CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
SECOND SESSION, HELD DECEMBER 11TH, 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
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Held on Monday, December 11th, 1893, and following days.
BEFORE the RIGHT HON. GEORGE ROBERT TYLER, LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir ALFRED WILLS , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court of Justice; Sir JOHN WHITTAKER ELLIS , Bart., Alderman of the said City; Sir CHARLES HALL , Q. C., M. P., K. C. M. G., Recorder of the said City; GEORGE FAUDEL PHILLIPS , Esq., Lieut. Col. HORATIO DAVID DAVIES , Esq., FRANK GREEN , Esq., JNO. POUND , Esq., WALTER VAUGHAN MORGAN , Esq., and WILLIAM PURDIE TRELOAR , Esq., 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.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
TYLER, MAYOR. SECOND 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, December 11th, 1893.
Before Mr. Recorder.
81. JOHN BURNHAM GARRETT (30), PLEADED GUILTY to two indictments for unlawfully obtaining money by false pretences from Julia Charlotte Elmslie and the Grosvenor Hotel Company.— Judgment respited There was another indictment against the prisoner, which was postponed to the next Session.
MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted, and MR. BURNIE Defended.
JOSEPH JOHN GRIFFITHS . I am a clerk, and live at 77, Approach Road, Victoria Park—I am hon. secretary to the Hackney Athletic Association—I acted in that capacity at the athletic sports in the Tee-To-Tum Grounds, Stamford Hill, on 16th September—among the entries I received this one; marked "A," for the half-mile handicap. (This was signed "T. E. Dennis")—I passed it on to the handicapper, Mr. Birtles—I believed this to be a genuine entry referring to those sports.
Cross-examined. This form came by post—I have not seen the prisoner write—the Amateur Athletic Association do not allow amateurs to run in other names than their own, it is never allowed—if any such thing is done it is against the rules of the association—I have never known it done—I did not say before the Magistrate that I had known it done—it has never come to my personal knowledge; I have heard of such a thing—I think I did say before the Magistrate that I had known it done, and that men had been brought up for it before the association.
Re-examined. The reason why persons should not run under other names is because it would be misleading to the handicapper; he would not know what the man's previous performances were, or who he was to handicap.
ALFRED RICHARD BIRTLES . I live at 269, Liverpool Buildings, Highbury—I am a member of the Amateur Athletic Association—on 16th September I acted as handicapper at the half-mile handicap at Stamford Hill—
among the entry forms passed to me for persons to be handicapped in that race was this form "A"—in consequence of receiving that, and the mark on it, "T. E. Dennis "I allowed 100 yards' start—I did not see him go to the post; I don't know his number—I was not there that day—I sent all the forms to the secretary—I was afterwards present at two committee meetings—this prosecution is taken up by the Amateur Athletic Association, whose office is at John Street, Adelphi; all the other societies are affiliated with it and act upon its rules—the Hackney Association is practically a branch; any irregularity would be reported at headquarters—this case was reported to us, and the prisoner appeared before the committee—they hold their meetings on the last Friday in each month, and this meeting was on the last Friday in September—the prisoner was shown this entry form, and was asked if it was his—he said, "Yes"—he was also asked if his name was T. E. Dennis—he said, "Yes"—he was asked to write his name—he did so—he signed it "Dennis"—the matter was then adjourned to the next meeting, on Friday, 27th October—on that occasion Mr. F. E. Dennis appeared before the prisoner came in—the prisoner was sent for and was confronted with Mr. Dennis—and he then said that all he had said before was false, that his name was not T. E. Dennis, but Frederick Beharrell—he also admitted that he had ran at Bowes Park under the name of Bull—he wrote his name as Beharrell on a piece of paper.
Cross-examined. On the first occasion the prisoner was questioned by the chairman, Mr. Schofield—I believe he is not here—as far as I remember the first question was, "What is your name?" and he said, "T. E. Dennis"—I do not recollect the chairman saying, "You had better tell us the truth"—I will not swear that he did not—I do not recollect what the chairman said on the second occasion—he may have said then, "You had better tell the truth," but I do not recollect it.
FRANCIS EDWIN DENNIS . I live at Springfield, New Southgate, and am a member of the Highgate Harriers—I go in for athletics—on the 24th August I competed at the Friendly Society Fete at Barking—this entry, No. 10, refers to me F. E. Dennis—I was the only Dennis in those sports—I did not find out till after that my initials were printed "T"—no one but myself had 100 yards' start—I was not in at the finish—I ran on the 2nd September; I was then put down as "F. E. Dennis"—on the 9th September I ran at Bowes Park as No. 65—a person was running in the name of Bull; the prisoner was that person; he had 115 yards' start—he ran in the heat but not in the final—on 16th September I competed in the half-mile handicap on the Tee-To-Tum Grounds, Stamford Hill—I was; running in the fourth heat as F. E. Dennis, No. 107—I was not running in the same heat as the prisoner—he was running in another heat—a T. E. Dennis, No. 57 was entered in the programme for the second heat—I received 138 yards' start, but did not get placed—T. E. Dennis was placed and ran in the final and won—I saw him win—the form "A "was without my authority—I know nothing of it—on the 16th, I sent in my own form and ran under it as F. E. Dennis.
CHARLES HERBERT . I am honorary secretary of the Amateur Athletic Association, at 11, John Street, Adelphi—I received two entry forms and a complaint, and called a meeting in September at 11, John Street—the prisoner was summoned to appear—Mr. Frazer was there; Mr. Schofield
took the chair—the prisoner was asked if his name was Dennis—he said,. "Yes"—he was shown this entry form "A," and asked if it was his—. After waiting two or three minutes he said, "Yes"—the prize had been. held back—he was asked what T. E. stood for, and he did not seem to. know for some time, and then someone suggested, "Does it stand for. Thomas Edward?" and he said, "Yes"—he was asked to sign his name,. and he signed "T. E. Dennis" on this form "B"—the Barking running. was referred to, and the prisoner said, "Yes, that was the form—he was. asked if he ran at Barking, and he said, "Yes"—we told him we had. already seen the real Dennis just before, and that we did not see how he. could be Dennis too, but he protested that he was—then we told him we. should want to see him at the next meeting; we had done. with him for that night—we called another meeting for 27th. October, and the prisoner and Mr. Dodd were summoned—we first had. Mr. Dodd in and questioned him, and then the prisoner was called in—the. chairman of the meeting asked whether he still persisted in his story that. he was Dennis, and the prisoner then said he was sorry, he was not. Dennis, and what he had said was all untrue, or words to that effect—he. admitted his real name was Beharrell, and he signed this document—he. was shown the Bowes Park programme, and asked if he had run as Bull,. and he said "Yes "he had competed as Bull; he was told to go down and. run as Bull, and he did so—Rule 13 of the association is, "All entries. shall be made in the real names of a competitor, and his name shall appear. on the programme"—the object of that rule is to prevent a man making. a false entry and thereby deceive the handicapper, and obtain a start to. which he would not otherwise be entitled—we have in our association an. enormous number of young men who compete, thousands and thousands. all over the country—our association are prosecuting in this matter.
Cross-examined. On the first occasion Mr. Schofield, the chairman, and some members of the committee asked questions of the prisoner—the chairman took brief notes of what was said—I do not mean that I give you everything that was said—that applies also to the second occasion.
JOSEPH ALEXANDER FRAZER . I live at 85, Stanhope Street, Euston Road, and am a cabinet maker—I am a member of the High gate Harriers—I was a competitor in the half-mile handicap at the Tee-To-Tum Grounds on September 16th—I ran sixth in the fourth heat, and second in the final—the prisoner, who was entered as T. E. Dennis, won the final—a, communication was made to me, and I entered a protest—I am now the possessor of the watch and chain—when the race started I was running pretty easy myself, keeping a little bit in, and I saw someone leading by about forty or fifty yards, getting right out from the rest—I had fifteen yards behind the winner—seeing a fellow go away at such a rate I wondered who it was, because I knew no one at the time who could get away at such a rate—he led by such a distance that it was no good going after him; he was going as fast as I could—when I got about a hundred yards from home, the prisoner was leading me by thirty or forty yards, and coming down the straight he gradually slacked up and beat me by fifteen yards at the finish—I could not exactly say if he looked round,. because I was pretty well used up myself—at the end the prisoner staggered and dropped down in a faint—I looked at him as I passed.
Cross-examined. He had fifteen yards' start, and beat me by fifteen
yards—he eased up—if he had run right out at the same pace as he was going he might have beaten me by more.
WALTER PARKER DODD . I live at 4, Knebworth Road, Stoke Newington—I am a member of the Stoke Newington Harriers—I competed in the mile handicap on 9th September, at Bowes Park—I was not in the half-mile handicap, but I watched it—I saw the prisoner running in the name of T. H. Bull—I happened to know the real T. H. Bull, who is a friend of mine—when the prisoner won his heat I and a boy went up to him, and the boy said, "Your name is not Bull, as I am a member of the same club as Bull"—he said, "Oh, you have made a mistake; what is that to do with you?"—I asked him if he was going to run in the final—he said, "What has that to do with your?" he went to the tentand dressed and went off—I was at Stamford Hill on 16th September, and saw the prisoner running as Dennis—I ran in the final heat of the half-mile with the prisoner, and from the same mark—I asked him how it was his name was Bull last week and Dennis this week—he said, "Oh, you have made a mistake; what has it to do with you? I am a novice, I have never run before"—I informed him I had raised an objection—I communicated with Mr. Frazer and Mr. Dodd—I was summoned before the committee of the Amateur Athletic Association, and was present when the prisoner was called in on the second occasion—I have not heard Mr. Herbert's evidence.
Cross-examined. I was not present on the first occasion.
DAVID CRACKETT (Sergeant N). I arrested the prisoner on a warrant on 27th November—I read the warrant to him—he said, "I admit running, but I did not fill in the entry form; that was done by a man named Moorman."
THOMAS GRAY MCKAY . I live at 28, Tapley Road, Tufnell Park—I was present at the Hackney Association meeting on 16th September—I saw the final heat of the half-mile race; I was standing about two yards from the tape at the finish—when the prisoner came into the straight, about eighty yards from the winning post, he was leading the second man by thirty or forty yards—he won by fifteen or twenty yards—he was looking round continually over both shoulders for the last eighty yards—he was easing up, undoubtedly.
Cross-examined. He won very easily; you could not have an easier win—he could not have won without a start from the time of the clock he would have to be a champion to do that.
MR. BURNIE submitted that the prisoner's admission must be excluded, as it was laid down in Q. v. Thompson (2 Q. B., 1893, p. 12), that when there was any doubt as to whether or no an inducement had been held out to a prisoner to make a statement, it became the duty of the prosecution affirmatively to remove that doubt; and the prosecution in this case had not removed the doubt that existed.
The RECORDER stated that nothing had been given in evidence to make him entertain a doubt that the confession was other than a perfectly voluntary one, and that lie should not exclude it.
MR. BURNIE then submitted that a man could not be found guilty of obtaining chattel a by false, pretences unless the false pretences were the imme-
diate cause of the obtaining of the chattels; it was too remote if a man by false pretences put himself in an advantageous position where, by means of intermediary causes, he might obtain the chattel. The false pretences in this case were merely made with the object of obtaining an advantage in the race, and that was not an indictable offence. (See Q. v. Gardiner, Deersley v. Bell, p 40; Q. v. Bryden, 2 Foster and Finlason; Q. v. Lamer, 14 Cox, p. 498; Q. v. Martin, L. R., 1 C. C. R.).
MR. WARBURTON contended that the offence charged being an attempt to obtain, it was distinguishable from the case of the Q. v. Lamer, (Q. v. Brown, and Q. v. Ring). He urged that the attempt to commit a fraud had been clearly made out.
MR. BURNIE, in reply, argued that if in law a full offence could not be committed, the attempt to commit it was no offence; although the attempt to commit an offence might be made out, even if thee full offence was physically impossible.
The RECORDER stated that after the decision in Q. v. Lamer, although he personally felt no doubt in the matter, lie would consider whether he should reserve the point.
The prisoner received a good character.
The JURY found that the prisoner pretended that his name was T. S. Dennis, that lie falsely represented that document "A "was a true account of his own running performances with a view to obtaining the prize, and that he, was a party to, the uttering of form "A. "
The JURY and the prosecution recommended the prisoner to mercy upon the ground that they considered he had been prompted to commit the offence.
MR. BURNIE stated that as the prisoner had been convicted of uttering the document, it would not be necessary to take the opinion of the Court of Crown Cases Reserved, upon the question of the false pretences Count.
Fourteen Days' Imprisonment.
MR. DRUMMOND Prosecuted, and MR. BURNIE Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Monday, December 11th, 1893.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. PARTRIDGE Prosecuted.
DANIEL GRAY . I live at 13, Highbury Terrace, and keep a coffee-stall in Packington Street, Islington—in September, between seven and eight a. m., the prisoner came and called for a cup of coffee, and gave me a sixpence; I gave him 5 1/2 d. change—as soon as he had gone I found it was bad—I handed it to Sergeant Smith—I afterwards saw him pass my stall, and on 24th November he came again and began talking about the coffee being so good—he laid a sixpence down, I gave him the change, and he got away before I could do anything—I described him to a constable and
afterwards saw him with seven or eight more at the station, and recognized him as soon as I went into the room—the prisoner is the man—this (produced) is the second sixpence.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. A little boy was at the stall, but he went away—I afterwards saw you pass my stall, but the police told me to wait till you came again.
JAMES SMITH (Police Sergeant N). On 24th November Gray gave me two sixpences and the description of a person, and on 2nd December I saw the prisoner in Packington Street, and said, "Benzey, I shall arrest you for passing bad sixpences at a coffee-stall in Essex Road"—he said, "You have made a mistake"—I took him to the station, put him with seven more men, and Gray picked him out at once—he made no reply to the charge—he gave a correct address.
Witness for the Defence.
HENRY PARKER . I am a general dealer, of 15, New Hall Street, Essex Road—the prisoner has lodged with me since August, and on 24th November, about 6. 45 a. m., I gave him a good sixpence, as I believe, to get some coke—that was near the Queen's Head—there is a coffee-stall near there.
Cross-examined. I had the sixpence in my pocket—I don't know where I got it; it was a dark morning.
By the COURT. I have seen nothing of him since he went with me to get the coke—I heard that he hail been arrested, but did not know what for; his wife told me so last Friday night—she did not tell me that he was committed here to take his trial—I am here to-day because my mistress told me—the prisoner did not tell me he was going to get something to eat at the coffee-stall; he only said to get a cup of coffee—I gave him the sixpence to get his breakfast.
By MR. PARTRIDGE. I was there when Smith came to the house and told the prisoner's wife he had got into trouble for passing a bad sixpence, but I did not know what he came for, and did not know he was a policeman.
Prisoner's defence. I have been with Parker to market on several occasions, and he has bought things. I met with an accident and got compensation from the Master Builders' Association. Here are two printed characters.
Evidence in reply.
WILLIAM WINGROVE (23 N R). I had the prisoner in custody in July, 1887, for uttering a bad shilling, and he was sentenced to six years' penal servitude at Hertford Assizes by Justice Hawkins—several other convictions were proved against him.
GUILTY . He then
PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Hertford on August 4th 1887.— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
85. GEORGE SCHMIDT (34), PLEADED GUILTY to embezzling £40, £36 4s., and £33 of Henry Sidney Mosenthal and another, his masters; also to stealing two valuable securities of his said masters; also to unlawfully making a false entry in their cash-book.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
86. FREDERICK WILLIAM BUTTE (22) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial document] , to breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Arno Krachmer, on October 16th, and stealing a coat and other articles; also to burglary in the same dwelling-house on November 19th, with intent to steal; also to forging and uttering a request for the payment of £6 10s.; also to forging and uttering a receipt for £6 10s., with intent to defraud.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
87. WALTER THEOBALD (18) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial document] , to two indictments for stealing, while , two letters containing valuable securities, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
88. ARTHUR LEE (31) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial document] , to two indictments for stealing, while employed in the Post Office, two post letters containing postal orders, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
89. WILLIAM BROWN (27) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial document] , to two indictments for stealing, while employed in the Post Office, two letters containing postal orders, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General.— Twelve Months Hard Labour.
90. JOHN GEORGE EDWARDS (21) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial document] , to unlawfully, while employed in the Post Office, detaining certain post letters; also to feloniously secreting 55 post letters, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General.— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
91. LEONARD THOMPSON [Pleaded guilty: see original trial document] , to stealing a watch, the property of Clement Channell; also to forging and uttering a cheque for £7 10s. 3d., with intent to defraud. He received a good character— Three Months' Hard Labour. And
93. CHARLOTTE LOUISA WARNER (27) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial document] , to unlawfully making a false-entry in a marriage register. Discharged ou recognizances. She was also indicted for feloniously marrying Charles William Southgate, her husband being alive, upon which no evidence was offered, and a verdict of NOT GUILTY was taken.
94. ARTHUR BRANSBY BURNAND (32) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial document] , Unlawfully commit ting an act of gross indecency with Alfred Lovett . The prosecutor's evidence being uncorroborated, the COMMON SERJEANT directed a verdict of NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, December 12th, 1893.
Before Mr. Recorder.
The prisoner received an excellent character.
Discharged on recognizances.
He received a good character, and his uncle undertook to take him into his employ.— Discharged on recognizances.
MR. O'CONNOR Prosecuted, and MR. SANDS Defended.
HERBERT GARDNER . I live at 12, Commercial Road, on the premises of Alfred Copeland—on the night of the 26th November, about half-past eleven, hearing the bell rung, I went down, and found a policeman there—and saw the shop window broken, and from inside I missed three overcoats and some trousers, value about £5 16s.—the shop was all safe when I left it; it communicates with the dwelling-house.
Cross-examined. The coats were within an arm's length of the window.
JAMES ARMSTRONG (24 H R). On the night of the 26th November I was near 12, Commercial Road—T saw the prisoner with his arm in a hole of the window—I walked slowly up as if I did not notice anything—the prisoner saw me, and he and another man walked towards me—they parted, the other man ran away, and I apprehended the prisoner; he struggled very violently—I took him to the station—when charged he gave two addresses; one was 10, Russell Court, Wapping, then he said, "20, Russell Place, Wapping"—I did not go there; there is no such place—I went to 10, Smith's Place, but no one knew him there—when I first saw him I was about sixty yards from the prisoner.
Cross-examined. I told the Magistrate that the prisoner was with another man—I had received some information from a lad which induced me to watch—I blew my whistle, and eight or ten constables came up to my assistance—the prisoner had been drinking, but was sober enough to see the hole in the window and put his arm in.
GUILTY .—He then
PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction on 30th July, 1888, in the name of George Wiltshire; other convictions were proved against him in different names— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. FRANCIS Prosecuted, and MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended.
JOHN WILLIAM DENNIS . I am a fruit broker, at 37, James Street, Covent Garden—Taylor was in my employ about eighteen months ago—he left about July or August, 1892—on the 30th September this year, I received a communication from the manager of the Capital and Counties Bank, where I had an account, and in consequence I went and saw him—I was shown this cheque for, £200, dated 30th September, 1893, drawn in favour of A. R. Low—it was not signed by me, or by my authority—I did not recognise the handwriting on the face of the cheque—I believe the endorsement to be in the handwriting of Taylor; I had frequent opportunities of seeing him write—to the best of my belief it is his writing, but I am not prepared to swear to it—I found that the cheque was missing from my cheque-book, along with seven others—after seeing the manager I returned to my office—this envelope (produced), addressed to R. Lomax, Esq., appears to be in Taylor's writing—this cheque, number 2588, is a genuine paid cheque of mine; it was drawn on 4th July, 1893—it was enclosed in a bundle of cheques recently returned from the bank, and was kept in a pigeon-hole in the office, and was stolen.
HARRY SIMPSON . I am a cashier at the Covent Garden branch of the Capital and Counties Bank—on 30th September a man named Lomax presented this £200 cheque for payment—I refused to cash it, and communicated
with Mr. Dennis, who came to the bank and saw me—I detained Lomax, and he was given into custody.
JOHN CARTER (Detective). On 30th September I was called to the bank, and apprehended Lomax—I afterwards went to 17, Ladbrook Road, Balham, where I found these two other cheques, Nos. 2518 and 2588, one blank and the other a paid cheque, and this letter torn in pieces, which Taylor afterwards admitted to me was his writing; also this telegram of 30th September to Lomax, 17, Ladbrook Road, Balham, "Waiting to see you; immense.—DICK"—I also found some envelopes with the name of Dennis and Sons printed on the top, and some slips of paper torn from a diary, with a number of fac-similes of Mr. Dennis's signature—No. 17 was the house of Lomax, who is now undergoing a term of imprisonment—on 14th November I saw Taylor when he was in custody at Westminster Police-court—he made a statement to me, continuing the statement which he had previously made to another officer—this is what he said: "I obtained the cheque from Gus Sendall, and Joe, the foreman" (that is Roberts); "the cheque was forged by Lomax, who presented it at the bank"—I said, "What did you do with the others?"—he said, "The others I destroyed; Joe got me the paid cheque also"—I said, "How came you to speak about it?"—he said, "The proposition came from Gus and Joe; they knew about Morgan's affair, and asked me if I could do anything in that way" (there is another indictment in connection with that matter)—I said, "When did you get the cheques?"—he said, "They were given me one night, the same night the forged one was presented, outside, about the time the pubs were closing. They were given to me by Joe. I went to Lomax on Sunday morning; he said his hand was too shaky; he practised for a time and then got it done. I was to meet him afterwards. Joe and Gus were to have a share"—I showed him a telegram and a letter torn in pieces—he said, "Yes; they are mine"—I showed him the endorsement, "R. Lowe," on the back of the forged cheque, and he said, "Lomax wrote that"—he continued, "I waited at the corner of King Street and saw Mr. Dennis come back with a bank messenger." (The torn letter was read as follows: "Dear L.,—Fred has just left me, and will call on you to-morrow, Monday, and tell you the pith of our conversation; remain in till midday.—Yours, DICK")—after the remand at Westminster Police-court I saw the man Gus (Sendall)—at that time I only knew him by the name of Gus; he made a statement to me, and in consequence I arrested Roberts on the morning of November 23rd, outside his house in Cornwall Road, Lambeth—I said to him, "Joe, I am going to take you into custody for stealing those cheques from Mr. Dennis"—he replied, "Yes, sir"—I said, "And there will probably be a further charge of being concerned with Taylor in forging and uttering a cheque, and obtaining £200 thereby"—he said, "I don't see how that can be"—I took him to the station, and he was charged; he made no reply.
Cross-examined. I have been a detective six years—I did not caution him that what he said might be used in evidence against him; there is no order to that effect—Sendall is not in custody, and never has been—I took Roberts in consequence of what Taylor and Sendall said.
am a fruit porter at Covent Garden Market—on Friday, 29th September last, I got a letter from Taylor—I tore it up; it asked me to meet him at the Round House, Covent Garden, at eleven that night—I did so; he said, "Come and have a drink"—we went and had a drink—he then said he was going to meet a pal of his—he went out, and went towards Drury Lane, and would see me later—I said, "All right, Dick," and went into the market—when he came back, I was in James Street—he said, "Where's Joe?" meaning Roberts—I said, "Up at the warehouse"—he said, "Do you think he could get us a cheque?"—I said, "I don't know; he is there, go and ask him"—he said, "Can't you?"—I said, "No; ask him yourself"—he said, "Tell him I want him"—I went up to the warehouse, and Taylor followed me up—just as I was speaking to him—he was at work at the warehouse—I said, "Taylor wants you"—when Taylor came up I went to the front of the shop and got a light for my pipe, and when I came back they were in the office at the back of the •warehouse; Taylor was speaking to Joe—I did not hear what he said—I sat down on two bushels of apples and had a smoke—they came out of the office and spoke to me—Taylor said, "That is all right, Joe"—Joe said, "Well, you have got them now; I suppose I shan't see you again"—Taylor showed me some cheques, and said, "These are no good now because they are crossed, we may as well burn them," and with that he burnt them—he went out—I ran down the street after him—he stopped at the gateway, and said, "These are all right, they are more open"—he pulled out two cheques and showed them to me—they were like this; those that were burnt were red ones—he said, "Meet me to-morrow about twelve"—I said, "About twelve?"—he said, "Well, meet me between this and Lupus Street, about half-past ten, and we will go over to Balham, when we shall be all right"—I said, "All right"—I finished my morning's work and went to Balham, and we saw Lomax at his house—Taylor had not said anything to me as to what we were going to Balham for, or who we were to see, till the morning—he said nothing about "the old 'un" till the morning; he then said, "We will go and see the old 'un"—Lomax was the old one—we went into the front room downstairs, Lomax put on his hat and coat, and we went and had a drink; Taylor and Lomax went out and left me in the public-house in a booze; subsequently I went with Taylor and Lomax back to Covent Garden, and went to King Street, where the bank was—Taylor said to Lomax, "You go on, Gus will stop outside, and I will go round the corner, because I don't want to be seen down here"—he said to me, "If you see the messenger come out and Mr. Dennis come back, you will know"—I saw Mr. Dennis and the messenger come out, and I went back to King Street—Joe was not there at all—on the night of the 29th I was in the shop when both the prisoners were in the office; I "Could not see what they were doing there.
Cross-examined by Taylor. When I met you at the Round House I did not know what it was for—it was not from a letter you had from me; I never wrote to you—I rememter you calling at my house in a cab with Lomax; we went to a public-house in Harpur Street—you did not introduce me to Lomax as the man who did the writing in Morgan's case—that was the case where he stole two cheques and forged them, and drew. the money for them—you did not tell me that Lomax was willing to do
the forgery in Dennis's case, which you and I were concocting—we were not concocting anything, for you then had the cheques in your possession—I did not meet you some time afterwards and give you a paid cheque of Dennis and Co. to get the signature from, which I had received from Roberts—the night the blank cheques were taken I arranged to meet you next morning in a street that runs from Victoria Station to the barracks; it might be Ebury Street—I did meet you, and we went to Lomax—a cheque for £300 was not drawn there and shown to me; you showed me a cheque for £20, and said if that came off you would pay me a bit of what you owed me—Lomax and I went to the Capital and Counties Bank, but you did not; you went round Henrietta Street and up Bedford Street—previous to going there no arrangement was made to divide the £200; that could not be, because the cheque was £20—you said it would take you that to square you, to pull you together, and you would go to where you had been before—when I found that Lomax was detained I came to you.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. I have been six years in Covent Garden market—I have done night work—I only saw Lomax twice—the first time I saw him was when he came to my house with Taylor—I did not know he was "the old one"—I did not know who I was going to see, and I asked Taylor and he said, "Lomax"—I did not ask him, "What are you going to see Lomax for, with forged cheques in your possession?"—I should say I certainly knew they were doing wrong; I can't see that I was helping them—I got a shilling for sitting on the two bushels of apples, to treat myself; not. for looking out for the police—I was doing nothing—I don't know what they were doing; I sat there smoking; I did not trouble myself to know what they were doing—the police came to me first about this at a public-house that I use—they did not tell me I had better make a clean breast of it or I should find myself in trouble; they said I stood in a very serious position—he did not tell me that I had better make a clean breast of it, or I should be in the dock—he said Taylor had told all about the cheques, and what I knew about it would I tell, and I said, "Yes"—he did not tell me that I was in a serious position—I have not said so—I told him something similar to what I have said to-day—I got nothing for going to Balham; I spent three shillings on a couple of forties going there; I mean drinks—Taylor told me he had not got a penny—I expected to get what he owed me, £4 or £5, out of his money that he was going to get from the bank—I knew he had no account there—I was told if I saw the. messenger come out I was to come and tell him—I was not told to do anything if I saw the police; I could go home if I liked—in case the affair came off I was to get the money he owed me; how he got the money was nothing to do with me.
Re-examined. I saw Taylor and Joe go into the house together—they did not show me a bundle of cheques—Taylor had them in his pocket;. he pulled out some red cheques afterwards and showed me at the bottom of the street, in the gateway.
J. W. DENNIS (Recalled). Roberts was employed as warehouse foreman—it was his duty to attend at the warehouse from about eleven at night, on 29th September, till three the next day—during that time he was in sole charge of the warehouse—he carried the key—he had no business in the
office, but the door was not kept locked—I have two banking accounts, one at the London and County, King's Cross, and one at the Capital and Counties—the London and County cheques are red and to order, the others are white and open—during October both cheque books were kept in the office—I sometimes left the office early, and sometimes at four or six; not later—there are six or seven porters employed—fruit and vegetables are kept there, and also in the office—there is nothing to prevent a person walking straight into the office—when I leave at six I leave Mr. Kempton, my salesman and manager, there—we close at from three to five—Roberts is solely responsible for the office at night.
Taylors defence. I am simply guilty of receiving the cheques; that is all.
GUILTY . As to Roberts, the RECORDER teas of opinion that there was not sufficient corroboration of the evidence of Sendall.
ROBERTS— NOT GUILTY .
TAYLOR PLEADED GUILTY . no evidence was offered against Roberts. There were two other indictments against Taylor for forgery, which were ordered to remain on the files of the Court.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
99. ELIZABETH HEARN (38), PLEADED GUILTY to two indictments for stealing goods value 10s., of Harry Ambridge, and to two other indictments for forging and uttering receipts for the payment of money. She received a good diameter.— Four Month' Hard Labour. And
100. RICHARD EVES (16), and JOHN SWEENEY (16) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial document] , to a burglary at the dwelling-house of Leonard George Langton, and stealing goods therein; also to previous convictions of felony. EVES— Five Months' Hard Labour. SWEENEY— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. ELLIOTT Prosecuted, and MR. LAWLESS Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT—Tuesday, December 12th, 1893.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. LAWLESS Prosecuted.
KATE CRANCH . I live at 10, Cross Street, East Dulwich—I was present at Trinity Church, Lambeth on August 17th, 1875, when the prisoner was married to my sister, Elizabeth Sarah Cranch—he was married as Joshua Brider, bachelor—they lived as husband and wife till about June, 1883, and had two children, a boy and a girl—the prisoner is a barrister's clerk—they separated by mutual agreement—my sister has the custody of the children, and the prisoner has sent her money up to the present time—I went to him for money up to 1889—I lived with my mother, and wa
away till 1887, and then I began to go and fetch the money—I did not know at that time that he was married a second time—I did not see my sister very often after her marriage—she was never a drunkard.
Cross-examined by the prisoner I have never seen John Holland visiting my sister in your absence; I have never seen him there—they did not go to Boulogne together—a deed of separation was prepared; I read it—there was a clause that the allowance was to be made to her so long as she led a chaste life, and she objected to it because it reflected on her—I fetched money from you very often once a month or once a fortnight, when I thought it was due and you had not sent it.
FRANCES BELISE WATSON . I am now in a home for the destitute in Soho—when I met the prisoner in August, 1883, I was a widow with two children, and was earning bread for myself and them—I took him to be a bachelor; he never said he was married—on November 21st, 1883, I was married to him at St. Paul's, Co vent Garden—he called himself Bryden, not Bryder. (The certificate described him as a bachelor)—he said he was reading for the Bar—we lived together off and on till February this year, and I had a child by him last July—I said I would not live I with him any longer, because of the blows and insults I received.
Cross-examined. I have said to friends that you were the best of husbands when you were good, but I cannot understand a man being good one five minutes and nearly killing me the next—I said that you were a good father to your boy—I sent you a telegram saying that I was dying, because I wanted to know whether you were living with Nelly Barring-ton, who struck me, and I sought the protection of a neighbour.
ARTHUR HAILSTONE (Police Sergeant E). On November 30th I arrested the prisoner at 21, Brighton Terrace, and told him the charge—he said "Yes, who is charging?"—I said, "Frances Belise Watson"—he said, I "I have an answer to it, she is a fearful drunkard, so was the first beast; I she finally left me, and I did not know she was alive when I married the other"—when the charge was read over he said, "I did not know she was alive."
Cross-examined. I have a letter from Mrs. Watson to you—she wrote it at my dictation asking for an appointment, with a view of arresting you.
Witness for Hit Defence.
CHARLOTTE LAMBERT . I am single, and live at 3, Cardinal Terrace, Putney—I am nineteen years old—Mrs. Watson told me three or four months ago that she knew the prisoner was a married man—she lodged at my mother's house for twelve months about May, 1892.
The. prisoner in his defence stated that he and his wife lived a cat and dog life, and that he several times met her out with men, and that site went to Boulogne with John Holland; that a deed of separation was signed, and site left him, taking everything with her but his clothes; that he saw her two or three times afterwards, but nine month afterwards made inquiries and could not find her, and never having any letters from her thought she was dead, and he married again. He also attacked Mrs. Watson's character to whom ht said he made an allowance, out stopped it on finding out the life site was living, and complained that site had waited six years before making this charge.
GUILTY .— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. MACROUN Prosecuted, and MR. SANDS appeared for Young.
NOT GUILTY .
104. ARTHUR WILKINSON (19), WILLIAM GEORGE LESTER (19), JAMES LEAMAN (18), and FREDERICK PERRY (17) , Breaking and entering the warehouse of John Craggs Leefe, and stealing a quantity of silk and fifty cigars, his property.
WILKINSON and LESTER PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. MACROUN Prosecuted, and MR. COLLINS appeared for Perry.
JAMES HUNTER (City Police Sergeant 87). On November 8th, about 12. 30 a. m., I received a communication, and went to Mr. Leefe's premises, 4, Jewin Crescent—we surrounded the premises, and sent for Mr. Leefe, who had not got his keys, and instructed us to force an entrance; we did so—I found Wilkinson and Lester on the ground floor standing beside a number of rolls of silk and cigars—a cash-box had been broken open, and 5s. taken out—I found four jemmies, which corresponded with marks on the door—I found no signs of breaking outside; the door was secured by a locked padlock, which appeared all right.
WILLIAM PALMER (140 City). I was with another officer, and about 4. 55 saw Leaman and Perry come to Jewin Street, and raise their eyes to the windows; they went from there to Redcross Street, and about five minutes afterwards came back, and raised their eyes again—Cook and I came out and asked them where they were going; they said, "To work at the chemical works, Blackfriars"—I found nothing on Leaman, but found this padlock key in Perry's coat pocket—I said, "This is all I want," and undid the padlock with the key, and said, "You see what I have done; you two will be charged with breaking and entering this warehouse and stealing a quantity of silk"—they said, "I know nothing about it"—they were confronted with Wilkinson and Lester, and Wilkinson said, "I don't know these men"—at the Police-court the same morning Wilkinson addressed the Magistrate, and wanted to know what the two men were there for.
Cross-examined by MR. COLLINS. We were in plain clothes—Leaman and Perry followed the police as they went off duty—there was no crowd about the premises—it is an ordinary padlock—it began to rain just before four o'clock—I know nothing against Perry—he was out of work when he was arrested—I have not made inquiries, as no address has been given to me.
Cross-examined by Leaman. You came from Aldersgate Street, and when you looked up at the window I took it to be a signal—I let you go away, because I knew you would come back.
Re-examined. I could not find the chemical works, Blackfriars.
PETER MCINTYRE . I am in Mr. Leefe's employ—I secured the door with a brass padlock like this, not a black one—this key is much larger, but it fits well; it fits this other padlock very well—this is not the one which was on the door the night before.
together on Lord Mayor's Show Day, and frequently before, and I saw three of them together between October 8th and 15th.
Cross-examined by MR. COLLINS. I have frequently seen Leaman and Perry together; they lived in the same place.
Leaman's defence. We had been at Covent Garden carrying ferns, and as we went back the officer took us.
Perry received a good character.
GUILTY . WILKINSON** and LISTER— Twelve Months' Earl Labour each. LEAMAN**— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. PERRY— Six Months' Hard Labour.
JOHN DAVIS . I am a jeweller, of 260, Bethnal Green Road—on November 27th, about 9. 40, I heard a smash, ran out, and found the window broken, and the till on the floor—I went out, and saw the prisoner with a woman, about one door from my shop—I blew a whistle, and a policeman came—there was a wire in the window, which was pulled out, and two gold watches and a gold chain were missing.
ELIZABETH DAVIS .—I am the prosecutor's wife—on November 27th I was standing at the shop door, and saw the prisoner—he moved along towards the shop and stood still, and a woman came round the corner and pushed him, and he put his fist through the window—I did not see what he took, but I saw articles fall on the pavement—I cried out, my husband came, and the prisoner ran away—I picked him out from other men at the station—I had seen him pass the shop with the woman, and am sure he is the person.
FREDERICK STEVENS (180 N). On November 27th, at 11. 15, the prisoner came to me in Middle Row and said, "I wish to give myself up to you for smashing a jeweller's shop window; I know I am spotted, so I may as well give myself up to you as to anybody; women are the root of all evil; I heard the whistle, but was too quick for them"—the glass would require force to break it; it was quarter of an inch thick—I wrote down what he said when I got to the station.
Prisoner's defence. I was not on the premises.
GUILTY .—He then
PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at Clerkenwell in February, 1892.— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
WILLIAM JAMES MOORE . I am a corn merchant at Shepherd's Bush Green—On 8th November, about 8. 15, I saw the prisoner in my shop—I did not know him—my shopman passed on to me a cheque for £6, signed "Henry Wood," and a note saying, "Will you kindly send two sacks of dour, and give bearer the balance.—CHARLES HARE."—I noticed that the writing of the cheque and the note was alike, and asked the prisoner from whom he brought it—he said, "From Mr. Hare, of Shepherd's Bush"—I asked how long he had worked there—he said three months—I sent for a policeman, and gave him in custody—I do not know Mr. Hare.
not know the prisoner; lie never worked for me—this cheque is not my writing, nor did I give him authority to write it.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I have nothing more to say than that the gentleman sent me the note. I did not know what it contained. When I got to the shop I was detained."
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
JOHN CONNOR . I am a labourer, of 1, Osborn Place, Brick Lane—on Saturday night, November 21st, I was in Connaught Street, going home, and the prisoner and two others came up to me—one of the men, not in custody, pinned my arms behind me, and another put his hand in my pocket and took out a florin and some coppers—I shouted "Police," and the prisoner put his hand over my mouth—I caught hold of the one who put his hand in my pocket, and got knocked down and kicked in my privates when I was down—someone struck me on my face with his fist—I caught hold of the prisoner, and held him till a policeman came; the others got away.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I am positive you are one of the men—I had had a drop, but I was sober.
JOHN HEDGES (156 H). On 26th November, early in the morning, I was in the Commercial Road, and saw the prisoner and two other men oitering—Connor came along, and the prisoner struck him in the face—I heard cries of "Police," and Connor said, "They have robbed me"—I told the prisoner I should take him—he said, "I have not got his money, neither did I hit him."
Prisoner's defence. The prosecutor shoved me and said he had been robbed, and I was one of the men.
GUILTY . He then
PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at Worship Street in April, 1891— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, December 13th, 1893.
Before Mr. Justice Wills.
MR. PASMORE Prosecuted, and MR. DE MICHELE Defended.
WILLIAM SPIEGELHALTER . I am the prisoner's brother, and live at 405, Hackney Road—on the night of 6th November we were letting off fireworks, and had a bonfire in the back yard—I had a pistol, which I fired off twice into the air from the upper window—this (produced) is it; it is a nine-chamber muzzle-loader—I then came down and fired the
remainder into the air except one—I then handed the pistol to the prisoner, and he fired the remaining shot into the air—we then fired off these two old pistols loaded with powder only; I don't how many times we fired—after a time my brother went into the kitchen and reloaded thin one, and came out into the yard and fired it into the air four or five times—being rather a heavy thing he pulled it down; it slipped out of his fingers; after that he fired one or two into the air—we did not know at the time that anything was wrong until a man next door said that a boy had been shot—we had all been on good terms that evening—the pistol was loaded with bullets—I saw the boy that was shot, in the kitchen, Afterwards; I did not know him before.
Cross-examined. We began the fireworks about seven; the bonfire was lighted first, and the pistols were fired at the end—the cock of the pistol is rather hard to pull back, and the pistol is very heavy; you can hardly hold it with one hand—we could not see the boy when we fired; he was next door—a paling separates the two yards—my younger brother was with us in the yard—the Coroner's Jury found a verdict of misadventure.
JAMES RICHARDSON . I live at Rustic Cottage, Hackney—I am employed next door to the prisoner at the shop of Miss Plum—I know the prisoner—on this evening, there was a bonfire and fireworks next door—f heard the firing of pistols—I saw the deceased standing against the fence, and did not see him again till he ran into the kitchen, after he was wounded—he called, "Oh!" and fell into the middle of the kitchen and died immediately—I called my employer, and a surgeon was sent for.
Cross-examined. The kitchen is about twenty-six feet from the fence, which is about three feet high; the deceased was five feet high and was fifteen years old—there was a large bonfire next door, but no light except from the kitchen, and that was not much—there had been no quarrelling between the boy and the prisoner.
EDWARD BERDOE . I am a surgeon, of Teignmouth House, Victoria Park Gate—on the evening of 6th November, I was called to the house—by order of the Coroner I made a post-mortem examination of the deceased boy—I found a gunshot wound through the right lung and through the chief vessel of the heart, and this bullet I found in the left lung; the cause of death was hemorrhage from the wound.
Cross-examined. The bullet had taken a very curious course—the deceased must have been leaning with his right side to the fence, leaning looking at the bonfire—the bullet is a conical one.
JOSEPH HELSON (Inspector J). Between eight and half-past on this evening, I went to 403, Hackney Road, and saw the youth lying dead on the kitchen floor; I went next door and saw the prisoner's parents—the prisoner was not there, but from what his father told me I sent a telegram—in the basement I found these two old muzzle-loading pistols, and the case of the larger revolver; the revolver was not found till next morning—it was then loaded in two chambers—I had some difficulty in unloading the middle barrel.
GEORGE WHITLOCK (Police Sergeant J). On 7th November, at 8. 15, I found the prisoner detained at Harlesden Police-station—I told him the charge—he said, "I did not shoot him wilfully; it went off accidentally before I had time to raise it in the air. I had fired five or six shots from the revolver. I did not see the boy standing at the fence; I only saw my
little brother there. The revolver is at home in the cellar, on a bench"—I took him to Bethnal Green—the charge was read to him—he replied, "I shot him accidentally; the revolver went off before I had time to get it in the air"—I afterwards found the revolver where he had indicated—it was loaded in two barrels with powder and bullets, and the centre one with powder and shot.
Cross-examined. I believe he stated to another officer at the station that the pistol was at half cock, and that was supposed to be at safety.
GUILTY . Strongly recommended to mercy by the JURY.— Fourteen Days' Hard Labour.
MR. A. GILL Prosecuted.
HENRY HUTCHINSON (Policeman 661 A). On 14th August, about twenty minutes to three a. m., I was on duty in Grosvenor Road, Millbank—I saw four men sitting on a bench there—I crossed over, and said to them, "Come, now, you men, we have no sleeping accommodation here"—one of them, with an oath, said, "This is the b——" and the four, rushing at me, pinned me against the wall, tripping me over back wards into the river—they were like four dogs—my feet struck against something, and I clung to one of the piles sticking up in the water; I swam from one to the other till I reached the wooden steps against the pier at Millbank—I shouted for assistance, but got none; I got out myself, up the steps, and went to the station, where I obtained dry clothes, and made out my statement—I could not exactly tell what the depth of the water was—I have recognised one of the men, to the best of my belief, but I cannot recognise the prisoner—I was placed on the sick list when the doctor saw me at the station, and remained so till 6th September, and I have been on the sick list ever since, suffering from a strained back—I gave evidence here against two men named Bailey and Smith.
WILLIAM MONRO DASENT GALBY . I am assistant surgeon at Rochester Row Station—on 14th August last I was called there, and made an examination of Hutchinson—he complained of pain in the right lumbar region, and his back was sore on pressure; there were marks of something very hard having scraped the back of his tunic; he had great difficulty in bending; he had a badly strained back—I ordered him to bed, and saw him again in the afternoon; I then found that the parts had swollen very much—he could not move at all till the 24th of the month; since then he has been quite unable to do his duty—my opinion of him is not so favourable now as it was at the last trial; he has made so very little progress during the last six weeks—I am rather doubtful if he will be able to take duty again; he cannot stoop at all to lift anything, even a chair.
ROBERT BAKER . I am a constable of the Somersetshire Constabulary, No. 245, stationed at Keynsham, near Bristol—on 6th November the prisoner came to my station there about the middle of the day, and said he wanted to give himself up, he believed it to be a serious offence, throwing a policeman over the Thames Embankment in London—I cautioned him in the usual way—he then made a statement, which I took down, and he signed it—this is it. (Read: "I, Thomas Johnstone
native of Uxbridge, fifteen miles out of London, say, 'On 16th or 17th of last August, I, in company with three others, threw a police officer over the Thames Embankment in London. I wish to give myself up to the custody of the police'")—he was sober—later in the day, about four, I took him before the Petty Sessions, and he there made a further statement in my presence; it was taken down, read over to him, and he signed it—this is it, "About 2. 30 a. m., I and my companions were lying down on a seat on the Thames Embankment, when a policeman came up and ordered us off, and we caught hold of him and threw him into the river, and then went away. I have had no rest in my mind since we did it, and so resolved to give myself up. I did not know anything of the three men that were with me, and I don't know now who they were, but I saw one of them in Bristol this morning, and I told him I was going to give myself up; he and I were together ever since the morning we threw the constable into the river. I came by boat this morning from Cardiff to Bristol. I heard him say his name was Watkins, but don't know whether that is his right name or not"—he remained in custody at Keynsham from the 7th to the 10th November—I was in charge of him the whole time—he said on different occasions that he was very sorry for what he did, he could not help it at all; he would not have done it for £50, had he it.
CHARLES BEARD (Detective A). On 10th November, I received the prisoner into custody at Keynsham—I read over to him the statement marked "A," signed by him—I asked him if it was correct, and whether that was his signature—he said, "Quite correct, all that I know is that I am guilty of being one of the four men that threw the constable into the Thames"—I said, "I shall convey you to London, where you will be charged with assault and attempt to murder the constable on the 14th August last—he said, "All right; I shall go quiet with you"—at Rochester Row Station the charge was read over to him—he said, "Ail that I know, I am guilty"—I asked him if he could identify the other men who were with him—he said, "No; "only the one he had left in Bristol.
Prisoner's defence. All I can say is that when I made that statement I was labouring under something that I don't want any body to have. I had been drinking heavily for two months previous. I know nothing more, only I gave myself up; I know nothing about it.
Prisoner: I feel a lot of difference, at any rate; you only saw me four days afterwards. Witness: It was three days after he had given himself up when I received him—I asked him if he could refer me to anybody for his character—he said he could not refer me to anywhere, only when he was in the army—he joined the 2nd Welsh Regiment in 1881, and was discharged as being medically unfit, through varicose veins—his conduct was good while in the army—he told me he had been to sea—I asked him if he could refer me to any captain or anyone that he had worked under—
he said he could not. Prisoner: I have never been in any trouble before in my life.
PHILIP FRANCIS GILBERT . I have seen the prisoner while he has been in Holloway, and have spoken to him on different occasions—my attention was not specifically called to him—I saw nothing the matter with his mind—I have seen him just now and then—I found nothing the matter with him.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. MORESBY Prosecuted.
WILLIAM WIGLEY . I live at 2, Half Moon Court, Portpool Lane, Holborn—the prisoner is my son-in-law—he and his wife and four little children have been living with me—he had no home—I have been supporting them for several months—on the morning of November 1st, about 12. 30, I was in bed with my wife and the four children—my daughter was on the landing—she halloed out, "Father! father I let me in, he is beating me, and knocking me about"—I got out of bed and opened the door, and she walked in—the prisoner walked in behind her, and he up with his hand and hit her very hard, and kicked her; he then walked round the room and struck her again, and knocked her down on her left side—I halloed out, "Don't do that"—he took his hand three times, like this (Striking)—at the same time I saw the bed in a dreadful state with blood—I ran downstairs in my shirt and trousers and got a policeman, who went upstairs with me—he asked for the knife—I had not seen the knife, but my wife gave it to the policeman—when I ran downstairs the prisoner halloed after me. "I will do it for you"—he works-among the coal wharves when he likes.
BRIDGET WIGHT . I am the wife of the last witness—about a quarter to one on the morning of 1st November my daughter knocked at the door, and said, "Father, let me in, he is always knocking me about"—my husband opened the door and let her in, and the prisoner punched and kicked her four or five times, and I saw the knife in his hand at the last stab, and the blood; he then picked the knife up and flung it down—my little grandson picked it up and gave it to me—the prisoner said, "Oh! she is done; she is dead, she is dead!"—the police came, and she was taken to the hospital in a cab.
MARY ANN COOPER . I am the prisoner's wife—I came home on the morning of 1st November—my husband and I had been drinking all the evening till the houses closed—we got quarrelling; I went to my father's door, and he let me in—the prisoner gave me two blows, which stunned me, and I can't remember anything more after the third blow.
HENRY CHAPMAN (144 G). I was called by Mr. Wigley, and saw the prosecutrix in a cab, bleeding very much from the head—I told the cabman to drive as quickly as he could to the hospital—I then went to 2, Half Moon Court, and found the prisoner sitting in a chair—I told him I should take him into custody on a charge of cutting and wounding his wife—he said, "All right, governor, I am glad you have come"—on the way to the station he said, "I think I have done for her this time; I stabbed her three times, twice in the back and once in the head. She has
caused me a lot of trouble"—he was drunk—I took him to the station, and then went to the hospital to ascertain his wife's condition, and then returned to the station, where he was charged—this knife was handed to me by Mrs. Wigley; it had blood stains on it, and there are stains on it now.
Cross-examined. You said at the station that you did not remember anything that took place.
LANGTON HEPBURN . I am house surgeon at St. Bartholomew's Hospital—the prosecutrix was admitted there about half-past one—she was suffering from five wounds about the head and shoulders, four punctured and one incised—the most serious one was on the face, just in front of the right ear; that was two inches long and one inch and three-quarters deep, and rather jagged—that was very dangerous and caused severe hemorrhage—three of the other wounds were serious; one on the left side of the neck, three inches long and two deep, another on the right side of the neck an inch and a half long, and an inch and a half deep, and the other on the right shoulder, an inch and three-quarters long, I could not ascertain the depth—there was also one above the right elbow; that was quite superficial—she was in danger for a fortnight—the wound in the face is not quite healed now; she will be permanently disfigured—there was no erysipelas; she had paralysis of part of the nerve of the face, due to its being severed; that may come right, but I doubt it—the knife produced would inflict such wounds.
The prisoner put in a written defend, alleging that he was very drunk and did not remember what occurred.
GUILTY on the Second Count.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. A. GILL and BIRON Prosecuted.
MARIA WYATT . I am the prisoner's wife—I keep a boarding-house for seamen at 6, Kirby Street, Poplar—on 17th November, about twelve at noon, the prisoner came into the house—I was in the kitchen—he went upstairs, then came down and went into the back room, my children's bedroom, and commenced breaking open my daughter's box—I went and told him he must not do it—she is his step-daughter—he went upstairs again, and came down with a bundle of clothing under his arm, and went out—about eight in the evening he came again—I was in the front parlour with my sister, Mary Ann Winter—he seized me by the throat and asked me if I had got all I wanted—I said he had better let me go, I had not anything—I went into the back room; my daughter had just gone out for some beer—he followed her into the public-house—she came in with the beer, and he came immediately after her (a gentleman lodger had come in while the prisoner was out)—he said nothing, but in do a blow at me—I did not see anything in his hand—he struck me in four different places—I did not know I was stabbed till I saw my hand bleeding, and blood running down—when I became conscious I was at No. 2, two doors off—
my daughter came between us when she saw him. striking me—I got out as quick as I could, leaving her in the room—I was seen by a surgeon and then taken to the hospital—I did not spit in the prisoner's face that evening; he was not cutting tobacco—he had nothing in his hand as far as I saw—I had not got £37 shortly before this, or any large sum—for a long time I had received nothing; I had an empty house—he had been drinking—we had had disputes on several occasions—he had twice threatened to take my life and rip me up, and only three or four weeks before this happened he burnt my nose with a red-hot poker on two occasions—I serrated from him on account of his ill-usage About twelve months ago.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You have ill-used me ever since I knew you—you never complained of me for allowing my. daughter to go into a bedroom with a man—I was never fined for being drunk; a policeman said I was blocking up the way when I was talking to a friend—I have been married twice—I have not seen my first husband for fifteen years—I did not tell you that I wanted to get rid of you—you have never done any work since I knew you—what I had my daughter and I earned—I have about £80 in the bank, and two years ago my aunt left me £60—I was never locked up in Well. Street together with you—we had had no quarrel on the day in question. (The prisoner continued to accuse the witness of improper conduct, which she repeatedly denied.)
ADA WYATT . I am a daughter of the last witness—on 17th November, about eight in the evening, I was going out for some beer—the prisoner came into the pub after me; he did not speak to me—I went back, he came in shortly after—he went straight over to mother, took out a knife, and said, "Take that," and struck her several times—I got between them, and he did the same thing to me—he was not cutting tobacco—mother did not spit in his face; she was sitting on the bed talking to my aunt—I have seen previous quarrels between them, and have heard him say several times that he would rip her up—I was stabbed in four places, and was taken to the hospital.
MARY ANN WINTER . I am sister to Mrs. Wyatt, and live at 87, Fenton Street, Mile End—I was with my sister on 17th November, about four in the afternoon—later in the evening the prisoner came into the front parlour, went across to my sister, seized her by the throat, and said, "Have you got all you want?"—she said, "You had better leave me alone"—he held her by the throat two or three minutes, then he left her and went out—I took her into the back parlour, and my sister and Ada came in—the prisoner afterwards came in and made a blow at my sister; I did not see what he had in his hand till the second or third blow—I then saw he had something in his hand; my sister raised her arm and I saw it was saturated with blood—I did not see what happened to Ada—I followed my sister into the next house, and a doctor came and dressed her wounds—I then went back and saw Ada lying on the floor—the prisoner wag not cutting tobacco—my sister did not spit in his face.
MARY ANN WINTER (the younger). I am daughter of last witness—I was with Mrs. Wyatt on this evening—after Ada came in with the beer the prisoner came in, went straight to my aunt and stabbed her—all I heard him say was, "Have you got all you want?"—Ada got between them—I helped Mrs. Wyatt into No. 2—I saw a number of people at
the street door, and I heard the prisoner say he had done it; he had had enough of it night after night—he was not cutting tobacco at the time.
JOHN PAINTER (180 K). I was fetched to 6, Kirby Street, and saw the prisoner standing in the passage—I said, "What is the matter?"—he said, "I have done it"—I went into the back parlour, and saw Ada Wyatt lying on the floor—I pulled her on one side and saw a pool of blood—she said, "He has stabbed me"—I then took him into custody and took him to the station—I asked him if he had a knife on him; he said, "Yes," and gave me this knife—I examined the blade; it appeared to have had some blood on it, and had been wiped—the prisoner's hands were covered with blood—I searched him; I did not find any tobacco upon him or on the premises—he appeared to have been drinking—I took the young woman to the hospital.
Cross-examined. I did not find a pipe on you.
EDMUND STONEHAM (15 K R). I went to Kirby Street and found Ada Wyatt lying on the floor in the back room—I went into No. 2 and there found Mrs. Wyatt and took her to the hospital—I searched the room, but did not find my pipe or tobacco—next day at the Police-court, the prisoner asked me if the women were there—I said, "No, they are too bad to attend; the daughter appears to be the worst"—he said, "Have I injured her as well?"—I said, "Yes"—he said, "Good God! I must have been mad. Me and my wife were having a few words; she spat in my face; I was cutting tobacco at the time, and I suppose I went for her. I do not know anything about it."
Cross-examined. I have made inquiries about your character—I could not find anything against you, but quarrelsome and drink—you bear a very good character amongst the police in that division.
By the COURT. The woman has taken to drink and is very quarrelsome—she has been charged once with drunkenness at Limehouse—she keeps this lodging-house—I have never heard any complaint about the house.
JOHN FORSYTH (229 L). On 17th November, at midnight, I took the charge against the prisoner for unlawfully wounding his wife and daughter by stabbing them—he replied, "I will be detained, then? I was cutting up tobacco, and cut my hand. I brought home £37 in one week, and my wife spent it"—I found blood on both his hands, and a slight cut on the palm of his right hand, and a small piece of skin off the first finger of the left hand—it was not bleeding; it had not been done long by its appearance—the first was an old cut; blood did not come from that—the prisoner had been drinking—I went to Kirby Street and found a curtain had been cut through, and a mackintosh of Ada's had cuts in it.
WILLIAM BIRD . I was house surgeon at the London Hospital when the prosecutrix and Ada Wyatt were brought there shortly after eleven—the prosecutrix was suffering from four incised wounds, one on the left shoulder, one on the left chest, one on the left abdomen, and one on the left wrist—none of them were dangerous; they might have been if they had penetrated a little further, if they had penetrated the cavity of the chest; they were about an inch deep—I think this knife might have caused them—considerable violence must have been used—I also examined Ada Wyatt—she was suffering from four incised woun is, one on the neck, behind to the right; one on the right to the left, and two on the left shoulder behind—there was considerable hemorrhage; her clothes were
saturated with blood, and there was blood on the ambulance in which she was brought—these wounds might also have been caused by this knife; they were slightly dangerous—I offered to take them both in; the daughter remained but the mother refused, saying she must attend to her children—the daughter has recovered from the cuts—I have not examined the mother since—the daughter is still suffering from hysteria, brought on by the loss of blood—I think they had both been drinking, but the woman was not drunk.
JAMES ROSS STEEN . I am a medical man—I attended Maria Wyatt since 19th November—the wound in the abdomen would have been dangerous if deeper—she is still suffering slightly from shock—this knife might have caused the wounds.
The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate, and in his defence, accused his wife of continued violence and misconduct, stating that they were drunk at (At time, and having the knife in his hand cutting some tobacco, he must have accidently caused the injuries.
GUILTY of Unlawfully Wounding.— Eight Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, December 13th, 1893.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. TOWN Prosecuted. FREDERICK BAKER (Policeman). On November 12th I was on duty at Charing Cross Road, Oxford Street, about 11. 30, and saw the prisoner and a man not in custody standing under a window opposite 27, Oxford Street—I went after the other man—the prisoner remained with his back against the window, and then walked off in the direction of Oxford Circus, and the other man towards Holborn—I followed the prisoner; he ran, and I ran after him and caught him—he said, "What is the matter? I am only running to catch a 'bus"—there was no bus in sight—I said, "You must come back to 27, Oxford Street"—we went back, and I found a brick and these two price tickets inside the window, which was broken—the prisoner said he knew nothing about it—I found a slight fresh cut on his wrist, and asked him how it was done—he said he did not know—he gave his address 8, New North Street, which was false—there is a lamp immediately in front of the shop.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I was about seventy yards from the shop—it is not the darkest part of Oxford Street; I could see you very plain, and can swear to you.
FREDERICK TARLETON . I am in the employ of William Septimus Hale, a hosier, who trades as Robert Bruce—I left the shop secure at 10. 45 p. m., and in the morning the window was broken, and eight wrappers, value 30s., were missing—I saw a brick inside, and there were two small
lights at the back of the shop—there are no blinds; you can see the goods from the street—there is a communication from the shop to the dwelling-house.
GUILTY . He then
PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at this Court on June 28th, 1880.— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. HALL Prosecuted.
ALEXANDER DIPPIE . On November 1st I was staying at the Midland Grand Hotel, and about twelve or 12. 30 I was walking up the steps of the side entrance, and saw a man by the electric light—he suddenly struck me and took my watch and chain—two or three minutes afterwards a detective brought him back with them in his hand—they are worth about £30.
WILLIAM WERTH (Midland Railway Detective). On November 1st between 12. 30 and 12. 45, I was outside the hotel and saw the prisoner and another man following the prosecutor up the steps—the prisoner went behind him and struck him, and the other man knocked him down, and the prisoner took his watch and chain—I went to get hold of him, but a cab was passing—I called "Stop thief!" and a constable took him and brought him back with the watch and chain.
VALENTINE PEARSON (144 Y). On November 1st, about 12. 30, I was on duty in Euston Road, heard a cry of "Stop thief," and saw the prisoner run past me—I took up the chase—he dodged round a coffee-stall, and as he was leaving it he put his hand in his pocket and threw something away—I caught him and then went back and discovered this watch and chain—the prosecutor came up and identified him—he did not say, "I am, trying to catch the thief"—he gave no address.
The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate, and in his defence, said that he knew nothing about it; that lie was running to catch the thief when the constable stopped him, and that he called the constable's attention to the watch and chain lying in the gutter.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at Clerkenwell in October, 1892.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
GEORGE SADLER . I am a printer, of 16, Griffin Street—on Saturdays November 11th, I was at the Sloper's Arms with some friends—the prisoner and a friend of his were very noisy, and I asked him to be quiet because they could not get on with their singing—he went out on the landing, and I thought I would get out of the place, I did not want to stop any longer—I saw him on the landing with a knife in his hand, a kind of penknife, with the blade showing—he said, "This will stop your gallop"—the proprietor came up and said, "Take your friend out"—I said, "He is no friend of mine"—we tried to hustle him out, and he stabbed me on my neck—I was taken to King's College Hospital insensible—the proprietor and the potman were hustling him out; I was not. helping.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. The landlord is not here—he has not given evidence at all, nor the potman—I had been in the room about two hours, at a benefit for a man who was laid up—I hail three glasses of drink—I left Great Sutton Street at 7. 30; I had no drink there; I had not long had my tea—four of us were together—I had never seen the prisoner before—I am positive he is the man who wounded me—I did not hear him sing a song—I was not making a great row and arguing, with the people beside me, nor did I order the prisoner and another man to go out—I did not deal him a severe blow on his head, and knock his hat off—I was not at all in drink—I did not want to charge another man at the station—I saw the prisoner strike me with the knife.
(Re-examined.) I am sure he is the man who struck me—I was perfectly sober; there is no truth in the suggestion that I was quarrelling—I do not know the man whose benefit it was, but I am a friend of the chairman, and he asked me to come.
WILLIAM SADLER . My real name is Frank Kitto—I am a printer, and live in the same place as the last witness—I was with him on this night—there was a row upstairs between the prisoner and another man, and going downstairs he pulled a knife out, and said to my friend, u This will atop your gallop," and as I followed him out I saw him strike the blow—I think it was a pocket knife—I am sure the prisoner is the man.
GEORGE KELLY . I am a porter at Lant Street, Borough—I was at the Sloper's Arms on this night—I saw the prisoner in front of me; he was rather noisy and was requested to leave—he wanted to fight, and somebody called out, "He has got a knife"—I saw a knife in his hand on the landing—the master of the house told them to go downstairs—I think I was the last to go out, and I saw my friend bleeding from his neck—his friend ran away—the prosecutor called out that he was stabbed.
Cross-examined. Sadler was perfectly sober—there was no scuffle in the room, but the prisoner and his friends were making a noise—Sadler was not arguing with them; I did not see Sadler strike the prisoner—the prisoner sang a song at the concert.
CHARLES CLARK (515 City). On 11th November I was on duty in Shoe Lane, and the prisoner run by me and about sixteen after him—there was a cry of "Stop thief!"—I ran after him into Fleet Street, and he was stopped at the corner of Bride Lane—on the way back he said, "I have got no knife; this is all I have got on me," showing me a ring on his little finger—nothing had been said about a knife—I did not know what the charge was—when the charge was read he said, "lam innocent."
WILLIAM HENRY FEAR (444 City). On November 12th, about 12. 40 a. m, I found this knife in Shoe Lime, about twenty yards from Fleet Street—there were no stains of blood on it—the inspector showed it to the prisoner at the station—he made no remark—he had passed the spot where I found it—it was about fifty yards from the Sloper's Arms.
CRANBY MORTON PERRY . I am house surgeon at King's College Hospital—I saw Sadler there on the night of November 11th—he had a punctured wound on the left side of his neck, over the carotid artery, about an inch and a half deep—the hemorrhage had been stopped—it was a dangerous wound; if it had been a little more to the left or right it would have caused instant death—the artery is only one and a half or
one and three-quarter inches deep—it must have bled profusely—it might have been caused by this knife, or any pointed instrument, or by a table-knife if it was worn down and was pointed—in my opinion this is not the knife, I should expect to find blood on it.
Cross-examined. The prosecutor was sober, in my opinion.
The prisoner requested to be allowed to make his own statement to the JURY, and said that the prosecutor ordered him out of the room, and struck him on his head, knocking his hat off, and that he ran away, as the prosecutor teas drunk, and the policeman took him.
He received a good character. Ten Months' Hard Labour.
118. EDWARD DAVIS (23), PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a musical box, the property of George Cheal; also two Gladstone bags, the property of John Edwards He was again indicted, with WILLIAM LEGGE (25) , for stealing a gelding, a basket cart, and a set of harness, the property of George Morris.
GEORGE MORRIS . I am a jobmaster, of Tunbridge Wells—on November 3rd the prisoner Legge came, and said he wanted a trap for his master to drive to Sevenoaks—I asked him who his master was, and he gave me the card of Sidney Graham—I took the cart out about 2. 30, and he gave me a shilling—the two prisoners got up and drove off—I expected them back at eight o'clock; they did not come, and I went to the station—I afterwards saw the trap in the green-yard at Bethnal Green—the pony and trap were worth about £25—I had no idea that they were going to drive to London.
CHARLES WINGROVE . I am a livery-stable keeper, of Cambridge Road, Bethnal Green—on November 4th Legge came and said he had a pony and trap to sell—I said I did not want to buy anything—he said, "Will you look at it?"—I said "Yes," and did so—he wanted £25 for it, but a little while afterwards he offered to take £15—he said he was a bookmaker in Chelsea—Davis was a little way off by a public-house, with the pony and trap—a policeman came by, and I gave information while the prisoners were close by.
Cross-examined by Davis. Legge asked £25 for it, and you asked me to buy it, and you both jumped up in it, and drove it, to show how it went.
GEORGE WHITLOCK (Police Sergeant I). On November 4th Mr. Wingrove spoke to me—I went with him and saw Davis, about 150 yards off—we followed him and caught him—at that time Legge was coming up Green Street, driving the horse and trap—I said, "Where did you get that horse and trap from?"—he said, "I got it from a publican at Brighton to sell"—I said, "Who is the publican?"—he said, "I don't know"—I said, "I am not satisfied with your explanation; I shall take you to the station"—when we got there he refused his address—they were detained, and the trap was taken to the green-yard and identified next day—I told the prisoners that we had found the owner, and they would be charged with stealing the horse and cart—Davis said, "We had no intention of stealing it."
Legge's defence. I received a letter from Davis asking me to meet him.
I did so. He said he was going to make a book for Mr. Graham, at Tun-bridge Wells, and if I would go he would pay my expenses. We went there and he told me to order a pony and trap to drive to Chislehurst, and gave me his employer's card; we got into the cart together and went to Sevenoaks when he gave me a sovereign and told me to go to London I did so, and in the evening received a telegram from him telling me to meet him at the station. I met him between ten and eleven with the pony and trap and a friend. He was very drunk, and asked if I could take care of the lot for the night. I said, "Yes," and next morning he went and got it. He was arguing with his friend about the value of it, and I took it to Mr. Wingrove to ask him if he would gave £25 for it. He said it was not worth it, and Davis said, "Will you give £15 for it?" and then said to me, "He has gone for the police." I walked by the side of the trap, and the detective arrested me—I was acting under orders from Davis.
Davis's defence. I only wanted to find the proper value of it; I had no intention of stealing it. It would have been returned in the afternoon, but the pony was in a bad condition at Groombridge and unfit to go back; so I went to London and put it up, and in the morning I found the pony in a very bad condition, and it could only be sent back by train. I knew I should have to pay the value of it, and I went to Wingrove to find the value.
GUILTY . They then
PLEADED GUILTY to former convictions, LEGGE† on December 1st, 1890, and DAVIS** on 2nd August, 1893.
LEGGE— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
DAVIS— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. T. HUMPHREYS Prosecuted, and MR. WARBURTON Defended.
WILLIAM ARTHUR BENNETT . I am a tailor, of 62, Boundary Road, South Hampstead—on March 16th I received this letter. (Signed "Rowan and Co.," and advising him of the arrival of the ship "Madeira" of Halifax, with a consignment)—I made inquiries and replied, and got this letter. (From Rowan and Co., 2, John Street, Crutched Friars, stating that the matter was having their best attention, and requesting the witness to send £1 1s., as the charges had to be paid)—I made inquiries of the brokers, and did not reply—on November 27th I got this post-card. (From J. Rowan and Co., requesting him to send the £1 1s. for charges)—I had had no bill of lading, and was not expecting any package.
Cross-examined. I do not know that the prisoner has been there twenty years.
ROBERT HENRY WHEELER . I am a clerk to Turner, Withey and Co., ship brokers—they act as brokers for the Madeira, which arrived on the 16th—I produce the manifest—there is no package in it for William Arthur Bennett, but there is one for W. A. Bonnell—we have no agents; we always forward through the London and St. Katharine's Docks—I never heard of John Rowan and Co. as forwarding agents—a copy of the manifest is placed on the counter, in our public office where people can see it.
Cross-examined. I have been there two years—this paper (produced) is made up from the manifest; here is "W. A. Bennett" here—we have
to give the Customs, too, a copy of it—these documents are made up from the lists furnished by the different ships, so that anybody can see them—anybody can volunteer to clear a package, but they would have to get a bill of lading at our office from the consignee on the other side to get a release—I do not know that the W. A. Bennett who appears on the list is the only W. A. Bennett in the London Directory.
Re-examined. If Mr. Bennett had said that he knew nothing about the bill of lading we should have had nothing to do with him, of course—the charge for clearing the parcel would be 1s. 6d., and 1s. 6d. for the forwarding charge—it was a bundle which a man could carry with two hands.
THOMAS EVANS . I am an engraver, of 19, Fort Street, Bermondsey—I rent the shop 16, John Street, Crutched Friars—the prisoner does not rent any part of the house, but I take in letters for him in the name of John Rowan and Co., and he comes for them every morning, and pays me a few shillings occasionally—I shall have done this for six years next May.
JOHN EGAN (City Detective). On November 29th I took the prisoner in a public-house and read the warrant to him—he said, "There is a package for Mr. W. A. Bennett on board the Madeira, and I have authority to clear the same"—he gave his name, J. Rowan, and gave his private address.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "W. A. Bennett appears in the Customs bill 'A,' and we wrote to Mr. Bennett, and if it was not Mr. Bennett's package why did he not write and say so? The guinea was for our expenses."
The COURT considered that there was not a sufficient case to go to the Jury, as it was quite consistent with touting.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, December 13th, 1893.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. T. LLOYD Prosecuted
HENRY STOAT . I am a dairyman, at 2, Leinster Place, Bayswater—on November 15th Williams came in about six o'clock and said Miss Farwell would be obliged if I would change this cheque for her—Miss Farwell had been my customer for some time, and I did so—it was made payable to her on the Tunbridge Wells Bank, signed "Henry Morris," and endorsed "Ellen Farwell"—I gave Williams a £5 note and a sovereign—shortly afterwards I followed her and saw her with Proud and a man—as soon as I got within ten yards of them, in Porchester Terrace, Proud looked over her shoulder—in Bishop's Road they turned to the right—I followed; Williams looked over her shoulder—they crossed the road—I got in front of them, watching them the whole time—I crossed the road and stood under a lamp-post while they passed me—when they got about ten yards in front they crossed over and turned down Alsopp's Terrace—I followed on the opposite side—at the corner of Alsopp's Terrace they stood, and I went up, and said to Williams, "Excuse
me, but you have just come into my shop from Miss Farwell"—she said, "Oh, no; I will take my oath I never did"—the man said, "Oh, no; it is very funny"—Proud said, "No; she is my sister, and has been with me all the afternoon"—they crossed the road, and spoke to a cabman, and then walked to the corner of Bishop's Road, and returned—I crossed the road; they spoke to a second cabman—I asked the first cabman whether he was engaged—he said, "Yes"—I crossed the road to the corner of Alsopp's Terrace, and the three separated—I followed Williams, who ran down Alsopp's Terrace alone—I caught her up at the bottom end, and she then went back to the other end, calling out to someone—I got up in time to see her run down the livery stables—I asked a young fellow to go for a policeman, and went down the yard, and saw two or three men cleaning carriages, and they went into a stable—one man came out, and I spoke to him—I went with the policeman, and found her—she said to the policeman, "Here you are; let me go off," offering him a £5 note and a gold coin—neither I nor the policeman had said anything about that—the policeman said, "Wait a moment, and see what you have given me"—she said, "Yes; a £5 note and a half-sovereign. I gave the sovereign to the man, and he gave me this half back again. I don't know the man."
WILLIAM TURNER (153 F). At 3. 30 p. m. on 15th September Stoat sent a man to me, and I went to some mews and arrested Williams—when I got up to her she handed me a £5 note and a half-sovereign, and said, "Let me go; it is all through a man I do not know"—I made this note just afterwards—she said, "I went out and saw my sister and the man; I gave him the sovereign; he gave me a half-sovereign, as promised. Before I could produce the £5 note he came up; I was afraid, and ran away."
THOMAS DYSON (Detective Sergeant F). At eight o'clock on 15th November I was at the Police-station when Williams was brought in—she said, "I assure you we never saw that man before in our lives; we met him quite by accident near the Royal Oak Public-house. He asked me to cash a cheque for him. I hesitated, but lie assured me it was all right, and I ultimately cashed the cheque for him"—she was remanded for a week, and on 23rd November I saw Proud outside Marylebone Police-court, and I arrested her, placed her with others, and she was identified as having been with Williamson the night of the 15th—she said, "It is rather mean of you to get me here like this; I will not tell you now who the man is."
EMILY PHILLIPS . I am lady's maid to Miss Farwell, of Inverness Terrace—I do not know either of the prisoners—the endorsement to this cheque is not in Miss Farwell's writing—I do not know anyone named Henry Morris, nor does Miss Farwell—her name is Emmie.
JAMES DOWKER . I am cashier at Messrs. Beeching, Hodkin, and Beeching's Bank, Tunbridge Wells—it is Lloyd's Bank now—I do not know this signature, "Henry Morris"; no person of that name has an account there.
Williams, in her statement before the Magistrate, said that site did not know the mans name, nor where he lived; that he asked her to take the cheque to the shop and change it, and that she had not had time to product all the money when the prosecutor came up and charged her.
Prouds statement was that the man asked Williams to change the cheque; that she asked if it was good, and that the man said "Yes," and that he would give her 10s.
LOUISA JONES . I am the wife of John Jones, of 52, Elgin Avenue—at six p. m. on 12th October Williams came in with this cheque for £4108., payable to Mrs. Bernstein, and signed "Edward Scott," and asked me to cash it for 71, Elgin Avenue—I knew Mrs. Bernstein, a customer, for whom I had cashed a cheque before, lived there—Williams said the servant had sent her—I put the servant's name to her, and the said, "Yes, Lizzie"—Lizzie is Mrs. Bernstein's servant—I cashed it, paid it into my bank, and it was returned marked "No account."
MRS. BERNSTEIN. I live at 71, Elgin Avenue—I know nothing about this cheque, nor the signature "Edward Scott"—I gave no instructions to my servant Lizzie to get it cashed for me.
Williams, in another statement before the Magistrate, said that the man asked her to cash the cheque; that she did not know whether it was good or bad, and did so, and gave the money to the man, who gave her the name of Paris or Brown, and said that would find him, and that her friend, Lizzie Proud, had nothing to do with the matter.
MATHEW HENRY WYLD . I am manager of the Walham Green branch of the London and Provincial Bank—I do not know this signature "Edward Scott"; no one of that name has an account there—I know nothing about the cheque.
FRANCIS DRAKE SAMSON . I am a baker and confectioner at 96, Lancaster Road—on November 7th Proud came in about 7. 15 p. m., and asked me to cash this cheque for Mrs. Mouls, of 73, Blenheim Crescent, a customer—it is endorsed "E. Mouls," and signed "William Louis"—I gave Proud the money, and she left—my father paid the cheque into the bank, and it came back on the following Saturday, marked, "No account."
Cross-examined by Proud. I identified you at Marylebone Police-court out of eight others; I am sure of you.
HENRY FORDHAM LAKE . I am a clerk to Fordham and Co., bankers, of Royston—I do not know the signature on this cheque for £8, payable to Mrs. Mouls—no person of that name has an account at our bank—I cannot trace the cheque.
Williams in her defence stated that Hut man gave her the cheque, and said it was good; that she did not know his name or address, and torn never in his company till lie asked her to do it, and that she gave him the sovereign, and he gave her half-a-sovereign, and that she had not time to give him the £5 note, and lie ran away and left her; and that he also gave her the cheque on the 12 th October.
Proud said she had never cashed a cheque, and did not know her friend was doing it; that she heard the man say it was a good one, and that no harm would happen, and that lie would give Williams 10s. if she would do it.
GUILTY of uttering .— Judgment Respited.
The COMMON SERGEANT intimated that the prisoners should have an opportunity of giving information about themselves and the man.
MR. BANKES Prosecuted.
JAMES WALDUCK TARRY . I live at 388, High Road, Chiswick Green—about eleven p. m. on 21st November I went to bed, leaving my premises securely fastened—about three my wife woke me, and I went down in the dark, lit the gas over the door leading into the shop, and I could see that the door we had left closed was open—on going through I found a faint glimmer of light in the kitchen; it came from a bull's-eye lantern placed under a chair—on going out at the back door I found the window had been cut out of the warehouse, and the iron bar removed—I went outside and saw a man, and gave chase and caught him up, but I left go of him—the prisoner and another man came from my warehouse, from, behind me, and followed the first man—I recognised the prisoners he ran past me at a moderate rate—I have known him by sight for years living in the neighbourhood—my till was opened, and coppers had been extracted from it, amounting to about two shillings; I had not counted them the night before—a small packet of chocolate and about six cigars had been taken from a box in the kitchen cupboard—three old boots had been left behind—my neighbour went and found three policemen—on the following night I went to the station and recognised the prisoner at once, and said to him he might as well speak the truth as I knew him, and likewise the other two—afterwards I was taken and picked the prisoner out from six or seven others—I did not recognise anyone else as having been there that night—the prisoner lives three minutes' walk from me, at 5, Mill Road, Acton Grove.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I did not say to you, "l am going to have the first one I can find for it."
By the JURY. The prisoner was ten or twenty yards from my shop when I saw him on the night of the occurrence—he passed me in my yard; no one had any right in that yard—there is a gas lamp at the end of my yard.
WILLIAM TURNER (Police Sergeant T). On the night of 23rd November I arrested the prisoner from a description Mr. Tarry gave me—I charged him, and he made no reply—I was present when Mr. Tarry identified him—I asked him if he was sure he was the man—he said, "Yes; he had known him for years"—the prisoner made no reply—when told the charge by the officer on duty he made no reply—he was placed with eight others.
Cross-examined. I did not say I took you on suspicion; I told you the charge.
CHARLES GROVE (Sergeant T R). On 22nd November I went to the prisoner's house between 4. 30 and five a. m.—I found the door slightly ajar—no one else was up—I called out, "O'Brien," and received no answer—his house is one or two minutes' walk from the prosecutor's, just at the rear.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate; "I am not guilty. My father for the last five or six years has been up at 3. 30 a. m., as he has to work at Chelsea gas factory every morning."
The prisoner in his defence stated that lie had a bad leg, and could not have climbed the wall into the yard.
J. W. TARRY (Re-examined). My yard gate was undone.
GUILTY .—He then
PLEADED GUILTY* to a conviction of felony in March, 1891.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. GREENFIELD Prosecuted.
WALTER BISHOP PRIEST . I am a solicitor, of 50, Fenchurch Street—on Saturday, 2nd December, my overcoat was hanging in my office; my handkerchief was in the pocket—my clerks were out at lunch—the prisoner came in and asked me where Williams and Co. were—I told him I did not know, and he left—about ten minutes afterwards I missed my overcoat—no one else had been in the office—I went to the Police-station and told them the facts, and on Monday, December 4th, I was called to the station, where I Raw the prisoner and my handkerchief, which is marked with my name, and which I identified as mine—the prisoner was charged with stealing the coat—I have not seen it again.
ALEXANDER SUTHERLAND (747 City). The prisoner was given into my custody on the 4th—I found this handkerchief in his pocket—I sent for Mr. Priest, who came, and the prisoner was charged with stealing the overcoat—he said he picked the handkerchief up in the street.
The prisoner in his defence stated that he picked up two or three handkerchiefs at the bottom of the stairs.
He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony in April, 1888 , in the name of John McDermott.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
There was another indictment against the prisoner for stealing another overcoat.
MR. LAWLESS Prosecuted, and MR. STEVENSON Defended.
The prosecutor stating that he had some time previously given the prisoner authority to endorse cheques, and that he had never revoked that authority, the COMMON SERGEANT directed the JURY to acquit the prisoner.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. LAWLESS, for the prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Thursday, December 14th, 1893.
Before Mr. Justice Wills.
MR. McCALMONT HILL Prosecuted; MR. A. GILL Defended, at the request of the COURT.
WILLIAM GEORGE KERSHAW . I am a builder, of 55, Arundel Square—on Monday, November 13th, about a quarter to six, I was at home having my tea, when the street door bell was rung—the servant came in, and said the prisoner wanted to see me—I went into the area, and saw the prisoner standing in the footway—he had previously been in my employ—I said, "What do you want?"—he said, "I have come to look round"—I said, "I can do nothing for you; you left my employment voluntarily"—he said, "I am right down on the rocks, and have nowhere to sleep to night"—knowing that he was connected with the Roman Catholic Church, I referred him to Father Carey for assistance—he then said, "I will; here goes"—drawing his right hand from his overcoat pocket he produced a revolver, levelled it at me, and fired—I dodged in the doorway, and ran inside, and went to an upper window, and seeing nothing of the prisoner, I went to the station and gave information—I did not see him again till I saw him at the station—the bullet passed through the door exactly where I was standing, and penetrated the door about three feet six from the ground; it came on the slant, or it would have Struck me.
Cross-examined. The prisoner had been in my service about four months—he left of his own accord; he was not dismissed—he was a labourer; he did rough work, and sometimes a little rough carpentering—he made no complaint whatever against me; he had no ill-feeling against me as far as I knew—he was under my personal supervision the whole time—I frequently saw him and gave him instructions—I noticed something odd in his demeanour—he used to mutter to himself a lot—I spoke to him about it, and requested him to desist, because it annoyed me, and he said, "I suppose I must have the devil in me"—he came to ray house one morning when I was not very well to know what he was to do—I gave the servant a half-sovereign, and told her to give it to him to get some match boarding, and go to Windsor Road with it, and he went to the job without the match-boarding, and then went away, and next day he bought the match-boarding, took it to the job, and went away again, and did not show up to work till the Thursday morning—I then said to him, "You have got over your holiday?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "Have you got the change from the half-sovereign?"—he said, "Not till Saturday!—on the Saturday I asked him for it, and he stood out that he had not received it—the servant said, "You put it in your waistcoat pocket; feel if it is there"—it was there—I asked what he had bought the match boarding with—he said, "With the half-sovereign"—I said, "Whose half-sovereign?"—he said, "My own"—I said I could not believe that he had not had the half-sovereign, and I should deduct it from his wages—that incident passed off—his conduct was eccentric in that way—I did not treat this as an act of dishonesty; I always found him particularly honest—he said he forgot all about the half-sovereign—prior to this occurrence he had always been quiet and inoffensive.
Re-examined. He claimed to be able to do carpentering work, but he used to turn it out very roughly; he had much too high an opinion of his capabilities—he was seven feet from me when he fired.
November I saw the prisoner in Eden Grove—I told him I should arrest him for attempted murder—he said, "Is that so?"—I asked him if he had a revolver—he said, "Yes, in my coat pocket; it is loaded in six chambers"—a constable who was with me put his hand in his pocket and pulled it out—it was loaded in six chambers—I found in his pocket one cartridge discharged and a box containing thirty-three, it was constructed to hold fifty—I afterwards went to the prosecutor's premises—I discovered a hole through the glass panel of the area door, also a hole on the wall corresponding with the same height—I have a plan of the premises, which I made—I found this spent ball lying on the ground of the area.
Cross-examined. I asked the prisoner where he had been—he said "I have been walking about all night"—I arrested him at twenty minutes to six in the morning—he had one farthing on him—I saw nothing unusual in his manner—I have made inquiries about him—he is a native of Barbadoes, and has been in this country since January—he bears the character of a quiet, inoffensive man—he has been in the Church Army Home, and his conduct there is marked good—I met a man who had been to sea with him for fifteen months, and he said he was very inoffensive—I found he had been lodging for fifteen months with a Mrs. Green, of 64, Goodinge Road—I made inquiries of her—she said he was in the habit of walking about and talking to himself, and after he left she found he had turned the pictures with their faces to the wall and put indecent sketches on the frames at the back, and on two occasions he had burst into fits of passion without any apparent cause—she once heard him throw a chair across the room when he was alone—she said she had once given him notice to go, and he replied, "I shall not go; it is only faces bidding me go"—she allowed him to stop on till 12th November.
Re-examined. As far as I know, with that one exception, he had conducted himself like an ordinary man—his landlady said he was subject to violent lustful passion.
FELIX MCSWEENEY (Inspector X). I saw the prisoner when he was brought to the station—he was asked where he bought the revolver—he said he bought it at the Embankment or the Monument; he could not say exactly where, and he paid 9s. for it—he did not say why he bought it.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I cannot remember much about yesterday at all; I was not feeling well yesterday."
PHILIP FRANCIS GILBERT . The prisoner has been under my observation since he has been at Holloway—I have only seen him on ordinary occasions—I do not consider him insane, but in my opinion he is rather dazed and confused—I should not say he was irresponsible for his actions; he is of dull intellect—in other respects he certainly knows what he is about; I should hold him responsible.
Cross-examined. He has been in prison for a month, I believe—I should not call muttering to himself a symptom of insanity; it often goes with insanity, taken with other things—it is a fact known to medical science that a person is sometimes subject to homicidal influence without any apparent motive—a man might have his mind to some extent damaged a month ago, and yet not show a trace of it to-day.
By the COURT. A man, generally inoffensive, committing such an act as this without any apparent motive, would lead me to suspect insanity,
but I should require more personal examination before I would say he was insane—I had not made any special examination of the prisoner before coming into Court while the prosecutor was being examined—I have talked to him, and I have heard what the landlady is stated to have said, but I would not act upon it unless I had a personal communication—he told me he had bought the pistol three weeks ago. (The Inspector: "He told me he had bought it a fortnight ago")—he said he had it as a sort of personal ornament, not to protect himself; he suspected nobody of wishing to hurt him—I asked him if he had visions of any kind, he said, "No"—he does not speak freely, he is distinctly reticent, you have to get it out of him.
GUILTY on Second Count.— Ten Years' Penal Servitude.
MESSRS. BODKIN and GUY STEPHENSON Prosecuted.
FREDERICK BURNETT . I am a carpenter and joiner, and am lodging at 35, Rahere Street, St. Luke's—I know the prisoner—about the beginning of October I came from Portsmouth to look for work, and met him at a coffee tavern at Victoria Station, and we went about "together looking for work—I went to answer an advertisement, and he offered to show me about—I returned to Portsmouth that night—a little while afterwards I received a letter from the prisoner; the inspector has it—I came up to London in consequence, on Monday, 16th October, and met the prisoner at Lord Rowton's lodging-house in Lambeth, and we stayed there that night—as we were going to bed the prisoner said that several fires had happened there, and they ought to have secured the vagabond—next day, the 17th, we took a room at 35, Rahere Street, on the first floor, next to a room occupied by Mrs. Lloyd—there was a landing outside the two rooms, and a window, which looks out on to the roof of a wash-house—we slept there that night—next day I was out with the prisoner during the day; we got back between one and two in the morning; we went upstairs together—he said, "The beer has upset me, I must go down"—I fancy he slipped his boots on, but I would not swear; that was about twenty minutes past two—he was away five or ten minutes; then he took off his clothes and got into bed—a little while after I heard some cracking, and then I smelt paint burning—I got up and looked out of the window—the prisoner was snoring; I don't know whether he was pretending—I woke him up, and said, "Heath's place is on fire"—he slipped on his trousers and boots, and said, "Oh, my God!" or some such words, and went out of the landing window on to the roof of the wash-house—I did not see where he went then—I went downstairs, round in the passage, and saw him on the roof throwing water out of the window—the joiners' shop was on fire—Mr. Jones, the caretaker, was there with him, and some firemen—after a time the fire was put out, and I and the prisoner went back to our room—he said the caretaker was going to get him compensation—on the 20th I was with him; and on Saturday the 21st he said Mr. Heath gave him half-a-sovereign—on that Saturday I received a telegram, in consequence.
of which we went to 33, Kirby Street, Hatton Garden, and there saw Mr. Giddy, foreman to Messrs. Hankin, who do woodwork for builders; that was between three and four, it might be a little later—after being there a short time, the prisoner, Mr. Giddy, and I went to a public-house, About fifty yards off, and had some refreshment, and the prisoner had a; glass with us, and afterwards he said, "I must go outside"—I did not: see where he went—he returned in about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, and said to Giddy, "Well, boss, your show, "or" your box is on fire"—Giddy said, "Oh!" and took it as a joke—we finished what we were having in a minute or so, and came out, and there was a fire-engine outside No. 33—the prisoner went up before us to the fireman and took the hose, and the fire was put out—as we were going home the prisoner said, "Well, I should not leave my tools there; this is burning like matchwood"—he said he had put it out, and they were going to give him compensation, and he was going on Monday to see about it—on Thursday After, 26th October, he was out all the evening; we went to bed at nine—the prisoner came home about five minutes to two; I heard the key of the street door go, but he did not turn up to the room till twenty minutes past—he had his boots under his arm, as he generally had when he came home late—I said, "Here is a fine time to come home"—he said, "I have been to the club"—I said, "Have you been smoking?" for I smelt something like burning—he said "No, I have not"—I said, "Well, I can smell •something; look at your pockets, they must be on fire"—he took no notice, but got into bed—he used to smoke—a little while after he had got into bed, I heard Mrs. Lloyd calling out" Fire! Oh, my God, the stairs are on fire!"—with that the prisoner jumped out of bed and went downstairs and assisted in putting it out—I did not go down with him—after A little while he came back—Mrs. Lloyd said something to him—Mr. Morris, the landlord, said, "I believe you were going to burn us out"—the prisoner said, "What do you think of that!"—Mr. Morris ordered him out of the house, and he went—I saw him again at six that morning At the coffee-stall; he had a cup of coffee with me—I said to him," If you had been any man, you would have called a constable if you had been innocent"—he said, "Don't take any notice of a lot of old women"—I went away, and next saw him in custody.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You were in bed at the time Mr. Heath's fire occurred; I had a job to wake you—on the day Mr. Heath gave you compensation, I told you in the public-house that he wished to see you; and after the fire in Kirby Street I told you that the watchman said the governor wished to see you—the day I came from Portsmouth I said if I got work it would be for your benefit; I thought you were very kind—we went together to Richmond to see a friend.
THOMAS HEATH . I am a pewterer, of 530, Caledonian Road—I am the owner of Nos. 32, 34 and 35, Rahere Street—I first saw the prisoner on Thursday, the 19th, the morning of the fire—he was introduced to me by my caretaker, Mr. Jones, who said he had put out the tire with the prisoner's assistance; I told him to come on Saturday morning, and I gave him half-a-sovereign.
JAMES THOMAS JONES . I am caretaker at 33, Rahere Street, and live on the second floor, at the back of which is the shop on the first floor; it is Approached through the house, by a kind of ladder—on the night of 18th
October, I went round the premises about a quarter past nine, and everything was perfectly safe and the gas turned off—I was aroused a little after two by a knocking at the door—on looking out I saw that the shop was on fire; I went down and saw lire under the nearest window to the door—the prisoner came across the tiles of the wash-house of No. 34, and assisted in putting the fire out—he took the things from one to get to the water—he only had one pail, which I took—I broke four panes of glass; I believe the window was unbroken when I first got to it—it was quite shut and fastened inside—there was a clock in the shop, which had stopped at twelve minutes past two—the fire was put out, and I went back to my room—the fire was out when the fireman came—later on in the day I saw the prisoner; he said he would like to see Mr. Heath, and he should expect some compensation from him.
Cross-examined. I was on the scene first when you came to give assistance, and in the morning you came and asked me to speak to Mr. Heath about it.
JOHN WHEELER . I am manager to Mr. Heath—on 18th October I was in the joiners' shop—I left at a quarter or twenty minutes to nine—there is a window close to the door, which opens on to a flat roof—there was a pane of glass broken when I left that evening; it was the last pane of the lower sash—under that hole was a quantity of small pieces of mahogany and shavings—on the 19th the prisoner came to the shop and asked if Mr. Heath was in—I said, "No"—he said he had assisted the caretaker in putting out the fire, and he wanted something as a recompense—I said he had better call again; he called again next day, and he came again on the Saturday.
GEORGE GOLDEN (265 G). I was on duty in Rahere Street on the early morning of 19th October—about a quarter to two I went down the passage at the back of 32, called President Mews; everything was then correct—about three minutes past two I went down again, and saw a fire in the first floor workshop—I made an alarm and roused the inmates, and also gave the alarm to the fire-stations—on coming back with the fire* escape I saw the prisoner at the fire.
JOHN FORWOOD DANE . I am the engineer in charge of the fire-station at Whitecross Street—I had a call at 2. 8 on the morning of 19th October and went to 33, Rahere Street—after the fire was put out I examined the place—underneath the window I found a quantity of loose wood and shavings, very much damaged by fire, and the window frame was burnt out—that fire could have been caused by a light having been put through. a hole in a pane of that window—the distance over the roof from 33 to 35 would be about 15 feet.
WILLIAM GIDDY . I am foreman to Messrs. Hankin, at 33, Kirby Street, Hatton Garden—on Saturday, 21st October, the witness Burnett came to me between three and four with the prisoner; they came into the workshop—Burnett was seeking employment—I went on with my work, leaving them in the shop—they were there not quite half an hour—then we all three left the shop together, and went to the public-house at the corner, about 100 yards from the shop, and had something to drink—after we had been there a short time the prisoner left—he came back in about ten minutes—he made some remark about their having ran over an old woman, and then, looking round, he said, "There is a fire down the
street, and it is in your shop, boss"—I ridiculed the idea, and I think I said it was a good job, or some such remark—I took no notice of it—we stayed two or three minutes, and then we all three went out, and the prisoner rushed away towards the fire—I saw a commotion in the street, and when I got to my shop I saw a fire under the staircase—the stairs formed a cupboard at the bottom, enclosed with a door—the fire was under the rake of the stairs—I could not say how the door of the cupboard was, but I should say it would be open—I went into my own shop first, on the ground floor—the prisoner was actively engaged in putting the fire out—he asked where he could get compensation, having been the first to discover the fire—Mr. Staith is the owner of the premises—the prisoner came again to the shop twice; the first time on the Monday following, the 23rd, and he said he would go round to Mr. Staith to see if he could get some reward or compensation—he came again, and I ordered him out—at the time we were in the public-house the shop was locked; I had the key of the shop in my pocket—anyone could get up the staircase; it gives public access to all the floors—the front door is left open for the caretaker; the workshop is distinct from the staircase—when I went back I found the shop door locked as I left it.
WILLIAM EMERY . I live at 7, Annette Road, Holloway—I look after the buildings at 33, Rahere Street—I was there on Saturday, the 23rd—I looked over the premises about four o'clock; they were safe then—about twenty minutes past four I was there; I did not go up again, but everything was perfectly safe then—I went out with one of the men, and had a glass of beer; I was away about ten minutes—as I was going back to the premises at twenty minutes to five, it was all right—I went away again, and when I went back, somebody was calling out "Fire"—I found a fire under the rake of the staircase up to the first floor—after the fire was out I noticed that underneath the stair treads they were charred a bit—after the fire the prisoner came to me, and said he was the first one that discovered the fire, and asked where he could get recompense for it—I saw him again on the Monday, he came to see the governor to get some recompense—the cupboard was used to put books in, and for the water; it was never kept clean—there was not the slightest rubbish underneath. THOMAS CHARLES PERCH. I am foreman of the Fire Brigade, Farring-don Road—on Saturday, October 21st, I received a call at five o'clock, and went to 33, Kirby Street—when I got there the fire was extinguished—I saw the cupboard under the staircase—I should think there had been a little paper used; a simple match could not have caused it—there was very little debris, scarcely any dust or rubbish—three or four of the treads under the stairs were very much charred—I should think the fire had been burning at least a quarter of an hour—a light thrown down there might have caused it, but not a match by itself.
ELIZABETH LLOYD . I am the wife of James Lloyd, and live at 35, Rahere Street, in a room on the first floor—Mr. and Mrs. Morris are the occupiers, I am a tenant—the prisoner and Burnett occupied the next room to mine—on the night of 26th October I went to bed about ten—my husband was not at home then, he was late—about half-past one I heard someone moving about on the stairs, a kind of creeping up and down stairs, and then I heard the landing window open or shut, and I heard the cellar door scrape, the door of a cupboard under the staircase,.
where the fire was afterwards found—I got up and put on some things—I smelt a smell of burning, and I heard someone come upstairs again And go into the room which the prisoner occupied—I opened my door as the prisoner closed his—I went on the landing and saw smoke coming up—I called out, "Mrs. Morris, the house is on fire"—I went down to the landing window and opened it—the prisoner called out," Keep the window shut"—he was then in his room—I went back to my room, put the lamp on the table and called out to Mr. and Mrs. Garlic upstairs—I stayed upstairs; the policeman would net let me go down—after a little white the prisoner came up from below, after the tire was out—I said I did not know whether he had done it to get any money, or anything; we had nothing in the house—he said, "No, I should not like to lose what I have got"—I said, "You have only got what you stand in"—I told him I had been listening to the moving about on the stairs, and I heard the noise of the window going, and the cupboard—he said, "You don't suppose I did it, do you?"—Mr. and Mrs. Morris came upstairs and ordered him out of the place, and he went.
MARY ANN MORRIS . I am the wife of Henry Morris, of 35, Rahere Street—the prisoner came to lodge there with Burnett on 17th October—they occupied the first floor back—on the early morning of the 19th, at about ten minutes past two, the prisoner came downstairs and knocked at our door, and said, "Mistress, get up, the next door is on fire; I will go and call all the others in the house"—I said, "Quite right"—I saw him go out of the landing window, and go along the tiles in the direction of No. 33, Mr. Heath's—next morning I said to him," You were very clever; you got out of the window and went along the tiles like a monkey"—he. said, "I am used to that, I have been a sailor"—I said, "That accounts for it; you ought to get compensation from Mr. Heath"—he said, "The caretaker is going to try and get me something"—on the night of the 26th October I went to bed about eleven—my husband came home at a quarter past twelve—about two, or a quarter-past, I was aroused by Mrs. Lloyd calling," Mr. and Mrs. Morris, get up!"—I got up, and when I opened the back-parlour door I found the passage full of smoke, and the coal-cellar or cupboard under the stairs all ablaze—there was a basket of dirty clothes there—my husband went to get some water—the prisoner rushed downstairs and went straight to the cupboard under the stairs—he tried to open the door; I said, "You can't open the door, let me open it"—he said, "It is locked"—I said, "No, it is not, it is never locked"—I unlocked it with the key; the key is always in the padlock; it is an old padlock and always kept on the door—I pulled the door at the top, and the prisoner took the basket off the nail and threw it in the. yard—it was all in a blaze at the top, not at the bottom—the door was burnt and the paint was running out of the glass—the prisoner ran upstairs and I went after him—my husband wanted a light—I said, "I don't know where the matches are"—the prisoner came into the parlour, and said, "I have got some matches"—he had a box of matches in his hand, and he lighted my lamp—next morning I found three matches outside the cupboard door, nearly burnt out—they were the same kind of safety matches as those the prisoner offered the night before—my husband went and spoke to him And ordered him out of the house at once.
Cross-examined. I accused you because there was no one else there but
me—you were sloping about the house for twenty minutes before you went upstairs—I believed you set the place on fire, and I still believe so—you did not pay your rent; you told me you had a cheque in your pocket and would get it changed, and give me the money—you told me two different times that you had cheques—you only paid me a shilling.
HENRY MORRIS . I am a Post-office carman—I got home at a quarter past twelve on 17th October—a little after two I was aroused by an alarm of tire—I got up and went down to the cupboard where the fire was—the prisoner was there; he came down while I was getting the water—he took the basket, which was ablaze, out into the yard—I put the fire out—I afterwards went upstairs to the prisoner's room, and said, "I believe you set the house on fire, and no one else"—he said, "This is all right, ain't it?"—T said, "No, it's all wrong; you can't stay in this house another minute"—he picked up his coat, hat, and collar, and came downstairs, I behind him, and he went out—I don't know what became of him—I complained to the police the same morning.
CHARLES LEDGER (Re-called). I was spoken to by Mr. and Mrs. Morris about eleven on the morning of the 27th—next day, the 28th, I took the prisoner into custody for setting fire to 35, Rahere Street—he said, "They accuse me of it"—I took him to the station, and he was charged—he said, addressing Burnett, who was at the station at the time," He knows I was in bed when they called out 'Fire.' I was smoking a pipe when I went upstairs, which was at twenty minutes to two; there were other people there when I pulled the basket out."
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I went to Farringdon Road to a place of convenience when I left the public-house. As I came back I noticed some fire-engines; I at once met the witness Giddy and told him his place was a-light—I only wish to say that I did not come in till twenty minutes or a quarter to two. I had been to the Marylebone Music Hall, and did not leave till half-past twelve, and when I came home I wont straight up to bed—I know nothing about it."
The prisoner in his defence protested that lie knew nothing of the fires and that lie was only accused on suspicion.
GUILTY — Twelve Years' Penal Servitude.
NEW COURT.—Thursday, December 14th, 1893.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. ROBINSON Prosecuted.
SAMUEL AKERS . I am in the employ of Mr. Attwell, a butcher, of 284, Strand—4 know the prisoner as doing odd jobs for Mr. Penfold—on November 18th, about six p. m., he came and asked Mrs. Attwell if she could oblige Mr. Penfold, of the Spotted Dog, with change for this cheque for £5 3s. (Produced)—it is on the National Provincial Bank, Ryde, payable
to H. Penfold—she asked me to take it to the governor, who was having tea in the parlour—I did so and asked him if it was all right; he said, "Yes," and the mistress paid the prisoner the money—Mr. Attwell told me to follow him, and he joined another one—I identified him at Bow Street, on the Friday morning.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. The other was a thin man with a dark moustache, and a blue serge suit and a top coat; but I was on the other side of the road—I was taken to see Horace White, but could not identify him.
HENRY PENFOLD . I keep the Spotted Dog, Strand—the prisoner used to clean my windows; I do not know Louis Lonns—this cheque was not paid to me, nor has it my endorsement, nor did I send it to be changed, or have any money in respect of it—the prisoner never came again after the cheque was cashed.
FREDERICK BARDON (Policeman). I took the prisoner, and told him it was for uttering a cheque to Mr. Attwell, and obtaining £5 3s.—he said, "You have made a mistake; I know nothing about it"—Akers identified him next morning; he made no reply, but at the Police-court he called me, and said, "I will tell you the truth about this. I put this cheque down; it was given to me by a man you know and I know well; I was half drunk at the time. I got the money, and gave it to him; we had a drink and parted. I did not know the cheque was wrong. I did not forge it, because I cannot write."
ERNEST HENRY SYMES . I am a clerk at the Ryde Branch of the National Provincial Bank of England—I know no customer named Louis Lonns—this cheque was issued in a book of 24 to the Rev. Richard Osgood on October 2nd
The prisoner produced a written defence, stating that the cheque was given to him to cash by a man named Smith, who said lie did business for Mr. Penfold, saying, "The butcher will do it for you; "that he took it there, got the money, and gave it to Smith in the Strand; that he lived next door to Mr. Attwell, and would not have taken it there if lie had known that it was forged; and that if Smith had not stopped him before he got to the Spotted Dog, fie should have gone in there.
GUILTY .—He then
PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at Clerkenwell on 3rd September, 1883.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, December 14th, 1893.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. TRAVERS HUMPHREYS Prosecuted.
the business—two lady customers were in the private bar, and several persons were in the public bar—the prisoner, whom I had known as a customer for about two months, was in the public bar—we have a urinal for customers in the basement; it is not a properly constructed one—in order to get to it it is necessary to go down some steps leading from the private bar—the urinal is next to the beer cellar, and is lighted by a gas jet over the cellar door—the gas pipe goes inside the beer cellar, which is kept locked—when I went down to the urinal about half-past eleven, to relieve myself, the gas was burning, and all was right—I returned by the stairs again and re-entered the private bar, and then passed by the stairs into the room marked "A" at the back of the house; it is a room in which people can sit down—we use it in the evening for customers; it is a kind of club-room—when I left the cellar at 11. 30 no one was there—when I got into the private bar no one was there but the two women—at that moment I saw the prisoner go from the public bar and enter the private bar from the street, and go down the cellar steps—I remained in room "A" for four or five minutes, and then I returned to the private bar, behind which my wife was—I stood in front of it—some half-dozen men were in room" A" when I went in, sitting talking and smoking, and I left them there—you have to go to room "A" from the private bar, and there is no way of getting out of room "A" except by passing through the private bar, and out into the street that way.
JOHN GROSS (403 B) (Interposed). I prepared this plan and model, which are correct, and to scale—there is no means of getting into the private bar except by going into the street—there is no way of getting to room "A" except by going through the private bar, unless the street door were open—there is a gas bracket over the cellar door; there is a place to turn off the gas from outside the cellar, and another place to turn it off in the beer cellar—the damage had been repaired when I saw it—there is no entry to the cellar except from the steps leading from the private bar, and the iron grating in the pavement outside where the beer goes down—that grating is secured by a chain.
EDWIN DOLDEN (Continued). When I came back to the private bar from room "A" my wife said she smelt fire—I smelt fire then—it was then seven or eight minutes from the time I had seen the prisoner go down the cellar stairs—I had been in room "A" in the interval, going round and picking up pots and glasses—when I smelt fire I went behind the bar and through into the parlour, and I smelt the fire much stronger then—I went upstairs to see if I could trace it—three of my children and my servant were asleep upstairs in two different rooms—I found it all right up there, and came down, and began to smell it stronger still—I came out into the private bar, where the same two women were, and I went downstairs into the cellar—I saw the gas bracket that projected over the door was turned off; the tap was turned off; that is where the light usually is, and where I saw it myself a few minutes before—I lighted it myself earlier in the evening—it is fastened against the woodwork—the gas-pipe was cut outside the cellar door, and the whole beam over the cellar door was blazing—this (produced) is the gas jet; it was fastened to a beam, and two or three inches of pipe intervened before the pipe passed into the cellar between the beam and the door—the old beam was alight—I opened the cellar door and turned off the gas by another stop-cock inside—I did not
examine the pipe that night—the fire went down and died away in four or five minutes—I did not use any water—I went upstairs into the bar parlour—the prisoner was then in the public bar—I had no other conversation with him that night—I formed no opinion as to the cause of the fire—I did not suspect anything then—next morning I employed Houghton, a plumber, and in consequence of what he said I went and examined the pipe, and found it had been cut with a knife or sharp instrument, as it now appears—I then sent for the police—I never had any conversation with the police about it—the pipe is very low; you can turn the gas on or oft' with your hand without getting on anything, and a man could cut the pipe in the same way; it is a very low door.
Cross-examined. I saw you the same night at 12. 15, coming out of the private bar and going down to the basement again, and I said, "It is no good going downstairs, as the gas is out"—no one else was going down—I did not say anything about the fire to you; I did not think you would do such a thing as that—you had not left the house—you did not say, when I said the gas was out, "What is up?"—I did not say there had been a leakage in the gas—I did mention at the Police-court," The prisoner said, 'What is up? I think there is a leakage in the gas'"—that is true—I thought at the time there was a leakage in the gas; I did not trouble any more about it so long as the fire was out—the tap that I found turned off was outside the cellar underneath the pipe, which was cut on the left-hand side—I did not see you go down to the urinal again after I said you could not go.
EMILY JANE DOLDEN . I am the wife of the last witness—I was serving in the bar on 3rd November, about 11. 30 p. m.—I saw my husband go downstairs and come back again, and five or six minutes after the prisoner went down; he was the next that went down after my husband.
EMILY JANE DOLDEN (Re-examined). The prisoner was downstairs about seven minutes; I saw him come up—he went into the public bar—I smelt a smell of burning three or four minutes after he came up—my husband was then in room "A"—he came into the bar, and I spoke to him, and he went into the cellar—I was in the bar the whole time, from the first time my husband went into the cellar to the time the prisoner went down; I never left it.
Cross-examined. You were downstairs six or seven minutes—I was standing talking to two friends—many customers go down the steps and come up again—I noticed you were longer than usual downstairs—I was serving in the private bar the whole time, and in the public bar too; but I was in the private bar when you went down and came up—I was not drawing beer in the public bar when you came up; I was talking to a lady I noticed you because you went down so many times during that evening—a great many others went down that might; you were the last who went down.
Re-examined. There were twenty or thirty people there—there were only two ladies in the private bar; one of them was Elizabeth Rowley, to whom I was talking when the prisoner came up.
gave is correct—it was as I came out of the cellar, before I went into room "A," that I saw the prisoner go down, and then I went to room "A." ELIZABETH ROWLEY. I live with my husband, William Rowley, at 90, Walton Green, Chelsea—I was in the Rising Sun beerhouse on 3rd November, about 11. 30 p. m., in the private bar—I saw Mr. Dolden go down stairs and come up again; two or three minutes after he came up the prisoner, whom I know by sight, went down—he was the next person to go down after Mr. Dolden—the prisoner was down there longer than usual, three or four minutes—I had seen him go down into the cellar several times before on that evening—I had been in the private bar from just after nine o'clock until the house closed—two or three minutes after he came up I smelt a smell of fire—from the time he came up till I smelt fire no other person had gone down.
Cross-examined. I noticed you going down, because you did not go out the usual way you always did—you turned your face towards everybody, to see if anybody in the bar was looking at you; that was when you came up the last time—I noticed you particularly that evening, because you went down there more than usual.
BENJAMIN HOUGHTON . I am a plumber and gasfitter, living at 21, Sloane Terrace, Chelsea—on Saturday, 4th November, I went, by the landlord's direction, to look at and repair the gas in the cellar of the Rising Sun—the gas-tap over the cellar door was turned off—this piece-of pipe was fixed to the woodwork—I cut it off—there was a stop-cock in front and one behind it—it is in the same condition now as when I saw it—this cut in the pipe has been made by a sharp instrument or knife being stuck in the top and brought down—it is a leaden or composition pipe—there are also scratches on the brass-work—assuming the tap to be turned off, and this cut to be made, the gas would escape from this hole, and if it were lighted and burnt for four or five minutes I should expect to find the lead fused—I do find indications of fusing; the solder has just begun to run—the pipe was cut by a knife or other sharp instrument; a light has been put to it; I say this because the solder has begun to run—if it had been left for some time longer the union would have dropped off, and there would have been a flare right out of the pipe—it may have been burning four or five minutes—I was in the public bar of the Rising Sun on the 2nd November; the prisoner lighted the fire in the grate; the landlord was angry, and came round and raked it out, and threw water over it, and told the men in the bar if he knew who it was he would not serve them again—he did not see who it was—then the fire burnt up again, and the landlord was angry again, and came and put it out—he did not say anything to the prisoner or anyone, but walked straight back again—I heard the prisoner say after the landlord had put the fire out the second time, "I would burn the house down for two pins"—I was in the house on the Friday evening, but I left at ten—there was a little space between the door and the gas-pipe, and a knife could have been easily put under and the pipe cut—you can stand upright in the cellar, and you can easily reach to the place where the cut was—if this place had been cut earlier in the evening it would have affected the light in the front, and the fire would have been worse—it was cut in the evening—if it had been cut before and not lighted there must have been an explosion.
THOMAS MANLEY (Sergeant B). At half-past eight on 6th November I arrested the prisoner in the Rising sun—I called him outside, and told him I van a police-officer, and told take him into custody for willfully and maliciously setting fire to this house (pointing to the Rising Bun) on the night of Friday, 3rd inst.—he said, "What! I know nothing about it"—I took him to the Gerald Road Police-station—he made no further reply to the charge there.
The prisoner, in his defence, denied any knowledge of the matter.
EDWIN DOLIDEN (Re-examined). You can go into the cellar without going into the private bar; these stairs are at the side of the private bar—this door is always open—no one went down after me—you can see from the private bar right down the passage; people cannot get down the stairs without we see them from the private bar.
NOT GUILTY .
131. JAMES FLOOD (25) , to that he, being a director of the Connemara Steam Shipping Company, did take and apply to his own use certain of the funds of the said company; and to obtaining money from George Coutts and William Napier Adshead by false pretences, with intent to defraud.— [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] Judgment respited.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. MURPHY Prosecuted.'
JOSEPH KINGSBURY . I am a licensed victualler, of Lidford, Farringdon—on November 14th I was going home about 1. 15, and two men came up and hit me on the back of my head, and knocked me down—the prisoner was one of them, I am certain; he put his hands on my throat—I called 41 Police!" three times—they took from me 5s. 6d. and a latch-key, and ran away.
Cross-examined. You hit me on the hack of my neck, and then pulled me backwards—I had had about three glasses of ale during the evening.
WILLIAM HUGHES (96 F). I was on duty in Porter's Road, and heard shouts of "Police!" and saw the prisoner and a man not in custody running towards me—I caught hold of the prisoner, and said, "What is the matter?"—he said, "I am trying to stop that man"—he ran away; I ran after him, took him, and said, "You will have to come back"—I saw I the prosecutor walking towards me—he said, "That is the man who robbed me"—I took him to the station, and found 4d. on him—the prosecutor was not drunk, but he was greatly excited; he knew what he was doing.
Cross-examined. There was no man in front of you—he was by your side—you were running together—you were not calling "Stop thief!"—I never saw you near the prosecutor—you did not say, "Why did not you stop the other man?"
Re-examined. Porter's Road turns out of the Harrow Road, and I
saw the prosecutor in the Harrow Road—the prisoner must have gone round a corner to where I was—no other man was in sight except the one running.
Prisoner's defence. I was going home, and saw two men running, and heard a cry of "Stop thief!" They separated, and I attempted to stop them; the man in front turned back, and in my eagerness to catch him I ran right up to the constable, and he took me. The prosecutor was drunk, and said I was not the man; but afterwards said I was. If I had taken his money I should have had more than fourpence on me.
He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at Marylebone on December 17th, 1892, in the name of William Hilton.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant
135. HENRY PASH (48), and WILLIAM ELLICOTT (40) , stealing a box and other articles, the property of Augustus White, and two pictures, the property of Edward Reeve, in the dwelling-house of Edward Reeve. Second Count, receiving, the same.
MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted, and MR. BURNIE Defended Pash.
ELIZA REEVE . I am the wife of Edward Reeve, a master mariner—my husband rents 116, St. Stephen's Road, East Ham, and I occupy the top half of that house, and let the lower half—both prisoners are my cousins—previous to 23rd November I had not seen Pash for some six years—about nine or ten months ago I left my address with a friend of Pash's to give him, that he might call at any tame he should be coming to oar part—Pash is a cab-driver—at 9.40 p.m. on 23rd November there was a knock at the door; I went downstairs, and saw Pash at the front door—there was a little man, I thought, also standing there, but I did not take any notice of him—Pash asked if Mr. Reeve was at home—I said "No"—he said, "Don't you know met"—I said "No"—he said, "I am Harry—Harry was the name I knew him by—I said, "I am pleased to see you; come in; I live upstairs "—I saw a hansom cab at the door; I don't think I saw anyone on the box—I went upstairs, and Pash came up in a few seconds or so—Mr. Welstead, a friend of my husband, was there, and he was on the eve Of going, and I introduced him, and said, "This is my cousin, Mr. Welstead"—Welstead left in a few minutes—the prisoner said something about putting the nosebag on, and went down, as I thought, to do so—he came back and sat there a few minutes, and I said, "Will you have a little whisky and water, Harry?"—he said, "I don't mind, but, if you like, I will take a drop downstairs to the man in charge"—he took some whisky and water downstairs to someone at the door—he came back—I heard a voice in the passage, but I thought it was a man belonging to the house—I said, "Have you shut the door, Harry?"—he said, "Yes"—he said something about a fare to Stratford, and that he thought he would come D
and see me—he said he must see about going, or something about a horse or changing a horse—I followed him to the door, and I said, "Your cab is gone, horse and all," and he said, "Oh, they have been walking him up and down to warm him"; it was a bright night, but very cold—he said, "It is only higher up, good-night"—I said, "Good-night; I shall be pleased to see you at any time, "and I shut the door and went upstairs—in a few seconds the constable called and spoke to me—I did not miss anything then, but when Mr. White came home about 10. 40 I told him of the affair, and he went and looked, and I discovered two pictures gone from the passage, nothing else—I had last seen the pictures in the evening—the only persons in the house at the time were the prisoner, myself, and a little girl in bed—I had last seen Ellicott seven months ago, when I passed him in the street, and he said it was a nice day—he has been many times to my house—he helped me to move my furniture in.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. I was not living in the same house when I saw the prisoner before this; I moved into this house six years ago last March—the prisoner had never been to my house at Upton Park before—my husband left my address in February last for him at a cabstand—I moved upstairs about four years ago—the prisoner had no means of knowing whether I lived upstairs or downstairs when he called—he was not gone above two minutes when he went to put the nosebag on; I did not see the time—when he took the whisky and water downstairs he was not gone longer than was necessary to take it and come back; he was away about a minute—he stopped about forty minutes altogether, as near as I could tell—he came about 9. 40 and left about 10. 20—he did not stop much longer after taking the whisky and water—he went down to put the nosebag on soon after Mr. Welstead left—I cannot say if he stopped twenty minutes after taking the whisky and water down—I did not miss my pictures from the hall when I went to see him out, nor when the policeman came; I never looked—there was a lamp in the hall—the policeman said, "Do you miss anything?" and I said "No"—I did not miss my pictures till nearly eleven o'clock.
Cross-examined by Ellicott. I did not see you there.
FANNY HARNDEN . I live at 105, St. Stephen's Road, East Ham, opposite 116, and am the wife of Sidney Thomas Harnden, a cigar merchant—about ten p. m. on 23rd November, or just after, my husband made a communication to me, in consequence of which I went into my front room downstairs, and looked through the window—there was no light in the room—when I looked across at Mrs. Reeve's house I saw two men coming in and out several times, bringing things out and placing them in a hansom cab—I saw a picture taken from a nail on the wall, and put into the cab—one of the men brought out a glass of something, which the other man drank—the one man was engaged in taking the things out before and after the man came out with the glass—I saw both men go in and out two or three times, and they both took parcels to the cab—I went for a constable, and when I came back the cab had gone—it was a very bright moonlight night, and there is a lamp at the corner of my turning—my house is next but one to the corner—there was no nosebag on the horse—I cannot identify anyone.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. I had a good view of the men; I saw them bringing things out, but I could not recognise their faces—I had a
good look at them—it was going on for about ten or fifteen minutes—the cab went away, I daresay, about 10. 15—when I went for the constable it was still at the door—I was not gone for the constable more than three or four minutes, and when I came back the cab was gone.
WILLIAM WELSTEAD . I am a nurseryman, living at 41, Lansdown Road, Clapham—on 23rd November I was at Mrs. Reeve's house—there was a knock at the door about twenty minutes to ten; she went and answered it, and came up with Pash, and introduced me to him, saying he was her cousin—he said he had just had a fare down to Stratford, and thought he would come and see her, as he was in the neighbourhood—they talked about family affairs—I left—I found the front door open—I saw Ellicott standing just by the gate-post inside—I did not know him before—I saw a hansom cab outside by the kerb—the nosebag was hanging behind, covering the number of the cab—I afterwards went to a publichouse in East Ham, and I there identified Ellicott from among four others—I had spoken to him at the door, and I heard his voice at the public-house, and recognised him by that and by his side face—I could not swear to his full face because the moon was directly behind his head—I went to the public-house to see if I could see anyone—I suggested going to Mr. White—at the public-house I saw Ellicott—I did not speak to him; I went and gave information.
HENRY AUGUSTUS WHITE . I am a clerk, occupying the lower part of 116, St. Stephen's Road—I left home about 9. 30 p. m. on 23rd November, leaving the things quite safe in my rooms, and no one there—when I returned, about 10. 40, a communication was made to me, and I went upstairs and missed a box containing five brooches, my wife's jacket and chain, and brilliants and other articles, of the value, altogether, of £15.
ELIZABETH BURTON DURAND . I am a widow, living at 105, St. Stephen's Road, opposite to Mrs. Reeve—on the evening of 23rd November a communication was made to me by Mrs. Harnden, and I looked out of my window upstairs and I saw two or three men loitering in front of my window on the opposite side of the way—I afterwards saw a cab drive slowly down the street and stop at 116—I saw two men carrying out parcels rather hastily—after a short time the horse became very restive, and they drew it about four houses lower down and turned round—it was between the lights, and I was not continuously at the window—afterwards I saw some more parcels, and some pictures taken down off the wall and put in the cab, still by two men—then a man got down, apparently for refreshment, but whether refreshment was brought down or whether he went in for it I cannot say—I suppose he got down for that purpose—I did not see him eating or drinking anything—the cab then went slowly up towards the top of St. Stephen's Road.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. There were two men taking out parcels—I was noticing them for some little time, off and on; I was moving about the room—I saw the two men more than once.
ALICE ATWELL . I am the wife of William Atwell, a paper maker, living at 101, St. Stephen's Road—from six minutes to ten to 10. 15 p. m. on 23rd November, I was outside my house, which is opposite Mrs. Reeve's—I saw a hansom cab at Mrs. Reeve's door, and I saw two men bringing some things out of Mrs. Reeve's house—I saw a third man standing at the gate—I saw no communication pass between the two men and the third
man—he was looking on, at the railings of the next house, a yard or two off—I don't identify anybody.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. I watched them for about twenty minutes—the two men were bringing parcels out during that time.' ERNEST BAXTER (Detective K). On 25th November I saw Pash detained at Carter Street Police-station, Walworth—I said, "Do you understand what you are brought here for?"—he said, "Sergeant Chick brought me here for being concerned with some men at Forest Gate. I went to see my cousin at St. Stephen's Road, and when I got to Upton Park I saw a fellow who I asked to drive me to St. Stephen's Road. I paid him two shillings. I afterwards went to Romford Road, and to the car. It was a little short old fellow I hired a cab of"—it is a matter of three minutes' drive from Upton Park Station to 116, St. Stephen's Road, or five minutes' walk—it was a fine moonlight night—there are no cabs at Upton Park Station—unless you ordered one you would not find one waiting outside the station.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. I daresay there are one or two cabs about there during the hour—cabs pass there—Pash had not been charged by another officer—he was told, at the station, what he was taken for—I knew he had been detained; I did not know what had been said to him—I asked him if he knew what he was detained for, because I thought he ought to know; he could have answered" Yes "or "No"—I took this note of what he said.
HARRY TARN (Sergeant K). About 10. 30, on 7 th November, I went to the Green Man Public-house, where Welstead pointed out Ellicott—I called him outside, and said, "lama police-officer, and shall arrest you for being concerned with others in stealing from 116, St. Stephen's Road, several article of clothing and jewellery on the night of 23rd November, belonging to Mrs. Reeve and Mr. White"—he said/" 116, St. Stephen's. Road? I don't know where it is"—I conveyed him to the station—when the charge was read to him he said, "I am innocent"—I saw Pash detained at Carter Street, and I told him I should convey him to Forest Gate, and I told him the charge—he said, "I know nothing at all about the robbery; I never took a single article from the house"—he made no answer when charged at the station.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. I saw him before Baxter saw him—it was my duty to convey him to Forest Gate Station, with Baxter's assistance—I was not there when Baxter spoke to him—I had seen him previously, and had gone to search the house.
Cross-examined by Ellicott. I charged you with taking the property from No. 116, and you said, "116, St. Stephen's Road? I don't know where it is"—I made a note, which I have not now got—the numbers of the road were altered about two years ago—I took you to mean that you did not know the number—the public-house is at the end of the road, a few minutes' walk.
By the COURT. From the time he came to the time he finally went away, he might have been absent from me two or three minutes altogether.
By the JURY. I asked him if he had ever seen Ellicott, and he said, "No," he did not know him—I said, "Yes, you must know William," and he said, "Yes;" he had not seen him for some time, for years—when I saw him off there was no cab there that I could see; he walked away.
Ellicott, in his defence, stated that he and Posh had not seen each other for sixteen years until their arrest, and that he knew nothing about the matter.
A witness deposed to Ellicott's good character.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Justice Wills.
136. FREDERICK HINTON (18), and ALBERT RANSOM (17), PLEADED GUILTY to two burglaries—one in the dwelling-house of Charles Lee, and stealing a clock and other articles, and one in the dwelling-house of William Samuel Cromach, and stealing a pair of trousers and other articles.
Other convictions were proved against Hinton. HINTON— Five Years' Penal Servitude. RANSOM— Six Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
137. KNUD FREDERICK KNUDSEN (38), and OSCAR ARDELSTEEN KNUDSEN (32) ; Unlawfully obtaining timber from John Westman, by false pretences, with intent to defraud. Other Counts, for obtaining credit from the same person by false pretences, and for conspiracy.
MR. GRAIN, for the prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
138. ALEXANDER HENRY ATKINSON (47), PLEADED GUILTY to indecently assaulting Thomas Sherwin, and to a common assault upon the same person. The prisoner received an excellent character.— Four Months' Hard Labour.
139. CHARLES WINKWORTH, GEORGE HAINS, GEORGE TRUMPER, WILLIAM KNIBBS, ALBERT HESSEY, ARTHUR ADAMS , and ERNEST WELLBELOVE, Maliciously and feloniously setting fire to certain furze and heath growing on Englefield Green.
MR. G. K. T. PURCELL Prosecuted.
RICHARD EDWARD WOOTTON (39, Surrey Constabulary). At nine p. m. on August 30th, I was on duty at Egham Hill, and in consequence of seeing a light proceeding from a fire, I went to Englefield Green and saw the furze and heath on fire—there was a great fire there—I saw all the prisoners (except Wellbelove, who joined them afterwards) taking the burning furze and setting fire to other furze—I knew the prisoners before
—when they saw me they shifted away to different parts and then came back again and set fire to other parts while I was there—I have not the slightest doubt all the prisoners, except Wellbelove, are the boys I saw doing this—Wellbelove was not there at a quarter past nine—I did not see him.
Cross-examined by Hessey. You were taking part in it.
By the COURT. There were fifty people there, I daresay, in different parts, youngsters, and people who were trying to beat it out—I saw it alight at nine o'clock, and I was half-a-mile away then.
WILLIAM HART . I am a butler in the employment of Mr. Raphael, of Castle Hill, Englefield Green—on the night of this fire I went outside the house about eleven p. m.—I saw the fire, and I saw a lot of boys there, about twenty or thirty, I suppose—I saw Wellbelove standing there with the rest of them, just kicking the fire about—I did not see him setting fire to anything—he gave the names of the others after I handed him over.
The JURY intimated that It was waste of time to proceed further with the case, as there was no evidence of how the fire originated.
NOT GUILTY .
141. ALFRED JAMES (29) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to unlawfully obtaining a cask of brandy by false pretences; also to two other indictments for forging and uttering orders for the delivery of goods.— Six Months' Hard Labour. And
Before Mr. Recorder.
143. JOHN BAXTER and THOMAS BELL PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling-house of George Robert Weston, the elder, and stealing a coat and other articles and 6d., after convictions at this Court, BAXTER** in April, 1893, and BELLin July, 1893. There was another indictment against BELL. BAXTER— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. BELL— Ten Months' Hard Labour.
O'RILEY PLEADED GUILTY.
MR. WILSON Prosecuted. MR. WARBURTON Defended Nesbit.
GEORGE RICHARDS . I am a private in the Scots Guards—I remember November 13th—on the night of that day I was by the railway bridge at Epsom; I do not know the name of the street—I was not alone, I was with the prisoners—I saw them break a grocer's shop-window with their feet and a cane, and take a box of raisins, and I do not know whether it was a jar of jam or a jar of pickles—I followed them up the road, and kept them in sight for some time, and a policeman spoke to me.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. Three prisoners appear by the newspapers to have been charged at the Police-court, but I was not charged with the prisoners, I was charged with being a deserter—I had had some beer, but I was not drunk—we had not had much beer, we had
whisky, three or four drops—I had not pawned some clothes to get drink; I sold my guernsey to get some drink—it was not the property of Her Majesty the Queen—we were all three in uniform at the time—I will pledge my oath exactly to these details—the prisoners both went to the window together—they were not both very drunk—the prisoner Nesbit has been enlisted since August 1st—Caterham is a depot for the Guards when they first enlist, to go through their training—Nesbit has always borne a very good character till that night.
Re-examined. It was not the first time I had taken beer and whisky, and I am pretty used to it—I saw what I say I saw.
WALTER SIDE (Police Sergeant 4 Y). I am stationed at Epsom—on the night of the 13th or the morning of the 14th November, I was in High Street, Epsom, and saw that the prosecutor's shop had been broken into—from what Richards told me I went in search of the two prisoners and found them in Kingston Lane, a very short distance from the prosecutor's shop—I told them they would be charged with breaking and entering the prosecutor's shop—they both said "Where is that?"—I took them back, and called the prosecutor up—he. examined his window and missed a box of raisins—he accompanied me to the station and charged the prisoners—they were sober, but they had evidently been drinking—I could see that they had their wits about them.
JOSEPH HENRY WYETH . I am a grocer, of East Street, Epsom—on the morning of November 14th, about 1. 30, I was called by the last witness, and found that the window had been broken in, and a box of raisins taken out of the window—I have seen the box since—this is it (Produced).
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. That was not all I missed—I also lost a bottle of French plums and a tin of biscuits—I have not seen the bottle of French plums since.
EDWARD COOK (Policeman 222 Y). On November 14th I found a box of raisins in a field by the side of the Ewell Road, which is about a quarter of a mile from the prosecutor's shop—you would not pass there going from East Street to Kennington Lane, but it was not far from East Street.
The Sergeant of the Brigade gave both the prisoners a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
The RECORDER considered that it would be desirable to prevent the stigma of having pleaded guilty to burglary to attach to O'Riley, and informed him that he could withdraw his plea of guilty and plead not guilty. O'Riley stated that he wished to do so, upon which he was given in charge to the JURY upon the same indictment, and MR. WILSON offered no evidence against him.
NOT GUILTY .
145. SAMUEL KING (35), and GEORGE BLOOMFIELD (29) , Unlawfully, with another man unknown, being armed with sticks and guns, entering land called Beacham Copse, in the occupation of Cosmo Bonsor, for the purpose of taking and destroying game and rabbits by night. Second Count, for assaulting and beating Darrell Turner, a. gamekeeper, who was authorised to apprehend them.
MR. BIRON Prosecuted, and MR. LEVER Defended.
DARRELL TURNER . I am a gamekeeper to Mr. Cosmo Bonsor, at Kingston Warren—early in the morning on November 26th I was watching in Beacham Copse with George Blunden—we had begun watching about 9. 20 p. m., and about 1. 12 on the Sunday morning I heard a shot—we went to where the gun was fired and saw three men—that was about seven or eight minutes, or it might be ten minutes, after I heard the shot fired—(at the time I heard the shot fired I saw a cock pheasant fall, which had been roosting on a tree)—two of the men had guns—those were the two prisoners—Bloomfield had a gun; I cannot say whether King had anything in his hand—I ran towards them, and King turned round and said, "Let us go for them," and struck me on my face with his fist—he was about a yard from me—I fell to the ground with him; I was underneath, and he struck me several times with his fist—the other men were standing close, and Bloomfield, who was close by, struck me with a gun-barrel—I could see his face—they all ran away—Card, a policeman, came up—Blunden got up—I searched the ground round there and found a cap, two sticks, and a cock pheasant.
By the COURT. Before Bloomfield struck me with the gun-barrel, King said, "Give it to the b"—that was while he was down on the ground with me.
By MR. BIRON. These are the sticks and the cap (produced), and the pheasant is here—King was wearing the cap, but I cannot say whether it was off or on when he was on the ground with me—this was on the 26th, and on Tuesday morning, the 28th, I went to the Police-station at Reigate, and was shown seven men, and picked out King from among them—I also picked out Bloomfield, but said that I could not identify him; I was not sure.
By the COURT. The cock pheasant was under the tree which I saw it fall from—this was an open space—we were struggling three or four minutes—I could see their faces distinctly—there was moonlight, but it was rather overcast—I got a severe wound on the top of my head; it had to be sewn up—I was in the surgeon's hands some time.
Cross-examined. I do not know whether there was any blood on the ground, but I bled so freely that I had to hold my handkerchief to my head to staunch the blood—the night was cloudy, and there was a drizzle on—a man named Grabbett was there; he came up into the wood with us, and was coming up after us, but I got there first, unfortunately for myself—I was about twenty-five yards from the open space when I heard the shot—Grabbett and I started to do the twenty-five yards together, but he does not come here as a witness—I had never seen the men before that night, so that I did not know them—it was a short and sharp encounter, but it did not last very long—I should say that this is a fashionable cap for poachers; it has got a peak in front which can be pulled over the face, and would serve him to conceal his identity—I do not object to putting it on (Doing so)—there are one or two trees in the open space, but they did not cast a shadow—there was a thick undergrowth and bracken bushes and furze—I know a gipsy named Uphold—I did not go the next morning to arrest him; he was brought to my house by a constable—
under arrest—I had given a description of the person to the police—I said he was a short man, and had a cap on similar to this, and a short brown coat—I did not say anything else—the constable asked me if he had any whiskers, and I said, "Yes"—he asked me if I could identify the man if I saw him, and I said, "Yes"—when I saw Uphold, the gipsy, I was asked if that was the man, and I said, "No, I don't believe it is"—I said at first that I was not quite sure, but when I looked at him I was quite sure—I tried by putting my arm round his neck to see if he felt like him—when the constable expressed surprise I did not say, "Well, they did not rive me much chance to see them"—Inspector Marks was with us—he said, "Do you think you should know the man "but I did not say," He never gave me a chance to know him"—King has been a gamekeeper—I do not know that he has been in three situations as a gamekeeper until recently—it is the fact that frequently gamekeepers' pockets have dry blood and feathers in them—I was hit chiefly about my face while, the struggle took place; I did my best to defend myself, and King, as I say, was on the top of me—the light would not be on his face then—I am not sure about Bloomfield, as I was engaged struggling with King—I was actually engaged in the struggle when I got the whack on top of my head.
Re-examined. Grabbett went behind when I went forward; he did not assist me, though he is one of our men.
GEORGE BLUNDEN . I am a woodsman, and live at Kingswood—I am sometimes employed as watchman, to Mr. Cosmo Bonsor—on November 21st I was with the last witness watching in the copse—I heard a shot, Turner went in the direction of it, and I went with him, and saw three men—£ saw one of them hit Turner, and I afterwards saw Turner and the man who had hit him on the ground—I went up, and got hit across, my head by Bloomfield with his gun; I fell to the ground, but got up again, and met Police-constable Card—a cock pheasant was found, and two sticks and a cap—I saw Bloomfield's face, but I never saw the face of the man who was struggling with Turner—on the Tuesday following, the 28th, I went to Reigate Station and saw a number of men, and out of them I picked out Bloomfield as the man who had hit me with the gun—I saw his face—I have no reason to doubt that Bloomfield is the man.
Cross-examined. There are a good many oaks there, but not larches—there were not a lot of leaves on the oaks then—there were some leaves on the trees—the soil is of a clayey nature just where the struggle took place—there is a little grass on it, not much; there is short grass all over it—this struggle created some excitement in the neighbourhood—I do not know whether people went to look at the place, but it was not railed off to prevent them from coming—all this occurred very quickly—one or two blows were struck, and they disappeared—it was a very cloudy night and a drizzle.
Re-examined. I was not struck under the trees, but in the open; there was nothing to obstruct the light.
By the COURT. It was about 200 yards from the high road—there is a public footpath; people can get there if they wish it—my head bled; here is the mark, just under my left eye—it bled very much.
head, and found a swelling, two inches long; I had to sew it up—it could be caused by a gun-barrel—there were also bruises on the side of his face.
CALEB CARD (112, Surrey Constabulary). I am stationed at Kingston—I was near the Beacham Copse on the 26th, and heard a shot just after one o'clock—I then heard cries for help, and went in that direction, and met Turner and Grabbett coming out of the wood—I went back with them and searched the ground—we found this cap and two sticks and a cock pheasant—Turner was very much exhausted from loss of blood—I afterwards saw the two prisoners in custody at Reigate—I took their boots off, and took them on Wednesday to the place where the footmarks were in the rabbit burrow, about ten yards from the spot—owing to the heavy rain I could not get the nails to match, but the boots were the same length and width—the rabbit burrow is in clay—there were nails in the boots and nails in the footprints, but I could not match them all.
Cross-examined. I only saw two footmarks at two different points, about two marks of each boot, four marks altogether—I tried the boots by placing them by the side of the other marks, and then I measured the breadth against the marks—I do not know whether the prisoners were then wearing the boots—they were labourers' boots; heavy boots and about an average size, a man's size—I did not arrest the gipsy Uphold; he went up the wood with me—I did not make him walk by me to fit the marks; he stood in the footpath—I did not measure his boots—the inspector took him there—I do not know whether the inspector would have arrested him if his footmarks had corresponded—I have made inquiries and cannot find anything against either of the prisoners.
WILLIAM JOHN MARKS . I am an inspector of the Surrey Constabulary—I arrested a gipsy named Uphold because he is a well-known poacher, and the constable met him going in a contrary direction to his tent—I discovered that he had been out that night—he was not arrested, but I asked him to go with me to the warren—I first saw King on Monday night, the 27th; about 10. 30, Shirley, a Metropolitan policeman, brought him to me, and I told him I should charge him with night poaching on Mr. Bonsor's estate on Saturday night, and also with assaulting the keepers—he said, "You are mistaken, I Was playing at dominoes at the Sandrock with Harry Poole"—the Sandrock is about nine miles from Beacham Copse, but if you went across the fields it would be about seven miles and a half—on the same day, a few minutes later, Bloomfield was brought to me, and I told him the same as I had told King—he said, "I am innocent; I was in bed by ten o'clock"—I took them to Reigate, and found on King some pheasant's feathers, a gun-cap, and a gun-wad; his coat-pockets were smeared with blood—I was present when the prisoners were put with the other people for the purpose of identification, and when they were picked out by Turner and Blunden; they both said they had made a mistake, that they both left the Sandrock at half-past nine, and went home to bed—I went to Shirley the same afternoon, and searched Bloomfield's house—his wife was there, and on making a search I found this gun (produced) up the chimney; it was very clean—I have made inquiries about the prisoners—King was discharged as a gamekeeper on February 4th, this year.
Cross-examined. When I charged King, and before he spoke to me, I
had only said that I should take him for being concerned with others, in night poaching on the estate of Mr. Bonsor, and he said he was playing at dominoes at the Sandrock—he gave me the names of some people there—it would not have been—easy for him to get across and commit the assault if he left there at eleven o'clock—it would be possible to do so in an hour and three-quarters, but hardly possible—I did not examine the ditch between there and the Sandrock to see if there were footmarks—I did not notice anything peculiar about the prisoners' faces—their clothes were not torn.
By MR. LEVER. As to his trousers I cannot say—I say the same as to Bloomfield.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Justice Wills.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, JANUARY 8TH, 1894.