would endeavour to do so—I had no place to store it, but I
would endeavour to find a place—Pease said it was ready, he wants I it out of the place—I mentioned Messrs. Grangers—the price I was to pay was 36s. a gross, and I was to make what I could out of it—I went to Grangers', and arranged for storing the fluid—then I saw Mr. Essay—I told Brown and Pease I had arranged for the storage—I principally saw Pease—I cannot remember whether Brown was there—I told Pease it was to be stored at Grangers'—Brown was mostly present—I met them principally at the Red Lion public-house and at the Metropolitan as I had travelled for Butler and Crisp for many years I did not want to deal with them—I arranged with Mr. Essay that Butler and Crisp should be asked to buy—also that the fluid should be taken from Grangers' and delivered at Crisp's—I told Brown and Pease of the arrangement, I do not think I mentioned the conversation, and they told me I would see the carman in Old Street, St. Luke's, at a publichouse—I knew the carman Newman, but not by name the a—Pease pointed him out—I saw the fluid in the van, and gave instructions to deliver at Grangers', and after I had seen Essay I went to Barker Brothers, and arranged they should take the fluid from Grangers' to Butler and Crisp's—I saw it in the van, and a friend of mine saw it delivered at Crisp's—Mr. Essay paid me, first this cheque for £1, then this cheque for £20—I got two other cheques, they were stopped—I had five gross more of Brown and Pease about three weeks afterwards—the arrangement was made at the Metropolitan—they were to be delivered to Wray and Co.—I saw them delivered—I paid the same price for them, 36s., to Pease in Brown's presence; for the first lot £18 in gold in the Metropolitan public-house as soon as I cashed the £20 cheque—for this lot I paid Pease in Brown's presence £9, I think in the Red Lion—Newman was the carman—they were delivered in Condy and Mitchell's vans—Mr. Wray's manager, Mr. Cook, paid me in gold £8 or £9 for two gross out of the five; the other three gross were sold elsewhere—I was arrested on 6th September—I got the second lot a week or ten days before that—I pleaded guilty to receiving the ten gross I sold to Butler and Crisp.
THOMAS EAGLES . I am a commission agent, of Eagle House, Staines—I have known Gillies some time—in July last I saw him near Condy and Mitchell's premises, Farringdon Road—after a conversation with him I went into Condy's and brought out Brown, and took him to Gillies at the Red Lion—I said, "Brown, a gentleman wishes to speak to you; if you will come out I will take you to him."
CHARLES NEWMAN . I am carman to Mr. Hill, contractor, of 32, Camden Street, Walworth—we frequently deliver for Condy and Mitchell—I have often seen Brown and Pease on the premises—when we loaded they assisted—on 28th July Í got there earlier than usual, about 8. 30 a.m. instead of nine o'clock—I backed up my van against the bank where the fluid is loaded—I saw Brown and Pease there—I left my van and went to breakfast—when I came back the van was loaded with ten casks—I got the delivery note from the office—I generally had an invoice—in consequence of reading that note I delivered the ten casks at Grangers', 202, Liverpool Road—the note was signed and returned to me, and I delivered it to Brown, I sometimes gave them up in a heap together, as a rule to Brown—about a fortnight or three weeks later when I came back from an afternoon delivery Brown told me, and I
took five casks to Wray and Co., of Fleet Street—I got the delivery note signed, and returned it to Brown—I do not remember having an invoice, nor delivering there before—I have frequently delivered goods at other places, and always had invoices—the goods were packed for London delivery in trays, and for country delivery in casks.
Cross-examined by Brown. I do not remember saying anything to you about backing the van—nor taking any goods to Great Western Railway for Bristol—I cannot swear to the tallies—I did not tell you I received sixpence for drawback or overweight.
ELIZV GRANGER . I manage my brother's business at 202, Liverpool Road, Islington—Gillies called at the Pentonville Road office on 28th July and made arrangements, which I communicated to my brother—in consequence, some casks were brought, for the warehousing of which Gillies paid me three shillings.
ALFRED GRANGER . I am the brother of the last witness, and live at 202, Liverpool Road—I received a communication on 28tb July from my sister about some casks—the✗r were delivered that day to the warehouse—the next day they were taken away by another man.
EMIL ESSAY . I am a job buyer, of 82, Fore Street, City—I have known Gillies about a year—he sold some goods for me on 28th July I had a conversation with him, in consequence of which I arranged to go to Butler and Crisp's, 14, Charterhouse Buildings, for some casks—I received a cheque from Crisp's, and gave Gillies these cheques for £1 and £20—I afterwards gave Gillies other cheques, of which I afterwards stopped payment.
CHARLES SHARD . I was formerly a carman to Barker Bros., 8, Nelson Terrace, City Road—on 29th July Gillies and another man came and spoke to me, in consequence of which I drove a horse and van to 202, Liverpool Road—I there loaded ton casks, which I delivered at 14, Charterhouse Buildings, Clerkenwell—one lid came off, and I saw the cask contained Condy's fluid—Gillies gave me one shilling beer money, and a card, "82, Fore Street"—I believe Pease paid me.
WILLIAM GOWER . I am a warehouseman for. Butler and Crisp—I have been in their service twelve years—on Friday, 29th July, I arranged with Mr. Essay to purchase ten casks of Condy's fluid—it came into my possession—in consequence of a conversation, I went to Condy and Mitchell's—I saw Brown and a clerk—I said certain Condy's fluid had been offered at a certain price, and asked if we could buy it from them, or if they could explain the reason it was offered—I forget the figure, but it was under price—Brown said, "I cannot understand why it is; the people must be losing money on it if they sell it lower"—he then referred me to a clerk—I 'asked for one of the principals—Brown said there was no one there; he would see if he could attend to it.
THOMAS CROOK . lam manager to Messrs. Wray, 110, Fleet Street, grocery stores—I have known Gillies some years as a traveller—at different times I have purchased Condy's fluid from him—about 28th August five gross were delivered—I paid Gillies cash.
FREDERICK HOLMES (City Detective). I arrested Brown on November 12th, at 32, Lucas Street, Commercial Road—I saw him in the passage—I said, "Will you step outside, Brown, I want to speak to you"—he came outside—I said, "I am a police officer; I am going to take you into custody; you will be charged with a man named Arthur Pease in D
stealing ten gross of bottles of Condy's fluid on 28th July last, the property of your late masters, Condy and Mitchell, of Turnmill Street"—he said, "I know nothing about it"—I took him to Inspector Davidson and Sergeant Marony in Commercial Road—I was present on 10th October when Brown and Pease were discharged from Condy and Mitchell's—Shard pointed them out to me as having paid him five shillings for the hire of a van.
JOHN DAVIDSON (City Police Inspector). Holmes brought Brown to me—I said, "We are police officers; my name is Davidson; there is a man named George Gillies undergoing a sentence of five years, who has made a statement that he received from you and a man named Peace ten gross of Condy's fluid on 28th July; that fluid was stolen. Gillies paid you £18 in gold in the Metropolitan public-house. You will be charged with Pease with stealing ten gross of bottles, the property of Messrs. Condy and Mitchell. There will be other charges of stealing a large quantity of fluid in connection with a man named Dare"—Brown said, "I do not known any man named Dare; I never received any money from a man named Gillies; I do not know the name; I know nothing about this matter"—he was conveyed to Old Street Police-station, and afterwards to King's Cross Police-station, and charged—the charge was read over to him—he made no reply—a warrant has been issued against Peace—he has not been taken—I have made every effort to find him—he has absconded.
JOHN ALLAN KENNINGHAM . I am advertisement clerk in the service of Condy and Mitchell, Limited—I have heard Brown and Peace, while employed there, talk about Jack Dare—they asked one another if either had seen Dare during the day—I know Dare by sight—I never asked who Dare was—I have seen Brown in his company on various occasions-before and after July at the gateway of our premises in Turnmill Street—Brown was discharged on 30th September, 1892—I have seen Dare at the gateway driving a horse and van.
Brown, in his defence, said he did not know Dare, and handed in a written statement to the effect that Pease boasted of making pounds before his. Brown's, eyes were open, but he knew nothing of the robberies.
BROWN— GUILTY .
The Jury recommended him to mercy on the ground of his previous good character, and that he may have been the dupe of Pease.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. PAYNE Prosecuted.
ROBERT SUREMAN . I am a tobacconist. of 51, St. Martin's Lane—on 3rd January, about twelve p.m., I fastened the two iron gates of the shop—I was called about 3. 40 a. m. by the police—I found the window broken, a big stone lying in the window, pipes and things thrown down, and many cleared away—I have seen some of the pipes at the police-court—these are my pipes.
HEBERT JUST (468 E). I was on duty on 3rd January in St. Martin's Lane—I saw the prisoner loitering opposite 51 about three a. m.—I wents Towards him—he said, "Good morning"—I said, "You are late getting
home"—he said, "I work in Long Acre, and am going home to Westminster"—I left him, and concealed myself in a court—I heard a window smash, and rushed toward it, and found the prisoner taking pipes from a hole in the window and putting them in his pocket—I seized him by the collar, and threw him in the road, and whistled for assistance—Prise came up.
WILLIAM PRISE (370 C). I was on duty in Cranbourne Street—I heard a smashing of glass about three a. m., then a policeman's whistle—I saw the prisoner and Just opposite 51, St. Martin's Lane, getting up from the ground—I said, "What's the matter?"—Just pointed to the window—the prisoner put his hand in his right hand top-coat pocket, and threw a lot of pipes into the road—I picked them up—these are the pipes.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that the constable threw the pipes from his pocket and bleu; his whistle, and they took him to the station.
GUILTY .—He then pleaded guilty to a conviction at this Court in December, 1885.— Judgment respited.
MR. BIRON Prosecuted, and MR. BLACKWBLL Defended.
HENRY JAMES NEWINS . I am a baker, of 327, High Street, Brentford-in November, 1891, I lent the prisoner £150—I had known him personally some time—he was a customer—I first consulted Mr. Earee, my solicitor, who conducted the negotiations—this is the agreement for the loan of £150 and interest-it purports to be signed by Arthur Herbert Horwill, Mark Horwill, Henry Hope, and Thomas Hope, in different handwritings—when I received the document so signed I gave this cheque to Mr. Earee to hand the prisoner—I then believed these signatures to be those of the persons purported to sign—the first instalment of capital and interest was due 7th May—I heard from him that he wished the money to stand over till November—in consequence of not getting the instalment in November I saw the prisoner at Mr. Earee's office—Mr. Earee asked for the instalment, and the prisoner said he was unable to meet it—Mr. Earee said, "If you cannot meet it I shall have to apply to the other three persons"—I believe he then had the agreement before him—after beating about the bush the prisoner said, You have no claim upon those other three persons, for I put all those signatures there myself"—Mr. Earee said, "I cannot take your word that that is right; I shall send a registered letter to each of those to know whether it is their signature or not. "
Cross-examined. I live in the same neighbourhood—I have known the prisoner's father longer than the prisoner—the interest was 10 per cent.—I do not think the prisoner used the word "forged"—I am not acquainted with the handwriting or the signatories.
GEORGE WILLIAM EAREE . I am a solicitor, of 89, Chancery Lane—in November, 1891,1 received the prosecutor's instructions with regard to this loan to the prisoner—I made an appointment, and discussed the matter with the prisoner—there was no security—I suggested he should get someone to guarantee it—he said, in reply, "My father Mark Horwill, my father-in-law, Henry Hope, and my brother-in-law, Thomas Hope, will be quite ready to guarantee it"—I communicated with the
prosecutor and then prepared this agreement of 7th November—I sent it to the prisoner, at Brentford, on the 6th, making an appointment to complete—he saw me on the 7th—on the 9th the prisoner brought back the document, signed as it is now by the four persons—I gave him this cheque for £150, in exchange for the document—in October I was informed the half-year's interest was paid, but none of the principal—the prisoner came to my office early on 15th November—he asked me to make new arrangements to pay £5 a month—I said, "The money must be paid, or a substantial part of it; otherwise I shall take immediate proceedings against all parties"—he said, "Well, you have get no security in those three signatures; I put them there myself"—I said, "I must immediately communicate with my clients," and suggested he should call in the afternoon—I telegraphed to Newins, who reached my office a little before the prisoner returned in the afternoon—when the prisoner come in the room I asked him to repeat what he had said in the morning, which he did—he said, "Henry Hope was dead"—I told him communications would be addressed to two of the signatories, Mark Horwill and Thomas Hope, and I must await their answers to see what to do—that was to test the truth of what lie said—I wrote to them, and received the answers annexed to the depositions. (Denying the signatures.)
Cross-examined. I took the names the prisoner suggested on a piece of paper, drafted the agreement, and sent the fair copy by post a few days after the first interview—the prosecutor said he had known the family twenty years—I did not believe the prisoner when he said he put the names there; it might have been a mere trick to get off; I was very doubtful about it—I did not have the signatures witnessed because it is only a promissory note or bill of exchange.
MARK HORWILL . I am the prisoner's father—I live at South Grove House, Brentford—I am a commercial traveller—I received a letter from Mr. Earee, and replied to it—the signature "Mark Horwill" on this agreement is not mine—I have no recollection of authorising anyone to put it there; this occurred some time ago; I do not know when—I have read the document—it purports to make me liable for an advance of £1 50 to my son—I have not become surety, to my knowledge—this letter is my writing—I am fully aware of all that is in it—I still say I have no recollection of having authorised anyone to sign my name—I might have done so—I do not suggest anyone—if it was put there by my authority, I know I am liable for the payment of £150—I do not admit that responsibility, because I have no recollection of it—I do not remember whether I had seen it before it was produced at the Police-court; possibly it was left at my house, as far as I can gather—I do not know that 1 have seen it—I know it was left; I objected to sign it—I believe some application was made to my wife to sign it, and become security for the prisoner for £140—I have not the slightest idea when it was—I cannot commit myself to having done anything of the kind—I do not think I was applied to the second time—I have been applied to on several occasions to become surety—I do not speak to the amount—I have become surety for as large a sum before—I cannot say if I have forgotten having become surety for so large a sum before—I objected in the first instance; I do not remember doing it afterwards—I do not think I should become surety for £150—I say I have
no recollection; that means the same thing, as I have forgotten becoming liable for £150—I received two letters from Mr. Earee; I do not recollect their dates. (Letter of 11th November read, from Mr. Earee to witness, reminding him his son had not repaid the instalment of the loan, and Mr. Earee wished to avoid legal proceedings)—I received that letter—I did not answer it; I regarded it as a fishing letter, fishing for £150; an attempt to get £150 out of me, for which I was not liable. (A letter of 15th November was here read, threatening legal proceedings if amount not paid)—I got that letter, and wrote the reply of 16th. (Read: It stated," I have not undertaken any liability in any shape or way, or signed any document of any kind. If after this intimation you initiate any proceedings against me it will be at your own risk ")—I now say in the face of that letter I have no recollection of signing any document—I looked at the letters to which mine is a reply as fishing letters, expecting I was coming forward to quash the matter at once, and that is no doubt their object.
Cross-examined by MR. BLACKWELL. It is possible I may have been pestered by my son's daughters, and so on; if so, I do not remember anything about it—I do not think I authorised my son to sign "Mark Horwill" to this document—I will not swear it—this slip of paper contains my writing. (Read: "G. W. Lay, Esq. * * * P. S.—I have good reasons for supposing the signature of Mark Horwill was written by my youngest son, H. Mark Horwill.")—this is part of a letter written to Gk W. Lay, a solicitor—I have another son, Horace Mark Horwill—I wish to repudiate any civil liability in respect of that document—I said at the Police-court, "I am pot prepared to stand by the signature; if I had been approached properly I should have paid the money; I do not know Thomas Hope's nor Henry Hope's writing"—I said at the Police-court, "I should say the signatures of Thomas Hope and Henry Hope are genuine" from information derived from members of the family.
Re-examined. I have seen old Mr. Hope a few times—I heard he had an illness, the nature of which I did not know—I have not said I heard he was paralysed—I do not know that—I have heard it was so since the Police-court proceedings—I presume the rest of Mr. Lay's letter is in his possession—he is the solicitor for the defence—the letter is about a matter of business, and has nothing to do with instructions or anything of that kind in this case—it accompanied a cheque—I did not say it was unconnected with these proceedings—I put that P. S. because the same class of evidence had been gone into at the Police-court, and I had made further inquiries of the lad in question, and although I could get no admission from him, there was no denial—H. Mark Horwill is about seventeen—I do not suggest I authorised him to sign the guarantee—he is ill—I have no salary—I do not know my earnings—I have various sources of income; I have enough and a little to spare.
THOMAS HOPE . I live at Checkingdon Foundry, near Reading—my father, Henry Hope, died a week after Easter, 1892, aged sixty-three—he had been paralysed for two years—his power to sign was tested—he could not write a year before his death—I am not aware of having made myself liable to repay the prisoner's loan of £150—I believe the signature to this agreement is mine—the signature. "Henry Hope," is not my father's—I know nothing about it—he could not write on 19th
November, 1891—I said before the Magistrate, "The signature, Thomas Hope,' I think, is mine; I do not recollect signing a deed like this"—I say that now—I do not remember signing a document making me responsible—I signed a document which was represented to me as being a trade reference, and I never read it—the prisoner told me it was a trade reference—I did not write this letter—I authorised it to be written because I am a bad scholar, and get my writing done for me—it is a reply to the solicitor's letter to me. (The letter expressed surprise of the witness at getting the demand for £157 10s., denied liability, and stated that the witness's father was not able to write or do any business.)—I said before the Magistrate, "I do not think, looking at the document, the signature is mine, as I should have recollected it," because I never recollect signing a deed of that sort.
Cross-examined. The signature is like mine, I cannot dispute it—I did not wish to get out of the liability—if I had been responsible, I would have stood to my word and to the signature—I have not admitted the signature to anybody—I did not have the letter written for me to avoid the recognition of any signature—I never conversed with the prisoner about my father signing, he knew my father could not write—I did my father's business, and got someone to do the writing—no one was in the habit of signing for my father—I signed two documents for the prisoner—I do not know the writing of my father's signature on the argeement—he suffered from softening of the brain.
FBEDBRICK WOOD (P. C., T Divison). I arrested the prisoner on 25th November—I read the warrant to him—it charged him with forging an undertaking to pay money—he said, "I do not understand it"—I conveyed him to the Brentford Police-station—he was charged.
Cross-examined. I know the prisoner and his father—the prisoner has been a tradesman.
Witness for the Defence.
MARTHA HOPE . I am the sister of Thomas Hope—in November, 1891, my father was paralysed—the prisoner married my sister—he came to our house in November when I was nursing my father, with a document which he wanted my brother to sign—I saw my brother sign his name—the signature to this document is like my brother's writing—my brother said if any responsibility was attached to it he could not sign—the prisoner said there was no responsibility—then he signed—I do not remember its being read—there was a very long discussion before my brother signed it—I do not know who wrote "Henry Hope"—there was a discussion about my father's signature, but I did not see it signed—my father was suffering from softening of the brain, and unable to write or do business for two years prior to his death—prisoner wanted my father's signature—my brother told him he was not in a condition to sign it—it was not put then—I don't know how "Henry Hope" appears on that document.
Cross-examined. I have a bad memory.
GUILTY — Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Friday, January 13th, 1893.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
206. MATTHEW HALEY (A Soldier) (20), Feloniously wounding Edwin Tucker with intent to murder him; Second Count, with intent to do him grievous bodily harm; Third Count, causing him grievous bodily harm with the same intention.
MESSRS. BODKIN AND HEWITT Prosecuted.
EDWIN TUCKER . I am a barge builder, living at Thames Wharf, which is approached from the public street by some wide gates which are always left open day and night, so that bargemen mooring at the jetty can get in and out—inside the gates on right and left are several stacks of timber, so that you walk down a kind of alley of timber—on the wharf premises there is a dwelling-house, on the ground floor of which there is an office on one side of the passage, and on the other a bedroom in which I have lived for fifteen years—a watchman, William Hart, is also about the premises at night—a little after eleven p. m. on 23rd December I went through the gates on the way to my house—the gates were open and the timber in its ordinary position—I went into the house and shut the door after me—I went into the office; the window there was secure, and the safe was secure; the key of it was in my pocket—the three desks in the office were safe and locked up—the poker stood in the office fireplace, alongside the stove—I leave just a glimmer of gas burning at night—I shut the office door, but do not lock it—after looking round I went into my bedroom and undressed—in one of my trousers pockets I had £5 in gold, six shillings in silver, and fourpence-halfpenny in copper; and in the other a bunch of keys and a bit of chalk and odds and ends—I had a purse—I placed my trousers on taking them off, on a chair at the head of the bed—I got into bed about twenty minutes or half-past eleven—about 2. 30 or 2. 45 a. m. I woke up; I lifted my head about three inches off the pillow, and saw a dark form standing in front of me delivering a blow—I lifted my bedclothes with my left hand and held up my right, and bobbed a bit, when the poker came down and hit me on the left side of my head, where the bandage now is; the clothes were between the poker and my hand and my head at the time—the blow fell on the clothes and my hand, and the end of it caught the back of my ear as I bobbed—I grabbed at the poker with my left hand and the clothes with my right, and fell back on the bed again—I then felt someone grasp at my throat with his left 'hand, and scratch it very much, and that brought me to; he squeezed my throat as hard as he possibly could; it was all black and blue next morning; a bit of skin was torn out by his nail—I then seemed to put out all my strength; I don't know much about it; it was pitch darkness—the man, put his knee on my stomach, but I lifted him from one side of the bed to the other—we rolled over together, and struggled on the floor for about half an hour—I had on an under-vest and a shirt—we struggled to the left side of the room, and turned over and over till we came round to the foot of the bed, when I put my arm over him somehow or other, and he got hold of me and bit the muscle of my left arm very hard—we both then fell towards the door, and by the glimmer of light that came through the two doors I saw that it was the prisoner—the door was open
then—Haley said, "Oh, Tucker, is it you? I have made a mistake; I did not intend to come here"—I said, "You villain!"—the prisoner also bit a piece off my breast and my thumb—the struggle wont on, and after a time I overcame him—I had him by the throat holding him down rather tight when the watchman (Hart) came down and stood at the door—he had heard me before, but he was frightened to come down before, so he told me; he was in the room over me by the fire—I said, "Come and lend me a hand; hold him"—he did so, and then I got the revolver which I keep in my room and fired some shots out of window to bring assistance—Hart and Kemp, two watermen, then came, and the prisoner was further secured—I held the pistol to the prisoner the whole of the time, and told him if he attempted to move I should shoot him—when he moved once I fired a shot right by his ear to frighten him—he went down on his knees then and begged for mercy—I was very much exhausted at the time, and could hardly hold the pistol; I had to take two hands to hold it at all steady—I saw the prisoner take his hand from behind him, when he was between the window and door, held by Hart; and lay down my gold watch-chain and some money and a purse on the floor—when Hart came and he said, "It is all right now, you dress yourself and we will get the police, "I struck a match and got my trousers, and found everything was cleared out of my pockets—my keys were gone—after dressing myself I went into the office and saw the keys thrown about the place, over the desks and the floor—my desk was farced open, and two other desks had been tampered with but not opened—the key was in the safe, but it was not open—the left-hand window was open; the corner pane was broken near the latch, so that the latch could be reached through the hole—near it a little screen hanging on the window, about eleven inches wide, was pulled up—the police came—as I went to the station I noticed that the gate was fastened, I could not get out, it was barricaded with a piece of oak 4 ft. by 2 ft., and weighing about 3/4 cwt., laid across the bottom of the gate, so that I could not get out—it had been taken off the tier of flitches, and then a trussel, 7 ft. by 3 ft., was put. in strut fashion, under the bottom of the gate, and an old windlass, weighing about 3/4 cwt., put across it, to keep it from shifting—the gate could not be opened—the prisoner was charged at the station—I was attended to by the doctor—I was too bad to go to the Police-court that day, I could not get out of bed till about one that day—on 31st December I first went to the Policecourt—in the course of our struggle in the room the prisoner got me down once, and I said to him, "For God's sake, spare my life, take what you like, but let me live"—he said nothing, but squeezed at my throat all the more—this is the office poker; it is a long heavy one; it was made by our own blacksmith—I have known the prisoner five or six years, but have not seen him about lately—for five or six years he has worked at the wharf, on and off, as an extra hand—I should think it would be from six to ten months since he did anything for us, but I cannot say from memory—he has been in the office to receive his money, and has seen us take the money from the safe—his name was never on our books; he was a casual hand—I have no doubt that ho was perfectly sober—being Friday night, the wages were in the safe for next day;. there would be £70 for wages, and I daresay £120 altogether.
Wharf—a few minutes after three a. m. on 24th December I was in the kitchen upstairs, and heard, in Mr. Tucker's bedroom below, a noise, which seemed very much as if it was some knocking next door; I listened and heard voices, and then I went downstairs, and saw Mr. Tucker struggling with the prisoner on the floor—I went to Mr. Tucker's assistance, and took from him the prisoner, whom he was holding on the floor, while Mr. Tucker got his revolver and fired two shots—two lightermen came to our assistance—I did not notice the poker for some time afterwards.
By the COURT. I have been night-watchman for some time—my duties are to look after craft coming in during the night—I do not watch outside; the men come and knock at the door, and then I come down and answer them, and let the craft in—I go in at twelve, and after that I am in the house looking after the property there, and sitting over the fire—I heard this noise going on below me for ten minutes, and I listened to know whether it was docking next door in the dry dock—I was thinking where the sound came from, and then I heard voices and came down—I was not exactly asleep; if I am asleep I can hear a mouse go over the place—I did not hear the struggle—I could not tell the difference between a knocking at the wharf and noise underneath.
MARY ANN HUDSON . I live at the Victoria public-house, 3, Colt Street, Limehouse, which is kept by my husband, William Hudson—the prisoner has been in that house six times, perhaps, since I have been there—on the night of 23rd December he came there, dressed in his full soldier's dress: top coat, red coat, a small coat underneath, and his cap—he stayed about an hour and a half, and left at 12 30—before leaving he had gone out at the back, leaving his overcoat and red coat on a barrel in the bar; on returning he put his overcoat on, leaving the red coat there; he was going to fold his red coat up on the counter, which was wet, and I said, "Don't do that, you will gee it wet; I will fold it"—I folded it and handed it to him over the bar, and he said, "Perhaps you would not mind taking care of it till the morning, and I shall not get it dirty, or lose it, and the belt too"—I put them in the parlour, and the next morning the police took charge of them—when the prisoner left my house ho was sober—all he had was two two's of rum and a glass of mild and bitter.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. My husband did not serve you with drink; he was not in the bar from the time you came till the time you went; he was asleep till half-past twelve, when he woke to shut up the house—he served the boiler-makers at half-past twelve—I served a gallon of beer to go outside.
Re-examined. I believe these are the military coat and belt.
WILLIAM ROBERT KEMP . I am a lighterman and waterman, living at 4, Providence Cottages, West India Dock Road—on this morning I was with Hart, and I heard some pistol shots, and we went to the Thames Wharf gate, which we found closed—I gave my shoulder to Hart, who got over, and I got in after him—I pushed the gate open a little—we went up to the house, and saw Mr. Tucker and the prisoner and the watchman Hart in the bedroom—the prisoner was standing alongside of Hart, who had him by the wrist and the back of the neck; he was standing very quietly—he seemed to me to be solemn sober—I and my mate looked after him till the police came.
Park Street, Poplar—I was with Kemp on this morning—we went up to the Thames Wharf gate, and I got over by means of Kemp's shoulder—on the other side of the gate was a lump of oak timber; I fell on it as I got over; I cannot say whether it was close against the gate—I went up to the house and saw Mr. Tucker and the prisoner, held by Hart, there—the prisoner was sober.
Cross-examined. I did not say at the Police-court that you had had some beer, but that you were sober; I said you might have had a drop over night, as far as I know.
JACOB LUXPORD (Sergeant K R 6). About 2. 50 a. m. on 24th December I received information that a burglary had been committed at the Thames Wharf, Limehouse—I went there at once, and found the prisoner detained by the watchman and two other men, who told me he had broken into the office, and attacked the manager, Mr. Tucker, with the poker—I took him into custody—he made no reply when I spoke to him, but pretended to be drunk, leaning against the wall, as though unable to stand—the constable came and I handed the prisoner to him, and then searched the premises—in the bedroom, close to the window, lying on the floor loose, I found 4s. 41/2d. in bronze and a gold chain, and in a leather purse was £5 2s.—at the foot of the bed I found this poker, which I showed to Mr. Tucker when he returned from the station; he said it was the poker belonging to the office—the prisoner made no reply at that time—outside the office window I found a pair of lace boots on the window—ledge, and partly on a piece of timber and partly on the ledge was the soldier's great coat which the prisoner is now wearing—when I brought the boots in the prisoner claimed them—scattered over the office were these keys; some were on the desk, which was broken and in disorder—the prisoner was not sober and not drunk; he was able to walk with me and the constable to the station—when charged at the station he said to the prosecutor, "Ted, did I ever do you any harm? You are wronging me. There, I won't round on the others; I will take it all myself."
Cross-examined. I did not say to you at the Police-court, "Well, Mat, are you sober this morning? You were drunk last night"—you walked to the station quite easily, with no support.
CALEB CARTER (Inspector K). I was on duty at the station when the prisoner was brought there on 24th December—he appeared to be recovering from the effects of drink; he was very much exhausted, and pretended to be very much more drunk than he really was, if he was drunk at all; he pretended to be incapably drunk and not to be able to stand when he was brought in first—I said, "Now, Mat, it is no good your putting it on here; we cannot have it, you know;" and then he left off and became very abusive—I could see he was only shamming; but no doubt he was recovering from the effects of drink—I then went and saw the office—from the Thames Wharf to the Victoria public-house is 470 odd yards.
JAMES JOHN MCANDREW , M. B. C. S. I practise at 34, East India Road—on 24th December I was called to Mr. Tucker and examined his head—there was a severe contusion over the left ear, involving the margin of the external ear; the rim of the ear was cut down to the cartilage, and was bleeding profusely—the wound on the head was not bleeding, but it was eczymosed and discoloured—there was a severe contusion on
the back of his left hand over the metacarpel bone—those wounds might have been caused by this poker, simultaneously, I should think—there was a superficial wound on his chest; I could hardly recognise whether it was made by teeth; but the wound on his arm was clearly a very vicious bite; the skin and the muscle were punctured; great force must have been used—the thumb was lacerated; that might have been from a bite; but I could not recognise it as a bite exactly—he was excited and complained of feeling giddy—a blow on the head with an instrument like this poker would be dangerous—his skull was not fractured; there is greater power of resistance behind the ear than higher up where the skull is thinner—he was kept in bed that day—I saw him later on the 24th; he was not up then—he is still under my care.
By the COURT. I have been in Court, and heard Mr. Tucker's account of how he protected his head with the bedclothes and his arm; I think if he had not so protected himself the blow would have fractured the skull—the injury I saw would indicate that the force Was such that if nothing had been there to protect the head the skull would have been fractured.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I was very drunk, and could not tell you what occurred; if it did occur I am very sorry."
The prisoner's defence: I am very sorry for what was done. I had no intention to do it. I was only ten hours from the barracks. I had no thought of doing it. I was very drunk. I have a few outs on my head, and drink overcomes me.
GUILTY of wounding with intent to do grievous bodily harm.
He then PLEADED GUILTY* to a conviction of felony in October, 1888. The police inspector stated that the prisoner had deserted from the Middlesex Militia; that the only work he had ever done, was as fireman during one or two voyages in P. and O. boats; and that he had always been a waterside loafer.— Twenty Years' Penal Servitude.
207. ANN MATILDA BROUGHTON (66) and GEORGE PHILIP BROUGHTON (22) , Having the custody and control of Edith Maud Brown, alias Edith Maud Broughton , aged four years and six months, did unlawfully and wilfully neglect her in a manner likely to cause her unnecessary suffering and injury to her health.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
CHARLES NATION . I am a coachman, living at 20, High Street, Thornton Heath—I am married—in April, 1890, in consequence of an advertisement in the People, I received a female child from Mrs. Felton, of Birmingham, and adopted it—its name was Ethel Maud Brown, I think—I received no money for adopting it—we kept it for eight or nine months, and, being unable to find the mother, we sent to Mrs. Felton, but not finding the mother we advertised in the paper—in consequence of the advertisement we received very nearly 100 replies; among others was one from the male prisoner, who came to see us about a week before Christmas—I did not see him—the prisoners took the child—the day or the day after they took it I called at Marcham Street, St. Pancras, and saw Mrs. Broughton and the child—she fetched the. child up from downstairs—the child was all right then and healthy, and looked very well—it was clean, well clothed and healthy when it left us—I called several times after that—the last time I saw it was some time at the end of March, 1891—I received a communication from
Mrs. Broughton asking me to take the child back, as Mr. Broughton had been out of work and could not afford to keep it—I declined—I called after that; they said nothing about their circumstances when I saw them after that.
LOUISE EARLSWELL . I am the wife of Charles Earlswell, of 4, Burton Crescent—Mr. Broughton came to lodge at my house in October, 1891, bringing a little child, apparently not more than four years old—he said it was his own child—I did not notice the condition of the child very much when he first came; he used to clean and wash her himself—she was not very clean, but he had her cleaned a little before we saw her—she was not clothed so very badly at first—she remained at my house till May, but sometimes the prisoner took her away for a day or two, because he said the old lady wanted to see the child—when she returned after the day or two she was not so clean as when she went—when she wont away in May she was very clean, and had plenty of clothes; she was rather thin, but she was getting on nicely and improving—she came back six weeks afterwards, and was with us up to September—when she came back she was very bad with vermin; I had to have her hair all cut off by the barber, and I had to burn her clothes; she had only a few things on—she was thin—she remained till September, and then she was quite clean; there was nothing on her, and she had good clothes on when she went away.
ALICE SAGE . I am the wife of Peter William Sage; we live at 2, Kendal Street, Brunswick Square—Mrs. Broughton came to live at my house about last Christmas twelvemonth, occupying the front kitchen—Mr. Broughton was not living there at that time—I remember the child coming in the winter soon after Mrs. Broughton came there—her husband fetched the child—I saw it soon after it first came; she looked clean then—for a time the child went away; I did not see it when it went—it came back in September looking clean then—I saw it from time to time; it got rather thinner, and had a bad place at the back of its neck—it did not have much clothes on—I gave it food—on the 9th December I saw it lying on the bed—it had on a little flannelette nightgown and a cap—I took the cap off and saw it had a lot of vermin, and it was picking them off and putting them in its mouth—Mrs. Broughton had spoken to me about being in depressed circumstances; she had no fire and no food there—I told her lots of times to take the child to the dispensary because the child did not look well; it had a sore on the back of its neck—Mr. Broughton came there from time to time—I saw him about three times in all, no more—I saw him on the Monday shortly before the child's death—I could not say whether he saw the child.
Cross-examined by Mrs. Broughton. I was in the kitchen in the morning when you took it to the workhouse; the child had a clean nightgown on—I only saw the child now and again—I had not seen it for three weeks before it died—for about a week before it was taken I sent it down food—I knew you had no food or fire because you opened the door and showed me, and you were shivering with cold; that was why I sent the child bread and milk.
ELIZA BARR . I am the wife of James Barr, a letter carrier, of 2, Kendal Street, Brunswick Square—I remember the child coming in Christmas, 1891—when it came back in September last it looked thin; its clothing was clean—I saw it occasionally after that—it appeared very thin but fairly
well—I heard Mrs. Sage advise Mrs. Brought on to take it to the doctor—on the 9th December I saw the child—Mr. Broughton did not come very often—I don't know if ho saw the child—I have given the child food; I never washed it.
Cross-examined. I do not know that you ever gave anyone money to mind the child.
ROBERT JAMES GOLDSPTNK . I am the relieving officer of St. Giles and St. George's, Bloomsbury—on 9th December, in consequence of information, I went to 2, Kendall Street—in the kitchen I saw the female prisoner and the child—the child was lying on a bed made up on a sofa and looked very pallid—it was apparently about four years old—it had a cap on its head which later in the evening I took off, and it was a living, seething mass of vermin, scab and filth—the child's body was not dirty, but very emaciated—it had a rag on, which I suppose would be called a nightshirt—next morning I caused the inspector to come—I heard Mrs. Broughton saying she had given it a powder, and there was half of it in the glass she had—she said she had not taken it to a doctor, but she had got a powder from the chemist's, of which she had given it half two days previously—I saw a big plate of stew in the oven, and potatoes and other food and bread; but became I thought that was not the kind for a sick child I gave her money to buy food for it—the room was filled with parts of a sweetstuff shop fixtures, boxes, and so on—Mrs. Broughton was clean—I weighed the child at the workhouse, and found it was 171/2lb.
HENRY WEST . I am a surgeon, of 4, High Street, Bloomsbury—I made a post-mortem examination on this child, which my colleague received—it was very emaciated—none of the organs showed disease to account for death—there was a marked absence of fat in the places where fat is usually present in some quantities—the small intensive was collapsed, showing that the child had probably had no food for some time—in my opinion the cause of death was starvation for some time, or gradual want of food—the weight of the child was about 17 1/2 lb., and the normal weight of a child would be about 35 lb.—the head was in a very dirty condition, although when I saw it it had been washed—there had been vermin there—ordinary washing would have kept the child's head in proper condition from the first—not washing the child's head would let it get into the condition in which I saw it.
SARAH WILSON . I am a nurse at St. Giles's Workhouse—on 10th December I received the child Edith Broughton, which the Relieving Officer sent—that was the child which the doctor made the post-mortem upon.
Ann Broughton, in her statement before the Magistrate, said that she used to go out charing, but that her work grew slack, and she had done the best she could for the child.
The COURT considered there was no evidence against GEORGE BROUGHTON— NOT GUILTY .
ANN BROUGHTON —GUILTY — Six Weeks Hard Labour. The JURY desired to censure GEORGE BROUGHTON.
There was another indictment and Coroner's Inquisition against the prisoners, for the manslaughter of the child.
No evidence was offered by the prosecution.,
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT and
OLD COURT.—Friday and Saturday, January 13th and 14M, 1893.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. A. GILL Prosecuted, and MR. BURNIE Defended.
JOHN ALEXANDER . I am chief clerk at Bow Street Police-court—on 18th August, 1892, these two informations were Sworn before Sir John Bridge—one is the information of Marc Friedlander, the other of D'Alkemade—I produce the depositions taken before Mr. Lushington (they are in my writing) on the hearing of the charge referred to in the informations—there is no caption—I saw Joseph Hens sworn in the ordinary form—I read it over to him, and saw him sign it—the charge against Friedlander was obtaining £150 by false pretences from D'Alkemade, the false pretence being that he had represented that Albert Cauchefert had sold a business for £150, whereas he had sold it for £15.
Cross-examined. There was either a warrant or a summons—that was the way in which it was brought before the Court—the warrant was issued on these informations—that was the foundation of the whole proceeding, and the hearing was on that matter.
The deposition of Joseph Hens was put in.
JULES MORRELL (Interpreted). I am a journalist, of 26, Exmouth Street—I know the defendant; I also know Marc Friedlander—I remember his returning from Paris last August—on the Thursday before that I was in a public-house with Hens—Friedlander arrived on the Sunday, as far as I can remember—Hens and I had a running conversation on the Thursday—he made me acquainted with Friedlander's affairs, which I did not know—he said that Friedlander had several warrants out against him for theft from Baron D'Alkemade and several others, and he said, "As you know him well, you ought to advise him not to return from Paris, also to tell Victor Charles to be off"—as I did not enter into the conversation as he liked, he said, "Do you think of Friedlander as your friend? I have the proofs in my pocket that he is not your friend, and he has written to his wife to beware of you, as he suspects you"—I said, "I do not see any motive for it," and the conversation ended—After Friedlander's return from Paris and his appearance at Bow Street, I saw Hens again on 11th September, about nine p. m., coming out of a public-house, 49, Charlotte Street; that was about fifty yards from where he lives—he asked me if I had seen Marc a few days since—I said, "No"—he said, "You are very wrong to walk with us, because he is not your friend; the Baron is pretty rich to take you out of embarrassment," at that time I was a little short of money;" he will pull you through, as he has paid me and paid others; you must come and state before the Bow Street Magistrate that you heard Friedlander say he had paid £15 for the photograph business, Vallée"—I said, "I did not hear him say anything of the kind," and I asked him if he was serious in saying so—he said, "Never mind whether he said anything of the kind; we intend to crush him," or "ruin him"—I told him that the laws of this country never permitted perjury—he said that I was to say that I heard Friedlander make that statement at the New Inn, without saying the date—he said, "If you state that it will give more weight to my statement," and the conversation ended, because he saw I would not
enter into his wishes—he spoke to me again the same day on the same subject, and two or three days afterwards he proposed to take me to a solicitor in Bow Street and make a statement, and I should be paid, and not be in need any more—that was on the 12th or 13th of September, the day before I wrote this, which is dated 14th—I took this letter to Bow Street, and handed it to Friedlander's solicitor before the case was called on—I remember receiving this mourning letter with a black border towards the end of September. (This invited the witness to attend the funeral of his brother Claude, at Enghien Parish Church, Paris)—I fix the date of receiving that letter because I received it forty-eight hours from the time mentioned for the funeral, which was October 2nd—when I was at Bow Street 1 was not prepared for questions of that sort, and I said it was the day before the sitting of the Court—the name mentioned in this is the name of my brother, and he is alive; I had a letter from him this morning, with a postal order in it—I was a little moved when I first received that letter, but when I received this letter from the deceased the same day I went to a public-house that evening, knowing he was not dead, and showed the letter to the landlady—she read it, and Hens was sitting down two or three yards from the place, and I said, "You are the person that wrote that letter; you know what the contents are"—nothing had been said relative to it by me to the landlady—I never heard Friedlander say that he had bought Cauchefert's business for £15 or £18, or any price—he never spoke to me about it; Hens could see the black border on the letter, but not the contents.
Cross-examined. I am Monsieur Morrell, born at Roanne on 11th November, 1838—I have never been known as Rolan—I am inscribed in the newspapers for which I write in different noms de plume, but Rolan is not one of them—I have been in this country two and a half years, but I have been here before many times—I was not convicted. on March 12th, 1890, of an assault, threats, and blows, and sentenced to thirteen months; nor was I convicted on 16th April, 1890, and sentenced to four months for defamation—my condemnations have been for political offences—I received these receipts (produced), which show that in 18891 was a candidate for the Chamber of Deputies, and I never could have received the red one if I had been convicted of any offence—I was not convicted at Paris of extortion of money; I was not convicted at Orleans on 1st March, 1882, of swindling, and sentenced to two years' imprisonment; those statements are forgeries—I was not convicted at Paris on January 15th, 1880, of detournement, and sentenced to three months, or of assault on 19th October, 1879, and sentenced to fifteen months; or of assault on 31st August, 1878, and sentenced to three months; or of assault on August 10th, 1876, and sentenced to six months'—I have been convicted of one,. political offence; it was the last one which brought me over here; that was when the elections took place in 1889—I appeared at the Court—I refuse to tell you what they call the offence there; I refuse to answer any questions of the kind. I have been here one hour answering questions—I shall certainly lay a complaint before my Ambassador of the way I have been treated here—if you have any papers here signed by my Ambassador produce them; if not they must be forgeries—I never heard my sentence, and my Ambassador never told me, it was given in contumace, and communicated to M. Rochefort—I do not know that
sergeant (Sergeant Getkin); I have never spoken to him; I saw him when he arrested Hens, and went with him to a public-house—I was never charged with libelling the Burgomaster of Brussels; I do not know him—I know the Etoile Belge, it is not one of the principal newspapers—the first time I saw the prisoner in France was the Thursday before Friedlander arrived; Charles Victor and others were present, and were near enough to hear what the prisoner said—I do not know whether Victor took part in the conversation; it is so long ago—on September 7th two ladies came to Griffiths's public-house; they went to 49, Charlotte Street, accompanied by a man named Boyer, who is now in Court—no one was present when we had the conversation at nine o'clock—it was in French—the prisoner was not drunk at that time, but he was always a little on, and I thought I would keep him that night—I have not got the envelope of that funeral card—it was not in an envelope; it was given to me as it is—I do not know the person who gave it to me; it was a man who said he came from the Central News—I have never seen him since—he was an Englishman, speaking a little French—I really believed that this letter announced my brother's death, because it alluded to some diplomatic functions which he held over there—I was at home when I received it; I read it, and, being affected by it, did not notice that the death was alleged to have taken place on the very day I received it—I never said I was editor of a newspaper in London—Le Chartement is not printed in London; the editor is the proprietor of the paper, the rédactour is the manager—I have not kept the letter I afterwards received from my brother.
Re-examined. I know nothing about M. Rolan—the suggestions, which have been made to-day were made at the Police-court—I was asked then as to my convictions, and also whether my brother was convicted—I have made complaints since to the Embassy, and counsel was appointed to me, Mr. Typhen, the Counsellor of the Embassy, and I consulted him—I was eight years conducting the editing of Le Chartement in Paris down to 1889, and I have been writing articles for it in London since 1890—I was in London for thirteen months succeeding March 30th, 1890—I came over here on May 20th, 1890—my brother, Marius E. Morrell, is well known in Paris; he is an ex-Minister—I received these newspapers from my brother, in which his death is announced. (One of these stated that the funeral of M. Marius Morrell would take place at the church at Enghien at nine o'clock. Another announced his death at Enghien at the age of 50; and a third mentioned his death, and the newspapers with which he had been connected.)—no attempt has been made to extradite me to France—I see M. Waddington, the Ambassador, very often—no person who has been convicted of any offence would have this red document granted to him.
THOMAS OLDACRE DEAR . I am one of the firm of Oldacre Dear and Co.—I was engaged in the case of Marc Friedlander before the Magistrate—the case was on on September 15th, and I received this letter in Court just as the proceedings were commencing, and before any announcement had been made by the prosecutor that Hens was to be called as a witness—I was not a ware of that—at the close of the day you asked what further evidence was to be called—he gave the names of certain witnesses and among them Hens—I was in the Court the whole
time, and after I received that letter; I was looking out for any mention of the name of Hens and never heard it.
Cross-examined. To the best of my recollection the letter was in an envelope, which I have not got.
MARC FRIEDLANDER . I live at 29, Alfred Place—in August last I was in partnership with Baron Gustavo de Roest D'Alkemade, as photographic enamellers, at Alfred Place—I was in Paris on business about August 16th or 17th, and received information from Victor Charles—I returned to England on Saturday, the 27th, and on the 29th I surrendered on a warrant and went to Bow Street, on a charge of obtaining £150 from D'Alkemade on the pretence that I had bought Cauchefert's business for £150, whereas I had only bought it for £15—on the 29th I had been in. communication with Mr. Dear—I was aware that Hens had been in Brussels, and brought Cauchefert back and had assisted in removing the partnership property—on 29th August I saw Hens; he said he wanted to have a private interview with me, and asked for an appointment for an explanation—I said, "Don't begin it if Charles does not; we will meet at the New Inn public-house at nine o'clock"—after that I saw Charles and Pellat—Pellat gave me some advice—I went to the New Inn next morning—I saw Pellat in Tottenham Court Road; he had a lad with him named Louis Le Boy—Hens came about 9. 30, and I went into the bar with him and Victor Cauchefert—no one else was present—I asked him what was the explanation he wanted to give me; he said he had none, he wanted me to give him one, and asked why he had served Charles in the way he had—I said if he had done so it was on his own responsibility—Charles and Hens had a" quarrel—Hens had a claim on me for a small sum; I think it was £2, but I had a claim against him—I told him I would not give him any more money—I never said that I had bought Albert Cauchefert's business for £15; Cauchefert's business was never mentioned—the conversation could be heard by Charles and by Le Boy—I never heard from the prosecutor what evidence Hens was going to give till he was called into the box—on October 6th the case was commenced before the Magistrate, and afterwards I was brought here by indictment, and was acquitted, and an order for the payment of my costs was made upon Garston—I have a Chancery action pending, and my means of livelihood are altogether gone.
By the COURT. D'Alkemade came from Brussels originally; his parents resided there—they were apparently well-to-do, with plenty of money—Hens was not called when the case against me was tried in this Court—Victor Charles, Morrell, and Pellat were all called before Mr. Lushington when I was charged, but not when I was tried here.
Cross-examined. Hens was in attendance when I was tried here—I paid Cauchefert for the business £75 in bills and £75 in cash—I was not selling it to the Baron for the same price as I bought it at, I did not sell it to him—he did not pay me £150; he lent me £15—Albert Cauchefert was called both before the Magistrate and here—the Baron never complained about my drawing cheques on the partnership account—the manager of the bank was called as a witness against me—I still say that the Baron never complained of my making away with the proceeds of the partnership for my own benefit—I am English—I was in Paris in 1882
—I was never convicted there of fraudulent bankruptcy—I did become bankrupt there, and left Paris a month or two afterwards—I never heard it suggested that I was convicted of fraudulent bankruptcy in Paris on March 13th, 1883—I do not know that as a British subject I could not be extradited—I have known Morrell a long time; we were not particular friends, but we were acquainted—I owed the prisoner £2 at the end of August; it was not about that that he wanted to speak to me; he was with me three-quarters of an hour, and he never mentioned it—I had owed it to him four or five weeks, and he never said anything about it the first time he saw me—the conversation of the 30th was in French, and I think it lasted three-quarters of an hour—Victor Charles was there all the time—as far as I remember my case was not mentioned at all—Charles was a friend of mine; he had insulted my wife, and for three-quarters of an hour we three sat there and said nothing about my case—we were having refreshment there—Charles and I were sitting at one table, and Le Boy was eating bread and cheese at another table—Hens simply said that he was the valet of the Baron, and in his service, but had no personal feeling against me—Le Roy was reading a newspaper—he did not say that he did not understand French, but he pretended not—I did not know him before—I did not pay him; he was there to oblige Pellat more than me—Pellat is a friend of mine—we wanted to have someone to listen to the conversation and repeat it.
Re-examined. I have been in France since 1883 many times—I was there last August, and in the previous June—I go to Paris very frequently; I think I went there four times last year—I never heard the suggestion made before, that I had been convicted—I have made inquiries and have challenged the different solicitors to produce any document that they have got—this is Cauchefert's receipt for the money I gave him for the business (produced)—I bought it for myself, and it appeared in the partnership deed as my property—this is the receipt. (This was for £160; cash £7by and promissory note £75)—the Baron complained, and a charge was made against me, but no evidence was given—the quarrel at the New Inn between Charles and Hens was this: there were ladies in the house and a servant, and they heard a man going up and down stairs and shouting, and my wife came out to see, and he said he was there by the Baron's orders, and had come to see whether the Baroness had left there—Charles remonstrated with him, and they quarrelled.
The interpreter translated the letter from Morrell to Mr. Dear. It was dated September 14M, 1892, and stated that on the Thursday before the sitting of the Court, Friedlander accosted him in Tottenham Court Road, and asked him to be a witness for the Baron against Friedlander, and stated that he had paid Vallée no more than £18 for his business, and that the Baron, who had more than half a million, would give him enough to take him out of all his embarrassments: and that he made this statement on account of the outrage upon his feelings by imagining that he would become a false witness for money, and would be at the Court to affirm these facts if necessary.—Signed, JULES MORRELL.
there, and gave him certain information—he returned to England on August 27th, and I was in his company on the 29th, when he appeared at Bow Street—after that I went with him to the Blue Posts in Charlotte Street—when we had finished our game of billiards Hens was in the room; I put my overcoat on to go out, and went down first, and waited for the others to come down—I did not see Hens speak to Friedlander—the same afternoon Friedlander and I saw Mr. Pellat—the conversation was between Friedlander and Pellat, not with me—next morning, August 30th, Friedlander and I went to the New Inn—I did not see Mr. Pellat outside before we went in—Hens came in immediately after us at 9. 30, and immediately afterwards a lad, who I now know as Louis Le Boy, came in; he had been told, "If you see a stout strong man come in, come in at once"—I was present at all the conversation in the public-house, and so was Le Boy—it is not true that Friedlander said that he had bought the Vallée business for £15 or £18, nor was any sum mentioned—I knew on that day what the charge was that had been made against Friedlander at the Police-court—I was at the Police-court that morning.
Re-examined. I have known Friedlander three and a half years—he was a friend of mine, and is now—I went to Paris out of friendship to tell him of his trouble—the conversation in the New Inn lasted half an hour—we were all sitting at the front table—no other Frenchmen were there, or Englishmen, during the whole time—a girl was serving behind the bar—they do not speak French—nothing whatever was said about Cauchefert's business—we were talking all the time, and I was the principal person who talked—we. did nothing but quarrel the whole time—Friedlander was not quarrelling; on the contrary, he tried to quiet us.
By the COURT. Friedlander is an old friend of mine, and his wife too—when I went to Paris I knew the charge that was going to be made against Friendlander; the Baron had told me that he had been swindled, and that he had two warrants out against him—when I had the dispute with Hens I was complaining of his conduct at the house—on the very day I returned from Paris I complained to him of what he had done—I am still doing my work now—my establishment is at 3, Alfred Place—Le Roy was reading a newspaper during the conversation—he had two glasses of beer and some bread and cheese.
—PELLAT. I live at 23, Southampton Street, Fitzroy Square—on 29th August, between four and five p. m., I saw Hens in Charlotte Street, and asked him what had happened at Bow Street—he told me that the case had been adjourned, and that if Friedlander was a guilty person ho would not have returned to England to get into trouble—later in the day I saw Friedlander, and gave him some advice—I sent Le Boy to the New Inn next morning—I have known him about two years—I pointed him out to Friedlander.
Cross-examined. I have known Le Boy about two years—we have both been in England more than two years—Le Boy was a friend of my mother's and so, of course, of mine—Le Boy did not know Friedlander and had nothing to do with this matter—Le Boy worked as a tailor—he was to receive nothing for any waste of time—nobody would pay for a service if another person commits something wrong.
the table next to the one I was at; there was a space between the tables.
LOUIS LE ROY . I am a tailor, of 31, Poland Street—I know M. Pellat—I did not know Friedlander before 30th August, nor Victor Charles, nor the prisoner—on the morning of 30th August Pellat spoke to me, and I went with him to Tottenham Court Road, where he pointed me out to Friedlander—I waited outside the New Inn in consequence of something he said to me—I saw Friedlander go in the New Inn with Charles, and Friedlander pointed me out Hens, who was on the threshold of the door just going in—I went in at the same time as they did—I ordered a glass of bitter and went and sat at the table next to them—I had Tit-Bits to look at, and I listened to the conversation in consequence of what I had been told—as I was sitting there Friedlander asked me in French if I wanted any matches—I said in English I did not understand him—I am French, and speak it—during the conversation, which I listened to from first to last, Friedlander did not say that he had bought Cauchefert's business for £15; it was not mentioned; nor was any price mentioned—after the conversation was over I went away, and saw M. Pellat—I was a witness when Friedlander was charged.
Cross-examined. I said before the Magistrate, when Friedlander was charged, "Pellat asked me to go in and hear what was said and tell him afterwards; he did not say why I was to listen, or why he did not go himself"—he asked me to listen and report to him afterwards—I did not know why I was to go—I did not know that there was any question of a fraud—Pellat had known me since I have been in England, which is three years—he knew my family before—I was at work at this time at 31, Poland Street, with my master—he expects me there at eight a. m.—Pellat went and asked my governor if he could spare me for an hour—I did all this out of friendship for Pellat—I am paid by the week—the conversation lasted for three-quarters of an hour—I pretended to read Tit-Bits, holding it before me.
Re-examined. I am a stranger to all these people—I do not know if they knew Pellat by sight.
By the COURT. After the conversation I went and told Pellat what I had heard; and he made a note of what I told him at the time—all these people were strangers to me—I was not paid anything for going there—I paid for the bread and cheese I had out of my own money.
—PELLAT (Re-examined by the COURT). Le Roy came to me the same day, and told me what the conversation was that he had heard—I made notes of what he told me at that time—I am ready to produce those if they are wanted—I knew both Friedlander and Hens, and that was the only reason I did not go myself but sent Le Roy.
CHARLES GETHIN (Detective E). On the evening of 23rd November I saw Hens on the doorstep of 53, Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square—I told him I was an officer, and read this warrant to him. (This was for inciting Jules Morrell to commit perjury on the hearing of the charge against Friedlander, and for committing perjury himself at Bow Street.)—he said, in reply, "I know nothing about it; but I will go with you."
Cross-examined. I have made inquiries about the prisoner—I have been told he has been in England for twenty-six years, and has lived in the same house for the past eight years, and that he bears an excellent
character—I arrested him on his own doorstep—I cannot say that the Police Gazette circulates among the police, foreign convictions against foreigners in London—I have received no communication from the French police in reference to Jules Morrell—I have seen no statement in the Police Gazette with reference to him.
Re-examined. I heard Mr. Crawshay before the Magistrate ask Friedlander whether he had been convicted in Paris—I would not be sure whether he asked Morrell the same question—in consequence I made inquiries, and I found correspondence at Scotland Yard, in which a man of the name of Morrell is mentioned; but I cannot say whether it is the same man—the man mentioned was convicted, and had three months for a political matter; it had something to do with a newspaper—I know nothing about Friedlander—I do not know why I was called into Court yesterday, and confronted with Morrell; I "was surprised at it. (The indictment in the prosecution of Friedlander torn formally put in.)
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY .— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
THIRD COURT.—Friday, 13th January, and
NEW COURT, January
14th, 161A, and nth, 1893.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. HORACE AVORY Prosecuted, and MR. GEOGHEGAN and MR. CARRINGTON Defended. The prisoner, in the hearing of the JURY, pleaded guilty to the counts alleging offences under the Debtors Act, on which they found a verdict of
GUILTY .— Judgment respited.
MR. J. F. TORR and MR. SANDS Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON Defended.
JOHN HANNAN . I am a dealer in works of art at Merton Road, Surbiton—I attend auction sales—I have employed the prisoner occasionally—I attended a sale at the Lyric Club from 31st October for six days—I bought £518 worth of goods for various clients, and about £16 on my own account—on 9th November I employed the prisoner to take some goods I bought of Mr. Ellyne, of the Lyric Club, to 98, Elm Park Gardens—I told him to bring back their value, commission and carriage, £22 9s. 6d.—I gave him an invoice with my name printed on it—he came back about 4. 15—I asked him, and he said, "I have not received it; you must send in your account to Mr. Ellyne"—I sent in my account, and received no answer—I then called on Mr. Ellyne—from what I heard I wrote the prisoner at 47, Mawby Street, South Lambeth—I know he lived there—I have teen him there—I got this answer of 1st December, 1892, from that address: "Hannan,—I have had a long interview with Mr. Hill" (he is a gentleman I bought goods for at the Lyric sales); "what a malicious greedy fool you are! I have been laid up in bed ill, and you are away in Scotland at a big sale; you have also robbed him to a great amount; now it is
you that have taken the cover off the stink-pot; look out, for the fumes and stench may suffocate you.—CHALLENGER"—that would be three weeks after I wrote him—I wrote again and got no answer; that letter has not been returned to me—I gave information to the police—the prisoner was taken into custody—I saw him at Vine Street—he was taken to Walton Street—he was charged with forging the endorsement on this cheque for £22 9s. 6d.—the inspector refused to take the charge—he was discharged—I applied at Marlborough Street for a warrant on information—that was granted, and he was taken into custody—the writing on the back of this cheque is not mire—I am not positive it is the prisoners writing; I know he is a scholar and can change his hand (the prisoner: "I signed 'Hannah on the cheque")—I never gave him authority to endorse cheques—this is my bill (Receipted "A, W. Challenger. pp. J. Hannan")
Cross-examined. At Walton Street Police-station Inspector Bentinck listened to my statement and asked prisoner particulars about the forgery—he asked me very little—he asked if we had been dealing together as partners—I said, "No," most decidedly—I still swear we were not partners—I did not say we had signed. each other's cheques—the inspector did not ask me that—I did not admit we had been partners off and on for twelve years; nor that we settled up once a month—I have no shop; no banking account—when I buy for myself I take the goods to my private residence, Woodcroft, Ellerton Road, Surbiton Hill—I take the whole house, not one room—I have books—I have not brought them—I have not been asked—I was not asked at the Police-court whether I had books—I paid the prisoner £1 a day, £6 for this job—it is not my habit to join with brokers for buying—I know Jackson—I have never joined him—I saw him at the Lyric Club sale—I did not tell him I would join him with Challenger—I was not a partner of Challenger and Carpenter at a Putney sale six months ago—I was present, and. Challenger and Carpenter—they were not employed by me there—I was at a sale at Naleham about ten years ago, and in the Belgrave Road seven or eight years ago—the prisoner was present at Naleham; I do not remember him in Belgrave Road—I have never been partner with Carpenter for the purpose of a sale—I never divided £247 commission with the prisoner—I know William Kensite, a broker, and brother-in-law to the prisoner—I know Frederick Harris, a broker, and brother-in-law of the prisoner—I remember sales at Andover, Newark, and Market Bosworth—I was not the prisoner's partner at those sales—I saw him and Harris at them—the prisoner was not employed by me at them—I was not at the Girling sale at Lord Mellish's house; at the Hitchin one I was—I was not partner with Harris and the prisoner; they were there—the prisoner was not employed by me—I know Mansfield, a broker, by name, and Lewis Bradley—it is the custom for two brokers to join if they have money, and become partners for a particular sale, and share the profits on their deals, not to share the commission—they are partners for all purposes—they would share the net profit—I laid out £515—I laid out £409 for Mr. Hill, and saved him £108 on the whole commission—I did not overcharge him and have to refund the money—I received no telegram from the prisoner—I have never been charged with fraud—I was charged with obtaining money
by false pretences at Kingston—the Chairman of the Bench of Magistrates said I was discharged without a stain on my character.
Reexamined. I have employed the prisoner at different times—I have always paid him for his day's work.
ARTHUR SMITH . I am butler to the Hon. Mrs. Howard, of 98, Elm Park Gardens—on 10th November the prisoner brought some goods—I gave the account to Mrs. Howard, £22 9s. 6d.—I saw her write this cheque—I handed it to the prisoner, who receipted the bill—he asked 30s., commission and cost of carriage, which she paid him in gold—I opened the door to him—I asked him his name—he said he had brought the goods from the Lyric Club—Mrs. Howard asked if he was Mr. Hannan, and he said "Yes. "
JOHN BROOKS (Detective C). I received a warrant for the prisoner's arrest—I arrested him in Mawby Street, on Tuesday, 6th December—I read the warrant to him. (For embezzling£22 19s. 6d.)—I cautioned him—he said, "I do not mind; he is my partner and has done the same thing to me"—he was conveyed to Vine Street, and charged on the warrant.
Witnesses for the Defence.
VICTOR JACKSON . I live at 3, Merton-terrace, Wandsworth—I was an auctioneer's clerk—I am now a furniture dealer—I was twelve years with Ferber and Price—I have known the prisoner and prosecutor for twelve years—I have conversed with them at sales—Hannan ten years ago, at a Naleham sale, told me Challenger was his partner, and they were clearing each other's goods—they came to me, as I was there to receive the money for Ferber and Price—also seven years ago I was clerk for Ferber and Price at a sale in Belgrave Road, when Hannan and the prisoner acted as partners—they cleared each others goods—at East Putney, about six months ago, Hannan, the prisoner, and Carpenter were working as partners—I was present at their arrangement for settlement—Carpenter had the principal money, and there was an argument as to what each had to bring into the common fund—Hannan said he bought £30 worth of goods, and Carpenter said he bought £170 worth, something like that, and the prisoner bought very little, and Hannan said that he and Carpenter ought to receive so much more for their day's work, in proportion to the amount they brought in—they receive five per cent, on the amount they paid, and a few shillings is allowed to the one who buys most—I never knew in my twenty years' experience a broker to employ a man to buy, because this business is to buy on commission—if a broker was in low water and wanted employment, he would not get £1 a day, he would be glad to get five shillings—so far as I know, brokers nearly always work in twos, so that one can collect one part of the money and the other the other part, but I never knew them pay more than five shillings to porters.
Cross-examined. I have attended a good many sales—I remember the Naleham sale, because it was a very big one—there were other partners
there—one was in Derbyshire, and I recollect another sale at Tottenham twelve years ago—I have seen the prisoner and Challenger acting as partners at numerous other sales—I came here because I am subpœnaed—I was asked to particularise sales, and I gave a general statement—I have been in business two years—I left Ferber's on account of a dispute with a junior partner—I had a shop in Wandsworth Road, it was a failure, and I left—I would not call a "knock out" a partnership, that applies to brokers' commission in buying for others—in nine cases out of ten the money is demanded beforehand, because they do not know the person—I do not know many commission agents of substance.
WILLIAM CARPENTER . I am a commission agent, of 44, Talgarth Road, Lambeth—I attend sales—I have known Hannan and the prisoner five or six years—I saw them at the East Putney sale—they were partners with me—the commission was divided equally between the three—I have seen them together at sales several times—I saw the prisoner write a letter for Hannan at Horsham, and sign his name—Hannan first asked me, then the prisoner' wrote it—Hannan is not a good writer—I have not seen him write his name.
Cross-examined. The Putney partnership was for that particular sale—I have been in the trade about ten years—I was at the Lyric Club sale, but I had nothing to do with it—we have worked together several times for a particular sale—I was at the Police-court—I did not give evidence—I live with Jackson.
LEWIS BRIGHTLY . I am a commission agent, of Gray's Inn Road—I have known the prisoner and prosecutor nine or ten years—I have been at different sales, but not associated with them as a partner—the prosecutor has been a partner with me and the prisoner—whenever they met at sales they were partners.
Cross-examined, At a Norfolk sale, seven or eight years ago, Mansfield, Challenger, Hannan, and Harris were partners—I was there—they told me they were partners—they pooled their commissions, and that constitutes a partnership at a sale—I was not at the Lyric sale.
FREDERICK HARRIS . I am a furniture dealer, of 13, Landor Road, Stockwell—I have seen the prosecutor and the prisoner at sales frequently as partners—at Lord Mellish's sale Hannan, Challenger, Girling, and I worked together—we shared the earnings—I have been partner of the prosecutor and the prisoner at several other sales, Newark and Market Bosworth.
Cross-examined. I was at the Lyric Club sale on the Saturday—I met Hannan there—a partnership may be "six-handed"—they are acknowledged partners if they are working in continuous partnership for the purposes of the sale, and until further notice.
H. J. BENTINCK (Police Inspector). I am stationed at Walton Street, Brompton—the prosecutor came to me on 29th November with the prisoner in the custody of an officer—the prosecutor said he wished to charge the prisoner with stealing, forging, and uttering a cheque for £22 9s. 6d.; he then related the circumstances you have heard to-day about the Lyric Club sales, and the prisoner then asked whether he might say anything—I said, "Certainly"—he said, "We were partners at this sale, and we have been partners for the last twelve years"—I said, "Is that so?"—he said, "Yes; but I did not
authorise him to sign this cheque; he has done it so many times before, but I mean to put a stop to it"—the prisoner said, "It is customary for us to sign each others cheques; I have done it scores of times; we settle up once a month sometimes when we do not meet after a sale is over, and the reason I have not settled this is because I have been at home ill"—the prosecutor said that he did not authorise him on this occasion to sign the cheque—I then refused to take the charge—the prisoner further said that the reason the prosecutor locked him up was out of pure spite, "because he owes me something like £30, and I have been holding this money over"—the prosecutor denied that, but repeated that the prisoner had done this thing so many times he intended to put a stop to it—I said, "I refuse to take the charge, because I am satisfied you have been dealing together as partners, and it is not clear to me on this occasion you were not so; you must go to the Magistrate and get a warrant"—I made a record in the Refused Charge-book in accordance with regulations, and this is the official copy: "Date and hour, one a. m., 29th November, 1892; name of constable, Police Constable Brook; name and address of complainant, John Hannan, Woodcroft, Merton Road, Surbiton, Surrey; name and address of person accused, Alfred Challenger, 47, Maw by Street, South Lambeth; nature of charge, forgery and uttering a cheque; name of officer on duty, H. J. Bentinck; reason why the charge was refused, as complainant and the accused had been long together dealing as partners, during which time it is alleged that they often signed each other's cheques, which was done on this occasion, and under those circumstances referred complainant to a Magistrate for a warrant."
Cross-examined. I made one or two rough notes of the conversation—the prosecutor said he gave the prisoner authority to sign cheques, but not on this occasion.
HENRY GIRLING . I am a commission agent, of 33, Redpole Road, Fulham—I have known the prosecutor and the prisoner about twelve years—I have seen them at various sales up to three years ago—I have been associated with them as working partner, dividing all commissions earned at the sale—at the Lyric Club sales I asked the prosecutor if he was working with Challenger—he told me yes, they generally worked as partners.
Cross-examined. I asked the prosecutor who he was working with, and he said "Alf"—that is the prisoner's name.
CHARLES ALBERT MANSFIELD . I am a commission agent, of 37, St. Gabriel Street, Newington Butts—I attend sales—I have known the prosecutor and the prisoner between fourteen and fifteen years as attending sales—they were both-at Dhuleep Singh's sale, and I was with them, working as partners together—also at Lady Hastings' sale at Burgess Hill immediately following—I was working with them at Surbiton four years ago—I saw the prisoner sign the prosecutor's name on a cheque at Captain Levado's sale—when acting as partners sometimes one goes for the money, sometimes another, no matter which the cheque is made out to, and signs, otherwise travelling expenses would be incurred.
LEONARD BARNES . I am assistant accountant in the Accountant-General's office of the Telegraph Department of the Post Office—I produce original telegram (The witness Jackson deposed to this being in the
prisoner's writing; it was dated November 1 1M, and ran thus: "To Hannan, Woodcroft, Merton Road, Surbiton.—You know I am unwell; can you come over for settlement?") MR. SANDS then put in a letter pressing the prisoner to come and settle.
GUILTY .— Six Months' Hard Labour,
211. JOSEPH KOPELEWITZ (26) and MARIE KOPELEWITZ (23) , Administering to Abraham Isaac Freedman a stupefying drug with intent to enable them to rob him. Second Count, Administering the said drug to make him sign a valuable security.
MR. CRISPE, MR. A. GILL , and MR. W. H. ELDRIDGE Prosecuted; MR. SHERWOOD appeared for the Male, and M. R. BRUCE far the Female Prisoner. MARY DEMBO (Interpreted). I live at 74, Hanbury Street, Spitalfields—I am Mr. Freedman's housekeeper—Joseph Kopelewitz was in his employ—I have seen his wife call at the business premises in Hanbury Street—Joseph left that employment—I cannot remember the month—he afterwards called, when I gave him a suit of clothes—on Monday, 14th November, Mrs. Kopelewitz called—she said she wanted to see Mr. Freedman—I said he was not at home—she left, but came back at five p. m.—she went in the parlour and sat in front of a little desk—I left her alone a' short time, and on returning I saw her at the desk—she had the lid in her hand, and was just closing it—I said, "What are you looking for?"—she replied, "Oh, I only should like to see Mr. Freedman's handwriting"—I told her to leave—she said her husband had returned, and "He has got money to pay Mr. Freedman his debt," and if Mr. Freedman would not go her husband would lose his money in card-playing—she called again about 8. 30 next morning—she said, "I should like to see Mr. Freedman"—I said, "He is still asleep"—she came back between six or seven p. m., and saw Mr. Freedman—he went away with her—I heard her say, "My husband will pay you"—Mr. Freedman answered, "I shall send somebody"—she said, "No, come at once with me, and you will get the money"—Mr. Freedman left Hanbury Street about seven o'clock—I next saw him a little before twelve at night—there was a knock at the door; I went downstairs, and there was a cab standing outside—I paid the cabman—when Mr. Freedman got in the house he was very bad—he went to bed immediately—I remained with him during the night—he was ill the whole night—he drank about a bottleful of water—he vomited—I went for Barnett Aaron about 6. 30 a. m.—he used to be his manager—I went with Mr. Freedman and saw Dr. Phillips about eight a. m.
Cross-examined by MR. SHERWOOD. I knew Mr. Kopelewitz by his coming to see Mr. Freedman—he took clothing from Mr. Freedman, and sold it to other people—Mr. Freedman gave him the old clothes about the end of August; I myself gave them to the prisoner by Mr. Freedman's order—I was present at all the interviews with the prosecutor and Mrs. Kopelewitz—they spoke Yiddish; the same language as I am speaking—the female prisoner went to the desk while I was away, and by her manner I could see that she had done it in secret—she was fumbling with the prosecutor's papers—the contents of the desk were Mr. Freedman's; whether they were important or not I do not know—it was never kept locked—I did not tell Mr. Freedman immediately about it, because I forgot it; I remembered myself, but then Mr. Freedman was just
gone away with Mr. Kopelewitz—on the Wednesday I told him about it—I see Mrs. Kopelewitz in the dock; I had seen her twice—Mr. Freedman comes home about 9. 30, ten, or eleven; then he drinks tea, and retires—I was surprised at his condition when he came home on the 15th—I was sitting in the parlour, and waiting for him the whole time—I did not send for a doctor, because I thought I should wait and see the result in the night, and I would wait till the morning, as I am a stranger in the neighbourhood—Mr. Freedman spoke very little—he said nothing about sending for a doctor—he said both the prisoners had given him something in the house; I believe it was poison—he drank water, and said, "Wait till the morning"—lie got up about 7. 30 a. m.—a doctor lives near—I do not know his name—Mr. Freedman enjoyed good health, and had not to apply for medical help—I first gave evidence at the Police-court—I do not know when.
Cross-examined by MR. BRUCE. The female prisoner never spoke English with me, only Yiddish—on 14th November she said her husband sent her—he wanted to see Mr. Freedman—Mr. Freedman speaks Yiddish—I have been his housekeeper nearly two years—I have never seen him come home so bad, God forbid!—I did not see the female prisoner take anything out of the desk—Mr. Freedman did not complain of having missed anything.
ABRAHAM ISAAC FREEDMAN . I am the prosecutor—I live and have carried on business at 74, Hanbury Street, Spitalfields, for thirty-two years as an army clothier—I have contracts of the Government and Volunteer regiments—before July, 1892, I employed the male prisoner as commission agent and collector, when I terminated that employment—he then owed me £5 4s., which he was responsible for collecting, and 108. cash—I applied about a dozen times for it, and instructed my servants to apply—the beginning of August, 1892, he came for further clothing on credit—I said, "You have not paid the last account, I cannot do it"—he opened his coat, and said, "Look at my state; what shall I do?"—his condition was cruel, poor, horrible state of clothing, ragged—I took pity upon him, and said, "I will give you some of my old clothes it you call at my house"—some of my old clothing was mended up, and given him by Mrs. Dembo and Barnett Aaron, my manager—I know his writing—he wrote this letter of 30th September, 1892, in Hebrew to me—this is a correct translation (Applying to the witness for help)—I also received this Hebrew letter of 10th August, addressed to Ben Mosche, one of our ministers, in the prisoner's writing—this is a true translation. (Stating that he had gone through hardships, and applying for assistance.)—he also asked me to give him a recommendation to the Rev. Mr. Singer, another of our ministers, between 10th August and 80th September—he said, "He lives in this neighbourhood, and as he knows Mrs. Kopelewitz he would get him a few pounds to assist him"—I never borrowed any money from the prisoner; when he was in my employment two or three months his wife called to ask where her husband was—I said, "Who is your husband?"—she said, "Mr. Kopelewitz"—in November I saw her once or twice in the street casually—I have house property—I collect the rents chiefly weekly, on a Monday—the male prisoner knew that—I paid. the money I collect into my bank on the Mondays or Tuesdays—sometimes I put it in the safe,
and sometimes keep it in my pocket till I pay it in—I was collecting on Monday, 14th November—I was away from my place of business all that day—in the evening I was at the head-quarters of the Essex Volunteer Regiment, Mare Street, Hackney—I go there Mondays and Thursdays for orders—I returned on Tuesday evening about seven p. m., and saw Mrs. Kopelewitz in the passage, in consequence of what the housekeeper told me—she said her husband had got £5 14s. to pay me, and said, "If you will come he will give you the money"—I said, "I will send my manager or my clerk," or would he send a postal order—my private house and business are together—she said, "It is no use, because he will not send the money by anybody; he will have more respect to pay you, or he will lose it at cards"—I said, "Very well, I will go"—she went, and I followed her—I asked the address, and she said, "I do not know the name of the street, nor the number of the house"—I asked that before she left so as to call the next morning—she said it was Kensington—I knew Kopelewitz had resided at Brick Lane—I went to Broad Street Station of the North London Railway—I took a third-class ticket to, I think, Addison Road—she had a return—the tickets were collected at the station before I got out—Mrs. Kopelewitz left the carriage at that station, and spoke to a man I. did not know—she came back into the carriage, and we got out at the next station—I then went to 16, Netherwood Road—I had not been in the neighbourhood before—she let herself in by a latch-key—she showed me into the front parlour—I sat down, she went in and out—no one else was there—I said, "Where is your husband?"—she said, "Next door; he is coming in"—I waited twelve or fifteen minutes—I then said, "I cannot wait any longer"—she said, "I will go and call him in"—she went out, and came back in two or three minutes—she brought a glass of ale, and said, "He is coming; have a glass of ale, Mr. Freedman"—as I was thirsty I drank about half of it—I became unconscious in about two minutes—the beer tasted rather sweet to begin with, it went sour when it closed my throat, and I slid on the ground—when I recovered I was sitting on a bed, my coat and vest were off, and my necktie disarranged on one side—I think the female prisoner was in the room when I drank the ale—I did not see her go out—when I went into the house my necktie was fastened with a pin, as usual—now the pin was gone—it was a ruby set in fine gold—when sitting on the bed the male prisoner had got me by one shoulder and was standing over me—he pulled me by the shoulder and shook me, and was very rough—he said, "What is the matter; aren't you well? Will you sign this paper immediately, or else I will tell everybody that you have slept with my wife?"—he pulled me off the bed, and I halloaed for the police as well as I could—I walked to the door as best I could, I could not run, I felt so bad I could not stand—I could not halloa much, my throat was too sore—the male prisoner ran quick and locked the door, put the key in his pocket, pushed me back, and I fell to the ground on my back—I got up and tried to get to the window to break it and call for help—he pushed me back, and I fell to the ground a second time on my back—I saw Mrs. Kopelewitz lying on the other side of the bed when I got up the first time—she was dressed, and I think she had her hat on—the husband picked me up after I was down the second time and pulled me to the table—I saw an inkstand—I was still very bad—he said,
"You must sign this paper," and lie took up a paper and said, "You won't get out alive from here if you don't"—Mrs. Kopelewitz stood in the room and smiled—she said, "Sign it, sign it, Mr. Freedman; it won't do you no harm"—she spoke in English—she can speak a little English when she likes; she understands it—he led me to the table, put a pen or pencil in my hand, and guided my hand, to the best of my belief, on a bit of paper—I do not know what it was, and I just scribbled—I see the name Freedman on this paper—it is not my writing—it is like my writing—I do not know whether this-was the paper—these are the two documents I wrote at the request of the Magistrate (One signature had been written standing and the other sitting)—I afterwards went to Mr. Spender, Mr. Kopelewitz's solicitor—I was shown this document; Mr. Kopelewitz was present. (Read: "Debt document, 14th November, 1892.—I promise to pay to Mr. Joseph Kopelewitz, 16, Netherwood Road, the sum of one hundred and fifty pounds (£150) in the eighth day, and the balance in three weeks from a day. (Signed) A. I. FREEDMAN. In the presenoe of Vulliam Kossman (his mark) and Mrs. Marie Kopelewitz")—no other man was in the room when I signed; the woman was—I did not see her sign anything—I was very frightened—Mr. Kopelewitz dressed me—I could not put my clothes on, I felt so ill—when I went to the house I had this watch and chain in my waistcoat pocket—he told me I would find it in my coat pocket with my purse—the chain fastens to a slit specially made, not connected with any button—I had not taken it out—the waistcoat was torn as if by force—this is my purse—I paid half-a-crown for the chain in Holborn, and the watch is not worth ten shillings—I had another watch and chain—Kopelewitz knew it when he was in my business—I only wear my best on Saturdays and Sundays, and going to a ball, and so on—that watch is worth about £25—I had thirty shillings in gold in the purse, and some loose money in my jacket pocket, small silver, where I had placed the return half of my ticket—I found a return ticket for Ramsgate in it; no money in it, nor in my pocket—I never saw the pin again—its value was forty shillings—it was a present from my son—I found I could not walk—he took me by the arm with his arm underneath, and guided me some distance from the house—we crossed some open ground like a held, where I fainted, fell down again, and asked for water—he took me into a public-house and gave me some brandy—he paid for it—I was still frightened and dazed—he went with me to the station—I then missed the loose money and my ticket, which I had. had in my ticket pocket—he paid for my ticket—I had no money—when I got to Liverpool Street I was unable to walk home—I took a cab—it was twelve to fifteen minutes' walk to my house; about half a mile—the cabman knocked at the door-Mrs. Dembo, my housekeeper, came down—she paid for the cab—I went to bed—I was very ill during the night—I drank ever so much water—I was sick—my housekeeper stayed up to attend to me—my late manager, Barnett Aaron, came next morning to see me about six a. m.—about eleven or twelve I went to see the divisional surgeon of police, Dr. Phillips—I do not feel right yet—I received these post-cards—I behave they are the prisoner's writing—I have seen him write. ("SIR,—Please take note of my address, 16, Netherwood Road, West Kensington. If you should like to see me, I will meet you at two o'clock p. m. at the
public-house opposite Broad Street Station." And "Mr. Freedman, you have to prepare, according to the document, Monday £5, and the balance to be paid 5th December, 1892. ")—I consulted Messrs. Noon and Clarke, solicitors—I next received a letter from Mr. Spender, the prisoner's solicitor, in consequence of which I went to his Office, 10, Vernon Street, West Kensington, where Mr. Lees, in Kopelewitz's presence, read this letter of 23rd November, 1892. (Demanding £5 instalment of debt, and 5s. cost by "one o'clock to-morrow, Thursday" and threatening legal proceedings in default.)—the debt document was also shown to me—I went out, leaving the solicitor and Kopelewitz—I have never borrowed £150 from Kopelewitz, nor a penny piece—in consequence of reading the debt document or promissory note for £150, I applied for an injunction to Mr. Justice Wright to restrain its negotiation—these affidavits were then filed. (Freedman's, alleging a debt of £5 14s., and Kopelewitz's reply denying the debt and referring to annexed exhibits giving particulars of £150 alleged to have been lent by Kopelewitz to Freedman; also reply of Chief Rabbi to Kopelewitz appointing 15th December for inquiry as to Mrs. Kopelewitz's relations with the prosecutor,)—I sent Kopelewitz this letter of 18th November, 1892, appointing meeting in Broad Street, in accordance with the request on his post-card, having seen Mr. Edward Clarke, my solicitor, in the meantime—I did not then know what I had signed—on Monday, 21st November, I met the prisoner at a public-house at the corner of Broad Street, in accordance with that appointment—we were alone—I said, "Do you know you poisoned me?"—he replied he knew nothing about it—I said, "What did I sign?"—he said, "Never mind, I only want £5 of you"—I went away—on 9th December an action was commenced against me at the suit of Joseph Kopelewitz claiming £150—I received the Hebrew letter referred to in Kopelewitz's affidavit in that action—I gave it to the solicitor's clerk.
Cross-examined by MR. SHERWOOD. I was not excited when I signed my signature at the Police-court. (At Mr. Sherwood's request the witness wrote his name sitting)—I have known Kopelewitz thirteen or fourteen months, since be has been in my employ—I have heard he is the son of a Russian Rabbi—proceedings have been going on since 21st December, when I expect I swore the information—I believe I received the Rabbi's request to see him on 12tb December—I did not go—I did not know for what purpose it was—I was confined to my bed—I sent word, "Whatever he requires of me I am confined to my bed"—what had taken place still played upon me—I swear I was not at 16, Nether wood Road, on the Monday night—I did not see Kossman there—I have lived in London thirty-five years—I had not been at Kensington before the 15th—I do not know Blyth Road—I went with Mrs. Kopelewitz to Netherwood Road to get £5 14s. which was owing to me, Kopelewitz having taken goods for sale and being responsible for the price—I entered Kopelewitz's house about eight or a little after—it may be 8. 30—I have said between eight and nine—I saw that youth (Kossman) at the Police-court, and when asked, "Do you know him?" I said, "No"—I had not seen him before that—when going to Kensington, after leaving the station, I asked Mrs. Kopelewitz, "How far is it? I will go no further"—I first complained of being robbed of my money and my pin on Wednesday morning—I told my solicitor—I had £1 and 10s. in gold and some loose money—I have not said I had several sovereigns in my pocket—when I came
out of Kopelewitz's house I could not speak to anybody; my throat was closed; I breathed through my nose—I did not make an appointment with Mrs. Kopelewitz on the 14th or 15th in the belief that her husband was at Cardiff—I did not recommend him to go into the hospital on 15th—I did not know he was ill; it was last winter he complained of being ill—he did not catch me in bed with Mrs. Kopelewitz—he did not say he was going out to get a policeman—he did not go out while I was in the house—I have never had improper intercourse with Mrs. Kopelewitz—on Monday I was at 31, Mare Street, Hackney, on business, from about eight p. m. till eleven p. m., in the Drill Hall—there is a bookseller's shop opposite my house—Mrs. Kopelewitz has not waited at that shop for hours for me—I have seen her in Brick Lane in the street—I have never met her for an improper purpose—I went to see my doctor and my solicitor in one journey—Mrs. Dembo went with me—I do not know where the Hebrew letter is—it might state that Kopelewitz did not wish for damages for committing adultery with his wife, only that I should take care of her as she had left him; I do not remember it—I have not heard the letter translated—I have searched for the letter since the legal proceedings—the Chief Rabbi will try to settle matters to avoid scandal—his notice was for the 12th—I have lost my little account-book between me and Kopelewitz in moving from Church Street to Hanbury Street—I have tried to find it; I was very anxious about it.
Cross-examined by MR. BRUCE. I only received one notice to go before the Jewish Court—I gave, as my reason for not going, I was too ill to attend; the authorities of the Jewish Court have said they are quite satisfied with the explanation I sent—the Rev. Liegman, of Great Helen Street, called, and said the Rabbi was satisfied that I did not come while I was ill—the matter has been postponed—I only went once to the Police-court—the Magistrate refused the warrant—my solicitor applied a second time—I did not know a warrant was applied for against Kossman—the man Mrs. Kopelewitz spoke to when she left the train was a private man, in civilian clothes—I did not hear anyone else in the house—I got there between eight and nine and left about eleven—I got home about twelve—Mrs. Kopelewitz said her husband was next door—I understood she meant the next house—she put the beer on the table—I drank it in about a minute or two—I believe she was in the room when I drank it—I next saw her after I got up the first time lying on the bed—I was conscious enough to know I signed a piece of paper—Kopelewitz guided my hand over the top of the paper—the doctor gave me a glass of water and a tonic—I told him I had been poisoned, and he also gave me a letter to my solicitor—I believe the letter states the premises should be searched for signs of poison.
Re-examined. The Hebrew letter was a scribble; I do not think it was Kopelewitz's writing—at the Drill Hall on Monday night I saw Sergeant Major Baker, Colour Sergeant Parley, Sergeants Want, Sampson, and several others—I finished my rent collecting about six p. m.—I was then at home making out my accounts—I put the money in the safe—I remained at home till I went to the hall—I remained at the hall till about 11. 30, then went straight home, and to bed—I had seen Kopelewitz about a week previous to the 14th November—I went with my solicitor to Hammersmith to apply for a summons.
BARNETT AARON . I live at 88, Duke Street, Mile End Road—till last August I was employed by Mr. Freedman—I had known Kopelewitz about three years; I knew Mrs. Kopelewitz—I left Mr. Freedman's service about June—I was sent by Freedman to Kopelewitz to collect £5 two or three times—Kopelewitz said he had not the money—I was present when Kopelewitz called on Freedman, and some clothes were given to him, after a little mending and dressing—that was about a week before I left—about three weeks before Christmas last year the prisoner sent a man to call me from my business—I went to him at the corner public-house—he asked me if I knew anything about Mr. Freedman—I said, "I hear something, but if you tell me I will be able to know"—then he said he wanted £150 from Mr. Freedman—I said it was very strange to me, because a little before I had called on him for £5 14s., when he said he had nothing to pay—he said, "You should ask no questions; if you are a man you will have £20 out of the job"—I said, "If you make me by force I won't do that"—I was to have the £20 to be in his favour, if I go for him as a witness—I said, "No, I am father of seven children, I cannot do that; that won't do for me"—the following day (Wednesday), in consequence of what a boy said to me, I went to him in the same. publichouse—he said the same thing—I said, "It is no use, you will never get from Mr. Freedman money; just tell me how you can get from Mr. Freedman £150?"—he told me "This promissory note is very good for £150," and I could be sure he would pay the money, and he would give me £20—I said, "Tell me the truth; what is the matter?"—he said he found Freedman in his house with his wife—I said, "How is it you go to make your wife a prostitute for the sake of money?"—he said, "I am not going to make her a prostitute; I told you last night, do not ask questions, do not mention it; I am not going to divorce my wife, but that is the way to get money"—we spoke in Yiddish—I asked him why, and he said somebody might be listening behind—I had begun in English, and he asked me to talk Yiddish—he told me, "If you don't want to be in my favour ask Mr. Freedman for money for me to leave London"—when I said, "You are going to make your wife a prostitute for the sake of money," he said, "That is the way to go on," and that he would send his wife off for a couple of days till the trial was over; "I must not keep my wife till the trial is over"—he said he was going to the Chief Rabbi—I asked him why, and he said, "I know Freedman is a gentleman, and if I go to the Chief Rabbi he won't make business, he will give money"—he would pay money rather than go.
Cross-examined by MR. SHERWOOD. I am a tailor—I was Freedman's manager—I went to Mr. Freedman because his housekeeper came to me about eight weeks ago, about 5. 30 a. m., 16th November, and I saw him lying on the bed—he could not answer; he was very ill—my daughter wrote to Kopelewitz to meet me.
Cross-examined by MR. BRUCE. I was in Mr. Freedman's employ about two years—I left him to better myself—I did not tell Kopelewitz £20 was not enough—he said he would not mind giving me more, only he had got to pay out so much—Mrs. Kopelewitz gave me Kopelewitz's address in my house—I have not seen Mrs. Kopelewitz and Mr. Freedman at his place of business.
for thirty years—on 16th November the prosecutor came to me about noon—he made a statement to me—he was extremely excited, profusely perspiring; the perspiration ran down his face, and I had to get him a cloth to wipe it—he complained of pain in his stomach, and there were all the symptoms of stomach disturbance—he said he had profusely vomited—his tongue was dry and coated—he walked a little, but he was in a state of great alarm, and complained of choking in the throat—various drugs would produce his symptoms: oxalic acid, tobacco infusion in beer, sugar of lead, and many others—he came to me again in the evening, and I prescribed for him—I did not see him again till 11th December, but my colleague saw him a week or eight days after—on 11th December his digestive organs were very much out of order—I saw him at his own house; he sent for me—a noxious drug would possibly result in a deranged stomach for months afterwards, but that is remote.
Cross-examined by MR. SHERWOOD. Other causes might produce his symptoms—I did not examine any vomit—I should have done so if I had it—I wrote a letter to his solicitor at his request—I produce a copy of it—he told me had drunk large quantities of water—I based my opinion on his symptoms and what he told me—those symptoms would be consistent with great excitement and mental strain, or injudicious diet or too much liquor, especially if it was not of a choice character.
Cross-examined by MR. BRUCE. A drug is deadly or innocent according to the proportion taken—sugar of lead would give beer a milky look—I have given evidence in cases of tobacco being used to drug sailors—I have known cases of oxalic acid "being given, and resulting in insensibility within five minutes, but it is uncertain in its action.
Re-examined. The first taste of sugar of lead in beer would be sweet; then the palate would pall—that would not produce insensibility, but more serious symptoms than this man presented at the time—I do not think sugar of lead was used in this case.
HENRY EDMUND LEES . I am a clerk to Messrs. Noon and Clarke, the prosecutor's solicitors, of Great St. Helens—I went with the prosecutor to Mr. Spender's office on 24th November in reply to his letter of 23rd applying for payment—I gave the prosecutor certain instructions—I made an appointment and attended again at twelve o'clock the next day with the prosecutor—Mr. Spender produced the promissory note—I showed it to the prosecutor—he looked at it and left the room—I made a copy of it—I asked Kopelewitz, and he examined the document with me; I had put "A. H. Freedman"—he said, "No that is wrong; it is A. I. Freedman"—I asked him what the document was for—he said, "Oh, never mind, where is my money?"—I said, "I should like to know something about this first"—he said, "Well, Mr. Freedman was found with my" wife; no matter, where is my money?"—I said, "I have got no money"—he said, "I shall see"; I said, "Oh, very well"—I had handed the document to Mr. Spender's clerk—Kopelewitz snatched it from Mr. Spender's hands, and said to him, "Here is your receipt, give me my document." (A receipt for the debt document teas here produced.)
Cross-examined by MR. SHERWOOD. Freedman said nothing about the forgery.
moneys from him—I collected them—ten shillings were left owing—I was present when some old clothes were given to Kopelewitz after he left Mr. Freedman's service—I called on Kopelewitz to collect £5 14s.—he always put it off, he never paid me anything—on Tuesday evening, 15th November, I saw Mrs. Kopelewitz at the passage of Mr. Freedman's house, 74, Hanbury Street—I asked her what she wanted—she said she wanted to see Mr. Freedman—in consequence I spoke to the housekeeper—Mr. Freedman then came down—I saw him no more that night.
Cross-examined by MR. SHERWOOD. I know Mr. Freedman's writing—"A. I. Freedman" on the document is like his writing—Mr. Freedman cannot write so solid—I spoke to Mr. Kopelewitz in Yiddish.
Cross-examined by MR. SHERWOOD. I remember an ex parte injunction was applied for on November 26th and an interim injunction on 29th—the writ was issued on 26th, the same day as the ex parte injunction, and was returnable on 29th, giving short notice of motion—on 3rd December the injunction was continued to trial—the affidavit of the prisoner was produced before Mr. Justice Wright after the order was made, and returned to the office for filing—I was present when the Hebrew letter, mentioned in that affidavit, was read over and translated—the male prisoner read it at my request, because I was anxious to know what it was—I can hardly say at this distance of time what it was, but I remember it began with a complaint about the prosecutor and the female prisoner; that prosecutor had acted in an improper manner towards the prisoner's wife, and I think there was a reference to the Chief Rabbi—I then said I should have a translation, but I did not have it—when last seen it was in the prisoner's custody—the prosecutor gave as much of the letter as he recollected to-day, as near as I can remember—I cannot remember if there was any reference to divorce proceedings—there was an adjournment of proceedings before the Rabbi by mutual consent, in reference to the interim injunction—that would be on the Friday—no approaches were made on my part to the defendant's solicitor for a settlement—I received no instructions from Freedman to settle with the other side.
ANNIE CARTER . I was living with my husband at 16, Netherwood Road, Kensington, on 14th and 15th November last—I had lived there since June—on the ground floor are three rooms, a parlour, a bedroom, and kitchen at the back—they are on the right of the passage as you go in—the first floor is the same—I occupy the one above that, the second floor—the prisoners occupied the first floor—I recollect their coming-in on Tuesday, 15th November—on that evening I was upstairs in my rooms doing needlework—I heard a great noise, so I came out on the landing to listen—it was like one person throwing another on the ground—I heard it twice afterwards—I heard high words in a foreign language I could not make out—the noise ceased; my husband came home, and I communicated to him what had occurred—he is a signalman, and returned from duty a little after ten that night—I saw Mrs. Kopelewitz about, and occupying the parlour floor for, it might be, a fortnight, but over a week afterwards—the prisoners were out in the day, and came home in the evening—I have occasionally said "Good morning" to the woman,
nothing more—the man came daily—they seemed to be on friendly terms—he made no complaint about the conduct of his wife, to me—I never asked them about the noise.
Cross-examined by MR. SHERWOOD. I saw Kopelewitz, but never spoke to him—I fix the 15th; I got a particular letter on that Tuesday—they moved in in the morning, but I did not see them till the next day—they were not there on Monday, 14th—nobody was in the rooms on Monday, 14th—they had not moved any of their furniture in on Monday, 14th—I saw Mrs. Kopelewitz the next morning.
Cross-examined by MR. BRUCE. When I heard the fall I heard a woman's voice—I heard two voices—I thought it was a quarrel between Kopelewitz and his wife—I did not hear anyone come to visit them.
EDWARD CLARKE . I am a solicitor, of 31, Great St. Helens—I have acted for the prosecutor for many years—I applied for a warrant to Mr. Curtis Bennett, at Hammersmith, on 21st November—I had applied to the City authorities that day, who refused to interfere, in consequence of the defendants residing in the West London district—that was before the proceedings for an injunction, and before I knew of the application to Dr. Adler—the Magistrate said the charge being felony, it was better to give the prisoners into custody—then I went back to the City Detective Department—on 24th November the prosecutor brought me the letter from Mr. Spender of 23rd November, applying for payment—previously postcards had been brought to my attention—the prosecutor's letter in reply was written at my suggestion—after we got the defendant's affidavit, the case then being a little more ripe, we went again to Mr. Curtis Bennett on 21st December, and obtained a warrant—application was also made for a warrant against Kossman, which was refused—in consequence of subsequent communication from the Chief Rabbi, Mr. Lees sent a telegram.
Cross-examined by MR. SHERWOOD. The form of proceedings was not for assault, but an action to restrain the negotiation of the instrument; but a claim for damages and assault were included.
Cross-examined by MR. SHERWOOD. I gave evidence on this promissory note at the Police-court—I do not think the hand that wrote that signature was guided—looking at the prosecutor's signature written in Court and at this debt document I say they are not the same—the ink has gone over this signature on the debt document—that does not alter my opinion.
WILLIAM JAMES (Policeman. T). I arrested the male prisoner at twelve o'clock on 22nd December, at 16, Netherwood Road, West Kensington—Kopelewitz was dressed; he answered the door—I saw him in the passage—I said, "I am a police officer; I hold a warrant for your arrest," and read it to him (produced)—I made a note—he said, "I will say something; I think it is important. I know that a warrant was granted; I had a statement from my solicitor, Mr. Spender, and I am very glad to hear it, because, when the affair with Mr. Isaac Freedman and my wife took place, on 21st and 22nd November, I received a letter from Mr. Freedman about the promissory note; he will bring me into trouble, because where I can spend a penny he can spend a pound. I feel very tired, and very sorry for this; I ought to have locked him up the night I found him with my wife; the policeman
who was called refused to take him"—I then conveyed him to Hammersmith Police-station—he was formally charged—he made no reply when the charge was read—I searched him at the station—I found on him thirteen documents—I produce some of them, including the letter of the Chief Rabbi of 30th December—Kossman was on the premises—I did not see the woman—I asked the prisoner where his wife was—he said he did not know. "She has not been here since that night"—Mrs. Kopelewitz subsequently surrendered—I formally charged her at Hammersmith Police-court on 30th December—she was accompanied by an interpreter—I asked through the interpreter if her name was Kopelewitz, and if she was the wife of Joseph Kopelewitz—the interpreter said yes—I then mentioned the warrant, and she answered yes—she was formally charged, and the charge was read to her, and she answered in English, "All right"—the male prisoner spoke good English.
Cross-examined by MR. SHERWOOD. Mr. Spender was present when the warrant was granted—he read a communication to me as to the readiness of his client to surrender; I did not follow his advice.
FREDERICK WILLIAM WILKINSON . I am agent for Mr. Cooley, the landlord of 61, Brick Lane, the house occupied by the Kopelewitzes—they had been summoned for rent—I went to Blyth Road first, and then to 16, Netherwood Road, on 28th November, to serve a notice to quit of that date—they had left the Brick Lane premises, and locked them up, and I wanted to get possession—I called again on 5th December—Mrs. Kopelewitz opened the door, and asked me what the notice was for—I told her to give it to Mr. Kopelewitz when he came home, and he would know—she said, "All right"—I had seen her in Blyth Road—I have talked to her in Brick Lane—she understood English—I saw Kossman when I called on 5th December.
Cross-examined by MR. SHERWOOD. My employer had commenced an action against Kopelewitz, and had been non-suited—proceedings are still pending.
ABRAHAM ISAAC FREEDMAN (Re-examined by the JURY), I have not been summoned before the Chief Rabbi except on this one occasion—I have summoned a man—I have not been charged with immorality before—I was not engaged, but I have been at the Rabbi's Court as his friend—when I was summoned to the Rabbis Court I was too ill to attend.
Witnesses for the defence.
WILLIAM KOSSMAN (Partly interpreted). I only understand English a little—I have lived in this country about two years—I made an affidavit in these proceedings, and swore it in English—I understand what speaking the truth means—I am a Jew—I am the son of a merchant at Leipsic—I live at 35, Victoria Park Road—I am eighteen years old—I am a friend of the Kopelewitzes—I have known them for eight months—I have stayed with them at the place where they were living—I receive money from my father at Leipsic—I do not do any work—my father sends me £2 in three weeks—I am going back to Germany to him shortly—I have stopped here to give evidence in this case—my father is now in Leipsic, but he was born in Russia—a good many come from Russia—my father and I came over to this country to make a living—my father used to live here—I was staying with the Kopelewitzes during the whole of November at 16, Netherwood Road—the Kopelewitzes and I went to Netherwood Road together—I had been living before then with them in Blyth Road
—I went from Blyth Road to 16, Netherwood Road on 14th November—I believe that was a Monday—I slept there on the night of the 14th or 15th—I first went to 16, Netherwood Road, I believe, between ten and twelve o'clock on the morning of the 14th—I have known Mr. Abraham Isaac Freedman about five months—I saw him at 16, Netherwood Road, on the day that I entered there, about six or seven o'clock in the evening—he came there alone—I opened the door to him—Mr. and Mrs. Kopelewitz were there at the time—Mr. Freedman asked me, "Is Mr. Kopelewitz at home?" and I answered "Yes"—he did not enter the house; Mr. Kopelewitz went out to him—they afterwards came back again, and went indoors into the room; Mr. Freedman stayed for a time—Mrs. Kopelewitz was there—Kopelewitz wrote something on a paper in the parlour; Mrs. Kopelewitz and myself also wrote—I wrote my name; I can write my whole name—(the witness here wrote his name)—in writing my name, instead of the "w" I have just written I used the Russian "w"—I saw what Mrs. Kopelewitz wrote—I signed first that paper; after wards Mrs. Kopelewitz signed, but she only put a mark on the paper as signature—Mr. Freedman was there at this time; he also signed his name; he signed first—I do not remember who signed next—I have looked at that document (The debt document)—I have seen it before—that is my signature there—that is the document I have been telling you of; it is in the same condition now as when I signed it—those two red stamps were not there at the time—I believe Mr. Freedman was in the house twenty minutes that night—he did not say anything when he went away—I saw some blue papers on the table at that time; I saw them torn up and thrown into the fire; they were narrow and long—I remember the day after that; it was on a Tuesday—I do not recollect anything being said about those blue papers—I do not remember anything being said after the document was signed—I saw Mr. Freedman again the next day at 16, Netherwood Road—I saw him first on 15th November in Hanbury Street—that was between eight and nine o'clock in the evening—before I went to Hanbury Street something had been said to me by Mr. Kopelewitz—when I got there I walked up and down—I did not see him speak to anybody—I know his house—I saw Mrs. Kopelewitz go to his house—I waited there a time—I saw Mr. Freedman again there—I saw him in Hanbury Street—he came out of his house—I do not know where he-went to—it was or the Tuesday when he went into his house and went away—I cannot remember how soon after he got there—it was after Mrs. Kopelewitz came to the house—he left the house with Mrs. Kopelewitz—I saw them go away together and followed them—they went into Broad Street station—I then ran to Kopelewitz in Liverpool Street—I met him there by appointment—he told me that he should wait for me—I went with him to Broad Street station—we entered a railway carriage there—I saw Mr. Freedman and Mrs. Kopelewitz again that night at 16, Netherwood Road—I believe it was ten o'clock when I got there; I do not remember exactly—I went by train from Broad Street to Addison Road with Kopelewitz—I went with him to the house at Netherwood Road—I walked up and down outside—I saw Mr. Freedman and Mrs. Kopelewitz go into No. 16—Kopelewitz and I also entered the house, I believe ten minutes later—when I saw Mr. Freedman and Mrs. Kopelewitz enter the house there was a light in
the room—we got in through the area door, and went through the kitchen belonging to other people who are living in the house—the kitchen belonging to Mr. Kopelewitz is on the same floor that he lives on—we went down a couple of steps into the kitchen underneath—we went upstairs from the area into the parlour—there is a back garden—there is a parlour and back parlour—the outside kitchen door is never locked—no one was in the kitchen when we passed through, and there was no light there—when we had gone through that way we went up to Kopelewitz's rooms—Kopelewitz went first, and I followed immediately afterwards—Kopelewitz opened the door to the back room, and went in, and I waited outside—there was no light in the room—when he entered the room he handed some clothes to me—there was a kind of a subdued light; a fire was in the room—there was a lamp burning—I saw Mr. Freedman and Mrs. Kopelewitz in the back room in the bed—his clothes were off—she was in the same bed, with her clothes off—I did not hear anybody speak—I stood at the door, which was half open—I went to the kitchen on the same floor after I saw Mr. Freedman in the passage—I put the clothes in the kitchen—Mr. Freedman came there for them—they were his clothes, his trousers—the kitchen is at the back—I stopped in the kitchen about two minutes—I saw Mr. Freedman in the passage without his. trousers for ten minutes—he said, "Joseph, be a man, come inside"—Kopelewitz was outside the door in the street the whole ten minutes—I had seen him go out—he said he was going for a policeman—I saw no policeman—Kopelewitz came back to the bedroom—I went in the kitchen—I saw no poker there—I did not see Mr. Freedman get his trousers—I saw him leave the house—I believe about eleven—he had his trousers on—I saw him put on his trousers; nothing else—he went away with Kopelewitz—I went after them to Addison Road Station—I did not see Mr. Freedman have any drink in the house—I knew of no ale in the house—there was nothing the matter with Freedman—I saw him get in the train at Addison Road—he seemed well then—he said nothing when he went away—this is the first time I have given evidence in this case—I was at the Police-court every time and all the time the case was before the Magistrate.
Cross-examined by MR. BRUCE. I saw no beer either night—Kopelewitz gave me Mr. Freedman's and Mrs. Kopelewitz's clothes out of the bedroom.
Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. "When I first lived in England I lived with my father—he sold his things—I knew the prisoner then—I lived with them in the same house after that—I did not sleep in the work-room—I paid Kopelewitz for my food, but not my lodging—I lived with them all the time they were in Brick Lane—I did not know they could not pay their rent, nor that they would not let the landlord in—I occupied the parlour in Netherwood Road—I slept there on the Monday—I did not know Mrs. Carter was living in the house—I stopped there till Mr. Kopelewitz was arrested—Mrs. Kopelewitz only stopped one day—she went away on the Wednesday morning at nine o'clock—I have not seen her any more—I slept in the house at night—she never returned—she went away because Kopelewitz did not want her any more—I was there when she went away—they had a row at nine o'clock—Kopelewitz told her she had to leave the house as he did not want her any more—she made no reply—on the Tuesday night Kopelewitz slept in the bed,
riot with his wife, but in the back parlour—Mrs. Kopelewitz slept in the front parlour on the sofa—I slept in the kitchen on the floor—when I left Hanbury Street on 15th November I went back in the same train as Mr. Freedman and Mrs. Kopelewitz—I did not get out at the station where they took my ticket, but at Edgware Road—Mrs. Kopelewitz could not see me in Hanbury Street because I was a long way off—I did not hear anyone thrown to the ground on the Tuesday night—I did not go into the bedroom; I saw through the door—Mr. Freedman preferred to go with Kopelewitz to the station because he feared Kopelewitz had told the policeman something, and the policeman was watching him—I saw no policeman—(The witness, at the request of counsel, read the debt document)—"His mark" means Mrs. Kopelewitz's mark—Mr. Kopelewitz wrote that, and "Marie Kopelewitz-"—pen and ink were on the table—we all wrote with the same pen and ink—I saw Mr. Kopelewitz write all but the signatures in Mr. Freedman's presence—I wrote my name in his presence—I read the document first-it was not for £15—it was as it is now when it was written—I swore an affidavit—I had previously read the affidavit of Joseph Kopelewitz.
Re-examined. It was explained that Mrs. Kopelewitz wrote her mark because she cannot write—Mr. Kopelewitz wrote the word "signed; I swear I did not.
By the JURY. I saw Mr. Freedman dress himself on the Tuesday night in the bedroom—Kopelewitz told me to fetch the clothes from the kitchen to the bedroom, and I did so—Kopelewitz did not get out at Uxbridge Road station, where the tickets were collected.
REV. JOSEPH FRIEDLANDER . I am a minister of the Jewish religion and secretary to Dr. Adler, the Chief Rabbi of London—I conduct his official correspondence—I wrote this letter, and it bears Dr. Adler's signature. (Dated November 28th, 1892, to J. Kopelewitz, promising to investigate the case on December 15th.)—that was in reply to this letter in German—I have got a translation made by the Chief Rabbi—(This was signed Joseph Kopelewitz, stating that a worthless fellow, a member of the Synagogue, and a married man, had seduced his wife, and that he wished to be divorced from her and avoid public scandal.)—On 8th December the Chief Rabbi received this letter from Mr. Spender (Acknowledging the receipt of his letter and requesting km to undertake the investigation on Monday next as the matter was urgent.)—this is my reply (This stated that the Chief Rabbi had summoned Mr. freedman to appear on Monday next, and directing Mr. Kopelewitz to attend.)—an appointment had been made for the 12th, and this was to expedite the matter, at Mr. Spender's request—I received this letter from Spender, I am obliged by your letter and propose to attend at the time and place named."
Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. The only evidence we have of the Chief Rabbi communicating with Messrs. Noon and Clarke the solicitors for the prosecutor, was a telegram that was sent—the Chief Rabbi is in town but he has public duties to attend to.
JOHN HIPKIN . I am a postman—I received written notice of Kopelewitz's change of address; it is at the Post-office, Kensington—I first delivered letters to him at Netherwood Road about November 16th—I went there on Tuesday, the 15th, about 9. 50 p. m.—I had a removal order
from Brick Lane, and it was my duty to have it authenticated the following morning, so that he might receive his re-directed letters—I saw a female at the door of No. 16, who lived in the house—that is her (Mrs. Carter)—after speaking to her, I walked in at the front door, knocked at the parlour door, and after waiting five minutes I knocked again—the door was opened by a female—I do not recognise the female prisoner—I asked if Kopelewitz was in—the door was half open, and I saw a man trying to get into a waistcoat—that was not Kopelewitz, but he was there on the left side of the door, perfectly dressed, and without his hat—I said, "Are you Mr. Kopelewitz?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "Well, I authenticated your letter, and it will be sent on to-morrow morning"; I then left—the man who put on the waistcoat seemed to be dressing himself; he had his trousers on and a collar and a black tie—there was a tremendous row before they answered the door, but it was in come foreign language—two men and a female were there; they were fighting—I heard what seemed like the sound of a heavy body falling, and saw this man standing up—I heard three voices, one female and two males—I should say that the man who was putting his waistcoat on was in a state of semi-drunkenness, not hopelessly drunk, but bewildered—I saw he was the worse, for drink—I did not hear him say anything—their language sounded like German—the woman had not got the upper part of her dress on; her arms were bare—I did not see either of the persons who were in the room leave it—I did not at any time that evening see Kopelewitz elsewhere—I saw a policeman standing outside the gate on the pavement when I went out—I had another delivery, and coming back on the other side of the way about five minutes afterwards I saw the policeman on the pavement—I did not see anybody speak to him—on passing No. 16 again I 3aw nothing to attract my attention but the policeman standing outside—when I was at the door I did not notice any of the things in the room.
Cross-examined by MR. BRUCE. The two men and the woman were the only people I saw except Mrs. Carter at the door; I saw no man—I heard no one there—I did not see a table or a bed in the room—I cannot say whether there was a fire; there was a small lamp, and I had my bull's-eye—when I saw the man putting on his coat I did not see any other clothes—I did not notice whether he had his boots on.
By the COURT. I had often delivered letters at Mrs. Carter's—I do not go up to the rooms; there is a common letter-box, and then they are distributed—I never delivered letters for anybody but Mrs. Carter and the Kopelewitzes; if there were any for anybody in the basement they were put in the. box—no complaint was made by Kopelewitz about anything that was done to him or his wife, nor did he ask me to send for a policeman.
By the JURY. When I saw the man putting on his waistcoat I did not see this lad (Kossman).
EDITH HOARE . I am single—my father keeps a general shop at 11, Netherwood Road—No. 16 is right opposite—the Kopelewitzes rented their rooms off of us—we kept the key as agents, and we let Mr. Kopelewitz have the key, with the landlord's authority, on the Friday before the Tuesday when this disturbance was—the rent commenced on Saturday—on Tuesday, the 15th, I saw Mr. Kopelewitz come out of
the house about 10. 30 p. m.—he beckoned a policeman across from our side of the road who was between Kopelewitz and me; he was within eight or ten yards of me, walking along—Kopelewitz was very white and excited—he said, "Here, I want you," and the policeman walked across the road to him, and stood outside the gate several minutes, but did not go in—Mr. Kopelewitz went inside—the policeman walked across the road to my side again, and looked across over his shoulder—I did not see anybody else go in or come out that night—I know Kossman by his living with Kopelewitz.
Cross-examined by MR. BRUCE. I know Mrs. Kopelewitz just by sight, nothing more.
By the COURT. I did not see anything of Kossman that night—it was 10. 30 when the policeman was outside—the shop was closing; this was closing time, and that is how I am able to fix the time—we kept the keys of the house for Mr. Chapman, the landlord—there are several vacant houses, but we have not the keys of all—they are let in separate tenements, the basement to one, the first floor to another, and the top to another—we had the key of the parts which were unlet—the basement of No. 16 was let; I forget the name of the tenant—it has been let twelve months to a Scotchman named Wood, who lived there with his wife—he left about a month ago—the basement is approached by an area gate, and you go down some steps to the side door—I can't tell whether Mr. Wood was in the habit of leaving his door open whether he was home or not—I was standing at the door about five minutes.
EDMUND NEIGHBOUR . I am a kitchen porter, of 224, Essex Road, Islington—in November last and until December 31st I lived at 40, Netherwood Road; that is twenty or twenty-five doors up—I knew Kossman by sight in November; the first time I spoke to him was when I saw the case in the paper—on a Monday or Tuesday night in November, between ten and eleven, I saw Mr. Kopelewitz talking to a policeman at his own gate—I believe it was Tuesday; I won't be sure—I believe it was the 15th, because it was soon after Guy Fawkes' Day—a gentleman with a tall hat was standing in the doorway—I was going to buy some supper, and as I passed by him I noticed that he had only a shirt and a pair of drawers on, and Mr. Kopelewitz was talking to the policeman in broken English; I could not understand it—I went away, and when I returned all was quiet—that was all I saw and heard—the prisoner was just outside the area gate—I should know the man in the tall hat again if I saw him—I have seen him since at the West London Police-court coming out of court—he was not dressed in the same way; he had a silk hat on—I was standing with Kossman, and said to him, "There is the gentleman who was standing in the doorway"—he said, "Yes, that is right," and then I went home. (The prosecutor here stood up and put an his hat)—that is him, and he had a light coat.
By the COURT. Kopelewitz asked me to go to the Court with him to be a witness that I saw him with the policeman at the gate, and Mr. Freedman—I told him I did not know that I should be able to identify the gentleman I saw in the silk hat and drawers, till I saw him come out of Court, and I told the solicitor so.
Cross-examined by Mr. BRUCE. There was no light at the door—the policeman was just outside the railings—there was nothing to prevent his seeing what I saw—I never saw Kossman there that night.
Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. I was on the opposite side of the door, which was about three parts open—I did not see Miss Hoare at her door at that time—I left the man there who was in his hat and drawers.
Re-examined. I heard no one speak as I passed.
Rosa Rendeman. I am a bookseller, of 73, Hanbury Street—I know Mr. Freedman's place of business, No. 74; it is just opposite—I only know him by seeing him—I never spoke to him—I know Mrs. Kopelewitz—I lend books, and she used to come to take some very often, and sometimes she would wait for somebody in my shop—one night, three months ago, she waited from eight till eleven and many times a less time—I never saw her meet anybody—the books she had were all Hebrew ones.
By the JURY. When I lend books no paper is signed for them—I put them down in a book—I never saw her write.
JOSEPH LIPMAN . I am a stone-cutter, of 5, Prince's Street, Brick Lane—I have known the prisoner Joseph Kopelewitz since August, 1891—I can't say when I entered his employment; I left last September—I was his office boy—I know Mr. Freedman by sight—I have seen him in Mr. Kopelewitz's office several times; the last time was about the middle of July—he came in, and Mrs. Kopelewitz said that Mr. Kopelewitz was not in—she and I were in the office, 61, Brick Lane—I did not hear what he said; he was there about ten minutes—he did not speak to me—I was there all the time—he spoke to Mrs. Kopelewitz, and left with her—she had no hat, bonnet, or shawl on when he arrived, or when she went out with him—she was away about an hour—I was there when she came back—Mr. Kopelewitz was not there then—I know Kossman, I can see him here; he has been at the office when Mr. Freedman has been there—I can't say how many times—they spoke to one another.
Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. I can't say whether I left Kopelewitz's service in August or September—I did not go into any other employment till six weeks ago, when I went where I am now—I assisted in keeping the books—at the beginning I had 3s. a week, and at the end 4s.—this is my signature:" 7th November, 1892. Received on account of my wages, 18s. 6d. of Mr. J. Kopelewitz.—JOSEPH LIPMAN"—when I left in September there were wages owing to me; £3 19s. 6d.—I did not leave because I could not get my wages—he has paid me 10s. besides the 18s. 6d.; nothing else—he still owes me a good deal of money—he paid me the money at my house, 5, Prince's Street—I did not ask him to bring it to me; he came quite casually—I was not exactly surprised—this (Produced) is his day-book—this line is my writing; I have marked it—having left his service in August or September I do not know how to account for my writing being in this book on 3rd October—I was in his employment on October 3rd, but I was not when he paid me the 18s. 6d.—these two entries in pencil are my writing: "29, two men were here, and said they had a trial on for the money," and you said, "I shall give them your address, because they want to come to you"—I cannot remember who the two men wore; they did not come again—I told Mr. Kopelewitz about that—all I know is that on some occasions Mrs. Kopelewitz was in when Mr. Freedman called, and she went out with him—that was about the middle of July—I knew that Kopelewitz worked for Mr. Freedman in July, but do not know when he ceased to work for him—it was my custom to
put in the book the persons who called—there is none of Mrs. Kopele-witz's writing in this book—she cannot write at all, and I do not think she can read—I have never seen her reading a book—she is not a person who is fond of reading—she has not told me that she cannot read—here is Joseph Freedman's name in this book—that is not the same person—I do not know why I did not enter Mr. Freedman's name as calling; he called about seven times altogether, and Mrs. Kopelewitz went away with him about three times, and always without her hat or bonnet—I have not made any entry in this book of any occasion on which Mr. Freedman called; I forgot it—these seven visits were not all in July; it was July and August—here is an entry my writing: "October 1st, Freedman paid 18d."—I do not know what Freedman that was—I put that entry in pencil because there was no ink—the entry under that I cannot read—I do not know whether it is Hebrew or German; it was not in my time—I have not talked this matter over with Kossman, only with Mr. Kopelewitz—I gave my evidence to Mr. Spender—I did not go to his office—I made a statement, which Kossman took down—last Friday he recommended me to Mr. Spender, and I told Mr. Spender my evidence here in the Old Bailey—I came hero to-day to hear the case; I was not asked to corneal did not come with Kossman, I came alone—I went up and spoke to Kossman—he said, "Good morning, and then Mr. Spender came down, and he told me to speak to Mr. Spender—I had not had conversation with Kossman before the Friday—he was in the office when I was there—I knew it was material whether Mrs. Kopelewitz went away with Mr. Freedman or not, because he told me about the case last Saturday.
Cross-examined by MR. BRUCE. When I saw Mrs. Kopelewitz go out with Freedman, I did not see where they went to.
Re-examined. I had been in Kopelewitz a employ for a year, under an agreement—I came down to the Court of my own accord and saw Kossman—I went first on Friday and saw him; I asked him how the case was going on—he said it was going on all right, and that he did see Mr. Kopelewitz, and Mr. Spender came up and he Produced me to him—Mr. Spender asked me my name, and I told him, and they called my name in Court as a witness—Kossman said he did not know him or Mrs. Kopelewitz.
By the JURY. The conversation I had with Kossman was in Hebrew, it was half and half—I do not speak much Hebrew—I am a German-born Jew—I spoke in Hebrew because Kossman understands it, it was partly in English and partly in Hebrew.
FREDERICK RICHARD SPENDER . I am a solicitor, of 10 Vernon Street, West Kensington—I have been solicitor for the defendant—I have acted for him for several months past—I have had the conduct of the civil proceedings also—in consequence of a communication from the secretary of the Chief Rabbi I attended the Rabbi's Court with the pri-soner at twelve or 12. 30 on 12th December—there was a good deal of conversation in German, which I could not understand, between the Chief Rabbi and the prisoner—Freedman was not there—I was at the London Police-court on 21st December when Mr. Crispe applied for a warrant—I was not there by accident; I was on the way to take other proceedings, and met Mr. Crispe, and I found he was going to apply for
process against my client, and I waited to hear what he had to say—that was not the Chancery proceedings—there was an action for assault in the Queen's Bench—damages for assault were claimed by the male prisoner on Freedman—that would appear on the writ produced—I acted in that matter.
By the COURT. This house is in a longish road—they are an inferior class of houses—it is between Uxbridge Road Station and Addison Road Station—you approach the door by steps, and after that there is an area gate leading to the basement—the ground floor is in the prisoners' occupation.
By MR. SHERWOOD. I was present when the missing Hebrew letter was produced—it was taken away to be copied—it is mentioned in Kopelewitz's affidavit—I saw it in the Hands of Mr. E. K. Smith—Kopelewitz was present, and volunteered to read it, which he did in our presence, but Freedman was not present—it has never been produced since; it was called for at the Police-court, and various excuses were made—the gentleman's name is Edward Kingdom Smith—I have not seen the letter since. (A copy of the Utter was produced, and charged Freed-man with adultery with Mrs. Kopelewitz; also saying that as he had behaved so to fits wife, he should provide for the cursed thing of which she might be delivered at any moment.)—that is dated Monday, 21st November, 1892—he said there was a scandal about the matter, and it would have been well if it could have been settled by the Chief Rabbi—that was the main purport of the letter—I afterwards gave notice for the production of the letter, but it could not be found—I heard Mr. Smith say that he handed it back to the prosecutor—that is all with regard to the missing letter, but there was a little account-book which Mr. Freedman said he could not find—I think he said he lost it in moving furniture—I met Lipman here for the first time—I spoke to him, but I never took a statement from him.
Cross-examined by MR. CRISPE. I did not take Lipman's statement; I knew it because I had been employed by Kopelewitz, but I do not always take the statements of my witnesses—I was informed, I think by the prisoner himself, that Lipman could give material evidence, it may have been by both, about Freedman being at Kopelewitz's office when Koss-man was there.
By the COURT. I took Kossman's statement when I prepared his affidavit—the affidavit itself is the statement—it was written by me from his dictation after my having had a previous interview with him at my house.
By MR. CRISPE. Time pressed, and I took it in a hurry at 6, Serjeants' Inn, at eleven a. m. to use that morning, when the summons was coming on, and it came on at four p. m.—it was returnable in the first instance some days before it was heard; it was adjourned for three days, and in the interim Kossman came voluntarily to my house—it may have been the same night, and I had no difficulty in getting information from him—there was ample time—I very often do things in a hurry; I act on the spur of the moment—I knew about the proposed adjudication in the Jewish Court; it was the male prisoner's suggestion—the appointment was for the 15th, and at my instigation it was altered to the 12th—I had contemplated divorce proceedings from December 12th, and do now
—Kopelewitz had repeatedly urged me to commence them, a fortnight or a week before the writ in the action.
By the COURT. Kopelewitz first consulted me about this matter about 23rd November, but I had acted for him a fortnight or three weeks pre-viously in a County-court action at Whitechapel; that was my first business with him, that action was brought against Kopelewitz by Kooney, and I saw him about it four or five times—it was a matter of something under £10—Kooney was non-suited—Kopelewitz mentioned his wife's adultery when we were discussing the County-court matter; he said that it all arose out of that unfortunate matter.
By MR. CRISPE. The County-court action was for rent of the Brick Lane premises—the plaintiff was non-suited, because he had given six days' notice instead of seven or eight days—I do not know that the action has been recommenced, except on the information of Mr. Wilkin-son—I did not know anything about the power of the Chief Rabbi; it was for a sort of religious adjudication. on his part, and if he could have done so we should have gone no further—if they could have been divorced by the Chief Rabbi we should not have gone to the Divorce Court, and if he could not settle it we should—I know nothing of the proceedings before the Chief Rabbi except through Kopelewitz—my managing clerk signs my name as he has done in this letter (Produced)—it is his writing—he will be here; I do not know what it is about—my office is opposite the Hammersmith Police-court, where applications are made to the Magistrate in open Court for warrants and summonses—I happened to be in Court when you applied, and were successful—you told me you were going to apply, and I saw the name on your brief—I was there from the time the Magistrate entered at 10. 30—I had business there—I was going to get a summons, and met you, and I thought I could see what you were going to do about my client—as my office is opposite the Court, I went there to see the day's list—I practice there; the same thing might occur any morning—my clerk sometimes goes there and sometimes not—I produce the book which was produced by Lipman on the last occasion. '
Re-examined, I believe this was the day of appeal, and I told the solicitor's clerk I would get a warrant for perjury—I saw the solicitor on the other side with Kopelewitz in the High Court.
By the COURT. I have been in practice since 1874, principally in criminal business—I have been two years in London since July, 1890—I have perused all the affidavits on the other side—it did not strike me that a very serious charge, might be made against my client—serious criminal proceedings might be instituted against him if the charges were true—very often when summonses are granted for perjury. Magistrates refuse to proceed with criminal proceedings till the perjury is disposed of—I received some costs, but believing in the innocence of my client, I have received none in this matter—I am not acting for the female prisoner—my friend Mr. White represents her.
A. I. FREEDMAN (Re-examined by Mr. SHERWOOD). I have not con-sulted any other doctor than Mr. Phillips—I did not send to the Chief Rabbi for a certificate of health—I do not know Dr. Leverton.
MR. ROSENBERG (The Interpreter), By the Magistrate's order I translated four entries in this book from German into English—the last entry in pencil, and nearly at the bottom of page 1, is "15th
October, 1892.—Lent A. I. Freedman on a bill of exchange, payable November 12th, 1892, the sum of £50; the other two amounts, dated 26th April and 10th May, included with this prolonged to 12th November, 1892"—on 26th April here is, "Lent A. I. Freedman till 30th October, 1892, £50, underneath a promissory note," and on May 10th, "Lent Freedman £13 commission on different transactions and interest on bills of exchange; £7 together on a bill of exchange due 12th November, 1892."
G. S. INGLIS (Re-examined by MR. CRISPE). I have examined this debt document very carefully, and find at the end of the second line the word "hundred" is squeezed in, and is on a different slope to the other writing—there is no writing before it—it is not "a" hundred, only "hundred"—the word is not completed, and the "and 50" is written in the margin—the "0" after the "5," making 150, is better written than the figures "1"—the £ for pounds and "150" in figures are enclosed in brackets; the first bracket comes through the loop of the "£"—I measured from the figure "5" to the "p" in pounds following, and I find the same space would have been there if the "0" had not been there—it strikes me that the "0" has been put there afterwards—there is no alteration in the body of the document—it originally was, "I promise to pay Mr. Joseph Kopelewitz, of 16, Netherwood Road, the sum of £15," and that has been altered to £150—"Signed" is in the same writing as the body, but the signatures are not—the document has been folded before it was dry, and I find each side partly recopied on the other—the signatures are not re-produced, which leads me to the conclusion that the signatures were put there at a different time, otherwise. they would have blotted as well, you see the "J" reversed—on page 2 of the book, February 26th, the entry appears to have been crushed in, at the very bottom of the page; the line dividing the pages cuts the last entry—on page 15, April 26th, the word "April" is in the margin in the proper place; there was something underneath which has been erased and "April" written over—the proof of erasure is seen by looking through the leaf, something has been scraped out—on page 16 at the top is 29; there is a long entry of May 1st, and several entries without dates; then comes one of May 10th which is very much squeezed, coming over to the following page where May 1st is continued—the final entry is on page 30—there are four entries of one line each; the first is in pencil, "l-10-92," the second, "3-10-'92," the third, "3-10-'92," and then comes "15-10-'92 £50"—that is written in German.
Cross-examined by MR. SHERWOOD. I have examined a letter which Kopelewitz wrote from prison, and from two signatures I feel certain that the letter was written by him—his writing is rough and irregular and untidy; it is not uniform—there is crowding now and then—people writing, looking forward, often crowd at the beginning, and then widen and fill out again—the word "hundred" on one side of the fifty necessitated the "0" after the "15"—I believe this bracket was added after the "£" was done—I draw that conclusion from the aspect of the "0," which is written more carefully than the "15," which is angular and jagged—I say the same as to the brackets—I think the whole 150 was written by Kopelewitz, but at different times—I agree that people's writing varies considerably at different times, only in the word
"hundred" you have got a long word to get in, and it is on a different slope, but you must bear this in mind in "the sum of £15" there is no necessity for brackets, but they' are there, and cover the "£," showing that it was done afterwards—I mean that putting a bracket would not be usual where there had. been a prior writing of the amount—there was "£15," and no bracket at all—I do not point out any trace of the prior writing; there is no erasure there, the figures stand alone—I say that this "A. I. Freedman" is not Freedman's signature, it is much freer, and much larger and bolder—the signatures which are admittedly his differ from the others—evidently he was excited; the signatures are very shaky; his hand trembled—I have been in Court all the time—he would not write like this unless he was under strong excitement; the "F" in this signature is concave, the others are either straight down or slightly convex—from these two cheques of July 27th and September 19th, 1892, not written under excitement, I say that the signature is decidedly not in Freedman's writing—the difference between these nervous signatures and the cheque signatures is greater than the difference between the signatures of the cheques and document C, but I believe it is imitated from some signature of Freedman's; it is de-liberately written—the "a" and "c" are totally different from those letters on the cheques—some forgeries are so good that the man himself cannot tell which is his writing—I say mat this is a copy made from his signature, but not traced—in this class of forgery it is not contrary to experience to find that it is written firmly and boldly; I find it both ways—it is an indifferent imitation of Mr. Freedman's writing—I saw it before there was this blot; the blot does not alter my opinion—it is the "F" in "Freedman" that I speak of; the hand has gone round to make the cross to the "A," which is totally different to the cheques; the "A. I." on the cheques are a mono-gram, two letters joined together; and in document C they are totally distinct letters—putting aside the monogram, there is a freeness about the cheques which I do not find in Mr. Freedman's common writing—as to the doubling, I do not think the signatures were blotted and dried first, and if they dried from other reasons than blotting, why should not the upper part dry?—if it was blotted wet, it would take the ink away; you can always tell—the ink of the signatures has a purple colour, which is not in the body of the writing—if the colour is different, the ink must be different—this is not sympathetic ink—there are inks which get darker when they are dry, but this is a perfect colour slowly done, therefore more ink would come out of the pen—there is not ink adver-tised as writing a purple colour and turning black; there is blue-black ink—if you blot any writing it will take away some of the depth of colour; it would not make black ink purple, but it would make it a lighter colour—I do not agree with you that this might all have been written with the same ink—I believe I heard Freedman swear at the Police-court that his hand was guided when he signed something; this is not a hand-guided signature—on page 2 of the day-book the word is squeezed in at the bottom of the page, and the line is in different ink to the one above—I conclude that it is crowded in—the last entry is darker than the previous entry written at a later time—on page 15 there is ample room at the bottom of the page, only there has been an
erasure, where "April" is written heavily to cover it—I did not say at the Police-court that the postcards were not in Kopelewitz's writing—I have only got two envelopes and two postcards here—I do not form an opinion that the postcards were written by the same hand which wrote the letter—I say these envelopes M and G are written by an English boy or girl, an English taught person, and this by someone who is accustomed to a foreign language—I do not form the opinion that the envelopes are not Kopelewitz's writing.
Cross-examined by MR. BRUCE. I have made mistakes—when I said at the Police-court that the signature to this document was not Mr. Freed-man's genuine signature I was comparing it with some which he wrote in the Police-court and the two cheques.
GUILTY .— The JURY recommended the female prisoner to mercy and stated that they considered that the imputation that the prosecutor had been guilty of adultery with her teas unfounded.
JOSEPH KOPELEWITZ— Ten Years' Penal Servitude. MARIE KOPELEWITZ— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MESSRS. WARBURTON AND KERSHAW Prosecuted.
GEORGE BINGLEY (40 KB ). About 5. 45 p. m. on 31st December I was in Wood Grange Road, Forest Gate, in company with Cam and Macdonald, in plain clothes—I saw Capper and Tree loitering in the road for about half an hour—they went into the Princess Alice public-house and stayed there about twenty minutes, when they joined Johnson—the three came out, walked down Romford Road and stopped opposite Mr. Barnes's shop, 305, Romford Road, when Capper tugged at some aprons which hung just against the window—a uniform officer came down Spruceton Road and stood at the corner—Johnson then spoke to the female prisoners, and they all walked away together for about fifty yards and stood in the dark—this was about 6. 30 or 7—the officer went away and the prisoners came back and stood opposite Mr. Barnes's shop—I went into a garden, Johnson walked across the road; I came out of the garden and got into a goods delivery cart; Johnson spoke to the females; I got out of the cart and went back into the garden, when Tree took this linen and placed it on the pavement and then under her petticoats, and walked away with it for about ten yards—Johnson stood by—I ran across the road and caught Capper, and Tree by putting my arms round her neck—the flannel fell to the ground and I told Tree the charge—neither replied to the charge—Pearce, Cam, and Macdonald came to my assistance—Johnson ran away—Capper and Tree were taken to the station—they made no reply to the charge.
Cross-examined by Capper. The aprons were hanging about three yards from the flannel, which was on the right—the aprons were five or six feet from the ground, fastened up—I could not say if the aprons
came down when you tugged them—I apprehended you about six yards from the shop, not opposite the shop door—you walked away with Tree.
HARRY CARN (Detective Officer). I was with Bingley in plain clothes—I saw the female prisoners outside Mr. Barnes's shop, and Johnson walk-ing up and down—on seeing a policeman Johnson spoke to the females, and they all three walked away together—they came back—I saw Capper pull two aprons to the ground that were hanging outside the shop—she walked away a few paces and returned and picked the aprons up—Tree then joined Capper—I arrested Capper—I said, "I shall take you to the station; you will be charged with stealing out-side the shop"—Macdonald picked up the aprons, and said, "These are what she has thrown away"—they were taken to the station—Capper was searched; 2s. 6 1/2 d. was found on her.
Cross-examined by Capper. The aprons were hanging six feet high; pinned up—you had a hand basket—the flannel was not near you.
Cross-examined by Johnson. You were walking up and down on the kerb when the things were stolen—you ran away.
PETER MACDONALD (38 R). I was with Bingley and Carn, and saw the prisoners outside Mr. Barnes's shop—I saw Capper tug at some linen aprons hanging outside the window—Johnson came up and spoke to the females—the three walked away together—I saw an officer in uniform come up—the prisoners returned—I saw Capper pull two aprons down to the ground—I lost sight of Johnson—I picked up the aprons—on 2nd January I arrested Johnson—I told him I was a police-officer, and should take him into custody for being concerned with two females in custody in stealing a roll of flannel—and other things in Romford Road on the 31st—he said, "Oh, my God!"
Cross-examined by Capper. The aprons were hanging outside the window, close to the door—no one was near you—the top of the aprons were five or six feet above the ground—you put them under your shawl and dragged them a few steps, and returned and picked them up, and put them under your shawl—I picked them up after you dropped them the second time—you had a small basket in your hand—you were taken about six yards from the shop.
Cross-examined by Capper. The aprons were pinned up six feet from the ground—you were not the only one who touched those aprons—I have not seen you before—I did not see you touch them.
The prisoners' statements before the Magistrate: Capper says, "I was not with the woman. I never saw the man in my life. I went to buy the aprons, and I had 4s. 6d. in my pocket. I only touched the aprons, and they fell." Johnson says, "I know nothing of it."
Capper, in her defence, said she wanted to buy the aprons, and had 2s. 6d. and a halfpenny to pay for them; they were 6 3/4 d. each; as soon as she touched them they fell, but she had no intention to steal them; she knew nothing of the other prisoners or the flannel. Johnson said he had rendered no assistance, or he would nut have gone to the station on the Monday morning.—
CAPPER then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony at St. Mary's. Newington, in April, 1877— Six Years' Penal Servitude; and JOHNSON** to conviction of felony at Newington in October, 1883— Eight Years' Penal Servitude; TREE**— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. BLACKWELL Prosecuted.
GEORGE FLANDERS . I live at 9, Venue Street, Bromley—on Saturday last I met Vincent in the East India Dock Road, after twelve at night—I went with her to 11, Gerrard Street—I was sober—I saw Truslow there, after I got in the house—I went with Vincent upstairs into a bedroom—I gave her six shillings—I was going to stop the night with her—she said, "You get into bed, I will be back in a minute"—she went out and did not return—in about twenty minutes Truslow came and asked me what I was doing in her bed—I said I was waiting for a young lady—she said, "There is no young lady here, you had better get up and clear out of it"—I said, "I find I have got in a wrong house, a wrong place"—she said, "You are not going out of this house till you have paid half-a-crown for my bed; I cannot let my bed for nothing"—I said, "I have not half-a-crown"—she said, "Then I shall take your overcoat"—I said, "You will not take any of my clothes"—she said. "I'll soon have you bundled out of that"—I saw three men there—I walked quietly out and went to the Police-station—she would not give me my coat, and I left it—I saw the men when I first went into the sitting-room—I made a statement to the sergeant at the station—I returned with a constable—the constable knocked, and Truslow opened the door—he told her she had got my coat—Truslow said she had never seen me, and I was a wicked man—the constable pushed his way into the. house and said, "I have come here to search this house"—one of the men there said, "When he first came here he wanted to quarrel—the policeman said, "Then you have seen him before; you must know him"—Truslow said, "Oh, now he is in the light, I can recognise him, but he had no over-coat on when he came to this house"—the policeman said, "Put your shawl on and come with me," and I went with them to the station—I charged Mrs. Truslow with stealing my coat containing a diamond pin and silver watch and chain, that I put inside my coat previous to going into the house—she said she knew nothing about them—in the morning I was called up by the police to go and identify my coat—I went to 44, Railway Street with the policeman—he said he had come about the coat; had they a coat there?—Vincent said, "I have sent to the Police-station, but I know nothing about the watch"—I said, "That was not asked for; it is the coat we have come after"—Railway Street is about seven minutes' walk from Gerrard Street—I then charged Vincent with complicity with Truslow—she admitted she had had the coat—she had not then been charged with stealing the watch—she said I gave her the overcoat and 2s.—she was taken to the station.
Cross-examined by Truslow. I did not offer the coat and 2s. for the room—I saw two young ladies and a navy man there.
By the JURY. I arranged with Vincent to stop the night with her for 6s.—nothing was said about the room.
JOHN USHER (285 K). I was on duty at the station about two a. m., when the prosecutor came and made a complaint—I was directed by the sergeant to go with him to 11, Gerrard Street—I knocked at the door—Truslow came—I asked about the prosecutor, and his coat—she said the man had not been there, she had not seen him—we went inside and saw company—one of the lads said, "He was here kicking up a row"—I said, "Oh, the man has been here"—Truslow said, "I recognise him now"—I said, "Where is his coat?"—she said, "He had not a top-coat when he came here"—the prosecutor gave her into custody—I searched the place and then took her to the station, where she was charged with stealing the coat, and the watch and chain and pin—the prosecutor at the station said he had left the watch and chain in the pocket of the coat—afterwards Brachley brought the coat to the station—she did not hear Truslow charged—the charge was recorded in the charge-sheet—Brachley might know the charge from one of the police, and then have come with the coat—the prosecutor identified the coat—I searched the pockets—I did not find the watch, chain, or diamond pin—then I went with the prosecutor to 44, Railway Street—I saw Vincent, and the question was put to her about seeing the prosecutor) and about the coat, when she exclaimed, "I have not got the watch"—the prosecutor said, "It is not a question of the watch, it is the coat"—I then asked her about the watch-chain and pin; and if she had given them to Brachley—she said, "Yes, I gave it to her to take to the station"—she said the prosecutor gave her 2s., and the coat for a night's "drift," which the prosecutor denied—he was sober.
Cross-examined by Vincent, A sergeant accompanied me; he did not mention the watch and pin before you mentioned the watch.
ELIZABETH BRACHLEY . I live at 11, Gerrard Street—Truslow is the landlady—I remember about 1. 30 seeing the prosecutor's back as he went out—I was in bed when I heard him distinctly say he had 2s.—I sleep in the back room upstairs; there are two rooms on the floor—there is only a wooden partition and the stairs between; you can hear every-thing that is said in either room—I know Vincent's voice; I heard her and her gentleman in the room—the gentleman said he would pay her 28., and leave his coat till Sunday evening, when he would pay the remainder—I cannot say whether with the 2s. he would give her 6s., or whether it was to be 6s. altogether—they remained talking about ten minutes, then I heard the gentleman say he had been robbed—I did not hear anybody go down or come up, because it does not suit me to listen to other people's business—I did not hear Truslow talking in the room—he said, "I have been robbed of my coat"—I have a furnished room there—I am married; my husband lives with me when he comes home—about an hour after I went to the Police-station—I heard the charge against Truslow—the prosecutor said he had left his coat, and if I brought it back he would withdraw the charge—I went with the policeman to see whether Truslow was charged—I asked the inspector, and he told me she was charged with theft of the overcoat—the conversation with the prosecutor at the Police-station was on the top of the steps—I swear that—I went and found Vincent because the man said, "If you will bring back my overcoat I will withdraw the charge against the
woman"—I then fetched the coat and took it to the station—it was at 44, Railway Street—I do not know how it got from Gerrard Street—I did not ask—I know Vincent by sight—she frequents 11, Gerrard Street now and then—it is not a brothel; I am the only person living in the house—I was in bed with my husband—I was not astonished at Vincent bringing a man, because you can let furnished bedrooms; you don't know whether they are husbands or not.
By the JURY. When I heard the man say he was robbed I came down with only boots and stockings and skirt, and something over my shoulders—I never saw the coat till I got to 44, Railway Street.
GEORGE FLANDERS (Re-examined). I have heard Brachley's evidence—I did not have a conversation with her at the station; I never spoke to her—I never said to her if she brought the coat back I would withdraw the charge.
The prisoners' statement before the Magistrate. Truslow says: "I know nothing of anything beyond the coat." Vincent says: "I know no more."
Truslow, in her defence, said the prosecutor offered his coat, which Vincent tool' away, till Sunday night, when he promised to come and pay six shillings. There was no jewellery to be seen.
Witness for Vincent.
GEORGE VINCENT . I am a sailor, of 44, Railway Street, South Bromley—the prisoner Vincent is no relation—she passed as my wife—I was at sea two years ago—I lived on a little money I had when I came ashore first—when that was spent Vincent kept me on money she got from other men by her prostitution—I saw the policeman and the sergeant come to 44, Railway Street together—I let them in—the sergeant asked Vincent, "Have you got an overcoat? Do you know where the overcoat is?"—she said it was given to Brachley—afterwards the sergeant said, "What about the watch and pin?"—she answered she had never seen any watch and pin—that is all I remember—I was not at 11, Gerrard Street that night—I have been there—I know Vincent has been there; I suppose with men—she told me she had been once—I was not examined before the Magistrate—I was in Court when the prosecutor, gave his evidence—I heard him say she mentioned about the watch first, and I knew it was wrong; it was the sergeant—I knew she had an overcoat, but she had no watch—she did not know about it—it struck me as an awkward thing—I did not give my evidence because I was not asked—I was in Court the whole time—I suppose she was asked if she had witnesses—I believe so—I did not say I could give evidence, because I did not know the rules of the Court, and what I was to do and what not—I learned the rules of' this Court when I heard the officer in charge of the case say I could see the prisoner, and that is the reason I came—I have not heard that the sergeant denies it. (This portion of Usher's evidence was read.)—I say he is wrong.
By MR. BLACKWELL. I am a lodger at 44, Railway Street—Vincent came to my room with the coat.
The prisoner Vincent. The prosecutor gave me two shillings, and left the coat with me to make up six shillings till Sunday night, and I brought the coat back, as he said pretty early he would be.
TEUSLOW— GUILTY of stealing;
VINCENT— GUILTY of receiving.—
Nine Months' Hard Labour each. The COURT suggested that the attention of the parish authorities should be drawn to what had occurred at 11, Gerrard Street.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted; MR. GEOGHEGAN appeared for Brady; and MR. TAYLOR or Lambert.
The prosecutor stating that he had been drinking all day without taking any food; and that he fell down through the drink, and did not know who picked him up, the JURY stopped the case, and found a verdict of
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Justice Grantham,
The JURY were sworn to try whether the prisoner was in a sound state of mind, and in a fit condition to plead.
DR. GILBERT. In my view the prisoner is not able to plead properly to this charge.
UNFIT TO PLEAD .— Confinement till Her Majesty's pleasure be known.
Before Mr. Recorder.
Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MESSRS. C. F. GILL, AVORY, and BIRON Prosecuted; MESSRS.
WARBURTON and PIGGOTT Defended.
ARTHUR SEWELL (Inspector, W). I prepared this plan of 8, Stockwell Cottages, Stockwell Green, which shows the ground-floor room, marked as Smith's, and the staircase leading up out of the room, and a yard opening out of it—there is a room upstairs marked as Burden's.
MARY BURDEN . I live at 8, Stockwell Cottages, Stockwell Green, where I occupy a room upstairs—the rest of the house was occupied by the prisoner, his wife, and. their three children—their living-room was downstairs and their bedroom upstairs on the same floor as mine—I was there nine weeks, and they had been there three weeks before I went—I believe the prisoner was a painter by trade—his wife sometimes went to work at a laundry—they lived very unhappily together—they were not on very good terms—I did not know much about her—I think she was given to drink—sometimes I saw her drunk—I have seen the prisoner drunk—very often I saw disturbances between them before
3rd December; he was generally knocking her about; they were hitting each other—I have seen him strike her with his fist many times before 3rd December—I never saw her use violence to him—I have seen him strike her when she was not drunk—all the time I was there he threatened to murder her some time or other—I several times heard him use that expression; I could not say how often—on Friday night, 2nd December, she was the worse for drink—she got her husband's tea ready, and told me to tell him when, he came in that she had gone up to lie down in her bedroom—when he came in I told him, and he said she should not lie there, and he went upstairs, and I believe he pulled her out and kicked her; I did not see him—I heard him pull her out of bed—I could hear everything from my bedroom—housed very bad language—he called her all the beastly little w——he could call her, and said she should not lie there—I heard a blow—she did not call out; she never would call out—he left her, and went downstairs—next day, Saturday, 3rd December, Mrs. Smith was at home all day; she was not in and out—I was in the house all day—she did not go out till after tea, after her husband came home—they had a meat tea and went off very comfortably; there was a 'little bit of wrangling, that was all, and then she went out to order some coals between five and six—the prisoner stayed at home, lying on the children's bed, which is in the living-room downstairs—he had come home to tea very drunk—his wife came back very soon then, and she went out again a little after eight, and came back at half-past ten—she went into the living room, and soon after that I heard blows—I heard a little wrangling before the blows, but I did not take notice of that—I was up in my room—the blows sounded as if one person were hitting another—I went downstairs into their room—I saw the prisoner with the poker in his hand; his wife was lying down on her right side, close to the back door, which led out into the yard, with her back against the door, on the floor of the room—I saw the prisoner striking her with this, which was used as a poker, in the room—the blows fell about her shoulders and body—I did not see him strike her about the head at all—he kicked her in the stomach—his boots were on—I asked him to give me the poker, and I made an effort to take it from him—he told me to go upstairs and mind my own business, or else I should have the same result—I went upstairs as quick as I could to put my boots on, and as I was going up he said, "You can have me locked up if you like"—I had not said anything about having him locked up—he said nothing to her when he was beating her—when I got upstairs the noise ceased—in a few minutes she came upstairs, and laid on the bed in her own room—she was dressed in her long black cloak and hat, and had all her clothes on—shortly after she came to my door, and asked me to do something; then she went back to her bedroom, and presently I heard her call the boy Johnny—the boy, who is about twelve, came up to me—he had not been in the room downstairs when I saw the prisoner and his wife there; he had not got back from the Atlantic Road—the boy did not go to his mother, but to me only—shortly afterwards I heard the decased go downstairs again—up to that time I had only seen her when she came to my door; I did not notice any blood about her; her face and hands were quite clean—she came upstairs in about half an hour—she went down a second time—I cannot say whether she went
out then—she came up for the last time at about half-past twelve; I did not see her then, but I heard her go into her bedroom—I heard no disturbance or words when she went down the second time—after she came up the last time she called her three children; they did not come—all was quiet during the night—at nine o'clock next morning I heard Johnny come up and go into her room, and then speak to the prisoner, who came upstairs—when he went into the bedroom the prisoner said, "Oh, my God! she is dead. What shall I do?"—then he said, "Tell Mrs. Burden"—he knocked at my door, and said, "Oh! she is dead. What shall I do?"—I said, "Go for a doctor at once"—he went out for a few minutes, and then came back and asked me where the nearest doctor was, and then went out with the boy, and I did not see him again till he was in custody—as he did not come. back I went and fetched a policeman.
Cross-examined. I did not know the deceased fairly well; she was generally out three or four days a week—after I had seen him knocking her about I went upstairs to put on my boots to fetch a policeman, and afterwards when she came upstairs, and I saw nothing much the matter with her, I changed my mind about fetching a policeman, as I did not think it necessary—when she came up to me she did not say anything about being knocked about, but asked me to fetch her some beer—I did not feel inclined to do so, and then she said, "Gall Johnny up," and he was requested by her to fetch the beer, but he did not go to fetch her any—I noticed no blood upon her then—both the prisoner and his wife were the worse for drink—the two girls were in bed; she did not want them to go for beer—she called them up to go to bed I expect—when the boy came up in the morning, and said, "Father, I cannot wake her," the prisoner came up at once, and said, "My God! she is dead; what shall I do?"—he did not* say' anything to me about preferring to go to the police where he had been employed before—I had a teacup of beer from the woman that same evening; Johnny brought it up to me—I don't think she could always have been in drink, because she was at the wash-tub—I heard she pawned the child's boots to get drink; I do not know it—I heard the eldest boy went to sea because she pawned his clothes to get drink; it was the common report—I believe the prisoner has always been a kind father to his boys since I have been there—I don't know if he was always in work—I don't know about his character; I have only known him since I have lived there—I have never seen her tumble about on her face when drunk and knock over the table—on the Friday she was the worse for drink, and got punished, I believe—I several times before heard him threaten to murder her—I don't think I was asked before the Coroner about the threat to murder, or I should have said it—the bed downstairs was close against the wall; there were two chairs between it and the table.
Re-examined. I told the Magistrate I had heard him threaten her—that was the first time I was asked the question—when she came to speak to me at the door of my room there was no light in her bedroom, but I had my lamp—her back, as she spoke to me, would be in darkness.
I went out with my mother, leaving my father lying on the bed downstairs; he had had a little to drink, but was not drunk—my mother had had a little when I went out with her at half-past eight—we went into two public-houses—I lost her in the Atlantic Road—I went down the road and waited to try and find her—I got home about twenty minutes past eleven—she was at home then—my father was lying on the same bed; I asked him where mother was—ho said she was upstairs, and then I went up, and she was sitting on the side of the bed—there was no light upstairs at that time—she had not called me—she only asked me what I came up for—I went downstairs again—my father went out to post a book to my brother—my mother came downstairs and went out for some beer, going through the living room, where there was a light—I noticed a little blood on the back of her head—soon after she came back with beer in a can; she stopped downstairs and drank the beer, and while she was still in the room father came in—mother asked him if he would have some of the beer; he said, "Yes, I will have a glass"—he had half a glass—my mother went upstairs—after that father asked me to fetch a pillow for him—I went upstairs to the bedroom, and brought one down from the bed—I noticed a little fresh blood on one side of it, and called my father's attention to it—he said, "Put it down," and I put it down by the side of the coal cellar—he did not use it at all—my father slept in the room downstairs that night on the chair—I and the other two children slept in the room too—next morning at nine o'clock I went upstairs to the bedroom, and found that my mother was dead—I called my father up—afterwards I went out with him to, find a doctor—we went to Dr. Smith's at Stockwell Green, but we did not get any answer, and then I went with my father to one of his mates at Balham—we went up Chatham Road, and there we met a policeman, who took my father.
Cross-examined. When my mother brought the beer in before she went upstairs, and while my father was out posting the book, I saw the blood on the back of her head, and I asked tier how it occurred, and to let me tie it up, and she said when she came in she started swearing at father, because he grumbled at her for not fetching enough things in for Sunday's dinner, and then he ran after her, and she picked up the poker and aimed it at him, and he aimed it back—when my father found she was dead, he went and rang a doctor's bell, but there was no answer—before my father went to post the book she asked me to go out for beer—she was the worse for drink then—she told Mrs. Burden to ask me, so Mrs. Burden told me—I did not go—my mother was very often drunk, and continually nagging at my father—I have seen her throw plates at him about three times, and the poker about twice before this occurrence—she used to break open my cash-box and take the money to buy drink—when the plates and poker were thrown at my father he generally sat down and took no notice of it, and said nothing to her—he was generally out of work all the winter, he was a painter; but he used to give her money for the household expenses, food and clothes—the greater part of that money she generally spent in beer—in the winter my father got money by selling paper puzzles, which he made himself, in the streets—my eider brother had to go to sea because my mother used to take all his earnings to spend on beer, and used to pawn all his things—she has occasionally pawned my boots to
get beer—the prisoner has always been a kind father to me—I have occasionally seen my mother fall about when she was drunk, tumble downstairs, and knock a table over—my father was generally sober, and was a peaceable, quiet man.
Re-examined. This Saturday night was not the only time I had seen my father the worse for drink—it was just before my father came in that my mother told me she had thrown the poker at him, and that he had thrown it back—my mother went to work at a laundry about four days a week, and then she would be away all day—she had been at work four days the week that this happened, I think.
By the COURT. The can she brought the beer in was from the Rose and Crown, at the corner of Love Lane, I think; she was drunk before she went out—I never went to that house with or for her.
EDWARD POTTS (512 W). About eleven a. m. on 4th December I went to 8, Stock well Cottages—upstairs in the back room I found the dead body of a woman—I sent for assistance and stayed there till Dr. Knight came—nothing was moved or altered until Dr. Knight arrived.
Cross-examined. I know nothing about the prisoner.
By the COURT. The Rose and Crown is about one hundred and thirty yards from his house.
ARTHUR SEWELL (Detective Inspector W). In consequence of information received, I went to 8, Stockwell Cottages on the morning of 4th December—I saw Mrs. Burden, and in consequence of what she told me I went upstairs into a back bedroom, where I saw the woman's dead body—she was on her knees, with the right side of the face resting on the edge of the bed and leaning on an arm which was resting on a box by the side of the bed—the room was very small, and the bed almost filled up the room—I could see at once that the body was dead; it was rigid—the face was covered in blood—there was a very great quantity of blood on her clothes and, on the bed and bed clothing, and smears as if from a bloody hand—there was blood on the first three stairs leading up to the room—I went into the room below—I saw two children lying in the bed in the corner—on the opposite side to the bed, by the coal-cellar side of the stairs, there was a pillow more than half covered with blood on one side—I examined the room carefully—on the portion of the door leading into the yard, near the coal-cellar door, I found about five spots of blood, as though a spatter or spurt, or something of that kind—there was also a mark on the boards such as would be made by an instrument striking the boards—it was an indentation in the board, with a streak running off from it—about half-past five p. m. on the 4th I saw the prisoner at the Wandsworth Police-station with his little boy; it is about three miles from his house—I said, "Is your name John Smith?"—he said, "John Stewart Smith"—I said, "I am an inspector of police, and I am going to take you into custody and take you to Brixton, where you will be charged with killing your wife, or a woman with whom you have lived"—the prisoner said, "She was my wife; our marriage lines are in the house"—I said, "Very well; I shall now take you to Brixton"—he said, "I understand; it is very sad, ain't it?"—I took him in a cab, and on the way he said, "I intended giving myself up, but I came here because I was known to the police here, and I thought they would treat me better than a stranger"—while Burden was
making her statement to the inspector at the station the prisoner said, addressing her, "You know she has been drunk every day lately"—the witness replied, "Yes"—when the charge was read over, the prisoner said in answer, "It is very sad; may I kiss my little boy? "
Cross-examined. lie did not say anything in my presence about his wife having thrown the poker first—I know nothing about him except what I have heard since—I deputed Cloak, who is here, to make inquiries.
ALFRED WEBB (294 V). On the afternoon of 4th December I saw the prisoner and his little boy at Chatham Road, Battersea—I had known him for some time—I told him I should have to take him to the station—he answered, "All right, Mr. Webb, I know what it is for"—I said, "You are wanted for murder"—he said, "Is it so bad as that? Well, I came over here with the intention of giving myself up to someone I knew. I gave her all the money I had last night. She returned drunk without any food. We had a few words, and then she threw the poker at me. I. took up the poker and threw it back. She has been drunk for the last three years on and off. I slept downstairs last night. I sent the boy up to call her this morning; he came down and said, 'Mother is so strange, father. ' I went up and kissed her; I found she was very cold, and I left with the boy"—after that he said, "If I had not been stopped I intended to go to Mr. Hamper or Mr. Eldridge and give myself up"—those are the names of two constables—I took him to the Police-station and gave him into the charge of Inspector Sewell.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner about thirteen years—to the best of my knowledge he has always borne, among those who knew him, the character of a peaceable, well-conducted man—I have seen him the worse for drink occasionally, but generally he is a well-conducted, peaceable man.
GEORGE DAVID KNIGHT . lama surgeon, of 410, Brixton Road—on the morning of 4th December I was called to 8, Stockwell Cottages—in an upstairs room I saw the body of a woman kneeling by the bed—she was dressed in a short thick jacket and skirt, with a little scarf round her neck, but no boots or stockings—I examined her head and found a small wound at the back of it, and a good deal of blood; her hair was all soaked in blood, and her face was smeared with blood—two pillows were stained with blood—there was a good deal of blood on her scarf and collar, and on her jacket collar—later, at the post-mortem, when we took the jacket off, we found that a large quantity of blood had passed down between the jacket and the body from the wound at the back of the head—it was a contused, bruised wound, distinctly on the head—this iron bar might have caused it, or any heavy blunt instrument—the body was quite rigid; she must have been dead for four or five hours at the very least—I afterwards made a post-mortem examination—I found a large effusion of blood underneath the scalp; it came from the wound at the back of the head—one pupil was contracted and the other dilated, which showed some injury to the brain—there was a good deal of hemorrhage from the wound—also found a bruise about three inches square under the right breast—I found corresponding with that bruise that internally part of the bowel and the pancreas were bruised—a blow from a heavy object, or a fall
upon such an object as the corner of a table, or a kick, or any such cause as that would produce such an injury—it would require a severe blow to cause it—there were no other injuries about the body—the effect of the bruise and its internal injury would be to produce a considerable amount of shock—the cause of death in my opinion was syncope, or failure of the heart's action from loss of blood from the injury to the head—I should consider that the bruise would augment the effect of the hemorrhage, and would make the woman more likely to have syncope.
Cross-examined. I think if she had been attended to the night before, her life might have been saved by stopping the hemorrhage—the liver was enlarged and fatty, and showed some signs of alcohol—it was the liver of a woman who had been habitually drinking—one of the valves of the heart was diseased—I think that would render her more liable to syncope.
By the COURT. I have heard the evidence in the case—her death was caused practically by loss of blood—when the blow occurred on the back of her head it cut a small artery, and it is evident that she had bled slowly for an hour or two—I think the injury was quite compatible with her going downstairs and out of the house after it occurred; for some time she was losing blood slowly, and it had not stopped, but had gone on for a couple of hours; she had gone to bed, and evidently wanting to pass a motion, she had got out of bed to do it, and passed it on her clothes, and died from syncope—I think the injury had caused her to bleed to death slowly—the whole body was blanched, and there was no blood in the heart at all—there was no food in the body, and I have no doubt that had helped it—it is quite possible' that she could have gone out and got more beer with such an injury a few hours afterwards—the wound was about three quarters of an inch long; it did not look a large wound; it was difficult to find, in fact—I think it is a fair construction to put on it to say that the woman would have gone into a drunken sleep and quietly bled to death.
Cross-examined, I have made some inquiry about the prisoner—he has always borne the character of a thoroughly peaceable, well-conducted man, with the exception of giving way to drink sometimes—I have heard that many years ago he was frequently seen the worse for drink; but at one place where he was in Judy, 1891, the people speak of him as being a very sober man during the time he was there, and at another place they speak of him as a man who occasionally would have a glass or two, but they never saw him the worse for drink.
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY of manslaughter. — Five years' Penal Servitude.
The prisoner stated in the hearing of the JURY that he teas guilty of the robbery; they then found him
There was another indictment against him for rape upon the same person.—
One Months Hard Labour, and fifteen strokes with a birch rod, within such time as the doctor shall think desirable, and another fifteen strokes before the expiration of his sentence.
NOT GUILTY .
220. AMELIA ANN FRANCIS (36), CHARLES WILLIAM CHARLWOOD (37) , Indicted for and charged on the coroner's inquisition with, together with Richard Thomas Freeman (not in custody), the wilful murder of Ellen Matilda Franklin; and GEORGE HERBERT FRANCIS (28) , harbouring and maintaining Amelia Ann Francis, Charles William Charlwood, and Richard Thomas Freeman, well knowing them to have committed the alleged murder.
MESSRS. C. MATHEWS and BODKIN Prosecuted;
MESSRS. H. F. DICKENS, Q. C., and C. F. GILL appeared for Charlwood; MESSRS. GEOGHEGAN and PALMER LILLEY for Amelia Francis; and MR. DALE
HART for George Herbert Francis.
The case for the prosecution was that an illegal operation had been performed upon the deceased to procure abortion.
CHARLWOOD and AMELIA ANN FRANCIS— GUILTY of manslaughter.
GEORGE HERBERT FRAN CIS— GUILTY as an accessory after the fact.
CHARLWOOD— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
AMELIA ANN FRANCIS— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
GEORGE HERBERT FRANCIS— Six Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
JOHN MOSTYN JOHNSON .—I live with my brother-in-law at 66, Albert Road, Peckham—about five p. m. on 24th December I went out of the house, leaving no one in it—I left everything safe, and pulled the door after me, and tried it—I came back about twenty minutes or half-past twelve the same night—the front door was open; the box in which the bolt goes was very loose, but I saw nothing else—I went into the bed-room, and found all the drawers of a chest of drawers open, and everything scattered over the room, which was in disorder; boxes were wrenched open, and the things taken out—in the front room, which is not a bedroom, I found the same state of disorder, the drawers open and a workbox forced open—I did not miss anything—a lamp was alight, which I had not lighted when I went out; no lamp was alight when I went out—I lighted the gas—I locked up the house and went out—I don't know what was missed.
Cross-examined. It would take about an hour to walk from Albert Road to the Westminster Bridge Road, or about three-quarters of an hour by tram-car, I suppose.
Christmas-eve I left home about eleven a. m—I understood my brother-in-law would be at home—I returned on the evening of the 27th, after business hours—I then missed a dress-suit, a frock-coat and vest, a morning coat and vest, three pairs of trousers, and since then I have missed a cigarette-case and knives—I identify these trousers as mine; they were not in the house when I returned that night—these pocket-books are mine; my name is in them—one of them I turned out of my pocket on the morning of the 24th, and it laid on the table in my room; the preceding one to it was on the side table—I did not miss them till the police told me they had them in their possession—it would cost me over £10 to replace what I lost.
DAVID COX (Detective L). About a quarter past twelve on Christmas morning I was with Camber in Westminster Bridge Road—I saw the prisoner going towards the bridge, and carrying this parcel; he was about a quarter of a mile east of the bridge—it would take about half an hour, I should think, to go from there to the prosecutor's house by tram—we stopped him and told him we were police officers, and asked him what the parcel contained—he said, "I don't know; a man give it to me to carry to Westminster Bridge, and he is going to give me 1s. for my trouble, and he has just run down there "pointing to Charles Street—we detained the prisoner—he gave a description of a man and Camber ran down the street, but returned, and in consequence of what he said we took the prisoner to the station—I saw no man run down the street, although we were close by—I looked in the bundle and found there three pairs of trousers, of which these are two, one coat, a silver cup, and this pocket-book—when charged at the station the prisoner said a man gave it to him to carry to Westminster Bridge—it was a very small parcel, not a heavy bag.
Cross-examined. The articles were wrapped up in brown paper—nothing else but these things was found on him, except twopence I believe—Charles Street is a bye-street off Westminster Road; there is a lamp at the corner where we stopped the prisoner—there were five or six women and three or four men standing together in Charles Street—the prisoner said the man who ran down there was short—I and Camber are well known in that district by sight to the criminals—the prisoner gave a correct address, 142, Pocock Street, where he lived with his father and mother, who keep a small shop—so far as I know the prisoner has never before been charged with dishonesty.
Re-examined. If anybody had run down Charles Street I should have seen him.
By the COURT. From where we spoke to him we could see down Charles Street; no one was running down the street; we should have seen him if he had done so.
By MR. PURCELL. The prisoner is charged with another offence; a plated cup was found in the parcel.
ALFRED CAMBER (Detective L). I was with Cox when we stopped the prisoner at a quarter-past twelve on Christmas Eve, and asked him what the parcel he carried contained—he said he did not know; a man had given it to him to carry—I said, "Where is the man?"—he said, "Down there," pointing to Charles Street—I could see down it; there were people standing about—I ran down the street while Cox remained with the prisoner—I saw no one—I came back, and the prisoner was taken
to the station, and charged with unlawful possession of the parcel—he said a man had given it to him to carry—this pair of trousers and this pocket-book were found in the parcel—on the remand he was charged with this burglary, and in answer he said, "Who is the prosecutor in the case?"—I pointed to Mr. Presley—he said, "They cannot identify me."
Cross-examined. The cup found in the parcel was stolen from Mr. Douglas's on the 9th December, I believe—I am well known in the neighbourhood of the Westminster Bridge Road; I have been about there for three and a half years, and have been frequently at Police-courts and Sessions.
By the COURT. The people in Charles Street were standing speaking together—I spoke to them; there was nothing suspicious about the conduct of any one of them.
The prisoner statement before the Magistrate: "I know nothing about it."
GUILTY . **†—There was another indictment against him for burglary.— Eight Months' Hard Labour.
MR. POLEY Prosecuted.
GUYASS WATTS . I am a varnish maker, of 54, Lyon's Buildings—about one o'clock a. m. on 28th December I was in Borough High Street—one of the prisoners, I could not say which, asked me for a light—I said I would give him one; it was either blown or went out, and I was asked to get into the shelter of a court to get him a second light—I had no sooner got there with the second light than I was hustled up into the court; I received a blow on the jaw; I could not say who hit me—I was knocked down, and four persons were over me, and I lost my watch and fifteen shillings I had with me, four half-crowns and small silver—I might have had a few coppers—I had had several glasses that night, but I was perfectly capable of looking after myself—I called out for the police, and the police appeared to come as if by magic, and they arrested two of the men who were on top of me.
Cross-examined by Wallace. I was not in Red Cross Court with a female and two men—I was not perfectly sober, but I knew what I was doing—I last saw my money about London Bridge Tavern—I took it out to see how I stood—I had eight half-crowns when I started out—I cannot remember whether I told the Magistate I lost ten shillings in gold.
Cross-examined by Hill. I was pulled up the court to where there was a lodging-house—I was not with a woman—I said I was robbed at half-past eleven; afterwards I said I could not be sure of the hour; it might be one or two—nothing was said about an omnibus.
went there with Connor and saw the prosecutor lying on the ground on his back, held down by the prisoners—Hill had his left hand on the prosecutor's collar and his right knee on his chest—Wallace was holding his legs—two other men were there, but they ran away—I arrested Wallace and Connor took Hill—the prosecutor got up and said, "They have got my watch and money"—I told Wallace I should take him into custody—he said, "You won't take me"—he became very violent, and threw himself on the ground—I had great difficulty in getting him to the station.
Cross-examined by Wallace. I was at the top of the court when I heard the cry of police—the prosecutor was not drunk—you were perfectly sober.
Cross-examined by Rill. I did not see you strike the prosecutor, nor with your hands in his pockets—I saw no money on the ground, nor any watch or chain pass—Connor had you before you had any opportunity to get away.
CHARLES CONNOR (265 M). On this evening I went with Clark up this court, and I saw the prosecutor lying on his back; his hat was off—Hill had his left hand on the collar of his throat, and his knee on his chest, and Wallace had his legs—I arrested Hill—I searched him at the station and found five shillings in silver and ninepence in bronze—two other men were there, they ran away as we turned into the court.
Cross-examined by Hill. I said nothing about running after the other two—I did not see you strike the prosecutor.
Hill's defence: I was drinking till the house closed, and I was passing Bed Cross Court and heard a cry from a female, as I thought, and no sooner did we go to the court than the policeman came and the prosecutor charged us. The prosecutor was there with a female; he had been drinking all the night apparently.
Wallace then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction in October, 1879, and Hill*† to a conviction in December, 1891. It was stated that Wallace had had twelve years' and seven years' penal servitude, and thirteen summary convictions. HILL— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. WALLACE— Ten Years Penal Servitude.
ATHELSTAN BRAXTON HICKS . I am Coroner for the south-western district of the county of London—Tooting is in my district—I held an inquest on the body of Matilda Clover—the prisoner was a witness—I produce his depositions, which I took on 22nd and 23rd June—they were read over to him, and he signed them in my presence—this certificate (Produced) was handed to him. (In this deposition the prisoner stated that he was a licentiate of the Apothecaries' Society of London, and a registered
medical practitioner, and that the certificate of death was in his writing, and signed by him; that the deceased came to his surgery, and he had been attending her, and when he was called in after the death, knowing that Mr. Coppin wan unqualified and could not give a certificate, he did so, thinking she had had a fit of delirium tremens, and that syncope intervened.)
WILLIAM THERNAL . I live at 29, Lambeth Palace Road, and am deputy registrar of deaths for Lambeth—in October Mrs. Phillips came and gave me this certificate, dated October 22nd, and signed "Robert Graham"—assuming that the cause of death was as there stated, deli rum tremens and syncope, I could not refuse a certificate, but in a case where the doctor had not seen her for a few days I should have gone and seen him—I would have accepted it if he had seen her the day before her death.
Cross-examined. I do not register many deaths from private houses in my neighbourhood—most of them are hospital cases, signed by the surgeon as a rule—the certificate is brought to me, and the only part I take is to see the cause of death, the name of the practitioner, and his qualification—the date when he last saw the deceased is not entered in the register, nor that he was attending her in her last illness—I am bound to take a certificate from a medical man, even on an ordinary sheet of paper, provided it states the cause of death and the name of the practitioner—if he had been attending the deceased, but was not present at her death, I should accept the certificate—in a case of heart disease, a man may be ill and attended for years and die suddenly, then the certificate would be given.
Re-examined. The form of certificate is supplied by the Registrar-General—it would not be my duty to communicate with the Coroner's officer if it was not properly filled up; but if a doctor certifies the cause of death as the result of an accident, I should not accept it, I should refer it to the Coroner.
By the COURT. I should accept the certificate of a medical man who was not present at the death, if he had been attending the deceased for delirium tremens.
LUCY ROSE . I live at 31, St. Gabriel Street, Newington Butts—in September, 1891, I went into the service of Mrs. Voules, 27, Lambeth Road—Matilda Clover lived there in two rooms—on 21st October, about two a. m., I heard her screaming—I went to her, and found her with her head fixed between the wall and the bed, screaming at intervals—she appeared in great pain while the fits lasted—when the fits were not on her she was quite conscious—Mrs. Voules came in and went for Dr. Graham twice—he did not come, but Mr. Coppin came—I gave her some of his medicine; but it turned her black, and I did not give her any more—she died about nine a. m. in my presence—Mrs. Voules was not present—no doctor "saw her but Mr. Coppin—I do not know if Dr. Graham ever visited her; but he came that afternoon, and was shown to the room where she was, and asked me questions—I told him that some pills had been given to her by a man, and that she had convulsions and turned black—I told him what sort of pains she had, and that I thought they were caused by the pills—after he had seen the body he and I and Mrs. Voules went downstairs, and I left him and Mrs. Voules together—Clover had been out and
about as usual the previous day, and she brought a man home in the evening—she vomited.
Cross-examined. She had been a hard drinker, and never ate anything—Dr. Graham had attended her for a bad leg for some time previous to her death; I do not know how long—I do not know that he attended her for complaints arising from drink—I am almost sure I mentioned her taking pills to him—I think I must have told him about it—it might have been Mr. Coppin that I told—Dr. Graham was ten minutes examining the deceased.
Re-examined. I was examined on the trial of Neill for the murder of Clover, and also at the inquest—I do not know whether I said that I had told Dr. Graham that pills had been given—I told him Mr. Coppin had said that the man must be either drunk or mad who had given her the pills.
EMMA VOULES . I live at 27, Lambeth Road—in October, 1891, I had a lodger named Matilda Clover—on the morning of October 21st I was called to her room; she was ill—I went by the name of Mrs. Phillips then—I went to Dr. Graham about four o'clock, and he was not in—I. went again about two hours later, and found him at home, but he had another engagement, and could not come, and at his suggestion I got Dr. McCarthy's assistant—I remember Coppin coming—I got this certificate and took it to Mr. Thernal, the Registrar, on the Wednesday—Clover was out as usual the day before, and she had been quite as usual for some days.
Cross-examined. She was a very. heavy brandy drinker, and ate very little—the day before her death she had taken almost a full bottle of brandy—Dr. Graham is the medical referee of a club of which I am a member, and I advised Clover to become a member in consequence of her health, which she did, but only for a few weeks—she used to go to the doctor—her ill-health was through drink—a fortnight before her death she went to Dr. Graham's surgery—she went there eight or nine times, nearly every day in fact—she told me that Dr. Graham said he might be able to pull her through if she gave up drink—when I went to Dr. Graham's surgery on the 9th, about four a. m., he told me he was in attendance at a confinement—I went again at five or six a. m. and he said, "I cannot attend to your case because I have to attend to a confinement," and he told me to go to Dr. McCarthy, not to Mr. Coppin—about mid-day Dr. Graham came to my house, and while he was in the room where the deceased was, I went up just as the doctor and Rose were coming out—during the time I was in the room I did not hear the girl Rose tell him about the suffering of the deceased—they came downstairs—I heard no conversation between them about the deceased having had any pills—there was no conversation of the kind downstairs.
By the COURT. Dr. Graham was talking to Rose before I went up—I was not anxious to avoid an inquest in my house; I did not notice that the certificate stated that Dr. Graham attended her on the very day she died—she never had delirium tremens in my house, to my knowledge.
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY of making a false certificate, knowing it to be untrue, but the JURY did not consider that he had any bad motive, and recommended him to mercy. — Discharged on recognisances.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. METCALFE Prosecuted.
ARTHUR LODGE SIZER . I am a stonemason, of Battersea—on December 22nd, about 4. 45 a. m., I got up, and saw a man leaving the door hurriedly—I followed and overtook him; we had a little bit of a struggle, but I held him and gave him in charge—he was wearing two overcoats which were my property—the back window was open; it was fast at eleven the night before.
HENRY JAMES HAMBLING . I am a schoolmaster, and live in the same house—on December 22nd I came down at 5. 30 a. m., went into the back sitting-room, and missed two silver spoons and 10d., which were safe when I went to bed—these are the spoons.
The prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate, and in his defence, said that he saw the door open and went in and took the coats, being in poverty, but that he was innocent of the burglary.
GUILTY .—He then
PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of burglary at this Court on 4th December, 1891, after two previous convictions.— Seven Years Penal Servitude.
229. In the case of JOHN HUTSON MURRY , committed for trial for Libel, MR. MUIR applied for defendant's costs under Lord Campbell's Act. He contended that the Bill, though endorsed by the Grand Jury" No True Bill,11 was an Indictment, and that the Court had jurisdiction to give judgment for costs. He cited Stubbs v. The Director of Public Prosecutions, 24 Q. B., Div. 577. THE COMMON SERJEANT held that there was an indictment, but the case not having come before the Petty Jury he regretted he could not give judgment for costs, as the Legislature could not have intended to deprive the defendant of his costs when the Grand Jury thought the case too frivolous to go before a Petty Jury.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, FEBRUARY 6TH, 1893.