CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
TENTH SESSION, HELD JULY 23RD, 1894.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND BY
JAMES DROVER BARNETT
Short-hand Writers to the Court,
ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
THE POINTS OF LAW AND PRACTICE
REVISED AND EDITED BY
EDWARD T. E. BESLEY, ESQ.,
OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW.
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On the Queen's Commission of
OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
The City of London,
AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY, WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
Held on Monday, July 23rd 1894, and following days.
BEFORE the RIGHT HON. GEORGE ROBERT TYLER, LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir JOHN COMPTON LAWRANCE Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court of Justice; Sir JAMES WHITTAKER ELLIS, Bart., Sir JOSEPH SAVORY , Bart., Sir DAVID EVANS , K.C.M.G., and Sir STUART KNILL , Bart., Aldermen of the said City; Sir CHARLES HALL , Q.C., M.P., K.C.M.G., Recorder of the said City; Sir JOSEPH RENALS, Knt., GEORGE FAUDEL PHILLIPS, Esq., Lieut.-Col. HORATIO DAVID DAVIES , Esq., MARCUS SAMUEL , Esq., WALTER VAUGHAN MORGAN , Esq., and WILLIAM PURDIE TRELOAR, Esq., other Aldermen of the said City; and Sir FORREST FULTON, Knt., Q.C., Common Serjeant of the said City; Her Majesty's Justices of Oyer and Terminer and General Gaol Delivery, holden for the said City, and Judges of the Central Criminal Court.
JOHN VOCE MOORE, Esq., Alderman.
JOSEPH COCKFIELD DIMSDALE, Esq., Alderman.
CLARENCE R. HALSE, Esq.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
TYLER, MAYOR. TENTH SESSION.
A star (*) denotes that prisoners have been previously in custody—two stars (**) that they have been more than once in custody—a dagger (†) that they are known to be the associates of bad characters—the figures after the name in the indictment denote the prisoner's age.
LONDON AND MIDDLESEX CASES.
OLD COURT.—Monday, July 23rd, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
588. EDWARD MARNEY (28) , to stealing a watch and chain from the person of George Page Chandler, and also** to a conviction of felony in June, 1892. Eight other convictions were proved against the prisoner. The RECORDER said it appeared that the prisoner had practically been in gaol since September, 1882.— [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. SELLS Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. MORSEBY for the prosecution offered no evidence on this indictment.
NOT GUILTY .
CHARLES BRIGHTWELL . I am a smith, and live at 21, Castle Street, St. Martin's Lane—about ten minutes to eleven on the night of the 12th June I was in St. Martin's Lane—I saw the prosecutor walking on the opposite side of the road, and I saw five men, the prisoner and four others, come out of a fried fish shop, cross the road and surround the prosecutor—he made a plunge to get away, when the prisoner gave him a deliberate blow in the jaw, which knocked him down flat on his back—I thought he was dead—a postman came up, and he flashed his bag across my face, and I saw no more—a policeman of the E division came up—I seized the prisoner and told the policeman to look to the prosecutor, and a constable of the C division came up and assisted me in taking the
prisoner to the station—when the prosecutor was struck he flung up his hands helplessly, and fell on the back of his head.
THOMAS EDWARD SANDALL . I am house surgeon at Charing Cross Hospital—the prosecutor was brought there on 12th June—he was not then insensible, but in a dazed condition—he was suffering from concussion—he had a scalp wound on the back of the head, which was bleeding, and he had a bruise on the jaw from a blow, and one on the arm—he was admitted into the hospital—he had completely lost his memory—judging from the effects, I should say the blow must have been a violent one, sufficient to knock him down—the other injuries were caused by the fall.
PHILIP HUGH COCKMAN . I am a reporter at Marlborough Street Police-court—on the night of 12th June, about twenty minutes to eleven, I remember going up Wellington Street, but I have no recollection of anything that occurred till I found myself in the hospital next morning—I had on a morning coat at the time, which was open, and my watch-chain was visible.
CHARLES HERITAGE . I keep an eating-house at 4, West Street, St. Martin's Lane—I was in my shop a little before eleven on the night of the 12th—I heard some loud talking outside; I opened the door and saw three persons on the pavement walking down St. Martin's Lane, and on the left I saw the prosecutor lifting up his hands, as if calling someone—I then saw the prisoner take two steps backwards, and then hit the prosecutor under the right ear, and he fell to the ground—the other two rushed towards Seven Dials—the prisoner turned sharp round, and a post-man was passing, and seized him; he struggled and dashed him to the ground—I called out, "All right; I have got him"—a constable in plain clothes came up and took him—I heard a cabman's whistle; at the time the prosecutor was struck I did not see Brightwell knock the prisoner down; I did not see him till he said, "I am an ex-policeman, and will give you a hand in taking him." (Brightwell: I am an ex-policeman.)
CHARLES HAWKINS . I am a cabman, and live at 48, Muriel Street, Barnsbury—I was on my hansom in St. Martin's Lane on this night—at the corner of West Street I saw the prosecutor hemmed in by two men who were threatening what they would do to him—all at once the prisoner ran from the middle of the road and struck the prosecutor a violent blow in the mouth, knocking him down on the pavement—I called out, "You have killed the man"—I blew my whistle; the prisoner ran away and was stopped by a postman—the pavement was covered with blood.
JAMES KAY (391 C). I was in West Street about eleven, off duty, in plain clothes—I heard a whistle, went up and saw the prisoner struggling with Mr. Heritage and the postman—I collared the prisoner, and took him into custody, and took him back to the prosecutor, who was lying flat on his back—I took the prisoner to the station—he said, "If he had not told me he would hit me with his umbrella, I should not have hit him."
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: As I was coming down St. Martin's Lane last Wednesday week, I met three chaps; one had fish and potatoes, he handed me one; I turned sharp round and accidentally.
knocked against the gentleman. He said, "Take care, young man, it would not take me long to put an umbrella in your eye." I then struck him, or he would have gouged my eye out.
GUILTY *†.— Fourteen Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Monday, July 23rd, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. WILKINSON Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
MARK TRUE . I am barman at the Swan, King William Street, London Bridge—on June 30th, about 7.30 p.m., the prisoner came in alone for a glass of ale, and gave me a bad florin—I gave him 1s. 10d. change, and placed the coin on one side—the prisoner left, and I told young Mr. Jarred—the prisoner returned in about five minutes with a man older than himself, who called for two glasses of ale, and paid with a sixpence; I gave him 3d. change—the prisoner then called for two glasses of ale, and gave me this florin (produced)—I placed it between my teeth, and it bent—I walked up to the prisoner and said, "I want you," and caught him by his waistcoat—he struggled, and tore it open—I detained him, and gave the coin to Mr. Janes—the head barman held him; he is away—the companion went away.
Cross-examined. He came into the same compartment on each occasion; two of us were serving there—when I said "I want you," I did not say what for, and he tried to wrench himself from me—no one said why he was seized, and I did not explain that he had passed a bad coin—I put the coin in the till on the sill—there were three or four other florins there—there is a till at each end of the bar—there are six compartments, and five persons were serving, any of whom could throw silver into that till.
Re-examined. I am certain this is the coin I received from him.
FREDERICK JANES (793 City). On June 30th, about 11.30 p.m., I was called to the Swan and found the prisoner detained by Mr. Jarred, who said he had passed a bad florin—the prisoner said, "I have done no such thing, I did not pass it, but my companion did"—Mr. Jarred gave him in custody, and brought the coin to the station—he was charged with uttering the two, and said, "I have done no such thing"—I found a good half-crown and florin on him—he gave his right address.
Cross-examined. At the public-house he said, "It was not me who called for the mild and bitter, it was my companion"—I did not mention this before the Magistrate because I did not think it was of importance.
ARTHUR JARRED . On the night of June 30th True showed me a bad florin; I examined it and put it on one side—I was called from the other end of the bar, and gave the prisoner in custody and took the coin to the station—True brought me another coin.
Cross-examined. The prisoner appeared very excited at my taking him, and said he was going to put it in all the daily papers.
GUILTY .**— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. PARTRIDGE Prosecuted.
ALFRED CAMBER (Police Sergeant). On June 30th, about 8.30 p.m., I was in Vauxhall Bridge Road, and saw the prisoner and another man coming towards me—I was talking to Mr. Young—the prisoner took a packet out of his pocket and showed it to the other man—I took hold of his right arm, and said, "What is that you have just put into your left trousers pocket?"—he said, "Nothing," and became very violent—the other man ran away, and I asked Mr. Young to follow him—I took the prisoner, and attempted to search him—he put his hand into his left trousers pocket, and said, "I know what you want. Here it is, another man gave it me; I have only been with him a week"—it contained ten counterfeit florins.
Prisoner's Defence. "I met a man who gave me some drink, and asked me to go for a stroll. Going over Vauxhall Bridge, he asked me to hold these things till we got to the other side of the bridge. I did so, and the detective caught hold of me."— GUILTY . He received a good character. To enter into recognisances.
MR. RICHARDS Prosecuted.
VICTOR ALLEN (524 S). On Saturday, June 30th, and Sunday morning, July 1st, I was on duty in Seymour Street, and found a small twig with a string attached to it in the pillar-box—I pulled the string up, and at the end of it found a sticky substance—I put it back, and went some yards further and kept observation on the box—in about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour the prisoner passed where I was standing, going to the box—I was about the length of this court from him—he stood and looked all round for about a minute when he got to the box, and then pulled the string up and walked sharply away, not past me, but straight on—there was a lamp near—I followed sharply, and when I was about ten yards behind him I saw a movement, as if he threw something into the road—I did not call out, but he could hear my steps behind him—I said, "What were you doing with that letter-box?"—he said, "Leaning against it"—I said, "What did you do with the string you pulled out?"—he said, "I know nothing about it"—I took him back to the box—another constable came up; I directed him to look in the road in the direction in which the prisoner had gone, and I saw him pick up this string.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. The sticky substance was there; it was soft and round—it was not in paper; I placed this paper on it to keep it from rubbing—you had no letters on you.
JOSEPH MOIR (Police Serjeant C). I saw Allen with the prisoner in charge—I looked along the road, and found this string, with adhesive substance at the end of it, in the carriage-way about fifteen yards from the letter-box.
GEORGE DOWNEY (Police Inspector S). I was on duty at Albany Street station when the prisoner was brought in—I found on him two pieces of sticky substance corresponding with some on his left hand, and more on his right—I cautioned him—he said, "I hear what you say, but I deny doing it."
GUILTY .— Six Months' Hard Labour.
The prisoner stated that he was guilty of throwing a stone.
GUILTY .—He received a good character.— Discharged on recognisances.
596. CHARLES HENRY BONE (36) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing, while employed in the Post Office, a letter containing a sovereign, three half-crowns, and twelve postage stamps, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
597. ALBERT PERCY SKIPPER (20) , to stealing, while employed in the Post Office, a letter containing two postal orders and one shilling, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General. He received a good character.— [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] Ten Months Hard Labour.
598. JOHN ROBERT MILLER (42) , to two indictments for forging and uttering orders for the payment of £70 10s.; also to stealing a Post Office deposit book, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General; also to stealing twelve medals, a nightshirt, and other articles of Alexander Moore.— [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] Three Years' Penal Servitude.
599. GEORGE DUCK (35) , to stealing, while employed in the Post Office a letter containing two orders for the payment of money; also a letter containing three money orders, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General.— [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] Nine Months' Hard Labour.
600. GEORGE GOLDING (40) and ARTHUR CHAMBERS (23) , Burglary in the dwelling-house of Archibald Ross, with intent to steal.— [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] Ten Months' Hard Labour each. And
601. JOHN DAVIS (35) , To unlawfully obtaining certain securities from John Dixon by false pretences— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. ( [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] There were other indictments against him for felony.)
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, July 24th, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
602. EMILY WILSON (18) PLEADED GUILTY to feloniously forging and uttering an order for £10 6s., with intent to defraud; also to unlawfully obtaining money by false pretences from Annie Wood; also 3 to a previous conviction of felony.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
603. WILLIAM SULLIVAN , to stealing a purse from the person of Charles Smith, and to a previous conviction of felony on 11th September, 1882. WILLIAM TURRELL (Warder) stated that since his conviction he had been getting an honest living.— [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. SHERWOOD Prosecuted.
of day—on 25th May I was out of work—I saw the prisoner in the York Free Library—he said, "Good morning"—I was looking at the Daily Telegraph—he asked me if I was trying to get a place in London—I said yes—he said, "Why don't you write to Smith and Dixon"—I do not know who they are—he did not tell me—we got into conversation; he asked me if I would like to travel in stationery—I said I did not mind, but I had never been accustomed to the stationery business—he said I could soon learn it with a few days' experience; that his governors, McIntosh and Co., wholesale and export stationers of Glasgow, wanted a traveller; that they had a branch office in Bride Street, London, where they kept ten travellers and two junior clerks, with himself as manager; that he would write to his governors—he told me he wrote to his governors on Friday night, and that he received an answer on Sunday morning, and that I had to meet him at Leadhill Bridge and to accompany him to London on Monday—on 25th May he said his governor would want £50 security—I said I had only £35—I had £28 in the York Union Bank and £7 in the Post Office Bank—I had no cash by me at the time—he said I should have to pay £2 10s. to the Guarantee Society—I saw him on the Sunday at Leadhill Bridge, York, and read something from a letter which told me I had to accompany him to London on Monday morning—I did not look at the letter; he said there was private business in it—we came to London the next day by the 3.40 a.m. train, as near as I can say—each of us paid for his own ticket—we got to King's Cross about 7.57 a.m.—we went round the City seeing the sights; it was my first visit to London—the prisoner said I had better give him my deposit note, which I had with me, as security for his governor—we tried to cash it at Lloyd's Bank; they could not do it—before presenting it I endorsed it at Lloyd's Bank—I gave it to him just outside the bank—I did not see it afterwards until I was at the Police-court—I don't know what was done with it—we still went about London after that—we took lodgings at 16, Charlotte Street, towards the evening—the prisoner took them—I had only a few shillings with me; I had an advance from a friend, with which I came up to London—I had about thirty shillings when I left York, as near as I can say—I paid five shillings that night at Charlotte Street, and I said I would pay the rest of my share when I got the money out of the Past Office Bank—on the next Wednesday the prisoner sent me to Cambridge, and when I came back on the Friday I paid the prisoner six shillings and sixpence to pay to the lodging-house keeper; I could not say if he paid anything—the prisoner said he was going down to see the governor at Manchester, where he had a branch, and then his governor was coming up to London on Tuesday—afterwards he told me he had been to the office, and the governor had been, and one of the men was wrong in his accounts, and he was going on to Dublin, and would be back on Friday night or Saturday morning—on the Tuesday I went to two or three business places in London where the prisoner sent me to call—I paid the prisoner £1 for a collecting book; I never got a book; I also paid him £2 10s. on the Saturday after my return from Cambridge; he said £5 was to be paid to the Guarantee Society, his governor would pay £2 10s. and I had to pay £2 10s.—the prisoner brought me these cards on the Wednesday morning. (These were cards of McIntosh and Co., wholesale stationers, Bride Street, with "Wm. Dixon, traveller
in the corner)—I came from Glasgow to be the traveller—the prisoner wrote out a list of people for me to call on in Cambridge—I asked for samples and a bag, and he said the bag had to be made specially—he told me the people I called on would have their orders written out—he gave me £1 2s. 6d. for expenses—I carried out his instructions, and visited about eight business houses in Cambridge; Wilkie was one—I did no business—they had no orders written out for me—I think they took me as a traveller calling on chance, and were polite, but did not do business—I came back on the Friday to 14, Charlotte Street—the prisoner was out, but I saw him that night—on the following Monday, 4th June, we moved to Albany Street—in the interval I went about to various houses in London, according to the prisoner's instructions—I had never been a traveller before—I did no business—I had no samples or order-book—I got no money for expenses—I did not go to Bride Street till after I had been to Westminster Hall; when I did go I found no McIntosh and Co. there—I asked for orders for McIntosh's stationery goods at the places I went to—he said the people had done business with the firm before, and knew what they wanted—I was supposed to be travelling in note-paper and envelopes—I had no special instructions as to the quality and kinds of goods—I do not know what the various sizes of note-paper and envelopes are called in the trade—I should say I made a good way into one hundred calls up to 11th June—I was to meet the governor several times by appointments, which were never fulfilled—the prisoner took me several times to Westminster Hall to meet the governor—he called it the House of Commons—he said, the governor was a Member of Parliament—on Monday, 11th June, he said I was to meet the governor at the House of Commons about ten minutes to twelve—we had been living together at Albany Street since 4th June—I went to Westminster Hall with him on 11th June—after about two minutes he went away, saying the governor would meet me there, and he would be back in about half-an-hour—I waited in the hall three or four hours—he never came back—no one came and spoke to me—after three or four hours I went to the lodgings, and heard the prisoner had gone away—I did not see him again till I saw him at the Mansion House—he sent me no communication—this is the deposit note for £28 which I gave him; I brought it from York to London—it is my signature on the back; I endorsed it in Lloyd's Bank—I know the prisoner's writing—I never received this cheque—I never saw it before—I did not endorse it—I did not write this letter to the York Bank asking for a cheque as against the deposit note; the signature is very like mine, but it is not mine; it is a fair imitation—I had a letter from the prisoner at Cambridge—I received this letter from him about 3rd July, after his arrest. (This expressed surprise at what Dixon had done, and stated that he was sorry if he had caused Dixon inconvenience, but that his money would be returned to him by Bellerby's solicitor, Mr. Dent; that he had not cashed, the cheque, but had given it to a gentleman, and did not know it had been cashed; and it asked Dixon to come to the Mansion House next morning, when the matter would be explained to him)—The next morning, 3rd July, the prisoner was brought up on remand at the Mansion House—I did not go and see him—I had no communication from Mr. Dent or anyone on
the prisoner's behalf—after I left Westminster Hull on 11th June I went to Bride Street—I looked for Mclntosh's place of business; there was no such name—I did not have these cards printed; they were given to me; I was not present when they were ordered—I did not see prisoner from 11th June till he was arrested, and I had no communication with him.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You spoke to me first at the York public library—we tried to cash the deposit note at Lloyd's Bank, at Glynn, Mills, Currie and Co., and at the Discount Bank in St. Martin's Lane; they would not cash it, and then you had it—I did not request you to send it anywhere—when I asked you about it, you said it was in your governor's bank, and that he was going to lend me the other £22 to make up the £50, which was required as security—I never received the cheque from York; it was never in my possession—I never saw it till it was produced afterwards; I did not hand it to you—I never wrote for it—a lad did not come and say there was a letter on the dresser—I did not open the letter, take out the cheque and give it to you; I never saw it till after your arrest—you told me you had a situation for me as a traveller when I left York, and I came with that intention.
Re-examined. I did not write this letter acknowledging the receipt of the cheque from the York Bank; I did not authorise the prisoner to write it—I have not seen it before; it is a forgery—the day the prisoner absconded I communicated with the York Bank—I dictated this letter of 10th June to be written, and I signed it.
JOHN EGAN (Inspector). On 23rd June I received a warrant to arrest the prisoner—I found him in a bedroom at 10, Gower Street—I said, "Is your name Bellerby?"—he said, "No"—I said, "I have a warrant to arrest you"—he said, "Let me see it"—I took him to the station—on the way he said, "I never had a penny of the money. I never had the draft—I think he said he was eighteen—only a few halfpence were found on him—I found on him a paper with the number of three Bank of England notes—the prisoner was living in the name of Dixon.
EDWARD CONSTANTINE . I am paying cashier at Glynn, Mills, Currie and Co., Lombard Street—I paid this draft over the counter on 30th May, giving for it three £5 notes, Nos. 53704 to 53706, dated 23rd April, and £13 in gold—I made this note at the time—this note 53706 is one that I gave—on it is "Christopher Bellerby, 14, Charlotte Street, Bedford Square"—I do not recognise the person who presented the draft—I should not have paid it if it had not been endorsed.
LEONARD WILLIAM HOUGHTON . I am a clerk in the employment of the York Union Banking Company at York—I know the name of Dixon as a customer—on 29th May we received this letter purporting to come from Dixon—we compared the writing, and took it to be genuine—on the receipt of the letter and the deposit note we sent a letter to Mr. Dixon enclosing the cheque on Messrs. Glynn, Mills and Co. for £28—we received this acknowledgment signed Dixon on 31st.
The prisoner, in a written defence, stated that the prosecutor agreed to become the travelling partner in a business they were to establish in the name of McIntosh and Co.; that Dixon had given him the draft when it was received, and that a third person was going to join the business, but altered his mind.
GUILTY * of uttering.
INSPECTOR EGAN staled that he believed the prisoner had been convicted at Leeds of obtaining charitable contributions by fraud; and that he had recently been advertising for travellers who would give a security.
Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, July 24th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. STEPHENS Prosecuted, and MR. SANDS Defended Giddins.
BERROWS and FRANCIS, GUILTY of an indecent assault.—Six Months' Hard Labour each.
GIDDINS, NOT GUILTY .
606. ALBERT JOHN FOULSER (26) PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully demanding £200 by menaces; also to forging and uttering an order for the payment of £200 with intent to defraud.— Nine Months' Hard Labour. And
607. CHARLES GOAD (29) , to forging and uttering orders for 12s. and £1 18s. 6d.; also to obtaining 12s., 30s., 35s., and an order for £1 11s. 6d., with intent to defraud.— [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
The prisoner stated in the hearing of the JURY that he was guilty of the wounding, but not of the intent.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
The prisoner, in the hearing of the JURY, said that he wounded the prosecutrix, but did not intend to do her grievous bodily harm.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding .— Judgment respited.
610. ALFRED JONES (22) PLEADED GUILTY ** to stealing a purse and 1s. 2 1/2d. from the person of Hettie Cohen; and to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell in April, 1889, in the name of William Davis.
Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, July 25th, 1894.
Before Mr. Justice Lawrance.
611. RICHARD CLEMENTS (45) , Indicted for the wilful murder of Elizabeth Clements. Upon the evidence of Dr. George Edward Walker, surgeon to Her Majesty's prison of Holloway, the JURY found the prisoner
to be insane, and unable to plead. Ordered to be detained until Her Majesty's pleasure be known.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS AND HORACE AVORY Prosecuted, and MR. MARSHALL HALL Defended.
SARAH ANN CARTER . I am the widow of Alfred Carter, of 22, Pychley Villas, Lancaster Road, Leytonstone—the prisoner is his brother—he lodged with us for twelve months, on the day after the Royal wedding—he paid us so much a week—on the 25th June last he owed us £3 15s. 2d.; but I could only think of 15s. 2d. at the time, as I had lost the paper; but it was £3 15s. 2d.—he was employed at the Meat Market, and my husband also was employed there—on the 25th June the prisoner came home at half-past five in the evening; he was very tipsy—I and my husband went out about twenty-five minutes to seven; we returned at eleven o'clock—the prisoner was then in bed—my husband went up to him, and I followed him shortly after—my husband asked him what he had been scolding the children for—my little daughter had made a complaint to me—the prisoner called his brother a b—liar, and said, "I will hit you if you don't get out of the bedroom"—I said, "I shall be here to see if you do,' and I said to my husband, "Come down to supper"—the prisoner said, "All I owe Nellie is 1s. 2d."—my husband had said something to him about money on the Sunday, but nothing paused about it on the Monday—on the Sunday morning Alfred asked him if he was going to pay me some money, as he knew he had money by him—he asked him for the money, and he said he had not got any—he said, "Then you had money very lately; if you can find money to drink, you can find money to pay me"—he said he only owed me 1s. 2 1/2d.—next morning, 26th June, my husband left home at a quartet" to four; I heard him call "Walter," and the prisoner answered, "All right, Alfred," in a friendly tone, just the same as usual—the prisoner left at ten minutes past five; neither of them returned on the Wednesday—afterwards I went into the prisoner's room and found this paper on the mantelshelf—it is the prisoner's writing. (Read: "Dear Brother and Sister,—My troubles are too much on one brother. Kind love to all.—W. J. C. "
Cross-examined. My brother was older than the prisoner—there were three other brothers, George, Frank, and William—in March last year I remember the prisoner going to St. Bartholomew's Hospital for a bad attack of pneumonia; after he came out of the hospital he went to a convalescent home at Newbury for some weeks; he had another attack in May the same year—he went to St. Bartholomew's Hospital, and afterwards to a convalescent home at Swanley—I do not remember his having an attack of influenza—after the pneumonia he was very sullen and would not talk to anyone—he was mostly quiet to us and the children; it was difficult to get any information from him about himself or anything—he was not despondent—in September I remember his trying to cut his throat with a knife, and the same night he tried to kill himself by putting his head down the water closet—I remember his taking
a dose of carbolic and being very ill after it; that was towards the end of last year—on another occasion he put a lot of disinfectant into the soup; while the prisoner was under remand I went to see him in Holloway Prison—he wrote two letters to me thanking us for our kindness—my husband had been very kind indeed to him; he took a great interest in him, and did all he could to help him—he had given way to drink, and my husband did all he could to prevent him, and he used to write to his mother about him, and we were hopeful that he was getting better—I did not know Frank at all—when the prisoner was sober he was fond of my husband—they had always been the best of friends; the prisoner said my husband was the best friend he had in the world—there was no reason, as far as I know, why he should have done this dreadful thing.
Re-examined. The prisoner drank heavily—this event happened on the anniversary of the day he came to live with us; he was not living with us in March and May, 1893, when he went to St. Bartholomew's Hospital—I cannot tell where he was living then; he would never tell us; only that it was somewhere in Whitechapel—he was a very hard drinker ever since he came to us; it took a great deal to upset him, but he took quite enough to do so—on the occasion about the money there was no bad friendship whatever, we were just on the usual terms—I could not exactly tell whether he was drunk on the Sunday afternoon, because he went out to get it himself; so I don't know what he had—I did not see that he was drunk then—on the Monday he went out to two public-houses after we went out, and had a lot of rum—he came home about half-past four or five, and there was a discussion, and he wanted to hit my husband—he had had a little to drink then, not much—he was drunk—beyond that I had not noticed anything at all about him, nothing that drunkenness would not account for—on the morning of the 26th my husband went out about a quarter to four—he called out to the prisoner, and he answered, "All right, Alfred," quite as usual, and he afterwards followed him out to go to his business—my husband was employed at Messrs. Frost and Co., 73, in the Central Meat Market—he went up by train from Leytonstone—the prisoner knew where my husband worked—the prisoner was employed as a porter in the Meat Market—my husband was a meat salesman—I went to Holloway and saw the prisoner after receiving from him this letter; it is in his handwriting. (Read: "H. M. Prison, Holloway, July 5th, 1894. Dear Sister,—I am writing to you to ask you to forgive me for what I have done, for I have no more recollection about it at all; only what I have heard at the Police-courts. The very same morning we was talking together about half-past nine, and he asked me if I was done, and I said yes, all right. He says, 'I'll see you before you go.' I said, 'I shan't go before you go,' and he says all right, and he went in the shop, and I don't remember seeing Alf since. We was on the best of terms when he was speaking to me. I had no animosity against Alf in the least. Two can visit me any day in the week except Sunday. You can show this to all. I shall be glad if you can cheer up and write, if it is only two or three lines. Give my very best love to the children and yourself.—I remain, your unfortunate brother, WALTER. Remember me to all. I shall write to George and Sarah")—they are my brother and his wife—I went and saw him—I
should not have known him had he not noticed me, and called out "Nell"—he seemed very well—he said he felt quite prepared for his fate, what he had to go through, and felt very well indeed—he seemed the same as he usually did when he was without drink—I afterwards received this other letter from him. (Read: "H.M. Prison, Holloway, 12th July, 1894. My dear Sister,—I was so pleased to see you last Tuesday. I was sorry that Amelia (my sister) could not come in. I am sure I thank you very much for what you have done; I often think as I am sitting alone how nice and comfortable I was at your place, just the same as being at home, and how well both of you looked after my welfare, and then a gloom to come all at once like this. It very near breaks my heart to think of it, as I was so improving both in health and in strength. I can't explain my feelings enough, the kindness which was shown to me whilst I was staying with you both by yourself and my brother Alf. Dear sister, I hope and trust you will get all right again; it is a lot of trouble to be both on your hands and mind. Give my very best love to the children. I wrote to Alice yesterday to answer her letter; I told her the date of my trial, the 23rd of this month. I told her you was here to see me on Tuesday; I must conclude now with my very best love to you, from your unfortunate brother, WALTER. Give my love to your mother and all"—I went again last Saturday and saw him; he appeared very well then, to my idea—I did not see any difference in him from what he was when sober—it was on a Friday night in September, about half-past ten, when he attempted to cut his throat—he was then living with us; he put the knife across his throat; he did not cut himself; I took the knife from him—he was very intoxicated indeed at that time; it was later on the same evening that he tried to kill himself by putting his head down the w.c.; he deliberately went through the kitchen, and did it directly after I took the knife from him; he was still very drunk—I went and took hold of him, and pulled him through into the back parlour—after that he went to bed—he was then so drunk as not to know what he was doing.
ELEANOR SARAH CARTER . I am eleven years old—I am the daughter of the last witness, and a niece of the prisoner—on Monday, 25th June, I saw the prisoner in the house at Pychley Villas—he asked me for some paper—I tore a piece out of my copy-book, and gave it to him; he wrote something on it—I don't know what it was—that was in the evening; I could not tell the time; it was after my mother had gone out—it was dark—while he was writing he said to me, "Your mother will hear of this to-morrow"—mother was not in the house at that time—this (produced) is the piece of paper I gave him—he was not sober at the time—I could see that—he scolded me and my two brothers, they are smaller than me—he was cross—the last I saw of him that night was in the kitchen; he went up to bed before me, that was not long after he had been writing on the paper; the scolding was after he was writing—I don't know why he was cross—he said. "Now, children, why can't you go to bed?"—I said, "Mother said I was to sit up till she came back"—I saw her when she came back.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was generally very kind to me; he was fond of us, and made pets of us.
Central Meat Market—I have known the prisoner about two years, and his brother, the deceased, for a number of years—the prisoner was not exactly employed by the firm of Messrs. Lyon, he was in the habit of packing in the market for Mr. Lyon and other persons—early on the morning of June 26th I saw him in the shop, on and off till eleven—I was sharpening knives in the shop, this knife amongst others; it is an ordinary butcher's knife—the prisoner was there when I was doing it—when I had sharpened it I left it on the block—I did not miss it till after I heard of this crime; I then saw it at the Police-station—I did not see any difference in the prisoner's demeanour, it was about the same as usual.
Cross-examined. He was in and out between eleven and twelve—I called his attention to the knives by asking him to fetch some water to wet the stone with; he did so—the deceased was a man who was very well liked in the market—I always thought the prisoner was a very reserved, sullen sort of man.
GEORGE HITCHEN . I am scale man, employed by Messrs. Frost, at 73, Central Meat Market—the deceased, Alfred Carter, was employed there—I have known the prisoner as being employed in the market—about five minutes to twelve on 26th June I was sitting on the meat board in Messrs. Frost's shop—a man named Underwood was in the shop standing near the desk, and the deceased was standing near the scale—I saw the prisoner come down the shop with a knife in his hand, carrying it straight down by his side; he passed me up to his brother very quietly, and thrust the knife into his breast, and said, "That is how I will serve you"—he then dropped the knife, and walked quietly out of the shop, as if nothing had happened—the deceased began to scream, and called out, "I am stabbed"—assistance was given to him, and he was taken to the hospital—in a short time the prisoner was brought back by Constable Harvey—I don't think he said a word—he was taken away immediately—this is the knife—I had known the deceased for some time, and the prisoner for seven years, I think—I saw no difference in his manner that morning from his ordinary manner.
EDWARD UNDERWOOD . I am a waiter employed at 83, Charterhouse Street—On Tuesday, 26th June, at twelve at noon, I was in Frost's shop standing at the desk talking to one of the clerks there—I did not see the prisoner come in, I first saw him when I turned round—the deceased tapped me on the shoulder to speak to me, and as I turned round I saw the knife go into his breast—the knife was in the prisoner's hand—I had not heard him come up—I saw him draw the knife out of the wound, and he dropped it directly as he was going out of the shop; he carried it about two yards—as he stabbed his brother he said, "That is how I will serve you!"—the deceased ran to the top of the shop and screamed out, "I am stabbed, I am stabbed, my brother has stabbed me"—the prisoner walked out rather quietly—I did not see him after he left the shop—I saw the constable pick up the knife.
GEORGE JAMES PIPER . I an assistant to Messrs. Frost, where the deceased was employed—on 26th June I went out of the shop with the deceased, and came back about twelve in the day—the deceased went and stood near the scales in the shop—I went to the top of the shop—whilst I was standing there I heard the deceased screaming out, "I am stabbed"—he did not say by whom—I turned round and saw the prisoner going
out of the shop—he had nothing in his hand at that time—I followed him out of the shop—he turned to the right—I caught hold of his arm—not a word was spoken by me or him—Constable Harvey came up—I spoke to him, and he took the prisoner in charge—I went after the deceased, who was running as best he could till he fell, and we carried him to the hospital—I have known both the brothers some time, the deceased about four years and the prisoner about the same time—I saw nothing different in the prisoner that day; the same as usual.
JOSEPH POTTS . I am a porter in the Meat Market—I have known the prisoner and deceased for some years—I saw the prisoner about five minutes to twelve on the 26th June standing outside Lyons' shop—he had nothing in his hand at that time—I walked up to the top of the market, and as I was turning back I saw him with the knife—he had it down by his side, in his right hand—the blade was hanging down, anybody could see it he was going towards Frost's shop—I did not speak to him—he seemed all right, as usual.
Cross-examined. He was not a very talkative man at the best of times.
HARRY HARVEY (267 City). On 26th June, about twelve, I was in the central roadway of the Meat Market—I heard someone screaming from the shop 73—I went towards it—as I was nearing the shop I saw the prisoner leaving it walking, followed by his brother, who was screaming—I heard him say "Stabbed!"—I followed after the prisoner—I went up to him and told him he was to come back—he made no answer; I took him back to the shop—the deceased had then gone to the hospital—in the hearing of the prisoner I asked for the knife with which he had stabbed the deceased—the witness Hitchin pointed to it lying on the board; this is it—I took the prisoner to the station—he said nothing on the way—he was detained there—he did not speak from the moment I approached him till I took him to the station—I went to St. Bartholomew's Hospital and saw the deceased—I then went back to the station, where the prisoner was charged with the wilful murder of his brother, Alfred Carter, by stabbing him in the right breast—he was then dead—Inspector Palmer gave him the usual caution—the prisoner said, "I am very sorry, I did not know what I was doing"—when I returned from the hospital he said, "Is he dead?"—I said, "Yes"—he said, "You don't mean to say it?"—he then commenced to sob; that was all he said—at the Police-court he began to make a statement, but was stopped—he was taken before the Magistrate the same day—as far as I saw he was sober—I had known him in the market some years—I was speaking to him almost daily—he did not seem any different that day.
PERCY FURNIVAL . I am house surgeon at St. Bartholomew's Hospital—I saw the deceased on his admission—he died about ten minutes afterwards—I was present at the post-mortem examination—the wound was an incised wound, half an inch to the right, half an inch above the right nipple, about an inch and a quarter in length—it passed obliquely down-wards and backwards to the left; it was about seven inches in depth, it went right through to the heart, and penetrated the heart in two places—I have seen this knife—it might have caused the wound—I found a bloodstain on it at about seven inches and three-quarters—I
measured it—considerable violence must have been used; the cartilage of one of the ribs on the right side was nearly cut through.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: All that I have to say is that I have no recollection at all about it.
Witnesses for the defence.
ANNA MARIA RILEY . I am a sister of the prisoner—I have a brother Frank; he has been afflicted with epileptic fits from his birth—he is now about forty years of age; the fits continue—I have an aunt who was always of weak intellect, but after the birth of one of her children she became insane and died in Stafford Lunatic Asylum—the prisoner went twice to St. Bartholomew's Hospital for pneumonia, and afterwards to a convalescent home—I thought he had influenza, but I was afterwards told it was not, it was pneumonia—I knew he went to Swanley—I heard he had an operation about eighteen months ago; he inserted some instrument to remove some mucus from up his nose, and he afterwards complained of pains in the forehead—he has always been a reserved man, I believe—I have not seen much of him lately—I have a brother George, and a sister Alice—my mother is still alive.
Cross-examined. It is five or six years since I have seen anything of him—I have been living at Swindon for the last five or six years, and have seen nothing of him—my eldest brother finds some employment for Frank; he would not be fit to follow any employment; he follows that employment—I think it is nearly twenty years ago that my aunt had the child—I knew my aunt, and know she was of weak intellect afterwards; I did not see her after she became insane—I think she died about fifteen years ago in, I believe, Stafford Asylum—I last saw her more than twenty years ago—she was my mother's sister—my mother is perfectly sane, and my father, too—the operation on the prisoner's nose was about eighteen months ago.
Re-examined. I believe I did not communicate this matter about my aunt until yesterday.
ALICE MARY CARTER . I live in Wales—I am sister of the prisoner and the deceased—I saw the prisoner in the early part of this year—he had just recovered from an illness a few months before, pneumonia—he was in the hospital—I can hardly tell you what his general health had been; I have not been with him—in February this year I went on a visit to my brother George at Walthamstow—I saw the prisoner there; he said that he had queer pains in his head and felt very queer at times, he hardly knew what he was doing at times, the pain was very bad; that it did not last for long together—he was on very good terms with the deceased and George; he said the deceased was his best friend—he had been very kind to me—his family knew of his habit of drinking.
Cross-examined. I never saw him drink to excess—it was known that he was unsteady, because he drank—I think I had last seen him about two or three years ago, until February or March this year—I was with him then about an hour or two one evening, and then the next day—we have walked together—that was at my brother George's—he was staying At Alfred's ever since I went back to Wales—he did not tell me that the pains in his head were after he had been drinking—I concluded it was from the effects of his two illnesses—he told me it was since his illness;
he did not ascribe them to drink, nor did I—he was quite sober when I saw him, and seemed quite rational.
GEORGE CARTER . I live at Walthamstow, and am a brother of the prisoner and the deceased—I have not seen a great deal of them for the last few years—I saw the prisoner last February; he was then living with Alfred, and as far as I could see they were on the best of terms—the prisoner told me that he was very much indebted to Alfred for what he had done for him—I have not heard him complain of pains in his head—I cannot find out that he had influenza last year.
SARAH ANN CARTER . I am the wife of George Carter—last August Bank Holiday the prisoner came and saw me at Walthamstow; that was about a month after he had come out of the Convalescent Home at Swanley—he looked as though he had been ill—he said how very low and depressed he felt; he felt as though he could make away with himself—I asked him what he did when he felt like that—he said he got up and moved about when the feeling came on him—I saw more of him the last three years than previously—he and Alfred were on the best of terms—he was very grateful to Alfred for what he had done for him.
Cross-examined. He seemed very weak on the Bank Holiday—I think he was at work at that time; I am not sure—I think he continued on at his work from that time—I saw him again in February this year; he was then better, but still complained of feeling terribly low and depressed—I saw no more of him between February and June—it was at Leytonstone I saw him in February; I saw him in the afternoon and evening.
HENRY CHARLTON BASTIAN . I reside at 8a, Manchester Square—I am an M.D., a Fellow of the Royal Society and the College of Physicians, and surgeon to the Hospital for the Paralytic and Epileptic—I have made a study of insanity, especially the branch which deals with epilepsy—in consequence of a communication from the Treasury solicitor I examined the prisoner at Holloway Prison on the 18th and 21st June—I have been frequently employed by the Treasury for a similar purpose—I had the depositions in the case before me, and I had also seen Dr. Walker and had a conference with him, and I have come to the conclusion that the prisoner is now quite of sound mind—I found no evidence of brain disease—I could find no history of epilepsy in him; nor did he give me any history of epilepsy in the family—I did not make any official report to the Treasury—I formed an opinion, and communicated that opinion to the Treasury—there is a well-known form of insanity known as impulsive insanity—a person may be absolutely sane upon a subject, except when homicidal mania comes on him; that is a well-known acknowledged form—it is generally of very short duration—assuming that the prisoner was not intoxicated at the time, that there was an insufficient motive, and that he was in his ordinary state of mind at the time, all the probabilities seem to me to be in favour of some temporary mental aberration—in their ordinary condition homicidal mania does not reveal itself—I should not attach much importance to reserve or sullenness; if a man has been subject to epileptic fits, that would be a matter of very great importance—having regard to there being epilepsy in the family, that decidedly tends to strengthen the opinion I had previously formed—there are three things especially to which I attach importance: first, that he should do this act in the day, and in the place, when he might well have done it elsewhere;
secondly, that after he had done it he should be perfectly silent and quiet, and not excited; and thirdly, the utter improbability that a man of no education should allege as a justification that he had no recollection of what he had done—my reason for this thirdly is that I think it is characteristic of these cases of impulsive acts following epilepsy, that is, the absence of memory of the deeds that have been performed under these circumstances—I have met with many such cases—the time at which loss of memory occurs varies; it might be a few minutes or a longer period—I have had considerable opportunities of judging of the demeanour of persons, whether they are wilfully concealing or shamming—the prisoner's manner was certainly such as to make me think that he was really speaking the truth.
Cross-examined. As far as I could gather, he was of perfectly sound mind when I saw him at Holloway—he was perfectly calm and collected, and there was nothing at all remarkable, either about his appearance or manner—he had a mild sort of manner—there was no evidence of insanity—I had seen the second letter written to Mrs. Alfred Carter; the other I saw at my second interview—I spoke to the prisoner about it and he recollected that perfectly—his remark to me was that he recollected nothing after that act, or a short time after it—he said he had no recollection of the sharpening of the knife, as reported to me, that was the time his memory began to fail—I speak from his statement to me and to others—his statements were uniform with regard to that—of course I am dependent upon his statements—the loss of recollection is one of the three things I have spoken of—at the time he made that statement he was, as far I could ascertain, of perfectly sound mind and understanding—he seemed scarcely to realise that he would have to take his trial for murder—I never put it to him in that way—I imagine he was able to appreciate that he was about to take his trial for murder—in the letter of 12th July he speaks of the date of 23rd July, when he would come up for trial—of course he knew at that time all about it—the three reasons I have given cannot be separated, or dealt with separately; it is the grouping of them that is important—the non-recollection is important, not simply with reference to this case, but from my knowledge of previous cases—I attach great importance to that certainly—if in a diseased state heavy drinking would pre-dispose him to epilepsy—I could ascertain no history of epilepsy as far as regards himself; if there had been, it would have been a considerable guide to me in forming my opinion as to whether this had been epileptic insanity—I do not know that he had or had not fits of any kind—he did not tell me of fits in the family—there was no attempt to exonerate himself as far as I could see—I have known many men have fits after drunken bouts without any previous epileptic fits.
Re-examined. There is no motive in my mind why I should give a false opinion on this matter—I am absolutely colourless; I come as a friend of the Court—no hint was ever given to me as to what opinion I should form; I formed my opinion from the facts.
GEORGE EDWARD WALKER . I am medical officer at Her Majesty's Prison, Holloway—the prisoner has been under my care whilst in the prison and in the infirmary—I examined him on several occasions, and I formed a certain opinion, which I communicated to the Treasury in the form of a report—it was an opinion as to his responsibility at the date
when this crime was committed—Dr. Bastian was called in, independently of my opinion—he is looked upon as the highest authority upon insanity—I have made some memoranda in a note-book as to the result of my investigation, and I have set out eleven reasons as the basis of my opinion—the first is the absence of any rational motive; also assuming the absence of intoxication, that the deed was done at full noonday in the presence of four or five witnesses; I think that shows that the man was irresponsible at the time, although it is not actual proof—I agree with what Dr. Bastian has said with regard to impulsive homicidal mania—I also agree with him as to the absence of recollection of what was actually done after the impulse had subsided, although there might be a vivid recollection of all that preceded and subsequently occurred—I have had considerable experience in judging of the demeanour of prisoners under my care—in speaking of having no recollection of what had occurred, he certainly had all the appearance of speaking the truth; that would strengthen and assist the opinion I had formed—epileptic fits in the family would considerably strengthen my opinion, that he was suffering from what is known as masked epilepsy, that he was insane—I did not know of that when I made my report—masked epilepsy is a disease in which the fact of epilepsy is replaced by an impulse to do some outrageous homicidal act; there is no outward sign, there is no convulsion, or apparent loss of consciousness, the patient does not fall down—it is well known in medical science that cases of that kind occur; they are not very frequent, they are rare—I have heard of the case of Miss Lamb, a sister of Charles Lamb—the statement found on the mantelpiece seems to me a statement of a man labouring under some mental derangement at the time, rather than the statement of a drunken man—the friendship existing between the prisoner and the deceased certainly influences my opinion to a certain extent.
Cross-examined. I have heard it stated in the evidence that the prisoner was under the influence of liquor at the time he wrote this memorandum; one of my reasons for the opinion I formed is that he had no recollection of this matter; that is not the strongest reason; there is the entire absence of an adequate motive; anger is a motive—as to his having no recollection, that entirely depends upon the prisoner's own statement; another thing is the evidence of epilepsy in the family—I heard of that two days ago, and his mental depression, and previous attempts at suicide—all these things assist me in my opinion that this is a case of impulsive homicidal mania, from masked epilepsy—a man suffering from masked epilepsy may do impulsive acts, which are acts of madness—masked epilepsy and impulsive mania are the same thing—I do not say that every case of impulsive homicidal mania is a case of masked epilepsy—masked epilepsy is epilepsy without any of the ordinary accompaniments by which epilepsy is known; it would not have the ordinary epileptic attacks of convulsion or falling.
Re-examined. The symptoms of masked epilepsy differ from those of ordinary epilepsy—I do not think a man would have any intelligible motive for killing his brother, unless he was insane, or a very great criminal, especially with such antecedents as the prisoner's.
GUILTY of the act, but being insane at the time.— To be detained during Her Majesty's Pleasure.
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, July 25th, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
613. JAMES ANDERSON (25), and THOMAS LEASON (23) , Breaking and entering the counting-house of William Holmes May, and stealing a cash-box, a typewriter, and other articles, to which ANDERSON PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. PIGGOTT Prosecuted; MR. KERSHAW appeared for Anderson, and MR. GRAIN for Leason.
THOMAS BROCKWELL (Detective Sergeant). On June 20th I was on duty in Aldersgate Street, and saw the prisoners—I followed them to Goswell Road for about an hour, and at a little after four they went into Gresham Street; they had a little conversation, and Leason left Anderson and went into Carey Lane—he came back in a few minutes, carrying three bags—this is one of them—he went into Grove Street and met Anderson, who took one bag from him—I seized them both, and said, "We are police officers; I want to know what you have in these bags"—Anderson said, "Nothing"—I took them to the Old Jewry, and examined the bags; this one contained a number of cheque-books, several impressions in wax of keys, screwdrivers, files, and pliers—those are tools which would be used by burglars, and to make skeleton keys out of keys—here are 156 ordinary keys and fifty-six skeleton keys—the pair of kid gloves has the palms cut out, which we consider is for the purpose of facilitating the handling of the tools—here are the works of a gold watch, and a number of bankers' drafts, some of which have been identified, but they do not refer to this case.
CORNELIUS SEXTON (Detective Sergeant). I was concealed in the Parcels Delivery Office when Leason entered; he asked for three bags in the name of Weston, which were delivered to him—he left, and gave one of the bags to Anderson; it contained the keys—we had been following them two hours.
Cross-examined. On the road to the station Anderson said, "This is very funny; you seem to know me; this young man knows nothing about it; I only sent him for my bags"—I did not know Anderson before that day—he has been convicted—he is the brother of the other prisoner—his right name is Leason—I went the same night to another brother's address at Peckham Rye, who carries on a respectable business with his mother, keeping a clothier's shop—I ascertained from the brother that he was staying with him, helping him, and trying to get a situation.
THOMAS JOSEPH HELLIER . I am an attendant at the Wood Street Hotel, City—about June 16th Anderson took a room there in the name of Weston, and stayed three or four nights—Leason came to see him on the 19th, in the afternoon; they had refreshments, and when they left I found this typewriter in the room.
LEASON received a good character from his elder brother.— NOT GUILTY .
ANDERSON then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Manchester on December 14th, 1885, of obtaining goods by false pretences in the name of Leason.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
AARON FELLMAN (Interpreted). I am a pedlar; of 181, Wentworth Street Buildings—on Monday night, July 9th, I was in the Commercial Road—I had to go somewhere to relieve myself, and when I came out my coat was open—the prisoner came up and caught hold of me by my neck, and took hold of my chain and tore it off, and took it and my watch and ran to the other side of the street—the watch cost me 10s.—he hurt my throat very much—I was very ill for two days afterwards.
NATHAN LESMUIR . I am a fish hawker, of 58, Morgan Street, Commercial Road—on Monday night, July 9th, I saw the prisoner in Flower and Dean Street—I head a man holloaing "Police!" and saw Mr. Fellman holding the prisoner—he said, "He has taken my watch"—I saw a watch in the prisoner's hand.
GEORGE IDE (276 H). On July 9th, about eleven p.m., I was in Flower and Dean Street, heard a cry of "Police!" and saw the prosecutor struggling with the prisoner—the prosecutor said that the prisoner had stolen his watch, and had it in his hand—the prisoner said, "Not me, I was making water"—this is the chain; it is broken—he pushed it into the prosecutor's hand.
Prisoner's defence. I was coming from work, and this man caught hold of me. I know nothing about it.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Worship Street on August 3rd, 1893, and fifteen other convictions were proved against him.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
615. HENRY JONES PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a watch and chain, a pocket-book, and £23, the property of John O'Neill, having been convicted at this Court on May 4th, 1891, in the name of William Dunn. Several other convictions were proved against him. Recommended to mercy by the prosecutor, whose watch had been returned to him.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BARKER Prosecuted.
WALLACE HIBBERD . I am a shoemaker, of 13, The Oval, Bethnal Green—on June 30th, the first thing in the morning, I saw the prisoner and said, "Hulloa, how are you going on?"—he said, "I will do you in to-night"—I had not had any quarrel with him—I had known him a long time—he is in the wood-carving line—I next saw him at nine p.m. standing near my house—he came up and struck me, and I said, "Oh, he has stabbed me"—I was all over blood—a doctor bound me up and took me to the hospital—the prisoner was sober in the morning, but he might have had a drop of liquor at night—I am not in the habit of annoying him—I did not steal a coat from him.
By the COURT. I did not tell the Magistrate that we parted on friendly
terms in the morning—I cannot account for his threatening me in the morning—he has been very friendly for fourteen years—I am quite sure he threatened me.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I did see you in the morning; you came past the Arabian Arms.
JAMES COX . I am a boot laster, of 72, Manford Street—on the night of June 30th I saw the prisoner go up and give the prosecutor a blow on the breast—I seized him and held his right arm, and the knife was taken from him—he was rather the worse for liquor, but not very drunk.
GEORGE POPE (139 F). I was called, and took the prisoner—he said, "I have been drinking rum; he stole a coat of my brother's some time back; I bought the knife in Green Street and carried it open; it was hard to shut, and hurt my fingers; I meant to stab him"—he was not drunk, but he had been drinking and appeared very excited—this is the knife; there is blood on it now.
LEOPOLD GEORGE HILL . I am house surgeon at the London Hospital—the prosecutor was under my care from June 30th, suffering from a small wound over the region of the heart, about half an inch deep, penetrating as far as the lungs—if it had been half an inch higher or lower it might have been fatal; it was simply prevented from going into the heart by the rib—this is a very formidable weapon—the blow had been delivered with some violence, but not great violence—he had the same clothes on; there is the mark of the stab in his waistcoat—the prosecutor was in a state of semi-intoxication when brought to me.
Prisoner's defence. I do not remember anything of it, and I do not remember making that statement. I bought the knife a week previously.
GUILTY .— Fourteen Months' Hard Labour.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, July 25th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MESSRS. DRAKE and HARRISON Prosecuted, and MR. WARBURTON Defended.
PATRICK DUNCAN . I am a carpenter, of 127, Stanton Street—about June 14th I returned to England from Australia—on arriving at Plymouth I got nineteen £5 Bank of England notes from the Bank of England there—I arrived in London at eleven a.m. on June 14th, and about 8.30 p.m. a woman spoke to me in the Strand, and I went with her to 34, Exeter Street, and into a bedroom—there were curtains at the head of the bed about six feet high, and half way down the sides of the bed—almost directly behind the bed was a chair—there was a door almost directly behind the bed—the chair was between the bed and the door—a washstand was immediately behind the opening of the door—my bank notes were rolled up in a piece of white calico in my coat pocket; I put it in my trousers pocket, and then into my coat pocket again—after I had
been in bed one or two minutes I heard a noise as of a door opening; a minute afterwards I distinctly heard the door shut—I got up immediately and put on my clothes, and came out into Burleigh Street with the woman—I shook hands and said good-night, and I had not gone twenty yards when I missed my notes—I at once made a communication to the policeman, and showed him the house—we went to Bow Street—I went back with the detective to the house that evening, but did not discover anything—I went again with the detective on next day—I next saw the prisoners at the Police-station—I have not seen my money since.
Cross-examined. I have not seen the woman since I left her in the street—I was in the house ten, fifteen, or it might be twenty minutes.
ELLEN DONOVAN . I live with my mother, a greengrocer, at 35, Exeter Street, Strand—on 14th June, about 8.20 p.m., I was minding the shop—I saw the prosecutor and a woman go into the next house, No. 34—I saw them come out, and a minute after the prisoners came out walking rather sharply—I had seen them before, and had served them in my mother's house.
WILLIAM JAMES LEWS . I am a barman at the King's Head, Judd Street—on Friday, 15th June, I served Schneider with refreshments which came to a few pence—he gave me a £5 note—I am not certain if anyone was with him—I gave the note to the manageress for change—I next saw Schneider at Bow Street about 21st June, and identified him.
Cross-examined. We are pretty busy at times—I had never seen the prisoner before—he only stayed a few minutes—the police called a few days afterwards—I picked him out from six others—Detective Hailstone mentioned about the man being stout, but I went by his features—the prisoner was not the shortest man in the row.
Re-examined. I knew his features again directly.
LIZZIE COLE . I am manageress of the King's Head public-house, Judd Street—on 15th June Schneider came in with a woman; I could not swear to her—Lewis served them; he brought me a £5 note—I gave change and put the note in the cash-box, which I locked—afterwards Mr. Beasley came and asked me to change £8 of silver, which his waitress brought, and I gave her this £5 note and £3 in gold.
Cross-examined. I was not asked to pick the prisoner out—I had never seen him before to my knowledge—I next saw Schneider at Bow Street, and recognised him at once—I knew he was the person charged—I made no memorandum of the number of the £5 note—there were two more £5 notes in the cash-box, but I placed this on the top, and it remained where I put it; the box was not touched—no one else has access, to it—I am sure it is the one I gave to the coffee-house keeper.
JOHN BEASLEY . I keep a coffee-house at 35, Little Newport Street, adjoining the King's Head—on 15th June I sent Alice Home, my waitress, for change of £8 of silver; she brought me back three sovereigns and a £5 note—later in the day I sent that money to the City Bank by Alice Horne, who always banks my money—this is the counterfoil of the paying-in slip containing a record of the £5 note on that day—I only paid in one note on that day—the publican next door is generally glad of my silver, and I let him have it.
Newport Street—on 15th June I went to the King's Head, and exchanged £8 in silver for a £5 note and £3 gold, which I brought to Mr. Beasley—I afterwards went to the City Bank in Shaftesbury Avenue, taking money including this £5 note, which I had got at the King's Head.
CHARLES CECIL BATEMAN . I am a clerk in the City Bank, Shaftesbury Avenue—on 15th June, a payment in was made for Mr. Beasley, the coffee-house keeper, and I received this £5 note No. 90952, of 1st November, 1892, from the cashier—it was sent down to our head office, Thread-needle Street, the same day.
HUGH OLIVER . I am cashier at the City Bank, Shaftesbury Avenue—I received this bank note from Mr. Beasley's assistant, Horne, and wrote the name "Beasley" on it for the purpose of identifying the person from whom it was received, in accordance with the usual practice—I handed the note to Mr. Bateman.
PERCY EDWARD WAYMOUTH . I am a clerk in the City Bank, Thread-needle Street—on 15th June, I received this £5 bank note from the Shaftesbury Avenue Branch—on 18th June, it was paid into the Bank of England.
WILLIAM MORRIS . I am clerk to Love and Co., landlords of 34, Exeter Street, Strand—I collect a portion of the rents of that house for them—the prisoners were weekly tenants there; the woman has paid me, and once or twice the man has—they occupied two rooms on the first floor—the house is let out in tenements to about three different parties; most of them are married, with families—I have not the slightest idea how a prostitute from the street took a stranger there; I never heard of my employer's property being used for that purpose—Mr. Love let the floor to the prisoners, who had been there seven or eight weeks, I should think, paying 8s. 6d. a week for unfurnished rooms.
ARTHUR HAILSTONE (Detective E). On 14th June the prosecutor made a complaint to me, in consequence of which I went to 34, Exeter Street, Strand, about 9.30 p.m.—I went into the first floor front room of No. 34, with the prosecutor—I did not see anyone there, nor did I find anything—I went again the next day; no one was in occupation so far as I could see—I pushed open the door with my shoulder—next day I went again; the prosecutor was not with me then—there are two rooms on the floor connected by a half-glass door—on the 15th, while I was there the prisoners came in—I said, "I am a sergeant of police, and shall take you both into custody for being concerned with another woman in stealing £95 in Bank of England notes from a gentleman's coat pocket in this room about nine o'clock last night"—the man dropped his head and said nothing—the woman said, "I never saw a gentleman"—I said, "You did; you were in the back room; another woman brought him into this room, and you were both seen to hurriedly leave the house a few minutes after the other woman and the man had left"—Schneider said, "Well, we did not have all the notes; the other woman had some"—I took them to the Bow Street Station, and repeated in the
I resence of Inspector Wood and the prisoners what had been said, adding "Schneider, you were actually putting your coat on when going down the street"—he said, "Yes, I am sorry; it is true. We did leave the house as you say, and if we are kept here we shall have to put up with it"—Schmidt said, "Ah, if you know, that is all right"—I found on Schneider £12 10s. in gold and £1 18s. silver and a cloth cap—I said, "This is some of the money, I suppose?"—he said, "Yes, it is, I am sorry to say; we changed some of them"—on Schmidt we found 5s. 6d. silver and 4 1/2d. bronze—later on they were charged, and Schneider said nothing; Schmidt said, "We were not under the bed when it was done"—I had not said anything about their being under the bed—after I had searched Schneider's coat and vest, he said, "You will find some; half a minute"—and he brought out this purse with the money.
Cross-examined. The prisoners are Germans; they understand English perfectly—I had made inquiries—I knew they must have been in the back room; there was now here else for them to be—there are eight rooms in the house—I made the statement to them on my own authority—there is no one to prove they were in the back room—Schneider did not say when I asked him if he had any money, "Yes, I have money, but not stolen money"—I have not taken other people to the station to try and identify the prisoners—I did not tear Schmidt's dresses in the cupboard to try and find money—I left everything in good order, and her brother in charge—I don't know if someone else tore up the dresses—I did not caution the prisoners; I told them who I was—I did not want them to make admissions or contradictions—I never told Lewis that the man to be identified was a short man.
Re-examined. I searched the room; I found no notes.
By the JURY. There are two doors to the room, one from the landing and one from the other room—the door from the landing is on the left-hand side of the bed, quite close to the back of the bed—the room was bedroom and sitting-room combined—all the other people in the house were working people—I don't think a person could come through the door from the other room without a person on the bed seeing him, but if a person came through the door from the passage he would not be seen—through the glass door you can see what is going on on the bed—there was a curtain over the glass, but it left a little portion of the glass clear, through which you could see.
GEORGE WOOD (Inspector E). I was present at Bow Street when these prisoners were charged by Hailstone—I heard what was said, and made a note of it, and I directed the sergeant to make one at the time, so that we both made independent notes—this is my note: "The prisoners were brought to Bow Street by Sergeant Hailstone, who told them they would be charged with another woman, not in custody, in stealing from a gentleman £95 in Bank of England notes at about nine o'clock on the 14th inst., at 34, Exeter Street"—the sergeant said, "You were both seen to leave the house hurriedly about a minute after the gentleman and the woman who had brought him there had left, and Schneider, you were actually seen putting your coat on when going down the street"—he said, "Yes, I am very sorry; it is true. We did leave the house as you say, and if we are kept here we must put up with it"—the female prisoner said, "If you know, that is all right"—on Schneider was found £12 10s. in
gold, £1 18s. in silver, and other things—Hailstone said, pointing to the money, "Is that some of the money?"—Schneider said, "Yes, it is, I am sorry to say; we changed some of them"—they were charged; Schneider made no reply—Schmidt said, "We were not under the bed when it was done"—I was present on 22nd June when the barman identified the prisoners.
GUILTY . the JURY recommended Schmidt to mercy. SCHNEIDER— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. SCHMIDT— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. SANDS Prosecuted, and MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended.
WINTER and CONNOLLY PLEADED GUILTY . They received good characters.—Three Months' Hard Labour each.
The JURY being unable to agree as to Marx Coten, were discharged without giving a verdict, and the charge against him was postponed to next Session.
OLD COURT.—Thursday, July 26th; Friday, 27th; and Saturday, 28th, 1894.
Before Mr. Justice Lawrance.
620. PAUL KOCZULA (24), and SUSANNAH KOCZULA (24), were indicted for the wilful murder of Sophia Frederica Matilda Rasch , and GEORGE SCHMERFELD (31) was charged as an accessory before the fact. In other Counts SUSANNAH KOCZULA and SCHMERFELD were charged as accessories after the fact.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS, HORACE AVORY, and BANCROFT Prosecuted; MR. WARBURTON, with MR. COHEN, appeared for Paul Koczula; MR. CANNOT for Susannah Koczula; and MR. DRAKE for Schmerfeld.
CARL RASCH (Interpreted). I keep a restaurant at 167, Shaftesbury Avenue, and lived there with my wife and four children, three boys and a girl—there is a door leading into the restaurant from the street; also a side door leading to the staircase and upstairs—there are two bedrooms on the first floor and two on the second floor, and two on the top floor—I and my wife occupied the bedroom on the first floor front—the two prisoners, Paul and Susannah Koczula, were in my service for nine months as waiter and general servant—they are married—here is a photograph of my wife; she was a tall, healthy, strong woman—she was in the habit of keeping the key of the wardrobe in our bedroom in her dress pocket—in that wardrobe we were in the habit of keeping money and valuables—my wife kept the key on a ring with others—this (produced) is the ring,
with the key of the wardrobe on it—I have known Schmerfeld six or seven years—for three months he took his meals at our restaurant, from September till, I believe, Christmas last—he owed me £3 or £4, I can't exactly say—there was one box belonging to him on the premises—he brought it with him the week after he came to England, in September or October last—I knew him in Germany—he took the box away about a fortnight before the murder—he told me he was going to take it away because he was going into a place again, and he asked me whether I would let him have the box on payment of a pound—I said, "Yes"—he did not pay it; he came next morning and offered me 10s., and asked whether I would let him have the box—I said, "Yes, you had better take the box away at once"—he said, "Not now, I will fetch it to-morrow," and he did—it was a large wooden box—this is it (Produced)—it was then brown, it has been fresh coloured since—he did not tell me what he was taking in it; I did not actually see it go out of the house; my wife and I were still in bed when he took it away—Koczula helped him to take it out—the Koczulas had two baskets, with a lock, which they kept in the front kitchen below—I saw those baskets when they came to the house; they were full—prior to Friday, May 25th, I had no notice that the Koczulas were going to leave—on that Friday evening I was at home up to a little before eight—a customer named Fritz Klung and Schmerfeld were on the premises—I played cards with my friend Klung—he was in the habit of going to his club on Friday night; that was the reason he ceased playing—the club was in Dean Street, Soho, not far off—we had not many customers on a Friday night; Klung was generally the only one there—when Klung left Schmerfeld said, "Will you go with me for a walk to Hyde Park?"—I had been out with him for a walk of an evening before that, but not so far as Hyde Park, only in the neighbourhood—when we started my wife was in the bedroom asleep—she was in the habit of going to lie down of an evening, generally from about seven till about nine, and then my daughter Clara used to go and wake her up—I believe all the children were in the house when I left; nobody else, but the two Koczulas—we were out two hours and a half—I returned at half-past ten, a few minutes before or after—Schmerfeld returned with me—we were in two public-houses on the road, but not in one near my house, although he proposed to come into one which was near my house, at the corner of Frith Street and Shaftesbury Avenue—when we got home we went in at the restaurant door from the street; I cannot swear that the side door was open at that time, but I believe it was closed—I found the three eldest children in the shop—I asked them, "Where is mamma?" and in consequence of what they said I went upstairs—the bedroom door was quite open—I believe there were two lamps alight in the room, but I can't remember particularly—I can't say whether they were lighted before I went out, but the lamps did not belong to that room—one of them used to hang at the side of the wall in the passage, the other came from a room upstairs—the first thing I saw on entering the room was that all the drawers containing linen and other things were on the floor; the drawers of the wardrobe were also taken out—I first called for my wife—I did not know where she was; I received no answer—I went towards the place where the drawer was containing the money and jewellery, and I
saw it had gone—I then ran downstairs, crying out, "I have been robbed"—I saw Schmerfeld in the restaurant, and he went back with me upstairs, and I then found my wife's body on the floor—the feather bed was on the ground—I am not sure whether it was not Schmerfeld that said to me, "Here is something lying"—I immediately went towards it; I removed something, and then I saw my wife; she was dead—there were sheets, pillows and bolsters on the floor; they were on the body—the mattress alone remained on the bed—Schmerfeld was there at the time I saw the body of my wife; I can't say what he did—I did not see him again that night, not till next morning, when I went to Charlotte Street with the police—I ran out of the house, and cried "Murder!"—the police came into the house directly I ran out—I did not look to see whether either of the Koczulas were there—they slept in the first floor back, the room at the back of ours—I cannot remember whether their door was open or not—I saw nothing of them after I returned that night—Schmerfeld did not tell me at any time that the Koczulas were going to leave—I cannot say exactly how much money I missed; I believe about £50—also a diamond ring, four other rings, three gold watches, a silver watch, two silver brooches, a garnet brooch, and garnets, and a lady's silver chain, a cigarette case, a lady's locket, a gentleman's locket, another chain, a necklet and garnets—I have since seen a lady's watch, the cover of the silver cigarette case, and a gold watch—this (produced) is the upper part of the cigarette case; it has been broken at the back; it was in a perfect state—I noticed afterwards in examining the room a pair of diamond earrings on the floor underneath the wardrobe—they had been kept in the ward-robe—they must have rolled out when the paper and other things were taken out—I saw the cord which had been tied round my wife's legs, and also some cord that was lying on the floor in the room, a short distance from the bed—no such cord was in the bedroom when I left the house that night—there was some cord in the back cellar similar to that which was found on the floor—that is not the same cellar in which the Koczulas' baskets were kept; they were in the front cellar—I afterwards went with the police into the cellar where the cord had been, and saw that some rope had been newly cut which corresponded with that found on the floor of the bedroom—I was present when these keys were found by the police in the dustbin of my premises—I noticed a silk handkerchief that was round my wife's neck; she was in the habit of wearing it when lying down—I was present when the police made an examination of Koczula's baskets in the cellar; they were locked—the police cut them open, and found in them only a few old things of no value—I have recently known a woman with whom Schmerfeld had been living; her Christian name is Eleanor—I had seen her shortly before the Friday—I saw her in the house on the Thursday, the day before, she slept in the house, but the last time I saw her was when we were on the way home from our walk on the Friday night; we met her—on the Friday morning my wife came to my bed and showed me a £10 note, and I saw her take some money to give change for it, and she put the note into the drawer which usually contained the jewellery and money—that note was gone on the Friday night—I did not see Helena at the house on the Friday morning, nor Schmerfeld—I don't believe I saw Schmerfeld at all on the Friday till
the evening; I can't remember positively, but I don't believe I did—I have not found any of the property, except these two things.
FRAND GEORGE WAYLETT (118 A). I have had experience in making plans—I have made a pian of the ground floor of 167, Shaftesbury Avenue—I produce it, and also a number of tracings from it (They were handed to the JURY)—they show the restaurant and kitchen and the back yard—there is a door leading from Shaftesbury Avenue into the iron gate of the restaurant—the iron gate was generally open, and the door into the restaurant would often be open—I did not know the inside of the premises before the 25th May; I knew the outside—on going into the restaurant there was a piano slightly to the right, a door leading to the kitchen, and a door from the kitchen into the passage—you can also get to the passage by the street door, and from the passage there are stairs leading up to the bedrooms—it is quite a small house—at the back is a small yard, with a wall 7 ft. 6 in high, with a cistern and dustbin on the left and a w.c. on the right—I have made a sketch plan of the front and back rooms on the first floor—it is made to scale, two feet to the inch—it shows the position of the furniture as I was told it was on the day of the murder—I was sent for on Saturday, the 26th, at 3.30—the bed stood across a door between the two rooms, which was fastened, and on the other side was hung a quantity of clothing—there were two chests of drawers; one set was used as a washing stand; the washing things were then on it—the bedstead was a heavy four-poster.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. The door leading into the street was fastened by a padlock and catch—the catch was not sound—there was no outside handle—there was no padlock on when I was there; anyone could get in by just pushing the door—there were no bolts—there was the usual staple and fastening for a padlock.
CARL RASCH (continued). The washing-stand was combined with a chest of drawers—two of the drawers of the wardrobe were taken out, and also three of the drawers of the washstand, and the remainder from the chest, nine in all—the door between our room and the Koczulas' was usually locked, and the bed stood in front of it, so that nobody could enter—I don't know where the key of that door was kept, I did not see it; the door opened towards our room—the street door was generally shut, but if any lodgers were in the house my wife put a padlock to it in the evening—when there were no guests in the house it was simply shut, sometimes it was open—when it was shut it was latched, an ordinary latch, which shut with a spring—there was no handle on the outside.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. There is a door leading from the street upstairs, that does not communicate with the restaurant—people could come in at that door without being seen from the restaurant—they could not go upstairs without being observed, because the other doors were open—the passage has only a thin wooden partition—there is a full view of the staircase—the two doors were always open, for convenience sake—there is a window half up the stairs, looking into the yard—if anything was thrown out of that window it would not go into the dustbin, because there is a cover to it and a cistern above it, which was not in use—the dustbin is altogether covered by the cistern—I have been three years at 167—my house is conducted as respectably as the Hotel Metropole—I do not know the man Kewpf—the Koczulas have been in my
service nine months—they were recommended to me as respectable people—I always found them quite honest—they used to receive money and hand it over—they had all my confidence—people used the restaurant more or less, it depended on the business; at times the business was flourishing very well, and there were plenty of people there—the prisoners waited at the restaurant—there were not many tips in the restaurant—the man might have a week of 10s. possibly, and there might be weeks when he got nothing—the female prisoner attended to the bedrooms as well as he did—they were not thrifty people—whatever they got they bought things with for the woman's confinement, which cost him a considerable sum of money—she was confined on the 1st of January this year—their wages were 7s. 6d. a week—they had a holiday every fortnight, not to stop away, they came home at night—I have missed a considerable number of articles of jewellery, of the value of over £40—the prisoners had not spoken of their intention to leave my service before this—I heard it said so at the Police-court, but never before the murder—Mrs. Marks stated that the prisoner had told her the day before the affair that they were going to leave—I did not hear it—the prisoners generally got up at half-past seven, before me—whenever there was a breakfast required my wife used to get up early, not otherwise—she was always at work somehow or other, attending to the cooking, and to the children, and she took rest in the evening—the only missing articles that I have identified is a watch and part of a cigarette case; this is it, it is solid silver—I can't say whether it is an ordinary one or not; it is one to suit the pocket, not too bulky—I never heard that my wife wanted to sell the watch; it was never sold to the prisoners; she would never have done so without my consent—I don't known whether there was a lamp in the prisoners' room—there was a ladder at the back of the house—I heard it whispered that there had been a robbery at 177; I don't know anything about it; it may be that the thieves got away and escaped through my house, but I don't know it—the prisoners knew perfectly well where the things were kept in the house; whether they knew the very drawer I can't say; they knew they were kept in that room; they had the run of the place—I did not see at this time that one of the beds at the top of the house was turned down, as if it had been occupied—I went up to the bedrooms; I did not notice that one of the beds had been occupied; no bed was occupied, and had been used—the bed in the upper story had not been used—I had been last in my wife's bedroom, it might have been at eleven or half-past, in the morning—I never heard anything of the sale of a watch—an umbrella was sold to the prisoners—something was said about the sale of a watch, and I said, "If you pay me the money you can have it," but they could not pay for it, and therefore they could not have it; they could not even pay for the umbrella at once; they had a week to pay for it, and the price of it had to be deducted from their wages.
Cross-examined by MR. CANONT. I cannot exactly give the female prisoner the character of uniform kindness to the children; I did not see anything to the contrary; if I had I should have remonstrated with her—I was satisfied with her while in my employ—her duties were to take care of the children and to do the general work—with the exception of cooking I had no complaint to make about her—the eldest child and the baby were rather fond of her, not Clara—when we were not there she would
take charge of them—when we were there the mother took care of the baby more than she did—it is possible she might have to give them their tea as late as half-past eight—some of them were in the habit of going out in the evening to play, just outside the door, up and down—it was her duty to do out our bedroom; she had access to the room at any time—if the room had been locked my wife would have given her the key at any moment—it may be that she has brought my wife money—I don't know of any occasion when my wife has locked it up in her presence—she would put it in her pocket—if my wife wanted change she would go to her drawer to get it, or they would come to me—I have never seen the male prisoner go out and walk up and down of an evening; I have seen his wife do so—I don't know of a customer taking a bedroom in the house on the night of the murder—the female prisoner did not tell my daughter so in my presence—the watch they wanted me to sell was a lady's watch; it was mine; my wife never wore it; she had a better one—their wages were paid regularly every week by my wife; no book was kept as to the payments—my daughter Clara used to go up every night to wake her mother when she was lying down—during the time she was resting it was the female prisoner's duty to keep the children quiet, if they were noisy, but they were never noisy; they had their school work to do and their play work—I have sometimes lifted the baskets in the cellar—if they were in my way I moved them—it may have been a fortnight or three weeks before the murder that I last touched them—they were pretty big—I went out very little with my wife of an evening, except perhaps on Sundays.
By MR. WARBURTON. Up to the time my wife went upstairs to lie down, I was in her company, and if she had sold the watch she would undoubtedly have told me—I saw the watch that morning in the drawer—the female prisoner was often upstairs in my wife's room, doing needle-work with the machine—I never saw the cord round my wife's legs—the prisoners were left in charge of the house when my wife and I went out together, but they were not in possession of the keys, and my wife was then in the habit of putting the jewellery and money in her pocket, and taking it with her—the prisoners never had the keys in their hands.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. It may be 1887 when I was first a friend of Schmerfeld—that was in Holland—I knew him till I left to come to England—my wife knew him slightly—I saw him pretty frequently in Holland—I was not on intimate terms with him—I came to England in May, 1891—Schmerfeld first told me he had come direct from Holland, afterwards that he had come out of prison, where he had been a fortnight for smuggling cigars—I did not say so at the Police-court because I was not asked—I had a good deal to say that I was not asked—from the time he first came to me I saw him nearly every day—I went out with him two or three times a week—I was not out with him for a considerable time; I came home in the interval, and went out again—the time that was longer than usual was when I took my wife to the theatre—I may have been late at the club—I may have been out with him two or three hours at a time if you count the times I have returned to the house, but not without coming home—I have been one hour out with him without returning; never two hours, I cannot say to a minute—all four children were present when I played cards with Klung, but not at the commencement—I cannot say how
long I played, it may or may not have been four hours—Klung proposed to cease playing—I have said a hundred times Schmerfeld invited me to go out; the witnesses will prove it—I called Schmerfeld into the room when I discovered the state it was in—he came up—I was so excited myself I cannot say if he was excited—I did not hear him shout "Murder'—I think the children went upstairs with us—I did not see Schmerfeld after I made a report to the police—I was friendly with him up to that time—I told you on that Friday night no one was in the house but my wife, the four children, and the servants—on other Friday evenings there may have been people sleeping there or having a bedroom, although Friday was usually the worst day.
Re-examined. I last saw Schmerfeld after I saw my wife on the floor in my room, from whence he disappeared till the next morning when I went with the police to Charlotte Street—the Koczulas' umbrella was paid for on the Monday before the murder, although it ought to have been paid the Monday previous, but then they could not pay it.
CLARA RASCH . I am eight years old—I used to live with my father and mother at 167, Shaftesbury Avenue—I have a brother Carl about ten, a brother Otto about five, and a baby named Ernie about three years old—Paul and Susannah Koczula were the servants—I remember the night my mother died my father going out with Schmerfeld—I do not know the time—I went out with my baby brother Ernie for a walk after my father had left—I saw my mother—she went upstairs to sleep before I went out—Carl and Otto met me, and we came back to the house together—I then saw Paul and Susannah Koczula standing at the door of the restaurant—Woolf Marks was playing with Carl near No. 153, and he went back with us—I said to Susannah, "I want to go up to wake mummy," and she said "No, papa says you are not to go up to wake mummy"—I generally go up to wake her—then I went through the restaurant into the kitchen to get my tea—Susannah gave me some bread and butter and tea, and then she went upstairs to put baby to bed—then she came down and said, "You can play a little while on the piano and eat your bread and butter, and take your tea after"—Ernie slept in the first floor back, the next room to my mother; the same room as the Koczulas slept—I could not say how long Susannah was upstairs—Paul was in the kitchen, and then he went outside—we did not know he went upstairs—I last saw him in the restaurant—my brothers and Marks were with me in the kitchen when Susannah came downstairs; she never came back into the kitchen—Susannah said to me, "Eat your bread and butter and drink your tea after playing the piano a little"—I went into the restaurant where the piano was to teach Otto his A B C—I played my notes—when I was playing Susannah banged on the piano, on the notes—she made much noise—I said to her, "I hear someone screaming"—she said, "That is next door"—I heard someone scream at that time—after that she went upstairs—when she came down she looked for the door—I did not see Paul Koczula then, I don't know where he was—Susannah then went away and we never saw her again—she went to the kitchen door to go upstairs; she came downstairs and looked through that door, then she went away and never came back—I saw her look in at the kitchen door—the stairs leading to my mother's room come to the kitchen door—I last saw her standing at the kitchen
door—she went out through the same door as she had come in—when I looked again at the kitchen door she was gone—I first saw Paul go out, and then Susannah took my little brother upstairs—when my father came back I was in the restaurant with my two brothers, the little one being in bed—Marks had left—my father came in with Schmerfeld—my father went upstairs and said something—I did not notice where Schmerfeld was then—I saw him last come into the shop with my father—I went upstairs after my father called—I had last seen mother when I went into the room when I went out with the baby, and I said to her, "Good-bye"—Paul Koczula, my brothers, Carl and Otto, and Marks were all I saw in the restaurant when I came home—Susannah gave the baby some tea in the kitchen—I saw no one else—a door from the kitchen led to the passage to the stairs—I could not see through that door—it is kept open—they shut it the night my mother died; I think when they put baby to bed—I am sure about it—I think Susannah shut the door—the door from the kitchen to the restaurant was always kept open except Saturday night, when it was shut—it was open on that Friday night.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. I told the Magistrate about the screaming—the gentleman who sits under the Magistrate read it to me (MR. WARBURTON said it was not in the deposition)—the Koczulas very often were not kind—I was always friendly with them—I took Ernie out at various times; it was dark on this Friday when I came home—Susannah did not say I was not to go upstairs—she gave me no orders—I could have gone up, but she would not let me—she was upstairs—we were left in the kitchen—there was nothing to hinder my going upstairs—she said, "Papa said you have got to stop down; you are not to wake mother"—that was not when she put the little boy to bed; she never gave any notice to me then, no directions—I often take the baby out; I took him for a little walk after dinner—Paul Koczula often walked up and down in front of the restaurant in his pinafore, with his apron on, when he wanted a little rest—I never heard him go upstairs, nor anyone—mother used to lie down and go to sleep nearly every night after her hard work in the day—then the Koczulas told me to be careful not to make any noise or do anything to wake her up—we generally sat in the kitchen when we came from our walk—I took lessons on the piano—I took a note-book and looked at the book, and that is where I learned my notes—I do not play quickly—I have a teacher; not ray school teacher, she comes every week—Susannah did not occasionally tell me to play more quickly, only when mother died—they do say I shall play more quickly when I am older and my hands are stronger—I go to school and come home in the middle of the day to dinner—I come home at five or six in the evening—Paul did not use mother's room—Susannah sat there to do her needlework—I heard nobody go up or come away—Paul went up to elean it when mother was not in it—people might have gone up without my hearing them.
Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. It was Susannah told me not to make a noise—she said there was a gentleman and a lady upstairs in the hotel—I always go out for a walk with my little brother in the evening—Susannah has told me not to make a noise on other days—I said at the ✗ey Police-court "The Koczulas had told me not to make a noise, and generally said so"—that is correct—I do not know the time I had
tea; it was generally in the evening when I came in from my walk—Susannah used to put the baby to bed when I was having my tea—that was usual whenever father and mother were out together for a walk, or when mother was asleep—Susannah went generally alone—she was only away a short time—she could play "Daisy" a little, but she banged the piano the night mother died—she never tried to play a tune, she banged it—she could only play one tune, "Daisy"—she only played that on other nights—I never made a noise; I only played still, my notes—Susannah pretended to play other nights—she went up and down the keyboard.
Re-examined. Susannah told me there was a lady and gentleman upstairs, when she was standing at the door of the hotel, before I came in, and before she said papa said I was not to wake mother—I knew mother always went upstairs to lie down—other nights I used to wake her—I should have gone upstairs to wake her if Susannah had not told me not to.
CARL RASCH . I am ten years old—I remember the evening mother died being out at play with my sister Clara—I came home with her—coming towards the restaurant we were joined by Woolf Marks—I saw Mr. Koczula and his wife standing outside between the restaurant door and the hotel door—we went in at the restaurant door—one of them, I think it was the man, said, "Do not go in, because you will wake your mother up"—we stayed outside playing with Marks about five minutes—Paul and Susannah walked down the street, I think—I did not see them go; they went away, I do not know where—after about five minutes we went in the restaurant, Marks, Clara, and my little brothers; then Paul and Susannah came in—Paul came in the kitchen, and then, I think, he went upstairs—he went through the door leading to the passage—I did not see him again—Susannah stayed in the kitchen making the tea for us—she only gave Clara and Ernie their tea; then she put baby to bed—I saw her go through the door leading from the kitchen into the passage, which leads to the staircase, to the room where my mother was lying down—she was away five or ten minutes—I cannot tell; I did not mind, a little time—that was after Paul had gone through that door from the kitchen into the passage—I cannot say how long after; some little time after she came down—she said to Clara, "Cannot you play a little bit quicker? I can," and she banged on the piano—Marks said, "You are trying to break the piano; don't go on like that"—she was thumping on the piano loudly, not playing a tune—Susannah said, "No, I won't"—shortly afterwards she left off—she went upstairs, going out through the kitchen door into the passage—that was the last I saw of her—the last I had seen of Paul was before Susannah took the little boy to bed—Marks remained a little time, and then went home—I was in the shop with Clara when father came home with Schmerfeld—I did not see anyone go into the restaurant while I was playing outside; I only saw Koczula and his wife—I stayed in the restaurant till my father came home—I did not see anyone else in the house than Paul and Susannah Koczula.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. When I came home from school it was about six o'clock—I was at home about an hour, then I went out; when I went out father was at home—the second time I was out about three quarters of an hour—I went out of my own accord; I was not told
to go out—Mrs. Koczula was friendly with Mrs. Marks, and used often to meet and talk with her—I could have gone upstairs if I wanted—when mother has been asleep in the evening the Koczulas have sometimes told us not to disturb her or make a noise—we were not making much noise that evening—I have occasionally seen Paul walk up and down outside with his apron on—I bad heard them talk to mother about their going to Germany—I had not heard anybody say they were going away—I have heard Susannah try to play the piano—occasionally the door was shut between the kitchen and the restaurant—you cannot tell in the front of the restaurant whether anybody comes in the passage to go upstairs, except when you open the kitchen door—I cannot remember whether it was shut or open.
Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. Susannah had only just time to put the baby to bed before she came down—my little sister was then playing—I cannot remember her telling my sister to play faster on other occasions—I do not remember saying at the Police-court that Susannah interfered in my sisters playing—I am sure she never spoke to her about her playing—I gave evidence at the inquest—I do not remember saying so there—what I said was read over to me the same day—I heard no noise in the house while my sister was playing; my sister did—I was in the restaurant with her, and heard nothing—I have seen Susannah trying to play the piano several times—she could not play—she did not make much noise when she tried—on this Friday she made a noise; it did not last long—she ran up and down the keyboard with her fingers—my sister was sitting at the piano at the time.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. Clara was with me in the shop when father came home—I did not go up with him the first time—Schmerfeld did not—father called down; then Schmerfeld went up—father came down and said, "I am robbed"—then Schmerfeld went up—I was in the room when father saw mother lying down, and Schmerfeld—father shouted; I do not know that Schmerfeld did—I did not see where he went—I did not see him run out of the shop shouting—I have said my father and Schmerfeld often went out together, not every day.
Re-examined. Where I was in the restaurant I could not hear anyone who went upstairs—when near the window in the front shop I could hear anybody go into the passage—I heard Koczula go upstairs; no one else—Susannah was not trying to play a tune that night—I never heard her bang the piano like she did that night—neither Mr. nor Mrs. Koczula told me they were going to leave—they did not say "Good-bye" to me or anything.
WOOLF MARKS . I am the son of Alfred Marks, living at 163, Shaftesbury Avenue, two doors from 167—I am ten years of age—little Carl Rasch is a friend of mine—on Friday, 25th May, I met Carl and his little brother Otto, and went with them towards 167—I don't know what the time was—I saw Mrs. Koczula outside the passage door, and Mr. Koczula walking up and down—I do not know whether he had an apron—Mrs. Koczula said to me, "You must not go in there; you will wake Mrs. Rasch up"—I waited outside five or ten minutes—I did not see what became of her—I did not see her any more—I then went in through the shop door; Clara, Paul, Otto, and his brother Ernest went in with me—whilst we were there Clara began
to play the piano, which was in the corner of the restaurant, to the right as you go in, near to the kitchen—I was standing by the side of the piano—both the doors were open; I could see into the passage—whilst Clara was playing Mr. Koczula came into the restaurant, spoke to Mrs. Koczula, and then went upstairs—she was downstairs in the shop; she came in there before him—he came through the passage and kitchen into the restaurant—I did not hear what he said to her; he spoke quietly, and then went upstairs; I saw him go—then Mrs. Koczula suddenly said to Clara, "Play the piano"—then she said, "Leave off playing now"—she did not—when she was playing she came with her two fists and began banging on the piano—I said, "If you bang so hard you will break the piano down"—she took no notice, but went on banging—then Clara said, "I heard somebody halloaing upstairs," and Susannah hanged harder with her fists, like that (describing), with both hands—she said, "There is no one halloaing upstairs," and five minutes afterwards she undressed the baby and took him up to bed, and she did not come down any more—that was the last I saw of her—during the whole of this time Mr. Koczula was upstairs; at least, I did not see him up there, I saw him going up, not right up—the stain begin just by the door—I could see the bottom of the stairs as I stood by the piano—I stopped in the restaurant about ten minutes after Susannah took the baby up, and I then left—I don't know what time it was when I left—I saw nothing more of the prisoners that night—with the exception of Paul and Susannah and the children I saw nobody on the premises that night—I was standing beside the piano when Clara began to play, and I remained there until after Susannah had taken the baby up.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. It was about eight when I saw young Carl Rasch—I cannot fix the time; that is my guess—we were outside at first, and we all went in together—I did not see the Koczulas till we were in the shop—I did not see them speaking to my mother that evening; they knew her—I knew that Mrs. Rasch often lay down of an evening—Mrs. Koczula did nothing to prevent our going in—the first time she would not let me go in, the second time she was not there—she did not do anything to prevent us—I have not gone upstairs many times—I have been out at the back once; it is very close to the other houses—neither I or Clara or Carl tried to go upstairs while we were in the shop—the door was open the whole time I was there—there is not much noise from the street; there is not much traffic in the night—there are cabs, but they don't make much noise—there is a noise opposite the hospital—there are schools, and a good many children about at eight o'clock—they play further down; not much there—sometimes they get excited and scream at each other.
Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. I first saw Clara outside the bird shop next door, with her brother, standing playing—I had come from home—I was playing with Carl and Otto outside the restaurant for a good time—Clara did not join us before we went in—Susannah was at the door—she only mentioned once about Mrs. Rasch being asleep—she said, "Don't make a noise, because you will wake Mrs. Rasch up"—we did not go away from the door; we stood outside—we went next door to the tobacco shop, and back again at once, remained there two or three minutes, and then went in—we were there about five minutes before Susannah
came in, and as soon as she came in she said to Clara, "Play," and then Clara played—I did not see Susannah give any of the children their tea while I was there—she did not leave the room from the time Clara began to play till she left off—the baby was in the kitchen—Susannah banged on the piano before she put the baby to bed; I never saw her come back—Clara was playing slowly—I don't think Susannah was angry with her for that; she told her to leave off, before she banged the piano—I heard no halloaing.
Re-examined. When we came back from the tobacco shop I noticed the passage door; it was closed; that was the door at which Susannah had been standing.
ALFRED MARKS . I am a furniture dealer at 163, Shaftesbury Avenue—I am the father of the last witness—I knew the two Koczulas as servants at the restaurant—on Friday night, 25th May, I saw them both from eight till a quarter to nine—Mr. Koczula stood outside by the restaurant window on the pavement, and Mrs. Koczula stood at the private door—she stood still, and he walked up and down—I had seen Mr. Rasch go out with Schmerfeld about eight—I left my premises about nine—Paul Koczula was then outside the window—I said to him, "You have got a clean shirt for Monday"—he said, "I am going to leave to-morrow"—I returned to my shop about half-past nine or a quarter to ten, and I saw the two Koczulas outside, moving up and down—Paul was in his shirt sleeves and a white apron—when I last saw Susannah, before nine, she had the baby with her; at half-past nine she had not—about half-past ten Mr. Rasch ran into my house; I went back with him to the premises, and then went for the doctor—I afterwards went with him to the basement, and there saw two baskets which he pointed out to me—I said, "I think they are empty"—we lifted them, and they were empty—about a fortnight before I had seen a box go away from the premises; Schmerfeld and Koczula took it out through the kitchen door, and lifted it on to a cab—that was in the morning about ten; I don't know exactly—it was heavy; the two had quite enough to do to lift it, and the cabman had to help lift it.
Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. I had known the Koczulas during the whole time they were in Mr. Rasch's employment—I had always considered them kind and respectable persons—they have sometimes conversed with me and my wife as neighbours—I was in the habit of seeing them daily—I have seen them outside for a few minutes, but not so long as this—they only told me once that they were going to leave—they once said they were going to America; that was a long time before—I said before the Magistrate, "The Koczulas had several times before the 25th May said they were going to leave Mr. Rasch's; I mean Susannah had told me she was going to leave"—she said, "We are going to leave"—after her confinement she said they were going to leave, and go to America—she was confined in January, while in Mr. Rasch's employment—there was nothing particular to attract my attention in seeing them walking up and down outside the premises; they were as usual, it did not strike me; I went away directly—Mrs. Koczula had no conversation with me about a robbery that had taken place at 177—she never spoke to me about a robbery—a burglary did take place at 177—there was no burglary: there had been several robberies at 177—
that is five or six doors higher up—I did not hear that the thief escaped through Rasch's premises—the yard at the back is a very small one; there is a window on the half-landing—the dustbin is about three feet wide; it touches the wall—there is a space of two feet six between the dustbin and the house—on the top of the dustbin there is a cistern, the top of which is on a level with the wall that goes round the yard—a person standing on that cistern could not put his hand on the sill of the window; it is five and a half feet above the cistern, and no place to stand on—a person on the wall could walk along to the next house, and obtain access to three houses fronting Shaftesbury Avenue, and to three houses at the back.
Cross-examined by MR. COHEN. A lady and gentleman may come to the restaurant in the evening; how long they stop I cannot say—I did not say they stopped an hour or two.
Re-examined. I did not see anybody go into the house on 25th May, no lady or gentleman, or anybody else, all the time I was there—I know the back of the premises very well—no one could escape from the back yard without a ladder or steps—there has always been a ladder there, and after the murder I saw it in the yard, standing in a corner behind the closet door.
BERTHA MARKS . I am the wife of Alfred Marks—I knew Mrs. Rasch; she was a big, strong woman—on the night of 25th May I was outside my shop from nine till ten—about nine I saw Mr. Koczula running up and down the street in his shirt sleeves—I called to him, "What is the matter with you, running up and down the street like this? Are you going mad?"—he said, "You will hear something to-morrow," and he went away again—he spoke in German—after that I saw him going up and down again, but I did not take much notice of him—I did not see him leave the premises.
Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. After he spoke to me he walked up and down—he was rather excited—when I spoke to him first he was not walking, he was between walking and running; not walking in the usual way—my husband was not with me then; he was some time in the evening—he went away, and came back near ten, I don't know the time exactly—I know it was ten when we shut up—I saw Mrs. Koczula that morning, and she told me she did not like the place, and did not like Mrs. Rasch, and she would not be there very long—she told me, I don't know how many times, that she did not like the place—I did not tell Mr. Rasch of it; it was not my business to make mischief between the people—I saw Mr. Rasch on the Friday afternoon about five, outside, speaking to someone—I never mentioned anything to him about it.
Re-examined. She did not say a word to me on that Friday about leaving that night; she only told me she would not be there long—I had seen Paul Koczula walk up and down before that night, but not like he did that night—I took notice of it because he walked up and down like that all the evening—I was at my door from nine till nearly ten—during all that time I did not notice anybody go into the premises.
EMILY GAZE . I look after my father's bird shop at 165, Shaftesbury Avenue, next door to 167—on Friday evening, 25th May, I saw Paul Koczula walking up and down outside 167 all the evening, as far as I can recollect, from half-past seven till about half-past nine—I do not recollect ever
seeing him there so long on any other evening; he was pacing up and down rather hastily—later on, it must have been half-past ten, I had to fetch some fish from Monico's, in Charing Cross Road; that took me from ten minutes to a quarter of an hour, and as I came back I met Paul Koczula half way up Shaftesbury Avenue—he had one arm in his coat, and the other one he was just going to put in—he was walking sharp—I did not see which way he turned, he was pant Church Passage—I could not tell if he had his apron on; he had something round his waist, tied up—I went on home, and when I got home I saw Mr. Rasch coming out of his door—he made some complaint—I did not go up to 167, but I saw that the passage door was closed—no strange person passed through our shop that night.
Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. I was not watching the premises the whole evening, only occasionally; I was looking at it; I was cleaning the windows in front of the house—I started that about seven—I had done the outside about half-past eight, then I went inside to clean them; that took me till about half-past nine—my attention was not given to what was going on next door all that time—it was about half-past eight, when I had just done the window, that I first noticed Paul Koczula—I had water fetched for me to clean the window—I was sitting sideways; I only cleaned the shop window—a robbery occurred at our house a few weeks before this; it took place on the first floor front—the thief has not been found—I have heard of several robberies taking place in adjoining houses.
Re-examined. All the bed clothes were taken from our room, and things off the chairs, mother's dress and father's coat, and several things—I don't know who took them.
FRITZ KLUNG (Interpreted). I am a musician, and live at 149, Shaftesbury Avenue—I know Mr. Rasch—on Friday, 25th May, I was playing cards with him in his shop—Schmerfeld was there; we left off playing about eight, I was going to a club that I belong to—when I got up from play Schmerfeld asked whether Rasch would go out for a walk with him; it was a fine evening—I left before them.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I don't remember positively, but I think we began to play about four—Schmerfeld came in about an hour after we began—he did not play—the playing was a mutual understanding—it was I who said we must cease playing, because it was my evening at the club—Rasch did not say that he was tired, and should like some fresh air.
JAMES PLOOWWRIGHT (594 C). I was on duty in Shaftesbury Avenue on the night of the 25th May, in the neighbourhood of 167—about half-past eight I saw Paul Koczula standing outside the shop, and walking up and down in front of it; sometimes going into the shop, otherwise walking up and down—the last time I saw him was twenty minutes past nine—I passed the house after that at a quarter to ten—I then saw both the Koczulas standing at the door—as I passed Paul bade me good evening—I returned the compliment, and passed along—he then had on his apron and was in his shirt sleeves, as though he was at work—I saw no more of him that evening—about half-past ten the same night I heard cries of "Murder" coming from the house—I went with Mr. Rasch into the house; Mr. Marks went also—I did not see Schmerfeld at that time—I went into the
front room, and there saw the body of the deceased woman; it was shown to me by the husband; he took me upstairs to see it—I did not move the body at all before the doctor came—I went at once for Dr. Lloyd, the divisional surgeon—I noticed that her legs were tied with these two pieces of cord (Produced)—I afterwards took them off—one of the pieces was tied very tight, just above the ankle; the other was much looser, just below it—both were tied round the ankle—the two pieces appear to be the same cord; the upper one was the tight piece—I saw two other pieces of cord in the room; I produce them—they were near the woman's head, against the fire-place—the feather bed was on the floor—on the mattress I noticed two spots of blood, in the centre of the bed, by the side near the edge; they looked fresh—the room was in great disorder, drawers pulled out, and so on—that same night I went down into the cellar—I there found some cord lying on the floor, or tied up to a leaden pipe—I examined it; it appeared as though a piece had been recently cut off it, the edges were quite fresh—I afterwards compared those pieces with the cord that was round the deceased's feet, and found that they corresponded; it was the same cord—I also examined the dustbin that same night, and in it found this bunch of keys, identified by Mr. Rasch—I tried one of those keys and found it fitted the wardrobe—this waiters' apron I found in a sort of ash-hole, or small dustbin, in the passage leading to the back yard; it was dirty, but useable—that same night I examined the back of the premises, with the assistance of police lamps, with a view of ascertaining whether anybody had got in or out; I found no trace—I renewed the examination in the morning by daylight; I found no traces whatever, no footsteps or any marks.
Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. The yard is paved with large stones—there was no earth on which to find footmarks—I had been on this beat for some months, on and off—I knew the Koczulas well by sight; I never spoke to him before that night—I had seen him frequently walking up and down outside the restaurant; there was nothing to call my special attention; he was walking quietly up and down—when I went to the house I went up to the second floor immediately—I went into the second floor back room; there was a bed there, it had been used, not slept in; the clothes were turned down on one side; it did not appear to have been recently occupied—there have been some robberies at 177; more than one—it is now a boot shop—I can't say if there has been a robbery at 165—the police have not been employed in investigating the robberies at 177—the cord I found in the basement is not similar to that which was tied round the woman's legs—the cord found in the basement is the same as that found in the room—I examine it now carefully; I see no difference.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I was first attracted to this by loud cries of "Murder," and I rushed toward them—I first met Mr. Rasch, then Mr. Marks, and several others who I did not know—when I got there the place was excited; there was general confusion—there were about twenty people there when I got there.
SAMUEL LLOYD . I am surgeon to the D Division of police—on 25th May I was called to 167, Shaftesbury Avenue—I arrived there about twenty minutes to eleven—I went to the front room on the first floor, and there saw the deceased woman—I made some notes at the time of what
I then saw—she was lying on the floor on her back by the side of the bed, about eighteen inches from it—her legs were semi-flexed; her ankles were tied together very tightly by one piece of cord somewhat more loosely by the other, the tight piece being above—there were extensive abrasions about the face; the right nostril was blackened; the whole nose was somewhat pushed over towards the left—the internal surface of the lips was bruised, slightly lacerated; the gums in front of the incisor teeth were also bruised—there was what appeared to be a thumb and finger mark on the neck, the thumb mark on the right and the finger mark on the other side, as though a hand had been held across the neck in front, and those little marks were curved like nail marks—the left hand had some small abrasions, not scratches; they were minute abrasions—the skin was cut very slightly; they were very minute, just above the knuckles—the body was still warm; death rigidity had not set in—I made the examination at twenty minutes to eleven—in my opinion she had been dead very probably about an hour or a little longer—the room was in great disorder at the time—the body was lying on the floor, the head towards the grate, about three inches away, in an opposite direction to the pillows—the head of the bed was towards the door—I formed the opinion that death had been caused by suffocation—I saw no bed clothing on the body when I went into the room—it had been taken away—I saw it afterwards—I was shown a bedgown, two pillow cases, one towel, one white silk handkerchief, and a pair of ladies' drawers; they were all blood stained; the white silk handkerchief was tied loosely round the throat—there was no blood from the ears; there was from the nostrils—that is usual in cases of suffocation—there was no more blood in this case than I should expect to find in a case of suffocation—I should expect only such as would enable the assailants to get away bloodless; there was no wound of any magnitude; the pressure over the mouth and nose would prevent the escape of any blood—my attention was afterwards directed to the mattress; I do not quite recollect whether it remained on the bed—I have no note of any fresh stains of blood upon it; I did not notice it—on Sunday, the 27th, I made a post-mortem examination, and I then saw all I have described on the body—there was an abrasion on the bridge of the nose—the left side of the heart was contracted and empty, the right side was full of dark fluid blood; that is an indication of death by suffocation—the heart itself was perfectly healthy—the vessels of the brain were congested with dark blood, another indication of death by suffocation—in my opinion death was caused by pressure of the hand on the mouth and nose—there was no bruising about the neck; no such injury to the larynx as would cause death—a deeper dissection did not show bruising of the larynx—the marks of the thumb and finger showed that the throat had been grasped and held—the abrasions about the face and hands indicated that there had been a tremendous struggle, and that she had made a forcible resistance; in order to overcome that resistance there must have been very considerable pressure—I should think it was quite consistent with the evidence that one person should have smothered her, whilst another tied her feet—to the best of my opinion the cord was tied round the ankles in the tight condition in which I found it during the woman's life; I made an incision beneath, and the extravasation was complete—on 29th May, about half-past seven in the morning, I saw
Schmerfeld, and made an examination of his left forearm; I found on it two wounds that had been dressed, one a little above the wrist, the other a little below the elbow, and between those two another wound—the three were about three-quarters of an inch in length and across the arm—I also examined the right forearm and found a wound across it—they were such wounds as would be inflicted by a razor, not likely to have been accidentally, but intentionally inflicted, and possibly self-inflicted.
Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. There was not much to guide one in forming an opinion whether one person alone could have murdered this woman—I think if the cord could have been tied without waking her, then one person might have murdered her—from the position of the body I think the struggle probably took place on the bed.
Re-examined. I say that judging from the position of the marks, the bed was against the wall—I should say it was a right hand that held the neck—there was nothing to prevent her getting off the bed unassisted as far as the legs were concerned; I can't see why she could not have got off the bed; she could not have walked.
By the COURT. I do not think what I saw was consistent with the pillow or bolster being used; they would be too soft to produce such extensive abrasion; it is clear that the hand must have been used to the neck; that was not the actual cause of suffocation; the skin was literally abraded all over the face; I don't think a pillow could have done that.
By the JURY. The commission of such an act would occupy a very few minutes—I think it would be possible to tie the legs without waking her or enabling her to make an alarm, if rapidly and skillfully done—there were great abrasions on the face; the skin was moved all over the face, and a great deal of skin was rubbed off, as if she was struggling against the force used against her—she was bruised just about the throat, but I am unable to say whether that discolouration was post-mortem or not; the tissue was evidently bruised—there was no indication of a gag; I saw nothing of the kind—the cord on the ankle was tied in the very best kind of knot, a reef knot.
EMILY BIDDIS . I let apartments at 4, York Street, Commercial Road East—on Friday, 18th May last, Schmerfeld came there and said he wanted a furnished room for two friends, a man and his wife, Germans, who could not understand English, they had one baby, but it was dead—they wanted to come in that night between eleven and half-past—I asked what made them come in so late—he said they were going to the theatre with him in Shaftesbury Avenue—the room was to be 4s. 6d. a week—he paid me 1s. deposit and left—I waited up, but the Germans did not come—next day, the 19th, he came again with a cart and another man with him besides the carman, a tall man with a moustache. (Looking at a photograph said to be of Kempf)—that is very much like the man—they brought two boxes with them, which were put into the room which Schmerfeld had taken—I objected to take them in—he said his friends could not get there on the Friday; they would come on the Saturday—I made an objection to receiving the woman—he said he did not know what to do; would I let them stay there till the Monday, and he would take another room, and he would take my room himself if I wished for a single man—he then went away with his friend, leaving the two boxes—I asked him for the rest of the money for the room—he
said I had £50 worth of goods in the boxes—on the Saturday night no one came, nor on the Sunday, but on the Monday Schmerfeld came and said his friends objected to leave their apartments where they were for two nights, and he had succeeded in getting them another room—he paid me the balance, 3s. 6d., and said he would come and occupy the room, and would be there between eleven and half-past that night—I gave him a key of the street door; but he did not come, and I never saw him again—the two boxes remained in the room till the Sunday following, Sunday, the 21st, when the police came and took them away; they showed me the key of the street door which I had given to Schmerfeld—I asked Schmerfeld his name—he said, "George"—I said, "What George?" and he said, "George Grand," spelling it—he spoke English well—I don't think he said what he was; he said he was out of work—he did not tell me his friend's name.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I have been ill for a long time—I think I was in bed about two months before Schmerfeld came—my memory is all right if I am not upset—I was not upset on the Sunday when the policemen came—I asked them what authority they had—I don't think I was excited—they asked me if I had let a room, and wanted to know if I had two boxes, and I said, "Yes"—Schmerfeld when he came to take the room was dressed as he is now—I don't think he had my whiskers, only a moustache—I was anxious to let my room, it had been unoccupied four days—I am not mistaken in thinking he said the theatre they were going to was in Shaftesbury Avenue—I don't know if I have said before that he told me there was £50 worth in the boxes—I can't remember.
THOMAS SMITH . I am a carman at 48, Little Albany Street, in the service of a van proprietor—on Saturday, 19th May, in consequence of orders I received, I went to 89, Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, with a van, and fetched from there these two boxes (Produced)—I took them to 4, York Street, Commercial Road—a man named Kempf and Schmerfeld went with me—Schmerfeld paid me 3s.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. That was the last time I saw Kempf—I had seen him before; I knew him for about eighteen months working down a yard there in Cleveland Mews, where I work.
Re-examined. He lived at 89, Charlotte Street—I did not know that Schmerfeld lived there—I have never been to Kempf's room.
THERESA HARTE (Interpreted). I live at 89, Charlotte Street, on the third floor—I have three rooms—up to the 25th of May this year a man named Kempf was living with me there—two or three months before 25th May, I let one of the rooms to Schmerfeld—he lived there with Helena Harman, in the next room to mine—early in May I remember Schmerfeld bringing this box there—it was coloured in this way when he brought it, white and black; this other box belonged to Kempf—I remember Schmerfeld and Kempf taking the two boxes away—the black box was almost empty when I last saw it—two or three days after that, on a Monday, Schmerfeld asked me, in Kempf's presence to take a lodging for Koczula, he did not say where—5s. was given me to pay for the lodging—I can't remember which of them gave me the money, I found it on the table—next day I went to 181, Hampstead Road, because I heard from a German lad, a servant, that a lodging was to be let there, and I went and took the room and paid the woman the 5s.; I don't know the
name—in the evening I saw Schmerfeld, and told him what I had done; I told him the name of the road, but not the number—I saw him on the Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday—he said nothing to me about the Koczulas coming to Charlotte Street—on the Friday evening, the 25th, Kempf was at home about nine—I went to bed first about nine, then the Koczulas came about ten, or a little after—they asked me to tell them where the lodging was, and I went with them to Hampstead Road in a cab—Mrs. Koczula was carrying an umbrella, and he carried a small handbag—I did not go into the house; I saw the landlady and left the Koczulas there, they paid for the cab—I then went back to Charlotte Street—I can't say whether it was ten or eleven when I got back; Kempf was there, in bed—he was not in bed when the Koczulas came to the house—I went to bed—I missed Kempf at an early hour in the morning—when I got up he was not there—I did not see Schmerfeld on the Friday night—I heard of the murder on the Saturday morning, the 26th; the police came to the house with Mr. Rasch before six—Kempf had then gone—I looked out of the front window because the bell rang, and I saw the police—Helene was not with me—Schmerfeld was taken away by the police—he returned the same afternoon—I saw him the next morning, Sunday, that was after he had attempted to commit suicide—he came in and showed me his arms; he said he could not die, he would go away; he did go away, about six in the morning—I was going to take the room at Hampstead Road for two persons; the landlady said it was very small, and I then said I would take the wife to my place—I did not tell Schmerfeld of that.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. I have a little alarum clock, but that does not show the time to be relied on—if I said before the Magistrate the Koczulas came a little after nine, I meant that I did not know the exact time—I can not tell when I went to bed on the night of the 25th, I could not tell exactly; I was up a very short tine, and then went to bed again—I should like to find Kempf if possible, he has left me with two children to support—I have heard no trace of him; I had no idea he was going away; this was the first time for four years that he has been away from London—I don't know how much money he had when he left; we were very badly off; all the money I had in the world was 2 1/2d.—Kempf was in the house when the Koczulas came—I had heard the Koczulas say that they were going to leave this place—about a fortnight or so before the 25th of May I was out one evening with them, at a public-house—I did not on that occasion see Mr. Koczula's purse; I did not see a £10 note in his purse; I never looked into his purse at all on any occasion—I don't remember remarking what a lot of money he had about him—on the evening they came nothing was said about not wanting their address known—I noticed nothing unusual in their manner or appearance—I have been in a public-house with them, but not in Hyde Park; it was near Regent's Park—I do not remember seeing the inside of his purse and seeing a lot of gold, and remarking what a lot of money he had.
Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. When the Koczulas came on the night of the 25th they came up into the room; Kempf was there then; he was not in bed; when I returned he was—I had not known him in
Germany—I don't know whether he had previously been in trouble for robbery.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I had lived with Kempf all the time since he came to England—it was on the Monday that Schmerfeld asked me to take the lodging; Kempf was present—I believe it was Schmerfeld that asked me; I should be very much mistaken if it had not been him; I believe it was he—it was when we were sitting at the table—Kempf was speaking about them also—I have said before that I told Schmerfeld I had taken the room, and I told Kempf the same day—on the Saturday Schmerfeld, Helena, and I had a conversation together—it was on the Saturday that Schmerfeld asked, in Kempf's presence, if I had taken the lodging—at the same time he asked me for pen, ink, and paper—Helena gave him some—I then told him the number and the road in Hampstead Road—I did not mention the street to him, because he knew it—on the Saturday I mentioned the street and the number in Hammond's presence, in answer to a question of Schmerfeld's—I found the 5s. on the table; I don't know who put it there, it might be Kempf—the police produced a key to me when they came, and a black coat or overcoat, which I believe was Kempf's; they told me they had found it on the roof of our house—I could not get on to the roof from our room; there is no passage, or ladder, or anything of the kind; it is about four feet from our room to the roof; a man could do it—Schmerfeld slept in the front room—another man also occupied that room; they always left their door open at night; the adjoining room was occupied by a man and his wife; they usually kept their door locked.
Re-examined. Kempf was at work on the Friday; he had been in work up to that time; he earned £2 a week; he usually got his wages on the Saturday—when the police came on the Saturday I did not tell them where the Koczulas had gone to, because I had no idea of the address.
WILHELMINA WESTON . I live at 181, Hampstead Road; I let apartments—on Tuesday, the 22nd of May, Miss Harte came and took a room, and paid 5s. for the week's rent; I gave her the key—on Friday night, 25th, the two Koczulas came between ten and eleven, accompanied by Miss Harte; she came downstairs for the lamp, and took it up with her—I did not see the Koczulas on the night of their arrival—the first I saw of them was next day, Saturday—the man came down for some food between one and two in the day—they slept in the house on the Saturday night, and were arrested on the Sunday.
HELENA HARMAN . I live at 89, Charlotte Street—I became acquainted with Schmerfeld between three and four months ago—I was not in the habit of visiting him at 89; I went to see Mrs. Kempf there, Theresa Harte—I stayed at 89 for six weeks with Schmerfeld—he was not earning any money or doing any business at that time—I lived on my own money which I had saved in my situation: I had previously been in service—I spent all the money I had saved, and then I put my jewellery in pawn—at the end of the six weeks I got a situation, leaving Schmerfeld at Charlotte Street—I stayed in my situation three weeks, and on the Saturday before the murder I returned to Charlotte Street; that would, be the 19th—Schmerfold was still living in Charlotte Street when I got back—I saw a large box there, like this white one—I did hot know it was his box—I asked him where he was going—he said, "To Dresden, to the
Grand Hotel"—I saw the other box there also, the black one—both the boxes were taken away by Schmerfeld and Kempf that same day, the 19th—Schmerfeld came back on the Saturday morning, and slept at the house that night—on Monday he said he was going to the station on Tuesday—during the Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday I was living there with him—he only slept there; he did not live there—I don't know who paid for my living; I did not pay—I did not have my meals there; I only slept in the room with Schmerfeld—Mr. Kempf was a friend of mine—I left on the Tuesday, and went to stay with a friend—on the Wednesday I went again to 89, Charlotte Street, to fetch a letter—I saw Schmerfeld there—on Thursday, the day before the murder, I met Schmerfeld in Regent Street with Mr. Rasch—Mr. Rasch said something to me; Schmerfeld was present—that night I slept at Mr. Rasch's house, 167. Shaftesbury Avenue—I went there in consequence of what Mr. Rasch had said to me—a gentleman went with me—next morning I saw that gentleman hand a £10 note to Mr. Rasch, and he gave him the change—that was in the passage—Mrs. Koczula was present when he handed the £10 note to Mrs. Rasch—I saw Schmerfeld that morning at Ranch's house about ten o'clock—the gentleman had left the house then—I did not know that Schmerfeld was coming there that morning—he knew I had been sleeping there that night, because he asked for me of Mr. Rasch directly after I had gone in with the gentleman—I bought Schmerfeld a pair of shoes on the Monday; I went with him to the shop, and paid for them—I don't remember giving him any money—I paid for the shoes because he asked me—I said nothing to him, or he to me about any money I had got the night before—on Saturday morning, 26th May, I went to 89, Charlotte Street—I had heard of the murder on the Friday night—Schmerfeld was not at the house when I got there—afterwards he came in—I asked him what was the matter, why the police locked him up—I heard he had been to the Police station—he said he was innocent; he had done nothing—he went to his own room—I stayed in the room with Mrs. Kempf—soon after he came into the room where I was, and asked for the razor—he picked up a razor which was there—I took it from him because I said he would kill himself, he looked so frightful, I would not let him have it—he went back to his room—he came again to mine and asked for the razor, and for whisky—I gave him the razor—he came again after that, and asked for pen, ink and paper, and he asked the address where Mr. and Mrs. Koczula lived—Mrs. Kempf said 181, Hampstead Road—I last saw him that night at ten o'clock—he came into my room, and bade me "Good-night"—he was very excited—he said he was going to kill himself because he could not bear the shame—next morning, Sunday, he came to the room where I had been sleeping with Mrs. Kempf that night, and said he could not starve, and he had cut himself—he showed me; it was on the right arm—he left the house that Sunday morning; he did not tell me where he was going—on the Saturday night he gave me this piece of paper, on which is written "Commercial Road, York Street, No. 4"—he said, "my photograph was there," and I went and fetched it—he said he had a room there, and there were his boxes, and that I would find my photograph—I had given him a photograph—I afterwards saw these
boxes opened by the police—the photograph was on the table in the room—I saw in one of the boxes things I recognised as belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Koczula—I don't know if the other things in the box belonged to Schmerfeld.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. 167, Shaftesbury Avenue, is frequented by women with gentlemen—I have only been there once.
Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. I went there in consequence of Mr. Rasch saying that if I did anything in that line he would like me to take the gentlemen there.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I have known Schmerfeld about five months; I had been staying at 89, Charlotte Street, with him—I left him on 25th April, a month before the murder—I returned to 89, Charlotte Street, on the Saturday prior to the murder—on 22nd, after I heard of the murder, I was in the room with Miss Harte and Schmerfeld, and I heard him ask her for the Koczulas' address, and she told him 181, Hampstead Road—he did not talk much about his arrest—it was about two on the Saturday—he did not talk about the police questioning him about the murder—he was very excited—he said, "I have been to the Police-station; I cannot stand the shame of being charged"—he said he felt great shame because he was arrested—he did not say on the Saturday, "I cannot die"—he said, "I cannot starve"—he said on the Sunday, "I cannot die"—he was in a very excited condition on the Saturday when he asked for the razor—I saw that box in Kempf's room the last week I stayed with him—I do not recognise the black box—I had determined to leave Schmerfeld on the Saturday, and stay with friends—I intended to take another situation—I came in on the Saturday morning, and at once told him I was going to look for another place.
By MR. DRAKE. I took rooms for myself—Schmerfeld said he was going for a situation.
HENRY ALFRED HANHART . I live at 83, Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square—the numbers run unevenly—Nos. 85 and 87 are between my house and 89—there is a skylight with a number of panes of glass at the top of the shop—on Saturday, the 26th May, about nine a.m., I found on going into the shop this half of a silver cigarette case (produced) lying upon the counter which stands in the middle of the shop—on looking up to the skylight I saw one of the panes of glass had been broken in such a position that this half case would fall where I found it—I know the back premises of No. 89—I have been up to them, but not lately—this could have been thrown from the back of No. 89—I handed it to the police.
THOMAS GREET (Inspector C). Early on the morning of the 26th I had heard of the murder in Shaftesbury Avenue—about eight a.m. I was at Marl borough Street Police-station—Schmerfeld was there—I was there again about midday—Rasch had made a statement to the police, which had called for an investigation, which was made—about twelve o'clock in the day Superintendent Smith, in my presence, said to Schmerfeld, "There is no charge against you; I am going to put some questions to you; you need not answer unless you like, but what you do say may be used in evidence against you"—in answer to the questions put to him by Superintendent Smith, Schmerfeld said, "It was about eight o'clock when
I went out with Mr. Rasch last night; we went for a walk to Hyde Park; we returned about 10.30 p.m.; when we came into the shop the children were there. Mr. Rasch asked the children, 'Where is mamma?' The oldest boy said, 'Mamma is asleep.' Mr. Rasch went upstairs and had a look; he came down and said, 'Everything is upset, just come up and have a look.' I came up with Mr. Rasch; Mr. Rasch lifted up a cloth and said, 'There is my wife lying'; I had just a look at her face and Mr. Rasch screamed and went down; I ran down and holloaed out and ran for police towards Oxford Street; I turned to the left; I went to the corner of Shaftesbury Avenue, a clothing shop, and came back again. When I came back I saw a policeman there and a crowd of people. I did not see a policeman when I first went out. Afterwards I went towards Regent Street, telling people what had happened. I told some men and some women; I do not know their proper names. I walked about. I was beside myself. I did not like to hear Mr. Rasch and the children crying. I was in the Leicester from 12 to 12.30 a.m. I went home when I came out of the Leicester, to bed. I knew Mr. Rasch's servants as long as they were in the house. They said they came from Cologne. I have not seen any letters from their friends. I live at 89, Charlotte Street. I am living with a party named Kempf on the third floor. It is a woman. Both servants (Koczulas) visited me at Charlotte Street. I saw them last Wednesday dinner-time. They were sitting at the table eating. I have not seen them since. I had no idea where they have gone. I do not know if they have a box. I have seen no box belonging to them. I stopped with Mr. Rasch when he came here; I have been in Charlotte Street since February. In February when I left Mr. Rasch, the two servants were still there. I had a box of clothing, which I left with Mr. Rasch as I could not pay. I took it away about three weeks ago, and cook it to Charlotte Street. It is not there now; it does not belong to me now; I sold it. I sold the box to a seafaring man; I sold it in Charlotte Street two days after I took it away. I came to know that the seafaring man wanted a box, in a beerhouse in the neighbourhood. I am a waiter, but doing no business now. I have not heard the servants say they were going away; they visited the woman Kempf. I am not living with her. I occupy the front room on the third floor, and pay 4s. rent a week for it. The woman Kempf occupies three rooms on that floor, and she supplies me with food. After I left Mr. Rasch's house I spoke to Rudolph, who lives at Goldstein's, furniture dealer, New Compton Street. I spoke to a woman named Visole, who lives at Goldstein's also. I said, 'They robbed Rasch.' I said, 'Mrs. Rasch was lying on the floor.' I did not know what was the matter. Mr. Rasch and I went to several public-houses. I paid for drink, and Mr. Rasch paid for some. Mr. Rasch paid for the last drink we had at the Swallow public-house"—Having made that statement Schmerfeld was permitted to go—he was retaken on the 29th May, when I charged him with being concerned in the murder—he spoke English very well—the charge having been read over to him he said, "I know nothing about this charge at all."
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I have been in the force twentyone years—I am chief inspector of a very large district in the West-end—I questioned Rasch very closely, also the inspector who brought Schmerfeld in—Smith is head of the division; I am head of a department—
Smith assisted in the investigation—Schmerfeld answered Smith's questions freely and openly.
Re-examined. At the time Schmerfeld was discharged I knew nothing about the boxes; that came out between the Saturday and the Tuesday.
CHARLES FORD . I am an Inspector of the Thames Police—about 2.20 a.m. on 29th May I saw Schmerfeld at a part of the river called Ratcliffe Cross, crouched behind a pile on the shore—I asked him what he was doing there—he replied, "I want to get on that ship"—two vessels were lying in the stream—I asked him what he wanted to go on board for—he replied, "I want to get to Holland"—I said, "This is not a proper time in the morning to come down to get on board of a ship to go to Holland; what are you?"—he said, "I am a German waiter"—in my printed information I had a description of him, and said, "Show me your wrist"—he showed me his wrist and I saw he had a bandage on it—I said, "What is the matter with your wrist?"—he said, "I cut it with a piece of glass"—I said, "I shall arrest you and take you to Wapping Police-station"—at the police-station I asked him where was his stick—he was supposed to have been carrying a crook-handled stick—that was part of my information—he replied, "At the house"—I said, "What house?"—he said, "Mr. Kempf's"—I said, "Where is Mr. Kempf?"—he said, "I don't know, I have not seen him since last Friday week"—that was the Friday preceding the murder, the 18th—I searched him—he had no money.
THOMAS GREGORY (Police Sergeant C). On Saturday, 26th May, I received from the landlord or agent of the house this key of No. 89, Charlotte Street (Produced)—Mr. Maitre is the landlord or agent—I have since found the key belongs to the front door of No. 4, York Street, Commercial Road—I showed the key to Schmerfeld on Saturday, 26th May, after he had been discharged—he said, "It is not my property; I have never seen it before in my life"—I told him it had been found in a recess on the stairs at 89, Charlotte Street—he said, "I know I shall be blamed for this, but I am innocent; I went for a walk with Rasch, and when I got back to Shaftesbury Avenue I heard the children crying, and I was frightened; I ran away; I went to Oxford Street and then back to the Leicester public-house" (that is at Leicester Square, the corner of Wardour Street); "I went back home and stayed there until the police came and fetched me"—this was at 89, Charlotte Street—he asked me if I could speak to him outside—I said, "Yes"—he said, "If I knew where these people were I would tell you"—no reference had been made to any people—this was about six p.m.—he was in bed—I waited for him—I went to the Blue Post public-house—he said he would try and find out where the people were, and let me know by twelve o'clock on Sunday—I left him—I went back to the house on Sunday, 27th—he was gone.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. He told me he had been locked up—he did not seem agitated after he got up when I saw him outside, which was in the course of half an hour—I only remained on the premises ten minutes, or a little more—I was not talking; I was waiting for him to get up—I may have spoken to him while he was getting up—I went there for this key—I may have spoken to him about the murder; not for ten minutes, I could not say the time—I did not mention the parties concerned—I mentioned Rasch—I may have mentioned Kempf—I could not say I did; I do not think I did—I mentioned Koczula—upon that
Schmerfeld said he would endeavour to find out where they were—I do not think I did mention Koczula.
EDWARD DREW (Detective Sergeant C). About 3.30 a.m. on 29th May I went to Wapping Police-station, where Schmerfeld was detained—I said, "I am a police officer, and I shall take you into custody on a charge of being concerned with Paul and Susannah Koczula, who are already in custody, in stealing a quantity of jewellery and money, of the value of about £80, from Mr. Rasch, of 167, Shaftesbury Avenue, last Friday night"—I said, "Do you understand me?"—I knew he was a German—he said, "Yes; I was not in the robbery at all"—I had received from the police there one pair of gloves, one tobacco pouch, and one rubber stamp—those were the only things found on him—I conveyed him to Marlborough Street Police-station in a cab—on the way he said, "Everyone must speak the truth; I did not do any thing, but I was afraid. I have had nothing to eat since Friday last but two eggs, which I found in Regent's Park under a hedge, where I slept since last Sunday. Last night I walked to the docks to try and get on a ship to go to Rotterdam"—I afterwards went to 89, Charlotte Street—I saw in the room which had been occupied by him clothes saturated with blood—the prisoner was charged at the Police-station with being accessory to the robbery, and the articles were specified—he was also charged with attempting to commit suicide—he said nothing when that charge was read over—I examined the premises, 167, Shaftesbury Avenue, about 3.30 or four p.m on 26th May, to ascertain if there were any signs of a person having got in or escaped by the back premises—I could not discover any—there was a ladder leaning against the house—it was not in a position as would assist any person to get in or out—I put the ladder against the back of a house in New Compton Street to look over the other side—there was no sign of anyone having scrambled over.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. The property found on Schmerfeld was his own—I did not follow him from Charlotte Street on the Sunday.
JOHN KANE (Sergeant D). In consequence of information I went on Sunday, 27th May, about 12.45 in the middle of the day, to 181, hampstead Road—when the door was opened I went upstairs to the third floor with an inspector—in the front room I found Paul Koczula in bed—Susannah Koczula had opened the door—she was up and dressed—I said, "Koczula, I need not introduce myself; you know I am Sergeant Kane"—I knew him before—he said, "Yes, I know you; I will not give you any trouble"—I spoke in English—the woman was standing with her back to the fireplace—I took her by the arm and led her over to the edge of the bed, where the man was still lying—I said, "Now listen attentively to what I am going to say to you; you will both be charged with being concerned together in having feloniously and wilfully killed and murdered Mrs. Sophy Rasch at 167, Shaftesbury Avenue, on Friday night last, between half-past eight and ten o'clock, the 25th of this month"—neither of them said anything—I said, "You will be further charged with being concerned together in stealing about £50 in money, and about £30 worth of jewellery at the same time and place"—the man said, "I did not steal any jewellery from Mrs. Rasch"—this was in broken English—the woman said nothing—I said to the man, "Do you understand the charge of murder I have preferred against you?"—he
first said, "Yah," and then, quickly, "Yes, yes, I understand"—I turned to the woman, and said, "Do you understand the charge of murder?"—she said, "Yes, I understand"—at the station, when the charge was read over, the man, pointing to the woman, said in broken English, "She knows nothing about it"—when the man had got out of bed and dressed I said, "Hand me whatever property you have got about you"—he handed me a purse containing £9 10s. in gold, 16s. 6d. in silver, and 7d. in bronze—after they had been charged I went back to the room which they had been occupying—I found a small foreign portmanteau containing female wearing apparel, this small gold watch (produced), which was identified the same day at the Police-station—before going to Hampstead Road I had found at 89, Charlotte Street, these two documents (produced) on a small dressing table in a corner of the room which Schmerfeld had been occupying—this card was underneath the letter, which was sealed up in this envelope, which is addressed "Herr Carl Rasch, Shaftesbury Avenue, No. 167"—I opened the letter there and then—I showed it to Koczula before I took him to the station—I said, "I found this letter in the room of your friend George Schmerfeld at No. 89, Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square. In the letter Schmerfeld states that he has committed suicide, and that the murderer of Mrs. Rasch can be found at 181, Hampstead Road"—I went on to say, "Schmerfeld's room is swamped with blood, but I have been unable to find him"—both prisoners were standing together; the male prisoner shrugged his shoulders—they said nothing. (M. ALBERT here interpreted these documents as follows:—The letter: "London, 26-5 (May), 1893.—Friend Carl,—I have been deceived, as I have heard, and therefore I have deceived you, but not to hurt you, or to murder, for that is not my nature. I have secreted from you that that old servant girl had not been in Germany, and that her child had died here, but I never think any evil inclination or business. I now have the address of the murderer, and am compelled to inform you of it. Come to see me. Offer me your hand in death to say good-bye, for I cannot do better than to die. The address of the murderer is Hampstead Road, 181. Good-bye till we see each other again. Your friend till death, better than dishonour or shame,—Schmerfeld. Forgive and forget me. My Helena knows nothing about it. I am to be pitied. Your most devoted friend, George. If you have any suspicion of me we were at the theatre till twelve o'clock."The envelope: "Mr. Carl Rasch, Shaftesbury Avenue, No. 167."The card, written in pencil: "It is to the eternal sleep, where I will swallow this, but you must forgive me; it is not my fault. I am innocent, but I am quite willing to pay for her life with mine. Dear Helena, excuse; there is no human blood sticking to my fingers but my own. I die without a murmur. Hampstead Road, 181, which I have the will to write, to my great astonishment.")
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. He spoke broken English, but sufficiently clear for me to understand it.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. The recess is by the first landing, which is close to the door, under the sink, on that side.
EDWARD DREW (Recalled). I found these two boxes at No. 4, York Street, Commercial Road—I afterwards opened them—I found a photograph and the address of a witness—the rest of the contents was property belonging to the Koczulas and Schmerfeld.
Cross-examined by MR. CANNOT. I had not seen any articles of the Koczulas' in Shaftesbury Avenue—these were shown to Rasch—I am telling the Jury what I have been told about these articles—they were shown to Mr. Rasch and two other witnesses.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. The articles were found in the black box.
Re-examined. The address was found in the black box—there were men's and women's things.
CARL RASCH (Re-examined). Most of these things in this box belong to the Koczulas, the rest to Schmerfeld—this dress is Mrs. Koczula's; this coat belongs to Schmerfeld—I believe Schmerfeld had a clock like this in is possession; he showed it me once—these pictures belong to the Koczulas; this one was smashed in my place—Koczula paid 60 marks (£3 4s.) for them; they are pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Koczula.
The prisoners' statements before The Magistrate were:—Paid Koczula said (through the Interpreter): "All I have to say is that I know nothing of the matter, and I am innocent, all the rest I leave in the hands of my solicitor." Susannah said (Through the Interpreter): "I don't know anything about the affair; I am innocent." Schmerfeld said: "I am innocent."
PAUL KOCZULA, GUILTY .— DEATH .
SUSANNAH KOCZULA. NOT GUILTY .
SCHMERFELD, GUILTY as accessory before the fact.— DEATH .
SUSANNAH KOCZULA was also indicted, with others, for stealing four watches and other articles, and £50 in money, the property of Carl Rasch, in his dwelling-house. MR. MATHEWS, for The prosecution, offered no evidence on this indictment, and the JURY returned a verdict of
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Thursday, July 26th, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MESSRS. BESLEY and LYCESTER Prosecuted, and MR. LOCKWOOD, Q.C., Defended.
MATHEW BAKER . I am a furniture dealer, of 36, Copthall Avenue—I produce an agreement between me and the prisoner for letting two rooms on my first floor, made on March 10th, 1891—he is still in the occupation of the rooms—the rent is 100 guineas per annum.
occupying two rooms there—there was an office table outside a partition, and the prisoner and clerks behind the partition—I heard a sound apparently of a tape machine—five persons were at the table, on which were a number of forms, similar to this (Produced)—persons were writing, and handed in forms through a pigeon-hole to someone behind a partition—I saw no money paid—there was a red baize screen, with strips of tape and the names of horses, and the odds, and the meeting—I filled up one of the vouchers and put the name of a horse on it, and two amounts, 5s. on each way; that meant win, and a place—I handed it through the pigeon-hole to the prisoner—he said, "I cannot do business with you; I don't know you"—I left, leaving four persons there; they were not all the same; some had come in—two were looking at the tape, and two were sitting at the table—on Friday, June 22nd, about 1.50 p.m., I went to the same room and saw five persons, not all the same—one person wrote, "Barmecide, 10s. to win and 10s. for a place"—I bought a Sporting Times, and saw that the horse was advertised to run for the Alexandra Plate—three telegrams were brought by boys—the tape machine was at work, and the prisoner came out and looked at the tapes on the red baize—on the 27th I went again at 1.35 p.m., and saw two persons and the clerks, and, I believe, the prisoner—no persons who were not clerks went behind the partition—I heard Whitelock, the younger clerk, say behind the partition, "That horse is running tomorrow; what shall I put you down?"—I did not hear the answer—I heard the chinking of money several times behind the partition when a stranger had gone behind—I saw somebody write on a form and hand it to one of the clerks, saying, "There is only one to-day, Frank"—one of the clerks is called Frank—I saw another person fill up a voucher with seven or eight amounts, hand it in, and go away—there were two cards on the screen bearing the words "Newcastle" at the top and "Windsor" at the bottom—I went again on July 11th and saw two persons sitting at the table writing forms, and a person whom I afterwards knew to be Mr. Schacht, as he was one of the persons taken to the Police-station—he filled up a form on July 11th for five or six horses, some in one column and some in another.
Cross-examined. These are the original notes which I made immediately afterwards; they were not all written at one time—there were strips of tape there as you see in clubs, and lists of horses just as you find in this newspaper, which was on the table.
JOHN WALTER WILLIS (City Detective). On June 15th, about two o'clock, I visited the prisoner's office, 36, Copthall Avenue—there are two rooms—I saw papers like this lying on the table—about three people were there; one was at the table writing on one of these slips, which he handed through the door of the partition to the clerk Shepherd; there is a pigeon-hole in the door—I wrote the name of a horse on this slip, 5s. to win and 5s. for a place (produced), and handed it to Shepherd, who looked at it, and called the prisoner, who was behind the partition—he looked at the slip, and said to me, "We do not know, you, sir, and I do not take bets from anyone without a personal introduction"—I said I would go and see Mr. Atkins, who had advised me to come—he said, "I don't know Mr. Atkins personally, only by repute"—I went away to find Mr. Atkins—I asked the prisoner his reason for refusing to take my bets; he said, "I am not bound to
take a bet from anyone unless I choose; there are plenty of book-makers besides myself"—two telegrams came for him while I was speaking—I went there again on 11th July, about two o'clock, and saw a man sitting at the table looking at the Star newspaper, at the racing column, And I saw him write on one of the slips, "Street Singer," and under the heading "To win," 2s. 6d., "Weltondale, 2s. 6d.; Antonio Pierri, to win, 2s. 6d."—he then looked at the newspaper, and appeared to compare it with the slip, and a few minutes later he threw the paper through the pigeon-hole to the clerk, Twist—the names I have mentioned were the names of horses, which were all three running that day—another man then came in, wrote on one of the slips, and handed it through the pigeon-hole—I did not see who took it, but the prisoner was behind the partition—I saw him, and heard him—several persons were speaking to him, besides clerks, and I heard several racehorses' names mentioned—one of the clerks came from behind with some tape in his hand, with horses' names and figures on it—on July 13th I went again—on the day of the raid I saw a man named Howes come out before the raid was made.
Cross-examined. I went there to try and make a bet, if I could—I went twice that day, and failed, introduced by Atkins, which was not true, and I said I was going to look for Atkins, which was not true.
ROBERT SAGAR (Policeman). I received a warrant from Guildhall Justice Room to make a search at Copthall Avenue, and went there with Downs and other officers just before two o'clock—we took Butts, Shepherd, Whitelock, Shyfold, Laird, and Dryden, and took possession of the papers and documents on the premises—some were re-moved, and the prisoner asked to see what we took away—there are two sets of betting books, one for three days alternate, and the other for three days alternate: one contains the odd days of the month, and the other the even, and while one book is being transferred to the ledger the other is being used—the number of bets between January 1st and July 10th is 34,000; the smallest is 2s. 6d., and the largest £30—there are not many of £30—I took possession of thousands of slips called vouchers—I found seven ledgers; No. 1 is from December 19th to February 3rd, 1894, and they go a good way back—I found this cash book there. (This showed the balance of gross winnings and losses for six months up to July of £2,688 5s., and a profit of £1,865 12s. 2d, and on the year's business a profit of £3,279 12s. 8d.)—there were a large quantity of other ledgers and books, a number of cancelled cheques, and a pass book of the London Joint Stock Bank, in which I found Mr. Norman Springthorpe's name—those cheques have been honoured by Butts' bankers—these four cheques of April 31st £8 10s., May 8th £20 10s., May 15th £3 5s., and June 12th £46 11s. 3d., correspond with the ledger account of Springthorpe, and one of them is endorsed by Springthorpe—I find Laird's name in the address-book, one of the rive taken in custody with Stephens and Dunstan—the five persons who were there when the police went have accounts in the ledger, and so has Mr. Howes, who was coming out, and there is a slip of his—on that day eighty-two or eighty-six slips were found on the file, on June 21st 370 vouchers on the file, and 326 on the 27th, on July 11th 285, and on the file eighty-six—there was a large quantity of these rules—seven telephones were fitted up in the place and one tape machine and one collar machine—there was no indication of any
business being done there, except betting business. (A printed copy of the rules for betting was here put in.)
FREDERICK DOWNS (Police Inspector). I have examined these books, and find small entries of 10s. and 5s. paid by him as commissions on June 15th—here are 256 slips, showing a balance of £923 10s., on June 21st 270 slips, £589 15s., on June 22nd £630 18s. 6d., 23rd £690 7s. 5d., July 11th £495 10s.; July 13th is not carried out, through our going there early in the day before the business was completed—he pays out in full, without deducting the slightest commission.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner many years—he bears a high character, and is an honourable man.
MR. LOCKWOOD contended that there was no case to go to the JURY, as although offers were made to bet at odds against certain horses, at the prices at which they should be on starting, no bets were made unless the horses started, and offers could be withdrawn at any time before starting. The case differed from that of Bond and Plumb (L. R. 1894, l. Q. B. 169), where bets were actually made, and cover was demanded, which brought it within the Act; whilst here the whole transaction was an inchoate offer to bet on credit. He requested the COURT to state a case for the COURT for Crown Cases Reserved.
The RECORDER left it to the JURY to say whether the prisoner was the occupier of the office, whether it was a place used for betting, and whether people resorted there for the purpose of betting; if so, the case of Bond and Plumb was binding. He refused to state a case.
GUILTY .— Fined £100.
JOSEPH ROBERT SAYER . I am chief clerk at the Thames Police-court—on 3rd July warrants were issued against Charlotte Pfretschaer and Frederick Metz for offences against the Excise laws—I produce the warrants—I was present when they were heard—Pfretschaer was convicted, and fined £102 for selling beer without a licence—this is a certified copy of the conviction—on July 6th there was an appeal against the conviction and on July 7th, the prisoner Bruster attended, and entered into recognisances in £80 for the defendant, and £40 for each surety—he was sworn in Mr. Dickenson's presence, and I questioned him as to his means, and asked his address—he said, 143, Holborn, but that he lived at 45, Calais Road, Brixton, and that he was trading as Holmes, Bruster, and Co., lager beer importers, and was worth £120 after all his debts were paid, and had book debts to the amount of £400, and furniture and stock in trade at 143, Holborn, value £170 to £180, and that one machine alone was worth over £100—he was then allowed to enter into recognisances, which I have here and the fiat—this is Mr. Dickenson's signature—the signature to the public examination is the prisoner's writing.
Cross-examined. The woman Charlotte either pays the £120 or goes to prison, but the prisoner had nothing to do with that—if the appeal was unsuccessful, and the Excise proceeded against him, they would have to proceed by distress, and, if the distress was not sufficient, he would have to go to prison during the Queen's pleasure—Metz said he was carrying on business with Mr. Sharplin, who was the co-surety.
GILBERT RICH . I am a clerk in the Official Receiver's Office of the Board of Trade—I produce the file of proceedings in the bankruptcy of Oscar Bruster, on his own petition, on January 8th—on 13th June he swore to the statement of accounts, showing a deficiency of £1,900 2s. 6d.—on June 11th he answered certain written questions asking him to account for his insolvency—I produce the agreement transferring the business to Mr. Sharplin from the Official Receiver.
WILLIAM GEORGE BEETLE STONE . I am an officer of the High Court of Justice—I produced the proceedings before the Registrar on July, 11th the bankrupt's public examination—(Portions of this were read).
FREDERICK KING (Police Sergeant H). On 30th July, at 4.30 p.m., I took the prisoner at 143, Holborn—I read the warrant to him—he said, "It is a mistake. Mr. Sharplin pointed out to me that it would do these people a kindness"—he was asked questions before the Magistrate, and Mr. Dickenson said, "Now, you perfectly understand the position in which you stand?"—he said, "I do," and repeated what he had stated.
MR. GEOGHEGAN submitted that there was no evidence of a corrupt motive as the prisoner had nothing to gain, but only made the statement to oblige a customer. The RECORDER considered that it was for the JURY to say whether the prisoner had a corrupt motive.
Witnesses for the Defence.
EDWIN WASTELL . I am a cashier at the London Joint Stock Bank, and a creditor of the defendant for £400—I signed a consent that the Official Receiver should sell the business to Mr. Sharplin—I have known the prisoner four years, ever since, he arrived in England—I was prepared to advance him £120 rather than he should go to prison—the business increases every month.
Cross-examined. Mr. Sharplin was originally traveller for Mr. Bruster—he is a young man—£300 was, I believe, paid by Bruster's father; I do not know whether the other £50 was obtained from Mr. King—Bruster has no legal interest in Mr. Sharplin's business—a proposal to form a company of the business fell through, and it was then that he filed his petition—he resides with me—the £400 he owes me is for money lent on two occasions, £250 and £150—I appear in the list of creditors; I am not the largest—I hold his life policy as security—my proof has been admitted—Mr. Remner is a brewer; I only know him by name—the prisoner did not consult me before going into the Bankruptcy Court—I did not know of his liabilities on June 19 of £1,936; not till afterwards.
Re-examined. Mr. Remner is a brewer in Germany, and a creditor for £950—I do not know if he consented to the sale to Sharplin—the company was not successfully floated on account of the pressure of Mr. Seez.
WILLIAM SALT . I am an optician, of 65, Hatton Garden—I am not a creditor—I have known the prisoner two and a half years, and should be willing to advance him £120 rather than he should go to prison—he speaks English well.
Cross-examined. I would advance him £250 on his own word, I should not require security—he was promised an interest in this business—I understood that it would be no use to anybody but him—he carries it on.
Reexamined. He built the business up himself, and I believe its success depended on his name being in the firm.
Other witnesses deposed to the prisoner's good character, and to their willingness to advance him £120 without security.
JOSEPH E. S. KING . I am the solicitor for the defence, of 16, Finsbury Circus—I have conducted the bankruptcy proceedings—I was consulted about the floating of the company—I was satisfied—I did not put money of ray own into the company—the business is a flourishing one; it is increasing every day—I have seen extracts from the books—it was not floated, because Mr. Seez sued Mr. Bruster, and he was unable to find the amount—not being floated, I interested myself in the business—I found £50 towards £350—I have made several advances of my own money besides—I am still satisfied with the solvency of the business.
Cross-examined. I adhere to my statement that the business was in a flourishing condition—it is a fact that there were liabilities to the amount of £1,900; the business was a good one; £600 or £700 a year had been sunk, several gentlemen Mere prepared to take shares, and very nearly the whole of the capital, £2,000, was subscribed—Mr. Remner was the brewer in Germany who supplied the beer—I prepared the prospectus; this is my opening statement to the public that they might expect a 10 per cent, dividend; that was assuming that Remner and Co. agreed to forego their debt—I did not know that the prisoner had been insolvent since the commencement of business in 1892.
WILLIAM JAMES SHARPLIN . I have bought the Bruster business of the Official Receiver with £50 advanced by the prisoner's father, and £850 by Mr. King—I have customers all over the United Kingdom, and have made over £50 profit within the last three weeks—the prisoner is the manager, at £3 a week—I am one of the co-sureties in the appeal of Charlotte Pfretschaer—she is a customer of the firm—that is not the reason I came forward; it is rather good-heartedness, and I wanted to keep them out of the workhouse, where they would have had to go if I had not entered into bail—her husband is in Germany.
Cross-examined. In the three weeks ending July 5th, we made a profit of £50—we were not trading at a loss before the business was sold to me—I said at the Police-court that £.300 was remitted to me by Herman Bruster, the prisoner's father, and the valuation for all the furniture was £26 10s.—I was worth £100—I had not made so much as £50 profit at that date—I was traveller, at a salary of £130 a year—on July 7th I was the firm—I said at the police-court, "He had no actual interest in the business, he said he was worth £120 when all his debts were paid, and I corroborated the statement"—he said that the firm had book debts to the amount of £400—I was not very anxious to retain this lady as a customer—I heard afterwards of her being convicted and fined £50 for selling spirits without a licence—we have had thousands of gallons of beer from Germany since the business was taken over.
Re-examined. I have three orders in my pocket, which came in only yesterday—here is one for ten small casks and two large ones, and another from Leith for five 22-gallon casks and fifteen 11 gallon casks—I have had thousands of gallons from Germany since this.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. PAUL TAYLOR offered no evidence. NOT GUILTY .
MARTHA ANN DOVE . I live at 37, Alpine Street, Reading—on 23rd March, 1891, I was present at the Registrar's office, Reading, at a marriage between my daughter, Jane Dove, and the prisoner—I signed the register—my daughter lived with the prisoner till August 7th, when he was out of work, and left—she is still living.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. There was not a dispute about a man named Whitburn; he was not there till a year afterwards—she never lived with Whitburn, but she had a child by him, born on November 16th, 1892, after she had been deserted by her husband—I do not know that it was registered in the birth certificates, the father as James Whitburn, and the mother Jane Whitburn, formerly Bowyer; that is a mistake—Whitburn lived in my house for some years, but he left when my daughter was married, and did not come back for a year afterwards.
JANE BAYLIS . I live at 4, Priscilla Road, Bow—I became acquainted with the prisoner in March, 1892—he said he was a married man, but divorced, and showed me this paper. (Read: "Borough of Reading Assize Courts, in the county of Berks, March 4th, 1893.—We hereby certify that the case of Bowyer v. B. Whitburn came on at eleven o'clock in the forenoon of the 23rd day of May, 1892, and was settled on the 29th day of May, 1892, when judgment was given to the respondent, with decree nisi and costs. Given under our hands the 4th day of March in the year of our Lord 1893. (Signed) BRAIN AND BRAIN, 13, Friar Street")—after seeing that document I believed he was a divorced man—he asked me to marry him, and I did so on March 25th, 1894. (The certificate of the marriage of Charles Bowyer, bachelor, and Jane Baylis, spinster, produced)—this document looks like the prisoner's writing.
Cross-examined. I knew him nearly two years before I married him—he told me he was divorced when I first met him—he did not tell me that Mr. Stiles was getting a divorce for him, and that he had paid £7 10s. for it; he said he had paid money, but did not say how much—I saw him sign himself "bachelor" at the marriage—he showed this document to my sister, but to nobody else—I went to Reading with him before I married him, but did not see his wife.
WILLIAM REED (Police Sergeant K). On 18th July I took the prisoner in Priscilla Road, Bow—I said, "I am going to take you for committing bigamy, on 20th March last, at St. Stephen's Church, Bow"—he said, "I have not committed bigamy, who says I have; who is going to charge me? I should like to know all about it before I go to the station"—I said, "Mr. Baylis has been in Reading and seen your wife, and it has been ascertained that your statement about being divorced is untrue, and the document you gave your second wife is valueless"—he said, "Now they have done that for me, I will do something for them; I will put her brother away for the watch and chain"—I showed him this document, and said, "This is the document I refer to"—he said, "All right"—after he was charged he said, "I have been wrongly led; I should like to find the man who gave me this document"—he asked to send a telegram to his friends, and I saw him write this to his mother, "Charley locked up; do come"—I said, "The writing on this paper and on this document
are somewhat similar; the letter "a" is not properly joined"—he said, "All right"—next morning he said, "I shall say at the Court that she knew I was married, and was not divorced, and will show her up"—I showed him the certificate; he said, "All right."
HENRY MEDWAY . I am a clerk to Brain and Brain, solicitors, of Reading—we have done business for the prisoner, but not in divorce proceedings—this document does not come from their office—they also carry on business at 13, Friar Street, Reading, but did not do so at that date.
Cross-examined. I know a man named Stiles, of Reading.
The officer Reed stated that the prisoner had applied to the Registrar for a marriage without licence, who told him that he must have better proof of the divorce, as the document was valueless.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. FARRANT Prosecuted.
ERNEST HERZOG . I am an artist, of 41, Norroy Road, Putney—on 13th July I was in Whitechapel, visiting a friend, and was going to St. Mary's Station at 10.30—as I passed Baker's Row I saw about a dozen young fellows larking in the road—one of them stood in front of me—I had my umbrella in one hand, and ray pipe in the other, and was walking fast to catch the train—I found an arm round my neck, and an arm on my tie—they tried to rifle my pockets, but I defended them—one of them called out, "Hold him, for I cannot hold him any longer"—I found my watch and chain were gone—I followed the men, and one came up and said, "Governor, are you hurt? have you lost anything?" and they got away—I cannot swear to them, because they were behind me—I saw one man among the twelve with his face bandaged, as Tinsley has his.
Cross-examined by Parr. When you first came down the detective asked me if that was the man—I said, "No," but when you put your cap on I said I thought you were the one who walked on the pavement.
ELIAS BENJAMIN . I live at 2, Princes Place, Whitechapel—on July 13th I saw the prisoners near Mr. Herzog, and three chaps kept pushing against him and three others and Parr took his watch and gave it to another, and they all went off—the prisoners went off together—I went for a constable—I knew the prisoners well, and have no doubt whatever they were two of the men concerned in the robbery.
ABRAHAM JACOBS . I live at 13, King Edward Street, Whitechapel—on July 13th, between ten and 10.30, I saw the prisoners walking along Whitechapel, and, when they saw the gentleman going past, they took hold of his collar and his mouth, and took his watch—I knew Parr before—I live in the same street—I also recognise the other man with his head tied up (Tinsley).
WOLF LAZARUS . I live at 17, Greenfield Street, Whitechapel—on July 13th, between ten and 10.30, I saw the two prisoners and the prosecutor in Whitechapel—they took him by the collar, and took his watch, and
handed it to the other chaps, who called out, "I have got his watch; let him go"—I know them both well.
WALTER CUNNINGHAM (Detective H). I went in search of the prisoners—Benjamin pointed out three men in Whitechapel Road, who I took, and they were discharged—I then arrested the two prisoners; they were brought up with the other three—Tinsley said he was at Shoreditch; Parr said nothing—I found him in bed.
By the COURT. The other three were taken on the evidence of Benjamin, Jacobs, and a man named Allen, who did not turn up at the Police-court—the Magistrate discharged the other three, supposing there might be some mistake—two of these are the same witnesses, but they know the prisoners well.
The prisoners' statements before the Magistrate: Parr says, "I am not guilty; I was in bed."Tinsley says, "I am not guilty; I can prove it."
Witnesses for the Defence.
MARY ANN PARR . I am Parr's mother—he was at home on this night at my place at 10.30—he said, "Mother, have you got any tea?"—I said, "Yes, I have got a little bit of fish in the drawer which I had for my dinner; will you have it?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "I have had mine; I am going up to bed; I don't feel very well."
Cross-examined. I have got two clocks, one downstairs and one up—I went by the one downstairs, and it was exactly 10.30.
CHARLES HANKS . I keep a beer-shop in King Edward Street, Mile End, about a minute's walk from where the robbery took place—Tinsley came into my place at 10.10 by the clock in the bar, and left about 10.12—it was not 10.30 when he came in.
Cross-examined. No one asked me to come and give evidence—it is quite voluntary on my part—I attended at the Police-court—I did not know at what time this happened.
ANNIE BROOKER . On July 19th I left the prisoner Tinsley with my baby—he is my brother—I had flowers to sell—I left home at three o'clock, and I took the baby from him at 10 p.m.—at 10.30 I went to get my husband's supper, and then went out and bought some laces—I came back at 10.30, and saw my brother there.
E. BENJAMIN (Re-examined). I did not know Manning, Hyman, or Bart before the night of the robbery—I pointed them out as three of the men who I saw committing this robbery, and I know that they were discharged afterwards—I do not live in the same street as the two prisoners, but I know them well.
W. CUNNINGHAM (Re-examined). Besides Benjamin, the two other witnesses who were in the box gave me information about the three who were discharged.
GUILTY .—PARR Then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell in September, 1891, in the name of Alfred Parr— Nine Months' Hard Labour. TINSLEY— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BARKER Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON Defended.
FREDERICK DOWSETT . I am an engineer's apprentice, of 81, Great College Street—about eight a.m. on the 8th inst. I was looking over London Bridge; I saw the prisoner in a barge about fifty yards away—he spoke to somebody in the barge, and put a gun to his shoulder—I was struck in four places—I have never annoyed the bargemen by throwing stones over the bridge.
Cross-examined. Several boys were looking over the bridge in the direction of the barge—the prisoner shouted before he presented the gun—I have seen boys throw stones.
FRANCIS WINGFIELD (307 S). Dowsett made a communication to me, in consequence of which I arrested the prisoner—he said the boys had been throwing stones, and he picked up the rifle, but he did not know it was loaded—at the station he said one of the men had the rifle—this is it, with a large percussion cap.
Cross-examined. He also said he was very sorry, and hoped the boys were not hurt—he did not say he had not fired it—a great many complaints have been made of boys throwing stones at the bargemen below—I have inquired with Inspector Heard, and find that men have been injured by the stones, that the prisoner has been forty years on the canal—it is his own bout—he is engaged as a carrier—he is a very respectable man, and has never been in trouble.
FREDERICK READ (Inspector S) I took the charge at the Police-station—the prisoner said, "It is very hard they should be allowed to throw stones down; I only did it to frighten them"—he did not say he did not know it was loaded.
Cross-examined. I have been to Worcester, where the prisoner lives, and find he has been on the canal about forty years—he bears the character of a quiet, respectable man—he has not been in trouble—I have heard of the men being injured by the boys throwing stones at them.
JAMES MAUGHAM . I am Police Divisional surgeon at Albany Street—I examined Dowsett—he had three trifling injuries; but the one on the outer side of the first finger of his right hand had a small shot embedded in it; about No. 5 duck shot—Barnes was also slightly injured—Dowsett was hit near his left eye—he had a contusion on the left side of his nose, and on his right ring finger—I should hardly expect this old gun to hit more than fifty yards off—it must have been fired from a considerable distance—the shot was embedded about half an inch.
GUILTY of a common assault.— To enter into his own recognisances in £5 to come up for judgment if called upon.
NEW COURT.—Friday, July 27th, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. BIRON Prosecuted, and MR. WARBURTON Defended.
During the reading of the shorthand notes of the prisoner's examination in the Bankruptcy Court the JURY interposed, and said that, in their opinion, the case ought not to proceed.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Saturday, July 28th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
628. FRANK ERNEST COE (34), EDWARD WALTER SUTHERLAND BROWN (26), FRANK DALE (20), ELLEN DALE (64), and JAMES HERBERT DALE (29) , Conspiring to steal £250, the money of Henry James Henderson and another.
MR. MUIR Prosecuted; MR. C. MATHEWS appeared for Coe, MR. SCARLETT for Brown, and MR. SANDS for Dale.
ARTHUR JAMES SAUNDERSON . I am a produce broker, of 13, Cullum Street; I was formerly in partnership with Charles Holmes, who is now dead—we were both acquainted with the prisoner Coe, but I had never seen the others—on June 7th, the day after the Derby, Coe called and asked if we would lend him £250; we asked him what it was for; he said, "I have won £100 on Ladas, and shall have to produce this money to obtain my winnings"—after talking the matter over, Mr. Holmes said, "I will come with you and bring £150, but I shall not let it go out of my possession"—Coe said, "That is all right; the bet is safe; it has been made with Mr. Topping, the bookmaker, who is a member of the Victoria Club, Wellington Street, and has registered the bet there; the bet has been made on my behalf through Mr. Brown, of 118, Pall Mall"—I had never heard of Mr. Brown, but he said that he was Mr. Lyons's, an estate agent, managing clerk, whom I knew—I then drew two cheques, one for £100, and the other for £150—the £100 cheque was to be paid into Mr. Holmes's bank, being payable to him, and the £150 one to be paid over the counter—the crossed cheque was payable to Coe—I said that it must be paid into Coe's bank, and draw a cheque against it, and hand the proceeds to Mr. Holmes—he said there was no necessity to part with the £250; Mr. Holmes need only show it in one hand and receive the £100 winnings with the other, and the £250 would then be paid to meet the £150 cheque—Coe mentioned his bankers, Reinhardt and Co.—they then started to go to the bank, and as they were going out I said to Mr. Holmes, "Now, whatever you do, you are on no account to part with those notes," and I said to Coe, "This is done with the distinct understanding that the money does not go out of Mr. Holmen's hands"—he said, "All right, my boy, no fear about that"—they then left to go to the bank; that was about 11.30 a.m.—I got a telegram about 3.30 p.m., purporting to come from Mr. Holmes, in consequence of which I went to our bank directly, the National Provincial, and obtained the number of a £100 note, and then went to the Bank of England to stop it, but was ten minutes too late; it had been cashed—I saw Mr. Holmes about four o'clock; he made a complaint to me, and at 5.30 we were sitting in our office, in consequence of what Mr. Holmes said, expecting Coe to call, but we received this telegram from him: "Have got man's address; after him; see you to-morrow"—this (The original telegram) is in Coe's writing—he never came as arranged, and we went to his house, 34, Weymouth Street, where he carries on the business of a
dentist, and occupies the whole house—a servant opened the door; she made a statement, and I was not admitted—she was going to shut the door, but I prevented her by putting my foot on the step; and seeing Coe at the ground-floor window, we went in, and Coe came out and met us in the hall; the door of the room from which he came was open—I believe he would be able in that room to hear the conversation between me and the servant—he said, "Come into my surgery"—that is the room from which he came—I said, "I am rather surprised that you did not turn up as you promised; I shall be glad if you will kindly inform me the meaning of this business"—he said, "Oh, it's all right, don't excite yourself"—I said, "It looks all wrong"—he said, "You have nothing to fear; I know Brown, who is a member of the Victoria Club; he is a man in a very good position, and frequently dines with lords and dukes"—that was the first time he had told me he was a member of the Victoria Club—I said, "The whole thing looks very suspicious"—he said, "Do you think that I am in the swindle?"—I said, "We shall not express any opinion"—he said, "In order to show you my bona fides I will give you a cheque for the £250" and drew this open cheque for £250, post-dated the 14th, and said, "I have not the money to meet it just now, but I shall have some money on Saturday or Monday"—this was at 7 or 7.30 p.m.—he then said, "I have been to Bow Street and Vine Street with Brown, and the detectives are after these fellows; we shall have them by 10 o'clock tonight"—we said that we thought the whole thing was a swindle—he said, "It is all right, I know Dale and Stebbings"; Mr. Holmes had mentioned them—Coe said he thought they were swindlers—Mr. Holmes said very little; I did most of the talking—Coe said, "It is all right; I have done business with them, and know them well; they are perfectly honest and respectable"—we then left, and went to Vine Street to make inquiries, and then to Bow Street—I presented the cheque on the day it was due, but did not get the money—it was marked, "Refer to drawer"—I wrote this letter to Coe the same night, after going to Bow Street. (Informing them that unless the £250 was paid by two o'clock next day he should obtain summonses against Coe and the individual he called Brown and his satellites.)—I posted that that night, but got no answer—next day I consulted Messrs. Lewis and Lewis, who wrote this letter to the defendants. (Stating that they were instructed to take proceedings, but before doing so wished to give them an opportunity of explaining their conduct.)—I have never seen any answer to that—I afterwards went to the defendants' solicitors, Messrs. Wilson and Wallace—on the next day, the 22nd, Mr. Holmes died by his own hand, as found by the coroner's jury—I have never had the £250 back—both these cheques have come back to me through my bank—I am credited with the amounts—we were to get £25 consideration—no letter mentions that as far as I know; that was by word of mouth.
Cross-examined by MR. C. MATHEWS. I have known Coe ten or eleven months—I have been to his house in Weymouth Street pretty often—he curries on the business of a dental surgeon there, and has done ever since I have known him—I slept in his house one night—I never dined there, but I have been there frequently in the evening—I also went to Norwood once when he was there—I had ample at my bankers to meet the two cheques, but not on the current account, and I told Coe so—the
amount was to he transferred from our deposit account to our current amount—that would not take a minute—it was not said that that should be done—the £150 cheque was to be paid to the credit of Coe's account, and drawn against—that would take a day—the money was said to be required that very day—he was to get the £150 from his own bank and £100 from mine—when I saw Coe he told me that he and Brown had been to Bow Street together; that was to put the police in motion, that they might take the guilty parties in custody, but they never went there at all—Coe had told me that Stebbings and Dale were perfectly honest men, who were well known to him, and yet he had been to the station to give information against them—that did not surprise me, because I was flurried—I have been seven or eight years in business—I wrote, "Unless the money is paid by to-morrow afternoon at three o'clock we are to institute criminal proceedings"—Coe told me that he had been to Lewis and Lewis's office on Monday, June 11th, with a private detective named Chamberlain, whom he had employed—he did not tell me on June 7th that he had already sent for a private detective, and was expecting him at that time—I do not know that a private detective was acting for him from June 7th—I know he swore an information against Stebbings and Dale, but I don't know the date Stebbings was arrested—I made inquiries of Watson and Lyon, of Pall Mall, and found that Brown was employed in the Rod and Gun office—Coe said he should have sufficient to meet the cheque on Monday; that was before it would become due—I had one cheque of his dishonoured previously—the information of June 13th was not at my instigation—I have no doubt a private inquiry agent acted for Coe in investigating the matter.
Cross-examined by MR. SCARLETT. I took no part in the investigation on which Stebbings was arrested, and Mr. Holmes did not swear an information till June 21st—Brown and Coe had appeared and been examined before the Magistrate—the prosecution had commenced on the information of Brown and Coe before I came on the scene at all—Mr. Dawson, Brown's solicitor, called at my office before June 13th, but I did not see him; I think it was after the information was sworn—I called on Mr. Lyon, who said that Brown had been manager in his office a few years; he did not say fifteen years—he is an estate agent and publisher and proprietor of Rod and Gun—I saw Mr. Brown's name up as manager, but did not ascertain that he was the publisher of the Shooting and Fishing Gazette—I ascertained that he was earning £350 a year.
Cross-examined by MR. SANDS. In the conversation at Weymouth Street, Dale was mentioned by name.
Re-examined. I had had one previous cheque of Coe's; that was for £45, and it was honoured, but I had a bill which was dishonoured.
ROBERT WALTER DYBELL . I am a clerk at the National Provincial Bank, Bishopsgate Street Branch—Messrs. Sanderson and Holmes had an account there—I was not acquainted with Mr. Holmes till June 7th—on that day a gentleman whom I afterwards that day saw with Mr. Sanderson called with an open cheque for £100, which he handed to me over the counter, and I gave him a £100 note, 91601, dated December 18th, 1893—I gave them the number later in the day when they called—I have never seen this £150 cheque before, but it bears our canceling
stamp; it was paid on 8th June to Lloyds' Bank through the Clearing-house.
WILLIAM WARBRANK . I am hall porter at the Victoria Club, Wellington Street, just opposite the Lyceum—the elder Dale came in that day to see Mr. Topping, a bookmaker, who is a member of the club—I said that he was not in—he asked for a sheet of paper and an envelope, which I refused to give him, and he took a book out of his pocket, tore out one of the leaves, and was proceeding to write a note, but I ordered him out—he refused, but I opened the door, and he walked out—I saw Stebbings, Coe, Brown, and Mr. Holmes standing at the bottom of the steps leading to the club—Stebbings was not a stranger tome—they were going away; Mr. Holmes turned back and beckoned to him, and asked a question—Dale could not hear that, or either of the prisoners—they all five crossed towards the Lyceum, and Dale came up and said he would see Mr. Goldstein—I said we had no member of that name, and he ran away to the west—he actually ran—I could see him in Exeter Street for some distance—the club is a little higher than Exeter Street, at the corner of Exeter Street and Wellington Street—Stebbings then came back and spoke to me, and went to the east at a walk—Mr. Holmes then came and made a statement to me, not a complaint—Coe and Brown remained after Mr. Holmes, and then walked away—I had no conversation with either of them—no register of bets is kept at the club.
Cross-examined by MR. SCARLETT. A gentleman called on me on 12th or 13th June, and said that he should require me to give evidence against somebody—I do not know his name; that is he (Pointing)—I did not say I could not attend unless I had a subpoena; I said I would rather not be mixed up in the matter.
Cross-examined by MR. SANDS. A great many people come to inquire who are not members of the club—when he left he crossed Wellington Street—Exeter Street is fifty or sixty yards long—I watched the other men, but my attention was directed to Dale, owing to the pace he went—there is not much traffic in Exeter Street.
ROBERT TOPPING . I live at Putney Park Lodge, Putney, and am a member of the Victoria Club, Wellington Street—I am a bookmaker and a commission agent—no register of bets is kept at the club—neither of the prisoners made a bet with me on the Derby, nor had Stebbings—I know none of them—I am not on the committee—I know the general rules of the club; they are the same as in other clubs—it is not my practice to refuse to pay a man money he has won from me unless he shows me the amount of money he would have lost, if he had lost; I never saw it done—it would not be likely that I should be found at my club in the middle of Epsom week.
ISAAC COX . I am usher at Bow Street—I produce the informations sworn by Coe and Brown on June 13th. (Brown's information stated that Stebbings and Dale induced him by a trick to part with bank notes for £100 and £150 as a guarantee of good faith. Coe's information stated that he instructed Brown to put £250 on Ladas on his behalf and that he had to put down the amount before he could draw the winnings.)—On that warrants were granted for the arrest of Stebbings and Dale.
was presented at the bank on June 7th, about 3.30, by the elder Dale, to the best of my belief; I do not swear to him—it was endorsed "S. Moir" when he handed it to me—I gave him twenty £5 notes for it—if it had been blank I should have asked him to put his name on it, but here is no obligation to do it—he had another £100 note in his hand; I asked if he wanted to change that also—he said, "No."
ALFRED WARD (Police Sergeant E). On June 7th I was on duty at Bow Street, and shortly after ten p.m. the prisoner Brown was introduced by a public-house manager; he gave his name Edward Walter S. Brown—I made a brief note of what he said: "On the 6th inst. I made a bet on behalf of Dr. Coe, of 34, Weymouth Street, on the Derby, with a man named Stebbings, of 33, Standof Street, Kennington Lane, of £200 to £100 on Ladas; it was £50 on Bullingdon to win, starting price. I paid with a crossed cheque which he accepted. The cheque was to be taken to the Victoria Club, Wellington Street, of which he was a member; on the 7th, the day after the Derby, at 3.30, I saw Stebbings in the presence of Dr. Coe and another at Pall Mall, and we went together to Wellington Street; a man named Dale accompanied Stebbings, and said that he, Dale, was a member of the Victoria Club, and when we arrived at the club, Dale entered, stating that he was going to register the bet; we walked together to the club, and on the way Stebbings said that the bet was all right, subject to proof of genuineness of cheque, and the production of notes for £250; believing his statement to be true, I handed him £250 in Bank of England notes, two for £100 each, and one for £50. Stebbings then handed the notes to Dale, who said, 'I will be back in a few minutes, and will pay the amount of the bet, £300.' He returned shortly, and said his principal was not in the club, but would return in a quarter of an hour. Dale re-entered the club. We waited three-quarters of an hour, during which time Stebbings said, 'I will go and see what is keeping Dale.' Stebbings entered the club, and we saw nothing of either of them afterwards. I made inquiry at the club, and found that neither of them were members, but were known there as runners, that is, to run messages"—I said, "Well, Mr. Brown, this is a very extraordinary tale; how long have you been in London?"—he simply smiled, and said, "I believe I have been done"—he never mentioned Mr. Holmes from the beginning to the end—that was the first time I had ever seen him—on June 13th I received a warrant for the apprehension of Stebbings and Dale, and arrested Stebbings the same day, and found some betting slips on him, and these letters from a man named Brown, which I showed to Brown next day, and said, "I have found some letters on Stebbings which show a close intimacy between you"—he said, "Yes, I am very sorry; I am afraid I have more or less compromised myself in those letters, to tell you the truth, I was more or less in pecuniary difficulties, and I believed Stebbings to be a man of money, and asked him for a loan; from what I have since learned I find that I have made a mistake"—I showed him the letters—he said, "Yes, they are mine"—I mentioned them at the Police-court, and the solicitor said, "You can use them for the purposes of the defence." (A selection from the letters was put in; they were from Brown to Stebbings, relating to bets, and asking Stebbings to lend him £10 till the end of the next quarter, and enclosing a promissory note.)—On June 26th I arrested the eldest Dale
about one o'clock in front of the Bedford Head Hotel, Tottenham Court Road, on this warrant, obtained at the instance of Mr. Holmes. (Charging him with stealing several bank notes, and conspiring with Brown, Dale, Coe, and Stubbings.)—He said, "I know all about it; it is that betting affair. I am a commission agent, and have been acting for Coe and Brown and Stebbings in the matter; it is quite right: I received the notes, and cashed one of them for £100 the same day, and brought the money back, but I decline to tell you who I gave it to, Brown's share was to be £42; the bet was a snide"—that means a counterfeit, a bogus bet—" it was first paid for by a draft, which was nothing; the man Coe was at the bottom of it. I never saw the man that paid the bank note before that day; he was a stranger to me. I went into the Victoria Club on other business, not in connection with a bet at all"—I took him to Bow Street Station, where he was charged; he made no reply—on the same night I went with McCarthy, another officer, to 2, Grosvenor Park, Camberwell, from private information, and saw Ellen Dale; she is Frank Dale's wife—I said, "We are police-officers; your husband, Frank Dale, is in custody, charged, with others, with stealing £250 in Bank of England notes; we have information that you have the bulk of the money"—she said, "No, I have not"—I said, "My information is different; if you received it honestly from your husband it will not be an offence"—I had no intention of arresting her then—she said, "I did not know what I was doing; my husband told me he won the money on a bet, when I found it was stolen I gave all I had to my son; they were small notes; I was all of a rumble, and feeling very uncomfortable; the little girl will show you where my son lives," pointing to a little girl in the room—Sergeant McCarthy then went out with the little girl, and while I waited with the prisoner she went into the bedroom, and came back and handed me £3 10s. in gold, saying, "That is all I have got out of the lot"—McCarthy came back with Herbert Joseph Dale, and said, "This is the son, and he denies having received anything from his mother"—I said to the mother, "You hear that; have you anything to say?"—she said, "To tell you the truth, I burnt the notes; I was afraid to keep them"—the son then said, "Mother, I never had anything from you"—I told them that in consequence of their conflicting statements I should take them both in custody for feloniously receiving the notes—the son said, "You can search my place; I have no money, and never had any notes"—I then went to 104, Westmoreland Road, where he lodged, and took him with me—that is about half a mile off—I left his mother with a policeman—he took us into his room, and while searching he said, "If you know as much as I do you would not give yourself so much trouble; you will find nothing"—I saw McCarthy find a small canvas bag containing gold and silver, in the fireplace among some shavings—he said, "That is mine"—I said, "Why conceal it in the fireplace?"—he said, "I have a drunken wife"—I said, "The grate seems to be daily done up; it is the very place where she would find it"—I continued the search, and in the back room, which was used as a kitchen and bedroom, I found, in a locked box, a small canvas bag containing £4 in gold and 15s. in silver—he said, "That money is mine, too"—I asked him for the key; he said he could not find it, and I had to pick the lock—I had previously found forty-four pawn-tickets, all of different dates, for
small amounts, none over 10s.—I said, "The possession of so many pawn-tickets, all of recent dates, does not seem to be consistent with so much money"—he said, "Later on I shall be able to explain where I got the money"—we took both mother and son to Bow Street, and they were charged with receiving the bank notes, and, when the words "bank notes" were mentioned, the male prisoner said, "Observe, there were no bank notes found on me."
Cross-examined by MR. SCARLETT. This memorandum of June 7th was written down as he spoke, on this identical paper—the date he mentioned was the 6th, not the 5th; there was a warrant for the arrest of Stebbings and Dale on the 13th.
Cross-examined by MR. SANDS. This is the note I made on arresting the elder Dale—I wrote it at the Police-station when I got there; it would have been a physical impossibility to write it at the time—I carry a pocket-book, but do not make notes in it—Stebbings' name was in the warrant.
The RECORDER considered that there was no evidence against Frank and Ellen Dale.
HENRY MARSHALL (Police Inspector E). On June 8th Brown came to me at Bow Street, with an officer from Vine Street—he gave me this card, "E. W. S. Brown, 118, Pall Mall"—I asked his business; he said, "A land agent"—I asked him the nature of the complaint—he said he wanted to give in custody a man named Dale, and another named Stebbings, for robbing him of £250—I asked him the particulars—he said, "I have been acting for Dr. Coe in making a bet for Ladas and Bullingdon for the Derby;" and that he had parted with the £250 to Stebbings, who handed it to Dale on the steps of the Victoria Club, Wellington Street, Strand—I said, "Whose money was it?"—he said, "Dr. Coe's"—I said, "What is his address, and why did not you bring him with you?"—he said that his address was 34, Chesham Place, which I wrote down; and then he said, "No. 34, Weymouth Street"—I said, "When did it happen?"—he said, "On the 6th"—I said, "Well, as you have not got Dr. Coe here, I must decline to act"—he then said that the bet had been sold to a Mr. Holmes, of the address which he mentioned—I said, "Well, the matter is a betting transaction, and appears to be complicated; I will not allow any of my officers to arrest anyone without a warrant, but I shall be ready to render you any assistance, and if you will be here in the morning at ten o'clock with Dr. Coe, I will take you, or send you into Court, to lay an information"—I was not aware that he had been to Bow Street the previous night—this was six or seven p.m.—he then left, and I discovered that he had been to the station the night previous; and I kept Sergeant Ward there next morning, but neither of them came—subsequently an information was laid, and the warrant returned to me for execution against Dale and Stebbings, which I handed to Sergeant Ward for execution, and wrote down Brown's description of Stebbings and Dale—a warrant was issued on June 21st for the arrest of Coe, Brown, Dale, and Stebbings for conspiracy, and I went with Sergeant Ward to 34, Weymouth Street, about 11.30 a.m., and saw Coe—I told him my name, and said I had a warrant for his arrest, which I read to him—he said, "That is extraordinary; I have a perfect answer to the charge"—he was taken to the station, and 30s. was found on him; he made no reply to the charge—on the same day I took Brown in the
Haymarket, and said, "You have been to Bow Street and laid informations against Stebbings and Dale for stealing £250; Stebbings is in custody, I have a warrant now against you for stealing this money"—he made no reply—I searched him at Bow Street, and found £23, including a £5 note, two or three letters, and a bill of exchange for £30, drawn by Brown to Walter Stebbings—one letter was from his employer, discharging him through his connection with this matter.
Cross-examined by MR. SCARLETT. I do not know whether Mr. Roberts was the solicitor acting for Lisle and Co.—Stebbings was brought to the Police-court on the 13th, and it got into the newspapers, and then Mr. Roberts wrote and said that, seeing he had been engaged in betting transactions, he sent him a cheque for his salary—I have not found out that the note found on him was part of that, but it may be so—this letter shows that he was discharged by cheque.
HENRY ANDRUS . I am cashier to Reichardt and Co., private bankers and bullion dealers—Coe dealt with us—on June 7th his account was overdrawn £49 2s. 2d. the first thing in the morning, and had been for seventeen days—on June 2nd he paid in personally a cheque for £250, drawn by him on the National Bank, Old Broad Street—it was returned, marked "Refer to drawer," and is still dishonoured—the account is still overdrawn, as it was on June 7th, but none of his cheques have been presented during that time—this cheque (Dated June 6th, drawn by Coe in favour of Brown.) has never been presented—this cheque (produced) was presented at the bank and dishonoured, but it was done in my absence—it is Mr. Reichardt's writing—on June 7th Coe came to the bank at 10.30, and paid in his own cheque on the National Provincial for £250, and again about 2.30 to see Mr. Reichardt, who was not in—he waited some time, and left without seeing him, as Mr. Holmes, who I knew, was with him—I did not hear what passed between them—he left Mr. Coe in the office, and did not return.
Cross-examined by MR. MATHEWS. He waited about twenty minutes, but did not see Mr. Reichardt; he did not come in till 3.30—he has been here most of the day, but is now at the office—he saw him in the morning, but did not speak to him; he was so engaged—he did not go away from the bank with Mr. Reichardt that morning or afternoon.
W. WARBRANK (Re-examined). This is a book of the rules of the Victoria Club. (These rules contained nothing about betting.)
Cross-examined by MR. SCARLETT. The members do bet.
A. WARD (Re-examined). A man named Chamberlain, who told me he was a private detective, came to see me two or three times about the case, and told me he was acting on behalf of Mr. Coe.
MR. MATHEWS submitted that there was no evidence against Coe, as he had acted consistently throughout, and as to Brown there had been no denial of the statements he made, and that there was no proof of any criminal conspiracy between Coe and Dale or Stebbings, or that he ever saw them till June 7th, and that the statement made by Dale on his arrest was not evidence against Coe. MR. SCARLETT and MR. SANDS made a similar submission as to their respective clients. MR. MUIR contended that Coe must have known from the first that the transaction was fraudulent as he was vouching for the respectability of Dale, Stebbings, and Brown after Dale had run away with the money, and further that Coe, drawing a cheque
when his account was overdrawn, and which was never presented, showed that the bet was a sham one, and that it was a question for the JURY. The RECORDER considered that there was no case to go to the JURY against Coe, J. H. Dale, and Brown, and that the facts were consistent with their innocence. NOT GUILTY .
MR. MUIR offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Thursday and Friday, July 26th and 21st, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MESSRS. MUIR and PASSMORE Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
During the opening speech the prisoner stated in the hearing of the JURY that he PLEADED GUILTY, and they thereupon found him
GUILTY .— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
631. JOHN JAMES DILLON O'FLYNN (42) , Unlawfully obtaining by false pretences from Emma Eliza Bevan £200, from Hetty Michell a cheque for £100, and other counts for unlawfully obtaining credit for £200 from Hetty Michell, with intent to defraud.
MESSRS. C. F. GILL, BODKIN, and GUY STEPHENSON Prosecuted, and MESSRS. DARLING, Q.C., HORACE AVORY, GEE, and GRIFFITHS Defended.
EMMA ELIZA BEVAN . I live at Harrington Road, South Kensington—in October, 1889, the prisoner was introduced to me—a day or two after I had an interview with him in his chambers, Garden Court, Temple—at that time I had a certain amount of litigation pending against my brother, Colonel Lewis—I discussed it with the prisoner at that interview—at the end of January, 1890, I received this letter from him. (This confirmed an arrangement respecting Mrs. Bevan's cases; the prisoner having her authority to employ a solicitor who should act solely under his instructions, and he (the prisoner) to act as her counsel; he undertaking to see that the costs were kept at the lowest possible scale, lie estimated the cost at £200, which she should either deposit with him, interest being allowed at 5 per cent., or she should pay down £100 and further sums as were needed; all costs recovered in the action to be refunded)—I wrote this letter of the 31st in reply, consenting to that arrangement—I went to his chambers again, and was introduced by him to Mr. Moeran, a solicitor—I paid at the prisoner's request £200 by this cheque on the National Provincial Bank, Piccadilly Branch, into the Agra Bank, on 6th February, 1890—I got this receipt from the prisoner: "Received from Mrs. E. E. Bevan as a deposit on account of litigation to be launched, the sum of £200 only, to bear interest at 5 per cent, per annum, to be settled monthly"—I told the prisoner I had paid that money into his account—between
February and May, 1890, he asked me if he might take the £200 out of the Agra Bank and put it at 10 per cent, for me—I said, "Yes"—he said it would be available for litigation whenever it was necessary—I understood it was invested; nothing was said as to in whose name the investment was made, it was to be in his name I suppose—afterwards he told me that he was accustomed to have people's money and invest it in his own name; they trusted him—he said, "I think money should be invested in one's own name"; and that he did not care to trust people and do business with people who did not trust him altogether—I said I should not trust him with a large sum of money as a young lady he mentioned to me had done—after I had parted with the £200 I saw him in the Temple and elsewhere from time to time in reference to this litigation—in October, 1890, I lent him £100 for a month at his request—this letter refers to that £100. (This enclosed a formal receipt dated 31st October, 1890, for £100, received from Mrs. E. Bevan on loan until 5th December, 1890)—as far as I recollect we were at his chambers, and Mr. Moeran came in, and there was conversation about being short of money to buy a house with, and that was how I lent him the £100 for a short time—particulars of the expenditure of that £100 are written on the back of the receipt that was produced—in November, 1890, I parted with a further £200 to him—this is the receipt for that sum: "Received from Mrs. Bevan, to be returned in six months from date, the sum of £200 with interest at 10 per cent, per annum, payable in advance"—that money was advanced for him to invest on his own personal security, and pay me the interest—he was to be personally liable for the 10 per cent, interest—the expenditure of that £200 is accounted for, I believe, by what is written on the back of this receipt from time to time: "Returned £126 0s. 7d. by cheque dated 1st August, 1891"—about November, 1890, he told me he was going to Vienna for a week—at the end of November or the beginning of December I got this letter from him from Brussels. (A number of letters were read from the prisoner to the witness dated from Brussels, Vienna, ss. Ganges near Aden, Calcutta, Hyderabad, and Deccan, in which he expressed admiration of and affection for the witness)—he wanted me to accompany him to Vienna; of course I declined—he returned to London at the end of June or the beginning of July—I saw him from time to time after that—at one of our meetings after his return from India he said he had not made so much money in India as he had expected in relation to the £1,000 he was to have for going out there, but that he had returned with some concessions; and he mentioned the iron ore concessions in Madras, and another concession to do with electricity—soon afterwards he said as to the iron ore, "It is a very good thing; I am going to form a syndicate," and he asked me to put £200 in, and if the syndicate was not formed by January the £200 was to be returned to me; if it was formed and was successful, I shoulder get a bonus of £400, and that he would insure his life to secure the money to me, as he was in delicate health; he said he had typhoid fever in India—he afterwards told me that a Mr. Gillingham had put £1,000 into the syndicate—this conversation took place in his chambers at Figtree Court—he had moved there—on a subsequent Friday, on 31st July, I went to his chamber again and he asked me to sign this agreement, which was drawn up—h
had wanted me to sign it two days before, and I would not; I had not the money ready or anything—on 31st July I wanted to lay it aside till Saturday, I did not like signing it on Friday, and I wondered that he was so pressing; but he called in his clerk, J. C. Frawley, who signed as a witness—the prisoner gave no reason for wanting it signed that day; he only said he did want it signed on that day; I said it was very unlucky, but gave way—I think he read it to me before I signed—this is the agreement. (This was to the effect that whereas 0'Flynn was arranging a syndicate to secure con-cessions to float a company to work the iron ores of the Madras Presidency A and was desirous that Mrs. Bevan should contribute, it was agreed that Mrs. Bevan should pay to 0'Flynn £'200, he undertaking to repay that sum within twelve months, and a further sum of £800 in the event of the successful floating of the company, and that as a security for the repayment of £200 he agreed, within fourteen days of the signing of the agreement, to hand over to Mrs. Bevan a policy of assurance on his own life of the value of £400, and undertook to maintain the premiums on the policy)—I took the £200 in notes to his chambers on 4th August, and gave them to him—the receipt appears on the agreement, "Received £200 in notes"—I did not receive the life policy for some time; but eventually I received from the prisoner this policy for £500, dated 21st May, 1892, on the Church of England Life and Fire Assurance Company—I was continually asking for it—I wrote to, and called on from time to time the prisoner, asking for the return of the money I had entrusted to him—I wrote him this letter of November 10, 1892. (This asked for the return of the £200 from the person the prisoner said he had lent it to)—the prisoner told me he had lent some of it to Mr. Ginghorn, or some such name, and it had not been returned, and he was trying to get it from him—he said he hoped to get it before another three months was out—he told me the man to whom he had lent it would pay it last August—he said I was to ask for the money personally, and not through solicitors, because I had asked the solicitor to get it, and he could not get it—I received this letter from the prisoner of 13th May, 1893: "You may count on having £100 on or before Monday next"—I did not have one penny of that money—I received this letter of 12th July, 1893(Asking for a loan of £10 till Monday, as he said heavy liabilities to meet, and giving his word of honour that site should have it back on that day)—I wrote back saying I could not do it—I received this from him of the 5th August, 1893. (Stating that if she would call or send on the 12th instant he would pay the £400)—I went to see him and he said he ad not received the money and could not pay it, but that he expected advances; that he was in treaty to sell the Whitehall Review, but he had no money—I received this from him of 8th January, 1894, from the Law Gazette office. (Stating that he would send her money almost at once, but that he must point out that the first £200, originally paid for his getting a solicitor to take up her case, was almost immediately afterwards placed at 10 per cent, and that the interest of 10 per cent, and been paid to her half-yearly up to and including November, 1893)—I received from him this letter of 31st January, 1894. (Stating that he had been disappointed, and that it might be a little while before he could pay; but that lie would be glad to give her a charge on the Law Gazette for the £400, and pay her interest at £1 a week, and the capital in a year's time at the outside)—
I replied that I could not trust his promises—the premiums on the policy were not kept up, only the first was paid; I went to the office myself in March, 1893, and found that out—these are the receipts for the interest on the first £200; they cover the period up to January, 1893—the expenditure of the £200 is shown on the back of this receipt—one of the ums, £126 0s. 7d., was paid through Mr. Carter, a solicitor, to Mr. Calkin Lewis.
Cross-examined. The prisoner told me afterwards that he had had some difficulty in getting his life assured—I think I asked for the policy, and then he gave me the reason—after a year or more I got the policy; I had great trouble to get it—I don't pretend to be a very clever woman—I am afraid I am very easy to deceive, because I have been brought up honourably, and do not mistrust people—I never lent the prisoner any money for a period of two years—these are receipts for the interest paid, not for the money advanced—this receipt states that the £200 was lent for two years—I signed it because the prisoner asked me to do so—I was talking to him at the time, and he said, "Will you give me a receipt for the interest for the litigation money?"—I have been tricked—I have been engaged in a good deal of litigation, unfortunately, through my lawyers—I have made a list of the lawyers I employed, with an account of what they did, and why I dismissed them—I have employed about four or five firms on this litigation, I should think—bills of costs were to be paid by my trustee out of my estate; my income cannot be anticipated—part of the thing I went to the prisoner for was to settle these lawyers' bills of costs—after a time he settled some of the bills with a portion of the money I had lent him—he settled Mr. Rushton's bill of £29 with £15 after some years—he told me Mr. Rushton had been settled with, and Mr. Rushton told my friends he had not, and then I told the prisoner he must be paid—Mr. Moeran was paid in good time; his bill might have come to £42—I paid him £24 in settlement by the prisoner's cheque on my money; I forced the prisoner to pay it—Mr. Calkin Lewis's bill of £126 0s. 7d. was settled in full—the prisoner persuaded me to run up costs in appealing from the taxing master—I was on friendly terms with the prisoner, as I should be with any gentleman who conducted himself as a gentleman—it was presumption writing to me "Dear Emma"; I told him there could be nothing between us—I wanted him to gain my case—I wrote to him after; I had a great deal to write to him about, because he had taken a special retainer for my cases, and I wished him to come back and finish them—I had no occasion to do other than write in a perfectly friendly way—I was not at all satisfied with what he was doing; he had gone to India unknown to me—I blamed him in one letter for going to India, and leaving me in the hands of a couple of lawyers I did not know, and he wrote and said he would make up for lost time when he came back—he said he was in the habit of consulting mystical men, and I said why did not he do so when he was in India—I do not remember suggesting that he should do so—I was only dissatisfied that he had gone to India without telling me about it, and leaving my things—he said he was going to Vienna; he wrote stating that he did not like to tell me—he told me some months before that he thought he was going to India about the Indian Congress, but when he was departing he said he was only going to Vienna for a few months, and asked me to go out with
him—he said he would do some law work there, and we could go to theatres in the evening; I was not accustomed to that sort of thing—I thought he could not have written such trash as that about my winsome face if he did not mean to win my case; I wrote back that I did not think what he said tallied with his conduct in leaving me—some of my letters were returned from Vienna—I could not help him writing to me—I asked him to come back and see after my affairs—I did not believe, "I could not when under your personal influence make up my mind to leave England and you," since his actions were totally different—he had deceived me—I told him many times when he came back that it was not the right thing to leave me in the lurch like that—I had a solicitor, but no Counsel while he was away, as he asked for a special retainer—afterwards I knew he was engaged on Congress work—for a married man to write such letters shows what he is—after he came back he went on conducting my cases for me—I went to the opening of the exhibition with him, and so did other ladies—he asked me to marry him when he came back, and gave me a list of houses to look at in South Kensington—I left the matter open, he must win my case; I could not think of matrimony at present; I was in legal difficulties—all he ever gave me was a white fan and a moonstone ring from India—I considered I advanced this money as a purely business transaction; I do not mix up love and business as a rule; I should not care for anyone who wanted a lot of money from me—the fact of his being a single or married man had no influence on me at all in this transaction—he was passing as a single man—I never took the iron ore agreement out of his office before it was signed and I had paid the money—when I signed the agreement I had not the money with me; I left with him—I did not take the agreement out of his chambers until I had brought him the £200 and he had given me a receipt—I cannot recollect whether I said before the Magistrate, "I cannot swear whether I had it or not"; I can swear I did not have it in my possession; I never took it away—Frawley, who witnessed the agreement, is an elderly man—Carr owed money to my mother's estate—after I had employed the prisoner I obtained judgment against Carr for £450; Mr. Moeran was my solicitor—I had and still have litigation with my brother—the prisoner launched into much further difficulties; he settled nothing with my brother—the prisoner never offered me back the £200 I advanced for the Iron Ore Company—he said he would try and sell a small portion of my share, but he did not—he said my cousin wanted to buy it, but I found it was untrue—he did not offer me the money, and I did not say I would not take it unless he gave me a bonus of £600—he said I could not expect a bonus if he sold it; I understood from him it was all coming in, but it was untrue—I called and saw him after receiving his letter—he never offered me a penny; I should only have been too glad to take it—I told him I had seen a solicitor, Mr. Kennedy, whom he knew well, and that he had told me the prisoner was a swindle and a fraud; that was when the prisoner told me to ask him personally, and not through a solicitor—the solicitor told me to have the onus—I did not demand the bonus and the £200—the solicitor had written to him—I could not have the bonus, because the thing had not been floated; it was not in existence—it appears that the syndicate was not formed—I think he owes me some interest on the money I lent—he took some for Counsel's fees—£297 has been paid out—he told me he had a concession,
and he thought he was going to wake a syndicate of this iron ore—he said he had lent money to Mr. Ginghorn, or some name like that, and that he had failed to pay him back, therefore he could not pay me—he said Mr. Ginghorn had £1,000 in this iron syndicate—I went to the Mansion House and asked the clerk what was to be done; after that a detective came to me and I gave him papers and letters—I told the prisoner he ought to pay me interest on the money I advanced for the iron ore business, because he had promised to return it in six months if the company were not formed, and he employed it all that time without interest; he said he was going to try and sell it for me—he paid me no interest—he did not pay Waters £49 3s. 6d. for me; I could not get the prisoner to pay the lawyers' bills, and I happened to go into chambers and found there was a charging order on my estate—he paid Mr. Pakeman £15 for me for Counsel's fees—he gave me £10 for Mr. Carr—I don't know if he paid Curtis £12 8s.—I never heard of it. Q. I put it to you that he made these payments on your behalf instead of paying you the interest on the £200? A. The interest of £7 on Waters' "bill had nothing to do with it; he said he got it from the syndicate—he said the £7 was all he had, and he should pay it to Waters.
Re-examined. At the time I got the letter from Vienna he had already got from me £500—when I found he had gone to India and was writing in these affectionate terms, I wrote to him about his having left my business unattended to, and received an answer—some of the payments he made are dealt with on the backs of the receipts, and the there is another £15 for Counsel, but I was charged £35 in the bill—I went and saw about it—the £400 he speaks of paying me if I go down to see him was my £200 for litigation and £200 for the iron ore—I came into contact with the prisoner through the litigation to get the residue of my mother's estate—I did not know when he was in India, or when I met him in London, that he was a married man—later I got information which caused me to ask him whether he was married; he declared he was not—some little time after making a statement at the Mansion House Inspector Richards called on me—I told him my story and gave him documents, and later on, when others were complaining against the prisoner, I was brought up at Bow Street as a witness, and called after Miss Michell's case had been gone into.
WILLIAM NEVILLE STUART . I am a senior clerk in the India Office—I have searched through the records of the Madras Government at that office as between December, 1890, and May, 1891—we also communicated by telegraph with the Madras Government, and received an official answer—I produce a copy of the reply—the granting of a concession by the Indian Government would be reported in ordinary course to the India Office, but the absence of such an entry would not be proof positive of the absence of such a concession being granted; the chances are a hundred to one it would be there. (MR. DARLING objected to the witness giving evidence as to the result of his search at the India Office, and as to the contents of the reply from India. The COMMON SERJEANT upheld the objection.)
about £900—I also had money in the London and County Bank at Windsor—I was seeking employment by which I could support myself—I saw this advertisement in the Morning Post: "Ladies desiring literary training or to become journalists can be received in a well-established London newspaper office. Premium according to amount of training needed. Address 'Success,' care of Willing"—I answered that advertisement, and received a letter making an appointment—I kept the appointment at the beginning of December, 1892—I saw the prisoner—he said he wanted a lady pupil with a premium of £52 10s., and he wished me to send him some of my writing to know whether I should suit him—he said he had 200 replies to his advertisement, and that he had answered four—I went back to Windsor and sent him a manuscript I had written—I went a second time, and he told me he was satisfied with the work; that he would give me £1 1s. a week for six months, and at the end of that period, if I continued to remain with him, £2 2s. a week—I was to work without salary for one month—that interview took place at Figtree Court—I agreed to pay him fifty guineas—I got this letter after that. (This repeated the terms agreed upon at the interview, stated that if the engagement was terminated at the end of the first month he would repay the fifty guineas, and made an appointment for the following Friday)—I instructed my bankers to pay him fifty guineas, and I received this letter of 28th December, 1892, acknowledging its receipt—I did not work at the office, I took work there every day—about Christmas, 1892, he mentioned that his banking account showed a balance every night of £200, and that he got a higher rate of interest from the bank on condition of his doing so—I had money on deposit at Windsor—he asked me where I banked and the amount of interest the bank allowed on deposit—I said two per cent.—it was then he said he got three and a half per cent, on condition of always showing a balance of £200—he told me he lived at Dulwich, that he was often very late, and sometimes did not get back from his work till two or three, but that the servants always left the supper things ready for him—he spoke of his Indian property—I concluded he was in very good circumstances—I began work there about 17th January—he had been ill in January—I had this letter of 16th January from him—something had been said about my coming up to live in town—I came to live in town, taking rooms with my sister; not at the prisoner's suggestion, but in order to be near the work—I had no notion he was married; I believed him to be single—I went on working and going to his office when I came to town towards the end of January I was taking steps with regard to selling my house—I told the prisoner what I was doing, and about the price, and so on—a solicitor at Windsor was acting for me in the matter—the prisoner witnessed the execution of the conveyance dated 11th February—the house sold for £900; the mortgage, £600, and expenses had to be deducted, and I was to get the difference—when I told the prisoner about the house and so on, he asked me if I would invest some money in a white lead company—that was about the same time, while the negotiations were going on—he said the company was being started, and it was doing very well indeed, and he recommended it as a good investment—I said I was arranging to take shares in the Windsor Bank—he said this other would be very much better, and that I
need not put it in permanently, but I could have it out at the end of a month if I cared to invest £100—he said the company was in Glasgow—he spoke to me about it on several occasions—I was not willing to do it at first—I told him I had not the money then—he said, "I have £100 lying idle; I will buy the shares for you, and you can repay me when the negotiations about the house are completed"—I consented to do so—next day he told me he had bought the shares in the white lead company, and put in £100 for me in my name—I believed his statement—two or three days afterwards he began to ask me to repay the money; he asked me two or three times—he said he was temporarily pressed for money as he had to meet a bill—he said Chapman, the draper, of Notting Hill, had failed, and he had £600 in their business, and had lost it—I believed those statements—as soon as the negotiations about the house were completed, and the money had been paid to the solicitor at Windsor, I went down to Windsor, and got £100 from the solicitor there on 14th February, 1893—I brought the cheque to town, getting back between live and six—I saw the prisoner the same evening; I gave him the cheque at the office, Savoy House—he knew I had gone to Windsor; I saw him the morning before I went, and he asked me to get it and bring it back if I could—he was actually waiting for it—he said I must get the remainder as quickly as I could, or, if I did not, I should not be able to get it for a long time, because solicitors would not give it up—once it got into solicitors' hands, he said, it was very difficult to get it out again—I saw him next day, the 15th—I suggested going to Windsor again, and he said he would send my sister—after seeing him I wrote to my solicitor, and my sister went down on the 15th, and returned with a cheque for me—I paid that into my bank at Windsor the same night—on the morning of 16th I received this letter of 15th from the prisoner. (This asked her, if she had no immediate need for £100 of the money Miss Hope had got for her (hat day, to spare it for two or three days, and concluded by saying that a lady of title had just been secured)—the prisoner had spoken of the lady of title in connection with the white lead company—I went and saw the prisoner on 16th—he said he wanted this loan to meet the bill; the banks were closed and he could not get any money, and it would save him borrowing money from his broker—he required £100—he said, "If you lend me £100, it will save my going to ray brokers"—he said he wanted the money for two or three days, and would return it on the following Monday, this being on the Thursday—at that time I had complete confidence in the prisoner, and I believed the had lent me £100; that was why I lent him the second £100—I accordingly gave him this cheque for £100 on my bank at "Windsor on 16th February—he did not repay me £100 on the Monday; I don't think he alluded to it then—two or three days afterwards he said he had not been able to get it out; he had been too busy; he had not been able to get it from the bank—I asked him for the money then—afterwards I asked him for it; he said he would get it for me, let me have it the next day—he paid me a sum of £2; I don't know whether that was for salary or part of the £100—I continued to attend regularly at the office—I asked him for the £100 I had lent him on several occasions; he always put me off, said he had not been able to get it; he had sent to the bank and it was closed, and he made various excuses—after I had parted with this money, and when I had been there some little time, he became very
personally attentive in his conduct—he led me to think he liked me—occasionally he spoke to me in an affectionate way—I asked him once whether he was serious; he said he was—he said I reminded him of somebody he used to like very much, and he also liked me because I held him at a distance, more than other women had done—he spoke to me of marriage; we were to be married in July, and to go up the Rhine for our honeymoon—he wanted to take more room in the house I lived in—he suggested being married at a registry office, because he objected to the fuss of a conventional wedding—I wanted to be married in a church—my sister had gone to the office as well—there were a number of young ladies at the office—my sister was there for two months; she was book-keeper—she paid a deposit of £50—on one occasion the prisoner gave me a cheque for £50, when I asked for the return of my £100—I paid it into my account at the Windsor Bank; it came back, "Refer to drawer"—the prisoner said that was because it was not stamped with the Whitehall Review stamp—he did something with it—I passed the cheque through again; it came back with the same result—I paid it in two or three times—he was ill at one time—I wrote to him at that time, and I received these letters from him. (The letter of '2nd May, 1893, stated that he had to go to the House of Commons that evening in pursuit of pupils and the syndicate)—in August my sister made a communication to me, as the result of which I went to Dulwich and made inquiries; some time afterwards I told the prisoner that I found he was a married man with a family—he denied it—he said it would be a cruel wrong to me if it were so; but "The woman you are pleased to call Mrs. O'Flynn is not my wife, and has nothing to do with me"—I asked him to explain it—he said he would write me an explanation, and that he meant to tell me all about it—I believed his statement that he was not married—he said, "I swear to you before God that I am not married"—I said I would wait for his explanation; he did not give it to me—my sister got her £50 back with a great deal of difficulty; a solicitor sued for it, and it was afterwards paid in instalments—I went to Messrs. Paine and Co., solicitors, to consult them about my sister in the first instance, in April, 1893—afterwards they learnt about my position with regard to my £200; they wrote to the editor of the Whitehall Review—I learnt afterwards that they had sued O'Flynn for my money, and got judgment—O'Flynn spoke to me about it, and said an execution had been put in his house—he said he had written to the solicitors making a proposition as to the repayment of the money—he said that writs would neither hinder nor advance the matter—he said the house did not belong to him, he had only one room there, and only about £10 worth of property in the house, perhaps not that—I believed what he said, and eventually instructed my solicitor to withdraw the execution—he said the house belonged to Mr. Long—after some little time had elapsed and I had made inquiries about "Houlgate, I saw prisoner—I believed I was engaged to be married to him—Messrs. Paine, after a time, ceased to act for me—later on I saw some other solicitors—while the matter was going on I had borrowed money, and got two of his cheques changed by friends for him—in August, 1893, he gave me this promissory note for £200 for my money—eventually I was taken by some solicitors to Messrs. Wontner and Sons, who put my case before the Treasury, and eventually I saw Inspector Richards.
Cross-examined. I first saw the prisoner upon the question of becoming his pupil to learn journalism—at that time I had had no practice as a journalist—after the course of instruction I got from him I wrote a good deal on the Whitehall Review, a society paper—I wrote the ladies' article, the general notes and lectures, matinees, reports and reviews—I wrote a considerable amount of the paper every week—I was unable to do that until I had been instructed by the prisoner—I was satisfied to a certain extent with his instruction—I became an easy and fluent writer in consequence of his instruction—he first sent me cuttings from the papers, and I had to paraphrase them—after a month I wrote a great deal on the paper—I do not write at present, I mean to—I have been taught a profession which I mean to practice if I get the opportunity—I believe the Whitehall Review is going on now; I have nothing to do with it at present—I know nothing about it—during the time was writing on it one article appeared in it concerning the white lead company and a syndicate—I believe the speciality of this white lead company was that it was to have Mr. Pape's patent—the article did not say so, so far as I recollect—the prisoner mentioned the process to me—it was to make white lead manufacture a harmless, innocuous trade—the prisoner told me that white lead making had been represented in Parliament and elsewhere as dangerous, and that he was attempting to get a Commission to inquire into the value of Mr. Papes process—in connection with it he and a lot of other journalists went to Glasgow—he said he had been to the House of Commons to get members to ask questions about white lead making—he did prevail on members to put questions—the prisoner mentioned something about a syndicate to promote the purchase by the company of Mr. Pape's process—I believe the prisoner showed me this letter from Mr. Tennant, Mr. Asquith's secretary. (This regretted that Mr. Asquith could not give a personal interview, but that the would consider anything submitted in writing, and suggesting that the matter should be explained to Mr. Oram, the Chief Inspector of Factories)—the prisoner told me he was interested in a syndicate in connection with the white lead company, and that he was trying to get a Committee of the House of Commons to inquire and report upon it—I may have said before the Magistrate, "I believe he said he expected to receive a considerable sum of money from a Mr. Pape if the syndicate turned out successful; I believe he spoke about receiving £60 from Mr. Pape for his exertions in getting a Committee appointed"—I remember he said he was to receive £100, but I did not understand it was from Mr. Pape—I understood I was to have 5 per cent, for the loan of my money for a month—I understood that Messrs. Paine sued for money invested in the white lead company—the prisoner had paid me £5—the first. £100 I lent to the prisoner for himself the second £100 was to be invested in the white lead company, as I understood it—the prisoner paid me £5 for interest on the first £100, and he said he would give me £50 off the second £100, and he gave me a cheque which was dishonoured; the second £5 he gave me was an instalment of the repayment of the first £100—my solicitor brought the action for two sums of £100 each, giving credit for a payment on account of £5, and leaving a balance of £195—I left the matter in my solicitor's ands—I gave him authority to sue for money lent as to both £100—the
second £100 was lent to the prisoner for a term of a few days—the writ was issued in April—I continued on perfectly friendly terms with the prisoner while this action was going on, and long afterwards—the proceedings were settled at my instance, because he gave me an explanation why he could not repay the money, and said he was going to repay it at the end of the quarter, and gave me a promissory note—after that a day was fixed for my marriage with him—my solicitor advised me not to take the promissory note; I did take it eventually—the prisoner's solicitor drew it up—I received it from him at his office in August—practically I had no solicitor at the time—I had given up going to Mr. Paine—the promissory note has not been paid; it bore interest—I received some instalments on it at different times, amounting in all to £24—I believe the last instalment I received was in September or October—I heard the prisoner say he had been in Government employment in India—I heard he was a barrister—he told me he was a graduate of Cambridge—I knew he lived at Dulwich—I saw no boys who called him father come to the office—on 12th July I went to "Houlgate," Dulwich—I ascertained a lady, going by the name of Mrs. O'Flynn, and a family lived there, but the prisoner afterwards told me that she was not his wife, and I believed his statement—my solicitors distinctly told me about 13th or 14th July that they had discovered the prisoner was not married; I had discussed the question with them on my return from Dulwich—they made inquiries and said he was not married—about a fortnight or three weeks after I had been to Dulwich, I spoke to the prisoner about it—I had not seen the prisoner in the meantime; I had left the office then—my engagement was broken off then—I did not write to him—the prisoner said, "I am in the nasty position of having to meet a bill"; whether it was in connection with Chapman or not I don't know, but he spoke immediately afterwards about Chapman's failure—he may have said that he had unexpectedly to meet this bill—he did not say he would rather have lost £600 than have had to meet this bill just then; he said through Chapman's failure he had lost £600, because he had £600 in his concern—the conversation began by his asking me to return the money to him which he had invested for me in the White Lead Company—he did not say he was a partner in Chapman's business, but that he had money in it—I did not understand it was a bill he had given to Chapman—that conversation was early in February, I fancy—I only know Chapman by name; I knew he was a draper at Notting Hill—I never dealt with him—I said at the Police-court, "The defendant spoke of Messrs. Chapman, of Notting Hill; he said he had had to meet a bill"—I do not remember his saying "unexpectedly"—he mentioned at the same time of the failure of Messrs. Chapman—I did not understand him to connect the two things, but he may have done ho—he did not say he would rather have lost £600 than that they should fail then—I don't think he connected the bill with Chapman's failure in his conversation with me.
Re-examined. I believed the prisoner had actually parted with £100 with regard to the White Lead Company—I believed his statement that it was a pity I should lose the chance of putting the money in—believing his statements about losing £600 through the failure of Mr. Chapman, of Notting Hill, I went to Windsor and got £100 from the solicitor before the sale of my house was completed—I should not have parted with the second
£100 if I had not believed he had lent me £100—I believed the statements he made me during all the time—there is no ground for suggesting that any boys came to the office and addressed him as father—I accepted his statement when he said he was not married, and I heard the fact from Mr. Paine—my sister's money was repaid to her by a series of small sums of five shillings and upwards.
FREDERICK WILBRAHAM RANDALL FORD . I am a solicitor, and a member of the firm of Phillips, Randall and Ford, of Windsor—I acted for Miss Michell with reference to the sale of her house—after paying the mortgage there was a balance of £300 to come to her, subject to certain deductions—this is the conveyance which I sent to Miss Michell, and which she returned executed and witnessed by the prisoner—on 14th February, 1893, she came from London, and asked for £100—I gave her this cheque for £100—next morning I received this letter, and after that Miss Hope Michell, the sister, came to my office and asked for the balance, and I gave her this cheque for £184 17s. 10d., the balance of he transaction, payable to Miss Hetty Michell; it is endorsed "Miss Hetty Michell," in her writing.
ERNEST FRANK BARROW . I am a clerk in the London and County Bank, Windsor Branch—Miss Hetty Michell had an account there—on her instruction on 27th December, 1892, I paid to Dillon O'Flynn fifty guineas by this cheque—this is his receipt—the cheque, is crossed "Glynn," who are the clearing agents of the Agra Bank, and it bears the stamp of the Agra Bank—on the 16th February. 1893, I paid £100 to the Agra Bank by this cheque, and on 18th February a second £100 upon this cheque, presented through the Agra Bank.
JAMES JURE PATELLA I am an accountant—I was in the employment of the French and American White Lead Syndicate—there was no allotment of shares in December, 1892—the prisoner invested no money in that company either in his own name or in Hetty Michell's name.
Cross-examined. Mr. Wilkie, who was called as a clerk of the company before the Magistrate, is in Scotland—I saw the prisoner twice come to the company's office to see Mr. Pape, the promoter and the proprietor of the process—I understood that the prisoner was using his influence with others to have a commission appointed to inquire into all the processes of the manufacture of white lead, with a view to showing that Papes process was the most harmless—I believed a departmental committee was appointed—£50 was paid we the prisoner by the syndicate in respect of the time and trouble he had given to get the committee appointed—the syndicate and the company are still in existence—Mr. Pape sold his interest to the syndicate—the process is still being worked—no dividends have been paid—we have an office; the factory is in Glasgow—I cannot say if the factory is turning out well—I understand that the report of the departmental committee is embodied in a Blue Book.
ERNEST ALFRED FOSTER . I am a clerk to my father, the secretary of the White Lead Company, Caledonia Works, Glasgow—the prisoner never invested any money in that company, either in his own name or that of Hetty Michell.
JAMES CHAPMAN . I live at 3, Portland Road, Notting Hill—I formerly carried on business at 1, Castle Terrace, Notting Hill—the prisoner had an account with me running from 1890 to 1893—he made payments with.
reference to that account, paying me cheques, and also giving me bills—at the beginning of 1893 he owed me £29 5s. 2d., and he had given me a bill which was coming due, and which was deposited in my bank—on 16th February, 1893, he sent me £10, but the bill was already under discount at my bankers—on 18th or 20th February the prisoner called, and I returned him the £10—at that time I was in difficulties—I had made an assignment; my affairs were out of my hands then, and the accountant gave me the £10 to give to him—the prisoner had no money invested in my business, and did not lose a farthing as the result of my failure.
Cross-examined. Possibly the bill had been renewed—I presume the prisoner sent the £10 with a request that I should renew the bill, but I had got into difficulties, and the bill was presented at a time when it was very inconvenient for him to meet it, I presume—I had been in business for some time—the bill was met; every penny was paid—I don't know what difficulties he had to go through in order to meet it.
MATILDA CHARLOTTE LOW . I am a nurse at the Lambeth Infirmary—I was present when the prisoner married my sister Elizabeth Louisa Low at Madras in 1876—she has lived with him since at "Houlgate," Dulwich, with a family of five children; I have seen them—she is still alive—no one but my sister, the children, and the prisoner live at "Houlgate."
Cross-examined. I did not live there; I paid visits—I heard him say he was editor of the Whitehall Review—I knew where the office was—I never saw it—the prisoner had four sons, the eldest is now fifteen—they frequently went to London with him and alone—he went to London in the morning to attend to his editorial duties—sometimes the boys went with him—I don't know if he had property in India; he had shares in companies in India.
Re-examined. I was in India myself.
ARTHUR CHARLES HODGES . I am ledger keeper at the National Provincial Bank of England, Carey Street Branch—an account at our bank in the name of the Law Gazette was taken over by the prisoner in June, 1892—I produce a certified copy—it was a small account with a balance of a few pounds—between December, 1892, and January, 1893, there was an average balance of £5 or £6—in March it was £3.
Cross-examined. This account related only to the Law Gazette Publishing Company and the Law Gazette, and had no relation to his private account or the Whitehall Review account.
CHARLES SPREAG . I am secretary of the London and Universal Bank, 149, Strand—Marix had an account there in the name of the Whitehall Review; that account was taken over by the prisoner in October, 1891—he did not keep a daily balance of £200 with us—in September, 1892, I wrote these two letters to him as to closing the account in consequence of the manner in which he operated on it. (The first stated that a cheque for £18 11s. was returned that morning) and that if another was returned the account would be closed. The second stated that another cheque was presented that morning, that there was not enough to meet it, and that his account was closed)—I handed him the balance.
Cross-examined. From October to December, 1891, the prisoner drew cheques amounting to over £800 in respect of the Whitehall Review; from January to June, 1892, cheques amounting to £2,389 3s. 11d.;
and from July to September, 1892, cheques amounting to £624 2s. 4d.—I cannot say to whose use that money was applied—those cheques were all honoured.
Re-examined. I have no personal knowledge as to his connection with the Whitehall Review, or of how he got possession of it, or of whose money it was—he was introduced by the late proprietor—before the end of twelve months the account was closed.
JOHN BUCHER .—I am a clerk in the employment of Mr. Willing, an advertising agent, of 125, Strand—the prisoner has been in the habit of inserting advertisements in the Daily News, Telegraph, Standard, Times, Morning Post, Cambridge Chronicle, and Oxford Journal, through that agency, from September, 1891, to about July, 1893—as to the Times, Telegraph, and Standard, the advertisements were for literary pupils—I produce the original advertisements, and a list I have made of them.
Cross-examined. The prisoner paid me with his cheque—I was Mrs. Bevan's solicitor in this matter only—she told me he had some money of hers and he would send me a cheque for what was required to settle this matter of business—she asked my advice on a matter which was pending—I made out a bill of costs against the prisoner for the work I did for her; she told me to look to the prisoner—about £7 is still due to me—I charge that against the prisoner.
CHARLES RICHARDS (Detective Inspector). I was instructed to make inquiries into the prisoner's conduct—I did so, and saw certain persons, and took statements from them, and as the result a warrant was applied for and obtained at Bow Street for his arrest—I executed that warrant on 13th April—I said, "Mr. O'Flynn, I am Inspector Richards, of Scotland Yard, and this is Sergeant Haytor, and I hold a warrant for your arrest for fraud, and it will be necessary for you to accompany me to Bow Street Police-station"—he said, "Oh, cannot I see my solicitor first?"—I said, "No"—he said, "I wish to communicate with my solicitor, Sir George Lewis"—I said, "You may telegraph to him immediately we get to the station"—on the way to the station he said, "What is the charge?"—I said, "I will read the warrant to you"—I read it—he made no reply—the warrant charges him with obtaining the two sums of £100 each from the young lady—after a few minutes' hesitation he said, "This is a false charge; but of course that is nothing to do with you"—at the station he made no reply to the charge—I found on the prisoner a paper relating to a man in possession at "Houlgate," a pawnticket, and other papers—I afterwards searched the office at Essex Street—I found a bankruptcy petition for £135, bankruptcy notices for £118 and £90, letters demanding repayment of money, and these other documents, of which this is a correct list.
LOMAS BEAUMONT . I am ledger keeper at the Agra Bank—the prisoner had an account there from 1st January, 1890, or earlier, in the name of John James Dillon O'Flynn—on 5th February, 1890, £200 was paid in by a cheque on the National Provincial Bank, which made the total to his credit £248 12s. 1d.—cheques were drawn or that of £10 on 20th May to Bevan, of £10 on 30th May to Bevan, and there was an acceptance of
£ 15 3s. on 31st May to Mr. Chapman, and then a number of other small cheques to different people—on 21st April, 1890, the credit was £153, which went down to £16 in June, 1890—on 17th November, 1890, the credit balance was £78—next day a cheque for £126 18s. was paid in, bringing the balance to £205—on 19th December, £100 was drawn in favour of the National Bank of India, and on that date the credit balance was £1 12s.—on 7th October, 1890, I find a credit of £100—on 4th August £4 16s. 2d. was standing to the credit of the account; £180 was paid in that day by cash—on 8th August I find a payment to Mr. Curtis of £130, which brought the credit balance down to £13 1s. 4d.—I find no entry down to April, 1893, of a payment to Ginghorn, or any such name—on 28th December, 1892, I find a payment in of £52 10s.; the balance before that was £2 14s. 7d.—by 31st December there was a debit balance of 18s. 11d.; but the prisoner had been debited with two guineas for commission—on 3rd February, 1893, he had a debit balance of £4 10s. 7d.—on 13th February he had a credit balance of £14 4s. 3d.—on 15th February he paid in £100—on that day a cheque for £80 was drawn in the name of Brazier—we allowed him to draw against the £100 cheque on a Windsor bank—we made inquiries whether the cheque would be honoured, and found it would be—we telegraphed at the prisoner's instance, and receiving an answer honoured the £80 cheque, so that in effect the £80 was drawn out of our bank before we received the £100 from Windsor—the entry of "£100 Windsor" on 17th February is the receipt by our bank of the £100 from the County Bank—after £100 had been received from Windsor, there was a credit to the account of £10 6s. 9d.—by the evening of 19th February there was a debit balance of £89 5s.—I produce two paying-in slips of 17th February of £100 on the Windsor bank to the credit of the account—this is the cheque represented by the paying-in slip of 16th, drawn by Hetty Michell on the Windsor bank; it was paid in on 17th—the transaction on 18th was similar to that on 15th—the money reached the bank on 20th—it was merely a matter of book-keeping—by the 20th there was a debit balance of 11s. 2d.—two of the cheques on 20th are cheques in favour of Michell—the prisoner was allowed to overdraw his account, but never without permission—there was no nightly balance of £200 to his account in February—there was no arrangement with him that he should keep £200 balance, and derive advantage from it—I have a list of dishonoured cheques relating to this account—from 1892 to February, 1894, over one hundred cheques were dishonoured.
Cross-examined. The Agra Bank is particularly affected by people with an Indian connection—the prisoner banked with us for a good many years—on June 23rd, 1890, his balance was £411—he deposited securities with the bank in the first instance for safe custody; they may have become cover eventually—I believe he has overdrawn to the extent of £300; that was when we had some security—in April, 1889, we held Hungarian bonds, which realised £1,014—on November 9th, 1889, we had Consols which sold for £193 4s., and on December 4th Consols which sold for £96 belonging to him—we sold for him rupee paper for £93 on 1st September, 1890, and for £374 on 14th December, 1891—his account was closed in May after his arrest—from July to December, 1891, £1,795 was paid to his credit; from July to December, 1892,
£1, 145; from January to June, 1893, £1,776; from January to June, 1892, £1,774; from July to December, 1893, £308—at one time we allowed interest on balances of £100 and upwards, but the balance has been raised to £300—the prisoner never had such a balance, and was never allowed interest on his balance—some of the dishonoured cheques were presented again at a later date, and honoured.
WILLIAM PAINE . I am a solicitor, and a member of the firm of Paine, Blythe and Huxtable, formerly Paine, Son and Pollock, of St. Helen's Place—in April, 1893, I received a communication from Miss Michel, and had an interview with her, as the result of which I wrote the letter of 10th April, 1893, to the prisoner—I was naturally desirous of getting her money for her if I could—I acted for her sister in getting her money—I tried to get judgment under Order 14; that was resisted—ultimately I got judgment in respect of Miss Hetty Michell, but not in respect of Miss Hope Michell, and the defence was set up that she was a minor—after some correspondence with him, and after judgment had been signed and an execution put in on 24th April, he called on me with Miss Michell, and said the sheriff was in possession of his house; that the house and the furniture did not belong to him; I understood him to say that he had the furniture from a hiring company, and that he was only occupying one room in the house, and living on 15s. or £1 a week, less than some of his employes, and that I could get nothing by the execution, and he urged me to withdraw the sheriff—I said Miss Michell had told me the money was advanced to him for the purpose of being invested in a white lead company or syndicate, and I asked him to produce evidence that the money had been properly invested—I understood him to say he was in a position to produce the certificates then, that the money had not been invested in a formal company, but in a syndicate which was preliminary to the company being formed, and that negotiations were proceeding, and representations had been made in high quarters which would lead to the invention becoming of great value—I took Miss Michell into a separate room, and had a conference with her—ultimately I received her instructions to withdraw the sheriff—I had further correspondence with the prisoner—I think on the 24th the prisoner said he was interested in the Law Gazette and Whitehall Review, and had money coming in from those, and he suggested the appointment of Miss Michell as receiver under the judgment—we found another receiver in front of us—I ceased to act for Miss Michell in consequence of her not acting on my advice—I discontinued the action brought for Miss Hope Michell because the prisoner set up she was a minor.
Cross-examined. The action I brought for Miss Michell was for money lent; £100 on 14th February, and £100 on 16th February—I think I made inquiries of Messrs. Cannon and Palmer after the execution had been put in—I did not tell Miss Michell we had discovered there was a Mrs. O'Flynn; she told me—six weeks or two months subsequent to the judgment she said she had had a promise of marriage from Mr. O'Flynn, and I think at the same time she said she had been down with her sister to "Houlgate," and they had ascertained that Mr. O'Flynn was living with a lady under suspicious circumstances, but she told me she had been assured that the lady was not the prisoner's wife—I think she said there were children—I thought she was acting wrongly in instructing us to
withdraw the execution—after I ceased to act for her she took a promissory note.
ERNEST ARDING ABRAHAMS . I assist my uncle in the firm of Abrahams and Sons, law stationers, of Middle Temple Lane—I have done work for the prisoner—I have an entry in our book on 30th July, 1891, "Engrossed agreement for Mr. J. D. O'Flynn"—this apparently is the agreement referred to—on 28th August, 1891, we engrossed another.
The prisoners statement before the Magistrate was read, giving his account of the transactions between himself and Mrs. Bevan and Miss Michell, and denying any intention to defraud
There were other indictments against the prisoner for obtaining money by false pretences from other persons.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
The COURT highly commended Inspector Richards.
OLD COURT.—Monday and Tuesday, July 30th and 31st, 1894.
Before Mr. Justice Lawrance.
632. THOMAS CANTWELL (28), and CHARLES THOMAS QUIN (24), were indicted for unlawfully soliciting, encouraging and persuading Henry Braden and others to murder members of the Royal Family and others. Other Counts, for unlawfully making seditious and inflammatory speeches, and for publishing a seditious libel.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS and MUIR Prosecuted, and MESSRS. SURRAGE and CLEAVER Defended.
JOSEPH WELCH . I am a labourer—on 29th June, about half-past one, I was near the tea warehouse on Tower Hill—I saw the two prisoners there, with two other men—Cantwell had a bill in his pocket; he took it out and showed it to the other three who were with him: "Tower Bridge. Fellow Workers. You have expended life, energy, and skill in building this bridge. Now come the Royal vermin and rascally politicians with pomp and splendour to claim all the credit. You are condemned to the workhouse and the paupers' grave to glorify these lazy swine, who live upon your labour. I heard men saying, Leave tears and praying, The sharp knife heedeth not the sheep. Are we not stronger than the rich and wronger, when day breaks over dreams and sleep"—then one of them took some bills out of his pocket, and they were distributed between them to others—they were something like this (Produced), (Headed, "Why Vaillant threw the bomb")—Quin then got on the rampart, opened the paper, and held the pamphlet in his hand—I did not hear what was said.
Cross-examined. I do not know who the other two men were—I know them by sight, and I should know them again—I did not read the heading of the tract; I do not know whether it was anything like these (Produced)—no one told me to come and give evidence—a constable came and asked me if I was on Tower Hill that day.
FREDERICK CAVE . I am a commercial clerk out of employment, living at 77, Whitechapel Road—on Friday, 29th June, I went to Tower Hill to see the decorations on the Tower Bridge, which was to be opened the next day—as I was passing in front of a tea warehouse I saw Cantwell get on a wall—he unrolled a poster of this colour (yellow)—
I could rend all of it, except the four lines of poetry at the bottom—it was pasted on a piece of brown paper—at first, when he began to speak, I was a little way off—after a little time I drew nearer to him—he was then making a reference to the position of capital and labour, referring to the unemployed, exhorting them to join his party, as they were being deceived by both political parties—he said, "I am very ill, hardly able to be here to-day"—he was asked by one of the crowd, "Are you an Anarchist?"—he said, "Yes, I am; I am proud of it"—further on in his speech, referring to the Prince of Wales and the Royal Family, he used these words, "As for the Prince of Wales and the Royal vermin, I would serve them as other vermin are," and referring to the next day's ceremony, the opening of the Tower Bridge, he said, "As for the blackguard crew who will be on the Tower Bridge to-morrow, they are only fit for bombs"—he then asked where were the widows and orphans of those men who had lost their lives in the building of the Tower Bridge—for anything they knew they would be starving, while Royalty would be feeding—further on he said, "I have fought for the cause; I have suffered for the cause, and I am willing to die for the cause; we shall be heard of again and again "in reference to the next day, and he was willing to lead any who chose to follow him—referring to the assassination of President Carnot he justified it, as having been an act committed in the best interest of the working classes, and asserting that that view was held by Lord Salisbury and Lord Rosebery, and he proceeded to quote from what he said was in a recent speech of Lord Rosebery's to that effect—as soon as the crowd found what were the sentiments and the object of Cantwell they became extremely hostile, and there was a great deal of commotion—it was very difficult therefore to hear all that he said, but I am sure I heard what I have repeated—at last, when he got to the end, there were cries of "Lynch him!"—that was after Quin had spoken—Cantwell got down from the parapet, and handed the placard to Quin, who mounted the parapet, and opened his speech with these words, "Comrades and fellow workers, I fully endorse the able speech which my comrade has placed before you"—further on he was greatly interrupted; the crowd told him they had heard enough; they did not want to hear him—further on, in the course of his speech, referring to the assassination of President Carnot, he said, "Comrades, we have been heard of in France, and we shall be heard of again to-morrow"—he did not say what he was, but he said he fully endorsed the sentiments of his comrade—he held up the Anarchists as being the only sound party, and the friends of the working men—I recollect nothing further in his speech—it was a scene of continual excitement—he was pulled down from the parapet; the crowd raised the cry of "Lynch him! Lynch him! Lynch them!" the speakers—during the course of the proceedings, references to the Anarchist party were met by the crowd with cries of," Shoot them! Shoot them!" and when Cantwell was referring to the members of the Royal Family in the vile language he used the crowd called for cheers for the Queen and the Royal Family, and they were given—Quin was hustled down from the wall, and I saw him and Cantwell run away, but they were so completely hustled by the crowd that I lost sight of them when they turned the corner of the tea warehouse—I lost sight of Cantwell for the time being, but I saw him afterwards—I followed him into Gracechurch Street,
and there saw him claiming the protection of the police—Quin entirely disappeared from my sight—Cantwell appeared very haggard, and appealed to the police to save him from the crowd—it was an excited crowd, which blocked the whole traffic—that was the last I saw of Cantwell.
Cross-examined. Q. Where do you live?—A. What has that to do with the case? have been shadowed already, and I shall remove from where I am now living; the address I have given is where I slept last night; I am not employed as a commercial clerk now; I was last so employed in the middle of last September; since then I have had a serious illness; I refuse to answer where I was last employed; I left it from illness—when I first saw Cantwell mount the parapet I Was standing on the pavement, opposite Trinity Square—when he was speaking I stood some thirty or forty yards from the parapet—it was about half-past one; I know the time, because I had not long before seen the clock of the Steam Navigation Company—I am not acquainted with Braden—I have never before assisted the police in a case—I don't know who it was that asked Cantwell, "Are you an Anarchist?"—it was a stranger to me—I did not see any pamphlets distributed—Cantwell said that the assassination of President Carnot was fully justified—those were the words—those were the words I used at Guildhall, and he said, "As having been done in the highest interests of the working classes"—I occasionally report for the newspapers; not for any newspaper in particular, any that will take my report—I reported these proceedings for newspapers: the St. James's Gazette, the Evening News and Post—I have not a copy of my report for the Evening News—this (produced)is a copy (The Witness read it)—I did not see who pulled Quin down from the parapet—he did not step down; he had not the chance—there was nothing about "bombs" in the report for the Evening News—if I had said anything about bombs my report would not have been received—I don't know that they do not care for sensational reports; they might think they wanted verification—I did not hear anyone but Quin use the word "bombs"—I took notes of the words he used; the notes are destroyed; you always destroy them when you make out the report, unless you think they might be called for afterwards, and I never had the slightest idea that they would have been—I do not know this report in the Echo of the same day; it is not mine—I stood thirty or forty yards away from the speaker, as near as I can guess; I have not measured—I heard what was said—at intervals, of course, there was a great deal of disturbance—in my report in the St. James's Gazette, there are the words, "blackguard vermin"—I consider that vulgarity; the word "bombs" is a criminal idea.
RICHARD WINSLEY (402 H). On Friday, 29th June, I was on duty on Tower Hill—at 1.30 my attention was directed to Cantwell addressing a meeting—he had in his hand a placard on a piece of brown paper—this is a copy of it—I heard portions of what he said—there were about fifty people there when I first saw him—I heard him say that they intended to make war against the bloodsuckers, and there were men, as they knew, willing to die for the cause, and it mattered not to him how much he was abused, at the proper time he was willing to do the same—I heard a shout in the crowd of "Carnot"—I cannot remember the exact words he used, but he said in effect there were plenty in England who ought to be served the
same—he was referring to capitalists and members of the Stock Exchange; and further on, speaking of President Carnot, he said he considered it was a necessity for the interests of the workmen that those persons should be removed—he was there at half-past one, and he got off the parapet at three minutes to two—then Quin got up, and the placard was handed to him, and he commenced to address the meeting—he said, "Comrades," and then there was a great deal of holloaing, and further on in his speech he said, "I tell you we were heard of in France, and we will be heard of again to-morrow, and again and again"—there were cries of, "Pull him off" and "Lynch him"—he then got down—before he got down he saw me writing this down; I wrote it down at the time, and he said, "You think that the police are here for your protection, but you never made a greater mistake in your life; they are kept up by the capitalists to keep you down"—Cantwell, while addressing the crowd, had a small pamphlet in his hand besides the yellow placard—Quin went into a church that was under repair close by; the door was open, and he went in—the crowd was very hostile to him; I think he was glad to get in there—Cantwell hurried off along Great Tower Street—while the speaking was going on I sent for assistance, because the crowd were so hostile—I was afraid the men might get lynched, or something of that kind—the crowd was then about 300.
Cross-examined. I did not make a note of the whole of Cantwell's speech—I made my note about an hour after it occurred, at the station—I can produce it—this is it—I made it for the Inspector—I was not assisted by anyone in making it—other officers had not spoken to me about what had occurred; I was relieved from duty, and had gone home, and another officer was sent after me to make out the report, and I came back to the station and did it—I have sworn to something that is not in this note—I was not told to repeat everything I heard; it is not usual in reports—I saw Cantwell take out a notebook—there was a good deal of disturbance while he was speaking; my attention was taken away from time to time—I can recollect what I heard, the other parts I could not—I did not see any pamphlets distributed—I did not hear either of the prisoners say that the Royal Family should be served like Carnot, not in those words—Cantwell made some reference to a speech of Lord Salisbury's.
Re-examined. I cannot remember the words, but I know the effect they had on me at the time, and a number of others—the effect was that several of the Royal Family here ought to be served the same as Monsieur Carnot.
ALFRED HEWLETT . I was a mail-cart driver to Mr. Allen, contractor to the Post Office, for a year and seven months, and I am a pensioner from the Dragoon Guards—on 29th June I went to look at the decorations on Tower Hill; my attention was called to a small crowd near a tea warehouse—there were about twenty or thirty persons, but it increased to a great number—I saw Cantwell on the parapet, holding a yellow pamphlet in front of him—he said, "The Prince of Wales is coming here to-morrow, with all his pomp and vanity, and the Royal Family to open the bridge to-morrow. Support should be given to the widows and children of the men who have lost their lives"—then he said, "Do not allow him to open the bridge. Do away with the Royal Family, and then you will get your rights"—I said to him, "What do you
mean? do you want it all?"—he took no notice of that—I said, "I expect you have got a bomb in your pocket now; it is a pity it will not go off and blow your head off"—I said, "Three cheers for the Prince of Wales and the Royal Family," it was responded to by the crowd—I said, "You should be in the dock in front of Mr. Justice Hawkins, with your pal from Chelsea. I suppose you are one of the associates of those engaged in the assassination of M. Carnot"—he said, "Good will come of that, and the crowd hissed him down off the parapet—after that I went to the corner, and he was giving pamphlets away, of the same pattern as this (produced), "Why Vaillant threw the Bomb"—while Cantwell was distributing the pamphlets Quin got up and began to address the crowd—I took out a card from my pocket, and said, "You should have your likeness taken, to know you"—he went on with the same language; the crowd got hot on him, and he had to get down and run—I kept alongside of him—he ran into a church; I went in and saw him go into a pew—the police went in and he was sitting reading a book; I pointed him out, and the Inspector came in and took his name and address—they took him out at the back door, and that was the last I saw of him—I did not see what became of Cantwell—he ran down Seething Lane way, followed by a number of the crowd—I ran close alongside of him, and asked him what he had done with the bill he had in front of him—he said it was stolen away from him.
Cross-examined. I have no occupation at present—I was last employed the week before last; I left Mr. Allen's on the second day of the year—I was standing against a past at this meeting, only the width of the pavement off—I don't know any of the witnesses in the case—I used the word "bomb"—I interrupted the speaker—I had not been to other, meetings—I have been to Ireland taking charge of a boycotted farm—when I was discharged from the army—I have my character for thirty-six years—I said at Guildhall that I was at Kilkenny—I did not assist in any police case in Ireland—I left my last employment, here I had been ten years and seven months, on account of a little dispute; they accused me of being under the influence of drink—I was fined for it once—I was not a member of the Carmen's Union; I was totally against them; I was asked to join, but I did not—I never got a list of the members; I never mixed myself up with them—I was never entrusted with funds to take care of—I was never accused of misappropriating any; I swear that.
ALFRED WILLIAM MARTIN . I sell guide books to the Tower, outside the Tower gates—about half-past one on Friday, the 29th of June, I saw Cantwell standing on the wall opposite the tea warehouse with a yellow bill in his hand—there were about seventy to eighty people round him—I he began speaking about the Tower Bridge—he said the bridge should be opened by the people; they found the money to build the bridge, and they ought to have opened it, instead of the Royal vermin and political reptiles—somebody called out "How about Carnot?"—he said, "We shall have some more of that here; we have made ourselves felt in France, we will make ourselves felt in London, "or" here"—I won't say he said "London"; I think "here" was his exact word—"No doubt there are plenty of men willing to die, and I am willing to lead them"—
that was in reference to the opening of the bridge on the morrow—just a minute or two after that there was a general hue and cry, "Lynch him! Lynch him!" and I began to edge off the crowd—there were about 400 or 500 people there—I did not see any papers given away; I saw some with papers in their hands—I saw one was "Why Vaillant threw the bomb," and what I saw in the man's hand looked to me the same kind of thing—I heard Quin say, "Fellow workmen," and then there was a general mettle and I did not hear what he said—I heard no speech at all on the part of Quin; it was simply Cantwell I heard speaking.
Cross-examined. I did not take any notes—I think I have a very good memory, considering my age—I might have said before the Magistrate that I had a middling memory—there was a good deal of disturbance at the close of Cantwell' a speech—I did not see anybody distributing the pamphlets—the men who halloaed at them looked like men come out for their dinner, or that class of men—I live at 206, Globe Road, Mile End—I have resided there upwards of six months—Constable 402 came to me, and spoke to me with reference to this matter.
Re-examined. He knew I was there—he asked what I had heard—I told him, and he conducted me to the solicitor at Guildhall, and I gave him my proof.
HENRY BRADEN . On 29th June I was on Tower Hill, between one and two—I saw Cantwell standing on the parapet, holding in his left hand a yellow paper, with black letters on it—I heard him speak—he spoke of the Prince of Wales, the Queen, and Royal Family—he said, "Working men, fight for your rights;" the working men that built the bridge were the persons to open it, and not such a man as the Prince of Wales, who got his money for nothing; the working men ought to share the same fate as anyone else if they put up with the English law; the deeds that had been done were not half bad enough to any extent—there was hooting, and groaning and hissing, and I could not hear all he said—the crowd called out, "How bout Carnot?"—he said, "You will hear some more shortly"—he said working men had been killed during the building of the bridge, and their widows and children ought to receive some recompense, but there was only the workhouse—then there was hooting and groaning again, and hissing all the time—I walked down from where I was standing at the back, and came up to the Tiptop tea warehouse, and as I got to the wall he handed the paper to the second speaker, Quin, but I did not hear him speak—after Cantwell got down from the wall I went up to him and said, "You dirty dog, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, speaking in the manner you have; you ought to be shot"—I asked him if he was an Anarchist—he said, "Yes"—I said, "A bright specimen, too"—the crowd called out—he pushed me on the chest, and I pushed him back and called him a dirty dog again—the crowd called out, "Lynch him!"—I followed him across Tower Hill till we got to the corner of Barking Alley, and I said, I Get along, you dirty dog; you are an Anarchist"—he put his hand in the breast of his coat, and I called him a dirty dog again—when I got into Barking Alley the constables forced their way through the crowd, and I left and went to my work—I had been at my work ten minutes when I heard hooting and groaning, and I came up the cellar-flap and saw him going into the Police-station in Seething Lane—that was the last I saw of him.
Cross-examined. I am a cellarman—I said at Guildhall that I had assisted the police—I have on several occasions—that was why I refused my address—I have had several rewards from the police—I don't feel inclined to tell you the assistance I have rendered to the police—there were no Anarchists concerned in it—I think it is everyone's duty to assist the police; I have done so for twenty years—no one told me to come and give evidence; I came on my own account—I was about twenty yards from the speakers on this occasion—I heard Cantwell, not Quin—I had never seen the witness Hewlett before I saw him in Court at Guildhall—I did not take notice of anyone interrupting the speakers—I have never interrupted other speakers—I was on Tower Hill on 23rd July because I come out there to have my dinner every day—I saw people there distributing bills, asking for witnesses—I did not follow them about; I walked about, as I generally do—I told Cantwell he ought to be shot, and not only him, all of them—he pushed me first, and I pushed him several times; three or four times—he did not strike me; I expected him to do so—I did not see anyone else strike him.
THOMAS LOCK . I am chief messenger of the London Produce Clearing House—on Friday, 29th June, I was on Tower Hill in my dinner hour—Cantwell was standing on the parapet, with a yellow bill in his left hand, pasted on brown paper—he was alluding to working men, and speaking of the warehouses being chock full of provisions, etc., which the working men produced for the loafing, idle classes—I saw persons giving out a few small bills—after Cantwell had done speaking Quin got up—Cantwell gave him the yellow bill, and he alluded to the working men—then he went on speaking about the Tower Bridge, and with reference to Carnot, the late President of France, said, No doubt out of a little harm that was done great good will come of it"—one gentleman in the crowd shouted out, "What would you do, throw bombs?"—he said, "Yes, if I did throw bombs it would be for the benefit of the working men, but not the Royal Family; I love the working men, but I hate the Royal Family"—that he shouted out in a loud voice—he said something in between, which I could not remember, because there was such a rowing and shouting—he shouted out in a loud voice, "D—the Queen"—after that he got down, or he was hunted down from the parapet.
Cross-examined. I refused to give my address at Guildhall—if his Lordship wants my address I can tell him where I have been for seventeen years—I have been employed in one place twelve years, and five years in another—I am not ashamed of my name—I did not read the pamphlet—this (produced)is not the one—I have very often heard Quin speaking at meetings of the unemployed—he always used violent language—I have, complained to the police, and they have told me that they had no power to take the man into custody from the parapet—I said it was a shame, and the police said it laid with Parliament, not with them, for allowing liberty of speech on Tower Hill—I was greatly disappointed—I never interrupted him—I heard no one else swearing in the crowd—I never use the word, "damn"—I am a Christian; I damn nobody—Quin did not say that he was a Christian Communist, or a Christian Anarchist Communist—I never heard him quote the Bible.
Re-examined. I am ashamed of my address, because I go in fear—I have been visited already by some of these ruffians.
HERBERT STEPHEN TERRY . I am a clerk—about two o'clock on the 29th June I was on Tower Hill—there was a crowd there, and Quin was addressing them—I saw him get down from the parapet—someone hit him, and then both prisoners ran away, and both ran into a church—I saw Cantwell pushed out—I followed him; he ran up Mincing Lane into Fenchurch Street and Grace-church Street, where a policeman stopped him outside a building in Grace-church Street—he dropped this knife; it was shut.
Cross-examined. I refused my address; the police did not tell me to do so—I am not sure whether Cantwell threw the knife away or dropped it—I don't know if it is used in his trade—I saw in the paper that the prisoners were charged, and I came of myself to give evidence—I gave my statement to Constable 708, and I gave him the knife afterwards.
JOHN DENTRY (708 City). About 2.30 p.m. on 29th June I saw Cantwell in Gracechurch Street, trying to get away from the crowd that surrounded him—he had this red pocket-handkerchief in his hand, and he shouted out "I am an Anarchist"—it was a very hostile crowd of 300 or 400 people, wanting to get at him—they called out "Lynch him"—I made my way through the crowd and took hold of him, and asked him if he was an Anarchist—he replied, "You will find out some day"—he had some little papers in his left hand and this red handkerchief in his right hand—I cannot say if these are the same little papers—on going through Leadenhall Market he put them in his pocket with the handkerchief—at the station I charged him with disorderly conduct in the street—the traffic was stopped; the crowd was so thick—Inspector Collins at the station asked him if he was an Anarchist—he said, "Yes, I am"—he was detained in custody—on searching him I found among other things sixteen letters and a post card of 12th May, 1894, to the editor of the Commonweal, 24, Sid mouth Mews—one of the letters is dated June 6th, 1894: "Dear Thomas,—You must get the Weal out, and early, too, else the money outstanding will not be forthcoming.—H. B. Samuel"—another of the 13th June referred to his being hard up and in want of money—another of the letters asked for pamphlets to be sent, "Chances foe Socialists," "The Commune of Paris," "Peter Krapotkine." &c.; another letter finished with the words, "Hurrah for Dynamite"—I also found on him eleven copies of the pamphlet, "Why Vaillant threw the bomb," a book entitled, "Songs for Socialists," two memorial cards, "In Loving Memory of Martial Bourdin," some cuttings from news-papers, some unused stamps, and 7s. 9 3/4; d.—he was brought before the Alderman on 30th June, and remanded till the following 4th July, the charge being disorderly conduct—on 4th July he was charged with inciting to murder—I believe Quin was seen at the Police-court that day—he was afterwards charged and placed in the dock for the same offence, of inciting to murder.
Cross-examined. Cantwell had some papers in his left hand; I could not swear to them—I found them afterwards in the same pocket with his handkerchief which he had in his right hand: he was more wiping the perspiration off his face with it than waving it about—I found some of these pamphlets upon him: "Why are we Anarchists?"—they were in different pockets of his trousers and coat.
Lane Police-station when Cantwell was brought in on Friday, 29th June—I saw Dentry search him, and the property found on him was handed to me; among other things was this key—I asked him to what it belonged—he said, "It is the key of my place;" he had previously given his address as 24, Sidmouth Mews—I had seen both prisoners before, on Tower Hill.
Cross-examined. The key was handed to Detective Cox with the other property, for him to make inquiries—subsequently the police took possession of the place; I believe possession was given up to the prisoner's solicitor—I have no idea what Cantwell is—I have seen the prisoner at the meetings of the unemployed on Tower Hill—I have heard Quin speaking; they were generally rather violent—some of them were meetings of the unemployed, and some were Socialists mixed with Anarchists—I should not like to say what the distinction between Socialists and Anarchists is.
BENJAMIN HART . I am a picture dealer, of 8, Prima Road, Brixton—in December, 1892, I let the loft, 24, Sidmouth Mews, to Cantwell on a verbal agreement—he paid six shillings a week—he said he wanted the premises as a printing office—I was then in the front part of the establishment, and I received my own rent from him from week to week—this is the rent-book—since then Mr. Pullen has collected the rent; I disposed of it.
Cross-examined. I knew Cantwell as a printer—I believe the premises went into the hands of the owner when I left.
FREDERICK CHARLES PULLEN . I am clerk to Mr. W. D. Pullen, estate agent, of 45, Red Lion Street—I and my brother collected the rent of 24, Sidmouth Mews—I received the rent of six shillings from Cantwell—this is he rent-book, showing that the rent was paid down to 23rd June.
Cross-examined. I cannot say in whose possession the premises are now; we collected for the trustees—we are still agents—I believe the police are in possession of the workshop; I don't know if they have given it up to the proprietors of the newspaper—some young fellow, not the prisoner, came and paid the rent last time—I know the prisoner to be a compositor, or printer.
HENRY COX (Detective Sergeant, City). On 30th June I went to 24, Sidmouth Mews with a key which Inspector Collins handed to me—the door was locked; the key opened it—I was there on Tuesday, 3rd July, between eight and nine p.m, when Quin came—I stopped him at the end of the steps which led to the loft—I said, "What do you want?"—he said, "I am one of the group"—I said, "Will you give me your name?"—he said, "No"—I said, "The place is in the possession of the police and no one is allowed there"—he went away—I afterwards assisted Sager to arrest Quin in the precincts of the Guildhall Justice Room—we asked his address—he said, "5, Whitecross Place, Wilson Street."
Cross-examined. When Quin came to the Commonweal office I told him I was a police officer—he did not ask me to produce my authority—I have since learnt that by "group," he meant Anarchist group; I did not know he referred to the Commonweal group—I cannot say he did not—he was quite orderly—Quin was arrested on 4th July, when he was a spectator at Cantwell's trial at the Guildhall—the Commonweal office is not now in the possession of the police—I believe it was given up to Mr. Radford,
solicitor, of 40, Chancery Lone; I cannot say whether he is solicitor for the prisoner or for the proprietor of the newspaper—I received my instructions to hand over the key to the solicitor—I found on Quin when he was arrested two shorthand notes for sermons at St. Botolph's Church, Aldgate—they were not Anarchist literature; he said they were valuable documents.
JOHN WALSH (Detective Sergeant). I was present on 1st July at 24, Sidmouth Mews, a loft over a stable approached by a step ladder—I there found a printing machine and a set of type; several copies of a pamphlet, "Why Vaillant threw the bomb," sixty-three in one bundle and sixteen in another; about sixty-five copies of the yellow placard, and a quantity of other literature; some copies of the Commonweal; some pamphlets called, "What Anarchists Want," "The Walsall Anarchists," "Chance for Socialists," "A Talk About Anarchist Communism," "Facts for Socialists," and so on—they exceed two hundred—I found some photographs of Ravachol; memorial cards of Bourdin; this manuscript book relating to chemistry; a five-chamber revolver, loaded in four chambers—there was a couch in the room, which was used for living and sleeping in, as well as a newspaper office, apparently—Sager was with me at this time—the manuscript chemistry book might have been left for the purpose of printing. (MR. MATHEWS read a few extracts from the book)—I see the passage, "Great care must be taken that the oil of vitriol or sulphuric acid be not brought into contact with these explosives, as the smallest drop will instantly explode it"—I brought it away with the their things.
Cross-examined. My knowledge of chemistry is very limited indeed—this manuscript book is written by Mr. Barker, whom I know very well; in my opinion it is in his writing—it is lectures on the general history of chemistry—the name, "W. Barker," appears on the second page—there are a great many recipes for making explosives, but it all has relation to chemistry, so far as I can judge; it does not relate exclusively to explosives—there are three or four explosive recipes in the whole book; there may be several others if the book were examined minutely by a person who understood it—I don't know if any ordinary chemical book would have recipes for explosives—the last line of the Vaillant pamphlet is, "Issued by the Necessity Group of English Anarchists"—as far as I can say I should say that group is the same as the Commonweal group; they are all the same group, and the same membership; there is no distinction whatever—I have never heard that the English Anarchists of the Commonweal group have always strongly deprecated outrage—I never heard that the English Anarchists of the Freedom group always deprecated outrage—I do not know that this pamphlet (produced) deprecates outrage; I have not read it—I know most of the people in this photograph; they are not the members of the old Socialist League—most of them are members of the Commonweal group of Anarchists—I do not recognise anybody in it who was a member of the old Socialist League when the photograph was taken some time ago—I know many of the members of that league—it is difficult to answer whether Socialists advocate outrage—some are very extreme, and some are very moderate—speaking of Socialists as a whole, I should gay "No"—Mr. John Burns, M.P., and
Mr. Tom Mann were members of the old Socialist League—I do not know if Cantwell has worked in America—some copies of this pamphlet were found at the Commonweal office two and a half years ago—it is no crime, I believe, to have a revolver in this country, so long as a man has a license; you want a license to carry one, and I suppose that is about the same as having it in the house—I have heard Quin speak several times in Hyde Park—I was present there on May 1st, when a meeting of English Anarchists was broken up—I assisted in keeping the public back from them—I did not assist in breaking up the meeting, nor did I suggest to anybody to break it up—the language got so inflammatory that the crowd broke it up, and if it had not been restrained it would have killed them—I did not strike anyone, I was assaulted myself—Quin was arrested on 6th May, in Hyde Park; I heard the Magistrate dismiss the charge—I took notes of a meeting on the 16th January; I have destroyed my notes—we attended the meetings on Tower Hill to frustrate any attempt to proceed to the West-end or destroy property—we generally take notes and compare them, and then one officer will make out a report and read it to the others, and if it is agreed to it is kept for a record, and the notes are destroyed—this is the report of the meeting of 16th January—at that meeting, Williams, the secretary of the unemployed, announced Quin as chairman—Williams is not an Anarchist—I did not forcibly remove a witness for the defence last Saturday—about twenty persons were standing outside the door, and as I was going out a dangerous Anarchist put himself in my way, and I moved him out of the way with my hand—I did not put my hand on a lady and move her out of the way.
Re-examined. At the meeting on 1st May, in Hyde Park, at which Quin was a speaker, very violent speeches were delivered, and the crowd broke up the meeting—at the Tower Hill meeting, on 16th February, Quin said, "Fellow workmen, I have come here to-day as I have a few hours to spare; I must tell you I have employment during the evening, but it is not sufficient to keep me from agitating. Of course, you are all well aware I am an Anarchist, and if you will only adopt our system, and follow the principles of my colleagues and myself, you will soon obtain your object; using bombs and any other destructive weapons you can do something to forward the cause"—I have been present on many other occasions when he has made speeches advocating the use of force; he always does so; it is notorious—his own colleagues would say they never knew him make a mild speech in his life—his speeches are always characterised by inflammatory language—two and a half years ago I was present at the Commonweal office for the purpose of arresting the then editor, Nichol, and Mowbray, and seizing the type—Cantwell then opened the door to me—the office was searched—I then found a great many pamphlets headed, "Address to the Army"—it is similar to this.
ROBERT SAGER (Detective inspector, city). I searched the premises, 24, Sidmouth Mews—I produce a list ("K") of the things found; I checked it myself—I afterwards pointed out to Mr. De Jersey, the printer, and his assistant, the things that were found—I found several red caps and some red flags, some fencing sticks and masks.
Cross-examined. The chemistry lecture was found in the drawer, I
think; I am not quite sure—I cannot say who got hold of it first; we were all there.
ALFRED CHRISTOPHER DE JERSEY . I am a compositor—I have had about thirty years experience in the printing trade—on Thursday, 5th July, I went to 24, Sidmouth Mews, with Cox, and examined the type and printing machine pointed out to me—from the type, as it was set up there, I printed this impression of this yellow placard—it is not complete—the rest of the type was not to be found there—this kind of type is very often borrowed by these small printing offices—I say this I printed is the same as the yellow placard in a skeleton form—I took these pulls from twenty four stereotype plates I found there—among them is a pamphlet of two pages, headed. "An Address to the Army"—I also pulled off other pamphlets—I found the type there in case, not set up, for printing the body of the pamphlet, "Why Vaillant threw the bomb," but not for the head or subhead of it.
Cross-examined. I did not find the type for the skeleton placard set up, but it was scattered about on the premises, some on the floor, some in a box—the last line, "the lazy swine," was in case, thrown in together—I set it up—more than one piece of yellow paper was produced by the police, and I was told to use it to print this—there is hardly a letter in this poster that I could produce from the printing office at which I am engaged—I would rather not state the name of it—I do posters and every class of work—the yellow paper was in the office when I went there—I did not find the ornamental line at the office—I had to print the imitation placard by doubling the paper, and printing with two separate formes and two impressions—unless that were done in a proper manner you would have a set-off—there is a set-off in this placard of the words rascally politicians"—if it were not folded properly it might not come true; but you can make it come true—it would be a slow process; it is an old fashioned press—if only a few numbers were required you could print the placard in the press I found in the office—I feel quite sure this was printed in this press—I do not consider a compositor responsible for everything in a printing office—the Vaillant pamphlet is printed in four kinds of type—I only saw one kind of type for the principal part of the pamphlet, two pages—I did not find the type for the third or fourth pages—I never gave evidence for the police before this case—the type I did find was very common in printing offices.
JOHN DAVIDSON (Detective Inspector, City). On 14th July I was present at the Guildhall Police-court when Quin was arrested—he gave his address as 5, Whitecross Place, Wilson Street—I went there and searched his lodgings—I found nothing bearing on this case.
Cross-examined. I found some tracts, which Quin's brother claimed as his property.
Witnesses for the Defence.
WILLIAM MORRIS . I live at 26, Upper Mall, Hammersmith—I knew Cant well as a member of the Socialist League, of which I was a member—I never heard him oppose acts of outrage, but such questions did not arise at that time—I am the author of this verse upon the placard—I
knew Cantwell pretty well, as I should have known the other members of the league for some time, and my impression of him is that he was a very good-natured man; I should have thought he would not have done any harm to anybody or anything—he was, perhaps, rather rash, or boyish is the word I should use about him. (The COURT ruled that MR. FARRELLY could not ask the witness questions as to principles Cantwell had expressed formerly, or as to the meaning of the verse upon the placard.)
Cross-examined. I have not seen much of him lately—it is something less than five years since I left the Socialist League, but I have seen Cantwell since.
EVELYN GEORGE STRIDE . I live at 33, Calderon Road, Leytonstone, and am clerk to a foreign exchange broker—I was present at the Tower Hill meeting on 29th June—I saw Quin there—there was a good deal of interruption of his speech—it seemed as if the interrupters were interrupting purposely, as if they came for that purpose—I am not acquainted with the prisoners—I never saw them before the meeting—I come to give evidence because I saw a letter in the Weekly Times and Echo asking anybody who was present on 29th June to communicate with Mr. Bam-ford, the solicitor—I heard part of Quin's speech—I was there about five or seven minutes before the meeting broke up—I did not hear him say anything about bombs, or "Damn the Queen," or incite to murder anybody—I did not see him distribute pamphlets.
Cross-examined. I arrived at the meeting about five or ten minutes before it closed—Quin was then speaking—he held in front of him the large yellow bill—I could read the largest letters—I do not approve of it—I did not hear the beginning of his speech—there was a good deal of interruption at the close—there seemed persistent cries from some of the crowd—I heard, "Shut up"—I did not hear, "Shoot them!" or "Lynch them!"—I saw Quin all at once disappear very quickly from the parapet—I don't know how it was; he might have been jostled off—I heard no reference to M. Carnot or France, or the things that had been done there, or that should be done there.
JOSEPH LEWIS . I live at 41, Buxton Street, Mile End New Town—I am a furrier, but having no employment in my trade my recent occupation is selling in the street—I was present at the Tower Hill meeting on 29th June, selling pictures and views in connection with the Tower Bridge—my attention was drawn by the crowd of people, and I went to sell my pictures—I was present during the whole of Cantwell's speech—I did not hear him use any violent language, or incite to murder, or use the word "bombs"—I stood ten or fifteen yards from the platform, on the fringe of the crowd—I could hear quite plainly, with the exception of some parts which I lost—I could hear as well as the ordinary crowd, I consider—I did not hear him say, "The deeds that have been done are not half bad enough to an extent," or "Perhaps there will be some more deeds worse," or "Make war against the blood-suckers"—I heard him say the workers were to organise against the capitalist—I did not hear him say, "Plenty in England to be served the same," or "There is a necessity these people should be removed," or "I will both fight and die: I shall be heard of tomorrow," or "The assassination of Carnot is fully justified," or "The Royal vermin should be served like other vermin" I heard him say, as far as I could understand, that the Royal
Family should not open the bridge, but the workmen who built it—I did not hear the word "bombs" used—I did not hear, "They have done a good deed in assassinating Carnot," or "There will be some more of that," or "We have made ourselves felt in France, and will make ourselves felt here"—there was great uproar during the proceedings—I did not hear, "There are plenty Milling to die. I will lead them if they will follow"—I did not hear Quin inciting to murder—I did not hear, "We were heard of in France, and we will be heard of again and again," or "Out of a little harm great good will come"—I did not hear Quin say, "I hate the Royal Family"; he said he disliked the Royal Family—I did not hear him say, "D—the Queen"—I should recollect it most probably if I had heard it—I saw no pamphlets distributed, I am certain of that, because I should be the first man to hold out my hand for a pamphlet—I did not see any if they were distributed publicly.
Cross-examined. I have sold views and pictures daily for eight weeks—the last time I worked as a furrier was at Tibbett's, a leather merchant, about three months ago—I am not a speaker at these meetings; my views are against Anarchists—I am a Socialist—I speak at Socialist meetings when invited; I take no prominent part—possibly I spoke at an unemployed meeting in November last year upon the plea that I was unemployed, which I was—I have attended these meetings if I have been unemployed—I don't know that that has been often, with the exception of last winter, when I was out of employment—I attended the unemployed meetings in Hyde Park on one or two occasions—I attended the Tower Hill meetings last year—I may have spoken on Tower Hill just after Christmas, previous to my last employment—possibly I spoke there on 13th March, 1894—the burden of my speech was to endeavour to get the workers to organise to protect their own interests—I might have spoken in condemnation of the capitalist class; that was the subject-matter of my speech, for political action—I think I was unemployed in March—my principal occupation for the last year has not been attending meetings of the unemployed in Hyde Park and on Tower Hill; I may have been in work some days and not others—I was on the fringe of the crowd on this occasion; it grew large as it went on—I don't think there were three hundred or four hundred people—there was great confusion, but not among most of the people—I heard cries of "Lynch them" and "Lynch him," but the cries seemed to come from an individual throat—there was a surging mass of people moving towards the parapet, and then I believe Cantwell got down after some time—I cannot say whether I saw Quin get down—I believe he was interrupted in his speech, and that was the reason he got down—the crowd said some very nasty things—one of the crowd used the word "bombs" as a question put to the prisoners, "Did they have a bomb in their pocket?"—I have heard abuse of the Royal Family on several occasions—I did not hear such abuse on this occasion; I am quite sure—I heard, "I dislike the Royal Family; "I do not look on that as abuse—I heard Carnot's name mentioned by one of the crowd, but no reference to him from the speakers—one of the crowd called out, "What about the murder of Carnot?"—I heard no answer to that; the noise was very great—I heard no reference to France—I heard words to the effect that the Tower Bridge was to be opened to-morrow by Royalty, but the workers were the right people to open it, because they built it.
and the speaking was much in the same strain about the bridge—the speaker went on about the bridge being built by the workers, and they did not have the benefit of it and the opening of it; and then it seemed to turn a rowdy meeting, and what else was said was partly lost by the noise—all I heard clearly with reference to the bridge was that it should be opened by the workers instead of Royalty—Cantwell may have spoken from twenty minutes to half an hour—I don't say I have given all he said; that was all I heard.
Re-examined. I am opposed to Anarchist ideas; I am subpoenaed here—there was a good deal of interruption at the meeting—my idea was there were three or four people there organised for the purpose of upsetting the meeting—I did not go for the sole purpose of attending the meeting—I had been selling there from ten in the morning—I was ten or fifteen yards from the prisoners, and there was room for four hundred or five hundred people to stand between me and them, because the place is very wide—I never spoke at a meeting till six or seven months ago—I had seen some of the organised interrupters at other unemployed meetings.
By the COURT. I stayed to the end of the meeting—it ended in confusion—the whole of the meeting seemed to run away towards where the prisoners went—they followed the prisoners as quick as possible, and out of curiosity, I expect, to see what would happen to the prisoners—I did not follow them—I did not think the crowd would lynch them; they followed them just the same as any opposition at an ordinary meeting.
SAMUEL JOHN PARKHOUSE . I live at 32, Branscombe Road, Acre Lane, Brixton, and am a hackney carriage driver—I have been a police constable in the P and D Divisions—on 29th June I was on Tower Hill with my cab, on the rank—I heard the prisoners speaking from the parapet—I did not hear them incite to murder, or use the word "bomb"—I had never seen them before—I did not hear them say, "The deeds that have been done are not half bad enough to an extent; we must make war against the blood-suckers; plenty will be served the same in England; it will be necessary to remove the heads of States"—I heard something about the working classes, that they would not put up with the capitalists—I did not hear, "They have done a good thing in assassinating Carnot"—I heard them say, "We shall be heard of again"—I thought they meant the next day—I saw some pamphlets in the crowd—I did not see either of the prisoners distributing them—I did not hear Quin say, in reference to the assassination of Carnot, "Out of a little harm great good will come," nor about using bombs—I did not hear him say, "I hate the Royal Family"—he said, "There is quite as good in the meeting to go and open the Tower Bridge to-morrow as the Royal Family"—I did not hear him say," D—the Queen."
Cross-examined. There was some uproar during Quin's speech among the crowd—I could hear pretty plainly—I did not hear Quin's speech—I was on my cab, twenty-five yards away—I could hear pretty well what he said—I have said what I did hear—there were 300 or 400 people, I should think—two or three people seemed to annoy the rest; they kept interrupting the speakers—Cantwell got down, because the crowd swayed towards him—there were two or three agitators in the crowd who were annoyed at him delivering his speech—I don't know the agitators' names—they were agitating against the prisoners—
I could not say they were annoying the rest of the people—I believe Quin was pulled off the wall by the agitators—I did not see the prisoners run for their lives; they ran away, and the crowd followed up—they could not run very fast, with such a crowd round them—I could not say they ran away; the whole crowd went after them, because, I suppose, the agitators going after them, the crowd followed, as they usually do—I heard Cantwell's speech fairly well, considering the noise—I heard him say, "The working classes will not be depressed by the capitalists," and "We shall be heard of again"—after that he made some remarks about the Tower Bridge opening to-morrow; that was the next thing—he had said it before, but he brought it forward again—I am positive I did not hear the word "bomb" used by anybody—somebody called out "bomb," but it was not the prisoners—I did not hear any reference to Monsieur Carnot by anyone—Cantwell made some reference to France, saying "The Government of France has been oppressive, and other Governments will have to be come at in some way; we shall have to make them come to the working classes"—I did not hear him say, "M. Carnot, the President of the Republic, has been assassinated, and there will have to be something of the same kind here, in order to get the working classes' rights"—I left the police in 1878, because I lost a sister-in-law who was on board the Princess Alice, and I went to the Inspector and asked him to let me off that night, to make arrangements, and he would not allow me of, and so I took leave, and I was compelled to resign.
Re-examined. When the crowd moved after the prisoners the agitators were pushing about among themselves.
JOHN ROCHE . I am a seaman—I was present at the meeting on Tower Hill the day before the opening of the bridge—I was selling medals of the Tower Bridge and photographs of the Prince of Wales—I was present during the whole of the prisoners' speeches; they stood on the parapet of the Tip-Top Tea Company's warehouse—I should say Cantwell spoke about half-past one or two, as near as I could guess—I did not hear either of them incite to murder, nor use the word "bomb"—I never saw them before till that day—Cantwell did not say, "The deeds that have been done are not half bad enough"—I did not hear him use the French President's name at all—he did not say, "We intend to make war"—all he said was "The Royal Family is coming down here to open the bridge to-morrow, and the public and the working men have more right to be on the Tower Bridge and open the bridge than the Royal Family, because the Prince of Wales is only living on the sweat of the brow of the working men"—I did nor hear him say, referring to the assassination of Carnot, "There are plenty in England to be served the same," nor "It is a necessity that these people should be removed"—I was there throughout the whole proceedings—I did not hear him say, "I will both fight and die," nor "The Royal vermin should be served like other vermin"—I did not hear him say anything about Royal vermin—he did not say, "They are only fit for bombs"—I heard someone in the crowd say, when Cantwell was speaking, "If old Hawkins had hold of you he would make warm work of you, and you ought to be before him"—someone in the crowd not far from me shouted "Another Le Caron," referring to the man who said that Cantwell ought to be before old Hawkins—I did not hear Cantwell say, "They have done a good thing in
assassinating Carnot; there are plenty willing to die; I will lead them if they will follow"—I went to Lockhart's coffee-rooms, after it was all over, and I noted down Quin's speech; not all of it; only what I could catch—I did not hear Quin say, "We were heard of in France, and will be heard of to-morrow and again and again," nor "Out of a little harm great good will be gained," nor "If I did use bombs, it would be for the benefit of the working men"—he said he did not like the Royal Family; he did not say he hated them—I did not hear him say, "D—the Queen"—if he had there might have been a rush on him.
Cross-examined. There was a rush upon him—if he had excited the public to murder he would not have been living, and in the dock now—the prisoners both ran away, and so would you if they had tried to kill you—the crowd ran after them—I went about my business—I went to Lockhart's for my tea a little after four, and then made a note of the speeches—at any public meeting I go to I take a bit of a note; it is a hobby of mine—I have been at a few meetings, not on Tower Hill—I was at the back of the crowd; there might have been more than 400 people—there was more shouting than disturbance—I cannot say why the crowd said the prisoners ought to be taken before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
DANIEL HANDS . I am a basket manufacturer, of 50, St. Paul's Road, Camden Town—this is Cantwell's knife—he has had it for eight years or more, using it for his work and other purposes—he was a basket maker—I have been in business about eleven years—Cantwell was extremely steady, hard working, and industrious—he worked for me for about four years—he made no concealment about this knife—I became acquainted with him when he was working in America—it is very usual to carry a revolver there—I am not an Anarchist, and have no sympathy with them—I belong to the Church of England—I know Cantwell perfectly well—he used to live and work in the same house with me in America and here.
Cross-examined. I know he has been connected with the Commonweal newspaper—I believe he has lived at 24, Sidmouth Mews—I know he spends a good deal of his time on the Commonweal, but I can't say what he does in connection with it—he has been connected with Socialists and Anarchists lately.
Re-examined. He has occasionally worked at his trade as well; I have had him to assist me when I have been busy—five or six weeks ago was the last occasion when he assisted me, I should say—I believe he used this knife then.
JOHN WILLIAMS . I live at 20, Collard Road, Walthamstow—I am a painter, in work—I was present at the unemployed meetings last winter on Tower Hill—I presided at the unemployed meeting on 16th January—Quin spoke; he requested my permission to do so—I was instructed by the executive to tell speakers that they were to keep to the question of the unemployed, and that no violent language was to be used—if violent language had been used I should have stopped the speaker, and denounced him—I have stopped speakers—I emphatically deny that the language, as given by Walsh, was used—when a speaker is up who does not belong to the Social Democratic Association, I never move from the parapet until he has finished, acting under the instructions of my committee—Quin might have told the meeting to adopt the principles of Christian Anarchism, as he was not a Socialist.
Cross-examined. I do not allow violent speaking as a rule, nor as an exception; I apply that rule to myself—I do not make strong speeches—I am prepared to stand by the police reports of all the speeches I have made—I believe I made a speech on 11th January, 1894, to the unemployed on Tower Hill, when Partridge and Hunter Watts were there—I did not say that I had said enough from time to time to put me under the care of the authorities; but that "I did not care one damn for Mr. Asquith or his satellites, and that I was fully prepared to run any risk"—Mr. Asquith has declared in the House of Commons that at all times I used such mild language that they could not get me within the power of the law—I said at that meeting that I was prepared to go to almost any length to compel the authorities to turn their attention to the unemployed question; that the only course open to the unemployed was to do something to bring them under notice, parade the streets, and they might depend upon it that, if one or two of them had to suffer, the majority would soon gain their object—I did not say I would do something to terrorise the capitalists—I don't think I asked my audience if they were prepared to strike terror into the hearts of the capitalists; I won't be too sure—I put it to them if any of them could be worse off if they were in prison, and they answered, "No"—I may have said, "Will you follow me one day next month?" and I daresay they said, "Yes"—I did not say, "We will go into Trafalgar Square, watch the divisions from which the police are drawn, and then go into the unprotected quarters and take those things you want;" nothing to that effect—I don't remember saying, "I will get up a scrimmage to create a diversion, and after the first scrimmage something will be done"—I won't swear I did not say it—I spoke at a meeting on 5th February this year—I did not tell the audience that they must remember they had chemicals on their side—I said, "The police have commenced their brutality; they must remember that science is not all on one side; science is also on the side of other men"—I did not say that they could make a small package for twopence, which, if carelessly laid down, would dispose of a few big constables, nor that a friend of mine had once said to me, "Send them to heaven by the chemical parcel post"—I said, "A friend of mine, in speaking of Joseph Chamberlain and other men, in addressing an unemployed audience, said that before these men would listen to opinions of those who were workless, they would have to be sent to heaven by chemical parcel post"—he was referring to those in power, I presume—I was speaking of John Burns, and I gave a quotation—I had been talking to the unemployed on the subject of how hard it was to get the authorities to listen to the claims of the unemployed, and then I said what my friend had told me—I did not say that my audience should not be armed with sticks, but with chemicals, which were much better—I did not ask them to go armed in future—I said that if the police were prepared to use violence on all occasions in the processions of the unemployed, the unemployed were, in my judgment, justified in using force—I said that they should not allow themselves to be kicked and stamped upon, as they were on Saturday, and they would be justified in using force to prevent it—I do not think I spoke at the meeting on 30th January—I abide by my view that something ought to be done by the unemployed, and that
nothing would be done until the authorities are compelled to listen to their claims.
Re-examined. At the time John Burns said what I have given he was an unemployed leader.
GEORGE BANTING . I am a commercial traveller, of 125, Randolph Street—on June 29th, the day before the opening of the Tower Bridge, I heard Cantwell speak—he did not incite to murder anybody—I went to Tower Hill on business, and was there from one to 2.10 or 2.15—I do not know either of the prisoners—I saw a notice in the Echo from Mr. Bamford, saying that if anybody happened to be there, to come forward and state what they heard, and my wife said it was my duty to go—I stood in front of the speakers during the meeting, about the fourth row from the parapet—I heard all Cantwell's speech—I did not hear him say, "The deeds that have been done are not half bad enough in extent" referring to the assassination of M. Carnot, or "We must make war against the blood-suckers, "or" Plenty will be served the same in England," or "It will be necessary to remove the heads of States," or "Bombs shall be used," or "They have done a good thing assassinating Carnot"—I heard, "What about Carnot?" shouted out as an interruption to his address—I have it on my memory because I was anxious to know how anybody could justify the murder of Carnot—he said, "There are fanatics in every cause, and I am not here to defend them"—I have no recollection of hearing him say, "We shall be heard again and again"—I did not hear him say, "There are plenty willing to die, and I will lead them if they will follow"—I did not see either of the prisoners distributing pamphlets—I heard the whole of Quin's speech; he was not so long speaking as Cantwell—the first words he said were, "I stand here as a Christian Anarchist," and he went on to speak of the orphans of those who lost their lives in building the bridge which was going to be opened the following day, and quoted a few lines from Edward Carpenter and Shelley, and some Biblical quotations in reference to Christ—he said he was a Christian Anarchist, and that Christ said, "Suffer little children to come unto me," and he was only speaking on behalf of the helpless orphans and widows—I did not hear him say, "Further than France we shall be heard of again"—I never heard any justification from either of them of the assassination of Carnot—I did not hear the word "bomb," or "I hate the Royal Family"—he did not, at the end of his speech, say, "D—the Queen."
Cross-examined by MR. MATHEWS. I was in a shop on Tower Hill at one o'clock; I reckon I was there about 1.30 or 1.35—the meeting seemed to increase, because I took the outside ring at first, and when there was an interruption I looked round and saw people at the back of me—the interruption came from a quarter of the crowd concentrated in a particular corner; the interruptions were hostile to the speakers, and the demonstrations in their favour—the first interruption was "How about Carnot?" shouted very loud—Cantwell, who was speaking, replied, "There are fanatics in every cause, and I am not here to speak for such"—he went on speaking and dwelling on the fact that men had lost their lives, and said he could not imagine a more horrible bondage; even a hero lost his life in obtaining bread for his children—I cannot say that I heard much hostile demonstration, and there would have been none
if it had not been for the interruptions—I think the majority of the men there wanted to hear what was to he said—the speakers did not refer to bombs except to ask if they could find the word in any literature which came from them, and no answer came—I have not read the pamphlet, of which he had some dozen copies on him—Cantwell was the first speaker; he got down from the wall, and then Quin got up—there were a lot hanging on the wall, and I should not be surprised if he was jostled down—the crowd did hot move towards the parapet with a view of tearing him off the wall—I did not see them make for him—I do not remember hearing the words, "The Government of France has been oppressive, and our Government will have to be seen to the same way to come to the working classes"—I cannot swear it was not said; I cannot remember everything; I have got my living to get—I heard the whole of Quin's speech—I heard him say with regard to France that he quite agreed with his comrade with reference to that dastardly dead in France; as a Christian he felt bound to do so—he said that he entirely endorsed all that had been said by Cantwell—I swear he did not say, "We have been heard of in France, and we will be heard of here to-morrow, again and again"—I listened very intently, and I assure you I could not hear a word to call forth anger from anyone, and I was very much surprised at the crowd—it was only a small minority of the crowd who were angry with Cantwell—Quin did not speak so long as Cantwell—I did not see Cantwell pulled off the wall—I have very convenient eyes; they have always been very convenient to me, and I am very proud of them—I did not see Cantwell run away or see the crowd follow; they stood on the parapet and behind the parapet as well, and it was impossible to see who was behind the wall—I was in front—I did not see either of the prisoners run away and the crowd follow them; I went straight away about my work—someone rushed at a speaker last night, but he was drunk—I do not suggest these persons were drunk—when they get a manly, straight-forward answer, I say it is a manly duty to be silent—I sympathise with the speakers—I did not hear Justice Hawkins' name mentioned—I did not hear the interruption.
Re-examined. I heard the whole of Cantwell's speech—I should say five or six people interrupted, speaking roughly from memory—they were all concentrated in one corner, in front on the left—Quin described himself, and spoke of Him who said "Suffer little children to come unto me," and went on to describe what He said; I remember it because it sounded so beautiful—I heard the whole of what was said on the platform; I was anxious to know what was coming from persons who called themselves Anarchists, and therefore I was very intent—nobody rushed from the front—of course I plead ignorance of what occurred after the meeting was over; I had my business to attend to—I was in the fourth row from the speakers, directly in front of them.
HENRY SUTCIJFFE . I am a packer, of Clyde Road, Tottenham—I have seen Quin; once he posed as a Christian Anarchist, and explained what that meant—I am not an Anarchist; I am a Radical—he did not advocate the use of force on that occasion; he distinctly said he did not believe in force—that was one Sunday evening in the winter, when he was lecturing at the gas-works; I cannot say the exact date.
keeping a coffee-house at 14, Monville Road—I have been acquainted with Cantwell since the end of 1887—he is a very harmless, inoffensive man—I have had conversation with him many times, and have heard him speak in Hyde Park and Farringdon Road and the club-house at Morton—he is a basket maker—I am not an Anarchist, I oppose it on principle; it is very good as an ideal—I am a member of the Social Democratic Federation.
Cross-examined by MR. MATHEWS. There is a party of the Socialistic League led by Mr. Morris, and there is what you call the Commonweal group.
HERMAN DITCHER (Affirmed). I live at 81, Russell Road, Wimbledon—I am a Social Democrat, but in no way an Anarchist—I have known Cantwell six or seven years, and have heard him oppose the war of violence and outrage.
BRUCE WALLACE . I am a minister of the Congregational Union—I became acquainted with Quin by meeting him in London Fields about a year ago, when he was attending some matter in connection with the Ministers' Union, and afterwards at some of the conferences held on Sunday afternoons in my own church—his general character is good as far as I know—he describes himself as a Christian Anarchist Communist.
JOHN COLEMAN KENWORTHY (Affirmed). I live at 6, St. Andrew's Road, Plaistow—I met Quin at an open-air meeting at London Fields last year about September—I was interested in him in consequence of a letter of his which appeared in the Daily Chronicle in reference to a book of mine which had been recently reviewed—I know him as a man who professes Christianity, and takes an interest in social movements—I am an author and journalist.
GUILTY .— Six Months' Hard Labour each.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, August 1st, 1894.
Before Mr. Justice Lawrance.
633. JOHN GOLDIE ROUND (33), was indicted for and charged on the Coroner's inquisition with the wilful murder of Ellen Round. MESSRS. C. F. GILL and T. HUMPHREYS Prosecuted; MESSRS. OVEREND and PICKERSGILL Defended.
JAMES HAMPTON . I have no fixed address—my father's house is 115, Brayards Road, Peckham—the deceased lived there with her husband for some time up to Whit Monday—on that day I went out with her for four or five hours, and returned to the house two or three hours after she did—up to the time I went out with her no improper relations had existed between us; they did not begin before the home was sold up—when I came back to the house on Whit Monday evening the prisoner asked me where his wife was—I said, "I do not know"—he asked if I had seen her—I said, "No"—he said I was a liar, and struck me and I struck him—I have seen him go about without his crutch; he had a crutch at that time—on the next day he left the place, and the furniture in his room was sold—I left my father's house, and the deceased came with me—we walked about, sleeping nowhere in particular; sometimes in
fields and any place we could—we went about like that for about six nights in the open air—we spent about half-an-hour in a van one night—after that I went back to my father's house by myself, and stopped there about four days—she came there the same night; we had occupied separate rooms—one night my father caught me coming out of her room; he found out what was going on between us, and turned us out—the deceased took lodgings at 27, Costa Street, Rye Lane; I joined her there—we passed by the name of Mr. and Mrs. Freeman—I only had odd work to do at that time; I was not in employment—a fortnight after I went to Costa Street I saw the prisoner; it was three days before the deceased's death—the prisoner came to Costa Street with Roberts; I went to the door—he wanted to see his wife; I called her down, and we all four went out together—the prisoner asked us to come and have a drink—I did not hear what he said to his wife; there was a bit of a bother—he was intoxicated; he tried to strike me—I left him with Roberts, and I and the deceased went back to Costa Street—on the following morning I was with his wife in the Atwell Road about 10.45—she went and spoke to her husband, and came back to me with him, and we went together to the Atwell public-house—the prisoner called for beer for his wife, for me, and for himself—he and his wife sat down together, side by side; I sat facing them—he spoke to her; I could not hear what he said—there was no one else in the bar except we three—two children came in to get some beer—I wiped the nose of one of them, and the deceased said, "That is more than what you would do, Jack"—I did not hear anyone laugh—the prisoner stabbed her then and there—I had not seen any knife in his hand before that; it was done in a second—he said, "Now I have done it"—she fell from her chair on the floor in a moment—I did not see the knife at all—I said it was time to fetch a policeman—if I had stopped there I should have got one as well—she did not speak when she was stabbed—I went out and sent a little boy for a policeman, and I went on to the Rye and fell clown, and lay there for an hour or more, fainting—I did not go back to the public-house.
Cross-examined. I generally do a bit of gardening, or I sell for a fruiterer, or anything like that—I am employed by anybody who has anything for sale—I was in no settled employment during the nine months that the prisoner and his wife lived in my father's house—I do earn money—I have no fixed abode—the deceased never told me that she had lived happily with her husband before she came to my father—I never swore "Improper relations began between the woman and me about four weeks before they left"—nothing occurred—I might have spoken to her—I was with her about five or six hours on this Bank Holiday; not the whole day—I may have said at the Police-court that I stayed all day with her; I do not recollect it—at her request she went home some hours before me; she gave no reason for leaving me—I was surprised at the husband accusing me of taking his wife out when I arrived at home—she was at home when I got home—the prisoner asked me whether I had seen her—I said, "No"—he called me a liar, and I was one—then he struck me, and I struck him back on the nose—he is a cripple—I have not been accused of breaking his nose—I went out of the house that night; the deceased did not go with me—I left her at my father's—her husband did not know? he was there—I cannot say for certain where
I saw her after I left the house—I did see her; it was outside the Star of India, in Brayards Road—I did not meet her by appointment—we stayed together that night—I did not stop with her the Bank Holiday night; I met her outside the public-house, but did not stay with her—I parted with her at eleven o'clock, I suppose—I do not know where she went—she stopped one night with the prisoner's mother; I do not know if that was the same night—I saw her next morning—she stayed with me on the Tuesday night—for at least four nights we walked about the streets together, and we spent one night in an empty house—I could have got a lodging, but she could not got one—after those five nights I went back to my father's house; he said he did not mind, he did not want me to sleep in the streets all night—I said, "What about the poor woman?"—he said, "Fetch her in;" and I fetched her—the prisoner sold the home the day after the Bank Holiday—it was not a number of days after; it might have been a couple of days or so—I do not recollect the time for certain; but I know he asked her to clean the room up, and when she went back he had sold the home up—she was not away above a week altogether—on the Tuesday or Wednesday after Bank Holiday he sold the home up—she told me on the Tuesday when we came back to my father's house that her husband had gone—my father did not know that there had been improper relations between us—there had been none up to the time she went back to my father's house—they did not begin before I was caught coming out of her room at my father's house; that was the first time—it was on the following Monday; he took us back on the Saturday—it was on the 8th that my father discovered me leaving her bedroom, and turned me out—when the prisoner came to us in Costa Street he did not say he had discovered that my father had turned us out for my misconduct with his wife, nor that he had been anxiously seeking his wife, and had only just found her address—Roberts was present during the whole of the interview, and was in a position to hear all that passed—I did not attempt to strike the prisoner several times when he said he wanted to see his wife—Roberts interfered to protect the prisoner from me, but not in front of the house—after we had been out for an hour or so I attempted to strike him, and Roberts interfered—he did not say he had brought Roberts for protection from me, as he was afraid of me—he did not say he wanted to talk over matters with me quietly about getting his wife back, nor did he give that as a reason for asking me to come to the public-house—I did not hear him say that he would forgive his wife if she would leave me and return to him—he did not speak apart with her; we were all together—he could not have asked her to return without my hearing it—I never walked with her past the place of business where the prisoner was employed—on the morning of this occurrence I was with his wife; when we saw the prisoner we were not going anywhere particular—it might have been eleven or twelve o'clock—the prisoner did not give as a reason for us to come to the public-house that he wanted to talk quietly to his wife; not a word was mentioned about it; he merely asked us to come and have a drink—he did not say, "I want to speak to you; come with me into the public-house"—I sat about two yards from him; I heard everything—there was not above seven or eight words passed between them—I was not there above three minutes—I did not hear anything said by the prisoner to his wife, or by the wife to the prisoner, before the little girl
came in—nothing was said after the deceased said, "That is more than you would do"—the prisoner did not say to his wife, "If you remain with that lazy fellow you will die in a gutter"—I did not hear her say, "I don't care if I do"—I did not hear the prisoner ask her to leave me and return to him, or hear her say, "No, no"—she had before several times told me that she would never go back to him again—she said, "Where Jim goes I will go; he stuck to me, and I will stick to him"—it was not then that she was stabbed—I could not catch all they were saying—I could not hear what he said to bring that answer from her—she said, "Where Jim goes I will go; he has stuck to me, and I will stick to him"—and then he stabbed her.
WILLIAM JERMYN . I am a shoemaker, of 33, Linnell Road, Camberwell—for the last four years the prisoner has been in my employment on and off, and up to the day he was arrested—on 18th June he did not come to work; I received a letter from him—I saw him in the afternoon, in Letsam Street, and then he came to the shop between five and six—he was rather the worse for liquor, and he began playing with his tools on his bench, not in the way a workman would do, and I said, "What is up, Jack?"—this knife was one of the tools—it is an ordinary knife, which he uses in his trade of a shoemaker—he said, "This lazy Jim will drive me mad," or something to that effect—he went out and came back—he said he had a letter from his missus, or I understood so—he seemed more agitated, upset, unnerved—tears came into his eyes—he said, "If it had not been for that lazy Jim I should be all right again with her; I have found it all out now. If it was not for him she would come back, and we should be all right again"—I said, "I suppose you have made it up all right again, Jack?"—he said, "No, it has gone too far for that"—he went away.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner for about four years—I found him a fairly good workman, and a peaceable man—I received a letter from him on the Monday morning, in which he said, "This job has fairly driven me off my nut"—a week or eight or ten days before he spoke about leaving London, he answered an advertisement to go to Hastings, to get away from these two altogether—I said, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder"—he went and consulted her, and said he should not leave—he had a telegram on Saturday telling him to go, and directing him where to get his lodgings and everything—that was after Bank Holiday—he told me he had seen her, and so he did not take the job at Hastings—I never saw him stand without his crutches; I don't think he possibly could do so.
Re-examined. This letter found on the deceased is in his writing.
WILLIAM HENRY ROBERTS . I am a shoemaker, of Church Street, Deptford, in Mr. Jermyn's employment—I knew Round as a fellow-workman—on Monday night he asked me to go to Costa Street to see Hampton—I knew his wife had left him, and was with Hampton; he had told me so—he knocked at the door, and Hampton came downstairs—we met the deceased in the next street; she came into the beershop where we were; we were all four there for ten or fifteen minutes—we went to more than one public-house, and had drinks together—the prisoner said two or three times to his wife, "Do you mean to come away from that man?"—all the answer she made was "Not to-night, Jack"—I should think we were together for
four or four and a half hours—I heard him ask her at different times whether she was going to leave that man, and she always made the same answer—I left them at 2.10 a.m., and I went home and slept with the prisoner—before we left the deceased and Hampton, Hampton made a rush at the prisoner two or three times, but I got between them, and prevented any blow—before we went away the prisoner had knocked at the door of 27, Costa Street, where she lived—Hampton was taking the deceased from one street to another—at last a constable came up and spoke to the prisoner—we went away then directly—I left him at 7.15 next morning, saying, "I will get up and go to work"—he said, "All right, Bill; I won't be long after you"—he did not go to work.
Cross-examined. For some time before I thought the prisoner was very strange—I used to say to him, "Jack, what is the matter with you?"—he said, "I don't know; I cannot finish my work," and I said, "I will finish your work," and I used to finish his work day after day, because I could see he could not get through it—the prisoner said to his wife two or three times on the evening I have spoken about, "Come back with me and keep away from that man"—he asked her a lot of times if she was going to return—I saw the deceased walk past the shop by herself, where the prisoner was employed—I said, "Jack, I think there is your missus," and he went out to her—he came back in a very excited state and very much upset—he wrote a letter in the shop directly he came back—he showed me a letter which he had written to his wife about three days before this occurrence—I did not read it.
Re-examined. This is not the letter.
WILLIAM MANNING (203 P). About two a.m. on June 19th I saw the prisoner knocking at No. 17; he asked me if it was No. 27—he went to No. 27 and knocked; the door was opened—I saw the deceased come from the top of the street—she said to him, "What do you come here and annoy me for?"—he replied, "I shall come where you are"—she turned and walked back to the top of the street—the prisoner followed her, and I also followed—Hampton was standing at the top of the street—I saw Roberts with the prisoner; Hampton stood a little way back—when I walked to the top of the street the deceased said, "He has assaulted me"—I requested the prisoner to go away, and he went away with Roberts, calling out something about to-morrow; "to-morrow" was the only word I could hear distinctly.
Cross-examined. I could not say if "to-morrow" was said as if he were making an appointment to meet.
ANN POLLARD . I am the wife of George Pollard, of 27, Costa Street—the deceased and Hampton stayed at my house from June 2nd to 19th as man and wife, passing as Mr. and Mrs. Freeman—the prisoner came on 18th June, and again about half-past ten on the morning of 19th—the deceased was not in then—he asked for her as Mrs. Freeman—I told him she was not in—he said, "She promised to be at home by appointment this morning"—he said he would call again, and went away—he came back in about an hour, about half-past eleven—he told me the day before her name was not Freeman—he said he was sorry she was not in, and he told me for the first time he was her husband—he said he gave her 4s. 6d. towards the rent last week—when he said he was her husband I was surprised, and said, "You had better take her home, for she cannot stop
here"—he said, "I suppose not"—I said, "Would you take her back?"—he hesitated a moment, and said, "I am afraid things have gone too far," and then he said, "Yes, I would take her back, for I care for the woman, for I love her dearly"—he said he would not mind if she was living with a man who could keep her, but that man could not, and it worried him so thinking about her and thinking she wanted.
ERNEST FARMAN . I live at 8, Huguenot Road, Peckham, and am a tailor—about 112.30 on 19th June I went into the Atwell Arms—the prisoner, the deceased, and Hampton were there; I went into the same compartment—the prisoner was sitting in the corner on the right-hand side of me, and the deceased next to him by his side, and Hampton was on the opposite side, on the left, facing them—I ordered some drink, and drank it at the bar—two little girls came in—while I was drinking I heard the prisoner mumble something to the woman; I could not hear what it was, and I heard her say, "No, no," two or three times—I thought I heard her laugh when Hampton wiped the little girl's nose—I did not hear her say anything else—I heard a movement and turned round, and saw the prisoner with his hand up to his top breast-coat pocket—I could not say whether he had anything in his hand—the woman was sitting on the chair; she looked at me and put her right hand up to her breast, and fell forward off the chair—the prisoner said, "I have done it, and I will suffer"—Hampton went out; I could not say whether he said anything—I did not hear him speak to the prisoner or his wife while he was there—I went out and spoke to a policeman.
Cross-examined. After she said "No, no," two or three times, she laughed; it was not immediately after that I heard the movement which attracted my attention; I could not say how soon it was—I was finishing up my glass of ale, and I looked round and saw the prisoner with his hand at his pocket—it was about half a minute after the laughter that I heard the movement.
ROBERT KINGSTON . I keep the Atwell Arms, Atwell Road, Peckham—on June 19th I served three people with beer, and then I left that part of the bar—I came back in a few minutes, and saw the deceased, who was on the floor leaning against a chair, and partly supported by the prisoner, who was sitting on the chair against which she rested—I thought she had fainted, and asked him if she was in a faint or a fit—he answered, "I have killed her"—I said, "Don't be foolish; give me a straight forward answer"—I did not think he was serious—he repeated the same words, and said, "You will soon know, as the police will soon be here"—I offered to assist him; he made an off-hand remark, when the constable came in and stopped the conversation—after the constable came in I saw the prisoner take the knife from his outside left-hand breast pocket, and hand it to the constable.
HARRY RICKARDS (269 P). About 12.45 on June 19th I was on fixed point duty at the Triangle, Rye Lane—someone spoke to me, and I went to the Atwell Arms—in the private bar I saw the deceased on the ground in a sitting position, and the prisoner was sitting on a chair close by her, with her head leaning against his knees—I asked him what was the matter—he said, "I have murdered this woman"—taking this knife from his left-hand overcoat pocket, he said, "This is what I did it with"—I saw that the woman was bleeding and unconscious; she did
not speak—I sent for a doctor—when Dr. Hodgson came the prisoner said, "Can you do anything for her, doctor?"—the doctor replied, "I am afraid not; she has gone too far"—the prisoner said, "She is my wife, the cow"—I told the prisoner to consider himself in custody—he said, "I did it, and must put up with it"—I took him to the station, and when the charge of the wilful murder of his wife was read to him, he said, "Quite right"—I saw this letter found on the deceased in the bosom of her dress—this letter and his marriage certificate were upon the prisoner—the certificate shows he was married in May, 1892—he was apparently sober. (The letter from the prisoner found on the deceased teas read.)
Cross-examined. I am quite sure the prisoner said, "the cow"—I mentioned it at the Coroner's inquest—the bar is a very small one—the landlord was on the other side of the bar part of the time—I believe he was not present when the prisoner said "the cow"—Dr. Hodgson was there then.
ROBERT HUGH HODGSON . I am a medical practitioner, at 204, Rye Lane—at 12.45 on June 191 was called to the Atwell Arms—the deceased was lying on the floor of the bar, on her back—she was dead—the prisoner was sitting on a chair—I recognised him, as I had treated his father—I examined the woman—while I was fastening up her clothes again the prisoner said, "Cannot you do anything for her, doctor?"—I said, "No, I fear she is beyond my help"—he said, "Is she dead?"—I said, "Yes"—the prisoner turned scarlet, and tears came into his eyes—he asked if he might be allowed to kiss her—I said, "Certainly," and he kissed her—he said, "She had a good home and a good husband, but she would go with that" I think, "beast of a fellow"—I am not quite sure of the word; I did not catch it—I made a post-mortem examination—I found an incised wound on the left side of the chest, penetrating the heart; it would necessarily be fatal—in my opinion that wound was the cause of death—it might be made with this knife.
Cross-examined. The constable was at the public-house when I got there—I could hear everything that passed between the prisoner and the constable; I was close by—I did not hear the prisoner say, "She is my wife, the cow"—I noticed his crutch—I cannot give an opinion by which hand the wound was inflicted; it was an easy wound, and either hand could have done it—her right side was touching the prisoner—she had sunk down backwards from the chair, and had probably turned—her knees were tucked up under her—when I said she was past help, and was dead, the prisoner showed extreme emotion—even his wrists flushed the colour of a boiled lobster, scarlet; I don't think I have seen it so much before—I asked him why he committed the deed—he said, "I could not help it."
GUILTY of Manslaughter. The Jury added that they found there had been great provocation, and that Hampton was deserving of very great censure.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. ELDRIDGE Prosecuted.
The prisoner, on 27th June, PLEADED GUILTY at this Court to unlawfully neglecting his child, who, from that neglect, had since died (Sessions Paper, Vol. CXX., p. 742). No evidence was offered upon this indictment.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. ELDRIDGE Prosecuted.
He received a good character.
GUILTY .— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
GUILTY .— Five Years' Penal Servitude
Before Mr. Justice Lawrance
637. JOHN SAMUEL ELLARD (37) , Feloniously setting fire to a dwelling-house, Jane James and other persons being therein. Second Count, setting fire to his own house in his own possession, with intent to Injure.
MR. MORGAN Prosecuted
ROBERT WAKEFIELD (356 K). On July 8th, between three and four a.m., I was on duty in Stainsby Road—I saw the prisoner flashing a razor out of the window of No. 76—he said he would cut the first b—'s throat that would enter his house—he let the window down, ran a piece of paper along the blind, and lit it with a match, and set fire to the window blind; the glass began to crack, and I blew my whistle—a fireman arrived.
ALBERT KIDD (520 K). On July 8th, about 3.40 a.m., I was on duty in Sussex Street—I heard a whistle, and went to Stainsby Road—I saw flames coming from the top window of No. 76, and for a yard and a half from the doorway—the prisoner was in a threatening attitude, with this assegai (produced) raised above his head, and using the words, "Who attempts to enter this b—show will have this through his head"—I told him he would be on fire himself if he did not mind—he turned to look, and I caught hold of the assegai and then seized him, brought him down to the door, and handed him over to some constables—I went back and searched the house—I found Henry James and three children getting out of lied—in the prisoner's room two beds were on fire—the windows were on fire, and the left-hand corner bed and the bed in the middle of the room were on fire—the fire brigade was communicated with, and a fireman put the fire out with a hand-pump—the fireman asked the prisoner to account or the fire in the middle of the room—he said, "I must have done it with my pipe, and the lamp accidentally fell on the bed"—when asked to account for the other fire he hesitated, and then said, "Take me to the b—station; I did it to avenge my wife for going over to the watchman
at Herman's, which is nothing better than a whore shop"—he seemed rational, but the worse for drink.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I knocked the assegai out of your hand.
WILLIAM WELLS (Fireman). I am stationed at Poplar—shortly before four a.m. on the 8th inst. I received an alarm, and went to 76, Stainsby Road, Limehouse, with an engine—the front room, second floor, occupied by the prisoner, was on fire, including a bed in the left corner of the room, the floor and the window frame, curtains and blinds; and another fire was in the centre of the room on a bed, and several things were piled on the top of it, not alight—I extinguished the flames with a hand-pump—I called the prisoner up and asked him how he accounted for the fire in the corner of the room—he demurred a little, and then said, "Oh, I must have done it accidentally, lighting my pipe with a paraffin lamp"—I told him I thought it was a very funny thing to do, and asked him to account for the fire in the centre of the room—he said, "Oh, take me to the b—station; I set fire to the b—lot out of revenge for my wife being over at Herman's all night with the watchman, which place (pointing in that direction) is nothing but a whore shop"—two panes of glass were broken by the heat.
JANE JAMES . I am the wife of Henry James, labourer, of 76, Stainsby Road, Limehouse—the prisoner is the landlord—the house is let out in lodgings—my husband, I, and three children live there, and two men lodgers downstairs—the fire occurred about 3.30 a.m. on the 8th—I was in bed—my room is under where the fire occurred.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You told me the house was alight, and we all got out of bed.
Re-examined. I was aroused by a policeman's whistle—I stayed till the fire was put out.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I did it, but I was in drink."
The prisoner repeated his defence, and added that lie told Mrs. James the house was alight, and she got up.
GUILTY . Six Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
ALBERT NOBLE . I live at 102, De Beauvoir Road, Kingsland—on July 5th I was assistant to Mr. Edgington, and the prisoner came in—I was alone in the shop—he asked if that little job was ready in the name of Smith—I asked him what it was—he said, "A watch"—I looked through the book and could not find any watch entered in that name, but knowing it was a policeman's watch I went to Mr. Edgington, who sent the watches down—I turned them over, and the prisoner said, "That is the one," so decidedly that he took me off my guard—I asked him if it was a policeman's watch—he said, "Yes," and I believed him—I am positive the prisoner is the man.
the morning of July 5th—it is worth about thirty shillings—I put it in a box with several others—I can swear to it by my private mark, which corresponds with the label.
----KNIGHT (Police Sergeant 184 K). On July 5th, at 12.55, the prisoner and Skerrett came into the station together, and the prisoner said, "This man is going to charge me with something or other"—Skerrett said "Yes, with obtaining a watch by false pretences?"—the prisoner said, "You don't want to do me any harm"—Skerrett said, No; but you tried"—this watch was found on him, and the owner was found—the prisoner was charged—he said, "I bought the watch at Dalston"—he was further charged on the same day with obtaining a watch from Mr. Snowden, of Ponders End, under similar circumstances—he said, "I don't know Ponder's End"—I asked his address; he handed me an envelope, addressed "Frederick Stock, Esq., 21, Lower Street, Caledonian Road"—I said, "Do you reside there now?"—he said, "Yes"—he afterwards asked me to wire to his wife—I asked his address—he said, "I don't live there now; I live at Camden Street, close by."
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You gave me this card, "W. Stock, representing W. Lush and Co., Borough."
ROBERT SKERRETT . I am a watchmaker, of 98, Leytonstone Road, Stratford—on July 5th, about twelve o'clock, the prisoner came and said, "I have called for a watch in the name of Lewis, left with you for repair"—I went to the books, but could not see the name during the last fortnight, and asked him the name again—he said, "Miss Jones"—I took a watch from the window and asked him if that was it; he said, "Yes, there is half-a-crown to pay," putting his hand in his pocket—I asked his address; he said, "14, Grove Crescent, Stratford"—I said, "I will bring it"—I followed him past Grove Crescent, and he did not go there—I took him to the station without losing sight of him.
Cross-examined. You went into a urinal; I saw you come out again—I put my head round and kept my eyes fixed on you—nobody else was there.
HARRY JOSEPH SKERRETT . I live with my father—on July 5th I was in the shop with him about 12.10, and the prisoner came in and said, "I have called for a watch left in the name of Miss Jones"—he looked at his book and said, "I have no such name as Jones," and took a little watch out of the window and said, "Is this it?"—the prisoner said, "Yes," and put his hand in his pocket and said, "Half-a-crown"—my father said, "Give me your address"—he said, "14, Grove Crescent"—he went out and my father followed him—I saw him next in the Court on the Friday; I am sure he is the man.
ELIZA JANE SNOWDEN . I am the wife of Joseph Snowden, a watch-maker, of High Street, Ponder's End—on June 29th, about 12.30, the prisoner came in and said, "I have called for Smith's watch"—I said, "I have not got a watch belonging to anyone named Smith"—he said, "My name is Smith, but it is someone else's"—I went into the kitchen and brought three watches out—he pointed to one and said, "That is my watch with the black tape; when it is in this position it won't go; when it lies down it will"—I let him have it, thinking he had authority to fetch it—it was worth about 7s.
Cross-examined. On July 13th I was taken to the Police-station—
you were put with four or five other men—I was very nervous—I was told to go and touch the man, and touched the wrong man—I apologised as I went out, and said I did not see him—I never know anyone at first sight; I know you better now—I have no doubt now.
JOSEPH HENRY SNOWDEN . I live at High Street, Ponder's End—on June 29th the prisoner came into my mother's shop about 12.30 and said, "I have called for Smith's watch"—my mother said she had not got any watch in that name—she went into the kitchen and brought, some watches—while she was gone he said the person the watch belonged to was going to Southend, and as mother came in he pointed to a watch with black tape on it and said, "That is the watch"—he took it away—he was in the shop five minutes—I picked him out in the Court yard on the 13th from about eight others, and am certain he is the man—I heard him speak about twenty minutes afterwards, and recognised his voice—he did not pay any money, but he had a half-crown in his hand.
Cross-examined. I said to the police, "That is the man, I think."
CHARLES DIXON (Detective Officer). I was at the Court on July 13th, when Snowden saw the prisoner; he walked direct to him, touched him with his finger, and said, "That is the man, I think"—Mrs. Snowden then followed, but failed to identify him—he afterwards spoke in a little room at the back of the Court, and the boy said, "I am sure he is the man now"—when he was charged he said "Enfield? I don't know where Enfield is. I was serving customers at Edmonton, but nut at Enfield"—the watch has not been found—he gave his address at 31, Camden Street.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I deny the charge. He picked out another man. I have no witnesses to call."
The prisoner, in his defence, said that he had not been sufficiently identified, and that he was with a person the whole of the evening of the 29th, whom he sent a policeman to look for to verify his statement.
GUILTY **. He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell in October, 1885, in the name of Arthur Thompson.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted.
ANDREW MACKLE (566 J). On Sunday, July 15th, at four a.m., I was at the corner of Park Place, Leyton, and saw the three prisoners in Lea Bridge Road—they were strangers to me—they came from the direction of the bottom of Mr. Hurrell's field—they looked round and saw me, and hurried away as fast as they could—I went in pursuit, and afterwards took Smith in Lea Bridge Road—when Perkins was arrested he had on the coat he has now, but afterwards he was wearing a dark coat—he wore a light dust coat when he was in Lea Bridge Road, with rather big
buttons—this is it, I believe (Produced)—it was broad daylight—I had them in view fully a quarter of an hour.
Cross-examined by Perkins. You also wore those working trousers—you got on to the marshes, and out of my sight.
Cross-examined by Ralston. I could not see you beyond Lea Bridge because there is a hill there—another constable was on the other side coming towards me—I did not see you with the bird in your hand but you had a sack, which was dropped at the side of the road; the bird was not in it then.
ALFRED JOHNSON (Policeman). On Sunday, 15th July, about 3.30 a.m., I was on duty in Lea Bridge Road, and saw Smith and two men, whom I cannot identify, stooping and picking up matches—I did not know Smith before I assisted in arresting him—the shortest man wore a brown coat similar to this.
ROBERT FINN . On Sunday, 15th July, about 4.15 a.m., I was on duty in Lea Bridge Road, and saw the men pass—I found this brown linnet in a cage tied up in a handkerchief in the road—at the station one of the prisoners wore a handkerchief of the same pattern as that round die cage; they correspond. (The two being put together the edges did not correspond.)
MARY ANN HUBBARD . I live at 165, Glen Road, Clapton Park—Perkins is a casual lodger there—he slept there on Friday night, and on Saturday night, 14th July, he had my husband's latch-key, but he had not come home a little after twelve o'clock—I did not shut up the house—I got up on Sunday morning just before eight and had a cup of tea with my husband—he said he got up at seven o'clock, and had been for a stroll with Bishop.
MARY PERKINS . I am Perkins' sister—this overcoat and waistcoat are his—they were indoors on Sunday afternoon, the 15th, and I fetched them for him in the evening—what he has on now are his Sunday best; I always brush them for him on Sunday.
WILLIAM KEMP (Policeman). On Sunday, July 15th, from information I received, I kept observation on the George public-house, Clapton—Ralston came out at 10.30, and I spoke to him—I mentioned Perkins and Smith—he said, "I have seen Perkins"—I made another communication to him—he was taken to the station, and he and Perkins were placed with twelve other men, and Mackle identified them.
Cross-examined by Perkins. You refused to go to the station—I said, "You will have to go; you will have a fair identification."
SAMUEL READ (Detective J). On 15th July, at 10.30, I went with Kemp to Glen Road, Clapton Park, and saw Ralston at the George public-house—I came out, spoke to Kemp, and walked up the road a short distance; Ralston was taken to the station and we returned and took Perkins.
Witnesses for Ralston.
MARY ANN HUGHES . I live downstairs in the house where Ralston lives—I saw him on this Saturday night at 12.30—I do not know where he was at four a.m., but he was at home when I got up in the morning, and I remarked to my husband what a bad cough he had.
Cross-examined. He is my father's lodger—I may have seen Smith come there—I was at the Police-court all day, but was not called.
closed at twelve; we came out together and went home and stood at the door till nearly one, and went upstairs to bed—my bedroom is in front of the house—the door was partly open, and I saw my son in bed and wished him good-night—I sat in a chair smoking a pipe, because I have lost my wife and do not get much rest.
Cross-examined. I did not go to the Police court because I am a pyrotechnist, and had to get up some fireworks for a display at the Hare and Hounds—the other prisoners very seldom came to my house—I have not been warned by detectives for harbouring thieves at my house—I have been eighteen years in Clapton, and have got a name second to none.
Smith's defence. I went home and found every door locked. I went for a walk. Coming back I saw an officer on the railway bridge. I went along Lea Bridge Road and two of them came up and said, "I arrest you on suspicion," and pulled out a bag and said, "Did you put that down?" I said, "No."
Evidence in reply.
WILLIAM DOVE . I am a watchman at the waterworks—at four o'clock a week ago last Sunday morning, I saw Smith, who I did not know before, come down by the side of the viaduct—he got on the Lea Bridge Road and ran away; I followed him—he got behind an elm tree to see if anybody was coming, and then ran away again—he intended to cross the river, but our caravans were at work, and there was three feet of water—he asked me to let him go through our premises, and said he had been through dozens of times—I said, "You have not; I am here to stop you"—he said, "I have always come over when the waters were high."
Cross-examined by Smith. I saw you run down the steps, and by the arches—there it a difference in your tone now—you said, "I want to come over this fence"—I said, "What do you want to come over here for? If you have not been doing wrong, what are you running away for?"—I can run pretty well, but I think you ran 400 yards before I ran 100—you were not carrying anything—if you had gone from where I saw you you could have got to the marshes—you were nearer by half a mile.
Smith. There is a paling six feet high; was not it impossible for him to see over it? The first constable says we three ran over the bridge. I went over the bridge, and I was not with these men, I was by myself.
NOT GUILTY . There were two other indictments against the prisoners upon which no evidence was offered.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. MARSHALL Prosecuted.
ARTHUR BARRS . I am a greengrocer, of 38, Sherwood Street, Bow Common Lane—on Tuesday, 17th July, seven of us went for a ride in a pony cart, for a bit of a spree—we did not go out with the intention of fighting—the prisoner did not go with us—I saw him when we came back at half-past eight—at a quarter to eleven that night, I and the prisoner and his brother and a young woman were having a drink in the King's Head—I was in drink—when we came out I and the prisoner began quarrelling, and two or three others—we were all rowing and fighting
together—the prisoner and I were hugging one another, and somebody stabbed me; I could not say who did it—I was bleeding, and was taken to the hospital—I did not see any knife. By the COURT. I said before the Magistrate that I went for a ride with the prisoner and his brother to Woodford—the prisoner is a mate of mine; we lodged and slept in the same bed—I never had any ill-feeling against him; I don't believe he would do such a thing as this—I hit the prisoner before he hit me.
THOMAS CROSS (Police, West Ham). On 17th July, at eleven, I was called to a row in the Broadway, West Ham, opposite the King's Head—I saw the prisoner and Barrs, clutching together by the necks—on proceeding towards them the people called out, "Mind; he has got a revolver"—I caught hold of the prisoner; he immediately let go of the witness and dropped a knife from his left hand—this (produced) is not the knife—I could not find the knife he dropped—the prosecutor fell back into the prisoner's brother's arms and called out, "I am stabbed"—the prisoners brother Alfred said, "That is all right; it was meant for me, and he has got it instead of me"—I examined the prosecutor, he was bleeding from the left side—I told the prisoner I should take him to the station, and his brother said, "I will bring Barrs"—on the way to the station the prisoner said, "I did it, and a good job too; they should not knock my poor old father about. What would you do if you saw your brother knocking your father about? Not take his part?"—he said nothing when charged—they were all drunk—he went quietly—I did not find any revolver on the prisoner—I am certain he had a knife in his hand; I saw the glitter of the blade—it was a common shut knife—there was a big lamp in the public-house, and there was a lamp opposite—there had been a row in the evening between the prisoner, his brother and the prosecutor—the prisoner's father had been knocked about by the prisoner's brother and others.
ALFRED PURKISS . I am a greengrocer, of 4, Abbey Road, West Ham—on 17th July I went out in the pony cart with the prisoner—prosecutor met us later—in the evening, outside the King's Head, there was a row—I do not know who stabbed the prosecutor—this knife belongs to my father; I had it in the afternoon before we went out, at two—I left the knife at home when I went out for a drive—I did not see it again till the police showed it to me.
ROBERT JOHN HILLYER . I am junior house surgeon at West Ham Hospital—on 17th July I saw the prosecutor there—he had a small skin wound in the chest, about three-quarters of an inch long and two inches deep; it was not a dangerous wound—I should not call him drunk; he was very excited—this knife could inflict such a wound.
NOT GUILTY .
MALYON— Eight Months' Hard Labour.
HOXTON— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. DRAKE Prosecuted.
JAMES LAW (326 A). On April 9th, about 1.15 a.m., I saw Salter with a pony and trap in Tate Road, Silvertown—I asked him what he was doing there—he said, "I am waiting for my two mates, who have gone on the marshes to ease themselves"—after a few minutes Lloyd and another man not in custody came up—I asked what they had been doing—Lloyd said, "We have been on the marshes to ease ourselves going home"—I saw them an hour or so later the same morning, in the same place—I questioned Salter as to what he was doing—Lloyd was not present then—while talking to Salter two men came up, one of whom was the prisoner—I found some hams in the cart; Mr. Glen saw them the next morning—when I asked Lloyd how he came into possession of the hams, he said, "What the hell has that to do with you?"—I said I should detain them—he said, "We will soon settle you," and he put his hand in his pocket—they decamped—I arrested Salter, and he was subsequently convicted at this Court—I have not seen the third man since—on 13th June, about 11.30, I picked Lloyd out from nine other men after his arrest—he said, "You would not have known me again if someone had not put you up to it."
Cross-examined by prisoner. I saw you within about four feet, about two yards from a lamp-post, twice, and had a good look at you—I am absolutely positive you are one of the men.
JOHN SALTER . I live at 2, Beal Street, Plaistow—I was convicted of the robbery of these hams, and sentenced to two months' hard labour at this Court—I was in charge of the pony and cart—the prisoner employed me on the Sunday evening—when the policeman spoke to me I called out "Bill," meaning the prisoner—no one else was with him at the time—he then stood by the pony's head—there were eight hams in the cart—I was driving.
By the COURT. I had been a carman, but I had two fractured ribs and a rupture, and I went street-hawking—I was a hard-working man till this affair—I worked for Charles Felton three years, and for a baker fifteen years.
GEORGE GLEN . I am superintendent to Messrs. Williams, shipping agents, who have sheds in the docks—on 9th April I examined a case of hams after receiving information; it had been pilfered during the night—I had seen the case on Saturday, 7th; it was then in good sound condition—I saw some hams at the Police-station; they were similar to those remaining in the case—I was a witness at Salter's trial—I understood him to say he had been decoyed into it by someone, and that he had borne a good character up to that time.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. All the cases on the quay were intact; they are all put in good condition when they are landed—if a case was broken open it would be between the Saturday night and Sunday morning—I missed hams similar to those found in the cart—the case
was supposed to contain fifty; forty-three hams were found, and seven were left in the case.
JOHN ROLLIT (Detective K). On 13th July, about 9.30, I arrested the prisoner—he asked for my warrant—I said, "I have told you the charge, and on that charge you will have to come with me to the station"—I took him to the station, where he placed himself with nine others.
The prisoner in his defence stated that he did not know how the hams came in the cart.
He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Chelmsford in October, 1888. Three prior convictions were proved against him.
Fourteen Mouths' Hard Labour.
MR. ROOTH Prosecuted.
JAMES DYCE (515 K). I was called to 4, Prospect Road on 3rd July, about 5 p.m.—I found the prisoner there in the buck yard, digging a knife into his left arm, which was bleeding—I took the knife from him, and threw him on his back, and attempted to bandage up his arm—he said, "It is no use your stopping me now; I shall do it again"—I took him to the station; he said he would go quietly.
WALTER ATKINS GROGONO . I am a surgeon, practising at the Broadway, Stratford—on 3rd July I was called to see the prisoner at West Ham Police-court at 5.15—he was suffering from an incised wound on his left forearm, about two inches in length, cutting deeply into the muscle—that wound could have been inflicted by a knife—the wound was not dangerous, but it was in a dangerous position—I had attended him twice before for attempted suicide, once by laudanum and once by hanging.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that he was very drunk at the time, and had no recollection of what happened.
GUILTY. The Jury added that they considered he was under the influence of drink at the time. The RECORDER directed that the prison surgeon should report to him next Session upon the behaviour of the prisoner.—Judgment respited.
MR. GRANTHAM Prosecuted.
WILLIAM EUSTACE (Detective). I arrested the prisoners on June 16th, about 2 am., and took them to the station—I found on Turner this stud in this white shirt, which he was wearing—on the shirt is some red cotton, and a mark on the collar—the stud is imitation jewellery—these two chisels were found on Turner.
boots in June from Wright for three shillings—I got my brother to pawn them for half-a-crown after wearing them for about three days—I did not know of the prisoner being in custody then—I am a newsboy.
JOSEPH PICKARD . I am a costermonger, of Chapel Street, Stratford—I knew the prisoner by sight—I bought this ring from Wright recently for threepence—I sold it afterwards for one shilling—I am a costermonger.
HENRY JOHN CHART . I am an actor—I was acting at the Stratford Theatre during the last few days of May—I had property in my theatre-basket in my dressing-room; the basket was locked by a bar and a pad-lock—this is my shirt; it is not marked with my name, but I know it by general marks: this small tab, and some grease paint round the collar, and a tea stain on the cuff—I believe this ring is my wife's property—this stud is mine; a stone is missing from it since it was taken—these are my boots; I recognise them by the mailer's name—I lost a pair that night—those things were safe in my basket on the night of 31st May—on the following evening I missed these three shirts, ring, stud, and boots.
THOMAS EDGAR HOWARD . I am manager of the refreshment bar at Stratford Theatre—on the night of 31st May I left my goods locked up, secured with a padlock and a mortice lock—next morning at 9.30 I found the locks had been tampered with; I could not insert the key in either of them—I found about thirty cigars missing out of a box.
CHARLES MEATON (Inspector). I was present at the station when the prisoners were brought in on 16th June—I saw these keys taken from Turner—I found that this one unlocked Mr. Howard's padlock—I should call this a skeleton key.
Wright in his statement before the Magistrate stated that he could not get into his house, as the door was bolted; that he walked about, and was returning home again when he was arrested.
MARY TURNER . I am your mother—this is the latchkey of our door, but any key will open the door—the other keys belong to Mr. Sidney Herbert Basing's theatrical company, with whom you were—you have several white shirts—I cannot say if these are yours—these chisels belong to my eldest son; he uses them for opening the case in which the piano is carried on tour—you had a quarrel with your brother—I cannot say if you would want them at two in the morning.
HENRY JOHN CHART (Re-examined). I was acting with Mr. Gilbert Hare's company, not Mr. Basing's—there was no lock on the dressing-room—I don't know where Mr. Basing's company was; I have heard of it—the dressing-room was reached from the stage door.
Turner, in his defence, stated that he was taking the chisels to have handles put on them, as his had broken them, and that he bought the studs and shirt from a tall, dark fellow, who said they were his property.
Wright stated that he bought shirt, ring, stud, and boots from the same man that Turner bought the other things from, and that lie sold the ring to Pickard for 3d.
GUILTY . TURNER then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony in October, 1892, and WRIGHT **†to a conviction of felony in August, 1890
Wright had been convicted on two other occasions. Turner had been charged on three other occasions. TURNER— Six; Months' Hard Labour. WRIGHT— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
645. GEORGE SEYMOUR (50) , PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a mare, set of harness, and a cart, the property of Alexander McKenzie, having been convicted of felony in September, 1893.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. PAYNE Prosecuted.
JANE ADA STEPHENSON . I am the prisoner's wife, unfortunately—I live at 1, Charleville Circus, Sydenham—my husband has nothing to do with that house—I was separated from him by mutual agreement (which I produce)—on 9th July, about twelve in the day, he came to the house, smashed the window, got into the larder, and helped himself to bread and butter, and demanded money—the value of the bread and butter was 6d., but it is not the actual value—he is always coming, and I am in fear of my life; he will not work; he pawns everything he can get hold of—he sold me up once, and he has ruined his father.
Prisoner. I did not break the window; it was open. It is a leaded window; I only took the lead out.
Witness. The lead was broken, and four glasses—I did not see you get in.
ALFRED BARTON (240 P) On 9th July, about 12.30 p.m., I went to 1, Charleville Circus, and saw the prisoner in the kitchen—I asked him what was the matter—he said, "What's that to do with you? I want some money, and she won't give me any; I mean to have a horse and cart, and sell all the furniture"—Mrs. Stephenson came in, and she charged him with breaking the window; the broken glass was on the floor—I told him I should take him to the station—he said, "All right."
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I have not given any provocation, but have been grossly insulted time after time."
Prisoner's defence. I have had grievances with my wife time after time. There is no agreement of separation. She misrepresents it as an agreement: it is only a Magistrate's order.
GUILTY .—WILLIAM JONES (91 P) stated that the prisoner had been repeatedly charged with stealing articles from the house, and with threatening and assaulting his wife, and had been bound over to keep the peace.— Four Months' Hard Labour, and to find one surety in £20 to keep the peace for eight months.
647. CHARLES GILDERSLEEVE (60) , PLEADED GUILTY to feloniously breaking and entering the Church of St. John, Deptford, and stealing an altar cloth and other articles, and to a previous conviction of a like offence on 24th July, 1893. Four other convictions were also proved against him.—
Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. ROBINSON Prosecuted.
MARY ANN FRYER . I am the prisoner's wife—I have been living apart from him for some time, but was drinking with him on July 5th—he asked me to go home—I would not, and he stabbed me outside the public-house—I do not want to injure him, on account of the two children—I have not been living with anyone else.
SOPHIA ODELL . I live at 20, Cobden Street—Mrs. Fryer has been living with me about ten weeks—I was outside, the public-house when she came out with the prisoner—I had not been drinking with them—they were quarrelling, and she said she would not go back—he said, "You will have to come back"—I thought he hit her, but afterwards I found he had a knife—a policeman was fetched, and he was given in charge.
By the COURT. A man came to my house twice, and I told her she must go elsewhere, and I told the prisoner—I knew that her husband wanted her to go back, and she refused—he said, "You are to come back with me."
JOHN PROCTOR (390 L). On the evening of July 5th I was called to a public-house, and saw the prosecutrix lying on the floor, bleeding from a wound on her left breast—I went outside and saw the prisoner—he said, "I have done it"—I took him into the public-house—she said, "That is him; I will charge him"—he said, "I done it with this"—it is an ordinary knife, very blunt—he was perfectly sober—this is her dress (Produced).
WILLIAM COKESHEARD . I am a medical man, of St. George's Road, Peckham—on July 5th I was called to the George and Dragon, and found Mrs. Fryer suffering from a very slight punctured wound on her left breast—it would require very considerable force to inflict it with this knife.
Prisoners defence. I hope you will forgive me; I did it in temper; I have got a very good character (Handing in some letters).
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. Recommended to mercy by the Jury on account of the provocation.— Discharged on his own recognizances.
MR. WILD Prosecuted; MR. DRAKE appeared for Fiddis, and MR. MOYSES for Granger.
ARTHUR JEFFREYS . I am manager of the London and Provincial ank, Old Kent Road—on August 18th this cheque, "Pay to the order Thomas Fiddis, £20," was handed to me—it was crossed, but was arked," Pay cash, W. H. S."—that is hardly as good writing as the body
of the cheque, and I do not think it is in the same writing as the signature—I paid cash for it, us my cashier was taking a holiday.
WILLIAM HENRY SYRES . I am a fishmonger, of 22, Great Suffolk Street—on August 19th or 20th my clerk Granger introduced Fiddis to me, who took me over some property, and said he wanted to sell it—I asked what he wanted for it—he said, ", £150"—it was in Becket Street, Camberwell—I went over it with two of them—he said that the County Council were down upon him, and he had not enough money—we then went to his lawyer's in the Strand—he said he had mortgaged it with his lawyer, who would not let him have any more money, and he sold it to him for £350—I gave him a cheque to Mr. Bellingham, the butcher, for £20 deposit on the lease—Granger drew the cheque up; he is in the habit of doing so, and I sign them—Granger crossed it—this is not my writing; I do not know whose writing it is—I did not authorise Granger to put these words on it—I could have given an open cheque—I gave it at 2.30 or three o'clock, and he gave me this receipt (Dated August 18th, 1893, and signed Thomas Fiddis)—Granger was there when the receipt was given—I believe the lawyer wrote it, and Fiddis signed it—there is on it "Mr. Burgess, 11, New Inn, Strand," but when he took me there Mr. Rurgess was out of town—I communicated with him, and went in consequence of that to the bank as early as I could next morning, but found the cheque had been cashed—I obtained it and went back to my place and saw Granger, and said, "Where does this man live?"—he said, "I don't know"—Granger writes better than this "Pay cash," but he has imitated this as near as he could—I always crass cheques—I spoke to Granger about those two words—he said he knew nothing about it—the detective spoke to him about it when he was taken, and then he said that I told him to do it—I took Granger to the station soon after—I found the cheque had been cashed, but he said nothing till June 22nd, when he was arrested.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. The cheque is dated August 18th, and the prisoners were not arrested till May this year—I went and saw the property on the day that Granger introduced Fiddis, and gave him the cheque the same day—the solicitor was out of town, and we went from there to Mr. Bellingham, in Red Cross Street.
Cross-examined by MR. MOYSES. I have known Granger many years—I had four fried fish shops; I have three now—Granger did not carry fish in for me, he merely booked it; his money was ten shillings a week—I went direct from the solicitor to Mr. Bellingham, the butcher—I sat in a chair there—I am not given to having a little drop of beer, but a month previously I had a week of it—I had not committed another little go—I have known Granger from a child, and it hurts my feelings to stand here and prosecute him, and if I could I would withdraw—he has always done his duty to me, and has paid me money many a time—I paid a deposit of £50 on some houses at Hitchen, and there was some difficulty—I put it into Granger's hands, and he sold them for £1,000—he found that a man had been delivering oil short weight, and he stopped it—on August 18th the prisoners and I were in the room together about half an hour—Mr. Bellingham was present—we did not think he was required at the Police-court, and he is not here today—Granger went willingly with me to the Police station—I had some conversation
with him in the presence of Sergeant Jenkins, but not of an Inspector—he had only just got to know Fiddis, and did not know where he lived—in July last year I said to Granger, "Try and look out for me if you can pick up a parcel of cheap property"—I went to see this property; repairs were being done to it—I never took any steps against Granger till now, because I did not wish to—I did not find out where Fiddis lived till just lately—I am a very bad scholar; I can just write my name, that is all—it was some months ago that I took Granger to the station.
Re-examined. I was quite able to understand all that took place from the time Fiddis saw me—the effect of what I had heard a month before did not prevent my going to the bank, and stopping the money.
The RECORDER considered that there was no case against Granger, and that Fiddis might have thought that Granger had authority.
NOT GUILTY .
The RECORDER considered that there was no evidence against
GRANGER.— NOT GUILTY .
WILLIAM HENRY SYRES . Fiddis took me over this property, and said that he was selling it, as he had got a certain amount of money on it, and could not get any more; that the County Council had come upon him, and he had not got any more money to do the repairs—I believed his story, and went to his lawyer, but he was not in—I purchased the property for £350, and gave him this cheque for £20—he gave me a receipt, which was drawn up at my lawyer's, Mr. Woodruff—I communicated with Mr. Burgess, and stopped the cheque in consequence.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. Mr. Burgess's clerk did not tell me that he was out of town, but Fiddis said so, and then I went to the butcher's, and gave this cheque.
FRANK THOMAS . I live at 249, Hollydale Road, Nunhead—I am owner of 1A and 16, Becket Street, Camberwell—I entered into an agreement with Fiddis to purchase the property for £350, and gave an I. O. U., but no cash—the contract was not completed, and was cancelled through my solicitor, Mr. Burgess, three or four months afterwards, and I had nothing to do with Fiddis afterwards.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I wrote to Fiddis saying that if he did not complete within a given time the contract would be renounced, and he had notice also from my solicitor—I met him nine months afterwards, and he asked me if I had sold the property—I said, "No; there were a lot of repairs to be done, and a lot of money spent on it"—he asked me what I wanted for it—I said it depended upon what would have to be spent upon it—I did not enter into negotiations with him to complete it—he did not say that he did not treat the agreement as having been cancelled.
Re-examined. I said, "You never took up the I O U"—that was for the deposit of £10 on the contract—I sold the property to Mr. Burgess at the end of April or the beginning of May this year. William Ashley Johnston. I am articled clerk to Mr. Burgess, at the end of April or the beginning of May this year.
solicitor, of 5, New Inn, Strand—in August, 1893, Fiddis came when Mr. Burgess was not there, and asked me whether Mr. Burgess had a fresh contract on the property at Camberwell—I said, "There is a lot of money being spent on it, and Mr. Burgess would not think of selling it till another valuation is made"—another solicitor had acted for Mr. Burgess a year previously, on behalf of Fiddis—I had a letter from him asking if a fresh offer was made, would Mr. Burgess entertain it—the contract terminated about August, 1892; at that time it was with Fiddis's solicitor, but there was some communication with Fiddis; personally with me afterwards.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. The correspondence in 1893 was not referring to the mortgage on the property—it was asking if it was still for sale—it was cancelled in August, and in February the next year there was some correspondence, and Fiddis was written to and told that the whole thing was at an end—he did not contend at the commencement of 1893 that it had not been cancelled; he wanted a fresh contract.
Re-examined. Mr. Burgess has never acted for Fiddis; Mr. Pryor did.
WILLIAM GENTLES (Detective Sergeant M). I arrested Fiddis on June 9th, and showed him the cheque—he said, "I did not write on it; a man named Granger wrote on it. I had the money, and I endorsed the cheque"—going to the station, on passing the London and Provincial Bank, he pointed and said, "That is the bank where I cashed it"—at the station he said, "What I have done I have done straightforward"—I had been looking for him two or three days—I first heard of the case in October, and tried to find him them, and since.
Cross-examined by MR. DRAKE. I arrested him at a turning off the Lower Road, Peckham, near his home—I found his address about twelve hours previously; the woman there said that he had gone away, but I said something about burglars in the back yard, and was allowed to search the house—the matter had not dropped from October to June, but from December to June I had given up all hope of finding him.
FIDDIS— GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard labour.
FRANK WHITE . I am assistant to Edward Norton and Co., bicycle makers, of Kennington Park Road—on June 6th, I locked up the shop, and next morning missed a bicycle, value about £15—I next saw it at the Police-station, and knew it; I had ridden it myself—the handle, belt, saddle, and a gilt transfer with the name of the firm were missing—two plates had been taken off, and the places painted over.
Cross-examined. I do not know anybody in the trade named Raften, senior; I heard the detective speak of him in connection with this case, but never before—I have not heard of Frank Raften.
WILLIAM BROODEN (Police Sergeant L). From information I received I went to the prisoner's house on the 23rd with Detective Sergeant Gray—the prisoner came to the door—I said, "Are you a bicycle maker?"—he said, "I am a concertina maker"—I said, "Have you a bicycle?"—he said, "I have one which I am making for myself," and took us up to a bed-room
—I Raid, "did you get these india-rubber tires from?"—he said, "I bought them of Mr. Smith in the Borough two months ago"—I left and returned in the evening, and Mr. Norton identified the bicycle—we waited till the prisoner returned, and I said, "This gentleman has identified the bicycle; I shall charge you with stealing it"—he said, "It is no good mucking about; I bought it"—at the Police-court he said he bought it of Frank Raften.
Cross-examined. I know Mr. Raften, sen.—he deals in anything—he has a son named Frank, who is awaiting his trial in this Court for burglary in connection with a bicycle—I searched the prisoner's premises, and found several bicycles, but none of the fittings of this bicycle—the prisoner said he bought the bicycle of a man who was with Frank Raften—I knew that he and the prisoner were acquainted—I knew the prisoner about a fortnight before this case.
Witnesses for the Defence.
CAROLINE ROGERS . I am the prisoner's mother-in-law—I live in the same house, 103, Warlington Street, Kennington Park Road—he is a musical instrument maker—he lived in apartments before, about seven months, and I lived with him—he had a shop in Oakley Street, Lambeth, twelve years, but I did not live with him then—on Wednesday, June 6th, the Derby day, he and I were in the house all day—on the next day two men came, and I heard them say something about a bicycle—Frank Raften was one of them—after they had gone the prisoner said, "I am going to buy a bicycle for £4 10s."—I said, "Don't buy it, Tom; you can't afford it"—he said, "It will save me making it," and on the Thursday he went and pledged the concertina he had been making, and came back and produced over £2—I understood he had to pay half on the Thursday—an old man, who gave his name as Jones, came for the money and took it away—I did not hear the conversation between him and my son-in-law—the prisoner used to buy banjoes of Jones and Raften—the prisoner wheeled the bicycle to the door early on the Thursday evening—it was daylight—there was no one with him—I saw no money pass on the Wednesday or Friday, but I know he paid money on the Thursday.
Cross-examined. I do not know whether the Mr. Jones who called sometimes goes by the name of Williams—I have not heard that Jones was up with Williams for stealing.
ELIZABETH ROGERS . The last witness is my mother; I live in the same house—I was in the house all day on June 6th, Derby day—I don't remember anyone calling that day or Thursday—I am about the house all day; I don't go to school—I think an old man called on the Thursday, but I was not in the room to hear what he said—the prisoner works at musical instruments, and they were tuning all that day; I never saw him working at anything else. The prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
652. FRANK HUGHES (30), JAMES HARMAN (20), and GEORGE WILLIAMS (50) , Burglary in the dwelling-house of Albert Rosenfield, and stealing a bicycle, his property, Hughes and Williams having been before convicted. HARMANand WILLIAMS PLEADED GUILTY . HARMAN received a good character, but Sergeant Gray stated
that he was the associate of thieves, and planned the burglary, and got Williams to do it.— Nine Months Hard Labour. WILLIAMS had been sentenced to fifteen months hard labour, seven years' penal servitude, and twenty years penal servitude.— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
No evidence was offered against Hughes.
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. BODKIN and A. GILL Prosecuted.
FREDERICK WESTBROOK . I am an auctioneer, of 35, Birdhurst Road, Wandsworth, and manage that department at Messrs. Arding and Hobbs, of Clapham Junction—early in July the prisoner called on me to take some property into our hands for collection of rent and general arrangements of a house in Orville Road, Battersea—after a little time he said he wanted a small advance on the security of the collection of the rents—I said we could not entertain that—he said, "Why?"—I said, "That is no security"—we received letters from him—this is one of them. (Dated July 6th, stating that he had a house at Battersea let in three flats at 35*. and 41*. 6d. a week, upon which he requested a loan of £25, and stated that he teas coming into property value £300 a year)—he said the lease was 90 years at £7 ground rent, and that there was a rent due which he would pay—I also received this letter from him, (Dated July 10th, regretting that they did not see their way to oblige him, as if they had done so he should have given them the management of his oilier property; and in another letter of July 12th stating that he would take £15 and guarantee the rent of 14s. 6d. a week, paying it himself if the premises were empty)—I do not think I saw him between July 12th and 31st, when I received this letter. (Offering to deposit the lease if they would let him have £30 instead of £25, he paying the rent and ground rent)—we had made no agreement to advance him £25—I then made an appointment for him to call, which he did on August 3rd, and I took him to Mr. Arding—he produced this lease of 33, Orville Road, which purports to be from Emily Bridgwater—Mr. Arding looked through it, and it was arranged that he should deposit it with us, and receive the £.30 less the amount of the rate—he was given this cheque for £27 12s. 6d., and we took this promissory note for £35 on demand—it is marked, "No account"—we went on collecting the rents; he wrote this letter authorising us to do so, in my office—after the promissory note came back I made inquiries, and, on May 24th or 25th, Messrs. Arding and Hobbs laid an information.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You said that the lease was for nine years, and the ground rent was £7, which I made a note of at the time; but I suppose you had made an error—you did not say, "I do not see the necessity for a promissory note, nor did I say that I looked on it as a security—we were to pay ourselves with the money we collected—we collected the rents for nine months, and expended the money on the property—nothing has gone to the credit of the £35—no mortgage was signed: the lease was handed over.
HENRY ARDING . I am one of the members of the firm of Arding and Hobbs, of St. Johns Rood, Clapham Junction—Mr. Westbrook is in ✗employ—I remember the prisoner calling and wishing to have money ✗on property which we were to collect the rent of—I said there
was no difficulty if he deposited the lease with us, and he did so, and had the advance—I believed this was a genuine document from Miss Emily Bridgwater.
Cross-examined. The bill was presented on May 24th, and the warrant was applied for on the 25th.
JANE REBECCA BARNLEY . I am the wife of John Barnley, and am the owner of Orville House, Batter sea—I have never seen the prisoner—on February 22nd, last year, I granted a lease of that house—it was never returned to me; I have sold it.
GILBERT CORBEN . I am clerk to Mr. King, of 99, Chancery Lane, solicitor to the Building Society Shareholders' Association—he holds a mortgage on 33, Orville Road; I have the lease—Walton May is the mortgagee; that is the prisoner—it was executed on June 8th, 1893, to secure an advance of £50—the lease was deposited with us on June 5th, and the mortgage is still existing.
Cross-examined. A very small amount has been paid off; the amount of the writ was £48.
By the COURT. The £7 10s. is for 7 1/2 per cent, interest—that would be 15 per cent.—I am not here to defend the society.
ERNEST CLIFFORD . I am a tobacconist, of 7, Cairo Terrace, Earl's Court—I have lived there seven years—the prisoner called and asked if I took in letters—I said, "Yes, and I make a charge of 1d."—he afterwards called and asked if there was a letter for Miss Bridgwater; I said, "Yes," and gave it to him.
JOHN WINDSOR (Police Sergeant V). On May 27th I received a warrant for the prisoner's arrest, and on the 28th I went to 7, Ladywell Road, Chelsea—the prisoner opened the door, and I said, "I wish to speak to you"—he said, "What is the matter?"—I said, "We are police officers, and have a warrant against you; it alleges fraud against you"—he said, "Well, it is useless to say anything"—I took him to the station.
JOHN THORLEY (Detective Sergeant D). I made inquiries in Warwick Road, Kensington, almost from house to house, for Walter James (the attesting witness to the deed), but could find nobody of that name.
Prisoner's defence: When the transaction was carried out I had not the slightest intention to defraud; the debt would have been liquidated in course of time.
GUILTY .— Three Years' Penal Servitude. There were three other indictments against the prisoner.
MR. TUDOR Prosecuted.
WALTER FRANK NORRIS . I live at Worlinghain House, Dulwich—n June 24th, about 10.45, I was sitting in my dining-room and heard glass breaking at the back—I found the glass of a door leading from the garden to the passage broken—I went into the garden and found the prisoner—I asked him what he did there—he said, "I don't know"—I asked how he got into the garden—he said, "Over the
wall"—the door was still bolted and locked—he said that my goods were as good as anybody else's—I sent for a policeman and gave him in custody.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I am a gardener—you did not say that you had been drinking and had been sick—I took you to the scullery, and locked the door—you sat down on the doorstep—I asked why you broke the glass—you said, "I could not get into the house; the door was locked"—I found some clothes on the ground, which had been on a tail.
ALEXANDER DURFORD (Policeman). I was called, and found the prisoner sitting on a step in the kitchen—Mr. Norris said that he heard glass break, and found him crouching in the garden—I asked the prisoner what he was doing—he said he simply got over the wall—I took him to the station.
Cross-examined. I found a coat lying in the passage by the back door—the glass was broken, and it was quite easy for any person outside to reach the coat.
The prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate, and in his defence, said that he saw a gate open, and walked in, and went to steep, and he went to the door and broke the window, because lie could not get out.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY ** to a conviction at Bow Street on November 24th, 1890, in the name of Andrew Connor.— Ten Months' Hard labour.
MR. KEELING Prosecuted; MESSRS. PURCELL and COHEN Defended.
Bandloss received an excellent character.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. ROOTH Prosecuted.
GUILTY of indecent assault.— Four Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
657. GEORGE WILLIAMS (17), and WILLIAM PACKER (17) , PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling-house of Henry Burgess, and stealing seventeen spoons and other goods. PACKER— Nine Month's Hard Labour. WILLIAMS— Discharged on Recognizances.
658. WILLIAM MATHEWS (40) , to being in the dwelling-house of Frederick Kelly, and stealing articles of clothing, his property. Several convictions were proved against him.— [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] Twelve Months' Hard Labour. And
659. MICHAEL SWEENEY ** to burglary in the dwelling-house of Elizabeth Gaffney and stealing two aprons and other articles, having been convicted at the Surrey Sessions in June, 1885.— [Pleaded Guilty: See original trial image.] Twelve Months more after the expiration of his former sentence of Ten Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. GILL Prosecuted.
ELLEN MILLER . My husband is a cellarman, of 88, South Lambeth Road—I had a newspaper business at 6, Hockington Road—I got to know the prisoner by her coming there as a customer before August, 1890—she said she was a widow and had mortgaged her property for seven years, and would positively be in possession of it in June, 1891—she said the property was in Westbourne, and in one of the squares—she spoke of her cousin, Colonel Dickenson, and Mr. Nathanial Cox, of Cherry Gardens, Kensington, as co-trustees of her property, and said that Mr. Cox was going to intercede with someone to get her property before June—I believed her statement—on August 8th she gave me this letter (Asking the witness to lend her £1, for which she would give a promissory note for £2)—I let her have £1, and she gave me this note for £2—after that she called and said she was going to Liverpool about her property, and brought me a letter from Mr. Cox advising her to go, and asked me to advance her the money to go—I believed that the letter was from Mr. Cox, and advanced her £10—she wrote to me from Bond's Hotel, Liverpool, for more money, and I sent her £5—on September 2nd she wrote asking me for £5, and I sent her £4—she was sometimes a day or two on 1 in the date of her letters, but she acknowledged the £4 and the £5—on September 1st she wrote asking me for £20—I was not in a position to send it, but sent her £7 in a registered letter, which she acknowledged—later in September I sent her £2, and afterwards £3—she said she had gone to Birkenhead to meet Mr. Cox—I wrote to him there, and the letter came back through the Dead Letter Office—I told her about that, and she said that he had been upset by having insolent letters sent to him, and he would not take in any more; but she would write to him, and beg him to write to me—on November 11th I got what I believed to be a letter from Mr. Cox. (This was dated November 11th, and stated that the moment his physician would permit him to go out he would pay all claims, and said, "If you can oblige Miss F. with £3 it will be worth your while; she will be able to pay a fair £1,000 sterling in a few months")—I believed that to be a genuine letter—on December 24th I let her have 30s. more—she applied again, but I could not let her have it, but gave her 10s. weekly till it amounted to £6—I had other letters of the same sort of Mr. Cox, from Chenies Gardens, Chelsea—in January I made her a further advance of £6—she spoke to me continually explaining how the delay was—I also advanced her £2 10s. to enable her to go to Birmingham—I wanted to see Mr. Cox, and she took me to 17, Chenies Gardens, and said, "Wait at the gate; I will go in and see if he is disengaged, and I will call you"—she knocked at the door and a servant came—she came, back and said, "Mr. Cox is called away on business"—I believed that—a proposal was made to purchase my business, and I received a letter from Mr. Cox asking me not to sell it, as he wanted to buy it for a friend—he obtained from me £40 10s.—I am certain of that—she disappeared about June, 1891, and I heard no more of her till she was in custody.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You had more than £35 from me—I only pave a few coppers to Mrs. Holliday; you asked me not to, as it would be spent in drink.
Relief of Discharged Soldiers—no person named Colonel Dickenson is connected with it.
VIOLETTA DOSSETT . I live at 32, Gladstone Road, Wimbledon—I knew the prisoner as far back as 1887—she made a statement to me with regard to Mr. Cox, of Chelsea, and Mr. Lee, of Saville Row, and wrote me a letter about her relations Colonel Lanesborough and Mr. Dickenson—I also received this letter from her. (Requesting the loan of £2 to go to Liverpool and obtain certificates of her birth and her father's death)—I lent her £2, and she got £17 from me altogether—I believed the statements she made—I lost sight of her afterwards, and never saw her again till she was in custody—I made her acquaintance through her lodging at my mother's.
FRANCIS STRINGER . I am one of the principal clerks in the Writ and Judgment Office of the Supreme Court—I have searched the records of 1887 and 1888, but find no trace of an action of Furneaux v. McCarthy, or Whitman v. McCarthy.
MICHAEL KEENE (Detective Sergeant W). On 6th June I arrested the prisoner at the Town Hall, Leeds, on a warrant, which I took out on May 31st this year at Lambeth Police-court—she was detained at Leeds—I said, "I am a police officer from London; I am going to arrest you on a warrant for obtaining several sums of money from a woman named Miller"—she said, "You can't help it; going to London I got into bad company with Mrs. Holliday, and it was she who took me in. She wrote the letters which were supposed to come from Mr. Cox, and I re-copied them, and sent them to Mrs. Miller; the money was spent in drink."
GUILTY .—She then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Warwick on May 6 M, 1892, of a like offence. MR. GILL, stated that she was a celebrated swindler, and had obtained thousands by representing herself as Lord Albert Pelham Clinton, passing as a woman till the Queen's pardon was obtained for certain scandals. Other convictions were proved against her.— Five Years' Penal Servitude on till counts relating to Mrs. Miller, and Five Years more on those relating to Dossett.
661. HUGH BURNS, HENRY TURVEY , and JOHN WOOD PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a watch from the person of Francis Aird Fairley; they having been convicted of felony, Turvey in January, 1888, Wood in April, 1890, and Burns in May, 1893.Nine other convictions were proved against Turvey, three against Wood, and one against Burns. TURVEY— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. WOOD— Ten Months' Hard Labour. BURNS Six Months' Hard Labour.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 10TH, 1894.