CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
FOURTH SESSION, HELD FEBRUARY 5TH, 1894.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND BY
JAMES DROVER BARNETT
Short-hand Writers to the Court,
THE POINTS OF LAW AND PRACTICE
REVISED AND EDITED BY
EDWARD T. E. BESLEY, ESQ.,
OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW.
STEVENS AND SONS, LIMITED, 119, CHANCERY LANE,
Law Booksellers and Publishers.
On the Queen's Commission of
OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
The City of London,
AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY, WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
AND CASES COMMITTED UNDER THE WINTER ASSIZE ACT AND ORDERS IN COUNCIL.
Held on Monday, February 5th, 1894, and following days.
BEFORE SIR JAMES WHITEHEAD , BART., M. P., representing the LORD MAYOR; the Hon. Sir WILLIAM GRANTHAM , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court of Justice; Sir REGINALD HANSON , Bart., M.P., Alderman of the said City; Sir CHARLES HALL , Q.C., M.P., K.C.M.G., Recorder of the said City; Lieut.-Col. HORATIO DAVID DAVIES , Esq., MARCUS SAMUEL , Esq., JAMES THOMSON RITCHIE , 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.
JOHN VOCE MOORE, Esq., Alderman.
JOSEPH COCKFIELD DIMSDALE, Esq., Alderman.
CLARENCE R. HALSE, Esq.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
TYLER, MAYOR. FOURTH 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, February 5th, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
210. THOMAS WILLIAMS (21), PLEADED GUILTY to a burglary in the dwelling-house of William Richard Moore, and stealing 268 pairs of gloves. He was also charged with having been previously convicted on 2nd December, 1891, at Bow Street Police-court in the name of William Kennedy ; to this he PLEADED NOT GUILTY.
JAMES MUNRO (Policeman V R). I produce certificate of conviction of William Kennedy, at Bow Street, on 2nd December, 1891—I was present on that occasion—I am sure the prisoner is that person—I have not seen him since—this is a photograph of Kennedy—he has a scar on the left eyebrow, and marks of T W with an anchor on his left forearm. (The JURY, on examining the photograph, were of opinion that it was not satisfactory; and on the prisoner being examined it appeared that the mark on the eyebrow was on the right eyebrow, and that the initials on the arm had no anchor with them. Upon which they found a verdict of NOT GUILTY of the previous conviction. Sentence on the burglary, to which he PLEADED GUILTY— Ten Months' Hard Labour.
211. MONTAGUE GREENBAUM (30), PLEADED GUILTY to stealing thirteen overcoats and other goods, the property of his master, Henry Graham; also to embezzling £1, the money of Henry Graham.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
212. HENRY SCOTT (18) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to stealing in the dwelling-house of Louis Albert Alexander an overcoat and other articles and 5s., and afterwards burglariously breaking out; also*to a conviction of felony in May, 1893.— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
213. WILLIAM BROWN (32) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to stealing an umbrella, the goods of Henry Lyons; also to conviction of felony in July, 1890, in the name of William Wright . Six other previous convictions were proved against the prisoner.— Eight Months Hard Labour.
214. JOHN JAMES ANDERSON (34) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to embezzling £47 18s. 3d., £48 10s. 4d., and £55 0s. 3d., the moneys of his master, John Mason Cook; also to embezzling £67 4s. 3d. and £60 1s., and to five indictments for forging and uttering receipts for the payment of money. MR. MATHEWS, for the prosecution, stated that prisoner had stolen between April, 1886, and December, 1893, £8, £964 19s. 6d.— five Years' penal Servitude. And
NEW COURT.—Monday, February 5th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
217. CLARA DARVILL (33) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to four Indictments for unlawfully endeavouring to conceal the births of four children in 1887, 1888, 1890, and 1891.— Eight Months' Hard Labour. And
218. WILLIAM COOPER TRETT (29) , to forging and uttering a receipt for. £3 2s., with intent to defraud; also to unlawfully obtaining 6s. 9d. from Henry Charles Beaumont Gibbs; also to stealing £1 6s., £1, and £1; also two sums of 5s. each, of the governors of St. Bartholomew's Hospital. [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image]Recommended to Mercy.— Two Days' Imprisonment.
HARRY BAKER . I live at Acre Lane, Brixton—I advertised a banjo in the Exchange and Mart, and on March 5th I received this letter: "January 5th, 1893, The Lord Nelson, Harrow, Middlesex.—Sir, we are organising an amateur musical company, and from your description, I think the banjo and case is quite what we want; you may send it to me and I will send you a cheque or return it to you at my expense.—W. KINGSCOTE"—I sent it to that address, and heard no more about it—I never received the money—I parted with it because I believed the letter to be true—the value of it was 55s.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. There is a general rule of the Exchange and Mart that three days are allowed, and if the banjo had been returned to me before the expiration of three days at your expense I should have been satisfied; the custom is to trade on the approval system—the original value was £5 or £5 10s., and it was nearly new—if a musician uses an instrument and makes good music he might make more money by it.
HERBERT ANDREW HALL . My mother keeps the Lord Nelson Lodging-house at Harrow; it is a beer-house—on January 5th, about 8.30, the prisoner came there—he asked the number of the house; we told him there was no number, but it was called the Lord Nelson—he took out about a dozen letters, and put "Lord Nelson "on them—he came back on the Monday, and I gave him eight or ten letters which had come for him—he left a note which aroused my suspicions—after he left, a banjo arrived, which I gave him next day when he came—next night a dulcimer came—I paid the carriage for it, and handed it to the police.
GEORGE PARKER (Policeman 58 X). I am stationed at Harrow—on January 9th I received information, and sent a constable to this lodging-house—I asked the prisoner at the station where he got the banjo—he said through the Exchange and Mart—I asked him if he had any money on him—he said, "No. "
Cross-examined. I made inquiries at Watford, and found you get your living by singing about the streets with a guitar—you offered to leave the banjo there and go to Stratford and get the money—I found 3s. 6d. on you—there are tramps and people of all classes at the Lord Nelson, but not people who are addressed as "Esquire "; it is not a place resorted to by thieves, but they are poor people—you gave me an address—I inquired there; you had been employed there as tank man from May to December.
Re-examined. I found these five letters on him. (These referred to a banjo, a dulcimer, and other instruments sent to the prisoner in reply to his letters.)
WILLIAM HALL (292 X). On January 9th I was directed to keep observation on the Lord Nelson Lodging-house—I went there about 4.45, and saw the prisoner leave with a brown-paper parcel—I asked him what he had got; he said, "A banjo"—I asked him if it was his property, and he said, "Yes," and immediately afterwards he said, "It will be mine when I have paid for it"—I asked how he got it; he said from a gentleman at Brixton, who he had communicated with in the Exchange and Mart.
The prisoner in his defence stated that he had made no false pretences that he did belong to a company, and required a banjo; and that he gave his address at the Lord Nelson because he could not get lodgings at Harrow and that he did not intend to sell the banjo for less than he was going to give for it, and had already been in prison four weeks.— Discharged on his own recognizances.
MR. BLACKIE Prosecuted.
JOSEPH SMITH (Interpreted). I am a grocer, of 20, King Edward Street, Mile End Old Town—on 16th January, I went out about my daughter's wedding, leaving my wife and the bride in the house—we went to the Synagogue about 2.15 p.m.; and after ten o'clock at night, when we were celebrating the wedding at the German Club, two boys came and spoke to me—I went home and found a lot of detectives there—I missed two new overcoats and articles amounting to £20—these are some of them (Produced.)
RACHAEL COOK . I am a tailoress, of 22, King Edward Street, and am single—on January 16th, about 9.30 or 9.45, I went into my bedroom, the window of which looks into the court where Mr. Smith lives, and saw the two prisoners standing at his street door, and two other men at the corner of the street—both the prisoners took keys
out of their pockets, and tried them to Smith's door—they tried four keys, but could not open it; Frank then took a long jimmy from his pocket, and broke open the door with it and went in—I ran down and spoke to my brother, and he and I and my sister went downstairs and went across the road—Lavor was then just by the door; he saw me come down and ran away—I caught him, and held him, but he got away from me—I ran after him again, caught him, and held him till a constable came.
SOLOMON COOK . I am a bootmaker, and a brother of the last witness—I heard her call out, and went to No. 20, and saw three men run away from Mr. Smith's door, and one was inside—I saw my sister catch Lavor—Frank ran out at Mr. Smith's door and I caught him.
ANDREW MCKAY (341 H). I was called and found both the prisoners detained—I took Frank to the station and then returned to the house and found the back room in great confusion—the front room had been forced open with this chisel, which, was found outside the front door.
Lavor in his defence stated that he was not concerned in it, but being in the street got taken and locked up.
LAVOR— GUILTY .— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
FRANK— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
The COURT awarded £5 to Rachael Cook.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, February 6th, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
221. DENIS BETTS (29) , Stealing, whilst employed in the Post Office, a pout letter containing a silver chain, a gold trinket, a metal seal, and a fourpenny-piece, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General Second Count, receiving the same.
MR. H. C. RICHARDS Prosecuted.
EMILY DAVIS . I live at 17, Coningsby Street, Hereford—on 15th November I posted a letter to my daughter, of 31, Cornwall Gardens, Kensington—I also posted a packet containing a chain and trinkets; it was done up in a little pasteboard box, sealed with red sealing wax, a string round it, and a label attached with a stamp—I posted it myself in the letter-box outside the Post-office, about six p.m.—this is the chain.
JOSEPH FRYER . I am an overseer in the General Post Office—a letter or packet posted at Hereford, about six, on the night of 15th November, should arrive at the South-Western Office, London, about three a.m., and should reach Kensington at seven.
GEORGE HAMPTON . I am overseer at the South Kensington Post-office—a letter posted at Hereford at six and reaching the South-Western Office at three a.m., should reach our office not later than shortly after
seven, and it should go out for delivery at 7.30—the prisoner was employed at our office—he did not come on duty that day till 11.30—he left the office on the completion of duty at 12.50—during the time he was there he would have access to any letters there.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. It is possible that a postman may not be able to deliver a packet on the first delivery, but there was no report of such a thing with regard to this packet—if it was so it ought to go out again on the next delivery at nine o'clock, or at the next delivery at eleven—you did not go out on delivery—your duty was to collect letters from the letter-boxes—if a letter is not delivered it would be brought back to the office, and placed among the local letters—there would be three deliveries before you came on duty.
JOSEPH FRYER (Recalled). Occasionally letters are not sent on at once from the South-Western District to the local office—a packet may be missorted; if so it would have a missort stamp placed on it showing the cause of the delay.
MR. HAMPTON (Recalled). If a packet did not arrive at the Southwestern District till half-past eleven it would not reach our office till one—if the prisoner returned from his collection at 1.15 he would remain in the office till 1.40, and from that he would return at three.
EDWARD JAMES REDGROVE . I am assistant to George Smith, pawnbroker, of King's Road, Chelsea—this chain and charms were pawned with me on 16th November by George Betts, of 51, Keppel Street, for three shillings—I could not say at what time—it is the tenth entry in our books, so I should say it would be about one—we close for taking: pledges at seven—we ask for the Christian name as well as the surname, unless it is a customer we know well—I do not know the prisoner.
WILLIAM MURRAY . I am a clerk in the secretary's office in the General Post Office—on 2nd January I saw the prisoner at the Post Office—I asked him if he would allow himself to be searched—Police-constable Tower searched him in my presence, and took this pawnticket from one of his pockets, and handed it to me—it refers to a silver guard and charms pledged at Smith's on 16th November for three shillings, in the name of George Betts, of 51, Keppel Street—I said to the prisoner, "What have you to say about this?"—he replied, "I purchased the chain from a stranger in a public-house"—I told him I would detain it, and make some inquiries—on 16th November I saw him at the Southwestern District Office, and I said I was instructed to give him into custody for stealing the packet containing the chain—he then said, "I purchased it from a stranger, and gave three shillings for it."
MATTHEW TOWER . I am a constable attached to the General Post Office—on 2nd January I was present when the prisoner was searched—I produce the pawnticket—I heard the prisoner tell Mr. Murray that he bought the chain from a stranger in a public-house—on 2nd January I heard the conversation between the prisoner and Mr. Murray—he was given into my custody—on the way to King Street he said, "I know nothing about this; I gave four shillings for the chain"—I said, "But you told Mr. Murray you only gave three shillings for it"—he said, "I did not"—he made no reply to the charge.
Cross-examined. I found some articles in your possession; I still have
one of them, a pawnticket, which you said was given you by a stranger; that refers to a watch, but does not refer to any one—we have not found the watch—the other article I found on you was a cigar-case, which you said you had given 1s. 6d.; for we have not found an owner for that—this is the cigar-case; it is a new one—the ticket referring to the watch I found at your lodging—I found nothing suspicious there.
Prisoner's defence. I have been employed in this department more than ten years. My wages were only 15s. a week. I have a wife and children. I was suspended from duty for three weeks, and then I was arrested. How I came by the chain and charms was on the 16th. I went into the Wheelwrights' Arms; I met a man there, a dealer; he produced several things, and he said I should have the chain and charms for 4s., which I gave him. I then wanted some money, and pledged it for 3s. I did not steal the packet; if I did anything I received it not knowing it was stolen.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. BAYLISS Prosecuted.
EDWARD HUNSTEAD (Inspector A). On 27th December, about 4.20 a.m., I was crossing Victoria Street, into Chapel Street West, with Lee and another constable—I noticed three persons leaving the doorway of 20, Great Chapel Street, which is a restaurant—I noticed that the door was a little way open—the three men turned up Baker Street, and went through several streets; two of them, the prisoner being one of them, then turned to the left, and went up Tothill Street, where they Were stopped by 724 A—I went after the other one, but did not catch him—I lost sight of the prisoner for a second or two in turning the corner; there was no one else in the street—I then returned to Tothill Street, and on a window-sill I found a piece of cheese—the other man had passed that place—I went back to the shop, and found the prisoner detained there—we called up the proprietor, and examined the door; there were no marks of violence upon it—on the prisoner we found a latch-key, sixpence, and some bronze—he gave his right address, but a wrong name—nothing was found on him relating to the charge—he was charged with this offence—he said he was passing there, and the other two men had stopped him.
There being no other evidence against the prisoner, the JURY found him
NOT GUILTY .
CHARLES BRYANT , City detective sergeant, stated that from inquiries he had made the prisoner bore a very good character, and that he had assisted in the recovery of nearly all the property, and would make every possible restitution— Judgment respited.
224. JAMES FERGUSON (26), PLEADED GUILTY to a burglary in the dwelling-house of Henry Hopkins, and stealing sixteen pairs boots and five pairs of slices, and to a previous conviction for housebreaking in March, 1887, when he was sentenced to five years' penal servitude, and other convictions were proved against him.— Six Years' Penal Servitude.
225. WALTER McCARTHY (28) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to a burglary in the dwelling-house of the Highgate Infirmary, and stealing five shillings of Annie Roberts.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
226. HANNAH SNOOK (28) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image], to three indictments, one for feloniously forging and uttering an order for £6 10s. 8d., one for stealing a pair of sheets, and other articles, of Thomas Cranston Chant, her master, and one for obtaining a blank cheque from William Morrel Lea by false pretences; she also PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction at Taunton on 24th May, 1886, when she was sentenced to five years' penal servitude , after a previous conviction and sentence of three years' penal servitude, and other convictions.— Fourteen Months' Hard Labour.
229. GEORGE MARTIN (38) , to unlawfully committing wilful damage to glass windows, the property of William Booth, to an amount exceeding £5. The prosecutor did not press the charge.— [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] Judgment respited.
230. RICHARD ROUSE (22) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to stealing a purse and its contends, the goods and moneys of Louis James Stewart, from the person of Donna Stewart; also to a conviction of felony in April, 1891. Eight other previous convictions were proved against the prisoner— Three Years' Penal Servitude. And
231. CHARLES YOUNG (16) HENRY HARLOW (16), and JAMES TULLEY (17) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to breaking and entering the warehouse of the Mechanical Trading Company, Limited, and stealing a rug and other articles, the goods of Charles Herbert Banyard, and a brush and other articles, the goods of the company. YOUNG also PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in June, 1893, in the name of John Harding, alias James Jones , and TULLEYto a conviction of felony in July, 1893.
YOUNG— Twelve Months'.
HARLOW— Six months'.
TULLEY— Ten Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, February 6th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
JOSEPH WALTER TERRY . I am a grocer, of 328, High Street, Chiswick—there is a warehouse in the rear of the shop alongside the-kitchen; the doors are side by side—on November 21st, about eleven p.m., I fastened up the house securely—I bolted the hack door—about three a.m. I was awoke and went down in the dark—I lit a gas jet at the foot of the stairs, and saw the kitchen door open; I went through and found the kitchen and warehouse doors open and a bar removed—the warehouse door had been tried to be forced, and an iron bar had been tried to be removed from the scullery window—I went towards the kitchen door, and a man ran from the warehouse; I gave chase and caught hold of him—two others followed, one passed me each side—the third man kicked the
gate open and escaped—I know the prisoner by sight; he has lived in the neighbourhood for years—I did not see him again till January 9th, when I picked him out at the Police-station—I missed a few pence from the till, and a few cigars—other properly might have been taken if I had not come down.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I was taken to the station to identify the man I had caught hold of, and I picked you out from five others—I had you in my custody for a short time, and I knew you before—I first picked out the third man—I had not taken him in custody—I then picked you out; I have no doubt about you—I did not see you in my shop buying butter and sugar between 22nd November and January 9th—I made a mistake about the other man who I picked out, and he was let go.
WALTER GRANT (645 T). I assisted Turner in fetching five people out of the street; the prisoner was placed with them—Mr. Terry picked out another man, and said, "I think that is the man"—Turner said, "Is there any other man there that you identify?"—he pointed to the prisoner and said, "Yes, I identify him as being one of the men that I saw in my back yard"—the other man was let go—Terry picked out two-of the three men—the sergeant did not indicate the third man to him.
WILLIAM TURNER (Police Sergeant T). On January 9th, about 11.30 am., I saw the prisoner in the High Road, Chiswick—I told him I should take him for being concerned with Thomas O'Brien in breaking and entering Mr. Terry's shop on November 21st and stealing property—he said, "You need not take hold of me, or I will place you on your back"—I took him to the station, placed him with five other men, and the officer on duty said, "Are you satisfied?"—the prisoner said, "Yes"—I then fetched Mr. Terry', and said, "Is there anyone you know 1"—he went up to one man and said, "This looks like the third man"—I said, "Is there anyone else you know?"—he looked along the line and said, "Yes, Callaghan"—I said, "Are you certain he is the man you saw in the yard on this particular night?"—he said, "Quite so"—he was charged, and made no reply.
Cross-examined. I was looking for you three weeks, night and day, and I should not have caught you now, only you had an umbrella up and did not see me.
The prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence, denied knowing anything about the matter, and stated that he was living at home for seven weeks after the robbery.
WILLIAM TURNER (Re-examined). I received information of the burglary the same morning, and gave a description of the men, including the prisoner; I used all diligence to arrest him—I knew his name and where he lived, and observation was kept on the house to see whether he went in and out—I was personally watching for more than three weeks.
J. W. TERRY (Re-examined). I knew the prisoner by sight, but it was not till after the burglary that I learned that his name was Callaghan.
Evidence for the Defence.
CATHERINE CALLAGHAN . I am a widow, and live at 95, Sussex Place—I am the prisoner's mother, and am a laundress—on Tuesday night, November 22nd, the prisoner came home between ten and eleven, and sat by the fire reading the Star newspaper—he shortly afterwards went
to bed—I then took the newspaper up, and read a few words, and went to bed at eleven p.m., and went to sleep at once, as I had had a hard day's work—next morning I awoke at a little before seven; I had no clock in my room, but I came down at 7.30, and found the street door locked, as it was over night; there is no back door—I went out about 7.40—I went into the room where my son slept with his grandfather, and lit a candle, and saw him—I had a candle when' I went to bed, but it burnt out, so I went to my son's room to get his candle before I went downstairs—he was asleep, and he has slept in the house every night since—he is a hawker—he has no clothes but those he has on, and no other boots, and the man who broke into the house left his boots behind—I am quite sure that the day on which I came home between ten and eleven from the laundry, and went to bed, was on a Tuesday, and it was November 22nd; I read the date on the Star newspaper. (The COMMON SERJEANT informed the witness that November 22nd was on a Wednesday)—I wash on Monday—my son has never been convicted.
J. W. TERRY (Re-examined). A pair of boots and one odd boot were left at my house—I do not know whether the prisoner had his boots on or off—he had a brown coat on.
GUILTY .†— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. RICHARDS Prosecuted.
ARTHUR RUSHTON . I am in the employ of Edward Pash, a bootmaker, of Essex Road, Islington—on December 16th the prisoner came and asked me if I would be kind enough to send some boots to Mr. Graham, in Downham Road—I sent them by my lad, who brought back an envelope containing three farthings—I have never seen the boots since.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I believe it was 86, Downham Road—it was between eight and 8.30—I am sure you are the man.
THOMAS CHARLES WARBUS .—Mr. Rushton gave me some boots to take To 96, Downham Road—when I got outside No. 86 I saw the prisoner—he Asked me if I came from Pash's—I said "Yes," and gave him the parcel—he gave me an envelope, and said, "There are three half-sovereigns in it—I took it to my employer, and did not open it on the road.
Cross-examined. I looked at a lot of men at the station; I was not positive about you—I did not see you any more till I was in the witness box, and then I was positive you were the man—the parcel was taken from me in a dark place.
Prisoner's defence. I know nothing about the boots; the lad could not identify me at the station, but on the Tuesday afterwards he said I was the man. I asked him why, and he said his master told him to say so. The officer said, "That is the man," and then the prosecutor identified me.
GUILTY —He then PLEADED GUILTY**to a conviction at Clerkenwell on
MR. PARTRIDGE Prosecuted and MR. BURNIE Defended.
The prisoner, in the hearing of the JURY, stated that she PLEADED GUILTY to the uttering, but NOT GUILTY to the previous conviction.— GUILTY of the uttering.
JOHN SMITH (Sergeant 47 S). I was present at this Court on 23rd April, 1888, when the prisoner wax found guilty of uttering counterfeit coin in the name of Ellen Edwards —this is the certificate. (This stated that Ellen Edwards was discharged on finding a surety in £20 to come up for judgment when called on.)
MR. BURNIE submitted that there was no evidence of the previous conviction. The full Court of Common Pleas, in 1844, decided that the word "conviction" was a verbum equivocum, and in common parlance meant "verdict," but in strict legal sense should be used to denote the judgment of the Court. (Burgess v. Boetefeur and Brown, 13 L. J. M. C, p. 122.) A verdict therefore, in strict law, was merely the basis on which conviction was to be founded, and, until judgment was passed, there was no conviction In the present case no judgment had been passed upon the prisoner on the previous occasion, but merely an order that she should come up for judgment when called upon, and, therefore, interpreting the word "conviction" in its strict legal sense, she had not been convicted. As the word was ambiguous and bore two senses, that most favourable to the prisoner must be taken, in construing this highly penal statute, especially as the latter was the strict sense. In support of his contention, he instanced the fact that it was the immemorial practice of Clerks of Assize and of Clerks of the Peace to set out the judgment as the material part of the conviction in certificates of conviction. Mr. Justice Stephen, it was true, in the case of Jephson v. Barker (3 Times Law Reports, p 40) had distinguished the case of Burgess v. Boetefeur and Brown by the dictum that, when there was an order to enter into Recognizances to come up for judgement when called on, there was a conviction; but, MR. BURNIE urged, that case was not reported in any of the authorised Law Reports, and, moreover, an order to come up for judgment when called on was not a judgment of the Court, but only an order as to judgment. At Common Law there was only one judgment, in criminal cases the final judgment or sentence. In the cane of convictions under the Summary Jurisdiction Act and the Probation of First Offenders' Act, where prisoners were bound over to be of good behaviour there were by statute completed judgments (Q. v. Miles, 24 Q. B. D., p. 423).
MR. PARTRIDGE submitted that in Stephen's Blackstone, in Chitty's Criminal Law (Vol. I., p. 725), and in the Coinage Act (under which this Indictment was framed), the Probation of First Offenders' Act, and the Prevention of Crimes Act, the meaning of the word "conviction" was clearly "Found Guilty," and that that interpretation was to be applied in the present case.
MR. BURNIE, in reply, urged that "conviction" was used in Stephen's Blackstone, and in various Acts of Parliament, in its popular, and not in its strict legal, sense. The passage cited by Mr. Partridge from Chitty'sCriminal Law showed that until judgment a man was not field to be a felon, and did not forfeit his property, and therefore he was not convicted until judgment had passed, otherwise the verdict of the Jury would at once constitute an attainder of blood. He cited passages from Hawkins's Pleas of the Crown (p. 33), and Hale's Pleas of the Crown (Vol. 2, p. 684).
The COMMON SERGEANT ruled that upon the decision of Mr. Justice Stephen, in Jephson v. Barker, there was evidence of previous conviction to go to the Jury; but as he entertained grave doubt upon the point, he should reserve the case for the consideration of the Court of Cases Reserved
Another indictment charging ALICE BLABY and SARAH JANE OATTEN with unlawfully uttering counterfeit coin was postponed until after the decision of the Court of Crown Cases Reserved.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, February 7th, 1894.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
Upon the evidence of Dr. Lawford Mitchell Dunlop, and Dr. Edward Walker, Medical Officer of Holloway Prison, the JURY found the prisoner to be insane and unable to plead to the indictment.— Ordered to be detained till Her Majesty's pleasure be known.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted and MR. SANDS Defended.
ELIZABETH DEANE . I am the wife of Charles Deane, a salesman, of 21, North Street, Marylebone?—I am a monthly nurse—I attended the prisoner when she was confined of a female child on 28th September last—I remained with her for nine days afterwards—it was a nice little plump baby, small, but healthy—when I left it was going on favourably, and the mother as well—I saw the prisoner again about a fortnight afterwards; she had a bad bosom, but was suckling the child; it was not so big as it was—I washed and dressed it; it was dirty and not thriving—the prisoner was all right—I did not see her again for some time after, wards—I saw the baby, I sent for it some weeks after; it then looked very ill, and much smaller; it only had on a little nightgown, that was clean, and a shawl round its head; I sent the baby back—I remember going one Sunday night to attend to the prisoner's breast; I took a breast-glass to her; she was then in bed intoxicated—her little boy, seven years old, was in the same bed—I did not see her again until the 28th December, when she fetched me between twelve and one in the day, to come and see her baby, as it looked so funny—I went and saw it; it was on the bed, not dressed—it was in a dirty blanket, with a little bit of rag around its loins; there was no fire in the room—I picked
the baby up; it was a living skeleton—I don't know what I said to her, beyond "Good God!"—I took the baby into my room, warmed it, and put a little nightgown on it, and put it on my sofa; it was composed; and went off into a slumber—I had it in my room about an hour and a half—the prisoner came and fetched it—she asked me what I thought of it—I said I did not think it would live twenty-four hours—she asked me not to ask anybody to see it; but she did not give me a chance, she took it—he was then sober—she called me again between three and four in the morning—I went at once, it was in the bed; it had on the same night gown I had put on it—there was no fire in the room, or any light—I procured a light from the top floor, and stayed with it till the day—there was a little cow's milk in the room, and I set light to a wheel—I saw no food there; I never looked for food—the child died about half-past seven in the morning—the prisoner went out twice while it was dying, to see the time, she said; about six in the morning was the last time, and had a drink—she brought no brandy or anything for the child—when it died she said she would be pulled for it, that she would get eighteen months—I told her if she had two years she would have none too much—I saw a feeding bottle there the day before.
Cross-examined. I did not see her have the drink, but I smelt it; she Acknowledged that she had it—the baby was small when born, and smaller three weeks after; Dr. Thomas was then attending the prisoner—I never dressed her breast—I heard that her breast began to be bad a fortnight after I left her—I think I have mentioned every time I saw her and the baby—I thought the baby had been badly treated, and I was angry with the prisoner at times; I don't know that I am angry now—I am very glad the baby has gone.
MARTHA ANN CARR . I am the wife of Alfred Carr, a hairdresser, of Little Barlow Street—I know Mrs. Deane—I was with her on 28th December, between twelve and one, when she came with the baby; it had nothing on, but was wrapped in a blanket, and a rag or something round its loins—I did not notice whether it was clean or dirty; I was frightened, because it was so little and so thin.
WILFRED EDMUND BUCKLEY . I am employed by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children—on 15th December, in consequence of an intimation received from the prisoner's husband, I went to the prisoner's rooms; she occupied two rooms on the top floor, but only occupied one at that time—I saw the prisoner with the baby in her arms, and a little boy—I asked to see the child; she showed it to me—it was wrapped in a blanket, and had a small towel round its loins; with that exception it was naked—it was very emaciated, and very dirty, and smelt very strongly of urine—I asked her how she fed it—she said she had fed it on Mellins' food and condensed milk—I saw a small tin of condensed milk in the room, unopened—there was no Mellins' food, or any other food; I looked to see—I asked her where the feeding bottle was—she said she had broken it the previous day—I told her she would have to be more careful with the child, and to see that it was properly fed and clothed—she said, "All right"—she was partly muddled with drink I then left on the 16th I went between twelve and one with Dr. Thomas—on that occasion I saw no feeding bottle or any food—on the 27th I went again; I knocked at the door three times, but
received no reply—I then went downstairs, and saw Mrs. Johnson, and made inquiries—I then went back, and knocked at the door two or three times; I received a reply, "Who's there?"—I opened the door—there was no light or fire—I told the prisoner I wanted to see the child—she said her child was all right—she was in bed—she asked me to go out while she dressed—I did so; I waited outside about ten minutes—I heard the prisoner about the room—I asked if she had got a light—she said she had not—I went down, and got a light from Mrs. Johnson, and then went into the room—the child was in the prisoner's arms; it only had a blanket round it; with that exception it was naked; it had not the same thing round its loins; it was very dirty, and crying very much—I weighed it by the prisoner's permission; it weighed 4 1/2 lbs.—I saw no bottle on that occasion, nor any food; the prisoner was muddled with drink and smelt very strongly of drink—I received this statement from her husband.
Cross-examined. The room was very poorly furnished—I made a report to my society, and I made one to the husband on the 15th—the child remained in the mother's custody.
STANLEY TEMPLE THOMAS . I am a medical man, of 102, Marylebone Road—I attended the prisoner on 28th September last, when she was confined of a female child, which died on the early morning of 29th December, and of which Dr. Pepper made a post-mortem examination in my presence—the child was small when born, but fat and healthy, free from all disease—I attended her for nine days; the child continued to thrive the whole of that time—as far as I remember it was properly fed—I saw the prisoner next on 25th October—she came to me about her breast—she had an abscess that would prevent her suckling from that one breast, and it would have been undesirable to suckle it at all—I told her she ought not to suckle it at all; she ought to feed it suitably from a feeding bottle—I did not see the child then; she came to my surgery—I next saw her with the child on 24th November, at her home—I was sent for, I think, by the husband—the child was then thinner than it was at birth, but I put that down chiefly to the fact that it had to have the breast stopped, and artificial food was not so for it—I saw it again on the 30th November, and I believe it was getting accustomed to the artificial food—it was dirty—I told her she must clothe it better, give it warmer clothing, or else it would catch cold, and get bronchitis or some chest disease, and would most likely die; and she must go on feeding it well—I saw a bottle; it looked like a breast glass, with a tube put in—I saw her again shortly after—the child was still improving a little, but was still dirty; the clothing was about the same—the prisoner was muddled with drink—I saw her again on 4th December; the child was still apparently thriving a little, but just as dirty, and had the same clothing—from 24th November till 4th December there was no improvement in its clothing, but there was in flesh; it was capable of taking its food, and keeping it down—I was present when it was taking food from the breast on one occasion during the time when it was thriving, and it could keep it down perfectly well—I went again on 13th December; the child was then beginning to lose flesh gain; the clothing and cleanliness was just the same—the prisoner's condition was the same, more or lass muddled with drink—I told her
that the child was not getting on so well as it should, and warned her she must stick to feeding it thoroughly well, and also told her it ought to have warmer clothing—on the 14th I went again, at her request: the child was still losing flesh; the clothing was about the same—she had not taken much notice of my warning; it was just as dirty, and her own condition was muddled—on the 16th I went with Inspector Buckley; I then weighed the child, it weighed 5lbs. 6oz.—the normal weight would be about 9lbs. 6oz.—it was then just as dirty, and the clothing much about the same—I saw no food on that occasion—during the time it began to thrive a bit I saw a bottle of Mellins' food and a tin of Nestles' milk—I asked why she had not more of Nestles—she gave no intelligible answer; she could not get it, or something of that sort—on the 28th, about midday, she brought the child to me; it was then dying; it had some kind of nightgown on, but, as far as I could see, no flannel—I told her I thought it was dying, and the only chance was to get some raw meat and squeeze the juice out and put five drops of brandy to it, and get us much of it down as she could—I did not see it again till I saw it at Professor Pepper's—in my opinion it died from insufficient food—I saw no organic disease.
Cross-examined. The dirty condition was not the cause of death, or insufficient clothing, but it was not sufficiently clothed; the cause was want of food—the prisoner did not seem to take any trouble about he breast: it must have been bad for some days, perhaps a week—suckling the child from the bad breast would be poison to it—the want of the mother's milk would be prejudicial—I knew that her husband had left her—she sometimes appeared anxious about the child—the day before its death she said it had been vomiting, and I could see that it had—I was not told of vomiting or diarrhea until then—I think she had every opportunity of feeding it, as far as her position went.
Re-examined. For the first nine days it was going on very well—the prisoner was quite sober the whole of that time—I thought the vomiting arose from being without food for some time, and what little there was would come up again from the critical state of the stomach—it could take artificial food, and it did take it.
AUGUSTUS JOSEPH PEPPER . I live at 13, Wimpole Street—on January 3rd, in company of Dr. Thomas, I made a post-mortem examination of a female child, apparently about fourteen weeks old—I weighed it, it weighed 4lbs. 8oz.—the normal weight of a child of that age would be quite double that—there was no organic disease, all the organs were perfectly healthy—the stomach and intestines were empty, except a little mucus—there was one slight flake of milk, a very small curd; it was quite clear that it died from insufficient food—I saw no reason why it should be incapable of taking artificial food.
Cross-examined. The weight of a child fourteen weeks old would not be much more than at birth—a small child does not necessarily mean an unhealthy or undeveloped child—the mother having a bad breast would not tell against it, if the supply from it was stopped in time and artificial food resorted to—if the mother had not sufficient milk for it, that would tell against it—it would be very improper to suckle it at all if the mother had a bad breast—it would tend to check the child if it had had a good start—I should say it had not vomited much—I only saw it on 3rd
January—if there had been much vomiting the stomach would have shown traces of it; there were none.
ELIZABETH HAMMOND . I am the wife of William Hammond, of 3, Kendal Mews, and am the prisoner's sister—this book (produced) is in her handwriting. (This contained entries of the receipt of weekly sums of £1)—her husband is a cook—she has been a kitchenmaid.
GEORGE BURGOYNE . I live at 31, Seymour Place—I am landlord of 19, North Street, where the prisoner had a room on the second floor—she and her husband had two rooms, at eight and sixpence a week, where they lived together until 11th December last—he then left, and she took the one room, at a rent of four shillings a week—she paid me one shilling deposit, and nothing else—three weeks were owing when she was apprehended.
Cross-examined. She had two children, this baby and a little boy—I did not see much of her—I never saw her drunk—there were five other families lodging in the house.
Cross-examined. She was very much agitated, and in the dock at the Police-court she fainted away.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I never wilfully neglected my baby. As regards Mrs. Deane saying my baby had nothing on, it had a shirt, a long flannel nightgown and napkin. When I called Mrs. Deane it was about six o'clock."
NOT GUILTY .
There was another indictment against the prisoner for unlawfully neglecting the said child, thereby causing injury to its health. Upon this no evidence was offered, and the JURY found her.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, February 7th, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
He received a good character, and his friends promised to send him to Australia.— Ten Month' Hard Labour.
MR. BLACKWELL Prosecuted.
VALENTINE BACKES . I keep a baker's shop and post-office, at 117, St. Paul's Road, Bow—on January 21st, about 12.45, I locked up the place—I closed the gate leading into the yard, and locked it—the wash-house door was shut, but I cannot say whether it was fastened; it communicates with the kitchen—the dog barked at 2.30, and I went to the window, and then blew my whistle, went downstairs, and saw the kitchen door leading into the wash-house open, which I had previously shut, and the door into
the yard also open, and the bolt of the gate wrenched off and the gate open—I did not miss anything.
CHARLES HILLMAN (116 K). On January 21st, about 2.30 a.m., I was in St. Paul's Road with Lewis, and heard a noise in the rear of No. 210—I opened the door, and saw two men; one of them was Jones—he struck me with a life preserver, knocking my helmet into the road—I closed with him, and then saw a third man jump off a large pair of gates; I cannot identify him—I found the bolt of the small gate wrenched off.
Cross-examined by Bradley. I cannot swear to you.
BENJAMIN MORGAN (408 K.) On January 21st, at 1.20 a.m., I was in Grundy Street with Lewis, both in plain clothes, and saw the two prisoners and another person—we watched them into Augusta Street, North Street, and Upper Bow Common Lane—I followed the two prisoners into St. Paul's Road, where they met the other man opposite No 117, and went to the rear of the shop—the other man assisted Jones on to the wall—a gentleman passing disturbed them, and Jones got down—Bradley was watching—they went through two or three streets, and went to the wall again, and the one who has escaped mounted the wall another person disturbed them, and they jumped down again—I was leaning against some shutters, pretending to be drunk; they came close to me, Jones first, Bradley second—I did not know Bradley by sight before—they went through two or three streets, and I lost sight of them for four or five minutes—we got two uniform constables, and when halfway in Rowsell Street we heard a whistle; I ran back, and saw Jones in Hillman's custody—I was called to Bow Police-station at 11.55 p.m., and picked out Bradley from six others—I am positive he is the man I saw that morning—I had described the man I had seen, to Dicker.
THOMAS LEWIS (547 K). I was with Morgan in Grundy Street about 1.20 a.m., and saw three men; the prisoners are two of them—they were lurking about, and we followed them through Augusta Street—Jones left them, and they all three met in St. Paul's Road, opposite No. 119, an oil shop at the corner—No. 117 is on the other side—another man assisted Jones to get on the wall, but someone passed, and he got down—Jones afterwards assisted the same man on to the wall, and they were disturbed again—I was standing just above Morgan—they went through several streets into Robinson Street—I obtained the assistance of some uniform men, and afterwards the police whistle, and ran back and found Jones in custody—on the same night I was called to the station, and identified Bradley among six others—I had given a description of the men to Dicker.
Cross-examined by Bradley. I saw your face; you passed ✗ to me—you were dressed as you are now, and I described you✗your dress.
FREDERICK DICKER (Detective Sergeant K). On January 21st at eight p.m., I was with Sergeant Byron in Crisp Street, and saw Bradley—I said, "Bradley—I said, "Bradley, I am going to take you in custody for being concerned with two others in St. Paul's Road last night"—he said, "Yes; what time?"—I said, "In the early morning"—he said, "I can prove I was in bed: old Dan can prove it"—he said that he was at the Elder Tree till twelve; that is in Crisp Street, Poplar, about half a mile from Bow—at the Police-station lie said that he could prove he was in bed.
DANIEL SEMMAN . I was called by the prisoner, Bradley, at the Police-court—I manage a common lodging-house at 68, Bow Lane, Poplar—on January 20th, about 10.8 p.m., the prisoner Bradley came there and gave me eightpence, which he owed me, and went away—he had been sleeping there for two nights before, in beds 34 and 35—I went up there at two a.m., and he was not there, and I looked at his bed the next morning, and it had not been slept in.
Cross-examined by Bradley. You have to make your own beds on Sundays if you have been there all the week, because you have the seventh night given you—Palmer's bed is No. 37, but there were three beds in that room unoccupied.
By the COURT. I have no doubt that he was not sleeping there when I went up at two a.m.
Bradley's statement before the Magistrate: "Jones is a stranger to me."
Cross-examined. I do not know Bradley at all—I know 21, Dove Street; I have not seen him there—I have not been in his company over and over again—I did not see him in Grundy Street that night—I was there, and I went over the wall—I and two other men crossed over St. Paul's Road, where Morgan was leaning against a shutter—I did not see the other constable—he had a good chance of looking at us—it was Daniel Sharp who was with me; he is forty-two, and lives in Shandy Street; I don't know the number—I do not know the age of the other man.
Bradley's defence. I assure you, gentlemen, I was not there. I was in bed, only Semman shifted me from one bed into another. He has been on the drink ever since, and he is short-sighted, and he cannot see across the street. I made my bed when I got up.
BRADLEY.— GUILTY .
He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at this Court on July 18th, 1892, and six convictions were proved against him, for one of which, in May, 1884, he was sentenced to five years' penal servitude for robbery with violence .—Six Years' Penal Servitude.
JONES— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
240. MONTAGUE PADDON TOLLETT (42), and GRACE MARY TOLLETT (41), Stealing two decanters and other articles, the property of Woolf Phillips. MONTAGUE PADDON TOLLETT PLEADED GUILTY.— Judgment respited. MR. PARTRIDGE, for the prosecution, offered no evidence against Grace Mary Tollett on this indictment and another she being the wife of the other prisoner.
The prisoner stated in the hearing of the JURY that he was guilty, and they found that verdict. MR. WARBURTON, for the prisoner, stated that he was not exactly insane though very near it. MR. DRAKE, for the prosecution, stated that the prisoner had committed the same offence before against the prosecutor.— Judgment respited for medical inquiries.
MR. ROACH Prosecuted and MR. DRAKE Defended.
WILLIAM BROOM . I am a horsekeeper, of 7. Farrady Road, Kensington—on 14th January, about 12.30 a.m., I left a friend at the corner of Talbot Road, Notting Hill, and was going along Portobello Road—I crossed the road, and had just got off the pavement, when three young chaps got hold of me—two held me down, while the third rifled my pockets, and took 3s. 6d. in silver, and a ring, key, and knife—I was not hurt—the prisoners are two of them—they ran away; I ran after them, but lost them, and went back with a constable, and saw some men coining—I said, "Here they are," and they ran round the square—we ran after them, and overtook Neal—I told him I should charge him with being concerned with two others in robbing me—I have no doubt he is one of the men—there is a lamp six or seven yards from where I was pulled down—on January 15th I went to the station, and saw some men standing in a row, and picked out Atkinson—I have no doubt whatever about him—another man, named Griffin, was charged, but I could not swear to him, and the Magistrate discharged him.
Cross-examined. There is a market on Saturday evenings adjacent to Portobello Road—I had not been shopping or marketing: I was coming from Pembridge Square, and met a man who had hurt his ankle, and asked me to assist him home—the prisoners are two of the three men who I saw coming towards the constable and me—the place where I spoke to Neal was not more than a minute's walk from where I was assaulted; about 100 yards—that was a quarter of an hour afterwards—I don't think it was twenty minutes—when I came upon Neal he was walking—I said that the third man was the man to the best of my belief, and I am still of that opinion, but the Magistrate discharged him.
By the COURT. I said to the Magistrate, "I have the same opinion now, but I am not certain"—Griffin called witnesses to prove that he could not have been there.
JOHN OWEN (27 FR). I was on duty in Portobello Road—Mr. Broom complained to me and I went with him and saw three men coming towards us—I could not see their faces—Mr. Broom said something to me And the three men turned round; one went east and two west—we doubled tip to Neal, and Mr. Broom said, "That is one of the three who pushed me down, and another rifled my pockets, taking 3s. 6d. and a penknife"—I told Neal I should take him for highway robbery—he said, "I know nothing about it"—I took him to the station.
Cross-examined. Neal did not attempt to get away, he was walking—we apprehended him at Elgin Crescent, 200 yards from where the assault was committed—the men were fifty or sixty yards from us when they turned to run away—I could not see their faces.
PAUL HALLMARSH (Police Sergeant H)—On January 14th I went to 56, Theobald's Rood, and saw Atkinson—I told him he would he charged with two others with assaulting and robbing a man the night before—he said, "Not me"—he was taken to the station, placed with nine others, and the prosecutor identified him—he said nothing—he also partly identified Griffin—he said, "I think that is the man; to the best of my
knowledge it is"—Griffin is a respectable man living in his father's house.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, February 7th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. WARBURTON, on behalf of the prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. GEOGHEGAN Prosecuted and MR. LEYCESTER Defended.
JAMES ROUSE FRANCIS . I am a lighterman and barge owner, trading as J. R. Francis and Co., at 77, Lower Thames Street—on 18th November, 1893, I had a barge called the Punch, laden with sago, which I last saw moored at Ratcliffe buoys, just below Shad well—neither the prisoner nor Robinson was in my service on 18th November—the prisoner had done one or two jobs for me last August, not in November.
WILLIAM SMITH GOFTON . I am a solicitor, of the firm of C. J. Smith and Gofton, 12, Mark Lane—on Monday, 20th November, I wrote this letter, in consequence of instructions which the prisoner gave me on the Saturday, about eleven a.m., if I remember rightly—I received an answer from Mr. Francis, and wrote these other letters to him—I did not receive direct authority for each letter, but I wrote them for the prisoner, having received his authority when I first met him, and I wrote as his solicitor—these (produced) are the answers I received from Mr. Francis—I issued this plaint note in the City of London Court on the Admiralty side, claiming £50—I was present when the action was heard; the plaintiff was non-suited—he called a witness named Robinson, whom I have not seen here to-day.
Cross-examined. The prisoner came to me on Saturday, 18th, and gave me shortly his account of what had occurred, simply telling me that he found the barge adrift, and that he had saved it and the cargo—he gave me instructions to act for him generally in getting compensation—whether I wrote a letter, or issued a writ, or what steps I took, would be at my discretion as his legal adviser—he never saw this first letter or any of the others before they went; I saw him on Saturday, and wrote on the Monday—this first letter is in common form; I have three or four of them a week in salvage cases—it is a difficult matter to say what the value of salvage for this cargo would be; if it was worth £100, sometimes a man would set £50, sometimes £20—I claimed £50 as a nominal amount—we did not know what we were going to get till we came into Court—the prisoner did not instruct me to claim £50—the jurisdiction of the City of London Court is unlimited as to amount—after the action was brought, before it came on for hearing, the prisoner expressed his willingness to take £4 compensation—witnesses were called on the other side—there was no Jury.
Re-examined. I may have seen the prisoner two or three times before the hearing—I made him acquainted with the steps I was taking.
By the COURT. I saw the prisoner on 18th November, at eleven a.m., at my office—I wrote this letter on Monday, 20th, in consequence of what passed at that interview, on my own responsibility; I did not do so in consequence of any express instructions from the prisoner—the contents have never been communicated to him. (MR. LEYCESTER submitted that upon the authority of the Queen v. Downer (14 Cox), general instructions such an those given by the prisoner did not wake him criminally liable for the contents of the letter, and therefore it could not be used as evidence against him. After hearing MR. GEOGHEGAN, the COMMON SERJEANT ruled that he must exclude the letter.)
By MR. GEOGHEGAN. If I had received no instructions from the prisoner I should not have written this letter—to some extent the letter contains what the prisoner told me at the interview; it is much more full—it was written not by his instructions, but on my own responsibility; if I had liked I might not have written a letter, but have issued a plaint note straight off—I heard him give evidence at the City of London Court; he repeated what he had told me at the interview. (MR. LEYCESTER submitted that the offence charged in the indictment was the attempting to obtain money by false pretences on 21st November, which obviously referred to the letter of that date; and that letter being now excluded there could be no evidence of false pretences. MR. GEOGHEGAN contended that the date was immaterial, as the offence was a continuing one, and that he could prove the false pretences by giving evidence of what the prisoner had sworn at the trial before the Judge at the City of London Court, that evidence having been brought under the notice of the Magistrate as part of the proof of the alleged attempt to obtain money by false pretences. The COMMON SERJEANT ruled, though not without some doubt, that what took place before the County Court Judge could be given in evidence.)—I was present at the trial before Mr. Commissioner Kerr on Wednesday, 3rd January—I heard the prisoner, as plaintiff, give evidence—Mr. Francis was defendant—I heard the whole of the prisoner's evidence—these are the notes I made at the time—he said: "I am waterman and lighterman. On Saturday, 18th November, I was on the pier-head at Shadwell. I saw a barge go up; I followed her. I was told that another barge had gone up the river higher up. Robinson was with me. I saw a constable there; I gave him my name and address, and the barge was laden with sago. The barge I first mentioned was not the barge which was saved. I did not see the barge first; I rowed up to her. It was at the Middle Hole, the Church tier. I got on board. The barge was not made fast to another barge. There was no one on board. I did not ask two men to let go of the barge. I was with my co-plaintiff Robinson, who remained in the skiff; I had a conversation with a man there. There was no one in charge of the barge. It was 500 yards off where. I fastened her. I was on board one and a-half hours. I called on Mr. Francis. I know a man named Millan, I did not know he was in the employ of Francis. I saw Millan in the evening. I told him where the barge was. I did say I saved a barge. I made a claim through my solicitors. There was nothing the matter with the chain headfast; the chain was on board the barge. I heard the barge was adrift from Thursday night. I saw
a man from the Steam Tug, Limited; he said he was going from Johns Wharf. I left Mr. Francis's employment four or five months ago. I did odd jobs for him. I knew it was Mr. Francis's barge. I was on Shadwell Pier. I went after another barge, and my attention was called to the barge Punch. I went on board of her, and made her fast five hundred yards away; Robinson put me on board, who rowed the skiff"—I may have seen the prisoner in consequence of a letter I received from Mr. Francis—the prisoner mentioned the names of Robinson and Pocknell, and said they had assisted him in saving the barge—I think I saw Robinson after that; I wanted to see him to take his statement for the trial.
JAMES ROUSE FRANCIS (Re-examined). I was present at the trial at the City of London Court—four or five days after this claim was made, on 20th November, and before the trial, I saw Cripps and Steer of my own accord, and gave them each 5s.
Cross-examined. I was not acquainted with them before that—I was making inquiries, and I came into communication with them from what Cripps told one of my men—they made no application to me for anything they had done to my barge—I saw them at the Thames Company, Limited, Office—they made no claim on me for salvage or reward—sometimes men who have saved a barge come to say they have made it fast, and if we find it is true we pay them—we don't have solicitors' letters generally—they made no claim on me—I paid them 5s. each because I found they had really made the barge fast—I came to that conclusion from what they told one of my men—the quarter ring is a ring on the quarter deck; all barges have quarter rings or dollies—I believe there was a quarter ring on the Punch; I cannot say—barges ought to be moored fore and aft.
Re-examined. There are bitheads and dollies at bow and stern—the barges would be made fast by a rope fastened to the dolly, which is a piece of wood about four feet long and a foot square fixed into the barge by bolts—there are two aft and two forward—if the bolts are old and insecure the dollies might shake about—these dollies were all sound.
HAROLD STEER . I am a watchman, living at 5, Nelson's Buildings, Brief Street, Greenwich—on 18th November, between seven and eight a.m., I was in charge of the barge Caroline, lying at Church Hole Tier—I saw Mr. Francis's barge Punch adrift about 200 yards away, floating up with the tide; it had not reached me; no one was aboard it—Cripps was in charge of the barge Pike, which was moored—the Punch came close alongside, and Cripps and I jumped on board of her, and made her fast to the Caroline—she was an ordinary river barge, with fore and aft decks and a hold—there was no covering over the hold, which contained fifteen or twenty tons of sago, I should say—Cripps fastened her with, a rope I had to my bithead—he fastened her bow to my bow; one bow was pointing up the river and the other down; she was coming up the river stern first—ten or fifteen minutes after we had boarded her the prisoner came up with another man, who I heard was Robinson, in a skiff—the prisoner jumped on board the Punch—he said, "I am in charge of this barge; it has got adrift"—he said he was in Mr. Francis's employ—Cripps asked him if he was working for Mr. Francis, and if he was on pay—I did not quite hear the prisoner's answer—before that, Cripps had made the Punch fast to another barge, with her own chain headfast, as I
wanted my rope—the prisoner undid that fastening, and took away the Punch—he did not render any salvage service to her—I did not see where lie moored her.
HUGH JOHN CRIPPS . I am a lighterman, of 5, Park Road, Norbiton; I am in the service of the Thames Steam Tug and Lighterage Company—on 18th November I was in charge of the Pike; I saw the Punch drifting up the river, with no one in charge of her—she came alongside the Caroline, and I and Steer helped to moor her to the Caroline—ten or fifteen minutes afterwards the prisoner came up—I said, "Have you got her?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "Do you work for Mr. Francis?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "Are you on pay?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "That is all right as long as you are, because if you are not I am as much entitled to her as you are"—by "on pay "I meant was he going to get paid for the day's work—I understood that he was working for Mr. Francis that day—I had to go away to my barge, and I went before the prisoner did—so far as I saw he performed no salvage service—the barge was safe before he came up.
MR. LEYCESTER submitted that there teas no case to go to the JURY, there being no evidence of anything in the nature of an attempt to obtain money by false pretences until the hearing before Mr. Commissioner Kerr, and nothing that was done then could have acted on the mind of the prosecutor to induce him to part with money. If the prisoner had been successful and lead obtained judgment, the money he would thereby have obtained from the prosecutor would not have been obtained by reason of the false pretences influencing his mind (because he might still have disbelieved the prisoner's story), but because of the judgment of the Court. It had been, held that false pretences must operate upon the mind of the prosecutor: if the prisoner had made a false statement, it was not for the purpose of operating upon the mind of the prosecutor, but upon the mind of the judge MR. GEOGHEGAN said that he could not contest the point.
THE COMMON SERJEANT directed the JURY to find the prisoner
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. C. F. GILL and BODKIN Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
GEORGE KEMP . I live at 40, North Bank—I have known the prisoner ten or eleven years—I have been convicted more than once—in 1888 I as sentenced to five years' penal servitude at Middlesex Sessions—that was since I have known the prisoner—I shall have been out of prison two years next month—I have seen the prisoner in London, and at race meetings generally—about 13th or 14th December, I met him in Endell Street; we went and had a drink, and some conversation passed—he said times were very bad, and he had been doing very bad—I told him I would give him a bit of gold for Christmas—I don't think he knew my address then; I did not tell it to him—I next saw him on Thursday night, 21st December, at 7.30 or 7.40, at the comer of North Bank and Park Road—I was waiting to go for the doctor, walking up and down North Bank; my wife was expecting to be confined; there was a nurse in the house—the prisoner was with Steve McShon, whom I had known for some time; I had seen him at race meetings—the prisoner said, "Give us that fiver you promised me"—I said, "I have no fivers to
give away; they are hard enough to get now, and I have domestic affliction in the house too"—he said, "Well, I am going to have some-thing; you had better treat us"—we went to the Red House Hotel, fifty or sixty yards off, and into the private bar, which has a glass partition all round, except where they put the glasses on the counter—I paid for cigars and drinks for them two or three times—the prisoner said he was going to have money—I said, "It is no good you asking me for a fiver; I have no fivers to give away. If you had come and asked me for the gold I promised you in Endell Street you should have had it; now you shall have nothing"—he said, "You are money and misery"—when paying for the drink I put down coppers on the bar and retained the silver in my hand—the prisoner said, "You had better put down some gold to pay for it," and swept the coppers from the bar—I did not put down any gold—he took this pearl pin, which I was wearing, from my scarf and said, "Is this good" or "right"? and hit the water-jug with it, and put it in the muffler he was wearing, and kept it—then I took this watch out of my pocket to look at the time—he snatched it, and broke the chain, taking the watch and about two inches of chain, from me—he struck me on my right ear with his fist, and on my private parts with his knee, saying, "If you open your mouth I will dash in your brains with this," meaning the glass he had in his hand—I was in fear of him—McShon was sitting on a stool all this time; he took no part in the matter, only laughing at what the prisoner did; he could have stopped it if he wished—I was in pain from the blow on the ear; it did not hurt me particularly; I felt more pain from the blow with his knee—he put my watch in his left-hand coat pocket—I said, "If that is your game I will be back in ten minutes," and left the house—I was wearing a cap and an Irish frieze coat—I went home, about 120 yards off, exchanged my cap for a hat, and took a cab and drove to Molyneux Street Police-station—I made a statement which the inspector took in writing—I described the loss of my watch and pin—my ear was then swollen—a sergeant and constable were sent with me—we went back to the public-house, but could not see the prisoner or McShon there—I had bought the watch from Mr. Parr, a pawnbroker in Great College Street—on Saturday night, 23rd December, I was sent for, and went to Molyneux Street Station, where I saw the prisoner in custody, and I charged him with stealing my watch and pin—he said, "Why don't you charge the other man with me?"—he said I was a b—bastard, and that he would have his own back—he used other language like that—he was detained in custody—next day, Sunday, a party of three or five men came and had some conversation with me—on the morning of 25th McShon spoke to me in Lisson Grove, and the same day the men who had been the day before came again—three of them came into the house—next morning I found my pin in the carpet in the room into which they had been—it was stuck through a piece of paper—Windsor Races were on Thursday and Friday, the 21st and 22nd, I think—my watch is in the same condition as it was when it left me—it had a swivel, to which the chain was attached—I had not recovered it on the morning of Boxing Day—on Boxing Day morning I went to Marylebone Police-court, and made a statement before Mr. Newton, the Magistrate, with regard to the charge, in the prisoner's presence—that statement was
not true—I made it because my windows had been broken, and my brass bell-pulls had been thrown through the windows, and I had received threats—I said that I had lost nothing, and had found my watch and pin at home in the drawer, and it was all through drink, and I wished to withdraw the charge—Mr. Newton heard some further evidence, and then remanded the case, so that the prosecution was taken out of my hands—I have not seen McShon since the matter was taken up by the authorities—I last saw him on Boxing Day outside the Court; I never saw him at the Court—some of the people were there who had been to my house on Christmas Day.
Cross-examined. I have lent and given the prisoner money on several occasions: he never repaid me a farthing—when I met him on the Thursday he referred to the money I had promised to give him—he mentioned the conversation of ten days before—his first words were, "Where is the fiver you promised me?"—I might have told the Magistrate that when he asked for the fiver he never referred to the previous conversation, but I know it was mentioned during the evening—I went to the Red House through his invitation—if I said before "Sadler said, 'Come and treat us;' I might have said, 'Come and drink;' it was a mutual desire," it is correct—a barmaid served us—I believe two people were serving in the public-house; I did not take particular notice—there are five or six different bars; it is a large house—no one was in the compartment we were in but McShon, the prisoner, and I—I could hear sounds of people in the next bar but one, not the next one—it is a horse-shoe shaped bar—when he asked for the fiver in the road I said, "I am not going to give you any fiver," and afterwards I said, "You will get nothing from me"—I went to the divisional Police-station half a mile away—I did not go to the other station 150 yards from my house; it would have been no use going there—when I was talking to the prisoner and McShon in the road a constable passed and stopped, and saw us standing there; nothing had happened then to make me afraid—I was not really in fear then; I was when he asked me for the £5 in the public-house—I showed my bruised ear at the Police-station; I mentioned the name of McShon there—I told the Magistrate on the Tuesday morning: "This morning I found my watch and pin in a drawer in my own house; I have lost nothing. When I went home on Thursday last I hid my jewellery and since then I have found it"—that was false; I made the statement on oath—Mr. Newton bound me over to prosecute on the next occasion—I might have told Drew that if he came home with me I would give him the watch—that was a lie; I had no watch to give him—he told the Magistrate he was going with me to see if it were true—he did not go home with me—a week afterwards I told Mr. Plowden that I desired to charge the prisoner; that was in consequence of my bell-pulls being torn off and my windows broken—I told Mr. Plowden a man was present who saw all of it, and there was; I meant McShon—I said, "He is here close to the Court '—I had just left him outside—when I left the witness box Drew gave evidence, and then asked for a remand—I cannot say if McShon is here to-day—on the second occasion Drew applied to Mr. Plowden to certify for legal aid; on the third occasion he asked for further time—since this matter was committed for trial—I appeared at Marylebone Police-court as prosecutor upon a charge against
two young women for larceny—I swore I had seen them robbing me, and my property was found on them—the Magistrate said he had very great doubt about the case, considering the very trivial nature of the charge—if I had asked for a conviction I should have got it—he said he was clearly of opinion that no jury would convict—the two ladies had been to my house to see Colonel Buller, who had half my house—neither of the ladies had lodged with him—I told the Magistrate that one of them had been robbing the Colonel; they went to the house, and took his cheque-book—Colonel Buller was my only lodger—Miss Fenton was there formerly—Colonel Buller had only recently come home from a sea voyage—I cannot say if he was a customer of Leroy et Fils, jewellers, of Bond Street—I do not know Edward Thomas, or any man who passed by that name, who was sentenced at the North London Sessions to three years' penal servitude not a month ago—I do not know that he obtained a ring from Leroy et Fils by saying he was introduced by their customer, Colonel Buller—I do not know Norton, who was sentenced here to ten years' penal servitude for forgeries two sessions ago—I never heard of a lady in my house receiving a cheque which got to Norton, who imitated it, and perpetrated a forgery on Cox and Co.—I know nothing about it—I was suspected of a jewel robbery at the Grand Hotel—I was placed among a number of other men and the cabman could not recognise me—I had nothing to do with it—I had five years' penal servitude in connection with the attempted robbery of Mr. Wilson Barrett's furniture—I and another man were charged with stealing, and an auctioneer with receiving it—we were all convicted—before that I had undergone five years' penal servitude—very soon after I came out of prison I began to go to racecourses—I might have been two or three days a week at race meetings, and hard at work the rest of the week, or I might be at race meetings all the days of a week—I am a bookmaker—I was dealing in stuff goods last week and this morning; there is no racing now—I have not been on a racecourse for six months—I deal with twenty of the largest houses in London in stuff goods—I have bought two hundred yards this morning—I often buy jewellery; I ask questions about it, and get receipts—when I have made bets on a racecourse I have always been there to pay—I don't know Mr. Buckley. (A man was called into Court)—I know that man—I made a bet with him, and paid him £15 out of £20 after a dispute, and he was glad to take it—I know Brewster—he never supplied me with money; it is the other way—I had money before I went into penal servitude, and I have got it now—I only go to those races where I think I can earn anything.
MARY REEVES . I live at 33, Edward Street, St. John's Wood—on 21st December I was acting as nurse to Mrs. Kemp, at 40, North Bank—between seven and 7.30 that day I heard a ring, and opened the door—I saw two men—I did not notice them; it was dark, and my eyes are bad but I knew the name of one was Sadler—I told them something, and they went away—one of them left the name Mac—one man was rather taller than the other.
Cross-examined. I have lived two months at 40, North Bank—about Christmas time Mr. Kemp had a good many visitors—not before that—he is out a good deal—I never heard of Edward Thomas—Miss Fenton was not at the house while I was there—Mrs. Kemp, myself and the servant were there, and Mrs. Kemp's niece came to stay a few days
while Mrs. Kemp was ill—the Colonel was not there when I was there; I left before he came back from his sea voyage.
Cross-examined. I knew Kemp well before—there is a Police-station about three hundred yards from his house—I knew McShon and the prisoner before—I had never seen them with Kemp before—I have known McShon for the past eight years.
HARRIET WILLIAMS . I am a barmaid at the Red House in St. John's Wood—on Thursday evening, 21st December, I was serving in the bar—about 7.30 Kemp came in with two men—the bar they were in was partially screened from the space inside by a glass screen which has a apace underneath for glasses to be pushed through—they were served with cigars and drink—Kemp placed some coppers on the counter, and one of the men whipped them off—I could not see the face of either of the men who came with Kemp.
Cross-examined. The manageress was also serving in the bar; the potman was not in the house—some police came round later that evening—Kemp was not with them—I was not in the bar the whole evening—I heard something to the effect that one of the men left a message for Kemp that they had waited half an hour—Kemp is well known at the Red House by being a regular customer—he gets his champagne there; he has a good deal—all I heard was the sound of coppers being thrown on the floor—there was hardly anyone in the other bars; it was a very quiet time in the evening; I cannot say for certain how many there were—the master of the house was there.
HARRY TAYLOR (Sergeant 15 D). On the night of the 21st December I was at the Molyneux Street Police-station—Inspector Leonard, who has charge of the station, is ill—when Kemp came the inspector gave me some directions, and I went with him—he pointed out his ear to me; it was red and swollen—he complained of pain in his private parts—he showed me his watch chain, which was broken—I went with him to the Red House, and about the neighbourhood, but I did not find anyone.
Cross-examined. There is a Police-station 150 yards or a little more from the Red House—the station to which Kemp came is over half a mile off—I did not know Kemp—40, North Bank is in the district of Molyneux Street Station—I went into the Red House, leaving Kemp outside—the manageress told me the men had left a message that they had waited half an hour for Kemp, and could not wait longer—it makes no difference whether a complaint is made at a divisional or district station.
HENRY WADE . I assist my father, a pawnbroker, at 38, Thames Street, Windsor—this watch was pawned there on Friday, 22nd December, in the name of Thomas Brown, 28, Eastbourne Terrace, Paddington, for 10s.—the man pawning was a stranger to me.
22nd December I noticed among descriptions of persons wanted that Frederick Sadler was wanted for stealing a watch and scarf-pin from the person—I had no knowledge of whom the larceny was from—about five p.m. on Saturday, 23rd December, I went into a public-house in Oxford Street, where I saw the prisoner, whom I knew previously—I said, "Sadler, I am going to take you into custody for stealing a watch and pearl scarf pin from a person on Thursday last"—he said, "Which person?"—I said, I don't know"—he said, "You are a f—you do know"—I said, "I don't know"—he said, "Where is your warrant?"—I said, "There is no warrant required; it is a case of felony"—he said, "Let me go into the next bar and tell my brother"—there were a number of persons in the bar, and I allowed him to do so, and he said, "This is b—fine. I am pinched"—one of the men said, "What for?"—the prisoner said, "Oh, it is that f—darky, Kemp"—one of the men said to me, "Is that who it is?"—I said, "I don't know who the person is"—the prisoner said, "You are a f—liar. You know that is who it is, and if he prosses me I will put a knife into him when I come out"—I persuaded him to come with me quietly to the station, and he said he would—walking along Oxford Street, followed by his companions, he commenced to be violent—I got the assistance of several constables, but he got more violent still—he was sober—I took out the handcuffs, and got one on his left wrist, but he prevented me from handcuffing him properly—we took him to Marlborough Mews, where, after some difficulty, he was handcuffed—he was then taken in a cab with another officer to Molyneux Police-station, where he was detained till Kemp came and charged him—the prisoner was very violent, made use of most violent language, and plunged at Kemp to try and use violence to him—he was still handcuffed; he was restrained by a number of constables and myself—after he was charged we went to search him—it took three men to hold him down, while he kicked—we had to cut the laces of his boots to get his boots off to prevent his injuring anyone—Kemp, in the prisoner's presence, described how the prisoner had come to him when he was waiting to go for the doctor, and demanded money; that he was afraid of him, and persuaded him to go to the Red House; that while there he continued to demand money; that he (Kemp) refused to give him any, but called for drink and put down coppers, which the prisoner swept off the counter, saying he wanted something better than that; that he struck him in the face, snatched the pin out of his necktie, and wrenched the watch from the chain, and threatened to put a glass in his face if he said anything or made any alarm—Kemp said he promised he would go home to get some money for the prisoner, but instead of that he went to the Police-station and got some officers and scoured the neighbourhood to try and find the prisoner, but could not do so—the prisoner, when charged, refused to give his address or occupation—when he was in the dock he was quiet, but when we took him out four or five constables were holding him; he was very violent—he was most boisterous in manner and language, and all he said in reply to the charge was calling the prosecutor a "dirty f—convict," and what he had done for Wilson Barrett's furniture—he was more like a raving lunatic—I was at the Police-court on the Boxing Day morning—previous to that I had seen Kemp with the prisoner's companions, and called him away from them; then Kemp handed me the pin and told
me something—I heard what he said to the Magistrate, and I described to the Magistrate exactly what took place, and my reason for believing why Kemp had adopted the course he took—previous to remanding the case the Magistrate bound over the prosecutor in £25 to appear on the remand—afterwards the Treasury took the matter up—I saw the broken bell-knobs; the windows had been repaired—we cannot find McShon; he has absconded from the neighbourhood; I have tried to find him—I took proceedings against two of the other men with regard to the damage to the windows and bell-knobs, but I have not been able to find them since—the Magistrate granted summonses against them.
Cross-examined. I do not know McShon, but an officer who does, and-who was looking out for him, was with me at the Police-court on the first occasion, and I know McShon was not there—I had served a summons on him—I did not see him anywhere near the Police-court—during the remand the prisoner was in the infirmary; I don't know what he was suffering from.
CHARLES BURTON (Police Inspector D). I was on duty at Molyneux Street Station, on 23rd December, when the prisoner was brought in by Drew and other officers—I took the charge, and read it to the prisoner—he made no answer, but became very violent in the dock, and shouted, and said what he would do: stab the prosecutor when he got at liberty—we had to take off his boots in the dock.
JAMES HOLDEN (Police Constable). I was with Drew from the commencement of the case—I know McShon by sight—I have done my best to find him—I was at the Police-court on all occasions; I never saw him about the precincts of the Court, inside or outside—he disappeared about a week before this case began.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Epsom in May, 1886. Twelve other convictions were proved against him.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
OLD COURT.—Thursday, February 8th, 1894.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS, BIRON, AND HEWITT Prosecuted, and MR. ROOTH Defended, at the request of the COURT.
SOLOMON MYERS . I am a solicitor, living at 53, Amherst Road, Hackney—Ray Maud was my youngest child—she was ten months old—my family consisted of my wife and five children: Harry a boy of eight, Jonas six, Esther four and a half, Solomon a year and ten months, and the deceased—on 8th December last I had three servants, Lottie Bethel, as nursery governess, Beatrice Clark, general servant, and the prisoner, acting as nurse to the three younger children—the prisoner came into the service on Saturday, 3rd December up to that time Beatrice Clark had been in charge of the children, and from that time the prisoner took charge of the younger children—I and my wife slept in a room on the
first floor, and on the same floor my two older boys, Harry and Jonas, slept—the third and top floor consists of three rooms: one, a day nursery, used by the children as a play-room; another a bedroom, slept in by Beatrice Clark; and the third a night nursery, in which the prisoner and the three younger children slept—on the night of 8th December I saw something wrong with the baby's face; its lips were very much swollen, its eyes were swollen, and there were one or two scratches about its face—it looked at first as if it had had a fall—Lottie Bethel brought the child down into the dining-room—my wife was present—next day, Saturday, the 9th, I spoke to the servants about it—the prisoner was one of them—I asked how she could account for the marks on the baby's face—she said, "I don't know; I don't know anything about it; I never did it"—when I came home that afternoon I found that my wife had given her notice—next day, Sunday, I was at home most of the afternoon and evening—I remember Lottie Bethel leaving the house about twenty minutes to six—she returned at ten; I let her in—about eight that evening I heard my little boy who was sleeping on the first floor call out "Mummy, mummy, baby"—my wife, who was in the dining-room with me, ran upstairs—she screamed, and I walked into the passage to see what was the matter—I saw my wife there with the baby—I took it from her—the prisoner was standing on about the third stair—the baby appeared to be choking—I turned up the gas and looked at its lips, and I could smell a kind of vinegary smell, and after smelling the mouth and looking at it I had no doubt it had been poisoned—there was nothing in its throat—I at once accused the prisoner of poisoning the child—I said, "What have you been doing to this baby again?"—she said, "Nothing, sir"—I said, "Go at once and get me the feeding bottle, or any other bottles you have in that room"—she ran upstairs and brought down a feeding bottle, and a bottle labelled "spasmodic mixture," these are the bottles (Produced)—I put them in my pocket, took the baby from her, and ran to the doctor's—Clark also ran off to the doctor's at once, and I and my wife followed with the child, leaving the prisoner in the house with the other four children—it was about twenty minutes past eight, as near as I can recollect, when I got to the doctor's—he saw the baby, and smelt it and administered an emetic; it was sick after it—he told me to take it home—I did so, and it had a bath—when we got back the prisoner said there was some white stuff on the pillow—my wife said she would have the pillow—the prisoner went upstairs to look for it, and then opened the landing window, to make one believe that it might be on the tiles somewhere; she afterwards said she could not find it—I heard the window opened, but I was not up there—search was made in the gardens—my wife went up directly, and came down and told me something, and produced this bottle labelled "Poison"; there was a very small drop of liquid in it—later on that evening, more towards morning, I received a communication from Clark—the child was taken to the hospital under the doctor's orders; he went with me, and tracheotomy had to be performed, and it was after my return home that the communication was made to me—I sent for the police, and about one in the morning Sergeant Childs came—after he had left, about two in the morning, I had a conversation with the prisoner—but previous to that she stated to me, and repeated it then, that as she went upstairs she saw Lottie sitting in the nursery
crying, and that she said to her, "What are you crying about?" and Lottie replied, "It might be my last Sunday out"—she told me that about twenty minutes to ten in the first instance, after I returned from the doctor, before I went to the hospital—she said that happened just before Lottie was going out—I said to the prisoner, "What do you mean by telling me that Lottie was crying?" and she said, "I don't know"—I said, "You had better tell me what you know about this matter; I am determined to find out the truth"—she replied, "I know nothing about it, sir; I never did it"—that was the conversation, and that was repeated about two in the morning—after I returned from the hospital I questioned the three servants, and they all seemed to say they knew nothing about it—on Monday afternoon, about three, after receiving the communication from Clark, I called the prisoner and Clark into the drawing-room, and said to both of them, looking at Newber, "There have been so many lies told yesterday; here are two pieces of paper; if you want to say anything further about the case you can write it down, and, you quite understand, after you have done so I shall hand them over to the police. Please yourselves whether you will do so or not," and I left them—just before that the prisoner had said to me, "I want to tell you something. I did punch the baby about on the night of the 8th; I did punch it in the face and eyes, but I am sure I did not give it the poison"—Clark was standing there; I said to the prisoner, "What did you mean by telling Beatrice that you saw little Solomon with a bottle in his hand labelled poison"—she said, "Yes, sir, that was a lie, I know; I knew that was a lie when I said it"—before she wrote her statement she stated that she saw Beatrice Clark standing between the bedstead and the cradle, giving baby something out of a cup—I am not sure whether Clark was present then—she said she had undressed Esther and put her to bed, and the baby began to cry after she had been in the room a few minutes, and she hushed it to sleep, and the next she taw was, it was choking, and froth was coming from its mouth—after that it was that I told them to write statements; they went into different rooms to do so—when the prisoner had written hers, she said, "There it is, sir; that is all I know about it."(Read: "Baby was so cross that I slapped it on the face, but I can't say how the scratches came on her face. I got her to sleep, and came downstairs, and stayed in the kitchen till it was time to go to bed; and then, when Lottie saw the baby's face, she brought her downstairs to you. I had been playing in the front room with the children until mistress came up and looked at them, and then told me to get the water and wash them. I did so; I had washed Esther and started oil Harry when mistress called me, and told me she wanted me to go on an errand, and I left the children and came downstairs. I went on the errand, and before I went up again nurse came down and went into the baby's room. I went up, and had hardly been upstairs three or four minutes when baby cried as usual, and then I heard mistress call me, and I went to the top of the staircase, and mistress asked me if I was up there, and I answered yes, and ran back to the baby, and found her as if she could not get her breath, and from her mouth came white stuff. I picked her up, and went to the top of the stairs and called mistress twice, and then Harry called, and then mistress called up to me, 'Bring her down,' and I done so; but as to anything else, I know nothing. That is all the truth")—after hearing
that, I said to her, "Is that all?"—the police were then sent for, and after they arrived, she said, "I have forgotten something! I have forgotten something!" I said, What do you mean?"—she said, "About Beatrice Clark"—then I think I threw the paper down, and she picked it up, and wrote this at the back: "I went into the bedroom to get Esther the chamber, and I saw nurse giving the baby something out of a cup. I asked nurse what it was, and she said "milk"—Clark was the nurse up to the time the prisoner was engaged—it was between three and four in the afternoon when she made that addition—the police left, and returned about seven or eight, when the prisoner was charged and taken to the station—she was first charged with assault and administering poison with intent to do grievous bodily harm—the baby died on the 12th at the hospital, and the charge was then altered to the present.
Cross-examined. It would be impossible to say how many statements the prisoner made to me, five or six or more; she kept running up and making statements and saying all manner of things—I have only this one in writing; for the others I have to depend on my memory—I don't think she has cleared the character of Beatrice Clark—I don't think she said that what she had said about her was a lie—she said that she saw Clark giving something to the baby at seven, and baby was not taken seriously ill till about eight—I don't know the prisoner's age; I have heard that she is fourteen—I hope I and my wife treated her kindly—I had very grave suspicions that she had inflicted the bruises on the baby on the 8th—a little more care was taken afterwards—she was alone with the child at that time—she has always denied administering anything to it; she has never wavered from that in all her statements—the child was taken ill at eight, or a little after—when my wife screamed Clark ran from the area steps to the doctor's—my wife ran from the top of the steps, and gave me this bottle—the prisoner would know that we were going for the doctor; she was left in the house alone—we were gone very likely half-an-hour—if she had wished to get rid of the bottle of poison she had ample opportunity of doing so—I did not charge her at eight o'clock with poisoning the baby—I can hardly say that I suspected her then—it was on the Monday after twelve when I noticed the froth from the month—I asked her what she had done immediately she brought it down—I don't know whether I have mentioned the word "again" before to-day, when I said, "What have you been doing to this baby?" I daresay I did—I think I said it at the Police-court—no doubt my memory was more clear then than now—I don't know how I came to omit the word before the Magistrate—it referred to the ill-usage—the marks began to show very plainly on the 10th—we were rather upset at the time, and it is very difficult to know what I did say—so far as I believe I did use the word "again"—I think the baby was a good, quiet child, and gave no trouble.
ROSA MYERS . I am the wife of the last witness—the prisoner came into our service on Saturday, 2nd December—she told me she could not get a character because the lady had gone out of her mind—I said I could not take her without a reference—she brought her mother with her, but what they both stated was false—I believed the statement at the time—on the evening of the 8th I remember the baby being brought
down by Lottie Bethell; its face had some signs of injury—I went up to the bedroom and questioned the three of them, and they all denied it—I said to the prisoner, "Be careful. Has the baby had a fall? Has she knocked herself?"—she said, No; she knew nothing of it—next day, Saturday, I discharged her—she had only come for a week on trial—she was very distressed; she cried bitterly, and begged of me to allow her to remain; she was terrified at going home; in fact, she said she could not go home, she had nowhere to go to—I said she might get a situation, but I could not keep her beyond the week, and on those conditions she stayed on—on the Sunday I was at home the whole afternoon and evening—I remember Lottie Bethell going out about twenty minutes to six; I don't know who let her out; I was in the breakfast parlour—about seven I went upstairs to see if the children were all right—I found Solomon in his cot, and baby in her cradle, both asleep—baby was in her usual attitude, and quite quiet—the prisoner and the three elder children were in the day nursery—Clark had just given us our tea in the breakfast parlour, and I left her downstairs—after seeing that the children were all right, I came down into my bedroom—I called the prisoner down and sent her on an errand, for some bread; she was not absent more than five or six minutes, she left Esther with me; when she came back she came into my bedroom, and took Esther in her arms—Clark came into my room with the children and put the two boys to bed in the room adjoining mine, and the prisoner went upstairs with the baby; that was about twenty minutes past seven, as near as I could tell—about five or six minutes after she had gone up I heard baby cry—I was coming out of my bedroom, coming upstairs—I called up "Emily, are you there?"—she replied, "Yes, ma'am"—I begged her to try and keep baby quiet—I said, "Whatever made you leave baby, why not keep in your bedroom?"—she was out of the night nursery at the time—baby stopped crying almost directly, and I went down to my husband in the dining-room—I remained there between twenty minutes and half-an-hour—I heard Harry call, "Mamma!"—I went out of the room; he said something to me—I was going upstairs and called, "Emily, what is the matter with baby?"—she called out, "Baby is choking; there is some white froth on the pillow"—I said, "Oh, bring her down quickly"—she brought her down, and I saw that the child was frothing at the mouth, and the lips Mere swollen, and she had great difficulty in breathing—my husband spoke to the prisoner, and took the baby from me—I shrieked, and I said to the prisoner, "What is this again? I thought we had sufficient on Friday night"—I called down to Clark in the kitchen, "Run for the doctor, quickly," and she went; and I and my husband also went with the baby, leaving the prisoner behind with the other children—we got to the doctor's about twenty minutes or half-past eight—I afterwards went home with the baby—I said to the prisoner, "Where is the pillow? Baby has been poisoned; you must find it"—I sent her up to get it—she said she could not find it; upon that I went up to the night nursery, to the baby's cot, and found the pillow there all right, and no sign on it of anything white; it was in the same condition as in it had been in the evening—I intended going into the day nursery, but Clark's room being directly opposite, I saw that her room was in confusion, and things lying about, which caused me to go into her room, and
I saw a bottle on the top of a work-box; it was this bottle with the poison label on it, and I directly ran down with it and gave it to my husband to take to the doctor—the doctor came about half-past ten, and he directed baby to be taken to the hospital, where it died on the 12th—I saw the prisoner on Sunday night in the kitchen, but had no conversation with her, I left it to Mr. Myers.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was under notice to go because she did not suit me, she did not look after the children carefully enough; that was one reason, there were others—she begged to remain on, in order to get another situation; I kept her a week—I could not give her a character—I took her without a character, upon a false representation—I had been up to the nursery at seven to look at the baby; Clark's door was closed then—I did not then see the bottle in the night nursery—Esther went to bed about twenty past seven—I don't know whether the children had been playing in Clark's room that day, I was not there—I was in the dining-room when the prisoner called for assistance—I had been in the bedroom previously—Clark had gone down before I left my bedroom—I was first aroused by Harry—directly I went up I met the prisoner on the stairs with the child in her arms—there was a lot of white froth like spittle coming from its mouth—it was after I returned from the doctor's that I went into Clark's room—I don't think I had been away quite an hour—the nursery had no light in it—the bottle was quite prominent, with the label "Poison" turned upwards; it was a thing that would attract anyone's attention, anyone going into the room would have seen it—the baby was a good little thing, the best I ever had, and the quietest; she never gave the prisoner any trouble, except one night, when she went to bed without taking the milk upstairs—I must have been a kind mistress to her, to have kept her after what I had found out.
Re-examined. Clark's door was shut when I went up at seven; when I looked about I saw that it was open.
BEATRICE CLARK . I entered the service of Mr. Myers last October as nursemaid—on 2nd December, when the prisoner came, I became general servant—I remained there down to Sunday, 10th December—I took a box with me to the house in October—I slept at the top of the house in a room by myself—I placed the box in my bedroom—there was a work-basket and a work-box in it; the basket had no lid to it, the box had—the basket contained needles and cotton, and a bottle of poison—this is the bottle—I bought it about a year and eighteen months before October—I had a wart on my face, and I used this to remove the wart—I bought two pennyworth, I used about half of it, up to the red mark, up to the label; I then put it back in the work-basket in the box, and there it was, as far as I know, down to Friday, 8th December—on that day the prisoner asked me to lend her an apron—I told her she would find one in my box; I had half-a-dozen there, which I had given her—the box was unfastened, not locked—I did not see her go to the box; she must have done so, for I saw her afterwards wearing one of the aprons—one evening during the week she asked me for a reel of cotton; I am not sure whether that was before or after the apron; I did not go with her to look for it; I know she brought it down, she was doing some work with one of the reels that had been in the work-basket—there was some phosphorous paste in the house for killing rats or mice—one evening when we were working together
in the kitchen, the prisoner was cleaning down a shelf, she got down this paste, it had a label on it; she asked me what it was, I told her it was phosphorous paste—she asked me if it would poison anybody—I said I thought it would, as far as I knew—I believe she put it back again—on Sunday, the 10th, I was in the house in the afternoon—it was Lottie's evening out, and she was going to take a letter for me to the post, and it wanted a stamp, I went up to my room between five and half-past to look for one, I turned out the things from my box on to the floor, but could not find one—the prisoner and the three elder children were in the room—Lottie came in, and asked me for the letter; I said I could not find a stamp, and she gave me one, and I went down with her, and let her out at the front door—I had left my things on the floor—the prisoner followed us down the stairs, and the children as well; I left them on the landing, and I and Lottie went down, and I let her out about twenty minutes to six—I did not see her again till ten that night, when she came back—after letting her out I returned to my room upstairs; nobody was there at that time—the things were still on the floor in the same condition as I had left them; I left them there, and went upstairs to wash and dress myself—I then came down, leaving the things still on the floor, in disorder—that was about half-past six—I went into the dining-room to put things straight, and then went into the kitchen—I remained there for about a quarter of an hour, and I was called up by Mrs. Myers to her bedroom to wash Joe, while the prisoner went out on an errand—that was between a quarter to seven and seven—I washed the boys, and put them to bed in the room next to Mrs. Myers' bedroom—that took a little time—after that I went straight down into the kitchen—I met the prisoner coming up the stairs to Mrs. Myers' bedroom, as I came down from washing my hands at the top of the house—I did not go to the top floor at all after washing the children—I washed them in the day nursery, and brought them down, and put them to bed—when I met the prisoner I came down as far as the hall, and mistress called me to take up a brush and comb, and then I went back to the kitchen, and remained there till the prisoner called out about the baby, and something on the pillow, and Mrs. Myers called out to me to go to the doctor—I went to Dr. Gimblet, and after that returned home—later in the evening or early morning I saw Mr. Myers, and he told me he wished to find out the truth—the prisoner was there at the time, we were together—during the night I told the prisoner that she must have done something to the child, or it never could have been found like that—she replied she knew nothing about it—when Mrs. Myers brought the bottle into the room, and showed it me, I said it was mine, and the prisoner told me that she saw Solomon running about in the nursery with one in his hand, with a red label on it, and she described the bottle to me accurately—as far as I know, it had not been shown to me at that time—next day I heard that she had said that she saw me give the child something in a cup—I heard that on the Monday, I don't know whether it was about twelve, or in the afternoon—after that I was called up by the master, and asked to write something—the prisoner and I were there together, and we each wrote a statement and handed them to the master—after that Sergeant Nursey came, and in his presence the prisoner said she saw me give the child something out of a cup—I said
it was an absolute lie, as it was, and she knows it—I was not in the night nursery at all on Sunday, the 10th, after half-past seven; I was not in there after I had washed the children in the day nursery, between six and half-past; I was downstairs—I did not see that bottle at all on that day; I don't remember seeing it since I had been there—I am quite certain I did not touch it at all on that day—it was always in my work-basket up to that afternoon—I never saw it that afternoon—I did not put it on the top of the work-box, where it was found by Mrs. Myers—it is not true that I gave the child anything out of a cup, either on that day or any day, while standing between the cot and the cradle; it is a lie—the prisoner did not ask me what I had given it, nor did I answer "Milk."
Cross-examined. After letting Lottie out at the front door I went straight back to my room; it appeared to be in the same condition as I had left it—I had not noticed the bottle; I thought it was in the basket—I had not opened the basket to get a stamp—I last saw the bottle when I was at home, before I came to this situation—it was in the basket among reels of cotton and different things, all mixed together—the children had been playing about there; they were in the day nursery when I returned, and the prisoner was there with them—I never said anything to her about having poison in my box; I gave her no reason to believe that I had anything there—the phosphorous paste was on a shelf in the kitchen; she must have seen it when she did the shelf; she put it there—my bedroom door was always open, I never saw it closed; it may have been—there was no reason why my mistress or anyone should go in—I was not in the night nursery that evening after six or half-past—an hour and a half elapsed between the time I was in there and the time this occurred—I used to feed the baby with milk, not out of a cup, always in a bottle.
Re-examined. It was a feeding bottle—I used to feed the child up to 2nd November, after that the prisoner fed it—I was in my own room up to half-past six on this night—I dressed in the night nursery, there was gas there; I had not a candle in my room, the light shines into my room—at the time I was in my room I could not say whether the bottle was in my work-basket, because I did not see it there—I saw the work-box, but no bottle on it.
LOTTIE BETHELL . I was employed as nursery governess by Mr. and Mrs. Myers last December—I was in the house on Sunday, 10th December—I left about twenty minutes to six—I had only been there three or four days—Clark let me out; I had a letter to post for her—I came back about five minutes to ten—I was not in the house between those times—I was in Clark's bedroom just before I went out—I did not see anything of this small bottle, or know of its existence—it is not a fact that on the Sunday afternoon before I went out I was crying in the day nursery, and saying that it would be my last Sunday out; nothing of the kind.
WILLIAM HENRY GIMBLET . I am a licentiate of the R. C. P., practising at 34, Pembury Road, Clapton—on Sunday, 10th December, about 10.30 p.m., the deceased child was brought to my surgery by Mr. and Mrs. Myers and a servant—I examined the child and found it suffering from shortness of breath, difficulty in breathing, and there were marks of redness about the side of the mouth—I clearly saw that it was suffering
from some pain, some injury done to the lips and mouth by some corrosive poison; there was a strong smell of acetic acid, and I noticed a strong smell of it about the chemise, and there was contraction of the pupils—since the examination I came to the conclusion that it was consistent with the administration of acetic acid—at the time I was doubtful whether some morphia had not been administered in that mixture, but there was nothing in it—I was shown the feeding bottle—I gave the child an emetic, and also something to neutralise the effect of the acid; it was sick freely—I then gave it back to the parents, with certain directions—about eleven I went to their house and saw the child again—I examined the lips and the tongue and found marks of corrosion very evident—I attended to it till one in the morning—I then saw there was a probability of tracheotomy being necessary, and I advised them to take it to the hospital, that the operation might be performed at the proper time—I accompanied them there—I saw the house surgeon, and called his attention to the contracted pupils, the smell of the breath, and other things—at the time I went to the hospital two bottles were brought, and subsequently a third bottle, which contained strong acetic acid—this is it, labelled "Poison"—tracheotomy was performed about three in the morning—it died on Tuesday evening, the 13th, at six—on the 14th I attended the postmortem with the house surgeon—the tongue, the palate, and the tonsils were corroded with acid, and inflamed; also the stomach—the cause of death was bronchial pneumonia, caused by strong acetic acid as that in the bottle—the effect would be to cause great pain—the child would cry out directly it was administered—it must have been administered quite recently; within half-an-hour—the amount of burning would show approximately the time at which the acid had been given—it was brought to me about half-past ten—in my opinion it had been just given, and subsequently the teat of the bottle had been put into the mouth—there was a slight smell of acid on the teat.
Cross-examined. A very small quantity of this acid, a teaspoonful, or probably less, would be enough to cause death—assuming it had been poured into the mouth, it would make the child cough and sick almost instantaneously—if it was coughing the teat would not remain in the mouth—assuming that the child had the bottle in its hand, it might possibly be able to put it to its mouth, and if so, precisely the same symptoms would be found—there was excoriation on the neck—if the acid had been poured into the mouth, it might cause corrosive marks on the neck, because it would dribble, and there was evidence of its running down the left side of the mouth—there were marks on the face and on the lips, from the dribble from the mouth—girls between thirteen and fourteen frequently have their periods, more often later—they are then frequently given to hysteria, and might have hallucinations; it in part of the disease.
Re-examined. From my examination of the child I should think about a teaspoonful of the acetic acid had been taken; decidedly more than a drop.
GEORGE CHILDS (Police Sergeant J 26). On the 11th December last, about one a.m., I went to 53, Amherst Road—I saw the prisoner there—she made this statement to me. (Read: "About half-past eight I was going upstairs after putting one of the other children to bed. I met the housemaid
Clark coming down. I was going to my room when I heard the baby cry. I ran in and found her choking. I picked her up, and carried her downstairs, calling out, 'Mistress, something is the matter with the baby'")—At the station I made a report—I received from Mr. Myers this bottle labelled "Poison"—I handed it to Sergeant Nursey.
RICHARD NURSEY (Police Sergeant J.). On the 16th December I took these three bottles to Dr. Luff—I had received them from Childs on the morning of the 11th—about six that morning I went to 53, Amherst Road, and I saw Mr. and Mrs. Myers and the servants, and took statements from them—the prisoner said, "About 7.30 p.m. on the 10th, I was washing the children in the nursery. Baby was in the cot in the next room, on the top floor, when mistress called me down, and sent me on an errand. I was gone about a quarter of an hour. When I returned mistress told me to take Esther to bed. I did so, to the same room where baby was lying. I was in the room about four minutes before the child made any noise. It first commenced to cry, and then appeared to be choking. I then called mistress, and a doctor was sent for. Beatrice was sent to the nursery to wash Joey, when I went on the errand, and on my return, as I was going upstairs, I saw her entering the first floor bed-room with him, taking him to bed. I believe she had just brought him from the nursery"—That was all she said then—about four that afternoon I called again at Amherst Road—I was sent for by Mr. Myers, and he handed me the paper written in pencil by the prisoner and signed by her—I at once sent for the prisoner and Clark; I saw them together—I said to the prisoner, "I understand you have something you wish to say to me"—she said, "Yes, when I saw Beatrice giving the baby something out of a cup"—I said, "When was that?"—she said, "Last night, about seven o'clock, she was standing by the side of the cot, with her back towards the door—Clark said, "I never gave the child anything out of a cup; I never went near the cot, it is a lie"—she seemed very indignant at the accusation—later in the day I went to the house again—I had a conversation with Dr. Gimblet first, about seven or half-past)—I saw the prisoner and told her I should arrest her, and she was charged with violently assaulting the child, Ray Maud Myers, on the 8th, and that she would be further charged with administering poison to it on the 10th, with intent to murder it—she said, "I did not do it"—I took her to the station, where she was charged, and when the charge was read over to her she said, "I never, I never, I never done such a thing"—I was present at the inquest, the prisoner was there; she was asked if she wished to give evidence, she declined.
Cross-examined. She was represented by a solicitor there—the Jury returned practically an open verdict; they heard all the evidence except that of Dr. Luff.
ARTHUR PEARSON LUFF , M.D. I am lecturer on medical jurisprudence, at St. Thomas's Hospital, and official analyst to the Home Office—on 16th December Sergeant Nursey called on me with certain articles, amongst others a sealed jar containing the viscera of a child and the mucous membrane of a tongue—I found that they had been eaten away to a certain extent by corrosive acid, especially the upper portion of the air passage, and the tongue was softened and corroded; there was
also some corrosion in the stomach—a baby's chemise was handed to me, and upon it there were certain marks of some substance, probably vomit—I made a chemical examination of it, and found acetic acid present in it—this bottle, corked and sealed, was also handed to me—I examined it, and it contained seven drops of strong acetic acid; it is known as glacial acetic acid—I analysed the antispasmodic mixture—it was perfectly harmless; it contained no poison whatever—after that I made a communication to one of the Treasury solicitors—the signs I saw could have been caused by a teaspoonful of glacial acetic acid.
JOSEPH J. BUSH , M.D. I am registered medical officer of the German Hospital—in the early morning of 11th December the deceased child was brought to me—it died on the following day—on the morning of the 14th, in company with Dr. Gimblet, I made a post-mortem examination—I took out the viscera, and put them in a sealed jar, and handed it to Sergeant Nursey—I have heard Dr. Gimblet's evidence—I agree with him as to the cause of death—I have also heard Dr. Luff's evidence—I agree with what he has said.
Cross-examined. I agree with what Dr. Gimblet in what he has said, that a girl between fourteen and fifteen would he very likely to be in a state of hysteria; that is a complaint that might produce hallucination and imagination; it is very common—I should not rely upon what was said by a person in that state—I would not rely upon a confession made by a person suffering from hysteria—a person having the best intentions sometimes does very bad things when suffering from hysteria.
By the COURT. It is very difficult to say how many women out of a hundred would have hysteria at that period—it depends upon the climate and the circumstances—there are very isolated forms of hysteria which would not bring on such signs, perhaps not one in a thousand—if they do suffer from it there would be outward and visible signs of it—telling a lie would not be one—if a doctor examined the patient several times he might find it out: seeing her once would not be sufficient—if a servant in your own home had hysteria you would notice it—a master or a mistress would see something of it from her appearance or manner.
DR. GIMBLET (Re-examined). I saw the prisoner, and examined her at the time—I did not see the slightest trace of hysteria about her—the only conclusion I could come to with regard to her was that she had a homicidal mania.
By MR. ROOTH. I assumed that she had murdered the child; it was not from anything she said to me that led me to that conclusion, it was from her demeanour—I had the two girls before me, and I cross-examined them with a view to find out whether either of them were in a sane state, and I came to the conclusion that there was no hysteria, nor had I at which any evidence before me that this girl had even menstruated; that is the period hysteria usually commences, but there was no evidence of it; some girls do not menstruate till seventeen or eighteen, some do between thirteen and fourteen—I was looking for everything at this time; hysteria would naturally be one of the things I would look for; the symptoms are difficult to detect under certain phases; sometimes it is clear.
GUILTY of Manslaughter. Strongly recommended to mercy on account of her youth.
SERGEANT NURSEY stated that, from inquiries made, the prisoner had been discharged from two previous situations for alleged cruelty to children One Week's Imprisonment and Five Years in a Reformatory.
NEW COURT—Thursday, February 8th, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
247. BERTHOLD STERN (22), PLEADED GUILTY to embezzling £1. 8s. 6d., £1. 4s., and £1. 1s. of Maurice Prager, his master. His friends undertook to send him home to Germany.— Discharged on recognizances. And
248. CHARLES WATKINS (60) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to stealing fifty-three £5 bank-notes of the Governors and Company of the Bank of England. MR. GILL, for the prisoner; stated that he had been in the Bank forty years, that the day after he absconded he wrote to the Bank giving the numbers and dates of the notes he had taken, returning the amount, and stating that he had not taken as much as he had subscribed to the fund for a pension. He received an excellent character, and Dr. Boxall stated that he had been very peculiar of late.— Discharged on recognizances, his friends promising to look after him.
MR. CRISP Prosecuted and MR. TAYLOR Defended.
JOSEPH BERNSTEIN . I live at 29, Lordship Park, and have been in business—I owned the Prince of Wales, Hampstead Road, fifteen months ago, and the prisoner was my manager for fifteen months; he had the sole control—I gave him notice to leave, and obtained a warrant for his arrest on a charge of felony, which the Magistrate dismissed; and the prisoner brought an action against me for false imprisonment and malicious prosecution—I made a counter claim, but he obtained a verdict against me, with £75 damages, and the counter claim was deferred—instead of going on with the reference, we came to an agreement on June 9th, 1893, on which day a receipt, bearing that date, was given to me, the body of which is Mr. Sowden's writing—he is a public-house broker, of 28, Great James Street—I paid him on that occasion £60 in cash, and these two promissory notes for £20 (produced), the bodies of which are Mr. Sowden's writing, and the signatures mine—I received them back from Mr. Freke Palmer, the solicitor, who represented the prisoner in the civil proceedings—on December 12th, someone came to me at Lordship Park, and presented this note from the Union Bank—the signature is not mine, the body is in the prisoner's writing—this "s" is different from the others—in consequence of a communication made to me I went to the Crown and. Anchor, Drummond Street, and Mr. Acton handed me this document, No. 4, which I took to my solicitor—I subsequently received a communication from Messrs. Ralph, Stacey and Carter, Mr. Acton's solicitors—I did not give the prisoner any other bills than the two I gave him at Mr. Sowden's office.
Cross-examined. I am now a furniture merchant; prior to that I was in the public-house trade, and prior to that I was a bottle merchant—I have not been a money-lender—I said at the Police-court that I had lent
money on mortgages—it is not the case that the Magistrate, in dismissing the charge against the prisoner, addressed very strong remarks to me—he in the first instance refused the warrant which I applied for—my solicitor applied for the warrant—I do not recollect saying before the Magistrate, "I do not know that the Magistrate dismissed the warrant"—before I obtained the warrant I had sworn an information by my solicitor's advice—I believe I swore at the Police-court that the Magistrate said he refused to grant a warrant unless I satisfied him that I could not find Mr. Barrington Nichols, and upon that he granted his warrant—on May 12th, 1892, I appeared at Marylebone Police-court with my solicitor, to prosecute the defendant—I do not remember that the Magistrate said that gross deceit had been practised in obtaining the warrant, or that he said anything about being deceived; I do not believe he did—he dismissed my case, but I do not know whether he did so before Mr. Palmer's cross-examination had concluded—I will not take my oath that I was re-examined by my solicitor, but I think I was—I swore, "The said Barrington Nichols has also stolen the license of the said premises, and taken it away with him"—that was true, and I told the Magistrate so the next day, and after I had given my evidence he dismissed the charge—on the following day I applied for a summons, which was refused—I subsequently applied with Counsel and it was refused, as before—it was then that the action was brought against me, in which I made a counter claim for £1,316 10s. 6d., and judgment was obtained against me for £75, but I believe the costs were reserved—I do not recollect that the Jury found me guilty of malice towards the prisoner—the £1,316 was not a fictitious claim on my part; it was a bona fide claim, which was gone into by the accountant, which I was in a position to establish, and yet I settled the plaintiffs claim for £60 and two bills; I had so much worry, and it appeared that the prisoner was a man of straw—Mr. Sowden advised me to settle the matter—he had known me six or eight months—I do not know whether he knew that I had a counter claim for £1,316—after the verdict I met Mr. Sowden, and asked him to settle it, but did not employ him as my agent—I was present at the action, and Mr. Von Sanden, a friend of mine; he was not a witness in the case—the prisoner was present—Mr. Sowden drew up this receipt in my presence; he advised me to drop my claim altogether, and to pay my own costs—I became acquainted with Mr. Sowden by his selling the public-house, before the prisoner came into my employ—he has not done other business for me—I wanted to sell the public-house shortly after the prisoner came in—I was at Mr. Sowden's office three or four times between June 9th and October 9th; he said that the prisoner wanted more money as compensation—I applied by Counsel for a warrant, and the Magistrate said it was not required; if he had been guilty of felony, give him in custody—he deposited £75 when he first went into my employment, and afterwards said that it belonged to his mother-in-law—instead of handing it over, he handed me a receipt for the amount—I do not think the prisoner swore at the trial that he gave me notice to leave; I gave him notice—the money he handed over to me on the day he left my service was the alleged balance after deducting the deposit—I applied for a warrant after the money had been handed over to Mr. Payne—I have
never lent Sowden money; I went to his office two or three times between May and October, because he wanted to know how the case was settled—I just called in as I was passing, and he said that Nichols wanted £100 more—I know nothing about Mr. Sowden's financial position—I heard him gave evidence at the Police-court.
Re-examined. He is a public-house broker, and I engaged him—it was not after the settlement in June that he told me that Nichols wanted £100 more—the £75 was deposited in case of deficiencies in stock—Nichols had complete control of the till; he took the £75 out of the till the last week, before the accounts had been gone into to see whether there was any deficiency—I found that the reference was leading me into expense; I employed a firm of chartered accountants—the average takings were £90 a week—my accountant went into the various books—he charged me between £30 and £40—I was the mortgagee of the public-house for £500 before I entered into possession of it—there were mortgages before mine, and I had to pay them off.
By the COURT. I knew that the defendant claimed to retain the £75, because it was the amount of his deposit, and he would not give me credit for it unless he kept it—I told my solicitor that, Mr. Norman Edward Clark.
EDMUND SOWDEN . I am a public-house broker, at 30, Great James Street—I know the prisoner and prosecutor—I had a meeting at which they, were both present with Mr. Hoppy—a receipt was given which was drawn up in my writing, and signed by the prisoner—Mr. Bernstein had paid the prisoner £60—except the two promissory notes which are filled up in my writing, I did not give him, or see Nicholls give him, any promissory note whatever.
Cross-examined. I never gave Nichols but these two promissory notes, and I never told him that Mr. Bernstein was hard up, and I would try and get him some more afterwards—I said that Bernstein had had such serious losses at the Prince of Wales that I should have great difficulty to get the money—I did not tell him I would try and get some more afterwards; I thought I did very well for him—the prisoner did not call on me afterwards, and clamour for more money—I have not seen Bernstein three times since—I think he called at my office once or twice—I went through my call-book—I never called on him—he promised me an honorarium for settling these things, and I wrote to him—he has not paid it in full—I have not borrowed money from Nichols—I said at the Police-court that two £5 cheques were returned—I said, "I have never borrowed money from Nichols. I never gave him cheques that were returned through the bank; I gave him two cheques, and they were returned dishonoured"—he had the money given to him to buy a public-house, and the transaction was delayed a long time—he came to me afterwards, and said, "I have got a house in Bartholomew Close, but I have no money"—I said, "I have no money I can give you"—he said, "If you will give me a cheque, I will take it to a friend, and he will hold it till I can take it up," and I gave him the cheque—he came to me a week afterwards, and said that the cheque had been paid—I said, "It is very unfortunate; what shall I do?" and I gave him a fresh cheque—he said that Mr. Plater had arranged the whole thing; the two cheques were pinned together, and he
would bring them to me; but after that I found that he had never been to Mr. Plater at all, but he went to someone else and got the money, and put it in his pocket; and as to the £100 he had to buy the public house, he put that in his pocket, and I never had a halfpenny of it—I did not intend that he should obtain money on the cheques at the time I gave them, but he told me he could get money on them, and he did—I never borrowed money of Nichols—he has not lent me small sums, nor did I give him the cheque for £5 and ask him to get it cashed, and give me £2 10s. of it, nor did he give me the £2 10s. outside Mr. Plater's house, the Chester Arms, Albany Street, nor did I give him the other £5 cheque to settle it—I never saw Nichols after I gave him the cheques at the end of September or the beginning of October—he was not trying about that time to get me to get money from Bernstein—I never saw this cheque till it was put into my hands at the Police-court, and there is an alteration in the date—Nicholls did not tell me that if I could get a further sum from Mr. Bernstein he would give me some of it—Nichols has paid me £10; I have not been paid very much by Mr. Bernstein yet, he agreed to give me four guineas, and said that that was all he could afford, but he has only paid me £1 Is, and if I had been paid £50 it would not have been enough for the trouble I have had—Nichols did not say that he would give me more money if I could get him more money; they walked up the street, and I had hard work to get him £100; he only offered £70—he offered £150 originally—no solicitor appeared in connection with the settlement—I was asked to mediate between the two; they were equally anxious to get the matter settled.
Re-examined. At the Police-court it was not suggested that I had seen this forged bill, or had it in my hands, or that I had given it to him—my partner, Mr. Hoppy, was present when the bills were given; he was called at the Police-court to corroborate my testimony, but the Magistrate did not think it necessary to hear his evidence—there is no doubt about this "Barry Nicholls" on bill No. 4 being the prisoner's writing, and this No 8 also, and the endorsement to No. 9—No. 10 is something like his writing, but I cannot say that it is his.
WILLIAM ACTON . I am a licensed victualler, of 127, Drummond Street—I knew the prisoner when he was manager at the Prince of Wales—he brought me this bill, No. 4, on October 15th, and asked me to lend him a couple of pounds, and said, "I will give you this bill of Bernstein's as security," and that he got it over the case he won—as far as I can judge, it is Nichols' writing—I subsequently let him have some more money—I paid it in to my account, and it was returned to me.
Cross-examined. The prisoner endoused it in my presence—he said that No. 4 was given him by Mr. Sowden, a public-house broker; I understood that he got it over the action—he asked me to pay it into the bank, and pay him over the balance—I advanced him from time to time small sums on it—I have known him as the holder of a licence.
GEORGE SMITH INGLIS . I am an expert in handwriting—I have compared this document with Mr. Bernstein's writing, and I say that it is not his signature; there is no attempt to imitate it—I have compared Nichols' writing with the writing on No. 4, and I believe the person who wrote this "G.
Bernstein" on No. 4 is the same person who wrote the body of the bill, because the initial "J" agrees with the "J" in "July" in document No. 8—the "B" in "Bernstein" I take to be a disguised form of the "B" in "Barry" in the same document, and the "r" in "Bernstein" agrees with the first "r" in "Barry" in the same document—the "s" in "Bernstein" is round and agrees with the "s" in "Lordship" on the same document—there is a dash under the name Bernstein, with a dot under the end of it and on the same document there are two dashes and a single dot underneath; there are two dots after the initial "J," and two after the initial "B" on No. 9; there are also two dots in this one, but they are horizontal and the others are vertical—it is a most uncommon thing for a man to make dots after his name—in this blotting-book, found on the prisoner, No. 7, there are blottings of the name "B. Nicholls"; they do not show the two dots—the blottings are similar to the prisoner's signature—it is the reverse way, and not so easy to see without a looking-glass—there is also on the blotting-paper" £"for pounds and some figures, and "value received" under" £20."
Cross-examined. That has no connection with value received on that bill—there are no dots on the blotter, only one after "B.," not after Barry—I do not remember ever seeing two dots after an initial before, and it struck me as very singular—there is one dot after "Barry" in No. 8, but none after Nicholls—it is within my experience that a person may write his signature in various ways—there would be nothing singular in a man writing "B. Nicholls," joining the B on to the N—the figures 2 and 0 did not strike me as singular, as a bill had been written for £20—the two "r's" in the same document are imperfectly formed; there is no shoulder to them—I suggest that there is such a similarity that the same hand wrote both—there is a dash under "Bernstein," and I connect that with a similar dash on the same document after "value received"—I call a dash writing—the two dashes look as if they were made at the same time—there is a distinct difference in the quantity of ink, but not in the colour—so far as the depth of colour is concerned, both the dash in the body of the bill and under the signature were made at the same time, but very likely with a different pen—I think the "J" in "J. Bernstein" agrees wonderfully with the "J" in "July"—No. 4, the alleged forged bill, is in a common style of writing—I say that "Bernstein" is in a slightly disguised writing—it might be written by any person, but I have compared it with the admitted writing of the prisoner—if I could not find any similarities, I did not look for dissimilarities—I will not say that I am infallible—I was called and sworn in the Times and Parnell commission, and then asked to retire—I was called on behalf of the Times—I was concerned for the prosecution in the case of Dring, before Commissioner Kerr, and there was an acquittal, although the documents were forged—I had a great many reasons, more than I have to-day—the only document I have compared the writings with is one admitted to be in the defendant's writing—in this D all the up stroke is on this side of the down stroke.
Re-examined. I have not seen these letters of March 14th and 24th,. 21st June, 4th July, and 20th July, 1892, before—on the second page of this of March 24th, there is a dash with a dot underneath under the word "point," there are two dots horizontal after the "J" in "A. J.
Payne," there is a dash on document "I" after the word "receipt," and a dot underneath and a dash after "July" with a dot horizontally—the "J Payne" is the same identical form as in No. 4—in these day-sheets (produced) there is a dash and a dot under B. Nichols, and at the top of the day I find the word Bernstein with the same "B" and the same improperly formed "r" and the same "t," with the dash away from it, as in document 4—on the same sheet there is the word "Nichols" with a dash and a dot underneath—on July 15th there is the same thing, and two dots after the initial "B"—on the sheet of July 17th there is a dash under "B. Nichols," and a dot under it, and on July 18th here is a curved dash, with a dot hanging from it, like a pendant—on this sheet (another), here are two dots horizontal between the "B" and the "Nichols," and the next is the same, a simple dash underneath—in No. 4, the alleged forged bill, the indorsement is "Barry Nichols," with a dash underneath, and a dot horizontal.
By the COURT. I have got the forgery before me—this is generally like the handwriting—he spells his name with one "l."
ALFRED JOHN PAYNE . I am a licensed victualler—the prisoner answered an advertisement—in the course of business the day-sheets he kept were handed to me—these day-sheets are in his writing, and these letters which were sent to me also.
----BOSWELL (Detective Sergeant S). On January 3rd I saw the prisoner in Sergeant Parson's custody at Albany Street Police-court, and said, "Mr. Bernstein charges you with forging his name to a promissory note or valuable security"—he said, "I don't know anything about the signature; I got it from Mr. Sowden in a case I had against him, that is what makes him vindictive"—I said, "Where can I see him?"—he said, "That is what I should like to know; I have heard that he is very bad in bed, but I have tried to find him, and I cannot"—I wrote that down and he signed it—previous to the charge being made by the sergeant, I read the promissory note to the prisoner, and called his attention to the word October being written over some other word—he made no reply—he was arrested shortly before I saw him—Parsons and eleven men witnessed this.
GUILTY — Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, February 8th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. GEOGHEGAN Prosecuted, and MR. MATTHEW Defended.
EDWARD GREGG . I am a house furnisher, at 831. Fulham Road—I dealt with Braun and Francis, bamboo furniture manufacturers, in Tabernacle Street—on the 24th August 1893, the prisoner called with certain goods, which I bought I gave him this cheque for £3 15s. in payment—he gave me a receipt.
Cross-examined. He bad sold me goods before—I regarded him as a respectable young man, and understood that he had authority to receive money.
JOSEPH BRAUN . I and Francis Parloski are partners in the firm of Braun and Francis, manufacturers of bamboo furniture, 92 and 94, Tabernacle Street, Finsbury—Mr. Francis is unable to write—in December the prisoner had been in our service for about ten months—his duties were to take out goods, sell them, and receive the money, which he was to give to me on the same day, as soon as he arrived back at the warehouse—we waited till he came back—the goods he did not sell he would replace in the warehouse—I opened a banking account in May, 1893—the prisoner knew of that—before I opened it the prisoner would endorse cheques in my absence from town—since May Mr. Francis has received the cheques and kept them till my return, except on one occasion from the 1st to the 4th August, when the prisoner had permission to endorse, as I was away—I was in town on 24th August; between 4th and 24th August, I had received cheques which I had endorsed myself—I do not remember receiving any through the prisoner between those dates—the prisoner knew I was in town on 24th August; he saw me and paid cash over to me—Edward Gregg, of Fulham Road, is one of my customers—this cheque is endorsed in the prisoner's writing—this is my invoice book; it contains the entry of goods sold to Mr. Gregg to the amount of £3 5s. 6d.—the prisoner paid me £3 4s. 6d. in cash; 1s. was discount to Gregg—the prisoner would enter his sales in the invoice book—no one checked the goods the prisoner took out; we had full confidence in him; no one could say the amount of goods he took out—he never told me he had received a cheque for £3 15s. from Gregg—I have never received from him the difference between £3 5s. 6d. and £3 15s.; he never accounted for it—he had no authority from me to endorse Braun and Francis on this cheque on 24th August—I am a foreigner.
Cross-examined. Sometimes we have 100 hands, sometimes 50, or more or less—a year ago it was very flourishing—I had losses recently—last year I had over 150 men; this year I have had 20 or 30—I have been pushed for money, but I had some—my banking account was opened at the end of May or the beginning of June—during March and April he had full authority to endorse cheques; then he was general manager of the business, up to the time I opened the banking account; since that time he only had authority to endorse at the beginning of August—the last day he had authority was 4th August, when I came back—he endorsed four or five cheques between the 1st and 4th—I did not put anything in writing when I withdraw his authority—after we moved into Tabernacle Street I told the prisoner that he must not endorse any more cheques—I said I would prosecute if I found anyone doing it—I told my partner I had withdrawn the authority from the prisoner to endorse cheques—I gave no reason to the prisoner for doing so—I gave no notice to my customers that the prisoner had no further authority to endorse cheques—we always provided him with ample travelling expenses—he was never allowed to retain any money he collected, except under very extraordinary circumstances—the prisoner would put in the ledger all the money received from a customer—if £3 15s. were received, and he had spent 10s. in expenses, £3 15s. would be entered in the ledger, and the 10s. I should enter in my private book—if the prisoner's wages were not paid on the Saturday they would be on the following Monday; they were never overdue—I am sure I was
not away from London when the prisoner cashed this cheque—I was away for a day or two in August after the 4th.
The COMMON SERGEANT intimated that the JURY would have difficulty in convicting the prisoner of forgery, he having had authority at times to endorse, and it not being shown very clearly that that authority was revoked. MR. GEOGHEGAN said he should not ask the JURY to convict the prisoner on this evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. GEOGHEGAN Prosecuted and MR. MATTHEW Defended.
GEORGE YOUNG . I am chief cashier at Oetzmann and Co., of the Hampstead Road—they deal with Braun and Francis—the prisoner was in the habit of calling with goods, and receiving money—on 8th November I paid him £11 10s.; on 28th November £1 17s. 6d.; and on 8th December £4 16s. for goods received—these are the receipts he gave me—those sums were paid in cash.
JOSEPH BRAUN . I am one of the firm of Braun and Francis, of 92 and 94, Tabernacle Street—the prisoner was our clerk, traveller, and collector at £2 a week and his expenses in November and December, and up to when he actually left us, on the Saturday before Christmas—on receiving money from customers it was his duty to hand it to me or Mr. Francis as soon as possible, and enter the transaction in this day invoice book—on November 8th he has entered £10 10s. 6d., as received from Oetzmann—that was what he gave me—there is a difference of 19s. 6d. between that amount and £11 10s.—there is no entry in this book of £1 17s. 6d. or £4 16s.; they were never accounted for—I paid his wages, expenses, and commission every Saturday; no money was due from my firm to him at this time, and he had no right to deduct money owing to him.
Cross-examined. He did not show me the invoice of goods he sold—sometimes on Saturday I allowed him something extra if he had done a very good week—for a few months he was a general manager—he was never a sort of partner—he had no money in our business—he left our service on Christmas Eve—I found out about these sums a few days before he was arrested—I made a copy from my ledger of sums I had received, and I went to Oetzmann and compared it with their books, and found I was short—the prisoner was not entitled to retain the sums of money he did retain—I had no quarrel with him—I heard he had said things against me, something about a fire on my premises; I asked him if he had said so, and he said, "No, I never said so," and I did not believe he had—I suspected him in the August before, but could not find any-thing out then.
Re-examined. When he left on Christmas Eve I promised to give him £5—I gave him a wedding present—I did not pay him the £5, because I found out he had been robbing me—the prisoner sold the goods for £4 16s. on 8th December, but he did not enter it to Oetzmann, but to Shoolbred, with whom I have an account.
Cross-examined. I write very badly.
PHILIP WILLIS (Detective Sergeant G). I received information, and on 11th January, seeing the prisoner in Tabernacle Street, I told him I should arrest him for embezzling £4 1/6s. on 8th December, and other sums on other days, the money of his employers—he said, "I shall have an answer to the charge"—I took him to the station, and found on him £5 3s.—he said that belonged to his present employer, Mr. Searle.
Cross-examined. Inquiries were made, and information was received from Folkstone, his home, that nothing was known against him there—he left there about eighteen months ago, with a good character.
Re-examined. When I arrested him he was in the employment of Mr. Searle, of 28, Salad Street, Euston Road—there is an indictment against the prisoner for embezzling Mr. Searle's moneys, in whose employment he had been for ten days.
The prisoner received a good character.
He then PLEADED GUILTY to embezzling money of Mr. Searle, his master.
MR. MATTHEW stated that the prisoner's friends voluntarily desired to make restitution to the prosecutors, and that they would send the prisoner out of the country.— Judgment respited.
MR. A. B. SMITH Prosecuted.
ROSE WILLIAMS . I am living at a home at Battersea Rise—at six or 6.30 p.m., on 15th November, I was with Elizabeth Proud, and we met the prisoner at the Royal Oak Station, by appointment—we walked in the direction of Leinster Place—on the way he gave me a cheque for £6 in an envelope, and asked me to go into a milk shop and ask them if they would change a cheque for Miss Farwell, of 60, Inverness Terrace—he promised to give me 10s.—I went to the shop, and asked Mr. Stoat to cash the cheque—he gave me a £5 note and a sovereign—I came out; the prisoner and Proud were about twenty yards off; they had waited outside—I gave the prisoner £1, but I did not give him the £5, because it had got to the bottom of my pocket—we had not walked very far before Mr. Stoat came after us—he asked me if I was the girl who changed the cheque—the prisoner told me to say I had not; and he said to Mr. Stoat that it was very funny—the prisoner tried to get me into a cab, but the cabs were all engaged—Stoat continued to follow me, and soon after the prisoner ran away, and then I ran away, and was caught; the prisoner was not caught—I don't know what became of Proud; I did not see her again—I was taken to the station, where I gave the £5 up to the policeman, with the 10s. which the prisoner had given me when I gave him the £1—I was committed for trial, and tried here at the December Sessions (Seepage 145)—I pleaded guilty to changing the cheque—I was released on recognizances—I have cashed other cheques for the prisoner—Proud pointed him out to the police; I did not.
Cross-examined by prisoner. You are the only man I know in this matter—a man whose name I don't know introduced me to you—you said you knew him—I don't know Harry Lucas—my friend introduced me to the man who introduced me to you—I had not time to give you the £5 before Mr. Stoat came up—I lived at
Bloomfield Road about six months before I knew you—I was a domestic—it does not matter to you where I was at work—I had no money from anyone but you—I left my last place about six months ago; but I was ill, and not able to go to work for some time—I have lived in the Gray's Inn Road in service—I shall not tell you the address—I had cashed about a dozen cheques for you before, I should think, in the same way, and given you the money—after cashing them I did not stop long in your company: I always went off with a young fellow—you always gave me the cheques in envelopes, as far as I recollect—I think I got six out of the twelve cashed—I said when Mr. Stoat came up and spoke to me, "No, I will take my oath I have not"—you nudged me to say so.
ELIZABETH PROUD . I am single, and live at Burfield, Bracknell, Berks—on 15th November, Williams and I met the prisoner at the Royal Oak Station about out six p.m.—we went to Leinster Place—on the way the prisoner gave Williams an envelope, telling her it was a cheque, and that she was to go to Mr. Stoat, and say Miss Farwell had sent her, and would he cash the cheque—he pointed out a shop—she went and presently came back, and gave the prisoner a sovereign—he gave her 10s.—we were walking away—presently Mr. Stoat came up, and asked Williams if she had been to his shop—she said, "No"—Mr. Stoat continued to follow us—the prisoner spoke to two cabmen; they were engaged—the prisoner ran away—I and my friend were taken—I do not know the prisoner's writing.
Cross-examined. I did not introduce Williams to Harry Lucas; I was ill in the infirmary when she got to know him.
By the COURT. On a later day I went out, followed by a detective, to whom I pointed out the prisoner, and he was arrested.
HENRY STOAT . I am a dairyman, of 2, Leinster Place, Bayswater—on the evening of 15th November Williams came in, and I changed a cheque for £6 for her—I afterwards followed her, and saw the prisoner—we have a customer named Farwell, at 60, Inverness Terrace; I believed the cheque was from her—I said to Williams when I followed them, "Excuse me, but you have just dome to my shop from Miss Farwell"—she denied it—the prisoner said, "Oh, no; that is very funny!"—the other girl said, "No; she is my sister, and has been with me all the afternoon"—the prisoner ran away—I next saw him at the Police-station, where I picked him out of about twelve men.
Cross-examined. You were about 400 yards from my shop when I spoke to you—I should say that Williams would have had time to give you the £5 note—I kept ten to twenty yards from you as I followed you—I had never seen you before to my knowledge—you might have seen my cart at Miss Farwell's door—I have never had Harry Lucas in my employment, or to do my books.
THOMAS DYSON (Detective Sergeant F). In consequence of an arrangement I made with Proud I went to Raleigh Road, Harrow Road, and saw her meet the prisoner—she took out her handkerchief in accordance with a signal we had arranged, and I went to the prisoner and said, "I am a detective officer, your name is Hunt; I am going to take you into custody for inducing this girl and another girl, Rose Williams, awaiting sentence at the Old Bailey, to cash cheques for you"—he said, "I don't
know what you mean. I don't know what you are talking about. I have not seen the girl before"—I took him to the station, and placed him with about eight men—I told him to place himself in position—he said, "I will not, as they have not great-coats on"—he was going to take his off—I said, "Keep your top coat on, and they shall put theirs on"—they were policemen nearly as tall as himself, in plain clothes—I said, "Are you satisfied?"—he said, "Yes"—he stood where he liked—Mr. Stoat was called in, and immediately identified him—after he was charged he sent for me, and said, "I want to see you, Mr. Dyson; I assure you I am not Hunt, nor yet have I ever given either of these girls cheques"—he refused his name and address.
Cross-examined. You said your wife was about to be confined, and that your father was a very old man, as a reason for not giving your name and address.
JOHN JAMES DOWKER . I am a cashier at Lloyds' Bank, Tunbridge Wells—this cheque for £6 is drawn on one of the forms of our bank—it issued in 1880; I cannot say to whom—we had no customer named Morris at any time.
The prisoner in his defence stated that cheques were given to him to cash by Harry Lucas, who said he was making up the books and collecting money for tradesmen, and that Lucas sometimes gave cheques direct to Williams, but that in every case the cheque was supposed to come from a customer, and that that had deceived him.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in January, 1892.— Five Years 7 Penal Servitude.
MR. CAMPBELL Prosecuted.
LOUISA DAVIES . I live at 5, Red Lion Passage, Holborn, and am the prisoner's wife—he is a carpenter—on Saturday, 20th January, he came home about ten p.m., bringing a woman, who was staying in the same house, with other people, and whom he had taken out at 7.45—she was so drunk that the prisoner and two young men helped to carry her in—the prisoner was half drunk—I stood at the street door when he brought her home—I had met them arm in arm in Chancery Lane, but had not spoken to them then—I remonstrated with him, as I have to keep him and my children; he does no work—I clean offices morning and evening, and do dressmaking during the day—I had high words with him at the street door, and he passed from the door to the public-house at the corner, and had more drink—he came home again after eleven—I did not see him go in the public-house, but I heard it—he did not appear more drunk than before—as he came in I took the can to get a half-pint of beer and some bread—when I came back he opened the room door, and said, "Who is there?"—I said, "It is only me"—he said, "Who is with you?"—I said, No one but me"—he said, "Not another b—soul comes in this room this night but you"—as I entered the room he fastened the door behind me
—I sat down to resume my needlework, and he sat in front of the fire from about 11.30 to twelve, watching it go out—no sooner had it gone out than he looked across the table at me (we had not spoken for half-an-hour) and said, "I think I will have a little bit more fire; it will make it more cheerful"—I made no reply—he got up and got the chopper, but never attempted to get the wood—he turned from the cupboard with one step, bringing down the chopper on the back of my head, saying, "I am going to do for you"—this is the sleeve I had on—he cut my head open—I got to my feet, put my left hand on my head, and held his hand, that had the chopper, with my right, to prevent another blow—the next blow fell on my left hand, bruising and hurting it very much—I held his arms so that he could not get the chopper up to bring it down on my head, but he brought it down twice sideways, cutting my head at the side—I cried "Murder "—each time he cut my head open—I had three cuts—I fell on the floor then, he fell with me; I never let go of his right arm from the time I claimed it till Mr. Bowen came into the room—as soon as he got hold of the prisoner I rushed from the room, and I was taken to the Royal Free Hospital—before Mr. Bowen came in, my little boy rushed out—the prisoner got a piece of newspaper and wiped the chopper, and threw it into the bottom of the cupboard among the coals—I was not detained long at the hospital; my wounds were dressed, and I came home in a cab—this is the chopper—the first blow I received with this iron part, but the other blows were with this sharp part.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. Johnnie got out of bed and opened the door and rushed from the room, and Bowen passed him on the stairs.
ARTHUR KENNELL . I am house surgeon at the Royal Free Hospital—after midnight on Saturday, 20th January, Mrs. Davies was brought to the hospital suffering from three scalp wounds and a bruise on her left hand—the wounds were clean cut on the scalp, and were caused by three different blows, I should say; two of them not quite exposed the bone, the third one, on the side, was just a scratch—all wounds on the scalp are serious, but these healed quite easily, because she is a healthy woman—the wounds might have been inflicted with this chopper—erysipelas might easily have supervened.
GEORGE BOWEN . I live at 5, Red Lion Passage, Holborn, and occupy a room on the first floor under the prisoner—about midnight on 20th January I heard cries of murder, and screams from the children, and made all haste upstairs—the door was open, and the prisoner was on top of his wife on the floor; she was screaming for help—I seized hold of him—I could not notice if he had anything in his hand; it seemed to be under his head—I pinned him against the foot of the bedstead, and asked him what he had been doing—he made no answer—I kept him there about ten minutes, and then released him, and asked him what he had been doing—no one came to my assistance—he asked me to cut off a portion of his shirt sleeve, which I did it was saturated with blood—he asked me to give him the piece—I said "No"—he said, "I wish I had murdered her; I am going; the other side of the water"—not knowing what he had done I let him go downstairs and out of the house—I saw no blood till the police arrived—I proceeded with them to the room, and saw a pool of blood about a foot from the drawers, and about a yard from the fender,
where they had been lying when I arrived; there was also a pool of blood on the chair—Mrs. Davies subsequently gave me this chopper—there were a few hairs just at the top, but I could not see any blood on it.
Cross-examined. I have been a total abstainer for about two months.
HENRY KIRBY (Sergeant 4 E R). I received a warrant for the prisoner's arrest on 21st January—on 26th January I found him detained at Rotherhithe Police-station—I was searching for him, but could not find him before—I read the warrant to him—it was for unlawfully and maliciously wounding his wife—he said, "I did not cause the wounds."
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I did not do it with the chopper. She fell against the fender."
The prisoner in his defence said that his wife tried to scratch, him; that he pushed her, and she fell on the fender; that she got hold of him again, and they fell between the bed and the table; that she seized him again, and they fell a third time, near the door; he denied using the chopper.
GUILTY on the Second Count . He had previously been convicted of assault upon his wife, of using threats towards her, and of an aggravated assault upon her.— Seven Yean' Penal Servitude.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant
254. JOHN SMITH (21), PLEADED GUILTY **† to stealing a case and twelve bottles of orange bitters, of the London and India Joint Stock Company, having been convicted at Clerkenwell on December 15th, 1891— Twelve Months Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
255. GEORGE WHITE (49), PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling-house of Thomas Eagle Bye, and stealing two overcoats and other goods. Five previous convictions for burglary and attempted house-breaking were proved against the prisoner.— Three Years' Penal Servitude And
256. GEORGE HARRIS (22), WILLIAM JONES (20), and GEORGE PEARCE (18) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to stealing 1,820 lb. of lead, the property of Augustus Hawkes, affixed to the Abbey Mills Distillery.— Four Month's Hard Labour.
MR. MUIR Prosecuted.
JOHN MILLER . I am a watchman, employed at the Abbey Mills Distillery, at West Ham—on the night of the 8th of January, about six," I was going on duty; it was just getting dark—I heard something on the roof, and I went to the Police-station for assistance; before it came Pearce came and surrendered himself to me—the police came and surrounded the building—I did not see Gray on the roof—I afterwards saw this piece of lead, which had been thrown; it was rolled up as it is now; it had been stripped off the roof.
FREDERICK FORTH (Police Sergeant). I am stationed at West Ham—about a quarter-past six on the evening of 8th January, I received information, and took nine officers to the Abbey Mills Distillery, and surrounded
rounded the building; I saw Pearce there is custody—after that I saw two men on the roof; they gave a slight whistle, there was no reply; they came up to the part from which Pearce came; they looked over the parapet and went back into the building; after that I saw them on the roof immediately after the whistle, and heard them speak—I heard a great rumbling noise where the prisoners were; I could not say what it was—shortly after I saw them in custody.
GEORGE GRAY (250 K"). I went to the building with Forth and saw the two prisoners on the roof—I went to get on the roof where they were; Sergeant Monk assisted me—on the ground there is a tank; there is a path about two feet wide between the wall and the tank, and the roof is a sloping one—the prisoners were about thirty feet from the bottom of the parapet—I climbed up the sloping roof where they were, and got hold of the side of the gutter—one of the prisoners broke the gutter with his foot while I was holding on to it, and one of them said, "Shoot the b—"—they then deliberately picked up this piece of lead and threw it over the parapet; it struck the coping, and then struck my back, knocking me down insensible—I remembered no more—my head was just above the parapet at the time they threw the lead—after I recovered myself I assisted in searching the building, and afterwards discovered the two prisoners concealed in a stoke-hole—I went to the station and was examined by the divisional surgeon—I was on the sick-list eleven days—I suffered pains in my back; it seriously interfered with my health and comfort.
Jones. I heard you say, "I will shoot you."
Witness. After they said, "Shoot the b—," I said "I will shoot you if you don't come out of that"—it was while I held on the gutter they broke it away with their feet.
JOHN MONK (Police Sergeant 84 K). I was with Gray, and assisted him on to the roof, which slopes down to within about 5 feet 6 inches of the ground—he climbed up about thirty feet, and when he reached the top he put his hand on the gutter which runs along the roof, and he was immediately pushed down—I saw two figures heave this huge lump of lead over, and Gray caught hold of the parapet and partly moved, so he did not get the full force of it, or he would have fallen on the wall on which he was standing and then into a tank—I heard one of the men say, "I will shoot you, you—"
Harris. I had the lead on my shoulder, and it fell.
Witness. I saw the two heave the lead over; it was not dropped by accident.
DANIEL ATKINS GROGONO . I am divisional surgeon of police at West Ham—I saw Gray about nine p.m. on 8th January, and examined him; he was suffering from a large concussion on the lumbar region, just above the buttock—he was very much shaken, and was suffering from shock likewise—I ordered him off duty, and he was under my care about ten days as the result of the injury—his health and comfort were certainly seriously interfered with—if this piece of lead had struck him on the head, in all probability it would have killed him right out, and if it had struck him fairly where I found the bruise, it would have broken his spine.
Harris's defence. I had the piece of lead on my shoulder. I looked
round the corner and whistled, but not hearing any reply, I got off the coping and sat on the roof, and sent the lead down. I heard the constable say, "If you won't come down I will shoot you, you b—"I said to my companion, "Let us run away, the man says he will shoot us."
Jones's defence. Gray struck me with a stick which he had, and cut me on my arm.
GUILTY . HARRIS then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of stealing lead in March, 1893, and William Newland, a Detective Sergeant, proved a conviction against him in the name of Everett for stealing lead in May, 1892. HARRIS— Three Years' Penal Servitude. JONES— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
The JURY considered that Gray had behaved with great pluck, and desired that their opinion should be conveyed to the Commissioners of Police.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
REV. CORNELIUS MARTIN ELLINGHAM . I am a clerk in Holy Orders, living in a flat, at 4, The Albany, Albany Road, Camberwell—I have known the prisoner about ten months; he used to come up to my rooms to do occasional odd jobs, about once a week on an average—I knew him as Charles Donald Dorrington —I always paid him at the time, a shilling, on an average, and he seemed well satisfied—on one occasion he made a packing case into a small box, and on that occasion I gave him 2s. 6d.—he generally came after tea, after seven, generally on a Wednesday, for the last six months or so, and he would generally stay the evening, and the last thing before going would smoke his pipe, and make a cup of cocoa; that was the rule—he would smoke in the sitting-room, because there was no fire in the kitchen at that time of night—living alone as I was from necessity, not from choice, I had to reduce my expenditure—I smoked one pipe a day; that has been my allowance for years; we smoked together—he generally went away about eleven or half-past, or twelve—the cocoa he made was for both—our relations were always friendly up to Christmas Eve last—I don't think for ten months I ever used five cross words to him, or he to me—on Christmas Eve he came about half-past seven or eight in the evening; he did a little work, several odd jobs—he had his tea, and being Christmas Eve, I said to him, "You may sit down, and have your pipe"—there was a little fruit, and various things that persons had sent me, and he partook of them like myself—so we spent the evening up to about eleven—I went to bed that night about half-past eleven—the hall or passage is between the sitting-room and bedroom—we had some whisky and water together, a very small quantity each—when I left there was some whisky left, the remainder of the bottle—I should think half a bottle—that was left in the sitting-room, in the cupboard—I went from
the sitting-room across the hall to my bedroom, having said "Good-night to you" in the sitting-room—he was then as sober as he is now—I said, "After you have had your pipe you may go"—I went to my bedroom, intending to get up early next day, being Christmas Day—I went to bed, and four or five minutes after I heard the outer door close gently—I did not shut my bedroom door; my habit was to leave it open, as the fire in the sitting-room warms the bedroom—I also left the sitting-room door open—I did not see the prisoner leave, but I heard somebody, as I thought, close the hall door—I went to sleep, and had been asleep some little time, and I was awakened by blows from a poker, which I afterwards found, knocking my front teeth out of my head, and blood was streaming over the bedclothes—it was dark in my bedroom, but a light was burning in the sitting-room—I could see a glimmer from the lamp on the table, it had been turned down—I could not see for the moment—I was not able to get out of bed—being partially paralyzed in my arms and shoulders for years, I was not able to defend myself at all by raising my arms to strike a blow, but I managed to wriggle or edge myself over to the other side of the bed, and by that means I got out of bed—all the time I was receiving blows on my head from the poker—I saw it was the prisoner who was striking me—I saw him hit the poker against the brass-rail of the bed, and it broke the poker—when he thought he had given me sufficient, and thought I was insensible, I heard him go into the kitchen, and drink a glass of Mater, and then he came back with another poker, which was bent, with which I was struck, when he found there were still signs of life in me—I can't say how many blows he struck me with that, I think two or three—altogether I had ten blows on my head; one or two went to the bone, and several all down my side, and the surgeon said my side was all colours, and very much bruised—I was in very considerable pain—after he found I was lying very quiet, I saw him take my waistcoat from the head of the bed, and take my gold watch out, and take it into the sitting-room and examine it by the light of the lamp—whilst he was doing that I collected my remaining strength, and edged my way as best I could through the passage, shouting "Police!" and "Murder!" as well as I was able—when I was doing that he passed me in the passage with the watch in his hand, and went out—in the mean-time I made my way to the caretaker's room door, and tried to knock him up—I then went back, and remained till about five in the morning, with a towel round my head—I went back to my sitting-room first; I thought I was going to die, and I wrote on a piece of paper, "I have been seriously assaulted by Charles Dorrington, whom I have employed occasionally for some months," and I signed it—I then went back to my bed, with the towel round my head—I heard the milkman come, and I made my way to the door and spoke to him, and Dr. Galley was sent for—he sent me to St. Thomas's Hospital, where I was received that morning, and where I am now—these pokers (produced) are those I have spoken of; they are those the prisoner struck me with; this is the bent one—this frock coat (produced) is mine; I have had it some years—I did not give the prisoner permission to take it; I don't remember having done so—this key is the key of the outer door of No. 4, The Albany; it is my own key—I did not know till afterwards that the prisoner had taken it; I did not give him permission to take it—I was not able to leave the hospital
to give evidence till the 8th of January; I am still a patient there; I left this morning to come here—I suffered very much; I thought I was going to die.
Cross-examined. I had a very small quantity of whisky and water that night, nothing like a quarter of a glass; both glasses were tilled up with warm water; that was all that we had, I am quite clear as to that—we had a bottle of whisky on the table—the prisoner took the same amount as I did, no more in my presence; I will do the prisoner justice to say that he always preferred cocoa—we were always on most friendly terms; he always expressed himself as being satisfied, and on one occasion he said to me, "You are kinder than my own relations"—I thought I was doing him a kindness by helping him, as he was out of work—I have not the slightest idea why he should assault me in this manner; it will always be a mystery to me.
By the COURT. He was out of work the whole time, as far as I knew—he has a brother a carpenter, I think, a very respectable man; he is here, I think—I don't think he has any parents; he was living, as he told me, with a married sister, at Broad Walk, Lambeth—I don't know whether she kept him, or how he was kept—he told me on one or two occasions that he had work at Covent Garden, I suppose helping people there for a day or so—I don't know what he was brought up to—he was very handy, and I understood that he had lived in several respectable families, and I think he said at Black heath—I found him very useful in a house, and I said to him on one occasion, "How is it you cannot get work?"—he said he would try, but he could not get it without a good character, or reference from his last place, and that rather surprised me—I did not ask why he could not get a good character.
Re-examined. I have never seen or heard of my watch since; it has never been found—the prisoner was brought to the hospital to be identified on Boxing night, he had been out two days; this happened on Sunday, Christmas Eve—this coat (produced) is the one he used to wear when he came to me of an evening; he was wearing it on Christmas Eve.
CHARLES PENNEL GALLEY . I am a divisional surgeon of police, of 129, Camberwell Road—on the morning of 25th December last, at a quarter to eight, I was called to 4, The Albany—I saw Mr. Ellingham in bed—as I went into the premises I saw blood on the handle of the front door of the caretaker's house, and there was a track of blood leading through the common passage and then through the passage of the prosecutor's house into his bedroom, and there was blood on the bed, the floor, and the walls near the bed, and on the prosecutor—I examined him, and found ten separate scalp wounds, a contused wound on the upper lip, four of the teeth having been knocked out, a bruise on the left fore-arm, bruises on the back of both scapulae, the points of both shoulders considerable bruised, bruises on the left buttock and thigh, and one bruise on the back, being an imprint of the head of this poker—the wounds on the head were very dangerous: I thought it very likely he might die—he appears fairly well now, as well as he was before the injuries—I knew him before; I had examined him once with a view of giving him a certificate for the Home for Incurables; that was the only knowledge I had of him—I saw these two pokers in the room at the time; one is
broken—there was no blood on this broken poker, except one small spot on the handle; on the other one there was blood over the whole of the square part, also small pieces of hair—the wounds on the head might have been produced by that poker.
Cross-examined. It is very difficult to say whether more serious injuries might have been done if the prisoner had used the poker with his fall force; so much depends on the mode in which they were delivered, and also on the amount of movement of the prosecutor—one blow on the arm I think was caused by the arm being raised to protect the head—I should think it very likely that the skull would have been fractured if the poker had been used with full force, but not necessarily—the poker bends easily; it is of soft iron.
THOMAS BAKER . I live at 10, B Block, Rye Dwellings, Peckham Rye—the prisoner has lived there with me since about June last year—I have known him four years—on last Christmas Eve he went out about seven in the evening, or a little after—I next saw him on the Christmas morning: after one; it was after one when I went to bed, and I was awoke by his coming home—I heard him knocking at the door, and I went and opened it, and I said to him, "Well, you have been keeping it up all right"—he made no reply; he was drunk—I induced him to lie down on the sofa, and I went to sleep again—when I got up in the morning he was in the room—next afternoon about three, when I went back to the house, he was standing in the room with Emily Woolworth and another girl—he had no coat on; he had on an underneath kind of waistcoat; he was just dressing to go out, and he put on a frock coat that was hanging up on the door—I had not seen that coat before to my knowledge—he said, "It is too warm"—he did not say anything to me about the frock coat, nor I to him, nor about his ordinary coat—he put on the frock coat at the suggestion of the young lady, and went out with her and her friend—I should say the coat produced was the coat; I could not swear, of course—I recognise this other coat and this neckerchief; they belong to the prisoner—this one with the coat tails cut off belongs to him; this other coat is his, too, and this waistcoat—they are what he was in the habit of wearing; he was wearing them when he went out on the Saturday—this knife belongs to me—we both used it to scrape the mud off our boots on the Sunday evening.
By the COURT. He assisted me in my business—I am a caterer, on Peckham Rye; I supply refreshments to cricket clubs—I work in conjunction with my brother, who had a shop there, and I work with a County Court bailiff—the prisoner took charge of my barrow when I was away, and he assisted me in various ways, not at regular wages; he shared as I got anything, nothing certain; one week he might do nothing—he got food from me when he wanted it; I could not say where he got it otherwise—I am away a good deal, being "in possession" as a bailiff—he always worked; he went out with bills with me—I went hawking, with shop bills, for houses I had a connection with; he did not work at that regularly—he paid his share of the rent of our place, and I paid mine; it was only a matter of three shillings for the room between us—I have had the room eighteen months; he was with me all that time—I heard from him that he went to Mr. Ellingham; I knew nothing of his going there, only what he said—I could not say what he was when I first knew him;
he had been working at a shop at Peckham, I understood—I know his brother, I don't know what he is doing now; he is a carpenter, I think—I did not see anything of a watch when he came in on this day—I was acquainted with one of the girls, his young woman, that he was keeping company with; the other I did not know—I could not say how often he used to go to Mr. Ellingham's; the last time I knew he was engaged to make a packing case—he has never been a valet, to my knowledge; he never told me so—I did not understand anything at all about his going to Mr. Ellingham; he never said anything to me about it—he was not out at night very much; sometimes he would be out till eleven or twelve, when he went out to meet his young lady.
WILLIAM LEONARD (Detective Sergeant L). On 25th December last, about nine a.m., I went to 4, The Albany, and there saw Mr. Ellingham; he made a statement to me, and I took possession of these two pokers—in consequence of his statement I arrested the prisoner on 26th December, about eleven p.m., in Trafalgar Street, Walworth—I said to him, "I am a police-officer, and am going to take you into custody on suspicion of attempting to murder the Rev. Cornelius Martin Ellingham, at 4, The Albany, Albany Road; you need not say anything unless you like; if you do, it will be used in evidence whether for or against you"—he said, "Yes, I did it; I was not the only one there"—I took him to Rodney Road Station, and there he said, "I did not do it; I know nothing about it"—I took him to St. Thomas's Hospital, in a cab, with another officer, where he was seen by the prosecutor, who said, "Yes, that is the man; you tried to kill me with a poker"—he also identified the frock coat which the prisoner was wearing—when we got outside the hospital I said to the prisoner, "You will also be charged with stealing a gold watch, coat, and vest"—he made no reply to that—I found at the Albany this grey coat and brown tweed vest, which have been identified as the prisoner's; this large brown-handled knife, and this key of the door where the prisoner was lodging with Baker, and this letter, which appears to have come from the prisoner's brother—when the prisoner was searched I found this latch-key in his trousers' pocket; it fits the lock of Mr. Ellingham's door—there was no mark of blood on the prisoner or his clothes that we could discover at the time—I afterwards saw blood on this collar, which he was wearing, and on the tie, and a quantity of blood on the coat, on the right sleeve, and here—every possible inquiry has been made for the gold watch, but it has not been found—I found the case belonging to it at the Albany, with this on it: "Rev. Ellingham, 243,000, 29th July, 1881, Manufacturer, 24, Cheapside"—I also found two of the prosecutor's teeth in the room.
By the JURY. There was a bottle in the room about half full of whisky, and blood on the bottle, like finger marks, and also on the globe of the lamp.
WILLIAM BURGESS (Detective L). I was at the Lambeth Police-court on 27th December in the prisoners' room—the prisoner said to me, "I admit being there that night; I was drunk; we had been drinking whisky"—Sergeant Leonard had instructed me to seek for his friends, and in getting his brother's address he told me this.
eight the next night—I went out with him on Christmas Day—we went to his sister's place, 179, Trafalgar Street, Walworth, where I was lodging, and he remained there till the morning, and he was apprehended there—during that time I saw nothing of the watch—he said nothing about it—while I was keeping company with him I knew nothing of his going to Mr. Ellingham's—he never told me that—I had an idea that he was working for Mr. Baker, and different people—I did nothing to help him—he never gave me money; nothing whatever to help me.
GUILTY, on the first Count.— Fourteen Years' Penal Servitude.
253. GEORGE FOLEY PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully wounding Emily Gosling and George Gosling..— Three Months' Hard Labour. He was also charged with feloniously wounding the same person with intent to murder, and to do grievous bodily harm, and for a like offence upon George Gosling , upon which MR. HORACE AVORY, for the prosecution, offered no evidence>
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted.
EDWARD HUGHES . I am a kitchen porter, at 92, Westminster Bridge Road—on 1st January, at a few minutes past ten, I was walking home—I had got to the door of my house, when I was seized from behind, when Jones struck me in the face, hit me on the chin, knocked me down, and then my pockets were rifled—I do not identify the other prisoners; I did not see them—I could not tell how many were behind me—I felt one behind me; he had hold of my arms; there was someone helping Jones; he fronted me—I was tripped up, my head was cut, and my purse and about 15s. was taken—it was all done in a couple of moments—their hands were in both my pockets—I was not quite sober; I had had a drop of beer; I was not drunk—it was pension day—I am an old soldier.
Cross-examined by Smith. You struck at me towards the chest—I was on the ground" when my pockets were rifled—I could not tell who took my purse; I had my head cut, and I was dazed—the detective saw me from the opposite side—I got up as soon as I could, and walked into the house, and Inspector White followed me—I did not see you again that night, not till I saw you at the Police-court.
JAMES PETER WHITE . About ten minutes past ten on the night of 1st January I was off duty, in plain clothes, in Westminster Bridge Road—I saw the prosecutor on the opposite side of the road, and I saw Smith go behind him, and place his arms round him; he fell, and I saw Jones face him and strike him, and in company with both the others rifle his pockets, and run—I chased them, but lost sight of them—I came back, and saw the prosecutor, who said something—I went to the station, and got the assistance of two constables; we went to the Victoria Tavern, Waterloo Road, and there saw Jones and Cook—I told them I should take them into custody for robbing a man, and they said they knew nothing about it—Cook said, "I know nothing about it, Peter"—I knew them all by sight—I took them to the station, and went to Stamford Street, where I
met Smith—I told him I should take him into custody, with the other two, for robbing a man in Westminster Bridge Road—he was charged, and made no reply—he afterwards made a statement to Inspector Wood, which he took down.
Cross-examined by Jones. I saw you strike the man in the breast; there was a lamp at the corner—it was all done momentarily.
Cross-examined by Smith. You placed your arms round him—I am a good runner, but I could not catch you—I did not see you at the Victoria Tavern when I went there, or I should have arrested you at once.
GEORGE SIBLEY (236 L). On 1st January, at 10.40 a.m., I helped to arrest Jones—I found on him one shilling and a penny—at 1.30 on 2nd January I helped to arrest Smith—I found on him sixpence in silver and fivepence in bronze.
RICHARD WOOD (Inspector L). I was at the station when the prisoners were brought in—Smith made a statement which I took down, and he signed—this is it. (Read: "This man said, when he accused me, 'I want you for being concerned with two other men; I have been waiting for you this last two years; I was waiting for you going in the house; I have got you this time; 'I deny the charge.")
The prisoners' statements before the Magistrate:—Smith: "I am innocent. I want to call the barman of the Victoria Tavern."Cook: "I am innocent."
Smith's defence. I don't know Jones, he is an entire stranger to me; I believe the police have stopped the landlord and the barman from coming here.
Jones's defence. These men are not known to me; I saw the man with the money, and the temptation overcame me.
GUILTY .—They each PLEADED GUILTY to previous convictions, JONES on 16th May, 1890, at Marylebone; COOK on 14th November, 1892, at this Court; and SMITH on 15th September, 1891, at Newington Sessions. Ten other convictions mere proved against SMITH, ranging from July, 1890, to September, 1892, at various Courts, and in different names.
JONES and COOK— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour each. SMITH— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
HURLSTON and CONNOR PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. DRAKE Prosecuted.
GEORGE BRADSHAW (183 L). On January 26th, about nine p.m., I was on duty in Walworth Road, and saw the three prisoners at a public-house in the New Kent Road, and between then and twelve o'clock, when I went off duty, I shifted them away several times—about 12.20 I saw Hurlston and Connor go towards the Old Kent Road, and five minutes
afterwards Sullivan came across the New Kent Road and went in the Name direction—I have known him for seven years.
Cross-examined by Sullivan. I saw you with the other two prisoners—I had to move you on several times for loitering about.
WILLIAM RACE (Police Inspector L). On January 27th, about one a.m., I went to Messrs. Levy Brothers, Walworth Road—Ward was at the door—I found marks on the door of an instrument being used—it was an empty house—I got constables and surrounded the house—I afterwards found this jemmy on the roof, and forty yards of twill and some curtains—I found some marks on a glass roof—I had some difficulty with my lamp, but I crossed, and saw Hurlston and Connor under a tank—Ward was behind me—I had met Sullivan about ten minutes before in the Old Kent Road—he called Sergeant Wright on one side, and said he saw three of our men following some thieves, and pointed in an opposite direction to Mr. Hurlock's shop—I afterwards saw him near Mr. Hurlock's premises, and went to the station and got four constables—I saw him come out, and whistled twice; he then came to me with Mr. Hurlock's secretary, and said, "There are three men at the back shop "; that is 150 yards away—I found the men at No. 135—he did not see me in uniform, but when he came out he spoke to me, and when I whistled he said, "There are thieves up there."
WILLIAM WARD (Inspector 363 L). On January 26th, about 10.33 p.m., I put a private mark on the door of this house—I saw it again several times, and inspected it at 12.55—I then got into the premises—I was there alone; I found the fanlight broken, and called Mr. Levy up—I fell through a glass roof, and injured my leg, and have been laid up ever since—I saw Hurlston and Connor there, and when I went outside I saw Sullivan and another man; he struck me in my chest as he ran past, and said, "Tell Sergeant Wright I will meet him in a few minutes in the Old Kent Road"—I did not see him after that till he was in custody.
CHARLES WRIGHT (Police Sergeant L). On January 27th, about one a.m., I was on duty in Walworth Road, and saw Sullivan—he said, "I want to speak to you; there are two men on a job going down the Walworth Road; they are being followed by three of your men"—I said, "Go away" and went with the other officers to 35, Walworth Road, and saw him outside Hurlock's back shop, whistling—he came over and said, 11 There are three men in Hurlock's back shop"—I said "I shall take you in custody for being concerned with others in breaking into 35"—he said, "You can do what you like"—I took him to the station, and Hurlston said to him, "You have got yourself in a bad mess; you will get put away for two years."
Crow-examined. I did not tell you to stop at the coffee-stall till I came back.
FREDERICK LOFTUS (Policeman). I took Connor on January 27th, and while doing so Sullivan said, "You have turned copper on us, but I will put you away yet; you were watching for us"—he then ran away—"copper" means policeman.
Sullivan's defence. Sergeant Wright took me to the station, and asked me where I was the night before, and when he found I was at home and in bed ill he let me go an, I took me to a public-house and gave me some
beer, and asked me if I would follow thieves about for him—I refused; he gave me sixpence.
SULLIVAN— GUILTY .
He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at Newington, 13th October, 1891, and five other convictions were proved against him.— Thirteen Months' Hard Labour. HURLSTON PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Lambeth on September 4th, 1893, and CONNOR to a conviction at Southwark on March 27th, 1893, in the name of William Martin .
HURLSTON— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
CONNOR— Eight Months' Hard Labour.
The committing Magistrate commended the cleverness of Ward, in which the RECORDER concurred.
MR. ELLIOTT Prosecuted.
JAMES STANLEY (Detective Sergeant M). On January 8th I went to the prisoner and said, "Is your name William Lang?"—he said, "Yes "—I said, "We are police officers, and I am going to take you in custody for marrying Martha Boxall, on November 13th, at Moorfields Church "—he said, "Yes"—I said, "Is that right?"—he said, "Yes, it is"—I said, "You will have to go to the station; you will be charged with bigamy"—he said, "I suppose I shall be a long time in prison 1"—I said, "I suppose you knew your wife was alive?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "I do not know more than one," meaning Mrs. Boxall—he said, "No"—on the way to the station he said, "It is three years since I saw my wife; she was then with a man, and we had a few words; he got fourteen days for assaulting me"—I said, "Where is she living?"—he said, "11, Stonehouse Street, Plymouth"—I said, "I thought it was No. 10"—he said, "10 and 11; it is all the same"—at the station he said, "I have not seen my wife for five years"—he said that he knew she was alive.
MARTHA ELIZABETH BOXALL . In 1892 I was a widow; my husband died three years ago—I am living in Dearman Street, Bermondsey; I was living in Somerset Street, Bristol—I have known the prisoner for some time—he said he had a little money coming to him, and he had been a widower thirty years, and had opened a little refreshment house at Plymouth—he wanted me to marry him—I said I would not till I had been a widow two years—he waited for me, and we were married at Moor-fields, Bristol—I lived with him there some time—he had six weeks' imprisonment, and I left him in consequence of his ill-usage—we were then at Warminster—he sold up my home there—I went to Bristol again, and he joined me, but he did not live with me till we came to London and settled in Tooley Street—he lived with me there about two months, and treated me very badly; he beat me so that I had a seven months' child by him—I was sometimes left without food or fire—I communicated with his nephew, and in consequence of what I heard I went to the police, and made a complaint.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I went to Warminster because you threatened to murder me and my eldest boy—I did not live with a man
there; I was living with my nephew, and they turned me out—you often kept me without food.
WILLIAM GLENNING . I am a railway official, of Cosham, Wiltshire—on 19th April, 1875, I was present when the prisoner was married to Kate Morcombe, at the registry office, Plymouth—I produce the certificate—the prosecutrix is not the woman.
WILLIAM WYERS (Detective M). On January 1st, I went with detective Stanley to 1, Deacon Street—Stanley said to the prisoner "I believe your name is William Lang?"—he said, "Yes"—Stanley said, "We are police officers; you will be charged with feloniously marrying Martha Boxall, your wife being then and now alive"—he said, "Yes, that is right; I suppose I shall have a long time in prison for it"—going to the station Stanley said, "Do you know where your first wife is living?"—he said, "Yes, at 11, Stonehouse Street, Plymouth"—Stanley said, "I thought it was 10?"—he said, "10 and 11 are all the same"—afterwards he said, "I saw her with a man, we had a bit of a bother, and I gave him six weeks for assault."
The prisoner produced a written defence, stating that he left his wife in consequence of finding her in a house of ill-fame, that she run him into debt £250, including law costs, and that he had not lived with her for fifteen years, and was told that site was dead, and then married the prosecutrix.
GUILTY — Nine Months' Hard Labour.
264. CHARLES BURCH (40), and THOMAS WELLS (35) , Un-lawfully attempting to steal letters and post-packets from a Post Office letter-box. Second Count, unlawfully and wilfully placing in a Post Office letter-box, a glutinous substance, likely to injure the letter-box and its contents.
MESSRS. H. C. RICHARDS and SOPER Prosecuted.
GEORGE HAYNES (312 W.) About 7.30 p.m. on 15th January I was in plain clothes standing with Hawkins near the pillar-box at the junction of Binfield and Lansdown Roads—I saw both prisoners standing there close by side of one another—a lady came to post a letter, and the prisoners left, and returned again—Burch's hand was in the aperture of the box—they left, and came back three times; Wells came back with Burch on each occasion—I did not see *Wells put his hand in, but I saw him standing immediately over Burch—an elderly lady came, and both prisoners walked hurriedly away and separated, Burch going on the left-hand side of Lark-hall Road and Wells on the right—I followed, and caught Burch—I told him I was a police-officer, and had reason to believe he had been tampering with the pillar-box—he said, "No"—I said, "I shall take you back to the pillar-box"—I did so—the other constable went after Wells—I left another constable in charge of the box till we came back—Burch was afterwards charged with Wells, and made no reply—Burch gave his address at Vauxhall Chambers lodging-house—we were watching about twenty minutes.
Cross-examined by Burch. You put your hand three times in the
aperture—I thought the first time you were posting a letter, but seeing you leave and return three times, I thought something was wrong, and kept you under observation.
CHARLES HAWKINS (572 W). On the night of 15th January I was with Haynes in Lansdown Gardens, South Lambeth—the prisoners were under my observation for about twenty minutes—I saw Burch doing something with his left hand at the aperture of the pillar-box—he looked as if he was posting letters with his left hand—a lady posted a letter, and they both walked away then—I followed Wells, and stopped him—I said, "I am a police officer"—I believed he had been tampering with the aperture of the pillar letter-box, and he would have to come back with me—he said, "All right"—he came back—we left a constable in charge—on the road to the station he said, "You have made a mistake this time; I have not left the Swan two minutes"—they went to the letter-box three times—when people came they stood back about ten yards—I saw Wells for about twenty minutes, as near as I can say.
JAMES WOODFORD . I am a postman in the South London district—I made a collection from the pillar-box at the corner of Lansdown Road on 15th January at 6.58 p.m.—the pillar-box was then correct; there was nothing on the aperture or down below.
JOHN WILLIAM LAKE . I am a postman in the South Lambeth Sorting office—I was called to this box by the police at 8.40 p.m.—I opened it with my key—I found two pieces of leather, with a piece of lead between them, attached to a piece of twine, and smeared with sticky substance—there were nine letters—nothing was on them—the aperture was smothered with sticky substance.
WILLIAM NEIGHBOUR (Sergeant W). About 8.30, on 15th January, I was at the station, when the prisoners were brought in—I went to the pillar-box, and was present when Lake opened it—the aperture was smeared with a sticky substance, and this appliance was inside, with sticky substance on it—I found on Burch this tin box, containing bird-lime; it corresponds with what was smeared on the aperture and on the appliance—I said to Burch, "Where did you get this box?"—he said, "It was given to me by a man to hold"—I said, "What man?"—he said, "I know him by sight; I don't know his name"—nothing was found on Wells.
Cross-examined by Burch. You did not say you could give a description of the man—I did not say, "Don't give us too much trouble."
JAMES WHATMORE (448 W). I was called to this letter-box after the prisoners had been taken into custody—I remained there for an hour—during that time no letters or anything else was put into the box—I prevented people from posting there—then it was opened, and I went away.
Burch's statement before the Magistrate: "A young man named William Hurrock was with me, and gave me that box to hold; I know nothing of what was put down the letter-box. I have no idea of it."
Burch, in his defence, repeated in substance the above statement, and added that Hurrock ran away when he saw the constables coming.
Wells, in his defence, stated that lie was walking from the Swan when the constable took him by the shoulder.
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Hard Labour each.
265. FREDERICK WEBB (23), PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a Post Office Savings Bank deposit book, the property of Ernest Webb; also to forging and uttering a request for £6, and to forging and uttering a cheque for £6. Three Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
266. WALTER READING (21), and EDWARD WITNEY (19), PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling-house of John Williams, and stealing a cruet and a banjo, READING** having been convicted in September, 1892, and WITNEY** in August, 1893.—Nine Months' Hard Labour each, Reading only to be put to such labour as he is able to perform.
The JURY stated that they thought the offence was committed while the prisoner was under the influence of drink.— Eight Months' Hard Labour.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, 5TH, MARCH, 1894.