CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
TWELFTH SESSION, HELD OCTOBER 22ND, 1894.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,
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OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
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COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY, INCLUDING CASES COMMITTED TO THIS COURT UNDER ORDER IN COUNCIL, PURSUANT TO THE WINTER ASSIZE ACT OF 1879, WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
Held on Monday, October 22nd, 1894, and following days.
BEFORE the RIGHT HON. Sir GEORGE ROBERT TYLER , Bart., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir WILLIAM HENN COLLINS , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court of Justice; Sir REGINALD HANSON , Bart., M.P., 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; Lieut.-Col. HORATIO DAVID DAVIES , Esq., Sir JOSEPH COCKFIELD DIMSDALE, JAMES THOMAS RITCHIE , Esq., WALTER VAUGHAN MORGAN , Esq., WILLIAM PURDIE TRELOAR , Esq., and JAMES CHARLES BELL , 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.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
TYLER, MAYOR. TWELFTH 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, October 22nd, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
771. HENRY FREEMAN JEYNES (36), PLEADED GUILTY . to embezzling £502 9s. 6d. of John Woodhouse and others, his masters; also to two other indictments for embezzling other sums of his said masters.— Four Years' Penal Servitude.
772. RICHARD CHARLES MANN (28) , to stealing a box of cigars, value £3 15s., of D. W. 0. Wills and another, his masters, and PERCY SCARFE CONQUEST (38) , to feloniously receiving the same.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
773. RICHARD GEORGE HOUGH (20) , to stealing three mail bags containing money and cheques value £7,000, and other valuable instruments and properties, the property of H.M. Postmaster-General.— Three Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
774. CHARLES SAMUEL IVES (28) , to two indictments for stealing, whilst employed in the Post Office, two post letters, one containing postal orders, and the other a cheque for 16s., the property of the Postmaster-General.— Nine Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
775. JOSEPH CALE (23) , to stealing, whilst employed in the Post Office, two letters, the property of the Postmaster-General. He received a good character.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
776. EDWARD PURDOE (24) , to a burglary in the dwelling-house of Henry Neaves, with intent to steal; also to two indictments for house-breaking, and to assaulting and wounding Charles Howard Jackson, a constable, in the execution of his duty.— Three Years' Penal Servitude. The COURT. awarded £ 5 to Jackson for his courage and bravery in apprehending the prisoner. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. DRAKE. Prosecuted, and MR. GEOGHEGAN. Defended.
GEORGE WARWICK . I lived at 47, Poland Street, Oxford Street, in the early part of 1887, and was a jeweller—I was then introduced to the prisoner by Mr. Verges—I had a conversation with the prisoner, and as the result of that I produced some articles—the prisoner purchased a diamond necklet from me; I forget the price—the prisoner gave me a
bill for about £200, and most likely a cheque—I have not got the documents—my solicitors, Messrs. Collyer, are not going on with this prosecution because I did not want to spend more money; they sent me this letter—the bill and cheque were dishonoured when I presented them—Messrs. Collyer have the documents—the dishonoured bill and cheque were with reference to the diamond necklet—later in the year I sold the prisoner other articles, among them a pair of links; I don't remember what else—I have not looked at the evidence I gave before the Police-court eight years ago—I alleged that he had stolen about £200 worth of property from me; I don't think it was £570—I might have charged him with getting the diamond necklet by fraud by means of the cheque and bill—I did not charge him with either robbing or defrauding me of goods worth £573 altogether; there were two separate transactions—he obtained a pendant and two pairs of earrings, I believe—I have seen the prisoner three times since; I don't think I have spoken to him—I had an interview with him at his office in Seething Lane—I had previously asked him for payment—I went to Seething Lane most likely to get payment for part of the money he owed me—I did not get it—I most likely asked him for payment—ultimately I gave him a diamond pendant and two pairs of earrings to sell, I think, to Mr. Bellairs, and if not sold to him to be returned to me—the value of those things was about £180—I don't know if the prisoner said anything to me then about Mr. Bellairs, who was a well-known man—I was to get my goods back two or three days afterwards—at the end of that time I called at his office; I got neither goods nor money—I don't remember what he said, it is so long ago—I don't know how the name of Bircham, the solicitors, came to be mentioned—I pressed the prisoner for money, and could not get it—then I gave the jewellery to the prisoner to sell to Mr. Bellairs, as he would get a certain amount of profit out of it—when I called on the prisoner after the two or three days, he said he had had no answer about the goods; he had not been able to see his man, or something similar to that—I saw him again a few days afterwards, but got neither the articles nor the money—I next saw the articles at Attenborough's, the pawnbroker's, in Fleet Street, and at Messrs. Dobree's—when I found they had been pawned, I went to the solicitor's and issued a warrant—I was inquiring at the pawnbroker's for other goods that had been pawned by four or five other people—the prisoner was arrested and brought to the Mansion House, on the charge of obtaining goods by false pretences—the prisoner only had the goods to show to his particular friend—no one else was at his office when I saw him on 18th May, and when I gave him the things—I did not, to my knowledge, authorise him to go to pawnbrokers' shops.
Cross-examined. I can call no one to corroborate my statements as to my conversations with the prisoner; we were the only two there—I brought forward against him all the accusations I could—I don't know what I swore to against him at that time—I don't know that the prisoner was only committed for stealing a diamond pendant worth £165—I say now he obtained from me, by false pretences, a pendant and two pairs of ear rings; I believe that is all—Mr. Verges is a Greek; he had goods of the same pretences, and got twelve months—I am now a commerci traveller—I am an uncertificated backrupt through this mutter—in
discharge has been suspended for ten years from 1888—I don't think that the Registrar said mine was the worst case he had ever heard—in September, 1885, I went through a bigamous marriage with a young lady whose father lent me money during the engagement—I was married at the time—I knew the prisoner was interested in and was fitting out a ship, out of which he expected to make a large profit—he was hard up—I was not prosecuted for bigamy; it was a matter of error; there was no animosity—I borrowed money from my second wife's father some time before the marriage—I swear I did not give this jewellery to the prisoner to pawn—my first transaction with him was the sale of the diamond necklet—he did not pay me—I sued him—I got judgment on the cheque and bill—I did not get the goods back—I tried to—he did not tell me he had taken the necklet to Spinks to see what they would advance on it, and that they had said the stones had been changed—he sent me a telegram saying that if I did not go and change the necklet trouble would ensue—the prisoner raised a doubt about one of the stones; I don't know on whose advice—he did not say Spinks said the stones had been changed for others of an inferior quality—I went to see him, and he said, I believe, that one stone had been changed—the prisoner had two or three necklets submitted to him; he only kept one—I did not know he was going to pawn it at Spinks's, of Gracechurch Street—the sheriff was not in my house when I called on the prisoner with the goods to sell to Mr. Bellairs—my creditors were not pressing me—I was in business then as a jeweller; I was not selling goods on commission—I had the pendant on approval from another house; the other things were my own—I did not give these goods to the prisoner to pawn because I could not assist him with money to fit out the ship, from which he expected to make a profit; I could have given him a cheque if I had liked—I might have given him a cheque for £20 on 19th May—I had an account at the City Bank and one at Brown's—if my cheque was on the City Bank it was not dishonoured, because I always had over £100 there; but my account at Brown's was small, and I might have given him a cheque on that account, so that, if he did not perform his part of the contract, the cheque would be dishonoured—I don't know if I heard two witnesses swear at the Police-court that I had given the goods to the prisoner to pawn; I have forgotten it—my present employers carry on business in London, and I am sometimes in the City—I have seen the prisoner three or four times in the City—I saw him in Billiter Street about lunch-time—he was going into a restaurant; I was going out—I did not call a constable and give him into custody—I saw him again at Waterloo Station—I did not give him into custody, or ask him what had become of my jewellery—I had lost between him and his friends over £1,000, and I did not want to throw more money away over a prosecution—I also saw him in the Strand—I did not give him into custody—when I prosecuted him at the Police-court I had money—Outram had the warrant to arrest him—I have no witness to corroborate me—I knew the prisoner's defence all along was that I gave him the things to pawn—I allowed him to be at liberty, although his defence came to saying that I had committed perjury.
Re-examined. There was no complaint as to stones of the pendant being exchanged until a week or two afterwards.
The JURY. here intimated that, as the prosecutor's evidence could not be corroborated, they desired to acquit.
NOT GUILTY .
778. JOHN WILLIAMS (24), CHARLES WILLIS (26), and JOHN HENRY NEWMAN (23) , Burglary in the dwelling-house of Adolf Aaronsberg, and stealing a case and spoons, his goods. WILLIAMS and WILLIS PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. ORMSBY. Prosecuted.
ARTHUR CLARK (Sergeant X). On 24th September I met Newman, and told him I was a police officer, and should take him into custody for being concerned with two other men in breaking into Brondesbury Villas on the night of the 21st inst.—he said, "Yes; that is quite right; I know all about it. I did not go inside; I was watching outside. I did not see the others come out"—on the charge being read to him he said, "Yes, that is quite right. It was only extreme poverty that compelled me to do it"—Police-constable Baker was there, and the officer who took the charge—I believe Baker heard that.
ADOLPH AARONSBERG . I live at 92, Brondesbury Villas—I came home on Saturday afternoon, and found my house in the possession of the police—a chest of drawers was broken open—when I left the house on the night of 21st all the doors and windows were fastened; on my return I found they had been opened.
Newman, in a written defence, stated that he did not watch outside the house, nor go in, but that earlier in the evening he was with the other prisoners.
Willis then PLEADED GUILTY. to a conviction of felony in February, 1894, in the name of Charles Fewin. WILLIS— Fourteen Months' Hard Labour. WILLIAMS and NEWMAN— Twelve Months' Hard Labour each.
NEW COURT.—Monday, October 22nd, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. WILKINSON. Prosecuted.
BRUCE DOIG . I am a baker, of 164, Kingsland Road—on August 25th, about eight p.m., I served Bevan with a loaf, price twopence—she gave me a florin—I tried it in the tester; it bent easily—I gave it back to her, and told her it was bad—she said, "I must take it back," and went away, leaving the loaf—she returned in about ten minutes, and paid with a sixpence—I said, "Have you taken it back?"—she said, "No, I forget where I took it"—I saw her next at Worship Street Police-court, when the other charge was being gone into—I knew her before as a customer.
Cross-examined by Bevan.—I am positive you came to my shop that day.
PHILIP WILLIS (Police Sergeant D), I was at Worship Street Police-court on February 4th and 11th, when the charge against the prisoners was heard—Alexander Bolton's evidence was taken—he was cross-examined by a solicitor, and his deposition was read over and signed. (The deposition of Alexander Bolton was here read: "I am barman at the Duchess of York, Kingsland Road. On Thursday, 30th ult., at 1.30 p.m., the two prisoners came in with another woman; the man called for drink coming to 3d., and put down a florin. I felt by the weight it was bad. I took it to the landlord, having told the male prisoner it was bad. He produced some coppers, and offered to pay. He said he was a hawker, and supposed he must have taken it from a customer. My employer then spoke to him, and he walked out. He paid for his drink in coppers. The woman left after the male prisoner; I followed them up to a court, when I lost them. Last night I identified the prisoners from others at the station. By Noll: I have not seen you in the house since." but I am not there all day. By Bevan: I did not see you in the house since."Re-examined on September 11th: "When I told the prisoner the florin was bad, he said.' I must have took it from a customer at my stall.' The female not in custody said, 'I will pay for the drink.'—ALEXANDER BOLTON.")
ALBERT BACON . I keep the Duchess of York, Kingsland Road—on August 30th my barman handed me this florin—I tested it and found it was bad—I went into the bar and found the two prisoners—I said to Noll, "This is a bad coin"—Bevan said, "You must know where you took it"—he said that he must have taken it at a stall in Oxford Street—they went away—I handed it to Sergeant Willis.
ALBERT SHAMBROOK . I am barman at the Bacchus, Hoxton Street—on September 1st the prisoners came in together with another man and woman—Noll called for two of mild and bitter and half of gin, which came to 5 1/4 d.—he gave me a florin—I gave him the change, and they remained in the bar—the same kind of liquor was called for again; it came to 5 1/4d., and he gave me another florin—I gave him the change, and put the two florins at the back of the till, where there was no other florin, nor were there any in the till—after the prisoner left, the manager called my attention to the till, and I found two bad florins—on the next Monday night I saw the prisoners at the Police-station with about a dozen persons, and identified them.
Cross-examined by Nell. I did not tell the inspector that there were five bad florins on the rack, but three other customers came each with a coin that we had given them, and which they said were bad.
ERNEST FRANKLYN . I am manager of the Bacchus—on September 1st, about ten p.m., I entered the bar and saw the prisoners there—I had seen them both there before, and I ordered Noll out because we do not serve him—after they left I went to the till and found these two bad florins on the two-shilling rack—I handed them to Sergeant Willis—the till is made up about every hour—I next saw the prisoners at Kingsland Road Police-station, and identified them.
and a man with them—Noll, I think, called for a pot of ale, price 4d.—a florin was given in payment, which I examined—I tried it with aqua fortis, and found it was bad—I spoke to them about it—Bevan said, "Blind me, it is a bad thing to be shown up like this; I shall take it where I got it from"—she paid with fourpence—the other man took it up and left the house—the prisoners remained two or three minutes, and then left together—I saw them with others at the station two or three days afterwards, and identified them.
Cross-examined by Noll. You Mere at my house; I served you myself.
PHILIP WILLIS (Police Sergeant G). On September 3rd, in consequence of information, I went to the Hare public-house, Hoxton, with Airey, and found the two prisoners—I called them outside, and said, "I shall take you in custody on suspicion of uttering counterfeit coin at the Bacchus public-house on Thursday and Saturday"—Noll said, "I know I was in the Bacchus on Saturday night with this woman, but I do not remember passing any money"—as we went to the station we met a man, and he said "It is all up"—they were placed with other people, and identified.
Bevan's defence. I never saw any bad money.
GUILTY .—NOLL**— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. BEVAN— Six Months' Hard Labour.
780. HENRY DEAN (39), PLEADED GUILTY to feloniously having seven counterfeit coins in his possession with intent to utter them, after a conviction on November 19th, 1888; he was also indicted with JANE DEAN (40), for the unlawful possession of the said coins; to this he also PLEADED GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour, and MR. PARTRIDGE, for the prosecution, offered no evidence against JANE DEAN— NOT GUILTY .
781. JOSEPH MILES** (52) , to feloniously having counterfeit coin in his possession with intent to utter it, having been convicted in Sussex of uttering in April, 1889, in the name of Frederick Saunders.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
782. WILLIAM HILL (50) , to feloniously uttering counterfeit coin, having been convicted of feloniously uttering on April 8th, 1889, in the name of Henry Graham.— Three Year's Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. PARTRIDGE. Prosecuted.
ESTHER BORWICK . I live with my husband at 28, Burton Street, King's Cross—on May 4th I was barmaid at the White Hart, and Seymour came in for a pony, which is a small glass of ale, price 1 1/2 d.;—she gave me a half-crown; I thought it was bad, and passed it to the landlord—she was given in custody with the coin.
Hart, and asked Seymour how she became possessed of the coin, and she said, "A gentleman gave it to me in Oxford Street to pay my cab fare"—a halfpenny was found on her—this is the half-crown—she gave her name Dora Wheeler, but refused to give her address.
AGNES ALROND . I am barmaid at the Catherine Wheel, Little St. James's Street—on Saturday night, September 22nd, I was in the bar about ten o'clock, and served Seymour with a glass of stout—she tendered a bad florin—I bent it in the tester and gave it to the barman, who broke it in three pieces, which were handed back to her—I asked her if she knew it was bad; she said, "No," and gave me a good florin, and asked if that was any better—I gave her the change and she left—I afterwards picked her out at the yard at Marlborough Street from several other women.
HARRY FARMER . I am barman at the Catherine Wheel—I received a half-crown from the last witness on September 22nd, bent it and gave the pieces to Seymour—I picked her out from other women at the station.
MINNIE UPTON . I am barmaid at the Old Bell, Pall Mall—on the night of September 22nd Seymour came in for some soda and ale, price 2 1/2d., and tendered a half-crown—I put it to my teeth and they went into it; it was soft—I said, "Do you know this is bad?"—she said, "No; I had it given me in change for a sovereign, I know where I took it; I will take it back"—she handed it to a stranger to look at; he said it was a very good imitation—she was sober—she gave me a good florin, and said, "See if that is any better"—after she left, Wood came in and spoke to the barman—I saw Seymour at Vine Street the same night.
ERNEST WOOD . (206 C). On September 22nd I saw Seymour come out of St. James's Street by herself at a little before eleven o'clock—she joined Phillips in Pall Mall Place, they went away together and I lost sight of them—I went down Pall Mall gently, and when I got to the corner of John Street I saw Phillips on the opposite side—Seymour came from the side entrance of the Old Bell, and passed me, and went towards Waterloo Place—Phillips went in the same direction—I followed them a few yards—I went into the Old Bell, spoke to the barman, and then went after the prisoners and told them the charge—Phillips said, "What are you talking about? I have only just walked up the street, and was having a little conversation with the woman"—Seymour said, "I did pass the half-crown, but I did not know it was bad"—Phillips gave a correct address; Seymour gave her name, but refused her address—I called Police-constable 329 to take one of them—I searched Phillips at the station, and found a quarter of a pound of tea, three good florins, four shillings, four sixpences, a threepenny-piece, nineteen pence, and seven halfpence—I took this purse from his hand when I arrested him.
By the COURT. I had never seen Seymour before, and have no knowledge of her vocation.
WILLIAM BANNELL . (Detective E). On September 22nd, a little after twelve o'clock, I was with Sergeant Nichols in Long Acre, and saw the prisoners walking west in conversation—I knew them both, but had never seen them together before—Seymour is always in the company of coiners.
22nd, about 12.10 or 12.15, and saw the prisoners together—I knew them both before, well—they were just turning out of Drury Lane into Long Acre.
Cross-examined by Seymour. I did not threaten you in June that I would have you by hook or by crook within a month.
Seymour, in her statement before the Magistrate, denied knowing Phillips, or being in Long Acre; she called—
LOUISA BAILEY . I live at 11, Wooden Street, Commercial Road, New Cut, and am Seymour's landlady—she was living with me on September 22nd, and I was with her that day from 9.45 a.m. to five p.m.—we went to the Cut, and went into the White Horse on the road, and never went out till five p.m.—we had some lemonade and some beer—she did not leave me long enough to enable her to go to Long Acre and back.
Cross-examined. I do not know Ellen Beagley—she was called before the Magistrate, but I was not—she did not tell the Magistrate that Seymour was with her.
By the COURT. She is a young girl—I did not hear her tell the Magistrate that it was Monday, September 24th—it was Saturday—I did not hear her say that they were in Drury Lane together.
Phillip's defence. I met this woman in Pall Mall leaning against the railings. She asked me to give her a drink. I said "No, you have had enough," and the policeman took me. I was at Holloway at the time they say they saw me, but the Deputy-Governor said he could not send the officer to prove it.
Seymour's defence. I have been out of work some time, and had to get some money the best way I could, and a gentleman gave me a sovereign, and I got much the worse for drink. I only recollect going into the Old Bell. I saw this man passing and stopped him, and was just leaving him when the constable came up. As for the first uttering, I was discharged by the Magistrate.
GUILTY . They then PLEADED GUILTY. to previous convictions of unlawfully having counterfeit coin in their possession, Seymour on July 26th, 1893, and Phillips on May 2nd, 1892. SEYMOUR†— Twelve Months Hard Labour. PHILLIPS**— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, October 23rd, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
786. JOHN WHITE** (31) , stealing in the dwelling-house of David Davis a clock and other articles, and afterwards burglariously breaking out of the same; having been convicted at this Court on April 10th, 1893.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
787. THOMAS SIMONS** (42) , to forging and uttering> a receipt for £50, having been convicted at this Court on November 27th, 1882.— Four Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
788. HENRY JONES** (40) , to stealing a watch from the person of Septimus Edward Joy, having been convicted of felony at Manchester on March 18th, 1886.— Twelve Months Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
789. JOHN SEATON** (59) , to stealing two umbrellas, the property of Samuel Piper and others; having been convicted at this Court on November 18th, 1889.— Twelve Months Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
791. HENRI WEISS (20) , to stealing a watch and chain of John Rosslyn Howell; also to stealing a coat of William Ernest Gilbert.— Eighteen Months Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MESSRS. C. MATHEWS. and HAWKINS. Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON
ALICE HUNT . I live at 4, Bath Street, Fulham Road—in June the prisoner called on me and I gave him an order for clothing which I cancelled next morning, and told him so—I did not give him any other order—this signature, "A. Hunt," is not my writing—I never signed this other, paper or gave anyone authority to sign it for me, but I gave him the order for clothes in writing—I ordered a gold Albert chain from him, but did not receive it—I never paid him money; I had nothing from him—I saw him twice afterwards.
Cross-examined. We had a long conversation and I signed a grayish paper like this (produced), but I never saw this paper—I was to take articles of clothing to the extent of £2 15s.
MARIAN CARTER . I keep a governess register at 51, High Street, Notting Hill—on July 9th the prisoner called—I did not give him an order then, but I did at the end of July, for a cloak—it was on paper something like this—I did not sign this paper (Another)—I gave him 3s.—I never got the clothes and stockings—I never saw him again—this "M. Carter" is not my signature—I never saw this paper before, and never gave authority to anyone to sign for me.
Cross-examined. I wanted a cloak at 15s., and the stockings made the balance.
FRANCIS HEWITT . I am deputy manager of the British Supply Corporation, Limited—on May 10th the prisoner was engaged as one of our canvassers under this agreement (Produced)—he was to be paid ten shillings a week salary, and selling commission 2 1/2 per cent., and a collecting commission—his duties were to obtain orders and forward them for the acceptance of his employers—this greyish form is the order form; it would contain a declaration of the customer, and his signature—on the receipt of such an order I cause inquiries to be made, and if they are satisfactory they issue a voucher for the person to come and select the goods—there is a form on the back permitting the delivery to be made to the canvasser, which should be signed by the customer, but not by the agent in any case, or any other person—Mrs. Hunt signed it, and the prisoner brought it to the office, and this voucher was issued; it
was returned signed on the back, "A. Hunt"—I believed in the genuineness of it, and when the prisoner brought it he said that the customer would like a better article, and she wanted a gold Albert chain value about £2 15s.—I consented to the substitution—he said he might go up to £3 15s., and selected one and took it away, as I supposed for delivery to Mrs. Hunt, and no more has been heard of it—the amount would depend upon the respectability of the customer—the proceedings would be identically the same in Mrs. Carter's case—I believed it had been signed by Mrs. Carter; and a cape for her, value £1, was delivered to the prisoner, and I have heard no more of it—I believe these two signatures to be the prisoner's writing.
Cross-examined. We wanted a man of good character, and required references—any one who wishes to transfer an article they have purchased must communicate with us in writing first—as long as we were satisfied that the person could continue to pay weekly payments we should be satisfied—I believe this is the chain (Produced)—I did not see the cloak—the prisoner was dismissed about August 3rd, for not appearing on two days, and not bringing sufficient business—this letter was written by the authority of the company. (This stated that as the prisoner had failed to appear on two successive Fridays he was discharged, and demanded the delivery of all property of the Corporation in his possession, or they would be compelled to take other steps.)—we were not thinking of taking any proceedings—I had no conversation with the superintendent before that was written—he is not here—if a canvasser brings a voucher signed by the hirer, he can take the goods, and deliver them to the customer—our servants only sign when the persons cannot write, and have to make their cross—we prosecuted Lloyd Smith, a canvasser, and it was admitted that one person had signed the names of hirers—the Alderman did not point out cases where it had been done—I had not admitted that there were many cases where the collector had signed; it was private prejudice on the part of the Alderman—I should not ask the collectors whether they had signed, if the payments were kept up—I did not say at the Police-court that I had received 6s. from Mrs. Hunt, 2s. a week up to July—I did not find that on Friday when the prisoner did not come he had been ill—he received the cloak on the 30th—collectors are allowed to take samples as well as catalogues with illustrations—I do not believe that 17s. commission was owing to him—we have a custom before taking on a man, that he shall serve a fortnight on probation—I do not think he claimed £1 for the fortnight—I do not think he received anything when we dismissed him.
Re-examined. It is not within my knowledge that on August 3rd the prisoner had taken these things and had them in his possession—he had a number of coupons of ours in his possession, and that is the property we asked to be delivered up—these orders (Mrs. Carter's and Mrs. Hunt's) are in the prisoner's ordinary writing, and the dates also.
By the COURT. His books and all the articles referred to have been returned.
receive froth the prisoner all the money he received from the customers—he was supplied with a commission book, and had to enter in it the amounts to which he was entitled—in the week ending June 21st, 1894, I find in his writing 2s. received from Mrs. Hunt, and on July 9th a similar entry, and on July 16th 5s.—I find on July 26th 3s., purporting to have been received from Mrs. Carter—he claims commission on the sale to Mrs. Hunt as well as on the sale to Mrs. Carter, and on the £3 7s. 6d. in July—this book is in his ordinary writing.
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY. Recommended to mercy by the JURY.— Six Weeks' Hard Labour, having been six weeks in custody.
MR. WARBURTON. Prosecuted.
ISAAC HUMPHREY (Police Sergeant), On September 2nd, at eleven, o'clock, I went to a lodging-house in Mimosa Street, Fulham, and next day I went to the house next door, No. 21, about two a.m., and found the prisoner in bed on the ground floor—I took him outside, and told him I took him on suspicion of breaking into 23, Mimosa Street, and stealing sheets, blankets, and other articles—he said, "I know nothing about it"—about 1.15 in the day I took this rug, cloak, and blanket, and told him they had been identified by his sister and mother and the woman of the house—he said, "Yes, I took the pictures; I don't want to put the other men away; I took the pictures in the empty house, and two rugs, and both men handed them over the wall to me"—afterwards he said, "If you go to 21, Mimosa Street, and look in the chimney, you will find the key"—we went there, and found it—the prisoner was charged—he said, "Yes, sir, there were five of us in it; I will not say who they are; I would rather suffer myself; if you go to the pawnbroker in High Street you will find the blanket, and at the pawnbroker's in High Street, Fulham, you will find the curtains."
ROBERT GARRARD . I live at 23, Mimosa Street, Fulham—on September 1st, about nine a.m., I left my house locked up—I returned in the evening and found the police there—I missed sheets, blankets, tablecloths, table-napkins, drawers, pieces of plush, five shirts, and fifteen bottles of wine—I have seen the shirts, tablecloths and drawers since, but there are only three or four bottles of wine left.
WILLIAM PRESTON (Police Sergeant 107 P). On September 2nd, soon after two a.m., the prosecutor came to the station and made a complaint—I went to 23, Mimosa Street and examined the footmarks—a wall divides that house from the one where the prisoner was discovered—there was a chair against the wall.
HENRY FOWLER . On September 2nd, about eleven a.m., I went to 23, Mimosa Street and found achairagainst the wall, and in the cellar this sheet, which the prosecutor's wife identified—the rug is the prosecutor's property.
SIDNEY GOODLEY . I am assistant to W. P. Goodley, a pawnbroker, of 210, North End Road—I produce some blankets pledged on September 1st in the name of George Fay—I do not identify the prisoner, but I know it was a short person.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I was present when you pledged them—I saw you go into the shop with a bundle; I cannot tell what was in it, but I saw the articles afterwards.
Prisoner's defence. The chair was against the wall because it was always there. The son was standing on one of the chairs, and my young brother got on it, and put some bottles on the wall, and forgot to bring the chair in. The constant dripping outside made the mould sodden, and it took the footmarks, but there were no footmarks traced from our house. The blanket was out in the garden.
GUILTY *.— Twelve Months Hard Labour.
OLD COURT, Tuesday, October 23rd, and
NEW COURT,Wednesday, October 24th.
For the case of James Crabb, see Surrey Cases.
OLD COURT,Wednesday and Thursday, October 24th and 25th, 1894.
Before Mr. Justice Collins.
MR. C. MATHEWS. Prosecuted, and MR. BESLEY. Defended.
Counsel were heard in part, and the case was postponed to the next Session.
MR. HORACE AVORY, for the prosecution, offered no evidence upon the Inquisition. The GRAND JURY. had ignored the bill for murder.
NOT GUILTY .
In this case the GRAND JURY. had ignored the bill for manslaughter, and MR. KERSHAW. offered no evidence upon the Inquisition.
NOT GUILTY .
797. JAMES CROWTHER (35) ,charged with murder, was, on the evidence of George Edward Walker, surgeon of Her Majesty's Prison, Holloway, found to be insane and unable to plead.— Ordered to be detained until Her Majesty's pleasure be known.
For other cases tried on these two days, see Kent and Surrey Cases.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, October 24th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant
799. GEORGE DREW** (51) , to burglary in the dwelling-house of Frederick Kerley, and stealing a coat and other articles, and £29;also to a conviction of felony at this Court in March, 1887, in the name of George Kesterton.— Six Months' Hard Labour. (He had also to complete the unexpired term of his former sentence.) [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. MORESBY. Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL. Defended.
GEORGE COSTIN . I am a carpenter and joiner, of 67, Vauxhall Bridge Road—on September 9th I was going home soon after midnight, and was in Vauxhall Bridge Road, within 200 yards of my door—I saw the prisoner and another man at the corner; there was a crowd in the road a little way off—one of the two men asked me to give him something as they were hard up—I said, "I don't know anything about you. Why should I give you anything?"—the other man struck me with his fist on the temple, and gave me a black eye—I almost fell to the ground—as I turned from him the prisoner sprang on my back, and knocked me down in the road, and took my watch and chain—a constable sprang from a doorway—I am sure the prisoner is the man who sprang on me; I had full means of seeing him—I was sober—I have not seen my watch or chain since—this part of the chain was left hanging in my waistcoat.
Cross-examined. When the constable seized one man the other one ran away—the crowd was about twenty yards away—the man the constable seized broke from him and ran away, and the constable chased him—I did not run after them—I lost sight of the constable and the man he chased for about two minutes—I walked home and then came back to the constable—I had been with friends that evening; we had very likely been to two public-houses, not more—I saw the constable again very nearly opposite the place where this occurred; he had the prisoner in custody—he said, "Is this one of the men?"—I said, "That is the man; take him and I will charge him"—the man who struck me on the temple ran away directly the constable came up—the constable seized the prisoner, who broke away and was pursued by him—the prisoner jumped on my back from behind, and directly I went on the ground, and my watch went very sharply; it was all done in an instant—it is rather dark where this happened; several houses are not occupied—I said, "That is the man; I never charged a man in my life before, but I will this one."
Re-examined. The prisoner and the other man came up first and asked for money, and I saw their faces then—I recognise the prisoner as a man I knew about the neighbourhood; I had seen the prisoner's face about a month previous—I said I was determined to charge him, because I felt sure about him—when I told the Magistrate that both men were quite strangers to me I meant that I did not know them to speak to, not that I had not seen them before—I was sober.
on duty in Regency Street, and I saw the prisoner in the middle of the road, and another man leaning against the lamp-post—I walked a little way, and got into a doorway—soon after I saw the prosecutor step into the road—the two men jumped on him—the prisoner rushed from behind, and struck him on the temple, above the right eye, with his left hand, at the same time snatching at his waistcoat pocket with his right hand—I rushed out; the prisoner was then on the top of the prosecutor—I saw his face—I seized him; the other man came to the prisoner's rescue, and got him away from me—I drew my truncheon, and blew my whistle; a crowd assembled—the prisoner made off—I went after him into Regency Street—he doubled back into Vauxhall Bridge Road, and Dorset Street, and Vauxhall Bridge Road again, where I seized him—I had not lost sight of him—I took him to the station; he said nothing—the prosecutor met us on the way to the station—he said, "That is the man; I never charged a man in my life, but I will this one"—the prisoner gave a correct name and address—the prosecutor seemed, to me, sober.
Cross-examined. I was ten or twelve yards from the prosecutor when he was robbed—the man who jumped upon him from behind was the man who got away—he came back to help the prisoner—I am not aware that there was any crowd up to that time—I do not think there could have been any crowd in the road without my seeing them—when I chased the prisoner I turned the corner pretty well at the same time as the prisoner—I said nothing to him when I seized him—when we met the prosecutor I said nothing to him—I would not be quit certain whether I said, "Is this the man?"—this is a very well-lighted spot—I believe all the houses are occupied, and there would be lights in the windows.
By the COURT. I saw the prisoner's face before he struck the blow—I seized him; he got away; I followed him, and never lost sight of him till I caught him.
Re-examined. The prisoner and the other man both came from behind the prosecutor—the prisoner was on the prosecutor when I dashed out.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY**. to a conviction of felony at this Court in July, 1885, in the name of John Murphy.— Three Years' Penal Servitude, having also to serve an unexpired term of his previous sentence.
801. JOSEPH DREYFUS (32), PLEADED GUILTY to three indictments for forging and uttering orders for the payment of £27 14s. 6d., £90, and £26 7s. 7d., of the City Bank Company, Limited, and Louis Wainer.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Thursday, October 25th, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. MUIR. Prosecuted, and MR. MOYSES. Defended.
RICHARD LOCKYER . I am one of the firm of Lupinsky and Lockyer, cigarette manufacturers, of 56, Carter Lane, City—the prisoner entered our service as town traveller on January 1st—his duties were to canvass for orders and collect accounts—statements of accounts were sent out on
the 1st or 2nd of the month by post—the prisoner early in August asked me to give him some statements, for which he handed me a list containing names—this (produced) is the request and the list—about one day after receiving that statement, I asked him why he wanted the statements—he said if I sent them to the customers, they would say either they had not received them or had mislaid them, and he could not get the money, whereas if he presented the statements, there could be no getting out of it, and he would get the money—I handed him a list of persons who owed me money, and the statements of account—he was supposed to report each day the business done, and send in a statement of all moneys and cheques collected for the firm, and every Wednesday and Saturday to hand over the moneys—this is the daily correspondence (Produced)—I have been through every one—I find no account of moneys received from J Skinner and Son, between June 4th and August 14th; Mrs. Sayer, between 6th July and 3rd August; Mr. Bosse, 2nd July; Van Heems, June 19th, July 17th, and August 14th; Mr. Currey, 3, Highgate Hill, 24th July; Miss Kimlin, 31st July; Mr. Reid, 21st August; Mr. Paxton, 10th July; Mr. Weber, 10th August; Mr. Ward, 20th August; Mr. Kirby, 9th July and 8th August—every one of these receipts is in the prisoner's writing—on Saturday, 18th August, I asked the prisoner if he could account for Mrs. Sayer being so much in arrear in her account, and he said she had had two children down with scarlet fever, and owing to the expense of sending them to the seaside she could not pay her account for the present—these two receipts are for £2 17s. on 4th and 6th July, and £5 11s. 9d. on 3rd August, with discount off—that is what Mrs. Sayer owed me at that time—I asked the prisoner about Paxton's account at the same time—he said Paxton had had a dispute with the person from whom he bought the business, and when that dispute was settled the account would be paid, and "You need have no fear, he owes Bard's as well, and your money is all right"—the receipt for that is £4 4s. on 10th July—I asked him about Bosse's account, and he said it was too small to pay; when it was a little larger Mr. Bosse would give us a cheque—that receipt for £3 8s. net is dated July 24th, 1894—Mr. Stackman Bosse owed that amount—when I asked him about Miss Kimlin's account, he said she was away on her holidays, and when, she came back he would endeavour to get her to pay it—that receipt for £2 5s. 7d. net is dated July 31st—our books showed she owed that amount—Skinner and Co. appeared on 18th August to owe us upwards of £21—when asked the prisoner said they were temporarily embarrassed, in a short time they would be out of their difficulties, and pay their account—the receipts are June 4th, £4 18s. 4d.; July 2nd, £2 19s. 3d.; 16th, £4 2s.; 18th, £3 6s. 5d; 30th, £2 8s. 8d., and August 13th, £3 14s. 11d.—Currey's was a small account, which perhaps accounts for my not speaking to him about it—the receipt is for £1 15s. 2d., received 24th July—I did not speak to him about Kirby's account—those receipts are dated 9th July for £1 19s. 3d., and 18th August, £2 5s. 3d.—those amounts appeared to be owing on 18th August in our books—none of these amounts have been accounted for—I have never received a penny of them—I had no conversation with the prisoner on 18th August about Bance's receipt of 14th August for £2 18s. 6d. in the prisoner's writing—as appears from the books and receipts produced
in the prisoner's writing, the prisoner also received from Van Heems on July 17th £1 13s. 8d.; 19th, 15s. 10d., and on August 14th, £1 0s. 3d. from Reid Bros; from Weber on 10th August, £3 3s. 5d.—Woodhead's was the first case gone into before the Magistrate—on Wednesday, 22nd August, I sent for the police—Sergeant Egan came—I also gent for the prisoner to my office—I was present when the prisoner had a conversation with the officer, who said, "Mr. Miller, I am here for the purpose of arresting you; I have a bundle of papers here, are these your receipts?"—the prisoner said, "Yes, my God! what a pity when I had such a splendid chance!"—he made some reference to my giving him another chance—I said, "The matter is out of my hands, "meaning that I had placed it in the hands of the solicitor—he said, "For the sake of my wife and children I plead for mercy"—he was taken to the station—there was a remand before Sir Stuart Knill—I was cross-examined by the solicitor as to the commission book and so on—the learned Alderman dismissed the charge—I spoke to my solicitor, and, acting on his advice, I applied for a warrant to Sir Stuart Knill, which was granted, and the prisoner was arrested on 7th September—he was committed for trial by the Lord Mayor—the prisoner's commission was not paid for the last three months before his arrest—his salary was paid regularly, £3 a week—he asked for his commission several times; he was paid in every case—I did not know how much he had earned, because the commission book had not been posted up; it was his duty to post it up—I have a suit pending in Chancery with my partner—I have been appointed sole manager of the business since 20th July—before he was taken by the constable on 22nd August the prisoner did not nay anything about claiming to keep the amounts, in view of his commission.
Cross-examined. The prisoner did not do £60 of business a week—about £40 was the average, certainly not more—I was several times before the Alderman—I do not think that question was put to me—five or six casern may have been gone into, but I think only two—there were hearings on 22nd and 30th August—the Alderman did not say the accounts were badly kept, he said he considered it a matter of account—the accounts had not been badly kept—my partner kept the portion of the accounts that had reference to the prisoner—he is my brother-in-law, and the man against whom I commenced an action in Chancery—I charged him with gross drunkenness—the prisoner had not to deal with him mostly—I swore in July, "In consequence of the disgraceful way in which the books had been kept by the defendant"—they were not books of account which were posted up to date—my partner arranged with the defendant when he entered our employ—I know now that directly after the prisoner was dismissed by the Alderman he entered the service of another firm of cigarette people—he was there when he surrendered, so far as I know—it is not a rival firm, but they deal in a different class of goods—he was so employed when arrested the second time—I heard of it on the day of the arrest—the day of his discharge I consulted the solicitor about his re-arrest, or the same evening—he was not arrested till a week after—Skinner's receipts (produced) do not represent the whole of my transactions with Skinner—there are receipts for about £60 here—they were handed me by Mr. Skinner—£21 9s. 5d. has not
been handed over—the bulk has been paid to the firm—the money should have been paid to me, or to my partner in my absence if he was there—he was not usually there—the amounts were paid in on Wednesdays and Saturdays, never once did it differ; the rule was rigidly adhered to in every instance—I did not consult my partner before giving the prisoner in charge, because I was appointed sole manager—my partner said, "What is this about Miller?" and I said, "You will know later on"—I sent circulars to my customers; not 250, not more than 125 to 130—the prisoner did not secure 100 customers; only about fifty or sixty—my partner is here—the prisoner's commission was 5 per cent, on some portion of goods less than half, and 2 1/2 per cent, on the portion—the last time I paid his commission the prisoner asked for £5, and I gave him £3; that was about three months before proceedings were taken—I had only £3 10s. in the petty cash box—I told him that was the reason, and he said that would do—he received £28 commission—I have not accounts with me to show how much—I will swear it was £20—I have not the dates—I did not take receipts for all the sums I paid—I made memoranda in a book—when I sent for the officer the prisoner came in the ordinary way, but rather later; about two o'clock—I had made up my mind to give him in custody about two days before I sent for the constable when I found the discrepancies in the accounts—I was quite clear in my mind that he was a thief, because I went and saw the customers—the officer has said that the prisoner shook hands with me when he came in; it was customary; he tendered his hand, and I took it; there was no meaning in it—I could have written to him for an explanation—I did not think it worth my while—the Chancery proceedings have been going on since about the middle of the year, or earlier—the prisoner's terms of service were arranged with my partner in a letter sent to Miller, of which we have a guess copy, and we have the acknowledgment that he received it, "I hereby agree to the agreement drawn up by you in every respect"—it is from "I, Clyde Cottages, Bridge Road, January 1st, 1894"—the original agreement is with Miller—I am sure my partner has not got it unless it was handed to him by Miller; it was sent by post, and we have the entry in the post-book—I cannot tell you the proportions of commission due to the prisoner—I should say not more than one-third was 5 per cent.—there was this verbal agreement between the prisoner and myself, and I have witnesses to prove it that, owing to his selling goods at cost price, I said, "It is impossible to give you a commission, and allow so much to the customers as well; if you insist on selling the goods at this price, I will not execute the orders"—he said, "Well, I am a sensible man, and I will forego my commission on cigarettes of 6d. a pound"—the agreement was never altered in writing—I suggest that he gave up his commission altogether on certain goods—if things had gone on regularly, the commission was to have been paid monthly—he was not paid for three months because he had not asked for it, or I should have been only too pleased to have given him something on account, as I had done previously.
Re-examined. My partner has not been brought here by me—he has not come at my request.
Cross-examined. I may have said to the defendant one Friday, as my
children were ill with the measles, I wished to postpone payment till the next Friday.
FREDERICK WILLIAM MCDONALD . I am a clerk to Messrs. Lupinsky and Lockyer—this book (produced) was not kept solely by me—I made entries in it from documents sent by Miller—I produce documents, including the one marked "K," in his writing.
Cross-examined. These other statements produced were sent in periodically by the defendant—they show the money he had received, and for which he accounted—they commence when he first entered our firm's employment in January—I have never taken the trouble to find out the weekly amount of business done by him.
JOHN EGAN (City Inspector). I arrested the prisoner on 22nd August at Mr. Lockyer's office, where I waited for him—I had a number of invoices—I said, "Your name is Miller?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "I am a police officer, and I have instructions to arrest you for embezzling sums of money"—I showed him a number of receipts—all he said to me was "Yes, quite right," and he turned to Mr. Lockyer, and said, "Cannot this be arranged?"—he seemed very much distressed, and he went and sat at the back of Mr. Lockyer, and seemed to beseech him, but what he said I do not know—then he said, "This is all due to extravagance and carelessness"—I took him to the Police-station; he was charged with embezzling a specific amount, and there was a general charge; I think the amount mentioned was about £40—he made no reply to the charge when it was read over to him—he was afterwards discharged at the Mansion House—I again arrested him on a warrant on 7th September at his house at Battersea—I told him I had a warrant to arrest him in the case of Lockyer—he said, "I thought that matter was at an end"—I said, "No; it is not at an end"—I took him to the station, and he was charged.
Evidence for the Defence.
Cross-examined. I knew he had been employed by the Levant Cigarette Company, carried on by Mr. Scaramanga, who is here—I have not heard that the prisoner robbed the Levant Company of £200.
Re-examined. I have never heard of proceedings against him—I did not hear why he left; I never asked him.
WILLIAM CHECKLEY . I am postmaster at Battersea—during the twelve years I have known the prisoner I have never heard that he has not borne a good character for straightforward conduct, uprightness, and good behaviour.
Cross-examined. I knew him in Battersea before he went to the Levant Company—I had several business dealings with him—I did not know why he left the Levant Company—I never heard of his robbing them of £200.
CHARLES MOORE . I am a tobacconist, of 173, Battersea Park Road—I have often seen and have been acquainted with the prisoner for ten or twelve years—I have heard nothing to the contrary of his good character.
DANIEL COHEN . I am a cigarette merchant, of 13, Spital Square, Bishopsgate Street—I have only lived there recently, but have carried on business there for some years—the prisoner is now and was at the time of his surrender in my employment—I have known him three or four months, but I have heard of his reputation three or four years; it was of the highest character.
Cross-examined. I heard of the charge against him—I was not aware he had robbed Scaramanga—he collects my accounts—I give him receipt books, and he sends in a statement of what he collects; there is a counter foil to the receipt book to show what he collects, and all our London travellers make up their commissions every week, so there is no chance of a claim afterwards.
Re-examined. I am prepared to continue to employ him.
By the COURT. I made inquiries of several shopkeepers who knew him—I did not communicate with his former employers—I knew he was with the Levant Company, and that then he went to Mr. Lockyer, but I thought the quarrel between Mr. Lockyer and his partner was the cause of his leaving—the Levant business had been disposed of, and I did not know then he had been in their employ.
Evidence in reply.
ANDREW SCARAMANGA . I formerly carried on business under the style of the Levant Company, limited—the prisoner was employed as traveller about five years—as long as he was with us we considered he was honest—after he had left we found he had collected and not accounted for sums amounting to about £200.
Cross-examined. I have since he left me received from him £9 or £10 off the £200—I took no criminal proceedings on account of legal difficulties—I was one of seven directors of the Levant Company, Limited.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. RICHARDS. Prosecuted, and MR. GILL. Defended.
FREDERICK GILBERT BOWLES . I am a Captain in the Royal Engineers, and am in charge of the New Cross Station of the Postal Engineering Department—the prisoner has been in my employ some years—it was part of his duty to receive money from the Post Office and make payments on my behalf—on August 30th he brought me this form in the ordinary routine. (This was a telegram announcing the remittance of £30 in six notes.)—this is my signature, and I believe the word "Southern" and the date are in the prisoner's writing—I produce the cash book kept by the prisoner; it is in his writing—I found an entry in it for £30—these four forms of receipt, and these two claims marked "D" passed through my office; they were intended to be sent to Mr. Adamson for the payees to put their signatures, total £20 14s. 5d.—the prisoner has entered that sum to his ere lit in the cash book on August 31st; I saw at my office several telegraphic messages relative to the non-receipt of it—it was the prisoner's duty to keep all original messages in a copy telegraph book—that is the only record I keep—on September 30th I had a message from Mr. Adamson, "Cash not received"
—the reply was, "Anderson reports cash not received; has it been forwarded? Reply"—the next is "Adamson having attention"—the prisoner ought to send the money to Mr. Adamson every alternate Thursday in my name—I found no entry in my book on the 4th—I was made acquainted with the fact that the remittance had not been received, by seeing the telegram in the book—I was away on September 5th and 6th, and on the 7th the prisoner said that the money he had sent to Mr. Adamson had not been received, and he had applied to the Post Office, and had been told to make a report on the form which he brought from the Post Office, which he submitted to me, and I made one or two additions and alterations to it—he said he posted the letter on Monday, and that he had not registered it—it was his duty to register it—all messages sent to New Cross should be entered in that book.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner some years—he has been in the Engineers since 1881—he went to Egypt in 1884, and served in the Soudan in the expedition for the relief of General Gordon—he came back to this country, and was junior clerk in the Engineers' Office; the superintending clerk, Sergeant-Major Fisher, died, and was replaced by the second clerk, and the prisoner rose to the position he occupied till this matter occurred—no charge was made against him by the military authorities—he is entitled to a considerable amount—I do not know whether he can retire on a pension—I was in Egypt when he was there; he served under me part of the time, and he was under me at New Cross—he is married, with children, and is leading a respectable life to the best of, my knowledge—he came and spoke to me when it was ascertained that the money had not reached Mr. Anderson—the money used to be sent by postal order, but Mr. Anderson asked for it to be sent in notes because he was some distance from the post-office—the prisoner had sums of money in his hands—he had to send this money to Eastbourne—the post-office closed at five o'clock on Thursdays—the prisoner told me that he went about collecting for prizes, which were to be given at the shooting competition—he has a good many duties to discharge, and would be liable to be spoken to at any moment—he told me on Monday morning that he was ill with diarrhoea, and the doctor telegraphed this report (Produced)—the diarrhoea may have been the result of the service—he left his work on the Monday, as the doctor said he was unfit for it—when he spoke to me about this on September 7th, he was doing his ordinary duties day by day—it was after a stableman had found an envelope that proceedings were taken against him.
By the COURT. He said that he had forgotten to register the letter, and he was unwell that day—he frequently had to post official envelopes of this shape and size.
JOHN JOSEPH CONWAY . I am Lance-Corporal, Royal Engineers—I have been employed at New Cross in the telegraph service under the prisoner for fourteen months—I posted letters to Eastbourne on several occasions—I received no letter on this Thursday, and about 5.5 I remarked that it was too late to register, and he said he would post it in the morning—the letter for Eastbourne was usually made up on Thursday afternoon—I checked it and took it to the post—next day I was working with the prisoner till mid-day, but he said nothing about the letter—I
went to Bristol with him that afternoon, and got back on Saturday afternoon—at Bristol the prisoner called my attention to a message from Adamson, that the money had not been received, and said he would post it the first thing on Monday morning—on Monday morning, between nine and ten o'clock, I saw him take an envelope of the usual size out of his drawer; I did not see the direction—it was bulky—I asked him if I should post it; he said he would post it himself—he mentioned Mr. Adamsom's name, and went out a few minutes afterwards and returned in about twenty minutes.
Cross-examined. I have not got a very clear recollection of what took place—we all took an interest in the shooting contest—on the Thursday it was quite by accident that I noticed that it was past five; had I noticed it before I should have reminded him—I did not notice him put the letter in his drawer when he was going away—he mentioned to me that he was suffering from diarrhoea—the letter I saw was just such as I expected to see; it was crossed and blue.
MORRIS KELLY . I am a sapper stationed at Chatham—I was on duty in September under Captain Bowles at New Cross—I kept the service message book—I was there on the Saturday when the prisoner and Conway were at Bristol and received a telegram, "Cash not yet received," and re-wired it to Bristol and received a reply, "Adamson having attention"—on Tuesday, September 4th, I was On duty and received this message about ten o'clock, "Bowles, New Cross, cash not received; has it been forwarded?"—I showed that to the prisoner—he told not to wire back that the money was posted last night—I did so—I did not enter the reply in the book because the book was not in.
Cross-examined. When I go there in the morning at 10.5 there is a good deal of business to be attended to—I telegraphed the words of this telegram—I am quite sure I showed it to the prisoner.
GEORGE JOSEPH BATSMAN . I am head postman at New Cross—I made the collection from the box at New Cross Road—the box is under a stationer's shop window—the previous collection had been at 9.10—there were about forty letters; I stooped down and put them in the bag; there was no letter weighing half a pound, in that collection.
Cross-examined. I stoop down and take them three or four at a time—I only clear the box once a day, but it is cleared eight times—the lid of the box is about half a foot from the ground.
Re-examined. There is no communication between the shop and the letter-box; I have to open it from the street—there is no shoot; you have to take the letters out a few at a time—the postmaster cannot get them from inside.
By the COURT. The box is in the shop front, and there are goods exposed for sale—when I empty the box they cannot always see what I am doing, and they-could not see if anyone tampered with the box—I have heard of persons getting letters out by wire and by silk, and in various other ways.
JAMES BOULTER . I am acting overseer at New Cross—I was on duty on September 30th when Bateman brought in his letters; there were sixty or seventy—this envelope was not there, or it would have been taxed as over the ordinary weight, and also for bearing blue lines.
Dean, near Eastbourne—I am in the habit of receiving fortnightly sums from Captain Bowles; I expected to receive £20 from him in September, but I did not—I telegraphed, and received a reply, "Cash on Monday"—it did not come.
FREDERICK BERESFORD . I am a stableman at the White Hart Hotel. New Cross—the prisoner lives close by there—on September 24th I went to work about six o'clock, and when I opened the stable gate a letter lay inside—this is the envelope—there were four papers inside it, pinned together—I kept it until I saw the prisoner in the White Hart next morning, the 25th, and said, "Do you know anything about this?"—he said, "I am very glad you gave this to me, for I feel a better man," and told me to take them to the sorting office—I asked him to come with me; he said he had not got time—there was no money in the letter, it was torn open as it is now.
Cross-examined. I knew him, but I had never spoken to him in my life—the gate is very high, but they could get the letter over easily or underneath—I did not go back to my work that day, I had a week off; it was not a fortnight—I enjoyed myself—I had not plenty to drink and cigars to smoke—I had had a few words at home—a good many men are employed in the warehouse—I told them, but not the same day—I found the letter on Monday, the 24th, and showed it that day to my mate Manton I told my master a long time afterwards—he was not very rude to me about it.
Re-examined. I am still in his employ.
WILLIAM THOMAS EDWARDS . I am in the Confidential Department, and have been entrusted with the duty of investigating this case—this post-office is situated in the main road—I saw the prisoner on September 24th in the presence of two of his officers, and said, "I am investigating the alleged loss of a letter addressed to Mr. Adamson, containing a £5 note, £15 10s. in gold, and 4s.; that letter is said to have been made up and posted by you at the post-office, New Cross Road; what do you say about that?"—he said, "The letter was made up by me; I was called away from the office, and I put the money in the drawer sealed up; on the Monday the annual shooting of the Rifles took place, and it slipped my memory; when I got to Bristol I received a telegram asking if I had sent the cash. I replied, 'No; cash will be posted on Monday morning.' When I came, the corporal said, 'Have you posted Adamson's money?' I said, 'No; I will do it at once.' I went out straight, and put it in the pillar-box, without registering it"—I said, "Did you take any other letter to the post at that time?"—he said, "No"—I said, "You went specially to post that letter?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "The word 'Registered' is written on it: why did you put it in the pillar-box?"—he said, "Because I made a mistake"—I asked him how he got it—he said, "It came in £5 notes; Mr. Adamson asked me some time ago to send as much cash as possible; that is why I did not send all notes"—I said, "Did you go to the post-office, and ask them if they had the receipt?"—he said, "Yes, because I was not sure whether I had registered it or riot"—I said, "But you told me that you went direct to the letter-box, and put it in"—he said, "Well, I must have done, because I got no receipt"—I made my report to the secretary—the post-office is less than a minute's walk from the engineer's office.
Cross-examined. I have been in the post-office about twenty years—Beresford had not given the letter to Mr. Bowles, we had not found the envelope or the service message.
NOT GUILTY .—The JURY. added that the prisoner left the Court without a stain upon his character, in which the RECORDER. concurred.
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, October 25th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. KYD. Prosecuted.
ANDREW JOHN HAWKINS . I keep the George the Fourth public-house, Redhill Street, Regent's Park—on September 29th the prisoner brought me this cheque, and asked me if I would kindly cash it for him—it is signed H. C. Fraser—I did not know Mr. Fraser personally, then; but I have periodically cashed cheques for him—I thought this was Mr. Fraser's cheque, and I cashed it and gave the prisoner twelve sovereigns.
HENRY COLLINS (Sergeant S). I was first communicated with indirectly on the evening of October 9th—on October 10th I went to a stable in Regent's Park Barracks with Mr. Fraser—I saw the prisoner there and said, "I am a police officer. I believe you went with this cheque"(I had it in my hand) "on September 29th to Mr. Hawkins here" (he was standing by) "and for it you received £12; it has since been discovered that the cheque is a forgery"—I handed the cheque to Mr. Fraser—the prisoner said, "All I know about it is I got the cheque from the valet, and I gave him the £12, and he gave me my wages, £2 2s. and something"—I said to Mr. Fraser, "Is that cheque in your writing?'—he said, "No, neither have I authorised anyone to sign it. It is the last cheque in my cheque-book; it has been torn out, together with nearly the whole of the counterfoil; I knew nothing about it until I received a notification from my bankers"—I sent for Volkes, the valet, and, pointing to the prisoner, said, "This man says that on 29th September you handed him this cheque, with instructtions to cash it; that he brought you back the money and you paid him his wages"—he said, "It is a lie; you went on the 29th with a cheque for £6, which my master gave me, and we cashed it, and I paid you your wages; I have never seen this cheque in my life"—I said to Mr. Fraser, 41 Would the prisoner have access to your cheque-book?"—he said, "Yes, and I think the cheque is in the writing of the prisoner"—this book was handed tome; it is the prisoner's weekly account book—I said to the prisoner, "Is this your writing?"—he said, "Yes"—I have compared the cheque with the writing in the book, and in my opinion they are the same—when charged at the station the prisoner said, addressing Volkes, "You know you gave me the cheque;—I asked Mr. Fraser whether he had given the valet a cheque for £6 that day—he said he did give him a cheque for £6 to pay the prisoner his wages and other small items.
EDWARD GEORGE VOLKES . I am valet to Lieutenant Fraser, of the 1st Life Guards, the prosecutor—the prisoner was his groom and a civilian—on 29th September my master gave me a cheque for £6, which I and the
prisoner cashed at Mr. Avory's public-house, the Crown and Anchor, and I paid the prisoner his wages, £2 2s. 7d., out of it—he signed for it in this book when he got back to the stable; he did not write this, "Paid £2 2s. 7d.," in my presence—I never saw this cheque for £12 before I was shown it at the stable by the policeman—I did not request the prisoner to cash it for his master—I did not hand him the £2 2s. 7d. out of the proceeds of that cheque; he did not hand me £12.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I went to Mr. Avory's with you to cash the £6 cheque—I did not take that £6—I paid your wages out of it—I did not give you this £12 cheque in the afternoon, and tell you to get it cashed and that I would give you your wages—I did not give you the £2 2s. 7d. out of the £12—Mr. Avory, the landlord, only gave us £3 out of the £6 cheque that day; he gave us the other £3 on the next day, Sunday—I gave you £2 2s. 7d. out of the first £3—the wages owing to you and me made up together at the time about £6.
HUGH CRAWFORD FRASER . am a lieutenant in the 1st Life Guards stationed in Regent's Park Barracks—the prisoner was my groom—I kept my cheque-book in a drawer in my room in the barracks—the drawer was always unlocked—the prisoner would have access to it, as he would come to my room from time to time for orders—on 29th September I gave Volkes a cheque, No. 440781, for his and the prisoner's wages, which came together to about £6 for the month—I wrote "Volkes and Edgar" on the counterfoil—there might have been a few shillings to come to me out of it, but nothing appreciable—this cheque, 440800, for £12 is not in my writing; I believe it is in the prisoner's writing—it presents no resemblance to my writing—I very often put "1st Life Guards" after my signature to a cheque, to distinguish myself from other customers—I do not sign cheques "H. C."—the £6 cheque has not yet been returned to me; I think it was not presented till quite lately—on Tuesday, 9th October, I received a communication from my bankers, and when I got back to barracks that night I found that this cheque had been torn from my book—that night I communicated with the police—I was present next morning at the interview which the policeman had with my two servants in the stable—Volkes has been with me about twelve months; he has been in the army for six or eight years—he has not been an officer's servant all the time.
Cross-examined. You had every facility of going into my room; grooms often come up to see their masters.
By the COURT. I left town on the morning of October 1st, and returned on 8th October—I did not take Volkes or the prisoner with me—I did not see the prisoner between 1st and 8th.
EDWARD GEORGE VOLKES (Re-examined by The COURT). I usually write with a steel pen. (At the request of the COURT. the witness wrote his full name, and also "H. C. Fraser, 1st Life Guards, 29th September, 1894.")
The case was adjourned or a short time in order that William Avory and Thomas Henry Guerrin might be called as witnesses.
for £6, drawn by Lieutenant Fraser, of the 1st life Guards—I had not enough gold at the time, and so my wife paid £3 on it, and the following day, Sunday, I paid the balance of £3 to Volkes—I paid that cheque into my bank, the London and South Western, Park Street, on the 11th October, the day after the prisoner's arrest—I have cashed many of Mr. Fraser's cheques before; I knew him—Volkes mostly brought them—I had cashed many cheques for him brought by Mitchell, his previous servant:—my wife is ill, and not able to be here.
Cross-examined. The cheque was handed to my wife, who brought it to roe—she gave the balance on the Sunday, in my presence, to Volkes—you were with him on the Sunday.
THOMAS HENRY GUERRIN . I am an expert in handwriting, employed by the Treasury and others—I have examined the writing on the face and back of this cheque, and compared it with the writing in this red book, and in my opinion the cheque was made out, signed, and endorsed by the same person who made the entries in this red book—I believe there is a faint, but very unsuccessful, attempt to disguise the writing on the cheque. (The witness painted out many points of resemblance between letters and figures in the cheque and the book.) Whoever wrote the body of the cheque wrote the endorsement—I have examined the forged document with this writing by Volkes; I find no grounds for assuming that this writer could have written the cheque—I cannot see the slightest resemblance between them.
The prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate, and in his defence, said that the valet had given him the cheque.
The JURY. desired to recommend the prisoner to mercy in consequence of the cheque-book having been left lying about, and in consequence of cheques being so easily cashed at public-houses; but upon the COMMON SERJEANT pointing out that the defence set up by the prisoner was a serious aggravation of his offence, they said they would leave the matter to the COURT.— Twenty Months' Hard Labour.
MR. WALLACE. Prosecuted.
HENRY MANN (City Policeman 869). On Sunday morning, 23rd September, about half-past one, I was on duty in plain clothes in Fenchurch Street—I saw the prisoner in company with another man loitering about—from their suspicious movements I watched them for three-quarters of an hour—they went down Northumberland Avenue, and then returned into Fenchurch Street—the prisoner picked up a stone and went into Philpot Lane, then into Fenchurch Street, and then back into Philpot Lane—I saw Constable Barnett coming along, and spoke to him; he went down Rood Lane into Eastcheap—the prisoner went down Philpot Lane—his companion remained—I heard the crashing of glass, and ran down Philpot Lane into Eastcheap, where I found the prisoner detained by Barnett—I took; him back to Philpot Lane—he said, "I have not been up this lane before; you have made a great mistake"—I took him to the station, and he was charged—no stone was found upon him.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I do not know where the other man went; I did not see him go.
FREDERICK BARNETT (City Policeman 209). On the morning of Sunday, 23rd October, I was in Fenchurch Street in uniform—in consequence of what Mann said to me I went through Rood Lane into Eastcheap, and just as I turned the corner I heard a crash of glass breaking—about thirty seconds after I saw the prisoner come out of Philpot Lane—I looked up the lane, but could not see anyone there—I followed the prisoner, and overtook him in Gracechurch Street—I stopped him, and said he would have to return with me down Eastcheap—at the corner of Philpot Lane he said, "Where are you going to take me?"—I said, "I have reason to believe you have broken a window there"—he said, "I have not been there before to-night"—he had nothing in his hand—I went to 22, Philpot Lane, and found Mr. Kail's window broken, and these two pieces of concrete were in the window.
By the JURY. I did not lose sight of the prisoner at all; I kept my eve on him the whole time—I did not see another man with him; the things in the window had not been disturbed—there were some silk handkerchiefs close to the window; he could have taken them if he had had time and opportunity.
Prisoner's defence. I know nothing at all about it—as I was coming home the policeman charged me with breaking the window.
NOT GUILTY .
JAMES ALOYSIUS CARROLL . I live at 35, Smith Street, Chelsea, and am a comedian—on Friday night, 21st September, after midnight, I was in Shaftesbury Avenue—I was not quite sober, but I was not drunk; I could tell what was going on—I had been out the whole evening—the prisoner and another man came up to me; I did not know them; the one not in custody slapped me on the back, and said, "Hulloa, old boy, where Are you going?"—thinking I knew them I said I was going home—they said, "We are going your way, and the bus is gone; you might drive us"—they did not know where I lived—we all three got into a cab at the Shaftesbury Avenue side of Piccadilly Circus—I had a watch in my right vest pocket without a chain, and £4 in gold loose in my right trousers pocket, and 2s. in my coat pocket—I had last seen the money and watch safe in Jermyn Street about an hour before—I had not spoken to anyone except the prisoners between the last time I saw them and the time I got into the cab—I told the cabman to drive to Smith Street, King's Road, Chelsea—we drove to Sloane Street, and as we got to Sloane Gardens, on the left-hand side, the prisoner stooped over and took my watch from my pocket, and the other man took the money from my pocket—then the cub was stopped, and they forced me out of the cab—the prisoner got out with me, and forced me along the street, knocking my hat off—the other man remained in the cab, I believe—the prisoner ran after the cab, and ordered the cabman to drive off, and he got in and drove away—I ran after the cab, calling on the cabman to stop—I followed it as far as I could, and when I found it was getting away, I stopped and spoke to a constable at the corner of Sloane Street, in Knightsbridge—I was taken to the Police-station, where I gave a description of the prisoner—later
the same night I was taken to another Police-station, when I identified the prisoner from among other men—when the things were taken from me I was sitting in the near-side corner of the cab; the prisoner put his arm under my neck against the cab, and with the other hand took my watch.
Crow-examined by the prisoner. I met you and the other man together—I did not speak to the other man first—you did not come up in the cab—there was no singing and shouting on the way to Sloane Street—the cabman did not pull up and ask what the noise was—the cabman did not get off the box and ride inside, and you did not drive for about 100 yards in Sloane Street—there was no lamp in the cab—where the cab stopped was a very dark place, with railings round—there was sufficient light to see—I did not say before the cabman, "I have lost my watch"; I was struggling with you—I could recognise my watch without looking at the works—I did not see you again till a week after the robbery—I identified my watch the same night at the station—I recognised it by the works, and by the outside as well—on another occasion I was shown a number of men, and asked if I could identify the second man from among them—I could not do so—I was told to appear at the Police-court the next morning; I did not appear—I was not shown a photograph at the Police-station—it was not pitch dark in the cab; there was sufficient light for me to see what you were doing—I saw your hand go across me—I was not struck in any way, or knocked about—when I shouted I should think the cabman knew I had lost my watch, if he was not deaf—when I was hustled out of the cab on to the pavement I did not tell the cabman I had lost my watch; I did not lead him to believe I had been robbed—I don't know if he saw me shoved out of the cab—I do not think the cabman knew anything about the affair—I don't think he could see anything of it—I think I engaged him.
Re-examined. This is my watch—I identified it at the Police-station—the bow was broken then—it was not broken when I last took it out of my pocket.
HEINDRICH SKINOLE . I live at 138, York Road, and am a cab proprietor and driver—on 22nd September I was in Shaftesbury Avenue at one a. m.—three men, of whom the prosecutor was one, hailed me, and got into my cab and told me to drive to Smith Street, King's Road, Chelsea—it seemed as if the three men were acquainted, and had just come out of a music hall—I went in the direction of Sloane Street—my fare stopped me, the prosecutor and prisoner got out, and walked about thirty yards, and wished good-night, and then the prisoner came back and got into my cab, and ordered me to drive to Knightsbridge—the third man remained in the cab—I drove to Knightsbridge—then I was ordered to drive to Westminster, and as I thought they were going to bilk me I asked for my fare—the prisoner gave me this watch, and said, "This is a security, don't be frightened of your money; I will pay you when I get to West-minster"—I drove to Westminster, and was stopped at a coffee-stall by Westminster Bridge—the prisoner and the other man got out, and called for three cups of coffee, which we drank—I then asked for my fare—the prisoner said, "I have got no money, but the watch I gave you I pinched off the man at Knightsbridge, and if you will give it to me, I will give it to the coffee-stall man"—I said, "I don't do business like
that; I want ray fare"—the prisoner went and asked the coffee-stall man for 4s.—I said we had better settle this round the corner, and he got into ray cab and I took him to King Street Police-station—I there explained the prisoner's statement to me to the officer, and after some time they found the watch was stolen and detained the prisoner—he wanted to say that I was connected with the watch robbery; he said I stole it, and he drove my cab, and then he said he bought the watch for 5s. off a man in the Strand, and he was merely having a game by telling me about it—I do not think he was the worse for drink—we were at the coffee-stall for five or ten minutes.
Cross-examined. I did not, about twelve o'clock that night, ask you to pass me through St. James' to get a job—I drove a lady from Brecknock Road to Seymour Street, and it was twelve o'clock when I set her down—you and two men were standing together when I was called—there was no singing and shouting on the way to Sloane Street—I stopped in Sloane Street when you ordered me—I did not get off my box or get inside the cab because of the noise—I saw no struggle—I did not see the prosecutor turned out of the cab; he was the worse for drink and might have fallen out of the cab, and you assisted him some distance away—I cannot say who got out first when the cab stopped—I did not hear any shouting—no one got up at the back of my cab—the watch was handed to me at Knightsbridge with the bow off; you gave me the bow at Westminster—I did not know the watch had been stolen; if I had done so I should have given you into custody at once, and not have driven all that way for nothing—I came on you for the fare because you handed me the watch—I have lived in Poplar; my father keeps a baker's shop there—I was convicted of assault on a cabman at the London Sessions, and went to prison, and in consequence my license was stopped two or three years ago; but I got it again—I was never charged with robbing a drunken sailor in the White Horse, High Street, Poplar, or with receiving—when I asked you for the fare at Westminster Bridge you did not say it had nothing to do with you, or that you had not had the watch in your possession, or that you would go to King Street—you had no idea I was going to the Police-station—I did not tell you I was going there—I did not drive away; you did not run after me and pull the reins—you tried to stop the horse when I was going to the station.
ARTHUR BARNES . I am a coffee-stall keeper by Westminster Bridge, and live at 6, Cowley Road, Brixton—between one and two a.m. on 22nd September I was at my stall when the last witness drove up with his cab, out of which got the prisoner and another man—I served them with cups of tea, and then the prisoner asked me to let him have four shillings on a watch—I never saw the watch—I said, "No"—he kept worrying me; I was very busy at the time, and I said I wished they would not bother me, I did not do business that way—there were a good many people about—there was a dispute between the cabman and the prisoner, and then the prisoner got into the cab, and the cab was driven away—a week after I saw the prisoner in the dock at Rochester Road Police-station; I was asked if I knew him, and I recognised him.
Cross-examined. I believe you called for the two or three cups of tea or coffee—I do not know the other man in the cab—you jumped into the cab; you did not run after it you—said, "Drive me to King Street"
when I would not let you have four shillings—you was very excited at the time—you asked me for the four shillings.
WILLIAM MENSON (433 B). I was at Walton Street Station, Chelsea, on the early morning of 22nd September when the prosecutor came in—I went with him to King Street—the prisoner was there, and this watch which the prosecutor said was his—the prisoner heard it, he made no reply—after he was charged, the prisoner said, "I don't see how you can charge me; the watch was not found in my possession; the cabman had it"—I searched, and found threepence on him.
Cross-examined. You were not placed among others to be identified when the prosecutor came in, as the prosecutor was under the influence of drink—the prisoner and the cabman and the sergeant were there—the prosecutor said, "That is one of the men"—afterwards the prisoner, at his own request, was put with other men, for the prosecutor to identify him.
JOSEPH VALE (Sergeant 10 AR.) At two a.m. on 22nd September I was at King Street station when Skinole drove up with the prisoner in his cab and complained about him not paying his fare; he said nothing about the watch then—after some questions Skinole said the prisoner had given him a watch on the way from Sloane Street to hold as a security for his fare, and after arriving at Westminster Bridge they had refreshments at a stall, and then had some altercation about the watch, and he asked the prisoner to get into the cab and said he would drive him home, and instead of that he drove him to the station—the prisoner produced the watch—I questioned him about it; he said, "It is my own property; I can do as I like with it"—I asked him where he thought it—he said, "I bought it down the Strand last night; I gave 4s. for it"—I said I should detain him at the station, and make inquiries, and I wired for information round London, and shortly after I received information that the robbery had taken place in Sloane Street—I wired to them to send the loser, and shortly after the prosecutor came—I asked him in the prisoner's presence to describe the watch—he said, "It is an American watch, and there is a racehorse and jockey at the back"—he turned to the prisoner and said, "That is the man that was riding in the cab with me and took my watch"—he was afterwards shown the watch—he had been drinking, but knew what he was about quite well.
Cross-examined. I don't know whether the cabman would not have said anything about the watch if he had got his fare—the prosecutor described the watch before he saw it—you were not placed among other men there to be identified.
J. A. CARROLL (Re-examined by the prisoner). I was forced twenty yards by you from the cab, to the best of my recollection; then you ran hack to the cab, and jumped in, and ordered it off—I shouted as hard as I could; I think the cabman must have heard me.
By the JURY. The watch was wrenched from me; there was a struggle—I had no chain—the only violence used in the cab was that my chin was forced up.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that he drove up with the cabman and picked up the prosecutor and the other man; that at Sloane Street the cab-man got into the cab and asked him (the prisoner) to drive; that after
about seven hundred yards they got out of they cab; the prosecutor said he had lost his watch, and the cabman got up and whipped the horse, and went off as hard as he could; that the cabman said he deserved the watch for his trouble, and was going to drive away with it after reaching Westminster, but that he (the prisoner), saying he wanted something to recompense him for going with the cabman all the night, ran after him; that he had nothing to do with the watch, and never had it in his possession.
GUILTY**. of robbery. — Nine Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Friday, October 26th, 1894.
Before Mr. Justice Collins.
807. MARGARET CROOME (50), was indicted for feloniously using a certain instrument upon Eliza Smith, with intent to procure her miscarriage; and AUGUSTUS FIELDER (36) , was charged as an accessory after the fact.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS, BIRON, and HEWITT. Prosecuted, and MESSRS. PURCELL. and W. G. SMITH. Defended.
MR. MATHEWS, before opening the case against Croome, offered no evidence as to Fielder, who was accordingly found
NOT GUILTY .
The details of the evidence do not admit of publication.
CROOME— GUILTY .— Ten Years' Penal Servitude.
NEW COURT.—Friday, October 26th, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. GEOGHEGAN. Prosecuted, and MR. F. GRIFFITHS DAVIS. Defended.
The prisoner stated in the hearing of the JURY. that he was GUILTY , and they found that verdict. He then PLEADED GUILTY . to stealing two and a half yards of blue serge, value 15s. 8d., the property of George Campbell Stewart. — Six and a half Months' Hard Labour.
MR. ALLEYNE. Prosecuted.
EVERARD SINGLE . I am clerk to Curtis, Whitworth and Co., wholesale dealers in trimmings, 41, Eastcheap—on 25th July the prisoner brought this cheque on the London and Westminster Bank, payable by J. Holdsworth to Edward Beare, or order, for £2—it was endorsed, "Edward Beare," and was as it is now, except that it was not pasted together, but a little more torn—he said, "Will you kindly cash this for Mr. Sheppard, of the Mecca, as he has just paid it in?"—I gave it to the cashier, who took it upstairs to Mr. Whitworth—the prisoner followed the cashier, and went out another way—when the cashier came down the man was gone—on 21st September I identified the prisoner at Marlborough Street out
of about twelve men—I am certain he is the man who presented the cheque.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I went up and down the line twice without touching you—I consulted the detective who told me to touch whom I thought was the man, but since I am convinced you are the man.
By the COURT. He did not speak before I touched him, but when he spoke I was more sure—our office is rather dark, it is down below in the basement, and Marlborough Street is very light, that is why I had a doubt—I have not the slightest doubt now.
FRANCIS JOSEPH SHEPPARD . I am secretary and general manager of the Mecca, 15, Eastcheap—the prisoner was employed by the company from March 11th, 1889, to 10th May, 1890, when he left our service—I did not give this cheque to the prisoner to take to Messrs. Whitworth—I first saw it when it was brought to me by Single—Beare is one of our directors—I know the prisoner's writing—these are specimens(Produced)—the writing on the cheque and the endorsement are the prisoner's.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. Beare's name is not spelt correctly—you ought to know how to spell it—the specimens of your writing were written when you were in the company's service—about four years ago you entered our service.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. The writing does not resemble mine.
JULES LE CHERTIER . I am an artists' colourman, of 60, Regent Street—a burglary was committed on my premises between 10th and 11th June last, when goods were stolen to the amount of between £8 and £9, amongst which was this cheque-book in use.
THOMAS DOWSE (City Detective). On September 21st I went with Inspector Downs to Marlborough Street Police-court, when Single identified the prisoner at the back of the Court—I then called the prisoner on one side, and told him we were City police officers, and he would be conveyed to the City on the charge of uttering a forged cheque—he said, "I know nothing about it"—I conveyed him to the City, where he was charged—the charge was read over by the inspector—he made no reply.
Cross-examined. You were elsewhere at the time of the burglary and for some time afterwards—I searched where you live, and found nothing.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I know nothing about the charges. I have no witnesses to call now. If I have, I will call them at the trial."
The prisoner read a written defence to the effect that Single was unable to identify him, and conversed with the detective before touching him. He admitted at the Police-court that he was not certain, and the name was spelt wrongly, uhereas he (the prisoner) knew how to spell it, and he knew if Sheppard had wanted change, he would have sent to one of his own depots for it.
GUILTY .**—He then PLEADED GUILTY. to a conviction felony at this Court in May, 1893.— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. LAWLESS. Prosecuted.
THOMAS WALLIS . I am a tailor, of 4, Surface Place, City—the prisoner was in my employ as trimmer for some time—he left two months previous to 25th August—on 27th August, from information received from Mr. Seabrook, I examined my stock—I missed a blue serge suit, an overcoat, twenty yards of silk velvet, twelve yards of Italian cloth, and other articles—I gave information to the police—I saw the prisoner on 13th September, and gave him into custody—I charged him with stealing the articles I missed—at the time I missed a black bag containing papers, which were not mine, and about twenty sheets of my stationery, and £5 in gold in an envelope—after the prisoner was taken to the station I went with Sergeant Palmer to his residence at Hamilton Buildings, Great Eastern Street—I found this black bag and some silesia, which is used for pockets, some cloth, buttons, and a dictionary belonging to me, and which I had missed; the large things on 27th August—these tickets were shown to me by the police—the counterfoils contain, in the prisoner's writing, receipts for parcels—the contents of one parcel, marked "A," were shown to me by the police—I identified the collars, silk facings, frock and dress coats, and Italian cloth as things I had missed—I opened the bag at my office, when I found the contents named.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You did not leave my service the Saturday before Bank Holiday—I did not authorise my manager to give you a reference—I dismissed you for being drunk and for general inattention—I am not aware that you have written to my manager to com here to-day—I left my shop on August 25th at three o'clock in charge of Mr. Izard, my manager—I was not aware you were with him then or on Monday, 27th, or that he came earlier on Monday morning—you assisted to make up the balance-sheet by my express wish—I have seven shops—I usually take stock at all my shops every Monday morning—I sent my manager to your house the morning after it was searched—he demanded my black bag—it contained letters thirty or forty years old, life policies, apprentice indentures, and £5 wrapped up in an envelope—my manager took those things away—your wife asked for the money—I produced the torn letters—I only kept £5 and the stationery, which is in the bag now—this is the bag and the paper—it is my note-paper—the police did not authorise me to send for the bag—I searched it—I handed the money over to the police—it is an old bag in which the boy takes round trimmings; he used to tie it with a string—it is not worth much, but it is valuable for that purpose—it is a unique bag, and when I missed it nine months ago I wondered what had become of the old thing—the boy I have now was not with me nine months ago—I had twelve yards of Italian cloth in a separate locked room on the second floor—I supply it as it is required by the seven shops—at the time this cloth was cut off I had just opened a new piece of between fifty and sixty yards—I had previously cut off two—the velvet was also locked up in the other room—you knew where the keys hung in the front room, because you kept stock—I have never taken the keys of the velvet-room home—I keep a stock-book—I have not produced it—I have 500 yards of velvet, and I should
think I had 700 yards when you were there—I missed twenty yards, from the velvet box—it is not valueless—some of it is damaged—I have not said I never missed anything while you were in my employ—you did not find £4 10s. in an old coat, nor hand it to me a few weeks before you left—you remained in the shop when I was absent, and the manager—I have not called my manager, because I have been here since ten o'clock on Monday morning, and if my manager was here too I should have to shut up shop—it is not because his evidence would be in your favour.
Re-examined. The prisoner did not ask at the Police-court whether I knew he went to see Mr. Izard—he made a long statement at the Police-court—the bag was alluded to when I went with Palmer, and I forgot to take it away—the prisoner had no right to the key to my premises; he had been discharged—no one had my authority to ask him into the premises—we close at five p.m.
By the prisoner. I was not aware you were always at my shop every morning during the five weeks you were out of my employment.
WALTER SEABROOK . I am housekeeper, at 7, Surface Place—on Saturday, August 25th, I saw the prisoner in the street between eight and nine p.m.—I knew him by sight—I saw him unlock the door with a padlock and go into the prosecutor's shop—he remained there about ten minutes, when he came out—on Monday, 27th, I saw him between six and seven a.m. unlock the padlock, go in, and leave the premises carrying a largish brown paper parcel, which he had not when he went in—I identified him at the Police-station—I spoke to the prosecutor after inquiries were made.
Cross-examined. It was daylight when I saw you in August—I did not know and did not see the man who locked up the premises—I saw no gas-light till you went in the shop—I did not see you come to the manager on Monday morning—I never saw you till the Saturday night.
ANNIE TURNER . I live at 2, Circus Place—I do not know the prisoner, but I knew him by sight when he was employed at the prosecutor's shop—I saw him unlock the padlock and go in there between eight and nine on August 25th—I did not see him come out—on the next Monday morning I saw him pass the buildings just after ten.
Cross-examined. I did not see you with the manager on Saturday evening—I know the manager—I did not see him lock up the premises on Monday morning.
GEORGE WEBBER (93 G). The prosecutor gave the prisoner into my custody at 1.15 on Finsbury Pavement for stealing some clothes—he said, "All right, I will go"—I took him to the station—he was charged, and said, "I am innocent, the witnesses have made a mistake."
WILLIAM PALMER (Detective City). On September 13th I saw the prisoner at Moor Lane Station, and charged him, and said, "Give up the things you have got on you"—he produced 1s. 6 1/2 d. and nine pawn-tickets, amounting to £1 7s., and some letters—I said, "Have you got anything else about you?"—he said, "No"—I said, "I am going to search you"—I did so, and found two half-sovereigns in the band of his trousers—he said, "I received that of a book-maker this morning for a bet"—I went to Broad Street with the prosecutor, and he identified the property—we then went to the prisoner's residence, and saw the black bag—it was
brought to the prosecutor's house, opened in the shop, and £5 was found in it.
Cross-examined. I found on you this reference to Mr. Wheeler's manager. (This was signed "Thos. Wallis," and gave the prisoner a good character, but Mr. Wallis stated that it was not his writing, but his manager's.)
CHARLES LIVOCK . I am a cloak-room attendant at Broad Street Station—I produce a parcel which the prosecutor identified—it was deposited on September 12th, and ticket "A" refers to it—I do not identify the prisoner—I also produce two counterfoils dated August 25th and 27th—those parcels have been taken away, I cannot say when—I have the signature "Chas. Stewart" for all three of them.
Cross-examined. The parcel of the 25th was left at night, and that of the 27th in the morning.
The prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate, and in his defence, complained of the absence of the prosecutor's manager, and stated that if the money was stolen it was through the prosecutor's carelessness, who kept it in a bag under the counter, and customers could see him give change from it.
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY .— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. COLLINS. Prosecuted.
WILLIAM WATSON (17 GR). On 13th September, about two a.m., I was on duty at the corner of Collier Street and Southampton Street, and saw two men—I went towards them; they walked on, and I saw the prisoner with one leg out of a window—I seized him, and we went down to the ground—another man jumped out at the window—I was struck across my knuckles with a stick, and had to let go of the prisoner—I blew my whistle and seized the prisoner again; he threw me down again—another constable came up and arrested him—I went to the house; the hasp was broken, and the window open.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I saw you in Cumming Street at 1.15 with three other men—I went to Pentonville Road, and came up Foley Street, which very likely took me three-quarters of an hour; it is more than 400 yards—I did not hit you with my staff, I laid it on your ear, and told you you would have it—the window is four feet square, it is more than two feet.
THOMAS HARRIS (43 G). On 13th September, in the early morning, I heard and whistle and ran in the direction of the sound—Watson and the prisoner were on the ground—I saw the prisoner strike Watson twice across his shoulders with a stick.
THOMAS VAUGHAN . I am a dairyman, of 40, Apley Street, Clerkenwell—on the night of September 13th, I locked up my house—all the windows were shut—I heard a noise twice in the night, and got up and went to the shop, but could not see anything—I heard a noise outside, went to the window, and saw a policeman and a man standing by—the window was up, and a clock was missing, and two or three things in bronze.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction at Clerkenwell on February 24th, 1892.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Saturday, October 27th, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
812. PHOEBE MATILDA BYERS (30), PLEADED GUILTY to writing and publishing a defamatory libel concerning Annie Elizabeth Wright; also another libel on Alfred Isaac Wright. (She had been in confinement for a time owing to the state of her mind).— To enter into her own recognizances to appear for judgment if called upon. And
813. CLARK BEATSON (28), and ANNIE BEATSON (28) , to feloniously receiving gold watches and chains, the goods of Silber and Fleming, Limited, knowing them to be stolen. CLARK BEATSON— Five Years' Penal Servitude. ANNIE BEATSON— Three Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. BLACKWELL. Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL. Defended Evens.
EDWARD CARTER . I am a carver and gilder, of 27, Park Road, Crouch End—on October 1st, about 7.30, I was in Old Street, St. Luke's—I turned down Middle Row, which is very narrow—six men were dancing there in front of a public-house, and when I got to the middle of them they closed round me, and I was seized on each side by my arms by two of them and the others turned my pockets out—I lost 1s. 6d. in silver, and some coppers and magnifying glasses—I said, "Now you have taken all I possess you had better let me go," and if they had I should have taken no notice of it, but Jerome deliberately struck me on my face, which was swollen for more than a week—Evens is one of the men who held me—I went into Old Street, and got a constable immediately, and gave Evens in charge—they all ran away when they struck me, but when I came back with a constable Evens was there—the inspector took me into a private room at the station before I charged Evens.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I was wearing glasses that evening Middle Row is very narrow and very dark—it is a thoroughfare for vehicles—the interval between my being seized and the men running off was very short—I found a policeman in about a minute and a half—he immediately went back to the spot where I was robbed, and I saw Evens talking to a woman—we both went up to him together; he did not say in my hearing that it was a mistake—we all three walked to the station—I was somewhat dazed—the constable or sergeant did not say, "Is this one of them?" nor did I say, "I don't think he is"—the inspector asked me if I charged the man; I thought it would be a waste of time, and said that I would not; that is why he asked me to go out of the charge-room—there was some hesitation on my part, due to my unwillingness to under-go the trouble of the prosecution—the inspector said that I must do my duty, and I came out of his room, and charged the man.
Cross-examined by Jerome. When I identified you at Clerkenwell I did not say, "I think that is the one who struck me, but I can't swear"—I was taken before about twenty people, and had no hesitation, and touched you—I have no doubt you are the man who assaulted me so unmercifully—I did not say when I charged you that I could not swear to you, but I believed you were the man.
Re-examined. At the moment I went up with the constable I was feeling dazed—I did not notice Evens saying that it was a mistake—the road is only eight or nine feet wide, and they were dancing under the light of a public-house right facing.
JOHN FOULSTON (60 G). On October 1st, at 7.30, I was on duty in Old Street, St. Luke's—the prosecutor made a statement to me, and I went with him to Middle Row, and saw Evens and a female outside a public-house—the prosecutor charged Evens, and I took him to the station.
Even's statement before the Magistrate: "I was in Middle Row with a female, and the prosecutor came up, and the policeman said, 'Is that one of them?' He said, 'I can't swear he is.' The policeman said, 'Will you charge him?' He said, 'No, it will interfere with my business.'"
MR. BLACKWELL. Prosecuted.
JAMES ANDERSON . I live at 127, New North Road, Islington, and am secretary and manager of the Hall of Science Club—on October 1st there was a dance there, and at a few minutes before nine I was standing in the lobby regulating the admissions—a gang of roughs came in, and I said, "You get out, you have no business here"—they used filthy language, and one asked me if I wanted to fight—a signal was given, and they went out—I found my chain hanging down, and my watch gone—I rushed out, and ten or fifteen yards on I seized Warden by the collar, and immediately received a terrific blow, which, having lost the sight of my right eye, blinded me—I fell and they were on top of me—I shouted, "Police" and "Murder" till assistance came—I had noticed Warden as one of the roughs who came in—the only other one who I recognise is Jerome, who I arrested going to the Police-station—it was only two minutes from the time they first came in till I was beaten—I was beaten very severely, and an abscess has formed on my leg.
Cross-examined by Jerome. You said that you would go to the station, and I said I would see that you did.
By the COURT. I said at the station that I could not speak to any of them but Warden, but I was beaten very severely—I made my statement at the Police-court next morning.
ALEXANDER ANDERSON . I am a son of the last witness—on October 1st I was at the Hall of Science Club at 8.50, serving behind the bar—somebody said something to me—I went outside, and found my father on the ground, and saw Warden get up off him—my brother and I seized him, and took him, and as I was picking him up, somebody snatched at my watch—I could not see the roughs from the lobby where I was serving.
JAMES STUART ANDERSON . I am a son of the prosecutor—on October 1st I was sitting in the lobby of the Hall of Science Club writing, and heard my father say, "What do you want?"—I saw six or eight men in the lobby: one of them said, "We want to fight"—I saw Warden and Clives there—Warden was seated in a chair near my father—he asked them to
go out, and they went out quickly—he said, "I have lost my watch," and went after them, and fell or was knocked down—I went out and saw Warden get up off him—I was sent for to the station at 11.30, and recognised Clives among others—he was very drunk then—I do not know whether he was drunk when I saw him in the lobby.
Cross-examined by Clives. I only saw you in the lobby; I do not think you were near my father.
JOSEPH DAVID (312 G). On the night of October 1st Vincent pointed out Wood to me—I took him to the station—Vincent did not come to the station then; he came to the Police-court on the 9th—when Wood was charged he said, "I know nothing about it."
PETER MCINTYRE (Police Sergeant G). On October 1st, at eleven p.m., I was in Central Street, St. Luke's, and saw Clives, and from a description I had, I arrested him on suspicion—he said, "I would not steal a watch and chain; I might take a sheep's head or something to eat"—I took him to the station—he was identified—he was drunk.
The RECORDER. considered that there was no evidence of who took the watch, or that the prisoners were acting in concert.
NOT GUILTY .
NOT GUILTY .
EVENS then PLEADED GUILTY. of a conviction at Guildhall on March 5th, 1892, in the name of Samuel Smith, and several other convictions were proved against him.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour and fifteen strokes with the cat. JEROME— Ten Months' Hard Labour and twenty strokes with the cat.
THIRD COURT. Friday, October 26th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. THOMAS. Prosecuted, and MR. ABINGER. Defended.
WILLIAM ASHFORD . I am a solicitor and a commissioner to administer oaths, at 33, Argyle Street, Regent Street—on 10th April the prisoner called and said he wanted a loan of £100; had I any client who would advance it—I told him to call next day—I communicated with Mr. Hann, who called next day; the prisoner came in—I laid the matter before Mr. Hann—the prisoner explained that he wanted the money for the purposes of his business—he was then asked to go outside—I had a conversation with Mr. Hann, and then the prisoner was called back, and Mr. Hann said he should not lend the money—the prisoner said he was very disappointed; that he could pay it back; that he did not owe more than £100 or £120; that all the stock and plant at his place was his own and paid for; that he was a stationer and was worth £800, and that he had a life policy just taken out on his life, which he would charge to Mr.
Hann—the prosecutor said to him, "If you will make a declaration to that effect, I will let you have the money"—the prisoner said, "I want it to-day," and that he would make the declaration—this declaration was drawn up by one of my clerks—the prisoner repeated the statement as to his indebtedness, and I instructed my clerk to embody it in the statutory declaration—I read it over to the prisoner—he said it was correct and signed it. (In it the prisoner declared that the whole of the plant, machinery, stock-in-trade, fixtures, at 7, Hill's Place used in his business were his own absolute property, and free from incumbrance, and had been paid for, and that he estimated their value at about £800; that he had never been bankrupt or insolvent; that the utmost extent of his liabilities and debts of every sort did not exceed £ 120, and that upon the faith of this declaration Mr. William Hann was lending him £100)—the same afternoon Mr. Hann brought me £100 in bank notes, which I afterwards handed to the prisoner—the prisoner gave to Mr. Hann a charge on his life policy and three promissory notes for £38 6s. 8d. each, payable on 4th July, 4th August, and 4th September, 1894—the prisoner offered to pay £115 for the loan—on 7th July, when the first promissory note became due, it was dishonoured—I sued the prisoner for it; I got judgment in default of his appearance—I issued execution, but a claim was made under this absolute bill of sale, dated 22nd May, 1894, which states that the consideration is for past indebtedness £311, and £69 for a present advance—I had to take the sheriff out—on 8th August I saw the prisoner at my office—on 1st August he called a meeting of his creditors; he sent me a circular—at the meeting he disclosed that his liabilities were £911 unsecured, and also the bill of sale and Mr. Harm's debt, and his assets were £40—on 8th August I saw the prisoner at my office in Mr. Hann's presence by appointment—he said to Mr. Hann, "I know I have done wrong, but I am a young man only twenty-five years of age; for heaven's sake don't ruin me. I will let you have your money to-morrow afternoon"—Mr. Hann said, "Then you did owe more than that £120 at the time of my advance"—the prisoner said, "I did"—on 3rd September I received information, in consequence of which a summons was applied for at the Police-court.
Cross-examined. I have been a solicitor for twelve years—I have two clerks; my office is one room partitioned off into two—I first acted as solicitor for the prisoner eighteen months ago—I have acted in about six matters for him—to my knowledge three other firms of solicitors were acting for him—in March he instructed me to act for him in two writs issued against him for trade debts, amounting to about £50—there was a Mayor's Court action against him at that time for £40, but it was settled, I think, before this advance—I acted for him in that—I have no recollection of any other matter in which he was being pressed for money in 1894 in which I acted for him; I cannot swear—I did not know on 11th April that he was involved to any further extent—the Mayor's Court action was settled by the prisoner paying half the amount down, and undertaking to pay the balance by £5 a week—the prisoner and Mr. Hann was strangers till they met on 11th April; I brought them together—the prisoner brought me the two writs issued by Spalding and Hodge and Fourdrinier, Hunt and Co., amounting to about £50 together—I pointed out that registered judgments would
affect his credit—he asked me if I had a client from whom he could borrow, and I communicated with Mr. Hann—I told Mr. Hann of those two writs and the Mayor's Court action, and that I had acted as solicitor for the prisoner the year before—Mr. Hann refused to advance the money at first—the prisoner urged him to do so—I did not urge him—I was not acting for the prisoner, but only for Mr. Hann in this matter—it was a day or two before, about 6th April, that the prisoner had brought me the two writs—the only liabilities of the prisoner that I knew were £75—I asked him in Mr. Harm's presence if he had any other debts—I knew of no matters in the preceding year in which he was defendant, only of some in which he was plaintiff—I did not suggest a bill of sale, because it is ruin to a trader; it stops all credit—Mr. Hann wanted to confer with me whether on the first statement made by the prisoner about his debts he would advance the money; he made up his mind without any pressure from me—I don't think there was a draft of any promissory note—my clerk was called into the room, and the statements made by the prisoner I told the clerk to embody in the declaration—I told the prisoner it was a statutory declaration—he made it in the presence of myself, the clerk, and Mr. Hann, I think—when Mr. Hann brought the £100 the notes were handed to the prisoner, and then he directed me to pay off the two writs; Mr. Hann said that part of the money was to be applied in that way—the writs came to £50 and the costs to £6—the prisoner paid me £3 3s. for the loan, as borrower—Mr. Hann paid me nothing; the lender never does—I was paid £2 2s., I believe, for my costs in those two actions, but not out of this advance, or on that day—I paid myself out of debts I collected—the life policy for £500 was deposited—I believe it has since lapsed—I did not inform Mr. Hann that the sheriff had been withdrawn a week after I put him in, after the first promissory note was not met, because he was in Norway—on his return I told him—on 1st of August Mr. Hann was still in Norway—Mr. Hann keeps a coffee-house in the Hampstead Road—on 9th August I received this letter from Mr. Abrahams, and I went and saw him on the 10th—he said the prisoner had instructed him, and that the prisoner's brother-in-law would give security for Mr. Hann's debt, and pay it by instalments of £10 a month—I said I would see Mr. Hann, and I saw him the same evening—he said he would take the £115 in instalments of £10 a month if the security was forthcoming—I did not write to that effect to Mr. Abrahams; the security was never given, and there was no arrangement—£7 was sent on 13th August, and £3 on 5th September—I was away in Normandy when the cheque for £7 came, and it was forwarded to me—I returned it with instructions to my clerk, and it was kept in my office for about three weeks while I was away, and then returned; Mr. Hann knew of its receipt directly I returned from Normandy—I did not afterwards undertake to take a promissory note from the defendant—no promissory note was prepared.
Re-examined. As far as I know the only matters in which I acted for the prisoner were the collection of three debts and appearing for him in two writs and a Mayor's Court action—the policy was taken out in March; it had no surrender value.
MR. ABINGER. submitted that the declaration was made before a person not competent to declare it, because by 52 and 53 Vic. a person could not
administer an oath in any proceeding in which he was an interested party, and he should contend that Mr. Ashford had an interest in this matter. MR. THOMAS. contended that the sub-section only referred to proceedings in Court. The COMMON SERJEANT. was of opinion that the Statute had no reference to a case such as that under consideration, but only related to proceedings in an action.
WILLIAM JAMES HANN . I am a coffee-house keeper at 24, Hampstead Road—on 10th April I received a letter from Mr. Ashford, and I called on him on the 11 th—after a conversation with him alone the prisoner came in—I refused to lend him the money—he said he was very sorry to hear that, as he was pressed for money—I asked him what business he was doing—he said a very satisfactory business; he had been in business about two years, starting with £100, and during that time putting in stock and plant to the amount of £800, for which he had paid, and that his debts amounted to only £120—I agreed if that statement were embodied in a declaration to lend him the £100—he agreed to do so—I did not see the declaration drawn up—I went away—I advanced the money that same afternoon in notes—after that I went for a holiday to Norway—when I came back Mr. Ashford reported matters to me—about 8th August I saw the prisoner in Mr. Ashford's presence—he said he did not know whether he should be able to get the money, but he would do his best; he was going to send a telegram to a friend to get the money—I don't recollect his saying anything about the declaration—the first information I had as to the contents of the declaration was on 3rd September.
Cross-examined. I lend money at times—I am not a professional money lender; I have no office—Mr. Ashford is my solicitor—when I saw him on 11th April I asked him what security the man who wanted to borrow £100 had to offer, and when he said "None," I declined to entertain the matter—that was all he told me—I asked him what he knew of him; he said he had done a little work for him—to my knowledge, Mr. Ashford never communicated to me the fact that he had been in communication with Mr. Abrahams with a view of paying me by instalments of £10 a month—I returned from Norway about August 6th—I think I saw him a day or two afterwards—he showed me a draft promissory note for £115 which he had drawn up—I would not have anything to say to it—he told me he had received cheques for £7 and £3, and about the bill of sale—I had no positive proof that the bill of sale was false before September 5th.
WILLIAM DUNCAN TUCKER . I live at Mount Pleasant House, Tottenham, and am a timber merchant—I produce a bill of sale of May 22nd, 1894, for £380, given me by the prisoner for money advanced by me—I gave him £69 at the time of the bill of sale, and the rest was for prior small debts—I lent him £5 on February 2nd, 1894, and at that time he owed me the best part of £300.
Cross-examined. The prisoner is my brother-in-law—I treated this as debt—I believed the prisoner to be a man of excellent character—he was apprenticed to Waterlow's for seven years, and after leaving them he set up for himself and married my sister—I put in a proof at the meeting of creditors by the bill of sale—I was secured by this absolute bill of sale—an offer was made to the creditors and accepted, I believe—I knew he had a growing young business, and lent him money to conduct it—I did
not know he had been struggling for some time against a failing trade—by the 22nd May his indebtedness was considerable, and he wanted £69 more, and I refused unless I had a bill of sale—previously my security was a note of hand.
CHARLES FARR . I live at 44, Esmond Road, Kilburn—I am a stationer—I was in the prisoner's employ—in January, 1894, I gave him £50 to get employment, and he was to give me 6 per cent, for the money and salary—I was to have the £50 back—I have never received it back—on 10th January I lent him £20, and on 22nd March £100, with the idea of a partnership—none of that money has been returned to me.
Cross-examined. I first lent him the £70 at 6 per cent., and then I brought in the £100 and a partnership was to be formed, and the money sunk in the business—the prisoner drew up a memorandum of partnership, but I did not sign it, as I did not like the wording of it—we entered into a verbal agreement of partnership—I was to receive £2 a week salary and 15 per cent, of the profits—I knew him pretty well and considered him a man of very high character.
Re-examined. I never got back a pennyworth of my £170—I signed a deed of assignment, when he called his creditors together—he owes me £170.
WILLIAM NATHANIEL JONES . I am head of the firm of W. and N. Jones and Sons, wholesale stationers, Bread Street Hill—on 11th April the prisoner owed us £72 8s., a trade debt—I am trustee of the deed of assignment; I have had nothing under it yet.
THOMAS HENRY ALLINSON . I live at 1, Oxford Place, Bexley—on 11th April the prisoner was my tenant and owed me £27 for rent, and the share of some repairs, amounting altogether to £36 10s.—I have never been paid.
MR. ABINGER. here stated that he had consulted the prisoner, and that he should not contest the case further, nor address the JURY.
GUILTY . Strongly recommended to mercy.— Judgment respited.
MR. PAYNE. Prosecuted.
DANIEL SOARES . I live at 5, Underwood Street, Mile End New Town—I have known Louis Levy all my life—I last saw him on Sunday, 21st October, lying in bed at the St. George's-in-the-East Infirmary—he told me all the inmates of the ward were dead, and that he was dead—he would not eat anything—he was subject to delusions—on the Monday they gave me
a certificate that he had been removed to Colney Hatch—I have since received a letter stating that he was received there.
CECIL FOWLER BEDELLS , M.R.C.S. and L.R.C.P.—I am medical officer at Colney Hatch—I have in charge there a patient named Louis Levy, who was brought there last Monday from St. George's-in-the-East Infirmary—he is insane and not in a fit state to come here.
SAMUEL HALL (264 H). I was present at the Thames Police-court when this case was before Mr. Mead—I heard Louis Levy give evidence—it was taken down, read over to him, and he signed it in my presence. (The deposition of Louis Levy was read as follows: "I am a dealer, of 92, Backchurch Lane. At 2.20 p.m. on 1st October, 1894, I was in Union Street; the prisoners and two others came up to me. Clark knocked me down. He first of all seized my chain, and tore it from my waistcoat and got my watch with it; then he struck me three or four times over the head, and knocked me down and ran. Buck helped him. The watch and chain are gold, value £28 (produced). They were caught by the police.—LOUIS LEVY."
HARRY MARKS . I live at 36, Bedford Street, Commercial Road—on 1st October, at two or 2.30 p.m., I was in Whitechapel—I saw Clark walk up to Levy and take his chain, and run up Whitechapel, and then he came back and hit Levy on the head and knocked his hat off—Levy called, "Stop thief"—I saw Buck put his hand in Clark's pocket and try and take the watch out—Clark struck Hall.
Cross-examined by Clark. You did not strike Levy when you took his watch, but when you ran back you did—I ran after you and you were stopped by the police. (Clark stated that he PLEADED GUILTY . to the robbery but not to using violence.)
Re-examined. I cannot say if Clark struck Levy hard when he ran back—I only saw him knock his hat off.
Cross-examined by Buck. When you came up there were many people round; I was in the middle of them—I saw you put your hand in Clark's left-hand pocket—a Jew man pulled you into the road, and a policeman took you.
SAMUEL HALL (Re-examined). On 1st October, at 2.15 p.m., I saw Clark running down Holloway Street, Union Street, pursued by a crowd, with cries of "Stop thief"—I pursued him—Levy came up and said he had taken his watch and chain—I took Clark into custody; he said, "all right," I had gone some way with him when Buck stepped up on Clark's left-hand side and put his hand into his pocket—I tried to catch him but missed him—Clark struggled to get away, and struck me a blow in the mouth—two other men and Buck sprang on me, and tried to get Clark away—the prisoners were charged at the station—this watch was found in Clark's pocket.
Cross-examined by Clark. I did not give you a blow on the head in Commercial Road—you showed the magistrate some bruise.
Cross-examined by Buck. I had hold of Clark by the neck and right hand, and you came up on the other side of him and put your hand in his pocket—I saw you; I was keeping observation on his pocket—I did not see a man catch hold of you—I was surrounded by four men in the struggle; two pounced on me from behind.
Commercial Road, going off duty—I saw Hall with Clark, and I got off the tram and went to his assistance, and arrested Buck—when I was on the tram I saw Clark and Hall struggling—he struck Hall with his fist in the mouth; at the same time two others seized Hall at the back, and Buck got in front of Clark and endeavoured to get him away—I took Buck to the station, searched him, and found these three room door-keys and two latch-keys on him—when I took him into custody he said he had nothing to do with it.
Cross-examined by Buck. You said at the station you dealt in keys—no one had hold of you when I seized you; a Jew man was not holding you—I saw two others trying to rescue Clark.
DYSON SHARPE (927 City). On October 1st I was on a tram in Commercial Road—I saw Hall coming out of Union Street with Clark, when he was suddenly surrounded by several men, two of whom seized him from behind—Buck seized Clark, and tried to wrench him away from Hall—Clark struck Hall in the face—I went to Hall's assistance, and caught Clark behind—Buck and the other two ran away, but I saw Buck afterwards in Waite's custody.
HENRY HANCOCK (Detective H). On October 1st I saw Hall, with Clark, in custody, and I assisted in taking him to the station—I searched him there, and found this watch and chain, which was identified by Levy, in his left-hand jacket pocket—he made no remark.
Clark, in his defence, stated he used no violence, and that he was by himself, and knew nothing of Buck, who was innocent.
Buck stated that he saw a crowd, and walked up to see what was the matter, and was taken by the City constable.
DANIEL SOARES (Re-examined). Levy is an intimate relation of mine—he had never been in an asylum before, but he had been affected before—he first showed signs of the malady returning on the Thursday evening after this happened—he had been well before.
GUILTY. of robbery. —CLARK then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony in December, 1890, at this Court, and BUCK** to one in May, 1889, at this Court, in the name of John Thompson.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude each.
MR. PIGGOTT. Prosecuted.
WALTER AUSTEN (Sergeant 9, City). At 1.30 a.m. on 20th September I was on duty in Aldersgate—I saw the prosecutor opposite the Manchester Hotel; he was drunk—Bryan walked down Barbican, and sat down on a doorstep—Blake went and spoke to Murdoch—they came down Barbican together to where Bryan sat—then Murdoch walked with Bryan, and followed by Blake, Murdoch and Bryan turned into Australian Avenue, and then into the doorway of 22, Jewin Crescent, which is rather dark—after standing there for a bit, Blake walked about twenty yards past, then came back, and stood there about half a minute, and I heard Murdoch shout out "Oh"—I stopped Bryan, and another
constable stopped Blake—Murdoch said he had lost his watch and chain—Bryan said she knew nothing about it—the man made no remark to me.
Cross-examined by Blake. I did not see either of you attempt to take the watch and chain; the doorway was dark—I was standing at the corner of Australian Avenue.
Cross-examined by Bryan. You got up as Murdoch got to where you sat, and you went off together, and Blake followed about twenty yards behind.
ALEXANDER MURDOCH . I am a commercial traveller, and live in Glasgow—on September 20th I was staying in London—about 1.30 a.m. Bryan came up and spoke to me in Barbican—I did not see Blake there—I was the worse for liquor, and do not remember what occurred till she tried to take my watch and chain, and then Blake came up and took them—these are they.
Cross-examined by Blake. I don't remember going round a corner into a dark doorway with her.
Cross-examined by Bryan. I did not say I had been robbed of a diamond pin and money that evening.
DAVID STEADMAN (115 City). On September 20th I saw Bryan and Murdoch, followed by Blake, walk through Jewin Crescent, and turn to the left towards Fore Streets—Murdoch leant in a doorway, and Bryan was standing against him—Blake walked by a few yards, and spoke to them—I next heard Murdoch call out "Oh," and the chink of a watchchain—Blake then ran off—I ran after him, and caught him about twenty yards off—he said, "What is the matter?"—I asked him what he had been doing—he said, "Nothing"—the prosecutor was asked whether he had lost anything—he said a watch and chain—he was asked if he knew anything about it—after looking about for three or four minutes we were going to start to go to the station, and Blake pointed out this watch and chain on a window-sill, about twenty yards from the doorway, and in the direction in which Blake had run—at the station Bryan said when charged that Murdoch had given it to her—Blake made no statement.
Cross-examined by Blake. On the way to the station, after pointing out the watch, you said Murdoch gave it to Bryan, who gave it to you, and that Murdoch wanted to have connection with your young woman, and that if you had known it you would have put it in the gutter, and put your foot on it.
Blake in his defence said he was keeping company with Bryan; that Murdoch said he wanted her to come to his office, and that he had given her his watch and chain; that he, Blake, told Bryan to give them to him, and he put them on the window-sill.
Bryan said that she had been ill, that Blake had helped her, and been very good to her, and did not know she had done any wrong; that Murdoch gave her his watch and chain as a present, and that she believed Blake would have knocked her about but for the policeman.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. SYDENHAM JONES. Prosecuted.
principal place of business is at 172, Wardour Street—we have a branch at Beak Street under the management of Ada Mary Parker—on 20th September I was called to that shop, and found everything in confusion—the marble counter was lifted up, and sardine tins put underneath, and the desk was broken open.
ADA MART PARKER . I am manageress of 51, Beak Street, a branch of the Sudbury Dairy Company—I left there at eight o'clock on 19th September, leaving everything safely locked up—I do not live on the premises—I left £8 1s. in the till locked, and about 10s. of my own money in the desk—among the money was a five-shilling piece, farthings, and a shilling—next morning I came there at half-past seven—I found everything in the greatest confusion; the desk was forced.
CHARLES LONG (77 C). About 2.30 a.m. on 20th September I saw the prisoner and another man leave the side door of the Sudbury Dairy Company, Beak Street—when the prisoner turned and saw me he began to run—he was caught by another constable—I took him to the station—he was charged with burglary, and stealing £8 1s. and 10s.—he said, "Does not the second refer to the same as the first?"—I said, "Yes"—after taking him to the station I went to Beak Street—I found the door about five inches open—this chisel was lying just on the little table inside the door—the door had not been forced; they had got in with a key—the chisel could have been used for forcing the till inside; I saw no marks.
GEORGE HINDS (104 C). On the morning of 20th September I heard a police whistle, and went to Ingestre Buildings, and saw the prisoner coming down the stairs, and arrested him—he said he had come down the stairs, and he would go quietly to the station—I picked up a sixpence and threepenny bit in the place I arrested him.
Cross-examined. That money was on the landing you first went to.
WILLIAM HARRIS (Sergeant 15 C). About 3.20 a.m. on 20th September I went to Ingestre Buildings, and placed two constables there, and then I went to 51, Beak Street—I found the shop door open, and the shop in great disorder—a marble slab was on the floor; a marble counter was raised; the till was forced—on the marble slab were marks of this chisel—the slab had been raised, and sardine tins placed underneath, so that the money could be taken from the till—money was gone from desk and till—I went back to Ingestre Buildings, and sent six constables to search—we could not find the prisoner for some time—I went round to Hopkins Street, and saw the prisoner lying on a ledge, a kind of portico, about twelve feet from the ground—he must have gone up a flight of stairs, and got through an iron grating and on to this ledge—he refused to come back till I threatened him with my truncheon, and then he got up and came downstairs and was arrested—we found this five shilling piece, shilling, and farthing, and this knife and a small handle.
Cross-examined. Those things were found on another staircase, not where you were arrested.
The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate, and in defences said he did not go home because a constable had threatened him.
He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony in November, 1893.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Saturday, October 27th, 1894.
Before Mr. Justice Collins.
MR. HUTTON. Prosecuted, and MR. PAUL TAYLOR. Defended.
SPENCER SHAPPER . I am a cabinet-maker, and live at 19, Baroness Road, Bethnal Green—on 4th September I was in the Hackney Road at the top of Nelson Street, and opposite Great Cambridge Street, between a quarter and half-past two in the day—I saw a man and a boy talking near the kerb and the lamp-post in Cambridge Street, and on my left I saw a hay cart come round as if from Shoreditch Church—the horse did a little spurt, and caught the man with his front feet, and the man was run over—the horse was more walking than trotting—both the man and the boy went down; the man rolled, and the horse passed over either his shoulders or his neck—I went and picked his hat up—two men picked the man up, one on the right and one on the left—three men got out of the cart; the prisoner was the last—he looked to me like a man who had been up all night; he seemed tired out, or in drink, but he looked more like tired to me—the cart was an ordinary one, not loaded—the back of the cart was too high up for me to see inside.
Cross-examined. The prisoner seemed more tired than drunk, like a man at holiday time who had been up all night.
Cross-examined. I am accustomed to see ordinary hay carts pass—the man was knocked down two or three yards from the fountain, down Great Cambridge Street.
By the COURT. There was not a crowd, hardly any people going along, nothing to prevent the driver seeing the deceased before he turned out of the Hackney Road into Cambridge Street.
CHARLES ANDREWS . I am a brass finisher, and live at 56, Turin Street, Bethnal Green—I was in the Hackney Road on 4th September, between 2 and 3 p.m.—I was standing with Shapper—the deceased was standing talking to a boy in the pathway leading from Hackney Road to Great Cambridge Street, on the crossing—the cart turned the corner, and I thought it was the shaft struck the man and knocked him down, and the boy; and the horse, walking along, run over, I think, the man's neck—the front of the cart was pretty high, but there was nothing to prevent the driver seeing the deceased—there were one or two carts about, and a cart or some affair standing at the side of the road—I saw the cart coming along before it turned the corner, and I saw the man's head, arras, and his hat, and his hands in the position holding the reins as though he was driving—the driver might have seen the traffic; I could not say whether he could see anyone walking, or in the road—the men in the cart got out; the prisoner last—a constable took hold of him when he was standing at the wheel—he seemed a bit drowsy—a crowd got round, and I saw no more—I saw the deceased being taken along to the hospital.
Cross-examined. I saw a van standing in the gutter on the near side
—the prisoner pulled out in the road to avoid that van—the van was three or four yards from the corner—I saw the driver with the reins in his hands as he went round the corner—it is fair to describe the horse's pace as walking gently—the driver would have to pull round the side of the drinking fountain—the deceased was two yards from the kerb where the drinking fountain is, talking to a boy—the driver had to pass the drinking fountain to get to the corner—the man was knocked down two yards from the corner—I did not go over the road after the man had fallen; I stopped at the lamp-post.
Re-examined. The driver passed the van in the Hackney Road, before he came to Cambridge Street—when he was at the corner there was nothing between him and the deceased to prevent his seeing them, except the front of his own cart.
ALFRED WILLIAMS . I am a carman, of 16, Baxendale Street, Bethnal Green—I had just crossed from Great Cambridge Street, and was coming in the same direction as the hay cart—I was going towards Shoreditch on the opposite side to Nelson Street, and about two doors past Great Cambridge Street, when the cart passed me, going towards Cambridge Heath—I heard somebody shouting—I turned, and saw the cart turning Great Cambridge Street, and the man's body before the off-side wheel of the cart, and I saw the wheel go over him—the man was on his back on the ground—I went and picked him up—I was the first man that touched him after the wheel was over him—I did not notice the cart till I saw the man on the ground—I first saw the prisoner at Worship Street.
Cross-examined. The cart did not seem to be flat-bellied—I saw nothing in it—the sides bulged out—I went with the deceased to the London Hospital.
HENRY GEORGE HALKIN , M.D. I am house-surgeon at the London Hospital—the deceased was admitted, and I saw him about four o'clock in the ward—he was cold, blue, and perspiring rather, and breathing with great difficulty, and evidently in pain—one could make out that ribs were broken on the left side, but we did not examine him very carefully because of his condition—he died about four the next morning from shock from the injuries—his right cellar-bone was broken; that might have been caused by the passing of a wheel over it.
HENRY MITCHELL (73 H). I was upon fixed point duty when I went to the corner of Great Cambridge Street, where I saw a large crowd—the deceased was placed in a covered van and taken away by the driver, William Drew—I saw the prisoner on the opposite side of the way leaning against a cart—I asked him for his name and address—he mumbled something—I understood him to say, "I did not see the man"—I asked him to stand up; he did—he appeared drunk—I asked him to walk up and down—I told him he was drunk, and I should take him to the station; I led him to the station—he was detained till 5.30—in my opinion he was drunk.
Cross-examined. He did not tell me he lived at Sawbridgeworth, Herts—I say he was muddled—I saw the name on the cart—he said where he lived at the station an hour and a half afterwards—I communicated with his employer—he did not appear tired as if by remaining
up all night—I made inquiries, and understand he had been up all night.
Re-examined. When he walked up and down he staggered very much—the rule at the station is to allow a prisoner who wishes to see the doctor—the prisoner did not ask—he made no reply to the charge of being drunk while in charge of a horse and cart, and doing bodily harm—that was after I went to the hospital—before going to the hospital the deceased went to Dr. Hayman's, and from there he was carried by Hill and another, placed in a covered van, and taken to the London Hospital.
Cross-examined. The prisoner gave his address to Mitchell and me in answer to our question, where he lived—he understood our question—I saw the cart—it has leaves in front and behind and bulges out all round.
Re-examined. The driver rides in the middle of the cart when unloaded, and on the rails in front when loaded—in my opinion the driver could see in front of the cart—I have not tested it—there are spaces between the rails through which a person could see—the reins go over the top.
The prisoner received a good character for sobriety and good conduct, and was stated to have been travelling all night, except four hours.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HUTTON. Prosecuted, and MR. COLLINS. Defended.
GUILTY .— Ten Years' Penal Servitude.
THIRD COURT.—Saturday, October 27th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. GRAIN. Prosecuted, and MR. GEOGHEGAN. Defended.
The prosecution being unable to produce evidence to negative the alleged false pretences, the JURY. returned a verdict of
NOT GUILTY .
MR. CAMPBELL. Prosecuted.
MATTHEW TOMLINSON . I live at 4, Rothesay Place, Cemetery Place, Old Beck, Leeds—at 12.30 a.m. on 7th September I was in Spitalfields with a young lady, with whom I had one or two glasses of beer—I was sober—I was coining along a court, and I was knocked down from behind with a violent blow on the head and robbed—I was senseless for a moment—I hurt myself a little in falling; I had a big black mark on my arm, where I was stamped on or something—when I was on the ground a man was on the top of me ravishing my right-hand trousers pocket—before
this occurred I had nearly £3 on me, I should think, and two punches, a knife, and a bunch of keys—I am certain the prisoner was the man who leant over me, and had his hand in my pocket; the constable seized him from off me—I heard two or three jingles of something falling to the ground—I accompanied the prisoner and the officer to the station.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I met the woman about 11.30 or 11.45—I might have had one or two drinks with her—I was struck at the back of the head, and knocked senseless to the ground—I can not say who struck me—I think you stole £2 10s. in gold from my right-hand trousers pocket—I can not say if the punches were in the same pocket—I also had 15s. in silver in my top coat pocket, inside—a lot of men and women were standing round—when the constable took you your hand was in my pocket—I was staying at a coffee-shop about 300 yards from the Police-court—I was told to appear at the Court next morning, but I went back to Leeds, I had a telegram from my employer to return at once—I did not want to appear—the woman with whom I was was a prostitute, I believe—I did not give evidence till 28th—you were not placed among other persons when I saw you—I did not fall down when I was with the woman; I was knocked down.
Re-examined. I had two sovereigns and a half-sovereign in my trousers pocket—I did not lose the 15s. which was in my coat pocket.
CHARLES HILL (86 H). About 12.30 on 6th September, when I was thirty or forty yards from a court in Wilkin Street, I heard some money drop, and someone say, "Oh"—I ran to Coulbert's Court, and found the prosecutor lying with his head in the centre of the roadway, and his feet on the pavement—the prisoner was leaning over him, and several other men were round him—the prisoner's right hand was in the prosecutor's right-hand coat pocket—someone in the crowd said, "All right, governor; it is only brothers larking"—I recognised the prisoner, and knew he and the prosecutor were not brothers—I knew him before—I took hold of his arm, and he said, "What, me, sir?"—I said, "Yes"—just as I took hold of his arm he threw something away from the other hand which was in the pocket—Mrs. Robinson picked up a bunch of keys and handed them to me—I took the prisoner into custody—he said nothing in reply to the charge at the station—I went back and searched the place, and found there two punches—I am not sure if I knew any of the other persons in the crowd, but I rather think the prisoner's brother was there—the prosecutor was directed to appear at the Police-court next morning, but he did not appear—he was threatened with a warrant, and came after about three weeks—I should say that the prosecutor might have had a glass, and he appeared somewhat dazed when he got off the ground; but he was all right when he got to the station—I should say he was sober.
Cross-examined. I saw four or five men standing round the prisoner, and one woman—she did not say, "Why don't you get up"—she did not say he had fallen down.
Re-examined. The other men all ran away as soon as I came.
am not living with him—on Thursday night, 6th September, I was with the prosecutor, who was a stranger to me, drinking in several public-houses—he was the worse for drink; I was not—we went down Coulbert's Court, and turning the corner four or live men knocked the prosecutor down and rushed away as quick as they could—a policeman came up directly afterwards, after the prosecutor had been knocked down, and said, "Is there anyone here that knows him?" and then someone stooped over the prosecutor, but I did not see the face of that man—I saw the policeman take a man into custody, but I cannot say what man that was—I had no bunches of keys in my hand that night—I have no recollection of handing a bunch to the constable—I had met the prosecutor about two hours before it happened; we might have had one or two glasses, I am not quite certain.
Cross-examined. I don't think the prosecutor was hit; there was no violence used—I told the Magistrate that the men knocked him down—I don't remember saying that they rifled his pockets—I did not see him knocked about—I did not pick up some keys—a man was leaning over the prosecutor.
The prisoner called
ELLEN DONOGHUE . I live at 2, Little Paternoster Road, Brushfield Street—I have been a general servant; I work at cleaning and washing now—I keep company with the prisoner, I do not live with him—I was with him from 9.5 to 12.5 on that night.
The prisoner, in his defence, staled that he had just left Donoghue and was going home, and seeing a man sitting on the ground he went to look at him, when he was arrested.
GUILTY . **— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Monday, October 29th, 1894.
Before Mr. Justice Collins.
MR. HUTTON. Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL. Defended.
AGNES REYNOLDS . I live at 16, Whiston Street, Haggerston—the prisoners occupied two rooms at the top of the house, back and front; they had five children—I had been in the house a few days before they came—the deceased child Julia was eight years old—I saw her about four weeks before her death, when they first came; she was playing about with the other children—she was in a very poor condition, but she looked very well in health; she could run about and talk—I saw her later on, now and again, not many times—the last time I saw her was on Bank Holiday—the last time I saw her playing about was four weeks before her death; she was then in a healthy condition, but poorly clad—the last time I saw her she had been ill two or three days, and she looked white and sad when she ran into the yard to go to the back—I never saw her after the
Bank Holiday—I never was in their room—I knew Mrs. Brown to speak to—I saw her the day the warrant officer came, on Monday, the 17th September, when she came home—I told her he had been, and that he said the children were in a dreadful state—she said it was wrong; they were not in that state; it was only the little girl that was ill, and she was in bed—I told her that the officer said the head was like a mass—she said it was a lie—she told me that her husband gave her a pound a week—she had told me that on several occasions—also that he gave her 5s. for the eldest boy, who goes to work from half-past eight in the morning to a quarter to nine at night—the female prisoner used to go out soon after the boy, and returned sometimes to dinner about one, and at different times in the afternoon—I never heard of her going to work—she was in and out the greater part of the day—her condition seemed very poor—I have seen her the worse for drink on several occasions, in the daytime, and at night.
Cross-examined. Besides Julia, aged eight, there was Sarah, about eleven; Alfred, thirteen; William, seventeen; George, about six; the baby, three, and another in an asylum—William was out at work, and brought home the five shillings to his mother—I believe their rent was 4s. 6d. a week—I don't know where the man worked—I have heard his wife say it was too far off for him to come home to his dinner at one—I never knew him to come back at one—I believe his dinner was taken to him by his wife or one of the children—I never knew the boy William to come home to his meals—he was the only one in a position to go to work—the warrant officer came to take Brown for non-payment of 3s. to the School Board—whenever I saw the man, which was very seldom, he was always very quiet—I never heard of his ill treating the child.
SARAH ANN LAIDLER . I live at 16, Whiston Street—I occupy the first floor—I know the prisoners—I saw the little child Julia when she first came to the house—she did not come down much—she could then run about and speak, and was apparently in a fair condition, like an ordinary child—about five or six weeks before she was taken away she came to my door—she had on an old skirt and an old jacket, no shoes or stockings, or any underlinen—her hair was cut—I did not notice any vermin; I did not get close enough to her—she looked very ill, and dirty—I did not see her again till she was removed in a cab—I knew Mrs. Brown to speak to—I have seen her frequently—I have noticed her the worse for drink several times—her husband went out to work about nine in the morning, and returned about nine or half-past in the evening—she would come home at tea-time or dinner-time—the children would be upstairs—I have seen her come in.
Cross-examined. I never saw the boy William come home in the day—I should be indoors from twelve to two—when I asked Mrs. Brown about the child she said she was getting on fine, she only had a stoppage in the inside—I spoke to her several times after that, when I saw the child looked so ill, and she said the child was all right—I did not see her running about after the time she came to my door—I have heard the children cry, not for want of food; I never heard them cry out of the way—I never saw the man the worse for liquor; he seemed a steady, hardworking man; I never saw much of him.
Re-examined. I had asked the woman how the child was four or five
weeks before it was removed, and I had asked her before then—she always said she was all right.
EDWARD MIRAMS (82 G). I am a warrant officer at Worship Street Police-court—on Monday, 17th September, I went to 16, Whiston Street, for the purpose of seeing the male prisoner—I did not see him—I went into the back room first floor—I saw a child laying on an old bed, which was in a filthy condition—the room was filthy from end to end; the smell was very offensive—I went and examined the child—its head was covered with vermin—it was undressed, I believe; I did not pull the clothes down to see—the face was very dirty and the bed clothes were very dirty; there was lice upon them—no one else was in the room at the time; two small children came in afterwards—there was no food in the room that I saw—I remained there three or four minutes—I went down-stairs and saw two women—I spoke to them, and then went back to the Police-court—I saw the man on the 19th—I said, "You know your child is ill"—he said, "Yes; it is not my fault, it is my wife's business"—I asked a mm there what his average earnings were, and he said about 19s. a week—I reported the case to the society.
Cross-examined. I went to arrest the man for non-payment of School Board fees—I found him at work at Southey and Merridew's—I was told he had been employed there for years—I did not arrest him; some of his fellow workmen paid the fine—what I said to him was, "Do you know the condition of the child you have at home?"—he said, "I know it is ill; I cannot help it, that is the misses's look out."
ALFRED ROUNDTREE . I am an officer employed by the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children—on 18th September I went to the rooms occupied by the prisoner—I saw the child Julia—in consequence of the condition in which I saw her, I fetched Dr. Kane—he examined her, and on the 19th she was removed to the Shelter—I had previously gone with one of the children and bought it food and handed it to the child, and saw him take it up—I saw the female prisoner on entering, and explained to her the reason of my visit, and said the child looked to be in a very bad and delicate condition, and I asked her the reason of it, and if she had any doctor attending it—she said she had taken it to two that morning, at the North Eastern Hospital, and thought the child was all right—she took from her pocket a penny, threw it on the table, and took from a drawer about three ounces of bread and some butter, and that was all the provisions she had in the house—she said her husband had been merely doing odd jobs for some time, and that he had gone out that morning without any food, and had nothing to eat all day.
Cross-examined. The other two girls, Sarah and Ellen, appeared to be fairly nourished as far as their looks were concerned—I saw the boy George, not Alfred; he was at Swanley.
MINNIE DOBLE . I am assistant matron at the Children's Shelter, 7, Harpur Street—I received Julia Brown on 19th September from the matron—she was brought there by the last witness—she remained under my care till the 21st, attended by Dr. Reece Kane.
JOHN REECE KANE , M.D. I live at 16, Belgrave Square—I examined Julia Brown on September 19th at the Shelter—she was exceedingly weak, emaciated, and unable to speak—her head, principally her hair, was filled with vermin, and so filthy I could not examine it at the time,
and called later in the evening to examine her—her hair was matted together—ordinary soap and water would have kept her head free from vermin—I attended the child two days afterwards, when it died—I could then find no disease to account for its condition—I attended the post-mortem examination with Professor Pepper, when we were of opinion that the child was not suffering from any organic disease, and that neglect want of care and proper food had brought it into the condition in which it was when it came into the Shelter—its condition alone was sufficient to cause the child unnecessary suffering.
Cross-examined. I discovered no marks of violence on the child—mouldy bread would not be proper food—if ill, the child might be incapable of eating the kind of food given to it—that would not be traceable at the post-mortem—temporary ailment might deprive the child of its appetite.
By the COURT. In my opinion the child died of starvation—I found nothing on the post-mortem examination to show the child was unable to assimilate its food; the child was perfectly healthy—if it had been constitutionally unable to assimilate its food, it would have shown itself at the post-mortem examination.
AUGUSTUS JOSEPH PEPPER , M.D. I practice at 13, Wimpole Street—I am a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, and Master in Surgery at the London University—I have heard Dr. Kane's evidence—I made the post-mortem examination—I agree with the evidence Dr. Kane has given.
Cross-examined. I found the intestines exceedingly thin; that is an indication the child had not had sufficient food which it could digest—coarse bread, milk, and butter might for the time being prevent the child assimilating its food; but if it were only suffering from some slight temporary ailment, it would not matter about its declining food for a short time—if the child was ill, rough crusts of bread would not be proper food—I saw no marks of violence—the condition of the intestines merely corresponded to the general emaciation—the child only weighed 30 lbs.; he average weight of a girl of eight years is 41 1/2 lbs.
By the COURT. I saw no trace at the post-mortem examination of inability to assimilate food—there was a scar on the right shoulder, which was old, and had healed—the right lung had been diseased, but was quite cured—that had probably happened some years or months before; there was no recent disease on any part of the body—I agree that starvation was the cause of death.
WALTER SOUTHEY . I am an overmantel manufacturer, at 22, Carlton Road, Kingsland—the male prisoner has been in my employment for the last eleven or twelve years—for the last few months he has been in constant, work—his earnings averaged about twenty-six shillings a week, from January last up to the time of his arrest.
Cross-examined. He was a steady and well-behaved workman.
By the JURY. He was not engaged on Sunday—he was relieved at two o'clock on Saturday.
GUILTY .— WILLIAM BROWN was recommended to mercy, and was discharged on his own recognizances in £10 to come up for judgment when called upon. SARAH BROWN— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Monday, October 29th, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
827. WILLIAM SAUNDERS (20), ALEXANDER KNOWLES (18), and ARTHUR WEBB (17) , Burglary in the dwelling-house of Charles Edwards, and stealing 220 cigars, 33 packets of tobacco, and other articles, his property.
MR. WATT. Prosecuted.
CHARLES EDWARDS . I keep the White Horse, the Grove, Hackney—on October 4th I went to bed about one o'clock, leaving they premises thoroughly secure—I came down at 5.45, and found the place in disorder—I missed cigars, cigarettes, tobacco, this coat (produced), and two bottles of brandy—I found the beer pipes stopped up with cheese, and disgusting language written on the walls—the back door and the cellar window were open, which I had fastened the night before—I saw the prisoners at the station; I did not know them before—these things were shown to me there, and I identified them—I saw a chisel found on the wall.
HENRY JAY (Police Sergeant). On October 4th, about six a.m., I was in London Fields, with Sergeant Bartlett, and saw the three prisoners coming towards us—on seeing us they turned back—each was carrying something—we followed them, and they ran—Webb threw down a handkerchief, containing two boxes of cigars, and another threw down a bottle of brandy—this (produced) is the top of it—it is similar to the top of the other bottles—Knowles was carrying a bottle of brandy—I asked him to account for it—he said, "You will have to find out"—I took him to the station, and searched him—he was wearing this jacket, in which were eleven screws of tobacco, a cigar-holder, four cigars, a knife, and a comb—the other prisoners were brought in shortly afterwards, and the prosecutor identified the goods—a small chisel was found on Webb; there are blood marks on it.
HENRY VAST (Police Sergeant 29 D). On October 4th, about six a.m. I saw the three prisoners—they turned round, and walked away; I gave chase, and came up with Webb—I took him to the station, and found on him two bottles, fifteen screws of tobacco, a pipe, a chisel, and twopence; also other articles, not identified.
WILLIAM PAYNE (439 T). On October 4th, about 6.15 a.m., I was in Park Road, and saw two of the prisoners running—I went through another road, and told them to stop, as I heard a whistle blowing—they slipped one on each side of me, but I took Saunders, and called on a milkman to detain Webb; he did so—I blew my whistle, and the sergeant came up and took Webb—I took Saunders to the station, and found on him two halfounce packets of tobacco, three cigars, and three other packets of tobacco, which the prosecutor identified.
Saunders in his statement before the Magistrate, and in his defence, said
that they found the things lying by a fence, and put them in their pockets, and when they saw the constable they turned back.
Knowles' defence. I went in at a gate and found this bundle, and Saunders and I took some of the things.
Webb's defence. I found the bundle, and said to my companions, "Come back and see what is here," and we found two boxes of cigars and some cigarettes and brandy. I saw two constables coming, and thought it would be the best thing to run.
SAUNDERS**and WEBB** then PLEADED GUILTY. to previous convictions, Saunders at Stratford, in the name of Henry Stokes, and Webb at the North London Police Court in September, 1892, in the name of James Arnold. SAUNDERS— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour. KNOWLES— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. WEBB— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BIRON. Prosecuted, MR. HUTTON. Defended Stenzil, and MR. DRAKE
The evidence is unfit for publication. The JURY. were unable to agree as to Peters, and were discharged. She was afterwards given in charge of another JURY, and no evidence offered.
NOT GUILTY .
STENZIL GUILTY .*— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
THIRD COURT.—Monday, October 29th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MESSRS. C. MATHEWS, BODKIN, and STEPHENSON. Prosecuted; and MESSRS.
H. AVORY, GEOGHEGAN, and MUIR. Defended.
JAMES MORLEY CHADWICK , L.R.C.P. Lond. I live at St. Neots—in July, 1892, I was desirous of placing my son, Hugh Cameron Chadwick, on a ranche in California, to learn farming—I had heard of Scott and Jackson, Limited, as agents for such a purpose—I came to town in July or August, 1892, and went to their office in Cockspur Street—I saw the prisoner, and discussed the matter with him, and eventually this agreement was entered into between me and the company, that I should pay the company £75 as a premium for placing my son on Mr. Varden's ranche in California—I paid to Scott and Jackson that day £110 19s., which was £75 premium and £35 19s. for the passage money and expenses—this is the receipt I got. (This was signed, "W. H. B. Scott, Managing Director,")—subsequently I heard of certain matters relating to the payment of the premium, and wrote to Messrs. Scott and Jackson this letter of 22nd January, 1893, asking for an explanation—I received this answer of 25th January. (Explaining, among other matters, that the premium had not been paid in one sum to Mr. Varden, as it was thought advisable to pay it in quarterly instalments.)
Cross-examined. I knew nothing of Scott and Jackson before this—afterwards I sent money out to my son through them—their business consisted
in making these arrangements, and getting a profit for themselves out of it—they explained in their letter that £15 was their commission on the transaction—three instalments, amounting to £45, were paid to Mr. Varden, I understood—that would represent nine months—they also paid my son's expenses going out—the only money that could be owing to anybody would be the £15 owing to Varden—at the end of nine months, in midsummer, 1893, my son left Varden, and went to someone else close by—Mr. Varden wished that he should leave.
Re-examined. The fourth instalment of £15 was never paid to Varden; it was not returned to me—I asked the prisoner about it in the autumn of 1893, and he said it had been arranged satisfactorily.
HUGH CAMERON CHADWICK . In September, 1892, I went out as a pupil to Mr. Varden at a ranche in California—I was there nine months, and then I left Varden and went to a friend named Ponting, who had a ranche about one and a half miles from Varden—I left Varden because he wanted the cabin I occupied, for his wife's mother and her sister, who were returning from the East—Ponting was to have had the £15 which represented the balance; he was not paid.
JOHN WILLIAM WATSON . I am a wine merchant, of 2, Water Lane, Tower Street—in March, 1893, I required an opening for my brother, Wyndham Charles Watson, in New Zealand, and I saw in the newspapers Scott and Jackson's advertisements, and went to their offices in Cockspur Street—I saw the prisoner more than once—on 7th July, 1893, this agreement was come to between me and the company, the matter being negotiated through the prisoner. (By this, Mr. Watson agreed to pay £90 to the company, £45 on signing the agreement, and £45 six months after, in consideration for which the company were to find Mr. W. C. Watson board and lodging and instruction as a farm pupil of John Hunt, in New Zealand, for a year. It was signed by W. H. B. Scott as managing director.) I paid £45 on 5th July, 1893, and received this receipt—that was all I paid—I have since heard from Mr. Thomas Hunt, the brother of Mr. John Hunt—my brother went out in July; I heard from him—I called on the prisoner in September, 1893, to tell him of the death of John Hunt—he expressed surprise—he said nothing about the first premium of £45 not having been paid—I assumed it had been paid—the second £45 was not due till January, 1894—he recognised me when I called in September—that was the last time I saw him until I saw him here—I heard the company were in difficulties about December, and after that I heard from New Zealand that the premium had not been paid.
Cross-examined. I have heard that the company went into liquidation in October, 1893—I heard of John Hunt's death from Mr. Burnett, whose brother I had seen in Scott and Jackson's office—I believe the prisoner had arranged for Mr. Burnett's going to New Zealand—the prisoner did not tell me that he hoped Mr. Burnett would arrange with Thomas Hunt in place of John Hunt—my brother went to Thomas Hunt—I believe I told the prisoner when I called, that that arrangement had been made.
Re-examined. The prisoner apparently did not know of John Hunt's death, or of ray brother going to Thomas Hunt, till I told him—John Hunt died within a few days of my brother starting, and before he got out
—I received a letter from New Zealand towards the end of September, and called on the prisoner directly afterwards.
ARTHUR GRAHAM HARVEY . I am a solicitor in partnership with my father, Edward John Harvey, at Portsea—my brother Edwin John is in Florida—since 1889 my father and I had sent him £13 a quarter, through Scott, Jackson and Co.—on July 1st, 1893, I sent them this cheque for £13, payable to Scott Jackson, and Co., with this letter of instructions—that cheque has since been returned paid through my bankers, endorsed "Scott and Jackson, Limited, W. H. B. Scott, Managing Director," and with the stamp of Barclay, Bevan and Tritton, Pall Mall East, and a stamp of the National Provincial Bank—the cheque was acknowledged by this letter of July 4th, 1893—I had certain information from Florida between July and September, and in consequence, on September 21st I wrote this letter to Messrs. Scott and Jackson. (Asking for an explanation of the non-receipt of the July remittance.)—I received this letter of September 23rd in reply. (Stating that Scott and Jackson had instructed their agents to pay Mr. Harvey £1 a week, and that they believed their agents were doing so, but that they would make inquiries.)—I paid £13 in a lump sum, but £1 per week was to be paid in New Zealand—on October 3rd or 4th I was in London on business, and I called at Scott and Jackson's—I saw a clerk, and explained my business to him—on October 5th or 6th I received a letter, and on October 9th I sent this letter to Scott and Jackson. (Stating that they had another cheque to send, and would do so on receiving an explanation.)—on October 11th I received this. (Stating that they had communicated with their agents, and that if the cheque was sent they would forward it on.)—I sent a further cheque for £13—that £13 for the October quarter was paid properly, but the £13 sent in July was never paid—I did not know that £13 had been drawn by the prisoner from the company's bank on 18th July, 1893, by a cheque signed by him, and applied to his own purposes.
Cross-examined. I simply sent the money for them to remit—I had sent out this money through Scott and Jackson since 1889—I paid no attention to whether it was not a company till 1891—I understood the money was paid weekly by the Leysburg and County State National Bank in Florida—we paid Scott and Jackson no commission; I don't know whether they deducted anything out there; I don't think they made anything out of it—we only paid £13 a quarter—I understood that the Leysburg Bank had a running account with Scott and Jackson.
CHARLES STEVEN TURNER . I am a clerk in Holy Orders; I live at 49, Gunterstown Road, West Kensington—in October, 1892, I saw the prisoner as representing Scott and Jackson, Limited, as to placing two of my sons on fruit ranches in California—on 22nd October, 1892, these two agreements were drawn up and executed—under the first I undertook to pay £65 for suitable board, lodging, and instruction as a farm pupil to be provided to Arthur George Turner on Captain John McCann's fruit farm near Auburn; by the second I undertook to pay £50 for board, lodging, and instruction as a farm pupil for Chas. Kenyon Turner on a fruit ranche—beyond those sums I was to pay the expenses, £78. for first-class passage out for the two boys—the same day I gave a cheque for £193, and received this receipt, signed by the prisoner—after my sons had got out there I received more than one communication from Captain McCann—
about April, 1893, I went to see the prisoner, and told him Captain McCann was uneasy at not receiving the premiums—he explained that the affairs of the company were in disorder in consequence of Mr. Karslake's misconduct, Mr. Karslake having been formerly agent out there, but he gave me to understand that things would be set right and the premiums paid—I had two or three other interviews between then and the end of July, 1893—very much the same thing occurred at those—Captain McCann went on writing to me—the last letter I received from him on that subject was in September, 1893—about 30th October I saw the prisoner—I said I thought there must be some balance of premium not paid over by him, and I thought perhaps it would be as well that I should have it back—I asked him for an exact statement first—he said he would send it to me—I never received it—I went to the office once or twice after 30th October, but the prisoner was not there.
Cross-examined. I paid £5 for premiums—Captain McCann was trying to make Scott and Jackson pay £65 and £50 premiums for the two boys, which would have absorbed the whole premium, and would apparently have left Scott and Jackson with no profit at all—I understood there was a dispute between the company and Captain McCann upon that account—the prisoner mentioned to me the fact of the dispute as partly explaining the master—I wrote this letter of 31st July to the prisoner. (This stated that one of his sons teas going from Captain McCann's to Mr. Logan's house, and as he did not mention on what terms he was leaving, or what his brother was doing, it would be well not to authorise any further payment on account of either of them till something definite was heard,)—I received this answer, enclosing letters from Captain McCann and Mr. Logan. (The prisoner's letter stated that Captain was apparently with Logan, and Arthur with McCann, who had been paid more premium than he was entitled to, and that he suggested waiting till they heard further before authorising Innes to make further payments.) (MR. MATHEWS. here stated in reply to the COMMON SERJEANT. that there was no suggestion that the business was a fraudulent one.)
ARTHUR WILLIAM WELSH . I live at Homedale, Ingham Road, near Hampstead, and am a clerk in the service of Barclay, Bevan and Co.,. bankers, of Pall Mall East—Scott, Jackson and Co., Limited, of Cockspur Street, had an account at our bank, and the prisoner had a private account there—on 25th July, 1893, a cheque for £75 on the company's account was presented, and was cashed across the counter in notes, £50, No. 81621; £20, No. 17868; and £5, No. 64640—that £5 note, No. 64640, was on 27th July, 1893, paid into the prisoner's private account in a credit of £10—on 14th September, 1893, we called on the company to close their account, and on 15th the account was closed by the with-drawal of the balance of £25 11s. 9d. standing to their account—on September 20th the prisoner's private account was closed by the request of the firm—on 29th June, 1893, a cheque for £135 was presented, and paid by £100 note, No. 93326; £20 note, No. 65073, and a £10 note, No. 44628—in an item of £23 10s. placed to the prisoner's own credit on June 30th, 1893, was a £20 note, No. 65073—on 18th July, 1893, £20 was paid into the prisoner's private account.
Cross-examined. The prisoner's private account was opened on 25th
February, 1892, and closed on September 20th, 1893—the company's account was opened on 1st April, 1892—I do not think the old firm had an account with us—no reason was assigned for closing the account; I have no idea what the reason was—the account was overdrawn at times, I think; I am not sure of it—I do not know of any cheques drawn by Scott, Jackson and Co. being dishonoured.
CHARLES JOHN WILLIAMS . I am a clerk in the Bank Note Department of the Bank of England—I produce a £50 note, No. 81621, which was paid into the Bank of England on 15th December, 1893, through the Holborn branch of the London and County Bank, a £20 note, No 17868 endorsed W. H. B. Scott, Cliftonville, and a £5 note, No. 64640.
Cross-examined. This £5 note, No. 69200, dated 5th July, 1893, is endorsed "Hamilton Weatherley."
CHARLES DALE . I am one of the firm of Dale and Sons, butchers, Weybridge—the prisoner, who lived at Sunnyside, Weybridge, in 1893, was our customer for some little time—his servant brought us this £50 note to cash between 10th and 17th August, 1893—I went over to our branch shop at Walton and got the change, and left it at Sunnyside with a servant, for Mr. Scott.
RONALD GRIST . The prisoner opened an account with the Piccadilly branch of the Capital and Counties Bank on 10th October, 1893, by a payment in of £15—on 16th October he paid in £54 9s.—those were the only payments in.
WILLIAM MITCHELL INNES . I live at 8, St. Alban's Place, S.W.—I am now managing director of the firm of William Innes and Co., at 107, Piccadilly—in July, 1892, I was at Auburn, California, as the representative of Scott, Jackson and Co.—I received Karslake's communication, and in that month came to England and accepted an appointment in the office here—on 31st December, 1892, I returned to Auburn under an agreement with Scott, Jackson and Co. to act as their representative in California at £260 a year—I arrived at Auburn on 31st January and remained there till 11th September, 1893—during that time I was in constant communication with my employers, by letter up to 3rd May, and after that by cable—I had no letter from them after 3rd May—it was my duty to send them during that time accounts of my receipts and expenditure—these are some of my accounts—I knew when I was there a lad, named Chadwick, who was apprenticed to Mr. Varden, residing near Auburn—in February and April, 1893, I paid Mr. Varden on account of Chadwick's premium, seventytwo dollars on February 18th and seventytwo dollars on 20th April; I also paid Chadwick seventy-three dollars apart from premium—those sums were remitted by cable from London—on 29th June I did not receive any money for Mr. Varden, and I think none for Mr. Wren—I received a remittance of 492 dollars, or about £98, on that date; 100 dollars for my own salary, 176 dollars for Tottenham, and 216 dollars for Captain McCann; that was the way I distributed that money—beyond that I received no money by cable, on or about that date, or between 29th June and 4th August—I did not receive on or about 25th July a sum of £20 on account of the two Turners—I received no salary after 29th June—I did not receive a further sum of 100 dols. for salary on 21st July—I left the company's service in September, and returned to this country.
Cross-examined. I succeeded Karslake as the company's agent in the Colonies; he was dismissed for alleged irregularities—I gathered that it was alleged that he had not paid over to the farmers moneys which he had received, and which he ought to have paid as premiums—the course of business was for the company to remit lump sums of money with instructtions to the agent in California, and for the agent to disburse these sums in a specific way—Karslake's conduct very seriously damaged the company's business and spoilt its name—farmers wanting pupils did not care to take them on the company's recommendation—I found the company seriously discredited, when I took office, by Karslake's conduct—after my arrival out there I found that he had been getting up an agitation against the company—after he was dismissed he sent me a notice to the effect that a meeting was to be called to express his views with regard to the company—I knew the company before he was agent—I knew it when Mr. Clarkson was agent—he was dismissed for alleged irregularities—I knew the business before it was turned into a limited company—Mr. Scott was the only partner I knew; he was the only person I saw when I first went there, and I believe he was the sole representative of the firm of Scott and Jackson—he acted at the time as if it were his own business—after Clarkson was dismissed the prisoner came out to California to look after the business—before I became agent for the company I was farming land I had bought there—I knew the prisoner personally, and I wrote to him suggesting that he had better come out and look after the business—I wrote to him and gave him hints about Clarkson, and what was being said in the Colony—when the prisoner came out I had a consultation with him about the business, and he, as managing director, appointed me agent then—that was in March, 1892—while he was there the directors in London appointed Karslake as agent, and when he came out I went back to England and accepted an appointment in the London office till December, 1892, when I was sent to replace Karslake—the prisoner gave me 100 shares—while I was out there a long correspondence took place with Captain McCann—there was a dispute with him as to the premiums to be paid for the two Turners—that was about January and February, 1893—this letter states that the company is going to pay £60 premium for one and £55 for the other, which absorbed the money they had received and left no profit—the way the company did business seemingly was to make arrangements to place pupils out on a farm and to be free to make their own arrangements with the farmer—in some instances they paid farmers only 100 dollars where they had received a good deal more—it was my business out there to find people with ranches willing to take pupils—all the pupils foul been placed, before I was out there, by my predecessor—the business I now carry on is not the placing of pupils; we sell ranches on commission—if a ranche owner would take £50 and my company could get £100 in London, we should do it—Scott, Jackson and Co. carried on the business of buying and selling land; the placing of pupils was only a part of their business—Weatherley, who was formerly with Scott and Jackson, is in my service now—I received a lump sum of 281 dollars by cable on 16th June, 1893; on 23rd June a lump sum of 2,250 dollars, on 29th June 492 dollars, and on 4th August 362 dollars—I heard very shortly after I went out that the company was in financial difficulties—money
was not sent to me, and I was pressed for money and only paid the most pressing claims—I call my business the Universal Colonisation Agency; W. Innes and Co., Limited—the Hon. Albany Erskine, who had been the secretary of Scott, Jackson and Co, joined our board—he is not now on it—there was money to be made in that line of business—I think, in a great measure, the business is going, so far as California is concerned—the reputation in California had been destroyed through the dishonesty of Clarkson and Karslake, or something like it.
Re-examined. Clarkson was the first Californian agent of the company—I do not know for certain if he was one of the vendors of the company, and one of the partners of Scott, Jackson and Co. when it existed as a firm—when the prisoner came out to California he was only out there about twelve or fourteen hours—he dismissed Clarkson, and asked me if I would take over the agency, and then returned to England—during the time I was agent I remitted to the persons, as to whom I had instructions, the money sent to me—I was there from January, 1893, to September, 1893—the July remittances and the money for Varden and Wren never came to me. (The minute book of Scott, Jackson and Co. was here put in.)
RONALD GRIST (Re-examined). The payment in of £54 consisted of two cheques, one drawn by H. Rider for £45 on Messrs. Cox, and the other by E. Harris on the London and County Bank, Hastings, for £9 9s—the account lasted from 10th October, 1893, to 6th November, 1893, when there was a balance of 18s. 5d.
Cross-examined. These two £5 notes, Nos. 69199 and 69200, are the proceeds of a cheque for £15 which the prisoner drew out of his private banking account on 18th October, 1893.
WILLIAM MITCHELL INNES (Re-examined). I paid nothing for the 100 shares which the prisoner gave me—they were not necessary for my qualification; they were given me as remuneration for work I had done out there.
EDWIN SAMUEL WEATHERLEY . I live at 83, Blythe Vale, Catford—I was formerly a clerk in the service of Scott and Jackson, and afterwards in that of Scott and Jackson, Limited, lip to the winding up of the company in November, 1893—I am now in the service of Mr. Innes's company—the prisoner acted as managing director throughout the existence of Scott and Jackson, Limited, at £400 a year, I believe—I believe it was paid monthly—I did not, attend the Board meetings—this cheque of 12th September, 1893, for £3 was given to me by the prisoner on account of my salary for the first fortnight in September—I received £72 a year—the prisoner always paid me—that was the last money I received for salary—Mrs. Harris, of St. Leonards, used to remit quarterly payments of £9 9s. to Scott, Jackson and Co. to be sent to her son at Wyoming—this cheque from her is made payable to Scott and Jackson, and is endorsed in the prisoner's writing—he dictated this letter of 13th October, 1893, and I type-wrote it. (This letter acknowledged the receipt of Mrs. Harris's cheque for £9 9s.)—in July, 1893, Mr. Watson came about placing his brother at John Hunt's farm in New Zealand—he sent a cheque for £45, for which I sent this acknowledgment by the prisoner's authority—I remember Mr. Harvey sending this cheque for £13 to be paid to his son in Florida—on 18th July, 1893, I filled up this cheque
for £43 on Barclay's Bank, which is signed by Mr. W. H. B. Scott and another director—I wrote the counterfoil under the prisoner's direction, "Account, J. W. Watson, £30; E. J. Harvey, £13"—I kept the petty cash-book—from time to time as I wanted it I received sums for petty cash from the prisoner—he would give me a cheque for £5 or so, and when that was used up I would have another; the cheques were signed by the prisoner and another—some two years or so before the company was wound up the prisoner began to borrow money from me on the petty cash account—that was almost as soon as the company was formed—he would acknowledge with IOU, the petty cash I lent him; he had a half-crown, ten shillings, all kind of amounts—he would redeem the I O U's by cash payments to me, or once by having the amount debited to his account in the cash-book—the amount he owed had reached £8, I think, when I debited it in the cash-book—in October, 1893, he owed £31 10s. to the petty cash—that had been accumulating for a year or more, probably—he had made no payment within that time to my recollection—when the last amount was lent he gave me an I O U for the whole amount—I was always mentioning it to him—I kept an account of the petty cash in the books, which went to the auditor, and which were always open to the Board for inspection—the books would show that the prisoner had this money; there was no concealment about it whatever—Mr. Warner, the auditor, who saw the book, was also a director—I believe the books were audited quarterly, and after the quarterly and it must have been apparent to the auditor that there was a deficiency—I told the auditor that I had I O U's from the prisoner for the amount—I should put that to the auditor's assistant, Mr. Waller; but I told Mr. Warner, who always came there to see the accounts—he is an accountant—I called his attention to it.
The JURY. desired to know whether the prosecution had any stronger evidence against the prisoner than that which had already been adduced, as, if not, they did not see how they could convict him. MR. MATHEWS. stated that the substantial facts of the case were now before them, and that if they had come to a conclusion he should not press the case further. The JURY said they considered that no case of intention to defraud could be made out.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT—Tuesday, October 30th, 1894.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. BIRON. Prosecuted.
FREDERICK COOK . I am a cabman, and live at 91, William Street, Hampstead Road—about half-past one on the morning of 30th September I was going along Montague Street, and saw the prisoner on the doorstep of No. 15 or 16—he was pretending to try and unlock the door—I had just put my cab up, and was walking by—from his appearance I thought he was there for a wrongful purpose—I went by, taking no notice—on getting into Russell Square I saw Sergeant Gurnet, and spoke to him, and brought him back to the house; I saw no one on the doorstep then—
after looking about we saw a dim light inside—I looked through the flap of the letter box, and I saw the prisoner with a lighted match in one hand, and some letters in the other—he was examining the contents of one letter, which had been opened—Gurnet rang the bell, and someone came down and let him in—I afterwards saw him come out with the prisoner.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I did-not see any woman in the door-way; there could not have been one there without my seeing her—it was not dark; there was a lamp nearly opposite the house—I walked on till I saw a policeman—I came back in about two minutes, I just went to the corner of the street—I stopped at the door while Gurnet rang the bell—he went in, I did not.
CHARLES GURNET (Sergeant D). About half-past one on the morning of 30th September Cook spoke to me, and I commenced to watch the street—failing to see anyone about, I stood still for a few minutes, when I saw a light moving about inside No. 16—I went to the door—it was secured—on looking through the letter-box I saw the prisoner standing in the hall, with a match in his right hand, examining several small parcels of letters—I secured the assistance of another constable and rang the bell, and the door was opened by an inmate—on going into the dining-room on the ground floor front I saw the prisoner crouching down on the floor at the end of the sofa, pretending to be asleep—I took hold of him—then he pretended to be very drunk—I said, "What are you doing here?"—he replied, "Having a sleep. A lady wearing a cloak brought me in, and told me to sleep here for the night"—he said he had accompanied her from Gray's Inn Road—the whole of the ladies of the house afterwards came down and saw the prisoner, and denied all knowledge of him—Mr. O'Flaherty, one of the persons in the house, came and gave the prisoner in charge—I took him to the station, where he was charged with burglariously entering the house, apparently by means of a false key—he replied, "A false key? All right"—he gave me an address, "38, Arthur Street, Old Rent Road," which I found to be false—I searched him and found a pair of spectacles and a box of matches; no money and no key—on going to the Police-court on Monday morning this key was given to me by a boy—I tried it to the door, and it opened it easily.
Cross-examined. I saw the light through the fanlight over the door—I was then standing in the centre of the roadway—the last witness was some little distance from me—I crossed over and rang the bell; the light then went out—I went in after the door was opened—you told me a lady brought you in—you did not say the lady told you to stop there for a few minutes while she went upstairs—three or four ladies came down and saw you—I saw the representative of the house, and said to him there was nothing disturbed, and I would take you to the station—I mentioned about the letters—I saw some of them in your hand and some were on the hat-rack—I did not take them to the station—they were not opened.
FREDERICK CHITTENDEN (153 E). Early on the morning of September 30th I heard a police whistle, and afterwards saw Gurnet, and went with him to 16, Montague Street—I went into the house and saw Gurnet go up to the prisoner—he said he was let in by a woman, and it was all right—after the people had come down the prisoner was taken to the station—I did not see the letters.
ALFRED ERNEST O'FLAHERTY . I live at this boarding-house, No. 16, Montague Street—it is Mrs. Le Francois's house—I heard the police whistle, and went down into the hall, and saw the prisoner there with the two constables—Gurnet asked me if the prisoner was a resident in the house—I said, "No"—he said he had found him crouching down at the end of the sofa in the dining-room—some of the ladies came down—in consequence of what Mrs. Le Francois said, I gave the prisoner in charge.
Cross-examined. There were four lady visitors, the landlady and her daughter, and two servants in the house that night—the landlady, he daughter, and one of the visitors came down, and there was one on the ground floor, and one or two servants—you said a woman in a long cloak brought you home and told you to stop in the parlour while she brought you some supper—there was a bracket in the passage, no candles—I saw some letters on a hat-stand—I knew the owners of two of them—they were not open.
CAROLINE HUNTER . I live in Cambridgeshire—on 30th September I was on a visit at 16, Montague Street—to the best of my belief I was the last up on that night—at ten next morning I was in the parlour, and this key was found on the table by myself and another young lady—I took it to Bow Street, and gave it to the police—when visitors come in late one burner is left low in the dining-room, and the last person would turn it out—I had been to the theatre, and a gentleman, a boarder in the house, accompanied me home, and he turned out the light.
Cross-examined. The young lady, Mrs. Le Francois's daughter, picked up the key, and I took it from her, and said, "It does not belong to the house, and it must be the key the man got in with"—I heard you say that a lady with a black velvet cloak had brought you in, and I, to excuse my-self, said I had not seen you—Mr. Rivers brought me home—he is here—he had a latchkey; I never have one.
CHARLES HAY RIVERS . On the evening of 29th September I went to the theatre with Miss Hunter, and came back with her to 16, Montague Street, where I was a lodger—I had a latchkey, and I opened the door, and shut it when I came in.
Cross-examined. We came in a little before twelve—Miss Hunter went upstairs to bed about twenty minutes past twelve—I was in bed at one.
Prisoner's defence. I was brought home, I don't know by which woman; all I know is she had a long black cloak on. I never saw any letters. I lay down by the sofa while the woman went upstairs. It was not me that put the key there; someone must have put it there, in order to get me into this.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY. to a previous conviction at this Court for burglary on 26th June 1882, and two other convictions were proved against him.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
831. ARTHUR GODFREY (26), ALICE RAY (25), HARRY BARTLEY (26), and RHODA BARTLEY (25) , Burglary in the dwelling-house of Kate Chinnie, and stealing a candelabra, a pair of candle-sticks, and other goods, and £4 2s. in money, her property, and a jacket of Louie Lane. Second Count, for receiving the same.
GODFREY PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. ROOTH. Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL. appeared for Godfrey.
JOHN BARKER (462 B). On 6th October, early in the morning, I was on duty in Winchester Street, Pimlico—my attention was attracted to the prosecutrix's house, No. 19, by a light in the front room window—I watched for about twenty minutes—at the end of that time Godfrey and Ray emerged from the front door—I asked them what they were doing there—Godfrey said, "This is a brothel; we have only been here for a short time"—as that did not satisfy me, I seized them both—Ray dropped this tablespoon—a man not in custody came from behind the door and dealt me a violent blow under the right ear, causing me to loose my hold of Ray, and she ran away—having one hand at liberty I blew my whistle, and Waite came to my assistance—I told him the direction in which Ray had gone, and he followed and arrested her—I heard the sound as if spoons and things were being thrown away—in the mean-time, I was struggling with Godfrey—Waite came up in about five minutes with Ray—the man who struck me has not been caught at present.
CHARLES WAITE (478 B). I was on duty in Winchester Street on 6th October—about 2.30 a.m. I heard a whistle, and went in the direction, and saw Barker and Godfrey struggling on the ground—Barker told me to run for that woman—I saw her running—I saw her throw away two or three lots of plated forks and spoons—I caught her—she threw herself on the ground and said, "I am done, I give up"—I took her to the station in Gerard Row and she was charged—she made no statement to me—she was sober.
Cross-examined by Ray. I found some in the direction of the man that escaped; he went in an opposite direction—these I found in the direction you had gone.
ARTHUR BLAKE (Police Sergeant B). I was on duty at Gerard Row Police-station on 6th October about ten a.m.—Godfrey and Ray were brought there—Ray said she was taken there by two men who let her in with a key; she thought they lived there, and did not know anything about it.
KATE CHINNIE . I am a widow, and live at 19, Winchester Street, Pimlico—on 6th October, between twelve and one, I was in bed—I heard something about and I summoned my servant and we both went down into the hall—I saw a woman and two men—I could not recognise them—I went into the parlour, opened the window, and called "Police"—I saw the policeman with a man outside—I could hear more than I could see, my sight is very bad—as I came into the hall the woman said to me, "I know nothing of this"—I afterwards went to Gerard Row Station and there saw a clock and a good many other things which were mine—these spoons and other things are mine, and were locked up in a cabinet—the cupboard doors were broken open and the place had been rifled—several things were left behind—my house is a perfectly respectable one.
LOUIE LANE . I am servant to Mrs. Chinnie—on 5th October before going to bed at a quarter to ten I locked the house and saw everything safe and all locked up—about a quarter to three o'clock I was called up
by my mistress—I went down into the hall and there saw two men and a woman; Ray is the woman—this jacket is mine; it was in the hall that night when I locked up the house—it was not there when I came down.
STEPHEN GIFFARD (Inspector B). On 6th October, in consequence of a communication, I went to the house about a quarter past three, and examined the premises—I found that an iron bar of the area window had been forced out, leaving a sufficient space for a man to get through, and the window open—I went upstairs, and found a bundle in the front room just inside the door tied up, with things in it ready to be taken away—a chest of drawers had been broken open, the drawers pulled out, and the place was generally disturbed—I took the property to the station, and it was identified by the prosecutrix—a bottle of whisky was on the table empty; the neck had been broken off.
HENRY JONES (Detective Sergeant B). In consequence of information with regard to this burglary, on Monday morning, October 8th, I went to No. 4, Aylesford Street, Pimlico, where the two Bartleys lodged—I saw Mrs. Bartley there—I said to her, "I am a police-officer; where are the clocks you brought from 30, Fulford Street, on Saturday last?"—she said, "I did not bring it; I don't know anything of it, and I did not see it," or "I did not see any brought here; a woman named Dudgeon took the child away; they are living in Fulford Street"—I told her she would be arrested for being concerned with her husband in receiving a clock, knowing it to have been stolen—she said nothing in reply to that—her husband was not there; I said I would wait for him—after waiting for about two hours she said, "I did carry a clock across; Tom Russell gave it me and said, 'Mind that'; it had no back to it at the time, only a coloured marble white dial; my husband carried it over; he and Jack took them both away this morning"—at half-past four that afternoon I saw her husband going into a small shop opposite—I followed him, and said, "Mr. Bartley, I am a police officer, and want to speak to you"—we left the shop together, and went into his own house; his wife was there, and Sergeant Lane—I said, "Where are the clocks you and your wife brought away from 30, Fulford Street?"—he said, "I only brought some pieces of carpet over here; I did not see any clocks; if I could have found Russell to-day I should have the half-sovereign"—on the way to the station he said, "Russell told me he was in a little trouble with his landlord, and asked me to mind the clocks for him; a man took them away this morning"—when formally charged, he said, "I don't know anything of it; a man came and asked me to mind two or three things, and his brother took them away this morning. I wish you gentlemen had come before, and you could have taken them away."
Cross-examined by Bartley. Myself, Inspector Porter, Sergeant Bladen, Barker, and the landlady of the house went into the room while you were away—I was there from half-past eleven to half-past four—I was not tormenting your wife all that time—the landlord complained to your wife of bringing dangerous ones to a respectable house—you told me you were carrying some carpets, not clothes; you said nothing about clothes.
By the COURT. I did not know Russell—I know who he is now from inquiries I have made; he is the man that is wanted for the burglary.
ARTHUR BLADEN (Police Sergeant). I searched the Bartleys' room, and found this jacket there—on the way to the station Mrs. Bartley said to me, "Do you think I shall get much done to? It is not as if I stole them, is it?"—it is not true that I badgered Mrs. Bartley with questions, nor did the other officer do so in my presence.
Cross-examined by Rhoda Bartley. You told me about the jacket—I picked it up off the bed and held it up to you, and you said, "I had that given to me"—you did not mention any name—you spoke in a low tone; I could scarcely hear.
THOMAS FARMER . I am a labourer, and live at 30, Fulford Street—Ray lodged with me—Russell lived with her; she went in the name of Mrs. Barr and Russell went in the name of Barr, employed by his brother in the house—they were living with me three weeks, up to the time they were charged with this robbery—Ray would know that he did not live in Winchester Street—on Saturday, 6th October, a child was locked up in their room; Russell had been out all that night, and I looked through the keyhole and saw the child and a big clock about six inches in diameter, as near as I could say; it was standing on a sideboard facing the keyhole—Russell came in at nine on the Saturday morning, and tried to burst the door open, but he did not get in till half-past three in the afternoon; he then came with Mr. and Mrs. Bartley; I let them in at the front door—they were all more or less in drink—they merely encouraged Russell to burst the door open—Russell had not the key of his door, because it had been given to Ray, that night; they had only one key to the parlour, and one to the front door—I had not noticed the clock there before—I had only been once in their room, and, of course, I did not take any particular notice of what was there—I should not think the clock was one that persons in their position would have—I could not say that it was a marble clock—there were five people there altogether—Mrs. Gudgeon came for the child—there was Alice Ray and another person who I had not seen before—I have known Bartley by sight about two years—first of all Russell, with the aid of Bartley, broke the window, and the child was handed out, and Bartley's brother came up at the time—I did not see anything else handed out of the window—after I had let them in they went out by the door, then they came back; but after they had broken the window and burst open the door I went downstairs—I was told if I did not go down I should be put down—I was threatened with a bunch of keys by Ray and Russell—they were all in the house—I did not see them carrying anything when they left the house—I saw Mrs. Bartley carrying a clock, as I thought; it was something heavy—that was about four o'clock—it was wrapped up so that people in the street could not see what it was—I did not notice Bartley carrying any-thing—I did not go into the room after they had left—I was not visited by the police till the Monday morning—the clock was not there then.
Cross-examined by Bartley. You had not the keys in your hand, Russell had them—two of you threatened me, with the aid of Russell—I did not want you to come in; you pushed your way in through Russell asking you to come in—I said at the Police-court that you were outside assisting Russell to break the window—you handed him the screwdriver—I suppose he broke the window with your aid—I heard the crash—I suppose you helped him on to the window-sill
—you handed him the screwdriver after the window was broken—I looked out from the area after the crash.
By the COURT. I had objected to Bartley coming to the house before—I don't know what he does for a living.
ADA NUTLEY . I am a pupil-teacher, and live at 19, Cumberland Street—on Saturday afternoon, 6th October, about half-past four, I was in a shop in Aylesbury Street—I saw the Bartleys come out from 30, Fulford Street—the man was in front carrying something with something white thrown over it, and the woman was following him with a clock—what he was carrying was something about a foot square wrapped up so that I could not see what was in it—what the woman was carrying was about nine inches square—I saw it was a clock, it was not covered over at all—they came through 4, Aylesford Street—I had known them by sight before—Mrs. Bartley was not carrying anything to cover the clock—her arms were full of things; she nearly dropped it.
THE RECORDER. considered that there was no case against Rhoda Bartley. She was in the company of her husband, and would, by law, be presumed to be acting under his influence and coercion.
Ray read a paper asserting her innocent; had she not been in drink she would not have gone to the place; that she was taken into the hall, but did not go into any of the rooms; that site had been led away by bad company; that she was the mother of three little children, and prayed to be leniently dealt with.
Harry Bartley's defence. Russell came to my house on the Saturday and asked me to lend him a screwdriver, as his little child was locked up without food or water, and I went with him, and my wife took her some bread and butter. Russell asked me to mind the sofa and chairs and little odds and ends, and he would give me half a sovereign, as his landlady had given him notice. I said I had no room for the chairs. He handed me a parcel; it seemed a carpet. He handed my missus another parcel, which she took home. In the morning he sent a big man for them; he said he wanted the things his brother had left. The police came and asked me if I knew of any clocks that had been stolen. I said, "No "; my missus had carried a parcel, but what it was I did not know.
RAY and HARRY BARTLEY GUILTY ;
RHODA BARTLEY NOT GUILTY .
RAY and HARRY BARTLEY then PLEADED GUILTY. to having been before convicted, Ray at Lambeth Police-court on June 5th, 1894, in the name of Margaret Buck, and another conviction was proved against her in November, 1893; and Bartley, at Westminster, in January, 1890, in the name of Harry Saunders. A conviction was proved against GODFREY in 1889, a witness deposed to his general good character.
GODFREY— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. RAY— Fourteen Months' Hard Labour. HARRY BARTLEY— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
There wan another indictment against GODFREY and RAY for burglary, but it was not proceeded with.
832. JOHN KELLY (24), JOHN REARDON (22), and WILLIAM HILLIER (23) , Burglary in the dwelling-house of John Hart, and stealing an entree dish and other articles, his property. Second Count, receiving the same.
MR. HODGSON. Prosecuted.
AGNES TAYLOR . I am cook to Mr. John Hart, of 77, Edith Road, Fulham—at ten p.m. on September 18th I and the housemaid, who were the last persons in the kitchen that night, left the kitchen window (which had been fastened at six, and not opened afterwards) and the door leading into the passage closed and fastened, and went to bed—at two a.m. my fellow-servant Adams called out that there was someone in the house—we sleep in the front room ground floor—I saw two men with their backs to us in our room—I jumped out of bed, and with Adams followed the men—I did not see them after they left our room—I went into the kitchen, where I saw the kitchen drawers open, and everything disarranged, and the window open—a little table by the window was partly broken down, and dishes and things were on the table—they had not been there when we went to bed; they had been taken from the larder—some things had been eaten; there were three knives and two forks on the table—a silver dish which had been left on the dresser after dinner time was gone—I also missed a pair of pyjamas and a woman's vest—a square of glass in the door between the kitchen and our bedroom was taken out, leaving a space large enough to admit a man's hand, and in that way the door could be opened.
BESSIE ADAMS . I am housemaid to Mr. Hart—I left the kitchen at ten o'clock on 18th September, and went to bed with the cook—just before two I heard a noise outside the bedroom door, and immediately after the door opened, and two men came into the room—I saw Reardon striking matches; I saw his face—I think Hillier is the other man, but I am not quite certain about him—I called out to Taylor—the men left the room, and I and she went after them into the kitchen—we found it all disordered, and missed a silver dish and other things—at the station I identified Reardon from among six other men.
Cross-examined by Kelly. I did not identify you.
Cross-examined by Reardon. I remember your face; I am sure you are the man—no one told me to pick you out—a man did not pass me in the Police-station passage with a long coat and cross-eye.
Cross-examined by Hillier. I did not say anything at the Police-station about you—I afterwards said I thought you were one by your back—I cannot swear to you.
WALTER SWAINSON . I assist my father at the Rising Sun public-house, Berners Street, Fulham, which is about two minutes' walk from the back of Edith Road—on the early morning of 19th September five men, of whom the prisoners are three, came in, just as I was closing, and called for two pots of ale; drank up, and went out—a few days afterwards I picked out the prisoners from among other men at the Police-station.
Cross-examined by Kelly. I said, "Those three are the men," and pointed—the Magistrate asked me if I was sure about you, and I said, "Those are three of the men."
Cross-examined by Reardon. I said at the Police-court you were the three men.
JAMES BROWN (Detective X). At a quarter to three a.m. on 19th September, I was with Palfrey in St. Ann's Road, Notting Dale, and I saw five men, of whom the prisoners are three, come along and go into St. Catherine's Road.
Cross-examined by Kelly. I said at the Police-court it was on Wednesday morning I saw you, and the Magistrate asked me if I meant Wednesday or Wednesday week, and I said Wednesday week.
Cross-examined by Reardon. I was not at the Police-court at the first hearing; I assisted to arrest you, and then I had an engagement else-where—I did not speak to you when I saw you on the 19th—I was six or seven yards from you then—I knew all five of you perfectly well—I have known you for years—I did not notice your dress.
Cross-examined by Hillier. I was present when Markham and other officers burst your room open—I told Markham I had seen you five in St. Ann's Road, and he made further inquiries—you were not in your room on the morning of the 19th when we came; I am positive you were not in bed—I looked into your room and spoke to two of your companions at the front door—no one was in your room; it was 2.15 or 2.20—Lilian Taylor was not in your room—St. Ann's Road is about one and a quarter mile from Edith Road, I think.
JOHN PALFREY (Detective X). At 2.45 a.m. on 19th September I was with Brown, and I saw five men, three of whom were the prisoners, coming from the direction of Norland Road—about 8.55 the same morning I saw the three prisoners and another man about to enter a public-house at the corner of St. Catherine and St. Ann's Roads.
Cross-examined by Kelly. I was not called on to come to the Police-court on the first occasion—I am positive I saw you—I crossed the road to you; I did not speak to you—you had been pointed out to me previously, and I knew you by sight—I knew you all three before.
Cross-examined by Reardon. I was within about one and a half yards of the nearest of you—I was with the other officer.
ROBERT MARKHAM (Serjeant T). I received information of this burglary on the morning of 19th September—I made inquiries, and as the result, on the morning of 24th September I went with Badcock and Brown to Reardon's house, 38, St. Clement's Road, Netting Dale—he was in bed—I told him I should take him into custody for being concerned in committing a burglary on 19th September, at 77, Edith Road, West Kensington—he said nothing then—I took him to Latimer Road railway station—on the way there he made a statement, which I took down in writing as soon as I got on the railway station platform—he said, "Five of us done the job, Sailor" (a name by which the prisoner Hillier is known), "Jack Kelly, Mitchell, Boxer, and me. We were all drinking in the Bell and Anchor, and then went to the Rising Sun, in Berners Street. We had two pots of beer. We all agreed to do a job. Drainy came in, but we would not take him with us. We went to the North End Road, down the first turning on the right, got over a wall, and went to a house in Edith Road; we all got in. Sailor cut a pane of glass out of the door. We took two silver dishes and laid them on the lawn. We went back into the house, and had some supper. Sailor, Mitchell, and me went into a bedroom. A girl woke up and and something; we all ran away. Sailor took one of
the dishes, and I took the other. We went across a field at the back and came out into Hammersmith Road, and through Holland Road, where we met a policeman. Boxer sold the stuff for £3; Kelly and him kept the money"—Hillier was arrested by Badcock and Brown in my presence—he made no reply to the charge then—when all three prisoners were in the charge-room at the station I read this statement over to them—Reardon said nothing—Kelly and Hillier made statements, which Badcock took down—they were placed among other men and identified by Swainson—Reardon was also identified by Adams.
Cross-examined by Kelly. When I read the statement to you you did not say you knew nothing about it.
Cross-examined by Reardon. I woke you up when I came into your room—I did not pull a book out of my pocket—you did not say, "What is that?"—I did not laugh and say, "You will know by-and-bye"—I did not ask you at the station if you knew Hillier—you did not say, "I don't know him."
Cross-examined by Hillier. Badcock told you the charge when you were arrested—when I read the statement to you and the other prisoners you did not turn to Reardon and say, "Do you know met"—Reardon did not say, "No," he never knew you, and he knew nothing of the statement.
EDWARD BADCOCK (Sergiant T). I was with Markham and Brown on September 24th, when Hillier was arrested—I told him the charge—he said, "All right"—I took him to the station, and then went to Kelly's house, 11, Junction Road, South Aoton, and told him the charge—he got up and dressed, and swore at me a great deal, and made a great noise till another constable came into the house—he said he was a good mind to throw us downstairs—we took him to the Police-station—the three prisoners were put together, and Markham read Reardon's statement to them—Kelly said (I took it down in writing at the time), "I don't know Reardon"—he said to Markham, "Did he say that?"—Markham said, "Yes"—Kelly said, "I will see to him when he comes out. I have not been out of Acton at night since I came out of prison"—Hillier said, "I will own I went into the pub with them, as he says, and we had two pots of beer there, but I did not do the job"—they were charged; they made no reply.
Cross-examined by Reardon. You did not deny having made the statement—Markham did not say that Drainy had given it to him, and that he would chop the lot of you—you made no reply when it was read.
JAMES CORCORAN (Inspector T). I received information of this burglary, and went to 77, Edith Road, at 2.30 a.m., on September 19th—I found traces on a high wall at the rear of the house of several men having got over the wall; I should say there were four or five men, from the marks along the grass.
Witness for Kelly.
JOHN KELLY . I am a labourer, and work in market gardens—I am Kelly's father—he got two months for having a drop of beer, and I went to meet him on 17th when he came from prison—on the night of 18th I was out with him till eleven, and then he went to bed—I don't know where he was after that.
Kelly and Hillier asserted their innocence. Reardon, in his defence, said that Markham had threatened to send him to prison.
GUILTY . KELLY then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony in December, 1885;REARDON** to one at this Court in September. 1892; and HILLIER** to one in June. 1892. KELLY— Three Years' Penal Servitude. REARDON and HILLIER— Four Years' Penal Servitude each.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, October 30th, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. SIMMONDS. Prosecuted, and MR. BURNIE. Defended.
JOHN ROBERTS . I keep the Garibaldi beer-house, 69, Turner Street, Mile End—on September 21st I was in Turner Street about 3.45, and saw three men coming; the prisoners are two of them—I knew their faces; they have been in my house—I walked in the middle of the road, I was so frightened of them, having been robbed before—I went towards a truck, and the prisoners and several others came after me—I was collared from behind and nearly choked, and my watch and chain pulled away—I was thrown to the ground and kicked, and received great injuries to my back, from which I am still suffering—I had lost the use of this arm before, but somebody picked me up—they all ran away—I saw Leon facing me, and Klein at my side—I picked the prisoners out on the following Saturday.
Cross-examined. They had been in and out of my house before—a sick club is held there—I have heard that Leon is a respectable stickmaker, making £4 or £5 a week, and that he is the son of a retired police serjeant—it is a rough neighbourhood, there have been several robberies—I saw the prisoners before I was knocked down, and was knocked down the instant I had passed them—I did not walk on about thirty yards, but it was some distance—I really mean that at the time I was knocked down Leon was in front of me—I saw the prisoners when I was knocked down, but they had not got hold of me—Leon was there while I was being choked—all this took place in two or three seconds—if it is in my deposition that I said, "I did not see either of the prisoners, when I was knocked down" I said so—I cannot say that either of the prisoners seized me, but they were there—I said, "I was seized by the collar from the back and thrown down"—I do not know why I did not say that I was seized in front—I was very much excited and very much injured—I described one of the prisoners as having a light coat on—I don't think I told the police that I knew one of the men before—I may have said that I knew two of them as customers—I did not know the name of either of them; therefore I gave no name or address.
Re-examined. I could not see the prisoners when I was on the ground—I could not see where they went; I could not get up, I weigh seventeen stone—hands were placed on my throat by persons behind and before me.
HENRY OSBORNE (342 HR). On September 22nd, about 11.45, I was in the Green Dragon public-house, Oxford Street, in plain clothes, and the prisoners came into the bar with three other men and two females—as soon as Leon came to the door he said, "That is old Knifton," meaning me—Knifton was a very big fighting man—he then said, "S—them; none of the b—detectives know us"—the other said something, and then Leon said, "The old man in Turner Street would not know us"—I spoke to an inspector—the prisoners left the house—I followed them and arrested Klein in Charles Street—I told him I should take him into custody for stealing a gentleman's watch he said, "I will make you pay b—dear for this"—I told him he must come across till he had been seen by the prosecutor—I was at the station when the prosecutor picked out the prisoners.
Cross-examined. I did not know Leon before, but he says I did—I gave an order to his father to make a stick to present to an officer, and probably he would know me in that way—I am positive that that man (Robert Kingsgate) is not one of the men who came into the public-house—I did not go to the public-house with the idea of finding the prisoners there, but I had heard the description—there were no names in the description—I was not seated in a chair; I was up in a corner—Leon did not say, "See me have a lark with Harry"—nor did he say, "Look out, Harry, the old man is here"—that was not said in the public-house—I did not make a note of the conversation at the time but I did at the police-office after they were charged.
Re-examined. I have seen Thomas Smart this morning; he has a very bad foot, and is unable to leave his tied—he has been off duty for some days—I was present before the Magistrate when he was examined—the prisoners had a solicitor to defend them.
The deposition of Thomas Smart read: "About 12.30 a.m. on 22nd September, the last witness spoke to me; I took Leon. He said, 'You have made a mistake.' I took him to the station. The prosecutor picked the prisoners out from four others. They gave correct names and addresses."
Witnesses for the defence.
ROBERT TUNGATT . I am a carriage liner, of 57, Brenton Street, Salmon Lane—I am keeping company with Miss McKie, the sister-in-law of the prisoners—on Saturday, September 22nd, the day they were taken into custody, I went to Mr. McKie's house, 5, Spring Garden Place, about 9.45 p.m., and saw Leon there—I afterwards met Klein, and Mrs. Leon, and we all four went to the Green Dragon—Leon went in front, and I behind him—as we went in Leon said, "See me have a lark with Harry," meaning Klein—I saw Osborne, the big policeman, standing at the bar—Leon said, "Look out, Harry, here is the old man," meaning Mr. McKie—Klein said, "If the old man saw me he would not say anything"—I went in and had some drink—Mr. Ring said, "There is Osborne"—it is not true that with those words were used a filthy expression, and "the b—detective won't know us," nor did Klein say, "Go on, the old man would not know us if he saw us in Turner Street"—Osborne must have seen me.
Cross-examined. I knew which policeman they meant when they said Knifton—I knew Osborne by sight perfectly well—I went right into the
public-house, into the private compartment—I was there about a quarter of an hour, and Osborne was there all the time—we went out first—there was only one lady with me—it was not she who said "How is old Knifton?"; Leon said that—Klein did not say "S—him; the b—detectives here don't know us"—Turner Street is about a quarter of an hour's walk from the public-house.
Re-examined. I had seen Osborne in the street—Mr. McKie's house is about five minutes' walk from the station.
By the COURT. I was at the Police-court, but did not give evidence—this is the first time I have given evidence—when he said "Look out, Harry, here is the old man," I understood it—it was because he was not on good terms with his father-in-law.
ALEXANDER MCKIE . I am a pensioned police officer, from the E Division, Bow Street, and live at 5, Spring Garden Place, Stepney—I was acting inspector at Arbour Square for a short time, and retired as serjeant—the two prisoners are my sons-in-law—Leon is a master stickmaker in a small way, in partnership with Mr. Conde—he has a shop—he keeps his wife in a proper way—for a little time before 22nd September I had not been on speaking terms with Klein; I objected to my family entering public-houses in the immediate neighbourhood—I know that I was spoken of as "the old man" by Klein—"Here comes the old man" was to let them know that I was coming to the public-house—his general reputation is hardworking and respectable.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour each.
MR. BURNIE. Prosecuted.
HARRIETT JANE BOWEN . I live at 13, Heath Street, Mile End, and am the prisoner's daughter by her husband, who died before her second marriage—she had been away from him nearly seven years—he was a master builder at Canterbury—she married the prosecutor about three years after my father died, and lived with him two years—I am not married.
WILLIAM BOWEN . I am a Custom House officer, of 63, Lucas Street, Commercial Road—on February 1st, 1891, I went through the ceremony of marriage with the prisoner—this is the certificate (Produced)—we lived together till March this year—the prisoner then left me—I made inquiries, searched the register at Somerset House, and then took these proceedings.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You met me in a public-house—I did not ask you home to my house, and take drink from a side cupboard and give you—I did not come next day and bring three bottles of drink, and then take you to the Registrar's office—the banns were put up on three Sundays, and we were married in church in two months—I have not brought home spirits and poured out a tumblerful for you.
By the COURT. She left me and went away with another man—it is false that I drugged her, or that the ceremony was gone through when
she was drugged—we were married by a clergyman—I have been twenty-nine years in the Custom House service—there is not a particle of truth in any of these suggestions.
CHARLES JAMES DRURY (Canterbury Police). I am a nephew of the prisoner—I know her husband, Charles Butler—I saw him last on the 16th—he was a publican, but now he is a painter—he has been in Canterbury all the time—she never wrote to me, or asked me if her husband was dead.
ALBERT HARRISSON (Police-Sergeant H). On October 2nd, about seven p.m., I saw the prisoner at 13, East Street, Stepney—I said that I was an officer, and should take her for bigamy—she said, "I did not know he was alive, I expected this; my lodgers have done it, because I required my rights; I never intended to marry Bowen, even when he was in the house. My husband left the house."
Prisoner's defence. I worked very hard all day long; he gave up the business, and went back to Canterbury. I did not want to go back, because his friends were there, and he left me. He is delicate, and my child is delicate. He has been most cruel to his children. I hope you will deal leniently with me on account of my child.
GUILTY .— Nine Days' Imprisonment .
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, October 31st, 1894.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. THOMPSON. Prosecuted.
CHARLES HEIL . I am a manufacturer, and live in Wellclose Square—on 3rd October, about three in the afternoon, I was walking through Chambers Street, close to Leman Street, when suddenly a young fellow ran past me very quickly, and, in passing, he snatched part of my watchchain, leaving the rest in my pocket—he only gave one pull—I turned round and ran after him—I saw him, and to the best of my belief, Cartwright is the man—whilst I was running I got a violent push from behind in my back, which sent me forward, and caused me to fall—the right leg of my trousers was split right through, and a piece of skin was taken off my knees, and also my left elbow—I was not thrown quite on my face—the other man made away—I only got a very imperfect glance at him—he was like Donohue, but I could not swear to him—I got up very quickly—I have not recovered my chain.
Cross-examined by Cartwright. I did not take notice of anyone as I was walking—I had a look at the man that snatched my chain; it was done all of a sudden—I saw you at the Police-station, and picked you out from among several—I had previously given the police a description of the man as a short young man, rather stoutly built—I could not give much more—I pointed out somebody else first.
ABRAHAM BEHRMAN . I am a tailor, and live in Spitalfields—I was in Chambers Street between two and three in the afternoon, of 3rd October—I saw the prosecutor passing, I was standing at my employer's door—
I saw Cartwright snatch his watch-chain, and run away—the prosecutor ran after him, and had nearly got him, when Donohue knocked him down—and keys and papers fell out of his pocket; after he got up his trousers were burst and his arm broken—Donohue ran away; I don't doubt about him at all—I was afterwards brought to the station and saw eight or nine other men, and when I saw their faces I recognised him at once as I came into the station—I also identified Cartwright at the station without any difficulty—I first saw Cartwright running and took notice of his face—I am a German.
Cross-examined by Cartwright. I did not say at the Police-court that I saw you and Donohue standing at the corner together—I was standing at 91 across the street, waiting for my dinner hour, three o'clock—I was on one side of the road and you and the other prisoner were on the other—I took sufficient notice of you to pick you out from seven or eight others.
Cartwright. He pointed me out directly he came to the station—the police told him.
Witness. The police did not point him out—I recognised him directly I saw his face.
Cross-examined by Donohue. I recognised you first of all; you had a near on your face—as you ran across I could see the whole of your face, and I could see the scar—I did not give the detectives any description of you.
LIZZIE LEWIN . I live in Leman Street—on 3rd October, between two and three in the afternoon, I was in Chambers Street—I saw Mr. Heil in the street—I saw Cartwright run past him and make a snatch at his watch and chain and run away—the prosecutor ran after him and nearly had hold of him, when another one came behind him and threw him on the ground on his face, and they both ran away—I picked Cartwright out from seven or eight others at Leman Street Station—I cannot tell who the other man was.
Cross-examined by Cartwright. I had seen you standing about at the corner of the street for a long time before the prosecutor was robbed.
WILLIAM THOMPSON (Detective X). On 9th October, about half-past seven in the morning, I arrested Cartwright at 73, Cable Street—I told him I should arrest him on suspicion of assaulting and robbing a man in Chambers Street on the 3rd in the afternoon—he said, "You have made a mistake; that you have got to find out"—I arrested Donohue on 12th October, about half-past six in the evening, in the same street as Cartwright lives—I told him it was on suspicion of being concerned with William Cartwright in assaulting and robbing a man in Chambers Street, between two and three in the afternoon—he said nothing at that time—when we had got part of the way through Cable Street he said, "I suppose Chitty has put me away"—Chitty is a nickname Cartwright is known by—I have known him a number of years—I was present when Cartwright was identified by Behrman, Miss Lewin, and by Mr. Heil, who picked him out from six other men—he said, "That is the man to the best of my belief"—Behrman had no hesitation whatever in identifying both the prisoners.
Cross-examined by Cartwright. When I arrested you, I knocked at the door, and you said, "Keep off, or they will bite you"—there were seven
or eight fox-terriers in the room—I managed to keep them off—I did not say if I could get you in for it I would.
Cross-examined by Donohue. The prosecutor gave me a description of you—it was "a tall thin young fellow with a scar down his face"—he said he just had a slight glimpse of you, as you ran away, but not enough to identify you.
The prisoner's statetments before the Magistrate:—Cartwright: "I was at home at the time." Donohue: "I was driving a van at the time."
C. HEIL (Recalled). The blow in my back was with a fist; I could not say whether it was a blow or a push—I had no bruise there next day—the injury was caused by falling on my knees and elbow—part of my skin was taken off—I am still suffering a little; I have not quite recovered the use of my elbow; it is a little stiff—I went to a chemist's, and had some lotion—I have not suffered any shock to the system, only a little inconvenience in walking.
The prisoners in their defence asserted their innocence.
GUILTY . The prisoners then PLEADED GUILTY. to previons convictions, Cartwright at the Thames Police-court, on May 16th, 1893, and Donohue at Clerkenwell, on January 2nd, 1894; and two other convictions were proved against Donohue and against Cartwright. CART-WRIGHT— Seven Years' Penal Servitude. DONOHUE— Three Years Penal Servitude.
MR. ALDOUS. Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON. Defended
PERCY HOUSDEN . I am eight years old—on September 18th I was on the Koh-i-nor steamboat, and soon after we left Woolwich I was in the saloon and found a purse by the sofa—I picked it up, and the prisoner, who was lying on the sofa, said that it was his, and I gave it to him—my mother afterwards took me up on deck and I saw the prisoner there, but did not go near him—I pointed him out to my mother as the man I had given the purse to five minutes before—I went into the cabin again and saw the prisoner and the purser there—the purser said, "Is that the man you gave the purse to?"—I said, "Yes"—the prisoner said, "It is a mistake, you never gave me any purse."
Cross-examined. Some men were lying down in the saloon on the other side—my mother asked me first of all if I could point out the man to whom I gave the purse—I told my mother that he was a young man, but I did not mean to say it—I did not point cut another man on deck before I pointed out the prisoner—my mother told me I had, made a mistake—I said at the Police-court, "She asked me if that was the man to whom I had given the purse, I looked at him, and said he was; it was not very dark; there was another man standing by; I pointed to him first and then to the prisoner."
By the JURY. The prisoner had his hat on when he was down on the sofa and when he was upstairs—it was a cap.
Re-examined. There were several other men lying down about the saloon, but none of them were near the prisoner—there was a bright light in the saloon, and it was a little light on deck.
LILIAN TEVERSHAM . I am single, and live at 53, Romney Road, Finsbury Park—I saw the boy pick up the purse and give it to a man lying near Mrs. Housden, who I did not take particular notice of, but there were no other men lying near him—I did not take particular notice of him; I heard him say that it was his, and he put it in his pocket and went upstairs.
Cross-examined. There was a very good electric light in the saloon—other men were lying about.
MARY ANN HOUSDEN . I am the wife of Charles Housden, of Clapton—I was sitting down in the saloon on September 18th, and saw the prisoner lying on a lounge in a recess; no other man was near him—I saw the prisoner leave the saloon—in consequence of something I heard I went on deck and touched the prisoner on his arm, and said, "I beg your pardon, sir, my little boy gave you a purse; it is not yours, it belongs to this lady"—he said, "You have made a mistake"—I fetched my boy up—I did not see the boy give the man the purse, my attention was taken off for a minute—I went to the purser's office—the boy did not point out anyone on deck—the prisoner was going down into the cabin and I went down with him, and the purser, and said, "That is the gentleman"—my little boy pointed him out as the man—he said, "Your little boy is mistaken."
Cross-examined. I took the little boy up to the prisoner on deck—the prisoner had a friend with him—I did not say to the boy, "Is this the man who took the purse?" it is a mistake—I heard him say at the Police-court that he pointed out another man first, but that was quite a mistake, he was confused—I followed the prisoner up on deck twenty minutes or half-an-hour after he went up—other men were lying about in the saloon, but not on that side—I told the boy going home that he had made a mistake at the Police-court, and that he ought to have told the Lord Mayor—when the prisoner was asked to go downstairs, he said that he was quite willing to be searched.
Re-examined. I have no doubt that the man I saw below was the prisoner—immediately my boy spoke to me, the prisoner got up off the couch, and went on deck, and I went up about twenty minutes afterwards—I had come from Harwich in the vessel—I noticed that the prisoner was in the company of the same man as I saw him with on deck, and they both came into the saloon—the other man said, "Search us both, we have not ten shillings between the two of us"—I have made a mistake in saying that the youngest man of the two said that; they both said it—the purse contained thirty shillings.
ANN COLE . I am the wife of John Cole, of 83, Frederick Place, Woolwich—on September 18th I was on the Koh-i-nor—I lounged down—I had my purse when I was at Greenhithe—it was black, with a bright snap—I had a sovereign in it, and ten shillings in silver and copper, and two farthings—I don't know what the other copper was—there was about nine and sixpence in silver—there was a five-shilling piece; I am sure of that—I cannot say what other silver coins there were—I missed my puree, and went to the ticket collector—the prisoner sat at my feet when I went on deck, and a lady pointed him out as the man who had my purse—she said, "That is the man who came and laid down where you were"—I put my hand in my pocket between Tilbury Fort and
Woolwich to get my ticket, which was in my purse, and missed my purse—the prisoner was on deck when I went to the ticket collector, but he did not go with me; he went and sat in the saloon all the evening.
Cross-examined. When we were downstairs he offered to be searched, And so did the man by his side—they both said they had not got ten shillings between them—I am sure they both said that—Mrs. Housden may have been behind me in the saloon; she was there when the purser was present—she told him about it—my niece was there—we had been for the day to Harwich and back; that is my home—I did not get off the boat at Woolwich; I came to London—it was light when I lost my purse—the saloon is lighted by electric light.
WILLIAM FOSTER (506 City). On September 18th, about eleven p.m., I was at the Old Swan Pier, London Bridge—I saw the last witness, three ladies, a little boy, the prisoner, and a friend of his—the women accused the prisoner of having the puree—he denied it—I said, "Do you wish to charge him?"—she said, "Yes"—he said they had not got ten shillings between them, him and his friend—I searched him, and found a sovereign, two half-crowns, a florin, three shillings, a sixpence, and 1s. 2 1/2 d. in bronze—the halfpenny consisted of two farthings—I found no purse—he said nothing.
Cross-examined. No questions were put to him as to how he became possessed of the money—his friend said nothing—I also found two watches on him; one was a lady's silver watch, and a cigar, two matches and a knife.
Re-examined. I have made inquiries about him; he bears an excellent character—I believe he had purchased the articles at a sale, of which this (produced) is the catalogue.
Evidence for the Defence.
HENRY LACKMAKER . I am a shoemaker, of 3, Tanner Street, Spitalfields—the prisoner is my father—I remember him going on the Koh-i-nor, with a man named Limburg—he asked me to lend him £2—I told him to go and take it; I was saving it up to get married.
JOHN LIMBURG . I live at 380, Nathaniel Buildings, Commercial Street—I went with the prisoner on September 18th—I only had 1s. 6d, and he paid my expenses—we went to Harwich—he is in partnership with me as a fruiterer and general dealer—he was accused in front of the purser—he went downstairs—I said that we only had 10s. between us—he did not say it too; he said nothing about what money he had—it cost us nothing to go to Harwich; we had our tickets given us—I borrowed 3s. 6d. of the prisoner, which made 5s.—we had some soup and bread, and went down in the cabin and had some tea—the prisoner spent 5s. or 6s. during the day—that was the only expence he was put to—that would be 8s. or 9s., including the 3s. 6d. he lent me—I have known him ever since I can remember anything—I always found him honest—I was close by when he was taken in custody—I said nothing on shore about what money I had on me, nor did the prisoner—I do not know what money he had when we went on board.
Cross-examined. I said that we had not 10s. between us, because I had spent the 3s. 6d. he lent me—we had two or three drinks with some people on board, and I went to him and asked him to lend me some more money, and he said, "Don't bother me; I have not got any."
WILLIAM FOSTER (Re-examined). Before the prisoner was given in custody it was said on the pier that there was a five-shilling piece in the lady's purse, but no other coin was mentioned—she made no other statement till she was at the Police-court—she was present, and saw what money was found—she made no further statement then, but she said before the Magistrate that she lost two farthings—she said at the station that there was one farthing, if not two—that was before the money was found—she said one at first, if not two; and before the Magistrate she said two farthings.
The prisoner received an excellent character.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. GRANTHAM. Prosecuted, and MR. WARBURTON. Defended.
MARY ANN PONDER . I am a widow, and a picture dealer of the Grove, Stratford—on Saturday, September 15th, or early on Sunday morning, I was disturbed by a scratching—I thought it was mice, but presently I saw a man's shadow on my window—I got out of bed, and drew the blind on one side, and spoke to someone on the slates outside, saying, "What do you do there?"—he made no answer but slipped away, and the prisoner, who was in the room, caught me behind and pushed me down into a chair—I could see him, because bright moonlight was shining into the room—he seemed all one colour, a light colour—my mother screamed to my son to come down—the prisoner ran round the bed, and out at the door and downstairs—I missed a cash-box containing documents, and a purse, some gold chains, a cheque for £1, and £10 or £12 in money—I saw the cash-box at the station; nothing was missing from it—I picked the prisoner out from ten or twelve others at the Police-court.
Cross-examined. My aged mother slept in the same bed; she woke when the man was knocking me about—I did not draw up the blind; I pulled it on one side—there was a small white lace curtain, but no dark ones—the blind was a light one, red and drab—the moment I was seized from behind I let go of the blind, and it fell back on the window—I was in my nightgown—I was very frightened—he faced me when he put me into the chair, but my face was towards the window—I was twisted round and pushed back into a chair, and was sideways to the window—the prisoner's face was not towards the window—I never saw him with the blind up, but it was very bright moonlight—I could see my mother's face.
WILLIAM CHATTERS . I am a coffee-stall keeper, of The Grove, Stratford—on Sunday night, September 16th, I heard a noise at Mrs. Ponder's shop and saw a man come out at the door—I was about twenty-five yards from the door—I could see quite distinctly—I picked the prisoner out from ten or eleven others two days afterwards—he had on light clothes like he has on now, and no boots—he went down The Grove towards High Street; there is a turning to a Wesleyan chapel there.
Cross-examined. Next door to Mrs. Ponder's is Mr. Denning's, and then
a public-house—it is twenty-four or twenty-five yards from Ponder's to my coffee-stall, not forty—I got a side view of him as he came out and a back view as he ran away—I gave a description of his appearance and dress to the police.
ALFRED DALE . I am a waiter, of Leytonstone—I was in the neighbourhood about 12.30, and heard a great noise in this shop—I ran to the opposite side of the road, looked towards Mrs. Ponder's door, and saw the prisoner come out in light clothes—he had no boots or hat on—it was moonlight—I picked the prisoner out from ten or twelve others at the station next morning.
Cross-examined. I did not see his face, because he turned his head away from me directly he saw me—I was about five yards from the door.
WILLIAM EUSTACE (Detective K). On September 17th, at 12.15 a.m., I saw the prisoner in White's Road, West Ham, and said, "I am going to take you in custody on suspicion of breaking into a house last night, about 12.30, and stealing a cash-box"—he said, "Who is beating it up for me? I am innocent"—I went to his lodging, and found a light coat.
Witnesses for the Defence.
GEORGE HERBERT HILL . I live at 36, White's Road—the prisoner lodged with me about twelve months—on Sunday, September 16th, he came home about 10.45—I saw him in his room at a few minutes after eleven, and then I saw my wife go and bolt the door—I sleep in the room over the prisoner, and should hear any noise of moving of chairs—about two o'clock I heard a knock at the front door—I had been asleep; it was dark—I saw the prisoner in bed at eleven o'clock, or a few minutes afterwards.
Cross-examined. I was not disturbed between 11.30 and two.
ELLEN HILL . I am the wife of the last witness—on Sunday, September 16th the prisoner came home about 10.45, and went to bed—I bolted the front door—about two o'clock I heard a knock, and heard the prisoner get out of bed, and pull the Venetian blind—he was the only person who occupied the room—in the morning he told me what he looked out at the window for.
Cross-examined. He had a latch key, but I did not give it to him—I cannot say whether this (produced) is it—he wore the same clothing as he has on now (A light grey suit)—my husband was up first next morning—he left at 5.30 while I was still in bed.
G. H. HILL (Re-examined). I went out at 5.30 by the front door; the lower bolt was bolted—there is a bow window with Venetian blinds—I heard no Venetian blind moved in the room below—the window sill is four feet from the pavement—the sash is in good condition.
M. A. PONDER (Re-examined). When I went to the Police-court a number of persons were placed in a row; I looked at them, and identified the prisoner by his face—I went up and touched him—I said before the
Magistrate that I identified him to the best of my belief—when I touched him I had no doubt he was the man I saw in my bedroom.
A. TAYLOR (Re-examined). I examined Mrs. Ponder's place next day—I did not find any boots—the man ran away in the direction of St. John's Church; there is a little alley fifty yards from the shop—there are palings on the green where the cash-box was found—that is about seventy-five yards from the house—the latch key found opens the door.
By the JURY. I did not find any socks—I found other clothes, but they were covered with dust, and had not been worn for some time—the only clothes he had, I believe, were those which he is now wearing.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY. to a conviction of housebreaking at Essex Quarter Sessions in February, 1891, in the name of Frank Baker.— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
838. ARTHUR EDWARD SHEPPARD , Unlawfully assaulting Edith Nellie Pugh, a girl under the age of thirteen, with intent, etc. Second Count, for an indecent assault. He PLEADED GUILTY. to the Second Count, and received an excellent Character .— Judgment respited.
839. JOHN STANLEY , Feloniously wounding John Mayo, and occasioning him grievous bodily harm. The prisoner stated in the hearing of the JURY. that he was GUILTY. of unlawfully wounding, and the JURY. thereupon found him GUILTY. of unlawfully wounding. — Six Month's Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Justice Collins.
MR. LAWLESS. Prosecuted, and MR. ELLIOTT. Defended.
CISSY THOMPSON . I am barmaid at the Ship Hotel, Greenwich—I have known the prisoner five months, and kept company with him—immediately before 28th August I had returned a letter of his—on the 28th, about half-past ten in the morning, I was serving in the bar—Miss Champion was also in the bar—the prisoner came in and called for a glass of bitter—he called me, and asked me what was the meaning of this letter—I said, "You can see by the letter what it means without asking me"—he took out a letter and showed it to me—it was not the letter that I had returned; it was a letter I had got someone to write for me—I served him with a glass of bitter, and turned away—he said, "May I speak to you, Miss Thompson?"—I said, "Certainly you may," and I came back to him—he caught hold of my left arm, put his hand in the back of his coat pocket, and I caught the top of a pistol—I could see there was something up, and I twisted from him—he caught hold of the lace of my dress—it gave way and I fell down, and I don't remember anything else—I heard a report in my face, and I was all spotted with the powder, and my eyes were bad for two days with something in them, and dark spots were on my face—water was thrown on
my face—there was a door behind me leading into the sitting-room; it was always kept ajar—he seemed sober, as sober as he always was.
Cross-examined. I hardly looked at him enough, because I could see he was in a temper—he looked as if he was, and I thought something would happen when he came in—I had given him no reason, only by having this letter written to him—it was written by a gentleman; I did not write it—it was in return to one of his letters to me—I had been very friendly with him up to this point—there was not much in the letter to be angry with, but I knew when he was in a temper—on this occasion he was in a great temper—when he came in he walked across the bar to me, and called me "Cissy" at once, and it was about five minutes from that time till he fired—I was talking to him about the letter I daresay for five minutes—he had been potman at another place—I never stood at all after the pistol went off; I fell on the floor by the door—I don't remember anything else till I was ready to go home—at the time he caught hold of me he asked me if I loved him—I said, "No, I don't"—he said, "You don't?"—I said, "No"—he said, "If I don't have you no one else shall have you"—I made no reply to that—he then put his hand in his pocket, he had hold of one of my arms, and the other was going towards his pocket.
EMILY CHAMPION . I am a barmaid at the Ship Hotel—I was in the bar on the morning of the 28th August—I saw the prisoner come in—he asked me if the place was going to be closed that day—I said I did not know—I served him with a cigar—he said could he speak to Miss Thompson—she came to him, and their both went to the end of the bar—I only heard him say, "What is the meaning of this?" showing her a letter—I was standing trying to hear what they were talking about, and I heard the pistol go off—I was standing facing him; she was standing by the side; she did not fall—I said to her, "Go inside, don't stand there," and she went inside and sat down—there was a small barrel on the counter; he held up the pistol and showed it to me, and then put it in his pocket and walked out—I afterwards went into the parlour, and saw the girl; I believe she was going to faint—I saw no more of the prisoner till he was in custody—I think he seemed sober when he came in.
Cross-examined. He was quite a quarter of an hour in the bar altogether—he spoke to Miss Thompson first—she then served him with a glass of bitter, and stood talking to him for a few minutes—if he had liked he could have shot her then, and if the pistol had been loaded he could have shot her more than once—there was time for him to fire again—it was not done in a hurry or stumble—if the bullet had gone over her head it would have struck a glass door in the mahogany board—there was an open door behind her, leading into the street—the glass door leads into the sitting-room at the back—at the time he fired his arm was slightly bent, not straight out—he had the pistol in his left hand—if he had been so disposed he could have got inside to where she was.
Re-examined. He put the pistol into his breast pocket—he had a dark coat on—the door behind was shut—the bar is a very large one, very long—I showed the inspector the position in which they were standing.
quarter past twelve, the prisoner came to my house—I have a shop—I said, "Well, Jim, what has brought you here?"—he said, "I have shot your daughter"—I said, "What have you done that for?"—he said, "True love and jealousy"—I said, "Have you killed her?"—he said "No"—I said, "Have you disfigured her?"—he said, "No; if I could have got the pistol into her mouth I would have blown her brains out, and mine afterwards"—I said, "You did not have much feeling for me, Jim, considering I have just lost two children"—he said, "No, it is a wonder you have not lost a third"—he said, "If it is for years to come I will blow her brains out"—he said a great deal more; that is pretty well all I remember—I saw the revolver; this is it (produced), I had it in my hand; it was on the counter—I kept saying, "Jim, put it in your pocket, I don't like the look of it" and I took it in my hand, and he took it from me—he said, "Has Mr. Thompson gone for a policeman?"—I said, "No"—he said, "Has the little girl gone for one?"—I said, "No"—I saw my husband go out for a policeman, who came shortly afterwards—the prisoner said, "The first that comes through the door I will shoot his brains out"—a policeman came and took him away.
Cross-examined. He was with me about half an hour; I did not stay in the shop—he rambled on a good deal—he kept on talking about what he had done, and what he would have done if he could—I don't think he had been drinking; he was very much upset, confused and excited, but he talked very sensibly—he knew what he had done, and what he intended to do to anyone who took her part—he did not attempt to shoot me—I don't think he would hurt me.
ROBERT EBBAGE (Sergeant R). On 28th August, at about 11.30, I went to 4, Trinity Terrace, Lewisham, and saw the prisoner—I said, "Is your name Farrell?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "I am a police officer, and shall take you into custody for attempting to murder Cissy Thompson at the Ship Hotel, Greenwich, this morning"—he was about to speak, and I cautioned him—he said, "Yes, that is right; I meant to do it"—I took him in a cab to the station, and he was charged—I searched him at the shop, and found this seven-chambered revolver, and six ball cartridges; one was empty, and had been recently discharged—he afterwards said to me, as I was searching him again in the charge room, "Between you and me, I only wish I had killed her"—as far as I could see he was sober.
Cross-examined. He was excited, his face was flushed—I should say it was quite consistent with his having had something to drink—he was quite quiet at the station—the pistol was in his inside breast pocket.
JOHN WALE (Inspector R). On 28th August the prisoner was brought to the station and was formally charged—Ebbage read the charge to him and said, "You need not say anything, but if you do it will be used in evidence against you"—he said, "Is the girl hurt?"—I said, "She has a slight graze on the neck"—he said, "I did it, I admit it; it is the first time I have ever been a prisoner in my life. Who charges me?"—I said, "I charge you for the present"—he said, "Then I have to be charged again?"—I said, "No"—I then left the room—the sergeant afterwards said in his presence, "He has just told he wished he had killed her"—he made no reply to that—as far as I could see he was sober—Sergeant Gummer examined the revolver—I afterwards went to the Ship, and Miss Champion showed me the position in which they were standing, from
which I should think the bullet would have taken the direction of the cabinet at the back of the bar; it might have hit that obliquely, and might have gone through the open door at the end—it is a very large place—we searched very carefully, but found no trace of the bullet.
Cross-examined. From the description Miss Champion gave me it might have gone into the mahogany or the glass; if it had hit the glass I think it would have smashed it—it is not a door; it is a panel in the mahogany—there was no injury to the glass, nor any trace of a bullet in the wood—the prisoner was not excited in appearance; his face was a little flushed—this was about an hour and a half after Ebbage had arrested him; it may have been a little more.
SOLOMON GUMMER (Inspector R). On the 31st August the revolver was given to me—I examined it—it does not work easily; the revolving gear is worn out; so, as a matter of fact, it is not a revolver; you can only fire it once, without altering the gear—you would have to take out the pin and readjust it; it will not revolve at all—I went to the Ship—I could find no trace of the bullet—I made experiments with the revolver in my office; I fired a shot through a board three-eighths of an inch thick, five feet away from it, and the bullet went into a wall seven feet beyond, and buried itself in the plaster half an inch, and rebounded—I produce the bullet I fired and the piece of board it went through.
Cross-examined. There is a trace on it where the bullet had been, and the plaster showed where it struck; in fact, it nearly hit someone—it would not be a safe thing to carry in your coat pocket; there would be danger if it knocked against anything that it would go off.
GUILTY .— Five years' Penal Servitude.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
He received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. COLLINS. Prosecuted.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
844. GEORGE HOUGH ,** to burglary in the dwelling-house of John Phillips, and obtaining a coat and jacket and other articles and nine shillings, his property, having been convicted at Greenwich on December 9th, 1893. Seven other convictions were proved against him.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
Before Mr. Justice Collins.
MESSRS. C. F. GILL, BODKIN, and GUY STEPHENSON. Prosecuted, and MR. WARBURTON. Defended.
EMILY JEMIMA MITCHELL . I live at the Ashley Mineral Water Works—I am twenty-nine years of age—I was married to the prisoner in 1886—one child was born; it is dead—the prisoner was employed from time to time at Lockhart's Coffee-rooms—I lived with him at various places—we always lived very comfortably—we had two quarrels in the eight years; net serious—in May this year he lost his work—I said to him, "Well, you will have to look out and get some work; this is an expensive house; if you don't get work I shall have to give up the house and leave you"—I took a room at 54, Great Dover Street in the name of Mrs. Jackson, the prisoner's second name, and he asked me to take one for him—I did so at 18, Warner Street, in the name of Mr. Jackson—I paid the first week's rent—on 21st July we moved there; he helped to move the furniture; the furniture was mine—on the nights of 23rd and 26th July I slept with him at 52, Trinity Square—on the other nights from the 23rd July to the 28th I slept at the new room in Dover Street—on the Saturday morning at half-past eight I went to 52, Trinity Square, and stayed there till about one—the prisoner then came in with an old gentleman and his daughter to buy up such things as I did not want to take with me to Warner Street—I said, "Have you got any money to give me?"—he said, "Eighteen pence; that is all I have"—he gave that to me—he went out first, as he said he was going after a berth somewhere—then I went out and had some dinner—when I came back he got a mattress from the top of the house to the back parlour, and was sitting on it—he asked me to sit, down with him; I did—he said, "I am sorry about your leaving me, I feel it very much; if I get into work will you come and live with me again?"—I said, "Yes, if you can keep me"—he said, "I am after a job at Horseferry Road gasworks; there is only my character to get up"—I said, "I don't think that will be much, for you are only slovenly and dirty"—he put his left arm round my shoulder; I thought he was going to kiss me; and then he drew his right arm directly across my throat—I felt something wet; I put up my hand and saw it was blood—I said, "You have cut my throat"—I was frightened and ran out—he said nothing, he was feeling his neck, standing in front of the fireplace—I went to Dr. Alexander's surgery, lie attended to dip, and I was afterwards taken to Guy's Hospital—I remained there till the 24th September—I was shown a knife at the Police-court and recognised it as the prisoner's—this is it; it is an ordinary pocket-knife.
Cross-examined. I had often seen it in his possession—I said before the Magistrate, "I tolerated my husband," and that I felt too much indifference to quarrel—we were married on 27th June, 1886—it was not a marriage of affection—I kept a house and took in lodgers, and I made an income out of them—I only had three friends; not friends in an improper sense—I was friendly with Constable Millage, in 1887; he was my lover, my husband knew all about that—that connection was not renewed in 1893—that was why we quarrelled and why I could not let him stay in the house—seven years ago I was suffering from illness, that continued for about three months—my husband has had intercourse with me up to the very last week—Dr. Payne, of New Kent Road, treated me in my illness; I don't know what he called it; I think it was something like syphilis—
in June, 1884, a constable came and stayed in the house in Great Dover Street, and kissed me coming home on an excursion one night—no one else has done so—he and his wife lodged with me, and she gave me an armlet of his—he was nothing to me—his name was Winscomb—he has been dead some years—I know a Mr. Tinsley; he lodged with me about three years—I used to lend him money, and when he paid me back he used to buy me perhaps a hat, or anything—I saw him last Derby day—I don't know if he is alive—there was no intimacy with him—I punched his head; he annoyed me—I never went on with Jackson, a railway clerk, at Walton-on-Thames—my husband has never accused me of anything—I have said, "I was only on with two or three people, and my husband always knew it"—I did not like my husband; he was not nice to me—I always told him I would never live with him if he did not get work—I left him because I could not tolerate him; I did not like him—he used to pretend to be fond of me—he said, "I am as grieved at your leaving me as when I lost my mother"—he told me all along it was the best thing we could do—if he had got work, and had given me the money, I should not have minded—I would have put up with him if I could have got some money—I did not tell him that I cared for others better than him—I said I only went out with one man at a time, because the solicitor said I went out with three—one lover at a time was quite enough for me.
CHARLES JAMES WYMAN . I live at 52, Trinity Square—I occupied the second floor—I was there on the afternoon of 28th July—the prisoner occupied the whole of the house, and lived on the ground floor—a little before two that afternoon I saw him—he seemed as usual—I passed him on the stairs, and went up—I had been upstairs ten or twelve, minutes—nothing attracted my attention till I heard the street door slam—I then looked out, and then saw Mrs. Mitchell—she had her hand up to her throat, and she went to Dr. Alexander—I went downstairs to see what was the matter, and saw the prisoner lying on the floor in a pool of blood, and bleeding from the throat.
Cross-examined. I had lodged in the same house with them seven months—the prisoner always seemed a quiet peaceable man.
JOHN ALEXANDER . I am a medical man, of 45, Trinity Square—a little after two on 28th July, Mrs. Mitchell came to my house suffering from a wound in the throat, it was six inches long, in the centre of the throat—it penetrated the wind-pipe—she had bled very considerably, and was very faint—I had her put on an ambulance and taken to Guy's Hospital—it was a highly dangerous wound—I afterwards went to 52, Trinity Square, and found the prisoner lying on his back in the back room, ground floor—there was a large pool of blood lying about his head, and a large wound in his throat—he was also removed to Guy's Hospital—this knife might have produced both injuries—I saw it in the room.
Cross-examined. I could not say exactly the depth of the wound on the wife—it might have been half an inch to an inch—the prisoner's wound was much more serious—his was the longer and deeper—I think he had lost more blood.
WORDSWORTH POOLE . I am house surgeon at Guy's—I attended Mrs. Mitchell on 28th July—the wound in the throat was about seven and a half inches long—the description given of it by Mr. Alexander is correct—
some complication ensued during the progress of the healing, which necessitated her detention till the 24th September—she was then discharged—I also attended to the prisoner when he was brought there—he remained in the hospital till 31st August—his wound was the more serious of the two.
Cross-examined. He seemed very much upset—he had the appearance of having had a mental shock—I have had some experience in dealing with persons not quite right in the head—it is certainly possible that a man might have a fit of madness, what is culled masked epilepsy, and forget all about it.
WILLIAM SMITH (Detective M). On 28th July I went to the house where this occurred and saw the prisoner there—I found this knife under him as he was lying on the floor—it was open, stained with blood, and a small piece of flesh adhering to it.
THOMAS DYBALL (Detective Sergeant M). On 31st August I went to the hospital and saw the prisoner—I said, "We are police officers; I am going to take you into custody for attempting to murder your wife by cutting her throat, and also attempting to murder yourself"—he said nothing—he was taken to the station and charged—he said, "I don't recollect nothing about it."
GUILTY. of unlawfully wounding. — Twenty Months' Hard Labour.
He also PLEADED GUILTY . to attempting to murder himself. On this charge he entered into his own recognizances in £10 to come up for judgment.
MR. HUTTON. Prosecuted, and MR. AMBROSE. Defended at the request of the COURT.
GUILTY .— Seven years' Penal Servitude.
MESSRS. BODKIN. and HEWITT. Prosecuted, and MR. ELLIOTT. Defended.
GUILTY .— Nine Years' Penal Servitude.
VARNHAM PLEADED GUILTY .— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. HUTTON. Prosecuted.
HILL GUILTY .— Twenty Months' Hard Labour.
MESSRS. HORACE AVORY, NAPIER, and GUY STEPHENSON. Prosecuted; and MESSRS. PAUL TAYLOR. and ROOTH. Defended.
ROBERT F. NEW . I live at 8, Ladbrook Road, Redhill—I am an architect and surveyor, and am accustomed to the making of plans—I prepared this plan of the locality in question, showing Redhill Station. Station Road, and a pond near Waterloo Park, and a moat in the castle grounds, the National Schools, Hard wick Road, and Worcester Cottages—the moat is 295 yards from Worcester Cottages, and the pond in
Waterloo Park is 2,190 yards from Worcester Cottages—from the Red-hill Station to the house is 429 yards.
THOMAS FREDERICK WELLS . I am the prisoner's father—I am a carpenter and joiner, and live at Reigate—in June last I was living at 5, Worcester Cottages—the prisoner is twenty-two years of age—she was a servant at the Earlswood Asylum—she lived with me at Worcester Cottages—I gave up my occupation of the house on 18th June.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was assisting me in packing up the things from half-past four that morning—on leaving I made no provision for sheltering my daughter—I was examined at the inquest—I there stated that the children, as far as I was concerned, may have been so many monkeys—it was explained between us that she would go away—I took no interest at all in the children—she was suckling them—there was shelter for her when I left the cottage, but I did not take much notice—I should be sorry to get rid of her; but, under the circumstances, I did so—she was four or five years old when her mother died—I lost my wife twelve years ago—the prisoner was then eleven or twelve years old—since that time she has generally been managing my house for me—she endeavoured to make a little money for herself by charring—I don't know what she made—she has three sisters well married; one of them is in Australia—Mrs. Goddard lived in the same house as myself—she is no relative—I have some relatives living at Redhill—I don't know what the prisoner was going to do when I broke up my home.
HARRIET CREASY . I am a widow, and live at 5, Worcester Cottages, next to the house occupied by the prisoner and her father—I have known the prisoner eight years last December—on the 21st of May she went to London; she said she was going to the Lambeth Union to be confined—she returned home on Monday, 11th June—she was away three weeks; I saw her in the evening when she came home—I had been minding her little girl, three or four years old, while she was away—she said someone was going to take the child; she was going to take it to London on the following Monday, the 18th—on Sunday, the 17th, I saw her again between seven and eight in the evening—she brought the baby in to me to see it before taking it away on the following day, and said someone was going to adopt the child—she said, "Look at it for the last time; I am going to take it to London to-morrow"—Mrs. Ritchie was there at the time—on Monday, 18th, I saw her again when she was moving her things, but I did not take much notice of her—I saw her in the garden—I was away all day at work—on the 18th I saw her when she came back from London, somewhere about eight—there was no train to Reigate at that time—one of my children said she had come home—Mrs. Ritchie called me, and I went in and saw the prisoner sitting by her side, looking wet and dirty—she said it was London mud—I don't think I said much to her—I went and got some things for her—she changed her things at Mrs. Ritchie's—her clothes were very wet And dirty; her boots and stockings were wringing wet, and there was red sand and dirt; it did not look like London mud—I took her and her little girl, four years old, into my house that night, to sleep in my children's bed—she had done so before when she had had words with the father of the child, Ted Hurst—she stayed with me till the 21st, when the police came and took her.
Cross-examined. The last train from London arrived at Reigate at about a quarter past seven—that was the one she ought to have come by; I don't know what train she did come by—when I saw her with the child she appeared to be an affectionate mother to it; she was very fond of children—her father was away, out of work a good bit—I never went into the house; I was mostly out at work—I asked her, "Have you got anywhere to go to?"—she said, "No"—she said she could sleep in the woodshed if I would take the child—that was the child four years old.
Re-examined. The train before the one arriving at 7.15 was nine minutes past six, I think.
JAMES BROOKS . I am a day porter at Lambeth Workhouse—on the 21st of May last the prisoner was admitted to the workhouse by me—she gave the name of Minnie Wells—she was confined in the house—when she left on the 11th June I asked her to produce the two children—she showed them to me, wrapped in a shawl on her left arm, and dressed in ordinary baby clothing—I afterwards saw the two bodies at Reigate Police-station—they were the same children that left the work-house on 11th June with the prisoner—when she left she told me she was going to Reigate.
ELLEN BOUST . I am a midwife at Lambeth Workhouse—on the 26th of May this year the prisoner was admitted into the lying-in ward, and she was delivered of female twins—I saw them for sixteen days, and washed and cleansed them—they were fairly healthy children—I was present when they were christened; one Minnie May, the other Lilly Mary—Minnie May was the larger of the two, and had a wart near the right eye—on 25th June I saw two children's bodies, and identified them as the two children of which the prisoner had been confined.
Cross-examined. So far as I could see she was an affectionate mother—they were partly brought up by hand, and partly suckled by her.
JOSEPH LOARNE . I am a registered medical practitioner, and Officer of Health for the Lambeth district—on 11th June I vaccinated two children—I have them entered as Minnie Wells and Lilly Mary Wells, aged seventeen days—the prisoner came with them—I saw her again with the same children on the following Monday, the 18th, at my station in Tottenham Court Road between one and two—there were five or six other children to be examined—my attention was called to the prisoner from the fact of her bringing twins, and one of my lady pupils held the children while I vaccinated them, and some general conversation took place on the subject—the prisoner was particularly anxious that the lady who held the infant should not hurt the arm which she held, and asked her to be very careful.
Cross-examined. Her conduct was that of an affectionate mother—I am the medical officer for Whitechapel district—I have had considerable experience in confinements and the symptoms which sometimes follow—I know "Taylor's Medical Jurisprudence" as an authority in the period immediately succeeding confinement, extending over some weeks, a woman is peculiarly liable to excessive emotional disturbance, which is liable to take the form of revulsion of feeling towards the children and an attempt to murder—I should call that an instance of puerperal mania; that may come on suddenly without any apparent cause, and it may as suddenly cease—a person may be observed to be calm and collected, say at eight
o'clock, and yet have had an access of mania half an hour before—the delivery of twins would, I think, cause a greater strain on the mother than when there was only one child; it would seriously impair the nervous energy and the vitality—in the case of such a woman as the prisoner two or three weeks after her confinement sudden disappointment would be a probable cause—a woman who was the victim of such an attack of mania would certainly not be a free agent during the existence of the attack.
Re-examined. On neither of the days on which I saw the prisoner did I observe any symptoms of puerperal mania about her—she seemed affectionally disposed towards the children—she handled them carefully and behaved as women generally do in bringing their children to be vaccinated.
By the COURT. There are no symptons by which we can Ascertain the approach of puerperal mania; very frequently it is impossible to observe Any except from what afterwards takes place—there are no symptoms recognisable by medical skill, either before or after.
JANE BANKS . I am the wife of Henry Banks, of West Street, Reigate—I have known the prisoner some time—on 12th June, after she returned from London, I went to her house and saw her—she asked me if I would like to see the baby—I said, "Yes," and she went up and fetched it down—she said she was going to take it to London for the last time on Monday—on Sunday I met her accidentally between the moat and the pond—I thought she looked very much depressed indeed—I had seen the baby first on the Thursday, and again on the Saturday, and then she said she was going to take it to London on Monday.
Cross-examined. She seemed very fond of the child—she treated it as affectionately as a mother could treat a child—on the Saturday she said to me, "Kiss the baby, Jenny, for the last time, as I am going to take it to London on Monday"—I understood that she had got a home for it there—altogether I saw her twice with the child—on each occasion she appeared a very affectionate mother.
LAURA RITCHIE . I am the wife of William Ritchie, a harness maker, of 4, Worcester Cottages, Reigate, next door but one to No. 6, where Mrs. Creasy lives—I know the prisoner—I saw her on Monday morning, June 18th, soon after seven—I said to her, "I should think you have been up all night"—she said, "For why?"—I said, "Because your little Dolly had been knocking at my door soon after four"—she said, "yes, I got up soon after four"—she said she was going to London to take her baby to see a doctor to have its arm seen to—I saw her again about twelve the same day, down the garden, with the baby in her arms—she asked me if I would mind her little girl till she came home—I asked what time she would be home—she said, "At tea-time"—I next saw her at near upon eight next day in the shed at the bottom of her garden—she was then very wet—I said, "How wet you are, Minnie?"—she said, "Good gracious, talk about London mud!"—I took her indoors, and she dried herself—she took her stockings off; they were wet up to her knees, and her boots were sopping wet and smothered in wet sand—Mrs. Creasy gave her some clothing—I saw her next day hanging her clothes on my line to dry—she went out that day with her little girl—I said nothing to her about the child.
Cross-examined. Apparently she had great affection for her child—she
told me she was up about four that day—she was engaged in packing up things belonging to her father—I saw her again about eight that evening—her father had then left the house—she complained to me that she had nowhere to go—her father told me he was going to Leatherhead—I had known her for about twelve months.
HANNAH WHITREN . I am the wife of George Whitren, of York Street, Reigate—on 18th June, about four o'clock, I met the prisoner in Hard wick Road, opposite the National School, about forty rods from them coming from the direction of the moat—I saw that her dress was wet and dirty—she saw me notice it, and said, "I have some London mud on my dress"—she seemed all right and quiet—I saw nothing about her manner of speaking; she seemed quite pleasant.
Cross-examined. I said at the Police-court, "I asked her how she was, and she said she was better"—she had not been complaining of anything to me at the time—I understood she had had a child.
CHARLES WALDEN . I am landlord of the Blue Anchor, in West Street, Reigate, and am also at times a jobbing gardener—on the morning of 21st June, at near half-past eight, I was going home to breakfast, and passing over the bridge that crosses the moat I saw the body of a child in the water—I touched it with a pole that I found near, and I gave information to Inspector King at the Police-station at Reigate.
JAMES KING . I am Inspector of Police at Reigate—on the morning of 21st June, about half-past eight, Walden gave me information as to what he had seen in the moat; I went there, and saw the body of the child partly floating in the water; I took it out, and took it to the Police-station—the body was about eight feet from the parapet of the bridge—there is no current or stream in the water—when I got the body out of the water the hands were tightly clenched, and drawn up close to the breast, and were full of black mud—the head and ears were also full of black mud—I noticed nothing else particularly then—when I took it to the station I thoroughly examined it—there were no clothes on it whatever, it was quite naked—there were no marks of violence upon it whatever—in my judgment I should say it had been about forty-eight hours in the water—there was a small mark on the right cheek, close to the lobe of the ear—it was a female child—there were four vaccination marks on the left arm.
GEORGE JEFFREY . I am a police sergeant stationed at Reigate—on 21st June, in consequence of information, I went to Worcester Cottages; I was in plain clothes—I saw the prisoner—I told her who I was, and asked her if she had been delivered of a female child within the last two months—she replied, "Yes"—I asked her if I might be allowed to see it—she said, "You can't do that; Mrs. Brown, 113, Battersea Road, Chelsea, has adopted it, and taken it off my hands altogether"—I asked her how she came to know Mrs. Brown—she said, "By advertisement, but I could not say in what paper"—I asked her where she had been confined—she said, "In the lying-in ward at Lambeth, on the 26th of May last"—she then told me that she handed the baby to Mrs. Brown at Charing Cross Railway Station on the 18th June—she said she had not seen the baby since—I told her she would have to go to the Police-station with me, where I should detain her until I had made further inquiries—next day, Friday, I tried to find 113, Battersea Road, Chelsea, but could find no such place—I went to 113, Battersea Park Road; that was not occupied
by Mrs. Brown, but by a gentleman who had lived there eleven years—I then went to the Lambeth Union, and after making inquiries there I came back and saw the prisoner at the Police-station, where she was detained; that was on the Friday evening—I told her that I had been to London, and found that the statements she had made to me were false—she said she wished she had told the truth in the first place—finding that she was about to make a statement, I cautioned her in the usual way. (MR. TAYLOR here interposed, and suggested, as the statement referred to an act done by the prisoner as regarded the other child, it would not be relevant to the present, inquiry, the evidence as to which was not disputed. MR. NAPIER. submitted that he was entitled to give evidence of facts done at the time, and the admissions as to them would me material. MR. JUSTICE COLLINS. as of opinion that the statement was admissible, as it related to another act done at a distance from that alleged in the present indictment, and also with reference to the prisoner's conduct and state of mind at the time, the suggestion having been made that the act was done under a sudden attack of mania)—I made a note of the statement at the time, and have it here—after being, cautioned, she said, "On Monday, June 18th, I put the child in the moat some time before I saw Mrs. Whitren. The other child was in the pond by Waterloo Park; I drowned that the same night. I can't give the time, but it was before I drowned the one in the moat. The one you found in the moat was Minnie May, and the other one in Waterloo Park was Lilly Mary."—On the following morning, Saturday, about half-past seven. I went to the pond in Waterloo Park—I saw the body of Lilly Mary floating in the water, head downwards, about two feet and a half from the road, and in about three feet of water, floating, head downwards—the current was just above it—the legs were drawn up above the water and bent—there was a small piece of flannel round the body—with that exception there were no other clothes whatever—I noticed mud on the child; it was dirty—the colour of it was a bluey clay—I charged the prisoner on Friday, the 22nd, as to Minnie Mary—I read the charge to her; she made no answer—on the following morning I charged her with the murder of the other child; she made no answer—I have made search for any clothes belonging to the children, but have found none—I have made every possible inquiry, but have not succeeded in finding them.
Cross-examined. Part of the moat is in a public recreation ground—the pond in Waterloo Park is at a distance, and is practically in the fields.
CHARLES SPENCER PALMER . I am a medical practitioner at Redhill—on the 21st of June last, the body of a female child was handed to me by Inspector King—it had a wart in front of the right ear; the child was a few weeks old; six or seven—I made a post-mortem examination—it was very wet when handed to me—death was due to drowning—I have no doubt, that it was alive at the time it was put into the water—on Saturday, the 23rd of June, the body of another female child was handed to me by head constable Moran at the Police-station—that body had a piece of flannel round the stomach—I made a post-mortem examination of the body, and was satisfied that it had died from suffocation caused by drowning—the first child had been in the water from a day to two or three days, it was quite fresh—the second child had been in the water longer—the appearances were consistent with both the bodies having been put into the water on the 18th.
Cross-examined. I hold a number of public appointments—I have
listened to the evidence given by Dr. Loarne this morning with regard to puerperal mania—I agree with him that it may suddenly arise and very suddenly cease—women who have recently been confined are very frequently disposed to that form of misfortune—I generally agree with what Dr. Loarne has stated.
Re-examined. It is only women who have been confined who can have puerperal mania—in most cases there would be other symptoms than killing observable—as a rule, when it is coming on there is great depresssion of spirits and dulness; those are the chief symptoms; of course, it can show itself in so many different ways—puerperal mania and puerperal fever are two distinct things—by puerperal mania I understand a condition of the mind contrary to the normal condition, and which may come on at any time, from a few hours after confinement to several weeks—it is not merely a desire to kill your own children; it very often takes the form of a wish to kill the husband—it sometimes passes off very quickly—it is very difficult to draw distinctions—the only way would be by watching the actions, and seeing whether they are sane or insane; if the actions before and after were rational, that would guide one to the conclusion that she was not suffering from puerperal mania—she might or might not remember immediately after the act that she had killed her children; there is no distinction to be drawn from that as to whether the person was rational or not—a sane woman who had killed her children would not be likely to forget it in a few hours; if insane she might forget it in twenty-four hours. Q. Supposing you found that a person who had done such an act remembered that she had done it, and remembered where she had drowned the two children in different places, would not that be evidence that she was sane at the time? A. It would certainly. If a woman really insane was under the impression that she had left the child in charge of somebody, whereas she had drowned it, that would be a delusion, and I should not expect her to throw off that delunion in a few days, and then remember that she had drowned it, and where; I should expect the delusion to continue.
JOSEPH LOARNE (Recalled by the Court). In my view a woman suffering from puerperal mania, and in that state of mania committing a crime, would not remember all the details of it an hour afterwards—as to results, there is really no difference between puerperal mania and any other form of mania—if she could not remember one act done in a state of mania, she would not remember other acts.
By MR. TAYLOR. I agree with Dr. Palmer that she might or might not remember; I think she probably would remember—that would not necessarily be a ground for thinking she was suffering from mania at the time—that fact alone would not afford any ground for drawing an inference; you would have to enter into other circumstances; if she did remember, it would not necessarily give an inference one way or the other—I have been speaking rather from cases I have read than from personal experience.
By MR. AVORY. Generally speaking it is a characteristic of puerperal mania for the person to show aversion to the child before any actual violence is offered to it.
on the following day, and from that time up to the present she has been more or less under my observation—when she first came in I did not observe the slightest symptoms of insanity about her, nor have I since.
Cross-examined. I agree generally with the evidence given by Dr. Lerne—it is possible that puerperal mania may arise without being preceded with any perceptible symptoms—I would not say that it would be absolutely impossible for it to cease suddenly without any symptons—I think I have only attended one case of puerperal mania, a case tried in this Court—I have only been at Holloway since last January—I should expect previous symptoms to have been seen in cases of puerperal mania.
Re-examined. In order to distinguish between sane and insane persons I should always look to their conduct before and after the act which is the subject of inquiry—if the conduct immediately before and after the act is that of a sane person, I should, as a rule, form the opinion that the person was sane at the time of the commission of the act—the absence of motive is a strong evidence of insanity when you can find no other explanation of the act—if a woman with legitimate children, and in ample and comfortable circumstances, suddenly murders them, I should certainly have a very strong suspicion of insanity.
GUILTY .— DEATH . The JURY. very strongly recommended the prisoner to mercy.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
850. WALTER CLIFFORD (66), PLEADED GUILTY to stealing at Farnham a post letter, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster General, having been convicted of a like offence at this Court on October 19th, 1885.— Two Months' Hard Labour.
852. WILLIAM JONES (33) , to stealing a purse from the person of Lydia Puttock; also to a conviction of felony in June, 1883, in the name of William Marshall. A constable proved that the prisoner was sentenced to seven years for stealing from the person, and that he had previously been convicted— Seven Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
853. GUY SMITH (55) , to unlawfully assaulting James Trotman.—Discharged on recognizances. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] There was another indictment against the prisoner for feloniously shooting at James Trotman with intent to do him grievous bodily harm, upon which MR. GLEN, for the prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. PARTRIDGE. Prosecuted.
LILY GIONTA . I am assistant at a confectioner's shop, 140, Waterloo Road—on September 19th, between seven and eight, I served the prisoner with two penny cakes—she gave me a florin—I bit a piece out of it, and told her it was bad—she said she did not know it—I said I recognised her as having given me a bad coin three weeks before—she denied it, and I gave her in custody with the coin; this is it, and this is the previous coin (Produced)—I gave the first coin to Ada Harris, and sent her to get some fruit, and she came back with this piece.
it in payment—the man broke a piece out of it, and kept it, and I took the other piece back to Miss Gionta.
ROBERT DIBLEY . I am assistant to Mr. Joseph, a fruiterer, of New Cut, Lambeth—on September 1st the last witness came with this coin—I broke a piece out of it, and kept one piece and gave her the other.
FREDERICK WEEKS (187 L). I was called to 140 Waterloo Road, and found the prisoner detained—I took her in custody—the prosecutrix said she had been there three weeks previously—she said, "I have not been here before"—she was charged at the station and made no reply—I received a coin from Miss Gionta.
Prisoner's defence. I did not know it was bad.
NOT GUILTY .
GEORGE FOWLER . I am barman at the Black Prince—on October 8th, about 4.30, Fisher came there and struck me a blow, and said that I had put him "away," as they had changed hands at the public-house—I had seen him before—I was pushed down, and when I was down Bain took my watch and chain—I was not struck when I was down.
Cross-examined by Fisher. You did not say, "Why do you call me Big eyes?"—I had my coat off, but I was not fighting—I struck back at you but did not strike you—you did not say, "I will give you in best."
Cross-examined by Bain. The people did not take my coat and waistcoat off—I was standing outside the Black Prince—I did not say that it was either you or Fisher, and I would accuse you both—I saw you take my watch—you put your hand under my right arm.
By the COURT. I knew Fisher before—I had had no quarrel with him, but my governor refused to serve him—two horse-keepers were outside and the two prisoners.
JOSEPH BARRINGTON . I am a cabdriver—on 8th October, between four and five o'clock, I saw the two prisoners outside the Black Prince—Fisher struck Fowler on the mouth, and knocked him down—he got up again to defend himself, and said, "What did you do that for?"—Fisher pulled him down and fell on top of him, and Bain took his watch and chain and ran away.
Cross-examined by Bain. No one said, "Keep your eye on the biggest one; that is the one who has got the watch."
GEORGE ROPER (236 L). On October 8th, about 4.30, I was called to the Black Prince, and found Fowler and the prisoners there—Fowler said that the prisoners had robbed him of a watch and chain—Bain said, "You have got me for a watch; you won't find it on me, the one who has got it has run away."
The prisoners' statements before the Magistrate:—Fisher says: "I had been out with my load and returned about four; someone called me 'Big eyes.' I struck him; he hit me again, and knocked me into the
gutter."Bain says: "While being taken to the station the cabman said, 'Keep your eyes on the big man; that is the man who has the watch, see that he does not put it behind him.'"
Fisher's defence. The prosecutor called me Big eyes and struck me, and I struck him again. I was picked up out of the gutter. I did not even know he had a watch. I never saw Bain all day.
Bain's defence. As I was coming home I saw the crowd; but as for falling on top of him, it is not true. All I did was to pick the man up.
G. FOWLER (Re-examined). I went out of the house door, and Fisher came up and struck me on my face—there was hardly any interval before Bain came up—I knew them both by using the house, sometimes in company and sometimes alone—I cannot explain why Fisher struck me—I never called him anything—I had a coat on like this, and was wearing my chain like this—I saw him take my watch—I know them well as associates—I have seen them come in together and drink together.
FISHER— NOT GUILTY .
BAIN— GUILTY. of stealing only — Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. GRAZEBROOK. Prosecuted.
HENRY REDMAN (52 M). On September 14th, about 3.30 a.m. I was on duty in Southwark, walking along—I heard a noise as of a window opening and Venetian blinds; I went across, turned on my light, and saw the prisoner standing in the room—I said, "What are you doing in this room?"—he said, "Nothing"—I said, "I think you are, and you had better come out"—he said, "Where shall I come out?"—I said, "The way you came in"—when he came out I said, "You are my prisoner"—I blew my whistle and Smith came up—inside the room I found some property done up in the table-cloth, a clock, a lady's mantle, a silk jacket, and some lady's underclothing—I took him to the station—on the way he said, "You don't know my troubles"—when he got to the station he said he was not in the room—I found on him a bootlace and 1 1/2 d.—the prisoner was without a cap when he came out of the window; a cap was afterwards found in the room—the prisoner was asked, "Is this your cap?"—he said, "Yes."
Cross-examined by prisoner. Before I arrested you I was not standing at the top of the street with four or five constables—when I heard the noise I walked down and stood opposite the window and came across the road—I saw no one strike you when you were taken inside; you swung up against a constable's lantern and cut your eye, in the passage—we took you to the door while we got the bundle—we did not take you inside the room where the bundle was found—two other constables were with me—I did not kick you or see you kicked, or instigate a man to kick you—there was no man in the house—I saw the bundle in your hand as you were coming out of the window—I told you to come out of the window and you came, and meantime I whistled and two other policemen came up, one of them knocked at the door, which was opened—the widow and other persons occupying the house were excited and pushing about in the passage.
ANNIE COATES . I am a widow living at 173, Weston Street—on the evening of September 13th I went to bed, leaving the place securely fastened—I afterwards saw the prisoner in the passage—this bundle of things is my property—it was not tied up when I went to bed—I found the window open and the blind half-way drawn up—no one occupied the room; I work in it.
Cross-examined. I saw two policemen in the passage—the lodger opened the door; I saw you in the passage—they brought you inside the room, and I said, "You cowardly humbug, to rob me and my children!"—you said, "You don't know my trouble"—my lodger and his wife were in the room—the constable did not instigate him to strike you—I did not see the constables strike you; your eye was not bleeding—you had no cap on—the inspector picked up a cap by the leg of the couch—the cap does not belong to any member of my family—I have only young children.
WALTER SMITH (329 M). I was called to this house on this night by a signal I received from the other constable—I saw him attempting to drag the prisoner through the open window—we got him outside, and asked what he was doing in there—he said, "Nothing"—I asked if he lived there; he said, "No"—we knocked at the door, and aroused the prosecutrix, who came down and let us in—we went into the parlour, and saw the blind had been broken at one corner, and tied back, and this bundle was all ready tied up just inside the window—we took the prisoner to the station, and went back and examined the place, and found this cap in the room—the prisoner had no cap or hat on when taken into custody—I found the window could be opened by the insertion of a very thin knife—at the station he said he had not been in the room—I saw a mark on his eye—I cannot say how it was done; I think it must have been in the struggle.
Cross-examined. Two other constables came, after me, before we took you to the station—you were taken to the door of the room where the bundle was—you were not struck—I did not hear you make any complaint—I saw no blood on you—I saw you had a bruise, no cut—no officer struck you—there was no struggle after we got you from the window—I brought the cap to you and asked if it was yours, and you said it was—I did not assist in kicking you up and down the room—your clothes were torn—it is probable they would be as you were pulled through the window—I was about twenty yards off when I saw the signal and I ran down.
Re-examined. No more force than was necessary was used towards him.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that he was standing in the street watching a fire when the constable arrested him, and summoned other constables and took him inside the house, where they knocked him about, and he lost his cap.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY**† to a conviction of felony at this Court in September, 1891, in the name of Ernest Fairbank.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. STEWARD. Prosecuted.
WILLIAM PITT . I am a watchmaker and jeweller at 106A, Upper Kennington Lane—I went to bed about eleven p.m. on October 8th, leaving all my doors and windows safe—about 4.10 a.m. next morning I was awoke by the ringing of the street door bell—I went down and opened the door and saw two constables with Morris—one of the constables said, "You have got burglars here"—I saw the door leading into the shop was open, and a candle burning in the shop—I and the constables looked, and found Dickson in the shed—we brought him back into the shop, and found a lot of jewellery that had been taken in his pockets; it was worth £40—we saw that he had got in through the scullery window, which looks out on the side street, by bending two iron bars asunder, and forcing back the catch, and pulling down the top of the window—then three door bolts had been pushed back before he could get into the shop—you could see the marks of a knife on the bolts—I found mud and the mark of a jemmy on the bottom of the window—Morris was brought into the shop, and he stood there perfectly still; he saw Dickson brought in, and the jewellery taken out of his pockets; he said nothing.
Cross-examined. I leave a light burning in my hall over the street door—when I came down in the morning there was a candle alight in the shop—if the door was open a glimmer of light would show in the shop from the hall light—it was not my candle that was burning—a door leads from the shop into the passage—I had fastened that before going to bed with a secret bolt inside the shop, and then I had come out through the shop parlour—a knife would be required to open the bolts.
WILLIAM CLAYDEN (102 H). About four a.m. on 9th October I was on duty, and I saw Morris loitering about outside Pitt's shop, and I kept him under observation for twelve or thirteen minutes—he crossed over the road and whistled twice, and immediately I saw a light flashing into the shop—Stratton came up—I said, "There is something wrong over in this shop"—we went over—I said to Morris, "What are you waiting about for?"—he said, "Nothing; I am waiting for the houses to open; I have no money to pay my lodgings at Lord Rowton's lodging-house"—I took him into custody—we rang the bell—Mr. Pitt came down—we asked him whether anything was the matter—he said, "Yes, I think so"—I went into the shop with Stratton—we took the prisoner inside—the prosecutor looked round the shop, and missed a lot of jewellery—we took Dickson into custody, and found a lot of jewellery on him, and saw that the place had been entered.
Cross-examined. I was standing at the corner of Durham Street when I first saw you—you were at the corner of Tyre Street—you would have as good an opportunity of seeing me as I should have of seeing you—I was in uniform—I saw the flashing of the light about ten minutes after I first saw you—I stood at the corner of the street ten or twelve minutes—you whistled twice, and then I saw the light—you did not walk away—you were outside the private door—you did not try to get away when I came across to take you—in reply to the charge at the station you said, "I am innocent; I know nothing about it."
burglariously breaking and entering 160A, Upper Kennington Lane, and stealing the property mentioned in the indictment—Morris said, "I am innocent; I know nothing about it"—on Morris was found a pocket-book, a pack of cards, two pawntickets, a broken table knife, a piece of wire, a piece of glass, and two small reels of cotton—the small penknife found on Dickson would not, in my opinion, be strong enough to force the catch of the window, but the knife found on Morris could have done it—the secret bolts on the doors could be opened by the penknife, not by Morris's knife—the cotton might be used for replacing a policeman's private mark in case they broke it—two upright bars outside the scullery window had been pulled asunder in the centre, over five feet from the ground—in my opinion Dickson could not reach so high, and have sufficient pulling power, as he is about five feet five inches—no instrument was used; they were pulled apart by physical strength.
Cross-examined. The knife was wrapped up in thick blue paper—there were marks on the catch of the window as if it had been pushed back by some sharp instrument—I should think one stood on each side of the window and pulled the bars apart—one person might have pulled both bars, one at a time.
WILLIAM DEFRAINE . I live at Rowton House, Vauxhall, and am a hairdresser—Morris is my brother; that is not his real name—I know Dickson as a customer only—Morris used to live at Rowton House with me, and Dickson lived there, too—I cannot swear that Morris and Dickson knew each other—Morris lodged there about six weeks ago—we were all three lodgers there together; there are 500 lodgers—I have only seen Morris and Dickson speaking like others would do; I cannot swear I ever saw them walking out together.
Cross-examined. As far as I remember, you lodged there six or seven weeks prior to this burglary—I should say Dickson lodged there up to the time of it—I had seen you together in the hairdressing place, that is all—I had not seen you together so as to make it appear you were associates.
Re-examined. I have not told the inspector I saw them walking and talking together.
The prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate, said that he was with two people on this night, and if he was admitted to bail, he would call them as witnesses.
In his defence, he stated that he was waiting for a coffee shop to open to get some coffee, and that lie whistled; and danced to keep his feet warm.
The prisoner called
GEORGE DICKSON . I only saw you at Rowton House for seven or eight weeks, as a lodger, the same as 400 or 500 others; I only spoke to you to pass the time of day or something of that sort—you were not concerned with me on this night in any way—I had not seen you before the police-man brought you into the hall, and I was surprised to see you.
By the COURT. I was so surprised that I could not say a word to the policeman, and I thought perhaps they were only charging him with loitering—I did not tell the inspector or the Magistrate, because I thought he was only charged with loitering at first—it did not come into my head at the time—I thought I would say so in Court in the morning, and before I had time to do so we were remanded for a week, and the next time we were committed for trial.
GUILTY . MORRIS then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony in December, 1889, in the name of John Defrain.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. DICKSON— Ten Months' Hard Labour.
MR. DRAKE. Prosecuted, and MR. WARBURTON. Defended Rodford.
CHARLES FREDERICK APPLETON . I live at Woodbine, Swanage Road, Wands worth, and am a solicitor—on September 1st I went for a holiday, leaving my house securely fastened all over—I left the key of the garden entrance with Mr. Hobbs, my neighbour, and on the day after I left I sent by registered post the front door key to him—on Tuesday evening, 11th September, I received a telegram, and returned to town—I found several of the rooms in great disorder, particularly the front bed-room—I missed four scarf pins, a neck chain and locket, a watchchain, three lady's rings, other jewellery, and some plate, of the value altogether of over £30, I should think—I had in the top back bedroom two small cardboard boxes full of ball programmes—this is one of them with my name on it, written by myself.
WILLIAM COOPER HOBBS . I am a clerk; I live at Homestead, Swanage Road, Wands worth, next door to Mr. Appleton—I had his keys when he went away in September—on Saturday, 8th September, soon after seven p.m., I was walking along a plot of land, and I saw Rodford alone—as soon as he saw me he walked away—I thought I knew him; I had once seen him to speak to before that day—I also saw Naylor by a fence in Killarney Road; I never saw him to speak to before—I returned about eleven, and then I saw Rodford in Crieff Road, just by Killarney Road; I am almost positive it was him; it was very dark at the time—about twelve I was just going up to bed, and I heard a noise as of something falling next door—I picked out the prisoners from about a dozen others at the Police-court—that Saturday evening, when I went out, I looked at Mr. Appleton's house particularly—on the Tuesday, in consequence of information, I went into the house about seven with Inspector Bradbury—all these dance programmes were on the servant's bed, as if they had been pitched out.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. There was nothing to show the house had been broken into unless you went right up to the door—I just went into the house on Saturday afternoon to see if there were any letters, and I did not go in again till Tuesday, the 11th—I was staying away from the Sunday till the Tuesday—it was quite dark when I saw Rodford at eleven—I am positive I saw both prisoners at seven.
Cross-examined by Naylor. I did not think the house had been broken into that night—I thought it was the cat which had mode the noise.
FRANCIS PIKE (Detective V). I arrested Naylor on another charge—I and other officers arrested Rodford on the 12th—I searched his house, and in the inside pocket of a coat hanging up on his bedroom door I found this ball programme—Rodford was there; he asked me what I was going to do with the coat; it was his—I said I was going to take it to the station-referring to the card, I said, "You are fond of dancing, then?"—he said, "Yes, would you like a tune on the concertina?"—there
was a concertina on the mantelshelf—I said it was too late for that.
Cross-examined. Rodford lives three or four miles, I should say, from Mr. Appleton.
JOHN WINZER (Serjeant V). I was present when Pike took this coat from the prisoner's room—he found this card in the pocket at the station—Pike said, "Do you dance?"—Rodford said, "No; I play a concertina."
CHARLES BRADLEY (Inspector V.). On 11th September, about eight p.m., I called at Mr. Appleton's house—I found the door had been forced by a jemmy, the box of the lock was partially hanging to the screws—in the first floor back lied room I saw an empty box lying on the bed and a great number of ball programmes were strewn on the bed—several drawers of a chest of drawers were open—the room was in confusion—several things were strewn about the floor as well—all the rooms in the house had been turned about.
The COMMON SERJEANT. directed the JURY. to acquit Naylor as there was no evidence against him.
JOHN RODFORD— GUILTY .
NAYLOR— NOT GUILTY .
MR. DRAKE. Prosecuted.
GEORGE BROWNEN . I am a chemist, of 16, Althorpe Road, Upper Tooting—before 3rd August I went for my holiday, leaving my house in charge of my married niece, Rose Lamb—I received information and returned and missed a watch and chain and a purse with money in it.
Cross-examined. I received information by letter two days after my house had been broken into.
MARTHA CANHAM . I am a servant at 18, Althorpe Road—on 3rd August I was in the front bedroom between three and 3.30p.m. and saw the prisoner come out of No. 16, next door—he banged the door and shut the gate and passed No. 18—I picked him out instantly from seven or eight others at the Police-court.
Cross-examined. I heard you bang the door and saw you leave the gate, I am certain.
ROSE LAMB . I live at 62, Ferndale Road, Clapham—on 3rd August I was living at my uncle's house, 16, Althorpe Road—I left at three p.m. on 3rd August, after locking both locks on the front door—when I returned at five one lock was on the floor and the other had been forced open—I pushed the door and it opened—I found all the drawers and boxes in three bedrooms turned upside down—I missed a watch and chain and 11s. from my purse.
GEORGE FELLOWS (Detective V). I went to 16, Althorpe Road on 3rd August, in consequence of information—I found the front door had been forced by a blunt instrument—the box of the lock was left hanging by two screws—different parts of the house had been ransacked—I was present when Canham identified the prisoner at the Police-station.
FRANCIS PIKE (Detective V). I was present with Winzer when Naylor was arrested—I told him I was going to take him into custody, and he would be charged with housebreaking—he made no answer—he was sitting in a chair partly dressed, and pretending to be asleep—he wanted a stud for
his shirt, and walked backwards to the fireplace, pretending to pick the stud off the floor, when he took up this poker and made a hit at Winzer's head; but it hit his thigh—we seized him and took him to the station—he was afterwards identified by Canham from thirteen or fourteen without hesitation.
Cross-examined. Winzer could scarcely walk when we got outside the door.
Re-examined. Three constables were present, and when his wife screamed, when we took the poker from the prisoner, two other constables came in.
JOHN WINZER (Sergeant V). I was with Pike when the prisoner was arrested—when he was told the charge he seemed somewhat dazed for a moment—he had evidently been drinking—he said, "I am not going like this; I must have a collar-stud"—his wife tried to find one—he backed towards the fireplace, and stooped down and took up the poker, and made a rush and struck at my head—I drew back, and the poker struck my thigh; it hit some keys in my pocket—it was a violent blow, and rendered me lame for some hours; next morning I could hardly walk—he said, "If there had been only two of you, I should have done for you"—he was seized and held down on the chair; he was very violent—three of us took him to the station.
Cross-examined. There were three of us, or you would have been violent—I said, going to the station, "You don't make the matter any better by assaulting me. You have never seen me before, to my knowledge, in your life"—I did not say I should like to shoot you—we had to hold you by the throat; you were very violent—I had to be about next day.
The prisoner asserted his innocence.
GUILTY . NAYLOR then PLEADED GUILTY*† to a conviction of felony in, November, 1891, in the name of John Farmer, and RODFORD**† to one in December, 1885.
A constable stated that during the last four years there had been three hundred or four hundred burglaries in this district, and twenty or thirty last summer, and that there were reasons for suspecting the prisoners were implicated in some of them. Seven Years' Penal Servitude each.
Before Mr. Recorder.
861. HENRY NORRIS (64) , to unlawfully attempting to obtain a quantity of provisions from Thomas Carter by false pretences, having been convicted at this Court in April, 1888.— One Day's Imprisonment, having still to serve four and a half years of his previous sentence. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
862. GEORGE ANDREW BUCKLE (26) , to stealing, whilst employed in the Post Office, a post letter containing three postal orders for 20s. each.— Six Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
863. JAMES TARCISIUS O'BRIEN (25), and JOHN DINNER (23) , to stealing six tame rabbits, the property of John Henry Hayward, O'Brien having been previously convicted at this Court in September, 1893. O'BRIEN— Four Months' Hard Labour. DINNER— Two Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
864. DANIEL HALL (16) , Feloniously wounding William Sanger, with intent to do him grievous bodily harm. He stated in the hearing of the JURY. that he was GUILTY. of unlawfully wounding, and they found that verdict. — To enter into his own recognizances.
MR. PICKERSGILL. Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL. Defended
Plummer and Taylor.
CHARLES HICKS . I am a horse-dealer, of Woolwich—I have seen Plummer at sale-rooms—on 2nd October I was at Croydon Fair—I saw Plummer with Taylor about 5.30 p.m.—Plummer had a donkey and barrow—Williams came in about five minutes afterwards—he said to me, "I have got a good donkey for sale; will you buy it for £3?"—I agreed to pay him £2, all but a shilling, for luck—then Taylor said, "You will have to go to Streatham to get the donkey, to leave the barrow"—I agreed to that—between 5.30 and 6.30 I sold a horse—we left Croydon about 6.30 in the donkey cart—Ott was present, and another one I did not know, who jumped out in the Croydon Road—on the way the trace came undone, and Williams said, "Get down and do up the trace"—I said, "No," but I got down, and when I got to the trace Williams struck me with his whip handle on the top of the head, and knocked me down—he took it from Plummer—there was a wound which bled—Ott then took out of my trousers pocket £6 10s. in gold and two half-crowns, and two or three coppers—I tried to get my donkey out when Plummer knocked me down again, and a tall gentleman, the witness Johnson, came And picked me up—Plummer was gone to the donkey's head—I do not remember where Taylor was—three men were on the top of me—Williams and Ott; I could not say who the third man was—they would have killed me but for Johnson—the prisoners got away—I followed Johnson to the Police-station—the donkey was gone when I looked for it—I picked out Plummer and Taylor at the station about half an hour afterwards—I next saw Williams and Ott in Kennington Lane, near to the Police-station, when Plummer and Taylor were brought up—I said to Williams and Ott, "Will you come into Court along with me?"—they walked along, and when they got in they said they knew nothing about it—I gave information to the police and they were arrested—I have not seen the donkey since.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I went into two public-houses and Plummer said, "You can have your donkey after another mile"—I told the Magistrate the prisoners knocked me muddled—I did not say I was pretty muddled—I was not pretty muddled when I parted from the prisoners—I put my mark to the depositions—I heard them read over. (Read: "I was pretty muddled when we parted")—I have not been charged and convicted of drunkenness—I did not say, "I have come out of prison three weeks ago for being drunk"—I said I had been in trouble through getting drunk—I did not say, "I had seven days at Woolwich for being drunk and standing in the street with a barrow"—I was sober when I was before the Magistrate—I never had seven days for standing in the street with a barrow; I had three months for lending a horse out—I did say before the Magistrate, "Williams And Ott ran away, and Plummer and Taylor went away with the donkey And barrow"—it was true—I did not see Plummer and Taylor later the same evening; only at the station, not afterwards.
Cross-examined by the prisoner Williams. I first saw you at the sales, when I took £3 10s. for a horse—I was sober at the fair.
By the JURY. I had been drinking after I bought the donkey.
THOMAS JOHNSON . I live at 13, Heythorne Road, West Croydon—on 2nd October I was at Croydon Fair, when I heard a noise of scuffling and beating of something—I went in that direction about forty yards—turning the corner of the Glen Eldon Road I saw three men on the ground and one or two others standing around—I moved towards them, and heard one man say, "Have you his money?"—the other said, "Yes"—they were twenty-five yards away, and there was a lamp giving an extra light between us, which made it seem darker, but I imagine it was a man who was standing asked the question—the man's head was towards the lamp-post—one man appeared to be holding him by the shoulder, another a biggish man (I could not tell by their faces, simply by their figures) was holding his legs, another was behind his back holding him, and another looking on—another man, who appeared to be shorter, was holding the head of the donkey—there was a fifth man besides the prosecutor—I believe Taylor was the man standing, by his general cut and figure—immediately I approached them I heard the words mentioned, and "Let us be off," and they went off in the donkey cart—the prosecutor was struggling to get up, half senseless—he was very much knocked about and covered with blood—I endeavoured to rouse him—I went on at once after the men, and to the Police-station—on the right was a field leading to Leigham Court, and on the left a garden fence, and a house at the corner of Glen Eldon Road, and another house at the corner of the road—the prisoners went off in the donkey cart.
Cross-examined by the prisoner Williams. I was asked at the Police-court, and I said I could not see a whip—I could not recognise the faces.
By the JURY. I only saw the back of Taylor—it was not so very dark, but too dark for me to make sure.
JOHN CASTLE (Sergeant 56 W). I received information from Johnson, gave certain instructions, and the prisoners Plummer and Taylor were brought to the station—the prosecutor identified them as the men who had robbed him—they were searched—Williams and Ott were taken into custody the following morning by Goddard.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. The White lion public-house is near the station—Plummer and Taylor denied the charge after it was taken—they said they had been with the prosecutor—the prosecutor had had some drink.
By the COURT. I have said he was sober enough to pass him for duty if he had been a policeman—Plummer said, when pointed out by the prosecutor, that he had not seen him before, and afterwards, when charged at the Police-court, that they had been drinking together.
JAMES HOWARD (538 W). On 2nd October I assisted in the arrest of Plummer and Taylor in the High Road, Streatham, about 10.40 or 10.45 p.m.—Plummer held the donkey's head—Taylor was fifty or sixty yards in front of Plummer, in company with a prostitute—I said to Plummer I should arrest him on suspicion of being concerned with others in assaulting and robbing a man some little time ago—he said, "I have got no money; have you got those that have the money?"—I took him
to the station, where the prosecutor immediately identified him—Taylor said to Plummer, "I have got the knock, and so have you, I have no money on me, no more have you; this is going to Croydon Fair"—I searched, and found on Plummer two half sovereigns, two two-shilling pieces, and twopence bronze—this whip was also in his possession when arrested.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I took a note of what Plummer said on this paper (Produced)—I had it, but did not refer to it before the Magistrate—Plummer did not say in my hearing, "I have not got a farthing"—our rule is to take down a statement as soon as possible afterwards—I spoke from recollection before the Magistrate. (The note was: "I have not got a farthing. I have not gob any money," etc.)—the prisoner did not say "his money," but "any money"—I have no recollection of Plummer saying "I have not got a farthing on me"—Plummer and Taylor were found outside the White Lion, fifty or sixty yards from the station.
THOMAS WHITE (Detective W). I was with Howard when Plummer and Taylor were arrested—I told Taylor I should take him into custody for being concerned in a robbery and assault—he said, "I have not stolen anything from anyone"—at the station he said to Plummer, "You have got the knock and so have I"—I did not hear any more—I searched and found on Taylor half a sovereign in gold, 7s. 6d. in silver, and 4d. bronze—the prosecutor was sober, but he was exhausted from blows.
HENRY GODDARD (495 W). I assisted in the arrest of Taylor and Plummer—at the station Plummer said, "You have got the wrong two men; the other two men stole Hicks's money"—Taylor said, "We have not got his money, nor have we had any about us"—I arrested Williams and Ott—Williams said, "We thieves? we never stole anything"—when charged Williams said, "I did not steal his money, I left him with two men following a barrow to Streatham last night; they had his money"—Ott said, "You are making it up for me, two men with a donkey and barrow knocked you down and stole your money"—the latter words were to Hicks—I searched and found on Williams 12s. silver and 5 1/2 d. bronze, and on Ott 10s. 6d. silver and 2 1/2 d. bronze, and a new pair of boots.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I was within a few yards of Plummer when arrested, but did not hear what was said.
By the COURT. I asked the prisoners for their address—the answer of Ott and Williams was, "We have got no fixed abode"; Plummer and Taylor gave addresses.
Hicks here identified the whip produced, and stated that the ring now missing was on the handle when he was struck with it by Williams.
Ott and Taylor received good characters.
Williams read a written defence, stating that he was at the fair as a performer with his assistant Ott, and they afterwards got drinking with the prosecutor, who treated them and tossed for liquor, and Plummer asked him to ride, that Hicks knocked the donkey about, and Plummer "shoved" him off the barrow, and he was left in the road.
Ott read a defence stating that, after performing, they got drinking in company with Plummer and Hicks, that towards Streatham, Plummer drove the donkey cart down a dark turning, and said, "Right," when Williams "shoved" Hicks off the barrow, when he and Peardour, another man, got frightened, and ran away, and the next morning Williams dropped 10s.
and some coppers in his pocket, and said, if he said a word, he would knock his head off, that he asked what teas the matter, and Williams said, "You will soon see when you get up to the Sessions," and that when exercising, Williams said he and Plummer had done the job, so they got 30s, and gave him 15s. out. He concluded, "Believe me, they have had me in this here job."
GUILTY . TAYLOR and OTT recommended to mercy by the JURY — Three Months' Hard Labour.
PLUMMER PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Lambeth in April, 1892. He received a good character. PLUMMER and WILLIAMS— Six Months' Hard Labour. The proceeds of the robbery were ordered to be handed over to the prosecutor.
867. WALTER POTTER and CHARLES JONES were again indicted, with DAVID HOOPER (18) , for burglary in the dwelling-house of William Hill, and stealing one coat and thirty pairs of trousers, his property.Second Count, receiving the same.
POTTER and JONES PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. KYD, for the Prosecution, proceeded upon the Second Count only
WILLIAM FREDERICK HILL . I live at 5, St. Ann's Hill, Wandsworth—on August 27th I went to bed about 10.30—I was the last who went upstairs—I saw that all was securely fastened—the window below was closed, and the clasp fastened—I was awoke in the night by a police-man, and went down and opened the door—there were clothes all round the shop—there was a pile of fifteen pairs of trousers, one of twenty pairs, and two of fifteen pairs done up in bundles—the two of fifteen were gone—the glass was broken, the hasp undone, and the window down and still open—the whole place was in confusion.
CHARLES BRADLEY (Police Inspector V). Early on August 28th I received information, and went to 8, New Hill, Wandsworth, a wardrobe shop, and found the top pane broken, the catch forced back, and the sash pulled down—I saw foot-marks inside—in my opinion, only one person was in the shop—Mr. Hill was outside the shop.
JOSEPH GOUGH (Detective V). On September 26th I arrested Potter and Jones, and early next morning I took Hooper at 36, Camden Road, Wandsworth—I told him I was a police officer, and should arrest him for committing a burglary, with two others, on August 27th—he said, "I know nothing about it"—I also arrested a man named Sawyer, but he and Hooper were discharged by the Magistrate.
ROBERT FINNEY . I am a lather—I have known Hooper some time—I saw him on September 1st, and I had seen him a few days before—he asked me on the Monday to buy a pair of trousers for sixpence—he was alone—I said I had not got the money—he asked me again on September 1st, and Jones, who was with him, went and fetched them from his house, and gave them to me, and I gave him sixpence—Hooper used to be a mate of mine—I wore the trousers for a week—I never bought a pair of trousers for sixpence before.
them six weeks ago—I darned them myself—I gave four shillings for them, and should make a profit on them if I sold them—they could not be sold for sixpence.
Witnesses for the Defence.
CHARLES YOUNG (the prisoner Jones). I am a labourer—these thirteen pairs of trousers and a cloak is all we had—by "we" I mean Potter and I; there was no one else—Potter and I took the trousers—they were not worth more than sixpence, I sold two pairs at a rag shop for ninepence—Hooper was not with us when the robbery was committed—I gave him a pair of trousers on Saturday, and he sold them the same day—I do not know where he got the trousers which he was trying to sell to Finney on the Monday.
Cross-examined. I got in at the window, and handed out the trousers to Potter, not to Hooper—he was not there with us; I don't know where he was—I had three pairs of trousers in my house; I sold two at a rag shop and one pair I gave him—I have never given him trousers before—he did not think they were mine—he has never been in my house; he waited at the bottom, while I went and got them—he did not know that he could get a pair from me—he said that his trousers were worn out, and I said, "Wait a minute, I will get you a pair"—this is the pair I gave to Hooper—I had only got one pair—I gave them for nothing to a boy I had only known a week.
WALTER POTTER (The prisoner). I was concerned in this burglary in August when the trousers were stolen. Charley Young was with me; that is Jones—I do not know that the police arrested Hooper in consequence of what I told them—I have never said that Hooper was with us—we stole thirteen pairs of old trousers and an old coat—the other trousers were not much better than these—I had three pairs; we sold five or six pairs and two pairs in a rag shop, and the remaining eight pairs Young sold; I do not know where—I had about three shillings out of it—I had three pairs and Jones five, I don't know who had the rest—I ask the Jury to believe that—I signed this and gave it to the police inspector.
Cross-examined. I was arrested by Sergeant Gough at 34, Lower Road, Wandsworth, and made a statement—the inspector took it down—it was signed before it was read over—Jones got in at the window and I was at the window and the trousers were handed out—I did not say that J ones took the trousers and handed them out to Mike Hooper—Hooper and Jones did not commit two burglaries that night—this is my statement: Bead "This statement is a voluntary one and made of my own free will: I Mike Hooper, and Charles Jones broke into Cockrell's shop, opposite the Old Serjeant public-house, Garratt Lane, Wandsworth, about 2.30 in the morning. He got a few coins and two shillings in money. Mike Hooper cut some fishes' heads off that was in an aquarium, and he messed in the room. We pawned a jacket and vest for six shillings, and a pair of trousers for two shillings at Hammersmith Broadway. That is all I have to say about that case. We also broke into a wardrobe shop on St. Ann's Hill, about six weeks ago, and we took fourteen pairs of
trousers. Charles Jones got into the window and took them out to Mike Hooper. I was on the other side of the road at the time.—W. Potter."—we did not pawn the jacket and trousers the same night—it is not true that Jones handed the trousers out to Hooper—he handed them out to me.
Cross-examined. That is the only thing that is not true—when Jones was giving his evidence I was sitting on the stairs—I heard all he said.
CHARLES JONES (Re-examined). This is my signature:Read"This statement is a voluntary one, and made of my own free will: About five weeks ago, I and a Bill Collis and Mike Hooper went to St. Ann's Hill, and went into a wardrobe shop in St. Ann's Hill, We got through the window. We took about thirteen pairs of trousers, and took them over to Southfields. It was about three o'clock in the morning. Collis broke the window. We sold three pairs to Mrs. Whitehead, and two to Frank Sawyer; others to strangers.—Charles Jones."
HOOPER GUILTY — Twelve Months' Hard Labour each.
MR. ABINGER. Prosecuted.
EDWARD MEREDITH . I keep the Old Hatch, Roupel Street, Lambeth—on Saturday, September 22nd, I saw the prisoner in my house—my wife spoke to me about twelve o'clock; I went upstairs and picked up 2s. on the window-sill, 1s. 1d. in the gutter, and more money in the back yard—the window is thirty feet from the ground, but there is a dustbin, and then a urinal; it is almost like a pair of steps—anyone could get down from the bedroom window by the dustbin and the water-closet—I found the cash-box open in the bedroom—I saw the window closed early in the afternoon, but I found it open; it has no catch—I did not see the prisoner till the Wednesday—I had seen him in the tap-room that night—I went for a policeman on the Wednesday, and when I came back he had escaped—I saw him in the Cut, chased him, caught him, and gave him in custody—his house does not back on to mine, but it is very easy to get there—he could get to my bedroom by getting into the urinal, and putting his feet on the dustbin.
ANNIE MEREDITH . I am the wife of the last witness—on September 22nd, about twelve o'clock, I went into my bedroom, and saw a man getting out at the window; I caught hold of his coat, and held him, but lost my hold, and he dropped on the leads—I found this piece of brown paper on the floor next morning—I had seen the prisoner with it on the Friday—he handed a parcel over the bar for us to mind for him done up in paper like this, with "Streatham" on it—I found the cashbox open; it was kept in a drawer—the prisoner was a customer in the house—he had never been upstairs—I had a lighted candle in my hand in the bedroom—I am very strongly of opinion that the prisoner is the man I saw getting through the window.
GEORGE CULL (205 L). On September 26th, about 10.30, I was in Lower Marsh, Lambeth, and saw Mr. Meredith holding the prisoner—he handed him over to me—they were both out of breath—I took him to the station—he said that he was innocent—I had not charged him with a specific offence.
HENRY EYRES (Police Sergeant 26 L). I examined these premises but found no marks—the entry was probably made by getting on to the roof of the water-closet and lifting the sash, which had no fastenings—it would be possible for the prisoner to get from Hutt's Row to the back of the house—there is a back yard to his premises and he could go there from the tap-room.
Witness for the Defence.
JOHN JOYCE . I am a waterman, of 7, Broad Walk, Victoria Court—I saw the prisoner in the Old Hatch between ten and twelve, and when we came out at a few minutes to twelve he was in the room, and he did not come out of the house with us.
By the prisoner. You did not come out with me and two or three others—I never saw you again till I saw you at the Police-court.
The prisoner, in a written defence, stated that he was in the house playing at whist till 11.45, and then had another glass of drink in the bar; he declared his innocence of the robbery.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. PIGGOTT. Prosecuted.
WILLIAM FRANCIS SKELTON . I am a butcher, of 7, High Street, South Norwood—on Thursday, 30th August, in the afternoon, the prisoner came in, bringing a cheque—this is it (Produced)—it is drawn by William Wyatt to Mr. Acworth, who is a neighbouring tradesman—the prisoner asked me to cash the cheque for Mr. Acworth, but there was something wrong in the signature, as a "k" was inserted—I told him to come back in a few minutes—I went to Mr. Acworth, and he came round before the prisoner came back, and when the prisoner came in he was given in charge—I asked him who Mr. Wyatt was—he said that he lived in Upper Norwood, and he was constantly sent to cash cheques—he was dressed as a painter, as if he had come from a builder's shop.
ARTHUR JAMES ACWORTH . I am a builder and decorator, of 7, Station Road, Norwood—I did not send the prisoner on 30th August to Mr. Skelton for change for a cheque—the endorsement to this cheque is not my writing—I have never sent the prisoner to cash cheques; I never saw him—I do not spell my name with a "k"—I do not know William Wyatt.
STANLEY FITCH . I am a cheesemonger, of 66, Bishopsgate Street—I have seen the prisoner before—I bank at the London and Provincial Bank—on 6th July I lost a cheque-book, containing sixty-five or seventy cheques—this (produced) is one of them—I do not know anybody of the name of William Wyatt—by looking at the number I find that this cheque formed part of my book—I had drawn fifteen cheques out of the book—it was a book of 100 cheques.
GEORGE STURDY (Policeman 78 W). I arrested the prisoner on 30th August, opposite the railway station, from information I received from Mr. Skelton—he was dressed in his shirt-sleeves and no coat, but a white apron and a cap—I saw the cheque, and asked him where he got it—he said he got it from Acworth, a builder, of Station Road—I asked him if he worked for Mr. Acworth—he said, "No"—I asked were he lived—he said, "In London"—I asked him where his coat was—he said that a
gentleman came out of Mr. Acworth's, and he gave him his coat to hold while he went to change the cheque.
HENRY DANIEL REED . I am a butcher, of 91, George Street, Croydon—on 18th August the prisoner came to my shop with a cheque, and asked me if I would oblige my neighbour, Mr. Pollard (who was dead, and whose business was being carried on by a representative) with change for a cheque for £4 10s.—it was endorsed William Pollard—I took the cheque from his hand, and said, "This is not Mr. Pollard's cheque?"—he said, "No, it is a customer's cheque; he gave it to Mr. Pollard in payment for goods, and he wants the money"—I said, "I don't know you"—he said, "I always draw cheques like that; it will be all right"—I paid it into my bank, and it came back, marked "No account"—he was dressed in his shirt sleeves, and represented himself to come from the timber yard.
Prisoners defence. I first became acquainted with a man named Smith, now awaiting trial for uttering forged cheques (See page 1223), by living at the same lodging-house, 75, Blackfriars Road, S.E. About the beginning of August, 1894, being out of work at the time, I was sitting in the kitchen one afternoon when the man Smith spoke to me, and asked me if I would like to go to work with him. I asked what work it was, but he did not tell me then, but said that it would put shillings into my pocket. I consented to go with him. There was a friend of his sitting by him at the time, but he did not take any part in the conversation. The next day we went to Lavender Hill, and on the way he told me that he had some cheques which had been given him for services rendered, which he wanted me to take to shops which he would tell me and ask them to kindly cash them for the man's name on the body of the cheque, at present not remembered. He left me on lavender Hill for a short time; then he returned, and gave me the cheque, which I took to a baker's shop, and obtained the amount, £3 10s. with which I returned and gave the other man, in the presence of the man Smith, who told me to go straight up the road till, they overtook me. They followed on a tram going to Clapham Junction, which, on coming up to me, I got inside. We all got down at Clapham Junction, and had a drink, after which we all went back to Lambeth, where the man Smith and his friend, after giving me ten shillings and telling me not to say anything to any of the other lodgers that I was in his employment, they left me. I went on to St. George's Circus. The next day we went to Clapham Junction by tram, where we got down and had a drink at the Falcon Tavern, where the other man and Smith left me to wait till they returned. After about twenty minutes the other man came and called me outside. After giving me a few directions, he gave me a cheque to take to a baker's shop in the road, facing the Falcon Hotel, and ask them to kindly oblige the governor, Mr. Preston, veterinary surgeon, of East Hill, with cash of a cheque, the amount being £3 15s., which I obtained, and gave it to the other man. Smith following behind me, I went on to the top of East Hill, where I got into a tram going to Westminster. The man Smith got on at Clapham Junction. We went on to Lambeth, where we all got down, and the other man gave me 10s. by Smith's direction. This went on for two or three days. I passed one cheque per day, £3 10s.—and each time I was successful. I then became unwell, and did not go with.
them for several days. The Saturday before Brighton Race Meeting they asked me if I would go with them to act as bookmaker's clerk; also, if I did not go, they told me to be sure and not get into any drunken squabbles, or tell anybody that I was employed by him. I went, however, on the Monday with Smith's friend, and had to pay all my own expenses. Smith came down later on in the day. I stayed till Saturday. I left Smith's friend to return on Sunday, but Smith had left us on Thursday. I again rested for two or three days, after which I again went with them for a short time, but was not always successful in getting them cashed. I then began to get a little alarmed, and asked Smith where he got the cheques from, but he told me that it was no business of mine; that they were got lawfully. I asked him why he wanted the other man. He replied that it was not safe for him to carry cheques on his person, as he was too well known. I still continued with them, not for what I got, but I determined to try, if possible, to find out where he obtained the cheques, and then give information to the police, but in this I was not successful. I met Smith one Thursday in the Blackfriars Road, when we had a drink. While in the bar, he showed me some eighteen or twenty blank cheque forms. I again asked him where he got them, but he used a foul remark, and said that they cost a sovereign each. These were on the National Provincial Bank of England. I am sure the man Smith must have got the book that was stolen, as the forms have been recognised by Mr. Fitch as some contained in the book that was taken from his office, but I do not know how Smith got them. I did not know they were stolen till after I was arrested. I also know Smith had cheque forms on the London and Provincial and the National Provincial—I also heard him say that he could get some on the South-Western, but I first saw two cheques on this bank for the first time at Dalston when I gave evidence against Smith. Smith and his friend had a quarrel, and had separated. I was with his friend at the time of my arrest, on which he decamped with £10 of mine that he was minding for me, which I have lost, together with an overcoat. When I saw that I had been made a dupe of, I at once gave a description of the man Smith, who was arrested three weeks after me. I believe he is the man the police wanted, as the one who obtained these cheques and writing them out and giving them to children to take to shops to get cashed. I am very sorry to have been connected with such a wicked transaction, but I have not kept anything back, but have given the detectives every information that I knew might lead to the discovery of the leader of these forgeries, and I believe that it can be proved without a doubt but what Smith is that man. They have not obtained the other man, but I believe by what I saw all through these transactions that, although we had passed several cheques, that he had, like myself, no clue of where they were obtained; in fact, I recollect Smith telling him he could not get any if he wanted them, as the party from whom he got them would not do any business with a third party. The man Smith, whom I saw while I was at Holloway, asked me, out at exercise, to make it easy for him and to rap on the other man; but it was Smith that gave him the directions always in the first place to give to me, also it was by Smith's advice that I entrusted my money to his friend, which I have lost, and he told me at Holloway that I ought to
have known better. I thought all the way through that I was in an honest transaction, but I now find out that I have been made the dupe of a swindler. I do not give evidence or write this statement hoping to take the blame off myself, but I must say that at the time of my pre senting these cheques I was not aware that they were forged and worthless. I beg you to give me mercy, and deal leniently with me.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY. to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell on 3rd July, 1893, in the name of James Dalgliesh, when he was sentenced to nine months' imprisonment. Three other convictions were proved against him. (See next case.)
MR. PIGGOTT. Prosecuted.
ELIZABETH BROWN . I am the wife of Nichol Alexander Brown, of 197, Queen's Road, Peckham—on July 3rd the prisoner came between 9.30 and ten dressed in a rather old suit—he asked for Mr. Brown—I said he was not in—he said he came from Dr. Sers—I said that I should do as well—he produced a cheque folded half way across. (This was payable to Mr. Sers and endorsed by him,)—I knew Dr. Sere, he is my family doctor—I said I had not got enough, and he went to Mr. Conyers, next door, and came back and said he had got it changed, and thanked me—I saw him next at the North London Police-court, and am sure he is the man.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I described you to Inspector Fox as just such a man as him—I do not know that he is three inches taller than you, and ten years older—you are like him—the man was dressed in rather a light suit.
By the COURT. I have no doubt the prisoner is the man.
SAMUEL BILTON WHEBLE . I live at Highbury Villas, Limes Road, Croydon—about five years ago I lost a cheque-book on the London and South Western Bank—I cannot remember the numbers, but I gave notice to the bank; I have got no cheques out of the book.
HENRY CONYERS . I am a rate collector, of 31, Argyle Terrace, Brockley—on July 3rd the prisoner came to my office and asked whether I would oblige Mrs. Brown by cashing a cheque for Dr. Sers—I sent a messenger to Mrs. Brown to ask her if it was all right—she said that it was—I cashed it, and passed it through the bank, and it came back marked "No account"—I know Dr. Ser's writing, and this is a very, good imitation of it—I picked the prisoner out from eight or nine others.
Cross-examined. I know Inspector Gray; I described you to him—he is not like you; you have grown a beard since that—he is about the same build as you; he may be a little stouter.
CLEMENT HENRY SERS , M.R.C.S. I live at 130, Queen's Road, Peckham—this is not my endorsement on this cheque—I think it resembles my writing—I do not know the prisoner, and did not send him to get it cashed for me.
DAVID FOX (Police Sergeant L). I received a description of the prisoner, and on September 25th, about 11.30, I saw him in Fleet Street—I said, "Horace Smith?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "I am going to arrest you for uttering worthless cheques"—he said, "Where?"—I said, "In various parts of London"—he said, "Who is going to identify me?"—I said, "A great many people"—he was placed with nine others, and identified by Mrs. Bates on another charge.
Cross-examined. I said that you were wanted for a lad who forged a cheque—after I found the lads and the man did not identify you, I said you would be detained and taken to Windsor, as you were wanted for uttering forged cheques—I have not got a description of you in writing—they were very small lads, and after the lapse of a week they could not identify you.
SOPHIA BATES . My husband keeps a public-house in Stoke Newington—on Friday, August 17th, the prisoner came in and said, "Will you change this cheque for Mr. Peck "?—he is a neighbour and a builder. (This was drawn by Wm. Wyatt in favour of Mr. Peck, on the National Provincial Bank of England.)—it was endorsed in the name of Peck—I cashed it—the prisoner was dressed in a white apron, white shirt sleeves, and no hat—I thought he was a carpenter—I said "Is this Mr. Peck's cheque?"—he said, "No; but it is all right"—I handed him the money—he went away, and the cheque came back—I described him to the police, and picked him out at once from several others at Kenning-ton Station.
Cross-examined. I described you as rather dark, and about thirty-five—I noticed the scar on your cheek, but did not mention it.
The prisoner handed in the following letter from Albert Warren, the prisoner in the last case:—"Dear Horace,—I am sorry to say that I don't at present remember doing one at Clapham. You make a mistake in saying it was my handwriting, for I made this agreement with Charley that I would not sign any, as I felt sure I should soon fall. After he divided, he used to write them and get some boys to sign, so that is why I have said I was not aware when I went to cash them that they were forged. I shall plead not guilty at my trial, so I tell you that you may know what to do. I do hope you won't get so long, although things look black. Do you know that, although I said nothing, they seem to know all about you? If I had turned copper, as it was said, they would both have been caught long ago, even the same night. How is it I let Charley get away? Because he had over £70 to £80 and some paper at the time on him. I lost my coat, jacket, and hat and cap, and £10 4s. 8d., minus about two shillings expenses. I am sure I don't know where to find him when I get out. Do you know Mrs. Stone's address? That is the only one I might find out from. If you can write to me, I shall be pleased if you will tell me. I have gained nothing by it; in fact, I am as bad off as before, except a change of clothes. I had two witnesses at Croydon to come and give me a personal character, who came to see me here, and write to me. I am expecting a visit from the tart and my aunt on Monday afternoon. Are you writing to anyone? It appears Knobby got the sack from Jim's for coming out with us, but I never saw, and did not know anything about it till the tec. told me he had my coat and jacket. If ever I do see Charley I will tell him something."—(No signature).
ALBERT WARREN . I am confined in Holloway Prison—I have been convicted at this Court—I made the prisoner's acquaintance on August 1st or 2nd—he asked me to go and work for him and I did so, and next day went to Lavender Hill with him—on the way he said that he had had some cheques given him and he would ask me to take them into a butcher's shop which he would show me and ask them to cash them—he left me for a short time and came back with Charles Mason, who handed me a cheque, and I got it cashed at a baker's at Lavender Hill, and handed the money to Charley—the name of a builder was on it, and he told me to say would they oblige Mr. Fance with change—that was the name on the back—I received the £3 10s.—Smith came up shortly afterwards—I walked on; we got on a tram and got off at Lambeth, and Smith told Morris to give me 10s. and told me to be sure and say nothing about it—that went on for two or three days—I asked the prisoner where the cheques came from—he said, "Never mind; I got them lawful; they cost me a sovereign each"—I asked him why he did not carry them himself—he said he was too well known, owing to the scar on his face.
Cross-examined. I lived with Morris at Croydon—I made a statement there—when they went to look for him there they could not find him—I do not know who endorsed the cheques—he went away and filled them up, and returned them—I thought they were genuine, because you are a well educated man—Charley has decamped—I used to do two cheques in a day—I am sorry to say I cannot produce the note you sent me—Morris, of Brighton, wrote the cheque of Mrs. Bates—one was not passed by me at Clapham, I have never been to Clapham—if this man got £10 of my money it was not got by cheques but by horse-racing—the police came to me after I had seen you at Holloway—I did not communicate with them; they did not tell me I should get off if I made a statement—I did not make the statement thinking I should get a lighter sentence.
By the COURT. Morris is still at large.
Prisoner's defence. It is mistaken identity. I never cashed the cheque at Mrs. Bates'. Mrs. Brown described me as like Inspector Fox, whereas he is three inches taller than me. As to a man who has been convicted three times, giving evidence against me, he does it to get a lighter sentence. How could he think they were genuine if he had to take his coat off?
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at this Court on May 2nd, 1892, and another conviction was proved against him. The police stated that he was the ringleader of a gang of forgerers.— Five Years' Penal Servitude. WARREN, against whom three convictions were proved, Fifteen Months' Hard Labour. The COURT. commended the conduct of the police.
MR. ARMSTRONG. Prosecuted.
DAVID WOOLF . I am manager of the Sun newspaper, and live at 16, Barbon Avenue, Clapham Common—on September 4th I left my house quite safe, and next morning found the rooms had been ransacked, and the
wardrobes and drawers forced open—the front door had been opened by a jimmy—I missed a pair of trousers, and when my family returned home I missed a silk handkerchief and some silver spoons—I think the police deserve great credit for the smart way in which they acted.
FREDERICK WRIGHT (210 W). On September 4th I was on duty passing Barbon Avenue—I saw marks on the door of No. 16—I went up to the door and saw two men in the passage, and heard one say, "Lie down; here are the coppers"—I saw two men crawl along the floor towards the front room—I called for assistance, and surrounded the house—I found the back door open, and the rooms turned upside down.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I did not see the men quite plainly because there was stained glass—I cannot recognise the voice—there are some empty buildings there; anyone in that house could get over the wall into the empty house behind.
WILLIAM WOODHOUSE (154 W). On the morning of September 5th Mr. Woolf called me to 16, Barbon Avenue, and I found the back door open, and traced footmarks across the garden directly to an unfinished building, where I found the prisoner hiding in a cellar—I told him I should detain him on suspicion of breaking into No. 16, Barbon Avenue—he said that he had not done it, because he had broken his ankle, and that he went there to ease himself—there was no sign of that—his ankle was sprained—I got over the wall twice; it is from nine to ten feet high—I heard no cries for help.
Cross-examined. I called your attention to the footprints and told you that that was how I came to know where you were.
JAMES SMITH (Police-Inspector W). I examined the house—the front door was marked by a jemmy, and I found this jimmy (produced) in the parlour; it corresponds with the marks—I saw the prisoner in the unfinished building—he was told of the footprints; they corresponded with his boots—he had got over a wall and it being a very dewy morning the marks to the unfinished building were visible—he had a sprained ankle—we had to carry him and call a doctor—the wall from which he dropped is twelve feet high.
Cross-examined. You might have got to the unfinished building very easily on one leg—you gave your correct name and address, but you could not have been there at two a.m., as you said—it would have been impossible to have got there.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I know nothing of the charge. I was out looking for work and went to an old house and the constable found me there."
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that he went to Clapham to look for work, and in getting into an old building for a certain purpose, he slipped and hurt his ankle, and was waiting for someone to come and help him out when the constable came.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Newington on. August 16th, 1892, and three other convictions were proved against him.— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
SIR EDWARD CLARK, Q.C., with MR. GEOGHEGAN, Prosecuted, and MESSRS.
C. F. GILL. and A. GILL. Defended.
THOMAS FRANK DELF . I am a clerk in the office of Mr. Whiteley, clerk to the Licensing Justices of the Newington division—I produce the Register of Licensed Victuallers for that division—I find that John Phillips Cash is the licensed holder of the Flower of the Forest public-house, and has been so from the 10th September, 1892.
HENRY NAIRN . I am chief clerk at the Southwark Police-court—I produce the original summons against Mr. Cash, which was granted by Mr. Fenwick, one of the Magistrates of that division—it was heard by Mr. Slade on 22nd September last—the defendant was the first and principal witness called—I saw him duly sworn—I took notes of the evidence he gave—I produce them. (The note was read in part, it commenced thus: "James Crabb, secretary to the Wesleyan Temperance Society," and stated that on the 6th April he went into the Flower of the Forest and there saw a police-constable, who was on duty, served with beer in a pewter pot; that he saw the constable take it up and drink the contents and replace the pot on the bar—other portions of the note were read by Counsel.)
Cross-examined. The summons against Mr. Cash was what is known as a police summons—the police were represented on the return of the summons—the constable gave evidence, of which I took a careful note—to the best of my belief I took all that was said by the different witnesses, Mr. Crabb and the constable for the prosecution, and for the defence Johnson the barman, Borland the potman, Cherry, Firmin, and Mr. Cash—the summons was dismissed—Mr. Maitland, who appeared for the defendant, said, "As the summons is dismissed, I shall ask for a summons for perjury, not making any names at that moment—the secretary's name appeared as complainant; he was called as a witness, and he was bound over to prosecute—I said at the Police-court, "I think we have a proportion of one per cent, of publicans convicted as compared with the number of persons convicted of drunkenness; I said I thought it might possibly amount to that—I should be surprised if it was one in 500 as regards Southwark Police-court; I think it would be higher than that—taking the Metropolis generally, I would have thought it was more than one in 500—I have no knowledge of the convictions for drunkenness in the Metropolis for one year—about 30,000; I should think that would be possible—I do not know the number of licensed houses that there are—I do not know the "Licensed Victuallers' Official Annual"—I am surprised to hear that there are only forty convictions out of 30,000 within the whole Metropolitan area—I have not studied this book at all—Mr. Crabb was cross-examined at considerable length on this police summons by Mr. Maitland, who appeared for Mr. Cash.
WILLIAM JOHNSON . On September 6th last I was barman at the Flower of the Forest public-house—I had been in that employment about three months—about half-past ten on that morning there was no person besides myself serving in the bar—Mr. Firmin came in—before he came in nobody else had been in—he came into the saloon bar—some man
came in who was not sober—he was sitting down before Mr. Firmin came in; I forgot that for a moment—he came into the private bar—I noticed he staggered a bit—he never asked for anything—directly he came in I said to him, "Would you kindly go outside, as you cannot be served here?"—I did not know the man at all—he sat down on a form at the side—I asked him again to go outside, and he mumbled something—I then called the potman, James Borland, from down in the cellar—he came up—I said, "This is the man I want ejected; will you fetch a policeman, please?"—Borland went out—before he returned Mr. Firmin came into the saloon bar—Mr. Cherry also came in—I knew both Mr. Firmin and Mr. Cherry—Mr. Cherry came into the private bar—I served him with a half of bitter—that was before the police-constable came in—I did not serve him with any beer that morning before that half-pint—I served him with that just after I served Mr. Firmin—that was before the potman returned—I served Mr. Cherry before the policeman came in—it was in a metal tankard—then the policeman came in the private bar—I said to him, "The man has gone out; we shall not want you now"—he was just going to turn when Mr. Crabb came in—he looked at the policeman, and said, "I am going to take your number for drinking on duty; I see you have your cuff on"—the policeman then turned and walked out—Mr. Crabb had ordered a small lemon for himself—that was while the policeman was in the bar—Mr. Cash came up to Mr. Crabb and asked him if he was serious—he told Mr. Crabb that Mr. Cherry had ordered the half of bitter—Mr. Crabb, in the policeman's presence, picked up Mr. Cherry's pot and smelt it, and wrote something down in his book—he asked him for my name, and Mr. Cash said, "Take Mr. Cherry's, as it is he who ordered the bitter"—Mr. Crabb then went out—there were one or two glasses on the counter, but no metal pot—the constable did not have any drink at all while he was there—he did not take up the pot that had been given to Mr. Cherry—I had served Mr. Firmin with a glass of ginger-beer, with a dash of bitter, in the saloon bar. (The witness here explained, with the aid of a model, the manner in which he served at the different bars, the public, private, and saloon bars of the house.)
Cross-examined by MR. GILL. I had been at this time about two months in this house—I said that Mr. Firmin was the first person who came in, but I corrected it; that was a mistake—I remember that Mr. Firmin made the same mistake originally, by saying he had been a quarter of an hour in the house before the police-constable came in—the man who came in I had never seen before or since—except that he was a man with a hard felt hat, I could not give any further description; I didn't take any notice of the man—I said at the Police-court I thought he might be a man who came from the Salvation Army Shelter, because we had so many people who came there of that class—the private bar is a bar where the customers of the house generally come to—the public bar would be the bar that the ordinary passer-by would go into; they come to the private bar as well—they could go to all three—there are two large swing doors giving access to the public bar—this man who came in was in the house about a minute; it might be a little less or a little longer—immediately he came in I spoke to him—he did not ask to be served—he was not in any way violent, or quarrelsome, or disorderly, or anything of that kind—he did not ask to be served; and, of course, I did not refuse him—as soon
as the man came in I told him he was unfit to be served, and told him to go out—he sat down on the loose form in the private bar, and I shook him and asked him to go out—that was immediately he sat down, and then I called the potman, down the stairs just behind the beer pull—when the potman came into the bar I was standing in the bar—he came at once—nobody had seen the man but me until Mr. Firmin came in—Mr. Crabb was not in the house when Mr. Firmin came—no one else saw him, only when the potman went through, of course, he saw him—I remember saying, "I am not aware anyone but myself saw this drunken man"—he staggered a bit, and looked very drowsy—at the time I said that, the potman had not been examined—I shook him—I went back into the bar—the potman came up and went out for the policeman at once through the public bar—I again shook the man—he got up and walked out—in the large public bar there was a man serving—a man I could speak to from where I was—I believe there were customers in the public bar—a man was employed there—I did not turn the man out myself, because it is against the law—it is against the law to turn a man out of a public-house—I did not know that a publican may turn a man out—I did not call the barman from the other bar because I did not think it was necessary—I have never seen our potman turn anybody out of the house—we always send for a constable if we want him out—the potman did not go into the private bar at all or speak to the man in any way—he went through the public bar, and out through the Blackfriars door, which would be the nearest way—the man went out a few seconds after the potman went out—when I sent the potman for the policeman I told him what he was to say to the policeman—I said, "Will you fetch a policeman, because we want this man turned out?"—that was all I said—the man had been in the house about half a minute; something like that—Mr. Cash was close by if I had wished to call him—there was no one in the saloon bar that I know of—I could not say where Mr. Nye was—I have heard he was in the house—very likely in the saloon bar; he was round the corner—I would not see him unless I leant over the counter—there was no one to serve in the private bar except this man, assuming that he was there—I have no doubt that Mr. Nye was in the saloon bar—I have heard the "governor" say so, and I do not believe he would tell a lie—I believe Mr. Nye was there when Mr. Firmin came into the saloon bar—I served him—he was eating his lunch at the bar half-way round the corner—he brought his lunch in with him—he always brings his lunch there—he was in the habit of eating his lunch there—he is an intimate personal friend of Mr. Cash's, and a great deal in the house—I believe I gave him ginger beer, or something of that kind—he paid me—I went to the till—in going to the till I should have my back to the bar—I might have served Mr. Firmin before Mr. Cherry came in—I might have served him just as Mr. Cherry came in, or before, I could not say which, it is some time ago—I am perfectly sure Mr. Firmin came in before Mr. Cherry—Mr. Cherry came in and called for half a pint of bitter—he then proceeded to read the paper—I saw the pot in his hand—I think I saw him drinking the beer, or saw the pot in his hand, anyhow—I saw the potman come in—I could not say exactly whether Mr. Cash was then in the bar or not—the potman spoke to me—I spoke to the potman after he spoke to me; could not say while Mr. Cash wa
there; that is I did not know whether Mr. Cash was in the bar or not—I could not say for certain—when the potman came in he went downstairs—when I served Mr. Cherry he paid for the beer—I took the money and put it into the till, for that purpose I had hardly to turn my back, because I took coppers from Mr. Cherry—when Mr. Cash came in he went to take the till, and then he would have his back to the bar—the constable came in just after Mr. Cherry came in, I could not say how long—to get into the private bar you would have to come round the partition—I was drawing the beer, I think, for Mr. Cherry when the policeman came in—I was putting the beer on the counter—if the policeman looked at me he could not well help seeing the beer—it was when I was putting the beer on the counter that Mr. Crabb came in—the beer had been drawn before Mr. Crabb came in, and I put it down as he came in—the constable was facing me at the time, about a yard or two from the counter—when Mr. Crabb came into the private bar he came up to the counter, right in the corner; that would be the left-hand corner of the counter—in the other side, leaning against the partition, was Mr. Cherry reading a paper—when Mr. Crabb went up to the counter he asked to be served with a small lemon—I got it for him, and served him—he gave me sixpence or a shilling, I could not say which—I went to the till to get change; I had turned my back then to the counter—I put the shilling there, got the change, and brought it back to him—the first thing I heard Mr. Crabb say after that was, "I will take your number for drinking in a public-house"; I think those were the words—it was, "I will report you for drinking in a public-house while you are on duty"—it was something like that—Mr. Cash thereupon turned round from the till and asked me why the constable was there Mr. Crabb wrote something down in a book—he called my Attention to the fact that he was taking this man's number—he asked my name—the landlord then said it was Mr. Cherry who had been served, and asked Mr. Crabb to take Cherry's name—Mr. Crabb asked Mr. Cherry for his name—I could not say if Cherry refused to give it—I was partly attending to what was going on; only partly, and partly to ray business—the business was the more important—I heard Cherry say, "He has not been served"—that was quite true; it was Cherry that had been served—I heard Mr. Crabb draw the attention of the constable to the fact that he had his armlet on—the policeman said, "I know I have," and then walked out of the bar—there was myself, Mr. Cherry, the landlord, and Mr. Firmin there—I did not say a word to Mr. Crabb as to why the constable was there—I did not think it was my business—Mr. Crabb had asked me for my name, you know—if Mr. Cherry said anything as to why the constable was there I never heard him—the constable never said a word, only, "I know I have"—the landlord did not say a word as to why the constable was there that I know of—Mr. Firmin said nothing—Crabb having made the entry of the constable's number in his book walked out of the place—I did not see the constable waiting outside after he had been in the public-house; not that morning—I think I have told you all that was said in the public-house; the complaint of Mr. Crabb was that the constable was drinking—until the constable came into the private bar I had not seen him looking into the other bars—I afterwards heard that the police had taken out a summons
against Mr. Cash—I was present at the Police-court and gave evidence—Mr. Cherry is a very regular attendant at the house about two or three times a day—this policeman had been in the house before to turn anybody out—I think he had turned out a man before, some time before this occurred, I could not say how long before, I do not remember—I had not seen him as a customer in the bar—I only serve at the private bar half-an-hour in the morning—I do not serve there in the evenings—I had not seen the constable in the house while off duty—I had seen him there while on duty, not as a customer—I did not know when he came to the house—a statement was taken from me by the police one evening; I do not know whether it was the next day, or the day after that—Mr. Cash was there when I gave my statement—that was before any summons was taken out, immediately after this, I believe—I knew that Mr. Crabb had made a complaint against the constable that day.
Re-examined. There is a difference of level between the private bar and the public bar—when Theobald was serving at the public bar he could not see what was going on in the private bar—Theobald is the name of the other barman—I have come here to-day to give you, to the best of my ability, an honest and truthful account of what took place that morning—I had two steps to go down—I should like to say that I can prove to you I did not put the pot in front of the policeman—he was standing by the side of Mr. Crabb; Mr. Cherry was standing there, and I placed the beer in front of Mr. Cherry, and not in front of the policeman.
JAMES BORLAND . I am the potman at the Flower of the Forest, in Blackfriars Road—at half-past ten on September 6th I was in the bar—I went to get my knives—when I Had got them the two barmen were in the bar, not in the same bar—Johnson was in the private bar—I do not know the name of the other barman—when I was in the bar getting the knives Johnson spoke to me—a man was sitting there—Johnson said something to me; in consequence of that, I went to fetch a constable—between the Obelisk and the Eye Hospital a constable is on fixed point duty—I went to that constable—when I went out I did not see a constable loitering about in front of the house—I went out at the door nearest to the Surrey Theatre, the one nearest to the Obelisk—the number of the constable I spoke to on point duty was 123 L—I then turned back, and the constable followed me—I went into the same bar I came out of, near the Obelisk—I did not see by which door he came in—I walked through, the bar, opened the flap behind the horseshoe bar, and went up two stops into the private bar—Mr. Firmin, Mr. Cherry, and Johnson were there—Johnson was behind the private bar—Mr. Cherry was standing at the corner of the bar—Mr. Firmin was in the other bar; the saloon bar—I did not speak to any person; Mr. Cash spoke to me—he had just come downstairs and was talking to the barman—he was on the private side of the counter then—I then went down the cellar about my work.
Cross-examined. When I came back and went into the house I saw no constable in the house—I could see Mr. Firmin there and Mr. Cherry—when the landlord spoke to me I went and got my knives—I went down into the cellar on the left of the private bar—when he spoke to me I went into the public bar, got the knives, came back, and ran down-stairs—during that time no constable was in the private bar—this is a very small place; I should have seen him if he was there—I came from
the cellar into the private bar—I could not give you a description of the man; I believe he had on a hard felt had; I could not go any further than that—whether he was old or young or middle-aged I could not say at all—I had never seen him before, and have never seen him since—I have had some experience in public-houses; not many years; about five—I have occasionally turned a man out who was not noisy or disorderly; not as a rule if they walked out quietly—I would give them a little assistance, not more force than necessary—I could not get this man to wake up—I did not do anything to wake him—he was sitting on a loose form—I only fetched a constable—I did not interfere with him at all—I never said a word to him—as a rule, when you interfere with some of these people they will jump up and give you something you don't want—I had never called this constable to this house before—I went out of the nearest door—it would take about two minutes to walk to the corner—the constable was on the furthest point of the fixed point; at the Eye Hospital, that would be, about 120 yards—I did not run for the constable—I spoke to him—I did not walk back with him, because, as a rule, you have a crowd following you in such cases—I never do walk back with the constable; it is not my practice—I usually all in a constable when there is likely to be disorder or violence—I told him where he was wanted; in the private bar—I said somebody wanted to be ejected—I told him it was somebody in the private bar and some body who was asleep—I said there was somebody in the private bar who wanted to be ejected; I did not say he was asleep—I said, "I require your assistance to eject a man from the private bar, who is asleep"—I usually require the assistance of the police—I do not know that we are allowed to turn men out—I get the police when I want their assistance—if the man did not show fight I would take him by the shoulder and help him—a man who sits down and goes to sleep I should not want assistance for—I walked back about fifteen yards in front of the constable—I did not look back to see how far he was behind, or what door he went into—there are steps up to the private bar—there is a lamp—most people know this is the private bar up the passage—I did not mention to Mr. Cash that I went for a constable; I believe the barman did—I did not know the constable until I got through the flap—the barman said, "It is all right. He is gone now."
WILLIAM THOMPSON (123 L). I have been in the police force for close on eleven years—on the morning of September 6th I was on fixed point duty at St. George's Circus—I came on duty at 9 a.m. and remained on duty until one o'clock—while I was there on fixed point duty Borland came to me—I was then standing beside the Opthalmic Hospital—he spoke to me, and in consequence of what he said I went to the Flower of the Forest public-house—I did not walk with him back to the house—I followed some little distance behind him—when I got to the Flower of the Forest public-house I did not go in at either of the doors that face Blackfriars Road—I went up the steps—I looked in at each of those doors, saw nothing to attract my attention, and then went round the corner, and up the steps—I did not loiter about there before I went into the private bar—I only looked in at the two doors, and then went up the steps straight into the private bar, without loitering at the corner—there was a man standing by the door just against the iron gate that leads to
the passage up the steps—he said, "It is all right; he has gone out"—I went up the steps into the private bar—when I went into the private bar I saw a man whom I knew by sight, Mr. Amos Cherry, reading a paper—he was standing against the partition in the right hand corner as I faced the counter—there was nobody else in the compartment at the time—the barman, Johnson, was behind the bar—there was someone sitting in the saloon bar, but I did not notice who it was, facing me when I went into the other compartment—when I went in Cherry said "Good day," or something like that—the barman said, "It is all right; he has gone out"—the defendant came in a few seconds after I was in—he had a book or paper in his hand, and he said, "123 L, I shall report you for being in a public-house and drinking while on duty. You have got your cuff on, you are on duty"—I said, "I know I have," and went out—I drank nothing while there—it is not true that any pewter measure was placed before me upon counter, or that I took up any pewter measure from the counter—I drank nothing whatever, beer or spirits or anything—I have told you all that happened in my presence in the public-house—I came out then, and I remained at the point past the "Surrey," and Mr. Crabb came out—he looked at this watch, and was taking the name and sign of the house outside—I went up towards him and asked him for his name and address, and he walked away, got into a pony and trap, and drove away up the London Road—it is my duty to report any circumstance which had called me away from fixed point; and when I went off duty at one o'clock I made a report as to my having been called to this public-house—at 6.30 p.m. I was called upon by the inspector, a complaint having been made against me—I met Mr. Crabb before the inspector then—he had made a written statement out, and signed it—I denied it then—the matter being reported, and a summons taken out, I was called as a witness before the Magistrate.
Cross-examined. I have got my book with a note of this matter in it—I made a written report (produced)—when the potman spoke to me I was on the point—I do not remember exactly what he said, but it was to the effect that he wanted a man ejected; he wanted me to assist him—I am called to public-houses for the purpose of assisting to eject men—it is common; I could not tell you how often it occurs—I think the pot-man told me there was a man asleep in the private bar—it is not an unusual thing to assist to turn out a man who is asleep—it is not ordinary, but not unusual—I have turned out a man who was asleep in my time—I did not ask the potman any question about the matter, I am positive—I did not know what bar I was going to—he said there was a man asleep in the bar; I don not think he said in the private bar—I knew the house—when I was off duty it was a house I have been in, when I have been visiting the Surrey Theatre, and so on—I knew where the private bar was—I may have been in the house when off duty once or twice, or three times, not more—I remember telling you that I had been in the house several times—if he had told me there was a man asleep in the private bar I should have gone straight to the private bar—I expect to find these objectionable people in the public bar, as a rule—when I came back to the house I knew I was coming to look for a man who was asleep—to go from the point to the
house would take me under a minute—I went at an ordinary pace—I lost the potman when he turned to the left to go into the house, when he passed the rails of the Surrey Theatre—I do not know why I did not walk with him, but I did not—I cannot give you any reason why—there is no reason that I am aware of, or that I could suggest—it was but a short way, only a few yards—you can see the place easily—there are two big public-houses there, and this is one of them—I did not know where this man was asleep—I looked in at the nearest door—in the ordinary way I should go in at the nearest door, I should think—coming from the point, and anxious to attend to my business, I should not go in at the nearest door; I should only look in—I looked in at the nearest door, and saw nothing there—I believe there was someone in the bar—I did not take notice if a man was serving there—I did not go in and say, "Where is the man who was asleep?" because I saw he was not there—there was no occasion to go in there—I looked in, and saw nothing unusual; having satisfied myself by looking in, that was enough—I repeated the same operation at the other door—I did not see where the man who told me the man had gone away came from, or where he went to—I have never seen him before or since—he had on a dark tweed suit and a hard felt hat—he was a stranger to me—I do not know if he came out of either of these doors—if I wanted to have a drink this private bar is the most secluded place—I came up the steps and then got into the lobby—I cannot give you the reason why I did not go into the saloon bar; I turned to the left—I looked into the private bar; I went and satisfied myself—I was called to the house, and I saw nothing unusual in the other two bars—I went in to satisfy myself and to ask what I was wanted for—I saw nothing unusual in the private bar—I went to ask what I was sent for, to see the barman—I did not go into the first room and ask what I was called for, because I did not know whether the potman was up the steps or not—I did not go into the first bar and ask what I was wanted for, because I did not see anything unusual—I went into this bar because Cherry was there and spoke to me; I could not see into that bar without going into it—I was going out at ¦once—I took no notice of that man outside; I did not believe him—I did not pay any attention to what he said—when I was in this bar Mr. Crabb came in—he did not go up to the counter when he came in, immediately, I think—I do not remember whether Mr. Crabb when, he came in, went up to the counter and ordered some lemonade—I will not swear he did not; I do not remember seeing him served—I do not remember his putting a coin on the counter which involved his getting change; if he did, it was after I came out—he might have ordered the lemonade after I went out; I do not remember—I have no recollection of his going to the bar to order the lemonade while I stood in the bar—if he put money down, it must have been after I came out; I did not see him do it while I was there—I think he said, "I will report you for drinking in a public-house"—I had got my cuff on—he put something down in a book—he did not draw the barman's attention to the fact that he was going to report, not while I was there—I did not hear the landlord, Mr. Cash, turn round and ask why I was in the house—when Crabb said, "I will report you for drinking while on duty, "I did not hear the landlord turn round and ask why I was in the house—I said, "I know I have," when he said, "You have got the cuff on"—I had no
right to tell him what I was there for; he is not my superior officer—I did not deny that I had been drinking; I thought it was a joke at first when he said so—I did not pause for a second just to hear what the landlord said; I came straight out—I have a faint recollection of hearing Cherry say something, but I could not tell you what he said—I was coming out—he is an old constable of the same division—my explanation for not answering was that I thought it was a joke—I waited about outside, as I was on duty outside in the vicinity of the Surrey Theatre, round there—I had come about a minute's walk—I stayed outside this house, I walked up and down there—when I saw Mr. Crabb taking the name and address I went up to him to ask for his name and address to report him—I do not remember if I ever said before to-day that I went up to him to ask him for his name and address—I remember being cross-examined about having tried to speak to Mr. Crabb, and that he would not speak to me and drove away—I don't remember if I said one syllable as to having gone up to ask him for his name and address—I knew that he had said he would report me—I wanted his name and address to make a report of it—I reported verbally that a man had complained of my drinking in a public-house—afterwards he came to the station—he was asked to write his complaint, and wrote it, and it was read to me—afterwards I appeared on the summons against Mr. Cash; and I was the witness called at the same time with Mr. Crabb—I gave evidence on that occasion before Mr. Slade on the return of the summons—on the hearing of the summons I said, "On September 6th the potman of this house called me to eject a man who was asleep in the bar. I went up the side steps; a man was reading a newspaper, and Mr. Crabb rushed in and said, 'I will report you for drinking in a public-house'"—I think he ran in at the iron gate there—he ran in behind me through the iron gate—there is a mirror there at the top of the steps—I saw him in the mirror, but I did not know he was running after me—as I turned to the door on the left, I saw him running—I did not look back; I saw the mirror right in front of me—I said, "I went up the side steps. The man was reading a news-paper, and Mr. Crabb rushed in and said, 'I will report you for drinking in a public-house'"—Mr. Cherry was reading the newspaper—he said, "Good morning," and I returned it, and Mr. Crabb rushed in—I do not think he went up to the bar and ordered the lemonade—he took my number—I am quite positive he did not go up to the bar and order the lemonade—he took my number first—I saw no pot on the counter at all—I did not see the pot placed on the counter as Crabb came in—I did not see anybody drink from the pot—I saw no beer drunk in my presence.
By the RECORDER. I have been in the force eleven years—this is a very serious accusation, a man drinking in a public-house when on duty—I thought the man said it in a joke, because such a thing occurs many a time that people put a joke on the police—I thought he only did it for a joke, or I should have explained matters to him—I do not know if he appeared to be joking when he said it—he was a stranger to me, but many times strangers have passed a joke with a constable, even if he is outside, and not near a public-house—we are used to that sort of joking; I thought he was joking.
Forest in Blackfriars Road—I have my license with me—the witnesses Johnson and Borland are my barman and potman—on the morning of 6th September, about half-past ten, I was upstairs having my breakfast—I came down into my bar about that time—I generally say "Good morning!" to my customers the first thing, and make up the out-change for the day's business—when I came into the private bar I saw Mr. Cherry; he was coming in at the door, I believe—Mr. Firmin was in the saloon bar—both Mr. Firmin and Mr. Cherry are old customers of the house; they have come to the house ever since I have had it—Johnson was behind the bar—while making up my change my back would be turned to the public part of the bar—I did not actually see Thompson come in—I saw some person come in—I did not see Mr. Crabb come in—I heard him say, "I shall take your number. You are drinking on duty"—the constable said, "I know I am on duty," and walked out—I did not say anything to Mr. Crabb—I treated the matter as a joke, and laughed—Mr. Crabb had a note-book in his hand—he said he should take the number of the constable, and he was writing in it—I asked him if he was serious, in what he was doing—he said, "Yes, certainly"—I said, "If you are taking the policeman's number, you had better take this man's name, he bought the beer;" that was Mr. Cherry—he said, "I have got the constable's name; that is enough for me"—I said it was not sufficient for me, and I demanded him to take the name and address of Mr. Cherry—I did not actually say demand; I asked him to do so—I would rather he asked Mr. Cherry for his name—he said, "Very well; I will do so," and he said to Cherry, "Give me your name and address"—he did not give it; he refused to do so—I think that was all the conversation that took place, as far as I recollect—at that time there was one pewter pot on the counter—I saw the barman put it on the counter, just in front of the beer-engine, about three feet from the beer-engine; there was no one but Cherry there—I did not see Cherry drink from that measure—no one could have drank from it without my noticing them—after that I did not see beer supplied to anyone else—if beer had been supplied to anyone else after Cherry was served I must have known it—Cherry was in the private bar, Mr. Firmin was in the saloon bar, leaning against it, having his lunch—Nye was in that saloon bar—I think he had one knee on the seat next the window reading the paper—from where Nye was he could not see what was taking place in the private bar—I have two other barmen—at this particular time in the public bar there was Frank Theobald—he could not see what was taking place in the private bar—I do not recollect when I was served with the summons—I did appear at the Police-court, and the case was heard against me and dismissed.
Cross-examined. This is not my prosecution in any way—I had no wish that this prosecution should be instituted—I was represented by my solicitor in his capacity as my private solicitor when this summons was heard—when I came into the bar I said, "Good morning" to my customers, and then I attended to my till—when I came into the bar neither the constable nor Mr. Crabb was there—I knew nothing of any constable coming there—I turned round to take my till; that is an operation that requires about five minutes, and occupies my attention to avoid making mistakes—in taking my till my attention was attracted by hearing
the voice of Mr. Crabb saying that he would report the constable—when I saw Mr. Crabb taking notes I spoke to him, after the constable had gone—I heard Mr. Crabb saying that he would report the constable for drinking while on duty—I did not speak to Mr. Crabb until after the constable had gone—when Mr. Crabb made the entry in his book, he came to the counter to do it—he did not put his book on the counter—when the constable went out he came to the counter, where his lemonade stood, and made some entries in his note-book—I did not hear him order the lemonade and I did not see him served with it—when I left the till to speak to him I did not return to the till until Mr. Crabb had gone out—when I heard him saying that he was going to report the constable for drinking while on duty, the beer had been served to Mr. Cherry—I have never said at any time who it was that drank that beer—when I turned round the constable was standing within about a yard of the beer, I should say slightly more than that—he would be quite a yard, I should say more—I did not actually see the pot—I saw the barman push it in front of the beer-engine—I said to Mr. Crabb that I would not be satisfied with taking the constable's number, but I wished him to take Cherry's name and address—he did not say he was willing to do it in the first instance, but as I pressed him to do so he consented—I think he did ask the barman for his name—the barman did not answer, and Cherry refused—when Mr. Crabb told the constable he would report him for drinking while on duty, he said, "Of course I am on duty"—I did not hear him attempt in any way to deny that he had been drinking, nor did he say a word about his having been brought in there to eject anyone—I was surprised to see the constable in the private bar when I turned round—it was after the conversation with Mr. Crabb that I was told why he was there—having asked Cherry for his name and address, and Cherry having refused, Mr. Crabb went out of the bar—I did not see that the constable waited outside—I remember the barman coming to the till that morning, I remember him pushing past me—this model of the private bar and of the saloon bar is pretty accurate I think—the partition comes up flush with the bar on account of the muller, which is used in the winter time—we do not require the muller this time of the year, but later on—I did not treat this matter seriously till after I had spoken to Mr. Crabb—I thought at first it was a joke.
Re-examined. I am not a subscriber to the Central Association.
AMOS CHERRY . I am doorkeeper at the Surrey Theatre—I have been there about three and a half years; before that I was in the police force for twenty-six and a half years, in the L Division—I go to the Flower of the Forest when I want a drink or for change—on the morning of September 6th I went there about half-past ten—there are two bars, the private bar and the saloon bar; I went into the private bar—there are two doors, one to the right and one to the left; the right-hand one is what is called the saloon bar, on the left is the private bar, and that is where I went in—I went to the centre of the bar first of all—the barman Johnson was behind the bar—I asked for half of bitter; I paid for it and drank it—I had a newspaper in my hand; after I drank the bitter I leant back against the partition two or three feet away, and commenced reading the paper; that would be to the right-hand end of the bar as you were looking at it; that was where I was when the police-constable came in—before the police-constable
came in nobody but myself was in the public side of the bar in that private bar, not in the same side as I was—Mr. Firmin was there; I knew him—it is a kind of triangle bar—he was sitting down having his lunch—from that place he could see everything—he was sitting there before the constable came in—I saw the constable Thompson come in—I heard the barman say, "He has gone"; I was reading the news-paper at the time, and I did not take any further notice; I did not know what he meant until I inquired afterwards—he said, "He has gone; you are not wanted," or something to that effect—I may have said, "Halloa" or "Good morning" to the constable; I am not certain—I had got the beer in my hand; that is all the conversation we had—I should think the constable came up to the counter within three or four feet, but I will not be certain; he never came up close to the counter—at that time there was one single tankard on the bar, that was all there was—that was the tankard from which I drank—I never saw the constable touch my tankard; if he did touch it, I must have seen him—he never touched it; he could not have done so, otherwise I must have seen it; he was not more than three feet or so from me when he came in—when the constable came in Mr. Crabb came in; about five or six seconds after the constable came in, it could not be half a minute—Mr. Crabb pulled out his pocket-book the moment he got in, and said, "I will report you for drinking whilst on duty"—I said, "Why, he has never been served," that was my next answer I believe—Mr. Crabb called for a small lemon, and I believe Mr. Cash asked him if he was in earnest about reporting this; what he said I do not know—the constable walked out directly; in fact, he was in the act of turning away when Mr. Crabb came in, and he stopped and detained him for another half minute, or something like that—I saw Mr. Crabb take the pot up and smell it—that was the very pot I had ordered the half of bitter in, and I drank it; that was the only tankard there was on the bar—after the constable had gone Mr. Crabb drank his lemonade, and he asked me for my name and address, when I made the observation, "Why, he has never been served"; I refused to give my name and address to him—I could not say exactly for certain what passed; I think I heard Mr. Cash say, "Are you in earnest?" that was when he said he should report him for serving the constable; it was something similar to that, but I would not be positive—I did not hear what further was said between them—something passed between Mr. Cash and Mr. Crabb—when he had done writing the constable's number he walked out of the house after he drank his lemonade.
Cross-examined. I was twenty-six and a half years in the force—I always remained a constable during that time—there are different grades of constables; different classes; first, second, and third—I was first class after I had been in the force seven and a half years, and was that all the time; I was never reduced—I might have had a drunk report in that time—I cannot remember how many; it is thirty years ago—I never had more than one in my life—there is a difference in being drunk and drinking—the report I speak of is being drunk; it was after I had been three months in the force—that is the only one I have had, and it was over thirty years ago—I expect there is a record of these things kept—I said the only drunken report was the one when I had been in the service for three months; that is the only one I had—the report was for
being drunk—I do not say that is the only report in connection with drinking; it was the only drunken report—I was never complained of for being supposed to be drunk but once—I might have been reported slightly for drinking outside a public-house, but never inside; not to my knowledge—I have a certificate for good conduct during twenty-six and a half years' service—I can show it to you, and prove it to you—I had been in the L Division—I did not know the name of this constable on the point—he was close in when the barman made the observation, and I said "Hulloa" or "Good morning," but I do not know which—I only knew him by sight—I am in the habit of going into this house two or three times a day; I have my dinner there sometimes—they supply dinners in the bar, or they send them out to wherever they are ordered—I do not go in there for my dinner; mine is sent down to the hall, or I go and fetch it myself sometimes—a complaint of a constable drinking on duty is serious—I have had some experience of it—when this constable came in I did not know what he was there for; I had no idea—Mr. Crabb ordered the lemonade before the constable went out; I believe so to the best of my knowledge—I heard him tell the constable he was going to report him—I saw him take out his pocket-book—the constable waited for him to take his number—I think he said something about his armlet being on—I know he had it on, because I noticed it myself—the only thing I said was, "He has not been served"—at that time I did not know why the constable was there—I did not hear Mr. Crabb ask the barman his name—Mr. Cash asked Mr. Crabb to take my name—he pressed Mr. Crabb to take my name, because I had been served—I did not see why I should give him my name; I do not think it was any business at all whatever to do with me—I have no other explanation—I have said that I thought it a serious matter to make an accusation against the constable, and that I thought Mr. Crabb was taking a great liberty as regarded the policeman—I thought he was doing the man a great injury—I did not hear the constable make any answer at all—I did not give my name, because I did not think that it was necessary for me to do so; it was nothing to do with me—Mr. Cash wanted him to take my name—I did not give it; if it had been a collision in the street, I should be willing to give it; that is what I said before; whenever I think it is necessary, but I did not think it was necessary in this case—had it been a collision in the street, I would have given my name—I stayed in the house after Mr. Crabb went out three or four minutes, perhaps—I think an hour or two might have elapsed before I went in again—I went in as usual—I do not remember if the barman put the pot of beer on the counter as Mr. Crabb came in, but I believe I drank it before Mr. Crabb came in—I believe I drank it before Mr. Crabb came in, to the best of my recollection—I believe I drank the beer before Mr. Crabb came in—I put it down as he came in—I would not swear to just half a minute—I did drink it before the police-constable came in—I did not hear the barman give his evidence, only at the summons—I do not remember him saying that he put it down as Mr. Crabb came in—I saw Inspector Newman the next day about this complaint about the policeman—I did not make any written statement—the constable was not in the house I should think a minute altogether—Mr. Crabb said he would report the
constable the moment he entered the steps; as soon as he pulled out his pocket-book—I know he ordered a bottle of lemonade—I will not be positive whether he pulled out his pocket-book first, or whether he ordered a small lemon first—I would not say for certain; I was reading the paper at the time, and did not take note—I did not see how he paid for the lemonade, or see him get his change.
Re-examined. It is an honest and truthful account which I have given to-day of what took place—after seven or seven and a half years in the force, something like that, I was made a first-class constable, and have been a first-class constable ever since—I was for nineteen or twenty years a first-class constable—I left with a certificate of good conduct—I have a pension, and I have a position as doorkeeper at the Surrey Theatre now—no charge of drunkenness has been made against me since the one thirty years ago—I did not know this police-constable—I have seen him on duty outside the theatre—I knew him by sight, and that is all—I have never had anything to do with him.
HENRY FIRMIN . I am a glass embosser—I come to business at half-past seven a.m.—I am in the habit of going for an early lunch between half-past ten and eleven every day at Mr. Cash's house, the Flower of the Forest—on September 6th, about half-past ten, I went there—the private bar is led to by some steps—I usually enter the saloon bar, approached by a flight of steps leading up to a lobby and then turning again—as I was coming up those steps I saw a man coming down—I did not take much notice of him; he was a middle-aged man, I should think, shabbily dressed—he had a hard felt hat on—he was leaving the house—we passed each other—I know Nye—when I entered the house I went into the saloon bar—Nye was there—from there I could see into the private bar—there was no person on the public side of the private bar at the time I went into the saloon bar—Johnson was serving behind the private bar—Nye, when I went in the saloon bar, was by the window—he could not see anything that took place in the private bar—I am quite sure directly I went in I asked for refreshment; I always have a glass of ginger-beer with a dash of bitter in it—I carry my own lunch with me—I began to eat it—the first person of the public who came into the private bar after I went into the saloon bar was Mr. Cherry—I saw Mr. Cherry served with some beer in a tankard—I noticed a police-constable come in—before the police-constable came in Cherry drank from the tankard—as far as I could see, with the exception of Cherry's tankard, there was no other pewter measure upon the counter—when the constable came in, Johnson said that he was not wanted, "The man is gone," or words to that effect—Crabb came in, and he pulled out his book, and said he would report him—that is all I heard him say—Crabb took up and smelt the tankard out of which Cherry had drunk—I saw the constable leave the house—from the time I entered until the time the constable left the house I did not see the constable drink out of any pewter measure whatsoever—he did not lift any pewter measure off the counter, or handle it in any way—if he had done so, I must have seen it—I do not know the constable, only by sight.
Cross-examined. I have known Mr. Cash for two years very intimately—I am on friendly terms with him—if I said before I was on intimate terms, no doubt it is correct—I knew that a summons had been
taken out against him with regard to this matter and I knew that it might be a serious thing allowing a constable to drink on licensed premises—his licence might be endorsed, or something of that kind, I believe—I gave evidence before the Magistrate—I cannot remember what I said before the Magistrate—I cannot say whether I said then that I saw Cherry drink the beer—when Cherry came in on that morning there was no reason why I should notice him—I was only in the habit of seeing him come in—there was nothing remarkable about his coming in, or being in the house, or having beer, or drinking it—there was no reason this morning why I should notice him, only that I was sitting right opposite to him—I was eating my lunch, and had my own drink—I might have said, "Good morning," or something of that sort to Mr. Cherry—I was not in conversation with him—Mr. Nye was in the same bar as I was—I was sitting sideways to Mr. Nye, and my face was to Mr. Cherry—I was not watching Mr. Cherry or the barman—I was sitting there eating my lunch, as I usually do at half-past ten—all I noticed Mr. Crabb do was that he took out his pocket-book, and said to the constable that he would report him, or words to that effect—I will not say that they are the exact words—I have told you all that took place when Mr. Crabb came into the house—I do not desire to add to it in any way—I did not hear anything more—that is all I remember—I saw Mr. Crabb come up to the bar, and ask to be served with a bottle of lemonade—I saw him served—I did not notice him pay for the lemonade—I did not notice the barman go away to get change and bring it back—I did not hear him ask the barman for his name—I was paying attention; I was sitting there—it is possible he might have asked the barman for his name, but I do not remember everything—my attention was directed to the matter, when I heard Mr. Crabb say that he would report the constable—I cannot remember that he did ask the barman for his name—I heard Mr. Cash say, "That was Cherry's beer," or something of that sort—I do not remember the landlord asking Mr. Crabb to take Cherry's name—I did not ear Cherry refuse to give him the name—I do not remember it all in detail—when Mr. Cherry came in there was no reason why I should watch him at all, only that I was sitting opposite to him—when my attention was attracted, I do not know that I listened to what was said—I do not think the constable said a syllable as to being brought there to turn a man out—I was in the other bar; I was not close to him—I was lose enough to hear something—I saw Mr. Crabb in the bar—Cherry was leaning against the partition—I did not want to look round the corner to see him; I was facing him—I sat in the opposite corner, and I could see the constable—I did not listen to what was said—I noticed something—I did not hear any such excuse at all as having been called to that house to turn anyone out—I did not know that he had been challenged that he had been drinking—I heard Mr. Crabb say he would report him—I did not know what it was for—I thought it was a joke at the time—it took me unawares, by surprise—I paid attention—I do not remember the constable being sent for—I might have heard it, but I do not remember it—I said I had been a quarter of an hour in the house before the constable came—that was a mistake—I misunderstood the question that was put to me—I could not tell you whether I went out at the same time as Cherry did, or not—I will not be certain as to that—
I think I left Mr. Nye there—I will not be certain if he was there when I went in, and when I left—I should say the beer was placed on the counter before Mr. Crabb came into the bar; I will not swear it was—the beer was placed on the counter when Cherry called for it—Crabb did call for lemonade—he spoke to the constable before he called for the lemonade; but I would not be positive about that—I am not prepared to swear to it—very likely I said before the Magistrate, "There was no reason why I should or should not notice whether Cherry drank from the pot. When Crabb came in he went to the bar and called for some lemonade"—I am not quite certain what was the first thing I heard or what words he used—I do not remember whether Crabb asked the constable for his number or not—I did not hear Crabb ask the barman for his name—I would not be certain whether he asked Cherry for his name—I did not hear Cherry refuse to give his name—I knew of Mr. Cash being summoned, and I often saw him about that time; more than once a day—the only description of the man I saw come from the house was that he was shabbily dressed—I do not think I had ever seen him before in my life—I certainly have not seen him since—I made a statement to the police in writing—I saw nothing of the man; I did not see him come in, or anything that took place with regard to him—the statement I made was a perfectly true one; and it was made at the time the thing was being inquired into with regard to the complaints against the constable: "I was in the Flower of the Forest, Blackfriars Road, about half-past ten on the 6th; I heard the barman send the potman for a policeman to put a man out"; that is not true—I signed it, and it was read to me—I did not say, "The potman was some time gone, and when he returned with the policeman the man had left"—I do not know who drew up my statement for me—this statement was read over to me, and I signed it as being correct in the presence of Newman, the inspector—I do not know that I did say I heard the barman send the potman for a policeman—this is my signature; I signed it for some reason—I did not follow it in the way it was read over to me—when it was read over to me "the potman was some time gone, and when he returned with the policeman the man had left," I suppose it was read over as the facts of the case, not what I really saw—I do not mean that the inspector invented this—I mean that it was read over to me, and I signed it—I signed it as my account of the matter, I think—"I was in the place and I heard the barman send the potman for a policeman" is wrong—I did not hear the barman send the potman for a policeman—may have seen the man afterwards, but not at the time.Q. "The potman was some time gone, and when he returned with the policeman, the man had left. A gentleman followed them in, and he at once said to the policeman, 'I shall report you for drinking on duty. You have your cuff on. 'The policeman said, 'I am on duty,' and left the house. He was not in the house above five or six seconds. Is that so?" A. That is about the time, I should say. Q. "The gentleman was served with a small lemon, and he then picked up a pot off the counter and put it to his nose, and said to the landlord, 'I shall report you.' The landlord said, 'You are not serious?' He said, 'I am.' The landlord pointed to another man, and said, 'The ale belongs to him.'" Did you say that? A. No, I did not say that. Q. Is this your account of it—"The land-lord
pointed to another man, and said, 'The ale belongs to him; you had better take his name and address.' The gentleman then left the house I was not in the same compartment. He was in a position to see and hear all that took place. The policeman was not served." Was that your statement to the inspector who was inquiring into this case? A. Yes; Inspector Newman was making inquiries into the complaints of the constable which might possibly result in a charge against Mr. Cash; I understood that.
Re-examined. When I said I had been a quarter of an hour in the place before Cherry or the constable came in, I thought I was asked as to the time I was in the house—the whole time I was in the house was a quarter of an hour—when Johnson said, "He has gone now," that was the first thing I heard mentioned—I could see and hear from the point where I sat all that took place—I heard Johnson say that he had gone—the constable did not at any time take up a pewterpot and drink from it—he was not near the counter; I am certain upon that point—I have no interest in this matter at all beyond that of telling the truth in a court of justice.
Cross-examined. In "The Licensed Victuallers' Blue Book" I have given the statistics as 30,000 convictions for drunkenness in the Metropolitan District in 1892. Q. I see there are 7,000 public-houses, 4,000 odd beerhouses, and between 300 and 400 refreshment-houses with wine licenses, and you point out that out of the 7,000 public-houses there were only forty-nine convictions of landlords? A. It is not true to say I pointed it out—it is embodied in the statistical tables—I am the editor of this book—forty-nine convictions where there are 7,000 public-houses is a very small number—my telegraphic address is "Defensio, London"; it has been so for many years.
AMOS CHERRY (Re-examined by MR. GILL). I said I made a statement to the inspector—it was not read over; I read part of it myself—I signed it—having been twenty-six and a-half years in the police force, I understand what it is to sign a statement. Q. Just listen to it:—"I went into the Flower of the Forest, Blackfriars Road, about 10.20. I was served with half a pint of ale, and picked up the newspaper and commenced to read. Shortly afterwards the barman requested a man to eave, and he would not. He then directed the potman to fetch a constable. The potman went out, and the man left immediately. The potman arrived in about three minutes with the constable, who was not wanted, as the man had left. A gentleman followed the constable into the house, and at once said, 'I shall report you for drinking on duty you have your cuff on.' The constable said, 'I am on duty,' and left the house. The gentleman was then served with a small lemon. He then took up my pot and smelt the contents, and said to the landlord, 'I shall report it.' The landlord said, 'You are not serious.' He replied, 'I am; I shall report it.' The landlord asked him to take my name and address,
as the ale belonged to me; but I would not give it. The constable was not served"—that is my signature—Newman I knew to be an inspector of the Division—I knew that a complaint had been made about this constable, and that Newman was inquiring into it—I made the statement verbally to Mr. Newman, and he wrote the statement out and brought it to me later on—I said, "The principal statements are there, but I did not say all that"—Mr. Newman did not write it on this paper; neither did I write—the principal facts are all there, but it is not exactly the words that I said—I said nothing about the man fetching the constable or anything else to Mr. Newman—the principal facts are there to a certain extent—if I had said this it would not be true; not exactly the words—perhaps Mr. Newman might have misunderstood me about the passage: "I was served, and picked up the newspaper, and commenced to read. Shortly afterwards the barman requested the man to leave"—I would not say for certain that Newman invented that—I read part of it—my sight is not very clear, and when I read I have to use glasses—I could not read the whole of it—I signed it—Newman might have misunderstood me—he took it verbally—he did not write it out while I was there—my eyesight is very bad—I did not see every word, and Mr. Newman did not read it over to me—I did not read every word—I am going by what you say about the principal facts being in it—I did not say the first part of it in that way.
By the RECORDER. I said to Newman the principal facts are correct—there are a few words there I did not say, in the forepart of the statement—I am an old constable—I knew it was important that a constable should have a good reason for being in a public-house when he is on duty—I am quite sure I did not tell Newman that I heard the barman send the potman for him—I cannot account at all for Newman writing it—he did not take it down in writing when I told him.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I have been engaged in temperance work for the past thirty years, and lately have directed my attention to the action of the police in reference to licensed houses. I have reported in the present year several constables for drinking in public-houses while on duty in and around London. My business as a traveller takes me into all parts of London, and I have the opportunities of making this observation. On the 5th of last September I had an interview by appointment with the Chief Commissioner of Police, when I mentioned to him some cases I had reported, especially the case of two constables observed on August 22nd drinking in a public-house in Cowcross Street, and the Commissioner said that the constables in that case had acknowledged that they had been served whilst on duty, but that they had removed their armlets, and told the landlord a lie, saying they were off duty, and they had been dealt with by the Commissioner of Police accordingly. The Commissioner also reminded me of the great difficulty of obtaining a conviction of a publican. After that interview the landlord of another house in Marylebone was summoned by the Commissioner, but the summons was dismissed, as my evidence was not corroborated, and the constables denied that they had taken drink on the premises, and swore that they had been sent for to eject two disorderly persons who left the house as the constables entered. I
reported the constable in the of the Flower of the Forest at the station and also at Scotland Yard. The police obtained the summons against Mr. Cash without further communication with me. The evidence I gave as a witness was absolutely true, and what actually took place I now repeat. On September 6th last, at 10.35 a.m., I was driving down Blackfriars Road in a trap which I use for my business. As I was passing the Flower of the Forest public-house I noticed a police-constable loitering about outside the house and looking up and down. I drove a short distance, about forty feet, and got down I pretended to look in a shop window, but I kept the constable under observation. I saw the constable go up the passage leading to the private bar. I followed him. I went up the steps and into the private bar, and saw the constable standing there. He was standing about the middle of the bar with his arm wearing the armlet behind him; he was facing the counter. I went up to the counter, and asked the barman for a bottle of lemonade. The barman then placed a pewter measure containing liquor on the counter in front of the constable. The constable was standing close to me. I saw him take up the measure and drink from it. He replaced the measure on the counter, and I took it up and smelt it. It had contained malt liquor. I told the constable I should report him for drinking on licensed premises. I took his number, saying to him, 'You see I am taking your number. I drew the barman's attention to the fact, and ask him for his name he made no answer. I said also to the constable, 'You are on duty, you have your armlet on. 'The constable said, 'I know I have. The landlord came forward and said the constable did not pay for the liquor, but that man there, pointing to a stout man standing on the other side of the constable. I said, 'I don't know who paid for it, but he has drunk it on your premises.' I left the house, and went to the front and took the name of the house and of the landlord. I saw the constable outside; he came up and made an observation, but I did not reply. I then got into my trap and drove away. I went to the police-station about six o'clock in the evening, after my day's work. I made a written report at the request of the inspector, which was read over in the presence of the constable. He denied the charge of drinking, said he was called to the hose to turn someone out. I sent a copy of my report to Scotland and, and I heard no more of the case until I received through the police a notification that I was to attend as a witness on the hearing of the summons against the landlord, Mr. Cash. In what I have done I have acted, as I believed, in the discharge of my duty as a citizen, and in order to call attention to the extraordinary difference between the number of persons convicted of drunkenness and the very few cases of proceedings against the licensed houses in which convictions are obtained, and what I believe to be the laxity of the police in dealing with licensed houses."
The prisoner received an excellent character.
NOT GUILTY .
873. CHARLES WILSON (16), GEORGE SMITH (18), and THOMAS LANGWORHTY (16) , Burglary in the dwelling-house of Henry Green, and stealing four pairs of boots and other property. Second Count, Receiving the same.
WILSON and LANGWORTHY PLEADED GUILTY
MR. ROOTH. Prosecuted.
ELLEN GREEN . I live with my uncle, Henry Green, a clothier, at Hawthorne Cottage, Oxtead, Surrey—on 18th August I went to bed about nine o'clock—my uncle closes the house after I go to bed—the next morning I came down at seven and noticed that the front door was open, and the right hand sitting-room window was down as far, as it would go, and the writing table drawers were pulled out—those things had not been like that when I went to bed—I went to the left hand sitting-room and found the blind turned up, and I missed a tankard and spoon off the table, which had been left from dinner overnight—I went down the passage—the door was open into the store-room—I went into the shop, it was all in confusion—I missed some boots out of a glass case, and some trousers—I was shown boots at the Police-court which I identified; they were in the house on the 18th August, and were gone when I came down on the 19th—two pairs have our private mark; the third pair has a red medallion with a beehive—I had only two pairs with that mark in the shop—these two pairs and the pair worn by one of the prisoners were in a glass case—my uncle missed some money.
Cross-examined. I can swear to these boots—there has been an attempt to scratch the figures out on one boot—these boots were not made at our premises, but at Croydon.
HENRY GREEN . I am the uncle of the last witness, and live at the same address with her—on 18th August, before going to bed, I locked up all the lower part of the house, with the exception of the front door, which is always fastened by the Rev. William Gordon—I always fasten the sitting-room window, and it was fastened—the following morning my niece called me, and I went over the house with her, and found it had been ransacked and things taken from it—I identify these boots as such as we keep, but my niece has the management of the shop—I can tell them by these marks—I also missed a saltspoon and a tankard; and 2s., 1s., 6d., and 2d. off the kitchen mantelpiece—I sent for the police.
FREDERICK GEORGE PERCY (47, Surrey Constabulary). I am stationed at Limpsfield—I was spoken to about this matter on 19th August, and in consequence of what I was told I went to Mr. Green's house—I found the part of the house which is used as a shop all in confusion—I did not notice how entrance had been obtained—from information received I searched a haystack in a meadow adjoining Mr. Green's garden—I found three pairs of trousers—two were identified by Mr. Green as his property, and the third pair was afterwards owned by Wilson—I also found a pair of socks which Langworthy owned, and shoes with indiarubber soles, which another of the prisoners owns—I also found a tin of biscuits, and a portion of a jar of jam.
JAMES BUTLER (122, Surrey Constabulary). I am stationed at Woldringham—on 19th August, from information received, I went down the Croydon Road to Caterham Valley about two o'clock—I found the three prisoners together sitting under a hedge in a field, close to the footpath—they each had on a pair of new boots, and Langworthy and Wilson had on new trousers—I took them to the station—I searched and found on Wilson 2s., 1s., 6d., and 2d.—I went back to the field again and found a knife and a tin of cocoa—Smith said he had been down to Brighton harvesting and had bought the boots there; then afterwards he
said he had bought the boots at Kingston—he did not say from whom he had bought them; he gave me no particulars by which I could discover the shop.
Cross-examined by Smith. You said you had been down to Brighton harvesting, and that you had earned some money, and had bought the boots at Brighton.
WILLIAM GORDON . I am a clerk in Holy Orders—I lodge with Mr. Green—on 18th August I came into the house before six p.m., I should say—I went to bed at half-past ten or eleven, after locking up the front door.
JAMES PRYCE (Superintendent, Surrey Constabulary). I am stationed at Godstone—on 19th August I received information about a burglary at Mr. Green's house—I went there at ten o'clock on the Sunday morning, and made an examination of the premises—entrance had been effected by forcing back the fastening of the sitting-room window with a sharp instrument—Butler showed me a knife, the marks on which corresponded with the marks on the window—at 6.30 that evening the prisoners were brought to Godstone—Smith was wearing a new air of boots which Miss Green identified—I said to Langworthy, all the prisoners being together, and able to hear what was said, "Where are your trousers? I have not got any to give you, but I will get yours if you will tell me where to get them"—he had been wearing the stolen trousers, and I had taken them off—he replied, "My trousers are with the others on the stack"—on the following morning I went to the stack; I moved a quantity of hay, and on the top I found a pair of trousers and an old pair of boots—I took the trousers to the police station, and showed them to Langworthy, and he said, "Yes, those are my trousers"—Wilson said nothing—I charged each of them with burglary, and each replied, "No, I know nothing about it"—I cannot say which pair each of the prisoners was wearing.
GUILTY .—SMITH— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. WILSON and LANGWORTHY— Nine Months' Hard Labour each.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, NOVEMBER 19TH, 1894.
The following Prisoners, upon whom the sentence of the Court was respited at the time of Trial, have since been sentenced as under:—
Page. Vol. cxx. Sentence.