CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
SECOND SESSION, HELD DECEMBER 9TH, 1895.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND BY
JAMES DROVER BARNETT
Short-hand Writers to the Court,
ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
THE POINTS OF LAW AND PRACTICE
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On the Queen's Commission of
OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
The City of London,
AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY, WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
INCLUDING CASES COMMITTED TO THIS COURT, UNDER ORDER IN COUNCIL, PURSUANT TO WINTER ASSIZE ACT OF 1879,
Held on Monday, December 9th, 1895, and following days.
BEFORE the RIGHT HON. SIR WALTER WILKIN , Knt., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir HENRY HAWKINS , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court; Sir JAMES CLARKE LAWRENCE , Bart., and Sir STUART KNILL , Knt., 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 JOHN VOCE MOORE, Knt., MARCUS SAMUEL , Esq., JOHN CHARLES BELL , Esq., and FREDERICK PRATT ALLISTON, Esq., other of the 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.
CLARENCE BECKFORD, Esq.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
WILKIN, MAYOR. SECOND SESSION.
A star (*) denotes that prisoners have been previously in custody—two stars (**) that they have been more than once in custody—a dagger (†) that they are known to be the associates of bad characters—the figures after the name in the indictment denote the prisoner's age.
LONDON AND MIDDLESEX CASES.
NEW COURT.—Monday, December 9th, 1895.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
48. THOMAS WEST (23) and ROBERT BILLINGTON (20) , five indictments for breaking and entering the counting-house of the Midland Railway Company, also two warehouses of the Great Eastern Railway Company, also the warehouse of Wm. Lawrence Robins, and two other warehouses, and stealing therein.
WEST— Six Months' Hard Labour. BILLINGTON— Ten Months' Hard Labour. The GRAND JULY commended the conduct of the Police. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
Several other convictions were proved against him.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
50. CHARLES THOMAS LATRIELLE (24) , to two indictments for stealing, while employed in the Post Office, two letters containing three orders for the payment of money, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster General.— Nine Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
51. CHARLES FRANCIS AINSWORTH (31) , to two indictments for stealing, while employed in the Post Office, two letters containing five Post Office Orders, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster General.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
52. HENRY JAMES DIXON (23) , to stealing a watch and chain of Gertrude Collins from her person, also to three other indictments for stealing tools, having been convicted at this Court on September 10th, 1894.— Six Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
MR. BODKIN and MR. BIRON Prosecuted.
Company—in consequence of complaints, on November 15th I went up the line with two constables, all in plain clothes, and saw the prisoners, whom I did not know before, in a brickfield—the 2.31 train from Kentish Town came up about 2.45, and before it passed I saw the prisoners. throwing stones on the line, and when it was passing they each threw a piece of brick at it—this (produced) is a sample of brick which I picked up on the line immediately afterwards—they threw once at the train and two or three times before—I got over the fence and they ran away—they did not appear to be employed in the brickfield, they were loafing about and gambling; they have been there all the summer—I caught Dundervale and took him to the station—the line was covered with pieces of brick.
ARTHUR WILLIAM HALL . I am a constable of the Midland Railway—I was with Sergeant Breely in this field and saw the prisoners there, they threw three or four stones over the wall and then went to the corner on to the bridge; a train was passing and they both threw stones at it—I told Callaghan I wanted him; he said, "What for?"—I said I would tell him later on—I did not know him before.
WILLIAM LEES . I am a constable of the Midland Railway—I was with Hall on November 15th in a field next to the line, and saw the prisoners throwing stones on to the line, and they each threw a stone at a passing train—they threw straight; there was nothing to prevent the stones going in at the windows.
JOSEPH BARRS . On November 15th I was guard of the 2.25 train from St. Pancras which was passing, between Kentish Town and Haverstock Hill, by this brickfield, shortly after 2.30—there were passengers in the train.
Callaghan's statement before the Magistrate: "I am very sorry for what I am brought up for, but I am not guilty."
Dundervale's defence: "I never done such a thing."
Callaghan's defence: "I am very sorry. I went into the field to ease myself and he caught hold of me."
GUILTY .—The officers stated that passengers had been injured by stones thrown at the trains, and the telegraph wires broken by bricks. DUNDERVALE— Six Months' Hard Labour. CALLAGHAN*— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
MR. HARDY Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
The JURY, being unable to agree, were discharged without giving any verdict.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
GUILTY — Three Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, December 10th, 1895.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
57. HENRY HARRIS (17) PLEADED GUILTY to forging and uttering the endorsement to an order for £10 also to attempting to obtain £10 with intent to defraud, having been convicted at West Londonon February 3rd, 1892.— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
MR. HARDY for the Prosecution stated that as one Jury had disagreed in this case and had been discharged without giving any verdict, he should offer no evidence.— NOT GUILTY .
MR. GILL Prosecuted, and MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended.
LEWIS BENDEN (In custody). I was formerly in the prisoner's employment; I am now under sentence at Pentonville, for stealing a diamond pendant which was pawned for £5, and got six months at the Police-court on October 12th—on October 10th I wrote a letter to the Incandescent Gas Company—a gentleman from the Company came to see me and I made a statement to him—I went in to the prisoner's employment as a barber in June and July, 1894—he has a barber's shop in Mile End Road—I am a German Jew—I stayed till March, 1895—I went back in July and stayed there till I was charged—at the end of 1894 the prisoner had seven incandescent lamps in the shop—in July, 1895, the prisoner asked the man who used to come from the Company once a fortnight if he had enough wages; I do not know the man's name—he said, "What can I do? the company does not pay me any thing more; can you get something for me?"—he said, "I will see what I can do for you," and he said to me, "When the man comes call me down if I am upstairs"—the man came again a fortnight afterwards and took out a box containing six burners, four or five mantles, and some chimneys, and the prisoner put them in an electricity box, and gave the man some money—when the man came the next time he had six mantles and six chimneys, and the prisoner gave him a half-crown, he did not come after that—the prisoner purchased mantles and chimneys in 1894 every fortnight, but not burners—the prisoner's brother-in-law, Benjamin, a gasfitter, used to come to the shop, and took away in his pocket the things which the maintenance man brought—the prisoner gave them to him—the prisoner used to sell the things to customers—he said that he got them from a wholesale place—he sold some mantles and chimneys to Teddy Dyme, who had a public house next door, and to Mr. Levine, a jeweller, next door to the public-house; also to a tailor, and he fixed a lamp himself at Tobin's, the jeweller's; he knew how to do it—Cohen, a tailor, had one lot of these lamps—I did not see the maintenance man after September; I saw the other man, Smith, twice—this (produced) is a letter I wrote on January 10th to the manager of the company.
Cross-examined. The prisoner gave me in custody for stealing one of
his pins—I was also charged with stealing a pin from a customer, taking it out of his tie when I was shaving him—I was also charged with stealing a diamond pendant from a house where I had been sent to shave a sick gentleman—I do not know whether those are all the charges against me, perhaps you had better find out—there is nothing else—from November, 1894, to September, 1895, the same maintenance man came every fortnight—I was not in the service the whole time; I was away for two months—the prisoner spoke to the maintenance man about his wages in the summer of 1895 not in 1894, although he was bringing things to him in 1894—I have been in England nearly four years—I knew in November, 1894, that my master was doing wrong, and I told a young lady so, but no one else—I wrote the letter before my sentence; I did not write to them earlier, because I had my own business to look after.
ISAAC COHEN . I am a tailor, of 266 and 268, Mile End Road, close to the prisoner—I had ten incandescent gas lamps in my shop at first, I now have fourteen—the prisoner sold them to me all but two, I bought everything from him, burners, mantles and chimneys—it was some Friday in October—I gave him a cheque for £2 2s. for the first lot, and my cashier paid him 19s. afterwards—he did not say where he got them; he showed me a card stating that he was a gas-fitter and electrical engineer.
Cross-examined. He is an electric bell-fitter, and fits up baths, and keeps baths for the use of his customers—I admired the light, and said,. "You may as well fix some for men—two of them were fitted with a bycard—I have never seen boxes like these, sold in the street.
JOSEPH DA COSTA . I am a surgeon, of 172, Mile End Road—on January 1st Mr. Benjamin fitted up four incandescent lamps at my shop on his own account—none of them have had to be repaired, but I have had one mantle from Mr. Abrams; I sent a boy to him for it; he brought it back, and I paid the prisoner 1s. 3d. for it when he came next day.
EDWARD DYNE . I am a publican, of 168, Mile End Road—next door to the prisoner; he put up three incandescent lamps for me for trial—I was to pay 12s. 6d. for them if they answered; he did not tell me where he got them—I did not like them.
JOSEPH TOBIN . I am a watchmaker, of 382, Mile End Road—at the beginning of September the prisoner fitted up two incandescent lamps. at my house; I paid him 12s. 6d. each for them—I have not bought any mantles of him; they have been running since September.
JOHN BARTLETT . I live at Denmark Hill, and am foreman of the mantle department of the Incandescent Gas Company—the prisoner was a customer of theirs at 121 Mile End Road—they supplied him with two of these lights, burners, mantles, and chimneys—there was a form of contract—nine shillings a year is charged to maintain each light, for which purpose we have a staff of maintenance men who visit customers' houses, some weekly and some fortnightly; they examine the light to see if anything. has to be renewed; they are supplied with mantles and chimneys, but not burners, also with a card for each customer, on which he puts down his visit and the number of mantles and chimneys supplied—the card is signed by the customer and should correspond with the number of empty boxes brought back—Cooper had that round till towards the end of the year; his last visit was in July, 1895; he was then given a week's holiday, and on the 28th he was discharged for something quite distinct from this—these
(produced) are Abrams' cards for August, September, October, etc., they are marked "Two lamps"—Cooper was succeeded on his round by Smith, who made a communication to me on October 7th, and I gave him instructions what to do, and on the 31st I arranged for a third person to be in the shop—the prisoner was arrested on a warrant in November—the letter from Benden was brought to my knowledge some time after the communication from Smith, who was acting under my instructions before—these burners, lamps, and mantles found at the time of the arrest are the company's property.
Cross-examined. The assistant-manager brought the letter to my notice—I have only been in the company's service since July 22nd—I do not know whether these mantles are made of clay from Brazil—if you suggest that they are worth 2d. each I cannot contradict you—I know this mantle case because I marked it with red ink before I took it to the Magistrate—there are other incandescent gas companies—the employees of the company may buy for themselves, but are not allowed to sell to anybody else—I said at the Police-court, "The employees of the company have not now the privilege of selling at a discount; the practice was discontinued twelve months ago; there is a man at the stores to give the mantles out, and they are booked when they are returned."
EDWARD JAMES SMITH . I am a maintenance man in the employ of this company; I took up Cooper's round after his discharge, a fortnight, I think, previous to October 3rd—I have now been with the company four or five months—I visited 166, Mile End Road, at the end of September, and again on October 3rd—I had a card with me showing that I was to attend to two lamps in the window—I am supplied with chimneys and mantles—when I went on October 3rd the prisoner said, "What has become of the other man?"—I said, "Which man do you mean? we have so many"—he said, "Cooper"—I said, "Cooper is not working for our people now"—he said, "Cooper used to leave me some mantles, I used to pay him 4d. each for them, can you do the same?"—I said, "I will see what I can do"—he said, "If you get any stuff call in the morning time, if you can," and that he could do with a couple of dozen—I reported what had occurred to Bartlett the foreman, and received his instructions—I understood that the suggestion was that I should steal them—I reported it at the first opportunity on Monday, October 7th—I went again in the ordinary course on October 17th, and the prisoner said, "Have you got the stuff for me?"—I said, "No, I have not, I got wet and have been laid up eight or nine days, so I have not been able to get any stuff"—I communicated with Mr. Bartlett on the 18th—on October 31st I went again to the prisoner's house, but did not know that a man was going to follow me into the shop—when I entered the prisoner said, "I don't know whether to call you lazy, you have got here, have you got that stuff for me?"—I said, "I have got none with me, but I have got a dozen or so by me; by-the-way, I have seen Cooper and he told me you gave him 5d. for each mantle"—he said, "Cooper gave me some chimneys with the mantles, I will pay you 5d. if you will let me have some chimneys with the mantles; I must have two to-night or four in the morning for certain. I have plenty of empty mantle boxes, and with me it is as sound as iron"—he was in the shop; I gave him the card to sign—he said, "You have used
nothing; put down one mantle on the card; give me the mantle and I will sign for it"—I said, "I cannot do that; I have another job to do, and do not know what stuff I might want; if I have got any to spare I will call in as I come back"—I had not used any mantle—I do not know how many lights he had in other parts of the house, but I asked him what he did about the others; he said, "I maintain them myself."
Cross-examined. There is a name on the collar of the burners, and on some of the chimneys—Lane went in with me; I believe he is a detective—he was an absolute stranger to me, and Abrams did not know him—he was two or three yards from me—it is a tidy-sized shop—there was a man in a corner nursing a child—everybody in the shop could not hear him say, "Have you got the stuff?" because he came up to me—I stood on a pair of steps at the window, and at some parts of the conversation Abrams stood on a chair to speak to me.
FREDERICK JAMES LANE . I am an inquiry officer in the employ of the company—in consequence of instructions from Mr. Bartlett on October 31st, I followed Smith into the defendant's shop and sat on the second chair from the window—I could not hear all that was said—Abrams said to Smith, "Have you got that stuff for me?"—he said, "No, I have not; but I have got a dozen or so by me; by-the-way, I have seen Cooper, and he says that you always gave him 5d. for the mantles?"—the prisoner said, "Very well; I will give you 5d. each if you will give me some chimneys as well. I must have two to-night or four to-morrow morning for certain—Smith said, "I am going further up the road, and if I have anything left I will look in as I come back"—when Smith had finished attending to the lights he handed the card to Abrams, who said, "You have no mantle on the card"—Smith said, "No, nothing has been used"—Abrams said, "Put one mantle down, give me the mantle, and I will sign for it"—a young man shaved me, but in reality I was listening to what I could hear—I then got up—I was about a foot and a half from him; I got quite close to him.
Cross-examined. I have been about seven months in the company's service—I swore this: "I know agents supply these mantles in large quantities; I have heard that they are sometimes pedlared"—that means hawked about in the street—I never said, "I have seen burners advertised in the Exchange and Mart, but that is an infringement"—I said. "I have heard that fitters of mantles used to buy at a discount"—I heard, in my capacity of an inquiry officer, that they were hawked about the streets.
ALBERT HARRISON (Detective Sergeant H). On November 7th, I went to 156, Mile End Road, and saw the prisoner—I told him I had a warrant for his arrest, which I read to him; he said, "I have the receipts for all I have,"—he did not say from whom—I then read the search warrant to him—he said, "Leave it till ten o'clock;"—I said, "I cannot do that"—ten o'clock was about closing time, and it was then between five and six—I left him in Harvey's charge and commenced to search, and in a chiffonier drawer in the front room first floor I found these four burners (produced) and two mica chimneys in a small room on the first floor—I sent them downstairs by Detective Clark—I went down and saw Detective Smart in the shop where the other two burners were, and one chimney, two mantles, three mica tops, three or four small cardboard boxes, and this mantle rod, which is to keep
the mantle in its proper position—Pearce said to the prisoner, "How do you account for these?" he made no reply, but took this burner up and examined it, and put it down again—I took him to the station—he was charged, and said nothing—on November 22nd, at Arbour Square Station, I charged him with receiving burners, mantles, and other articles, the property of the Incandescent Company—he said nothing then, but when the charge was read over to him, he said, "Not burners, only chimneys and mantles; he never carried burners."
Cross-examined. He was first charged with inciting a man to steal—that was complete on the second hearing, and the solicitor said that he intended to prefer a second charge of receiving, and he was taken out of the dock into the charge room—he spoke English.
THOMAS SMART (Detective H). I took part in the arrest and the search—when the things were placed on the table I said to the prisoner, "How do you account for these?"—he made no answer—he was taken to the station.
J. BARTLETT (Re-examined). The present price of these burners is 9s., and when they are fitted with mantles 11s., and the mica chimneys 1s. 6d.; they have been reduced for the last three months—these mica tops are cheap.
Cross-examined. I mean 9s. to the general public, an agent gets 25 or 30 per cent. discount—mantles are not sold at 7d., they are sold at ls. 3d. to agents.
Cross-examined. Fitters and employees of the company are allowed 30 per cent., even to sell to other people—I do not know whether the mantles are made in Germany or in Brazil—other mantles are in the market similar to these and sold at 1s. to 1s. 6d., but not lower than ours—I do not know where mantles can be obtained for 4d.; I should like to buy them.
By the COURT. They are sent to this country in an unprepared condition, and the secret process is performed in this country by our own chemist.
Witness for the Defence.
LAWRENCE DENNETT . I live at 41, Hart Street, Bloomsbury, and am agent to the Incandescent Gas Company of Palmer Street—I keep a shop for supplying retail customers—I first sold the prisoner seven burners on credit at his shop at a net figure; I am not allowed discount—they cost me 1s., and I sell them at 1s. 3d. to ordinary shopkeepers, and if anybody brings a card to me they get them at 1s. 1d.—I never met with any at 4d.—I have never received 40 per cent. discount from the company—I never got anything for less than 1s., but if I had wanted them I understand I could have got them about half price; the burners and mantles were, I believe, subject to a discount of 50 per cent., they then might be sold by an employee at 7 1/2 d.—if employes saw the manager and said that they were going to introduce a good customer, they might be allowed a discount—I do not know whether people buy lamps which have been used—I moved 120 mantles at a ball which had only been burned one night—if they had been burnt some time they would
fall to pieces—I have heard of their being sold by a person who is going to disuse them, but I have not bought them or priced them—they are advertised second-hand sometimes, and can be re-lacquered.
Cross-examined. I supplied him with seven lamps—I never maintain lamps—he has had several ready-money transactions with us besides—I do not know Cooper—the original price was 17s.—it has been introduced about two years.
Re-examined. I cannot say that I have known the prisoner, but I have had dealings with him over a year—he has bought lamps and burners of me—there are incandescent gas companies who are alleged to have infringed the patent—we only sell these.
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
FLORENCE WILSON . On February 22nd, between twelve and one p.m., I was walking along Wilton Road, from Victoria, and saw the prisoner, whom I knew by sight—she had threatened me at six o'clock, and said that she meant to do for me before the night was out, and at twelve o'clock she came behind me and put something into my eye, I do not know whether it was an umbrella or what—I was taken to an hospital and my eye had to be removed—she is an unfortunate woman.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I only know you by sight, but I know you are the terror of Victoria—I did not spit in your face—it was you who did it.
SIDNEY TIPPETT . I am senior house surgeon at Westminster Hospital—I examined the last witness on her admission; her right eye was split open and utterly destroyed; it could have been done by a fist or by any instrument—the eye had to be removed to prevent the other being affected—it must have been a very violent blow.
THOMAS STANLEY (59 B). On February 22nd I saw Wilson quarrelling with the prisoner; Wilson complained that the prisoner was following her—I requested the prisoner to desist; she went a short distance and said, "You b——, I will wait for you; I will do for you before the night is over."
Cross-examined. It was not you who spoke to me, it was Wilson—you were dressed in a brown three-quarter cloak and a hat.
ARTHUR ALLEN (Policeman). I arrested the prisoner on November 1st—on the way to the station she said, "On the day of the quarrel the girl who has lost her eye came and pushed against me, and called me a dirty thief."
Prisoner's Defence: The prosecutrix came up to me at 4.30, and spat in my face. I pushed her away, and spoke to a policeman, and walked up the road. She went to hit me again, and I knocked her hand up, and the man she was with said, "Don't touch her again; see the state she is in." I did not go away on that account; I went away to be confined.
on March 1st, but though I made every inquiry, I could not find her—she was confined in April.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. — Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Monday, December 9th, 1895.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. MORESBY for the prosecution stating that he had no evidence of the wife being alive at the time of the second marriage, offered no evidence, and the JURY found the prisoner
NOT GUILTY .
63. JOHN SLACK (43) , to a burglary in the dwelling-house of Ernest Clark, and stealing a pair of opera glasses and other articles; also to a conviction in June, 1891. Four other convictions were proved against him.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
64. CHARLES OWEN (17) and THOMAS RAY (17) , to a burglary in the dwelling-house of Julia Cavendish, and stealing a watch, and other articles. Two previous convictions were proved against Owen, and three against Ray.
OWEN— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. RAY— Thirteen Months' Hard Labour.
65. HENRY SPILLER (46) , Unlawfully writing and publishing a false and defamatory libel of and concerning Agnes Noble Stewart Pakenham, with intent to extort money from her; another Count, for writing and publishing a false and defamatory libel on John Pakenham.
MR. C. F. GILL, on behalf of the prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. LAWLESS Prosecuted, and MR. LEYCESTER Defended at the request of the COURT.
VISCOUNT FRANKFORT DE MONTMORENCY . I am a Major General, Commanding the Forces in the Dublin District—during the whole of this year I have been signing documents that go through Kilmainham Hospital—I do not recognise the prisoner—I have an account at Cox's bank—I did not sign this cheque, or give any authority to sign it—I was looking over my pass-book, and found this entry, and I communicated with Cox's, and they sent me this cheque.
Cross-examined. This cheque is simply signed "Frankfort"—that is how I generally sign cheques, and all army documents—it is not at all a good imitation of my signature; it resembles it in a sort of way—the forged cheque has "Frankfort," with "Major-General" underneath—I generally sign, "Frankfort, Major-General."
BERNARD HENNEGHAN . I am superintending clerk in the office of the Royal Hospital, Kilmainham—the prisoner was in employment there up to September 24th this year—on that day he was suspended, and subsequently discharged—during the early part of the year, and unti
September 24th, he was daily on duty there as a messenger—Colonel Childers had a room in the establishment; the prisoner had access to it—Colonel Childers is now called away on foreign service; he was Assistant Military Secretary—I have been in and out of his room; I have seen a cheque-book in the drawer, on the right hand side of his table as he sat there—I have seen the prisoner in and out of that room—I have frequently seen the prisoner write; I know his writing—this list "G" is in his writing,—I brought it from Dublin—in the middle of the list is the word Greenfield—I believe that the writing on this cheque and the endorsements on these bank notes" J. H. Greenfield, Ballymena," is in the prisoner's writing—the word Greenfield in this diary is in the same writing—all the writing in the diary is the prisoner's.
Cross-examined. This list would come into my hands in connection with my ordinary business in the hospital—the prisoner kept a list of all letters despatched by Lord Wolseley; this is part of the list—I know nothing of the prisoner's career before he came to the Hospital—I have seen Colonel Childers use his cheque-book—I cannot say that the cheque-book produced is the same one.
FREDERICK WILLIAM HODGES . I am a cashier at Messrs. Cox and Co.'s Bank, Charing Cross—Lord Frankfort of Montmorency, and Mr. Childers and Mrs. Childers, are customers of ours—this cheque-book was issued in September, 1890, to Mrs. Childers—no cheque has been drawn according to this since November, 1890—four cheques and counterfoils are missing from the book—this forged cheque comes from this book—the forged cheque was produced to me on October 16th by a man—I cannot identify the prisoner—a month afterwards at the Police-court he was put among other persons for identification—I picked him out as a man of that build, but I could not speak positively to him—on October 16th the man took the cheque from his pocket, and on unfolding it he tore it—I asked him to stick it together, giving him a piece of gummed paper for the purpose, and to write "accidentally torn," and sign it, and he did so—I cashed the cheque by three £10 notes, KI 74333, 74334, 74335, and £5 in gold—I cashed the cheque about 2.30.
Cross-examined. It was an open cheque—it had been already endorsed in the name of Greenfield, which was unnecessary—I should have cashed it if it had not been endorsed—I have had several years' experience in writing, constantly having to examine signatures—it did not strike me that the endorsement and the body of the cheque were in the same writing; if it had, I should have had no option about paying it, it being payable to bearer—it might have occurred to me if I had noticed a resemblance that the "Frankfort" might be forged; but I considered the signature Frankfort was not in the ordinary writing of the person who wrote Greenfield—I think there is a similarity between the writings, but it did not strike me at the time.
Re-examined. There are several letters that seem to be formed in the same way, and I should be very much surprised if the face and endorsement were not in the same hand—the body of the cheque is written in a feigned hand, I believe, and therefore it must be studied before you can see the similarity.
By the JURY. Whoever got it cashed could have had all the money in
gold—it is not usual to take such an amount all in gold—all our chequebooks are made out with twenty-five and fifty cheques, and four have been torn out from the end of this.
WILLIAM PERCY LAWRENCE . I am a cashier in the Bank of England Issue Department—these three £10 notes were cashed there on October 16th by me, about three o'clock, towards the close of the day, which is four o'clock—a man cashed them—I do not identify the prisoner—the man wrote his name and address on the back of the notes when requested to do so.
Cross-examined. We always require the endorsement, but a man presenting a note for gold would not be bound to endorse it: if he refused to endorse it we should cash the note just the same—very few do refuse, and they do it more for a joke, I think.
FLORENCE TAPP . I am an assistant in the boot department of the Civil Service Supply Association, Bedford Street—on October 16th, about five o'clock I made out this bill for boots and shoes for a man who was rather big; he gave me the address: Mrs. Dougall, 2, Liffey Street, Inchecore, Dublin—the boots and shoes were to be sent there—I put it on the bill.
By the COURT. I was asked if I could recognise the person on November 14th—I do not recognise the prisoner's features but he is about the same size as the man who bought the boots and shoes—I have hundreds of transactions daily, mostly with ladies.
Cross-examined. This bill produced is the one I should give to the customer, who would take it—no invoice would be sent with the goods.
CHARLES RICHARDS (Inspector C. I. D. Scotland Yard). About four o'clock on November 12th, I went with two sergeants of the Irish Police to the prisoner's house in Prosperous Village, Co. Kildare, with a warrant for his apprehension—we saw the prisoner—one of the sergeants said to him "Your name is Dougall"—the prisoner said "Yes"—the sergeant said "I arrest you on a warrant for forging and uttering a cheque"—the prisoner said "All right"—I said "Dougall, I am an Inspector from Scotland Yard, if you listen I will read the warrant to you"—I read the warrant—he made no reply—five minutes after, while I was searching the house, he said "Who is bringing the charge?"—I said "Messrs. Cox and Co.; it is for forging the signature of Lord Frankfort to a cheque"—he said, "All right"—I afterwards brought him to London—when charged at Bow Street, he made no reply—on searching his house I found this diary, this receipt for payment for shoes on the billhead of the Civil Service Supply Association, and this brown paper bag with seventeen sovereigns in it—at the Police-court I put him with eight others—from the diary a piece under the date October 17th is carefully cut out—I found letters at his house addressed to him at 2, Liffey Street, Inchecore, Dublin, and dated October 22nd, 1895—the entry in the diary on October 16th is, "At home most of day, went into town and made a few small purchases; called in at the Institute and looked at the papers"—that part under the 17th which is not cut out is, "Attended Masonic Lodge in evening with Brother Shore; no business"—there is a note in the diary on October 25th, 1895, "Paid rent 3s., and gave notice to leave 2, Lifley Street on the following Friday."
Cross-examined. I found his papers showing that he had served twenty-one years seventeen days in the Army; he had reached the rank
of Quartermaster-Sergeant—his pension was 2s. 9d. a day, payable quarterly on and from January 1st—one quarter would be payable on October 1st; on October 3rd £12 11s. 1d. is entered in the diary as having been received.
W. P. LAWRENCE (Re-examined). This brown paper bag is identical with those we give out, but I am not prepared to say that I gave this to the prisoner—other bankers use bags of this sort—they are very commonly used for keeping gold in.
THOMAS HENRY GURRIN . I am a professional expert in handwriting of 59, Holborn Viaduct—I have had before me this cheque, this list of names and addresses, the diary, and the bank-notes—I believe that all the writing on the cheque, the body, the signature, and the endorsement, is by the same person—I believe there is an attempt to imitate the signature of Lord Frankfort—it is an imperfect imitation—in my belief these writings are by the same person. (The witness pointed out various similarities.) I have had nearly twelve years' experience in comparing handwriting.
Cross-examined. I was consulted after the matter was before the magistrate, I believe—I know it was suggested that the cheque was forged—it may have been suggested that it had been forged by the writer of the other papers shown to me—it would have made no difference to me—I have frequently been consulted in criminal cases before, and appeared as a witness for the prosecution—sometimes juries have disagreed with me, but not very often; I think in about three cases out of about 800 in eleven years, and it does not mean that in those three cases they meant to diametrically oppose me, because sometimes my evidence requires corroboration—I have not changed my opinion with regard to those three cases.
GUILTY.— Strongly recommended to mercy by the JURY on account of his previous good character. INSPECTOR RICHARDS stated that the case of another forged cheque was under consideration by the Irish Police. The RECORDER stated he should postpone sentence, in order that it might be ascertained if this was an isolated case against the prisoner.—Judgment Respited.
Nine Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, December 10th, 1895.
Before Mr. Recorder.
68. ARTHUR WILLIAMS PLEADED GUILTY to stealing 12 1/2 yards of cloth of Frederick Burmister and others, and to a previous conviction in September, 1893, in the name of William Howlett.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MESSRS. GRAIN and METCALFE Prosecuted, and MR. CHARLES MATHEWS Defended Reeves.
the station where all tickets are taken by trains coming south, not at Euston—in consequence of instructions I had previously received, on September 27th I kept careful watch of the trains coming from Northampton train leaving Northampton at 11.11 would arrive at Willesden at 12.23—I was on the platform when that train arrived; I was standing at the front portion of the train when it pulled up—as soon as it did so I went at once to a fire—class compartment to the next coach to the engine, to which a lavatory was attached—there was an inner door leading to that lavatory—I found no one in the compartment, or any luggage—I went to the door of the lavatory and knocked; I got no answer—I knocked again, and the door was opened about six inches, and I saw a gentleman there sitting on the seat of the closet; the upper flap was closed; that is solid—his dress was not disarranged, he had an overcoat on and had a bag by his side and an umbrella—on seeing the gentleman I begged his pardon, and closed the door—I did not go into any other compartment before the train left—I went just outside the compartment and waited outside—no person could leave the compartment without my knowledge—he train went on to Euston; no one got out—I got into the next compartment and went on to Euston—that would be about a twelve minutes' run—I there saw Scaife get out of the compartment—I recognised him at once as the same person I had seen in the lavatory—he went towards the exit of the station—I followed him—I was in uniform—he turned round, and asked me if I was the same man that knocked at the lavatory door at Willesden—I said, "Yes, sir. Have you got your ticket?"—he said, "No; take 9s. 4d. out of that," offering me a half-sovereign—9s. 4d. was the amount of a first-class fare between London and Northampton—I said "No; I cannot take your fare now. Will you come upstairs with me?"—that was the place where the Company's police have an office—Kynaston was the detective in charge there—in Scaife's presence I narrated the whole of the circumstances I have stated to Kynaston—from that time whatever conversation took place was between Kynaston and Scaife—when the train arrived at Willesden no one got out of the compartment before I got to it, nor did anyone get into it—I am quite sure no woman got out of the compartment.
Cross-examined by Scaife. I could net tell you if, in my evidence at the Police-court on 11th October I stated that no lady got out—if I had been asked the question I should have answered—there are about twenty ticket-collectors at Willesden, but by this train there were about four or five—I was standing on the platform; I had not been stationed there expressly—I was waiting to see the train run in from Northampton—I should not enter the tickets; someone else would enter them—in collecting, the collectors would take the front and rear of the train first, and work up to the centre—sometimes we collect more than 100 tickets—I did not collect any tickets from that train—the first coach was nearest the engine—there was another collector in front of me—the first coach stopped just opposite me—the two first compartments were locked, they are always kept locked—the lavatory was nearest the door on the left; as I got into the compartment—when I opened the door I saw you—I only said, "I beg your pardon"; I did not ask you for your ticket—when I got out I went into the next compartment and went on to Euston; there
you got out and walked four or five yards on, and you met some official and spoke to him; I don't know what you said to him or he to you; I did not warn you that anything you said would be given in evidence against you—when I saw Kynaston I referred you to him—I said, "This party was in the lavatory," and I told him the whole case; and you wanted him to take the money—you gave your business address—the bag you had was a small one, about nine or ten inches long; I don't know what it contained.
Cross-examined by MR. MATHEWS. There is a train that leaves Northampton at 10.40 a.m. and arrives at Euston at 11.58; the next train leaves Northampton at 11.11; that arrives at Willesden at 12.23.
By MR. NOBLE. I was not acting under instructions when I said, "I beg your pardon"; I had not received any instructions, I was acting on my own judgment.
HENRY SAMUEL KYNASTON . I am a detective officer in the employ of the London and North Western Railway Company—we have an office at Euston—on September 27th I was in charge there about 12.45; Scaife was brought in by Hill who related to me what had happened—I then said to the prisoner, "You have heard what the collector has said, "he said, "Yes, that is perfectly true"—he took out of his pocket a half-sovereign and said, "Take 9s. 4d. out of that," putting it on the desk at which I was sitting—I told him I could not accept of it, as it had been refused by the collector—he replied, "Go on, take 9s. 4d. out of that"—I told him again I could not accept it; I then asked him for his name and address, which he gave as John Scaife, 7, Mincing Lane—I asked him for his private address, which he refused to give—I asked him if he had anything in his possession to show that that was his name and address—he then produced from his pocket a memorandum, with John Scaife, 7, Mincing Lane, on it, and when leaving the office he said, "I will see someone who will accept the fare"—he again asked me to accept it, which I refused—I immediately communicated with the officials at Northampton Station by telegraph—on Monday, November 11th, upon instructions, I went to 42, Mount Place, Burdett Road, Deptiord, about 12, and watched the house—at 12.30 I saw Scaife leave that house—I had been in Court when Reeves gave her address as 42, St. Paul's Road, and also the address of the Isle of Man—on December 5th I was present when the lad Woodhouse was examined, I heard him give the address of a photographer, Mr. Wright, 81, High Street, Whitechapel—I went there about 1.20, and saw the manager; I made a communication to him, and he handed me this negative—after that I kept watch on the shop, and about 2.20 I saw Mrs. Reeves with two other females and two males, at that shop.
Cross-examined by Scaife. On December 27th you did not say under protest, where you slept last night—you did not say you had taken the ticket at Northampton—I did not tell you that anything you said would be used in evidence against you.
Cross-examined by MR. MATHEWS, I could not say that the party went into the photographer's shop on December 5th, I saw them leave; they came into the shop—I could not swear that they came out of the shop—two of the women came out, not three—one of the men also came out of the shop—Mrs. Reeves was one of the two women—one woman was
outside; she remained outside—I am quite certain that Reeves was one who came out—the man that came out was a person I had seen come on that morning; he had on a tall hat and wore a moustache, otherwise clean shaved; he was a fair man; as far as I know he had nothing to do with Mr. Palmer—the women were under my observation about twenty minutes altogether—they remained outside for some time, and then went on; they did not go away together, they parted—the two men left, and the females proceeded by themselves.
Re-examined. I was at the Marylebone Police-court on every occasion—I saw Reeves there as a witness for the defence—I saw him in the dock—I had seen Reeves about the Court that day—I knew her perfectly well—I had seen the man I have spoken of in company with Reeves' sister and a person outside the Court.
JOHN FREEMAN LATIMER . I am manager to William Wright, a photographer of 81, High Street, Whitechapel Road—I remember Scaife coming there on 10th October—he showed me a railway ticket, it was a return half from London to Northampton—I did not make a note of the date of it, but I have the negative in my pocket which shows me the date—he asked me if I could make him a copy, and do it at once as it was for a legal purpose—I called my photographer down, and I went on with the work and got a copy of his ticket—it looked like a half-ticket—he gave me his name as Scaife—he paid eighteen-pence for it and took it away the following morning—I entered the order at the time—about eleven on December 5th Kynaston came, and I gave him the negative—shortly afterwards, two ladies came, I fancy the lady in the dock is one of them, she was accompanied by a gentleman—the gentleman came in first and the lady followed—the gentleman just started to explain who he was—he said he was Freke Palmer, or that he came from Freke Palmer, I do not recollect which; he asked me if I recollected photographing this railway ticket—I said "Yes."—he said "I have come for the negative"—I said "You are too late, I have just given it to a gentleman an hour ago, I can show you a duplicate negative"—I showed it to him—I had taken two negatives in case of one being bad—he said it did not matter, and they went away—I heard him remark to the ladies "It does not matter much."
Cross-examined by Scaife. There was no concealment in your approaching me and asking me to photograph the ticket. I have had no occasion to recollect what the ticket was for, since December 5th—I remember remarking to you "How very strange, this is my native town Northampton." I think I could swear that it was a ticket from Northampton to London—I had not forgotten it until Pearson came—I would not swear it was not a ticket from Euston to Northampton—I photographed the back of it, not the front, I read the ticket—the back was a plain ticket with a date on it.
Cross-examined by MR. MATHEWS. I think the man who came for the negative said "I have come from Mr. Freke Palmer for it—I had never seen the two women or the man before—they were there for five or six minutes—I say I fancy the prisoner Reeves was one of the women; that is as far as I can go.
ten lines taken by my colleague, Mr. Tate, the chief clerk, of the evidence given by the defendant, Hannah Reeves, on October 25th, on the hearing of a summons against John Scaife for travelling on the railway without a ticket—I know Mr. Tate's writing—she gave her address as Douglas, Isle of Man—"On September 26th I went to Northampton on business. I came back on the next day with the defendant (Scaife). I went down with my sister. I stayed at the Temperance Hotel, and the defendant at the Black Boy. I saw him there, and he complained about his health. It was arranged that we should return together the next day. Mr. Scaife took the tickets; he went to the booking-office and returned. He handed me my ticket, and went back to the ticket-office again. I returned with him to London, accompanied by another lady. Willesden was, I think, the first stop. The defendant got out with me there to see me into a cab. Before we got to Willesden the defendant gave me a ticket, and I returned it, because it was not the one I required. It was a return, and mine was a single. He gave me then a single ticket. At Willesden he gave it to the ticket collector, and gave his up too. After seeing me into a cab he went into the station. On the way he went into the lavatory.
Cross-examined: I had to be on the platform at 10.30; the train was before eleven, between 10.30 and eleven. I swear I travelled by that train with the defendant. I did not see the number of the ticket; I believe it was dated September 27th. I saw the defendant taking it to the ticket collector; he said he was going to see me into a cab. I generally travel first class. The defendant took the ticket. I did not pay him for it. He paid my fare down and my sister's. We travelled first class.
Re-examined: I went down to Northampton to buy a business of which the defendant was the liquidator"—on October 11th and 25th Horace Woodhouse or Woodward was examined—on the 11th he said, "I am the defendant's clerk. On September 27th the defendant came in and showed me half a return ticket"—on the 25th he was cross-examined and said, "At two o'clock in the afternoon the defendant came to the office and said he expected some bother, and asked me to notice the number and date of the ticket. I swear it was the 27th; the number was 3617. I made a note, now produced, at the time of the particulars of the ticket. I saw Inspector Pearson on the Monday or Tuesday after the 27th. I did not tell him my employer had not been at his office on the 27th. Pearson did not, I think, ask me had he been there on the 27th. I am sure he did not. The defendant was at his office from 2 o'clock till 2.30 on the afternoon of the 27th.
Re-examined: This is. a photograph of the half-ticket the defendant showed me. The defendant told me to take particular note of the day, and told me what occurred at Euston and Willesden"—I did not see where this note came from; these are the Magistrate's initials, and the document was referred to in the evidence.
Cross-examined by Scaife. When Reeves said, "On the way he went into the lavatory" I should say that did not mean on the way from Northampton to London—I remember my notes clearly, and the connection in which the words were used does not quite bear that out; she describes your escorting her to a cab at Willesden, and in that connection she says you went into the lavatory on the way, so that she must have meant it was on the way from the train at Willesden to the exit—as far
as I remember she said nothing about the lavatory of the railway carriage.
FREDERICK KULOW . I am usher at the Marylebone Police-court—it is my duty to administer the oath to witnesses—on October 25th Mr. Curtis Bennett was sitting there as Magistrate—I remember perfectly well the summons against Scaife for travelling without a ticket—I remember Hannah Reeves coming up on October 25th to give evidence—I administered the oath to her in the Magistrate's presence, and she then gave her evidence.
JOHN THOMAS STANNION . I am a booking clerk to the London and North Western Railway Company at Northampton—on September 27th I was on duty from 6 a.m. till 4.37 p.m.—as tickets are issued I record the number of the first ticket for each train on a slate by my side, and then I record the first and last numbers for that particular train in the book—with each train I begin a fresh number on the slate—I end my entries for the day at 3.37 p.m., and any tickets issued after 3.37 are recorded in the book as of the following day—I was issuing tickets on September 27th, between 4 and 4.37 p.m.—I find by this book that between 4.5 and 4.37, a first-class return ticket, No. 3,617, was issued from Northampton to Euston and back—the date would be upon the back, "SE., 27, 95," as shown in this photograph—no first-class single tickets were issued from Northampton to Willesden or Euston on September 27th—no other first-class return ticket from Northampton to Euston was issued on that day except No. 3,617, which was the only first-class ticket issued to London on that day.
Cross-examined by Scaife. Except this book I have no means of confirming my statement as to when a ticket was issued; but I have also the summary, showing the total number of tickets—the tickets are kept in tubes; when we take one out the next one is brought forth—no one is allowed in the booking office except the clerks on duty, and those who come in for business purposes—newspaper boys might come there for change—a newspaper boy would not be allowed to go anywhere near the tickets—if he were to push a ticket in there would be the record on the slate, and we should see it after the train had gone—the booking office is about half the size of this court—we do not issue tickets before six a.m., only for excursion trains—there is nothing on the ticket, except the number, to indicate what time of day it was issued—the numbers are consecutive—each clerk has a particular mark—my fellow clerk's mark is a straight bar; my mark is a cross—at the first-class press probably my mark would be a bar, as the first class press is occasionally not altered—two other clerks were on duty that day—I issued all the first and second class tickets to London between 6 and 4.37 that day; when the other clerks were on no other first or second class tickets were issued—I was booking with two marks that day, I think, because the mark of the first class press is of ten not altered; there are so few tickets issued at it—we alter the date over-night; the mark is altered as we go off and on duty—I went off duty at 9.20 for breakfast, and then I altered my mark at the third class press; when I came back at 10.15 I altered my mark again at whatever press I was booking at—my mark was a cross all day—I should not say all the first and second class tickets I issued were
marked with a cross, all the third class tickets were—ticket 3,617 was marked with either a bar or a cross.
Re-examined. The tickets are sent to us in a tube, with consecutive numbers, and one ticket comes out at a time—if they were tampered with by boys we could tell directly we began to make up the figures.
ROBERT HARRIS . I am a ticket collector on the London and North Western Railway Company at Northampton Station—on September 27th I was on duty from 10.30 a.m. till 10.30 p.m.—at that time I knew Scaife quite well by sight; I had frequently seen him at Northampton Station—about the middle of the day I received instructions from my stationmaster, in consequence of which I kept special watch at the exit door—a train left Euston at 2.45 and was timed to arrive at Northampton at 4.17; it arrived about that time—I saw Scaife coming from that train towards my exit gate—he gave up a single third class ticket from London to Northampton and passed through the exit door—I did not see which way he went then.
Cross-examined by Scaife. I did not know your name then—I don't remember the date I first gave evidence—I went several times to the Police-court—I think I did not give evidence when you were charged with travelling without paying your fare—I received instructions to keep watch about mid-day on 27th by this telegram from Euston before you arrived:—"John Scaife detected travelling without ticket from Northampton 11.11 to-day May tender fare at Northampton Have staff instructed not to collect Clear case"—no fare was tendered—I went to dinner that day about two o'clock and returned at three—I have no memory of anyone pointing you out to me on November 2nd—I have a defective memory at times, perhaps; I should not call it a bad memory—a great number of persons pass me in a day—I remember taking from you a single third-class ticket from Euston to Northampton—I do not produce it—I was not asked to report whether any ticket from Euston had been given up that day—when I was told your name I told what I knew of the case, and of your giving up the ticket to me—I did not know you by name at the time—I found out what your name was before I spoke of that ticket.
MARY ANN DOWNING . I am the wife of William Downing, the landlord of the Black Boy Hotel, Northampton—Scaife has been in the habit for some time previous and subsequent to September 27th of staying at our hotel—I keep this book, which has counterfoils showing what each account is for and the amount—I remember Scaife being at the hotel in September—I find an entry, in my writing, in this book on September 26th of John Scaife, and on the 27th, there are charges against him for breakfast and tea—the tea item is 1s. 6d., which would be for tea, bread and butter, and cold meat or eggs, a meal—that would not be at eleven a. m.; I could not say the time—he was charged for bed on the 26th and then breakfast and tea on the 27th—he did not sleep there that night, the Friday—he had breakfast, and then, so far as I can tell, he came back and had tea at some time in the afternoon, but did not sleep that night, according to my book—he did not sleep there again till 5th October; the bill was still running—on 16th October he settled the bill, which contained the charge of 1s. 6d. for tea on September 27th—he made no demur to that charge that I am aware of—he paid my daughter—I should have heard if anything was wrong—the bill was paid.
Cross-examined by Scaife. The bill came to £2 0s. 6d.—I received your cheque for £2; I should not ask you for the 6d.—I never heard of 1s. 6d. being scored out of the bill and 1s. refunded; I should have known if anything was deducted—I do not know that you were then suffering from dysentery—you might have been supplied with port wine and cinnamon; I don't know—it would be supplied in the bar, and paid for at the time—what I have charged is right, according to my book—we have an ordinary at our hotel on Saturday at noon, and people pay for that in cash, unless they wish it booked—you had breakfast on the 27th between eight and nine, as near as I can say—I remember your bringing two ladies, and asking if they could have beds, and I said no; I had no accommodation for ladies—I don't know when that was—I did not see the ladies' faces—this is the first I have heard of any deduction being made from your bill—I believe one of my daughters brought me the cheque; I should not have asked you for sixpence if you gave me a cheque for £2.
MR. MATHEWS here stated that Reeves had placed herself in the hands of her Counsel, and that with his advice she would
GEORGE HOLLAND GRUNNIER . I am a chief clerk in the audit office of the London and North Western Railway Company at Euston—I produce a list of the tickets collected at Willesden Junction for Euston on September 27, 1895—in that list I find no 3, 617 from Northampton to Euston—if such a ticket had been collected it would appear in this list—the collectors have to send up to the audit office all tickets collected, on the day after collection.
Cross-examined. If the ticket were lost I should have no entry of it—tickets go astray.
GEORGE COLLIS HOUSE . I am a ticket collector at Willesden Junction—I make out a list of return halves collected each day—I made such a list of tickets collected on September 27th—I find no return half of ticket 3, 617 from Northampton to Euston—the lists I make out bear the number in each case.
WILLIAM KING . I am a ticket collector at the main exit Willesden—on September 27th I was on duty there from 6 a.m. to 3 p.m.—I do not recollect seeing Scaife pass through that exit during that time—if anybody passed through the exit with a ticket for Euston for the purpose of seeing somebody out with luggage, or anything of that kind, I should nip the ticket, and allow it to be retained; and then they could come back and resume the journey to Euston with the same ticket, but it would be nipped—I do not recollect nipping any ticket in that way on September 27th, or any one going through with a request to return after seeing a lady out.
Cross-examined. I should not say I should keep the ticket till they came back; I have never done such a thing—may be 300 or 400 people pass me during the time I am on duty—I have no recollection of a ticket being passed to me, and my retaining it.
JAMES HENRY PEARSON . I am a detective inspector of the London and North Western Railway Company—about mid-day on September 27th, Kynaston brought this matter to my knowledge—on the 28th I caused the telegram to be sent to Northampton—previous to the 27th, instructions
had been given to the company's officials to keep a watch—on September 28th, about 11.30, I went to 7, Mincing Lane, where there are offices on several floors—I did not find the name Scaife up—on the glass of a door on the third floor, I found the words, "The Co-operative Wholesale Drug Company" and "The Guelph Manufacturing Company, Northampton"—I went in; the only person there was Woodhouse—I had a conversation with him, and made an appointment to call again on 30th September—I then called about twelve and saw both Scaife and Woodhouse—I said to Scaife, "Are you Mr. Scaife?"—he said, "Yes" I said, "I am Inspector Pearson, from the London and North Western Railway Company, and I have called to see you in reference to a journey you made last Friday by the 11.11 a.m. train from Northampton; and I want to know what explanation you have to give for being found secreted in a first-class lavatory while the tickets were being collected at Willesden"—he said, "I decline to say; the matter is in the hands of my solicitors"—I said, "Very well, you only gave your business address, at Euston, I now ask you to furnish me with your private address"—he said, "I shall not do so"—I said, "Then we shall take proceedings against you"—he said, "Very well; I will accept service of the summons here; if I wanted to defraud the company I could have given up the return half of a first-class Willesden to Euston ticket which I had taken the previous day; and which I had in my possession; the collector at Willesden would not be in a position to say that I had not joined, the train at Willesden"—I said, "He would be; he was specially watching the train, and saw it stop, and at once went to the compartment of the lavatory in which you were hid"—a summons was taken out on my information against him, and he answered to it on the 11th October—I was present during the proceedings at the Police-court, and heard the result, and then I swore another information, and process was granted—on November 11th I went with Parsons to 7, Mincing Lane—Parsons went in first; and a few minutes after I went in—I said, "Good morning," Mr. Scaife"—Parsons said, "You are Mr. Scaife"—Scaife said, "Yes"—Parsons said, "I have a summons to serve on you for conspiracy to defraud the London and North Western Railway Company"—Scaife said, "Very well; I am taking an action against the company for malicious prosecution, and they are taking these steps against me in consequence"—I said, "Has your clerk Woodhouse been here this morning?"—he said, "No"—I said, "When do you expect him?"—he said, "This afternoon"—just at that moment Woodhouse came into the office—I said to Parsons, "This is Woodhouse"—Parsons said, "I have a warrant for your arrest," and he read it to him—Woodhouse said nothing in reply—Scaife said, "My advice to you is to say nothing to these officers; keep your own counsel"—when we were taking Wood-house away he repeated that advice—he made no answer to the charge at the Police-court.
Cross-examined. My object in going to your office was not to make evidence—I did not caution you that what you said might be evidence against you—I wanted to know what you had to say in explanation—I did not say I wanted a private conversation with you, or ask you to come and talk to me quietly—I mid you had been found hid in a lavatory of a first class compartment at Willesden with your luggage, your bag and
umbrella—you responded to the summons I left—I have seen Wood-house many times.
EDWARD PARSONS (Sergeant S). I went to 7, Mincing Lane on November 11th, with Pearson—I went into the office first—I saw Scaife, whom I did not know at that time, and I said to him, "Can I see Mr. Scaife?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "Is he in?"—after some hesitation, he said, "Yes"—I said, "Where is he? I am a police-officer and wish to see him"—he hesitated for some time; then Pearson came in and said, "How are you, Mr. Scaife?"—I said, "Oh, you are Mr. Scaife"—up to that time, some three or four minutes, he had not given me the information that he was Scaife—I remained during the conversation between Pearson and Scaife.
Cross-examined. I had the impression that if Pearson had not come in you would have denied your identity—the clerk was not there—I served a summons on you; you appeared in Court to it.
HORACE WOODHOUSE . I was eighteen last August—I live with my father at 14, Addington Road, Bow; he is engaged in the Government service—I had been almost three years in a solicitor's office, and a few months in a well-known firm of auctioneers, and then I entered Scaife's service as a clerk, after a conversation with him—I attended at the office, 7, Mincing Lane—I am not sure if the prisoner was there on September 26th—I did not see him at the office in Mincing Lane on September 27th, 1895—he did not show me any ticket on that day; I had no conversation with him on that day—on Saturday, September 28th, Inspector Pearson had a short conversation with me at the office—Scaife was not there on that day—an appointment was made for Pearson to come on Monday, September 30th—before he came on the Monday, Scaife came into the office, and I told him, in effect, what Pearson had said to me on the 28th, and that an appointment had been made for that morning—Scaife said if the railway company brought an action against him he would sue them for false or malicious prosecution—that they were going to prosecute him for unlawfully travelling, but it was all rot—shortly after Pearson arrived and spoke to Scaife—I heard what passed—then I went out; I got my mid-day refreshment at 1.30, and returned at two o'clock—shortly after Scaife came in and showed me the return half of a first-class ticket from Euston to Northampton—he told me to take particular notice of it, and make a note of it as to the date, and make a facsimile copy of it altogether; he said I might be called on as a witness—I made a copy of it—that copy got some ink on it and I copied from that this other copy—it is an exact copy of the other which I made after the prisoner's directions—this is the piece of paper I had in my hat at the Police-court when I gave evidence the second time—the Magistrate ordered me to hand this piece of paper to him—I remember the summons being served on Scaife for travelling without a ticket, calling on him to appear at the Police-court on October 11th; it was served on me by a boy four or five days after that, and I gave it to the prisoner—he said he did not think it was legal; that it was not to be served personally—on October 10th, the day before the summons came on, he said to me at the office that I might be called on as a witness to-morrow for him, and he asked me whether I had this piece of paper, upon which I took a copy of the ticket—I told him I had—he said, "Be
ready to produce it at the Court"—I attended at Marylebone Police-court on the 11th, something before two o'clock—Scaife was outside there, and told me that the right date, when I saw the ticket, was the date of issue, September 27th, and when I was in the witness-box I was to stick to that date; and he impressed on me that was the right date—I made some such observation as that I did not think 27th was the date—he said, "Yes it was; don't you recollect that it was before Inspector Pearson called that you saw that ticket? For goodness sake, give the right date when you are in the box"—I went into the box on the 11th and gave the evidence which has been read—after that, on 17th, the day before the remand, and on 24th, the day before I was recalled, he impressed on me that was the date, and that I was to stick to it—he suggested it was 2 p.m. on 27th that I had seen the ticket—on Monday, September 30th, a railway ticket was shown to me; it was the return half of a ticket such as a person would have who had taken a return ticket from Northampton to London and had given up one half at Willesden—I think about five days after he had shown me the ticket he asked me whether I knew a small photographer, and told him I did, and gave him the name of Wright, Whitechapel Road, who has been called; I knew the place—he said he would get his ticket photographed—on 25th I was recalled, and gave the evidence which has been read—I was charged with committing perjury, and after that I made a statement to my solicitor without any communication from the London and North Western Railway Company, and in consequence of that I was called at the last hearing on December 5th, and examined by you at the Police-court on another charge.
Cross-examined. I did not after my liberation on bail tell my father's solicitor that I believed all the evidence I had given to be true—I suggested to my father that I had made a mistake in the witness-box, but I knew I had not committed perjury; and that I knew I had not seen the ticket on September 27th—I took no trouble before I was liberated to verify the date, afterwards I did—I made inquiries, and was satisfied it was not on the 27th that I was shown this ticket—I do not say that the evidence I gave on October 11th and 25th was perjury, but that I made a mistake in what I said—with the exception of whether it was 27th or 30th, all the evidence I gave was absolutely true—I have verified the date since my liberation—I have only had casual conversations with Pearson since then—he did not say that if I gave evidence against you they would let me off or anything of the kind—I had my hat on when I came into the office on November 11th, when Pearson was there—my pen was not behind my ear—Pearson was not positive I had my pen behind my ear, he said he thought—I told a friend of mine on September 27th that you were not at the office on that day—I went to lunch about 1.30 on the 27th—when I returned I did not find the letters on your desk opened; I did on another day—if I knew you would not be there I should forward your letters to Northampton—I am not sure that on the Saturday I received a telegram from Northampton, asking me to meet you at Euston, but on another day I did—I told Pearson that you were sure to be there on the Monday, September 30th, and if he could be there at 11 a.m. it would be about the best time to see you—on the Monday I told you what Pearson had said when he called—it was not suggested to me that I should commit wilful perjury,
but it was suggested that I should mention that date, which was wrong.
By the COURT. Pearson asked me on the 28th whether the prisoner had been at the office the day before, and I said, "He was not at the office on that day"—that was before the prisoner spoke to me about the date of the ticket.
By the Prisoner. I think I said I did not think I told Pearson my employer had not been to the office on the 27th, because I knew it would be an impossibility, if I saw the ticket on the day of issue, 27th.
The prisoner in his defence, stated that on September 26th he went to Northampton with Reeves and her sister; that he returned the next morning at 10.40, and he took a first-class return-ticket, No. 3617, as he had to return on the Saturday; that he saw Reeves out of the train at Willesden, and gave up his ticket; that he then rejoined the train, and seeing the ticket collector at the next carriage, put up the return half ticket, which he had taken on the 26th from Willesden to Huston, in the window, and went into the lavatory, as he was suffering from dysentery; and that he was in London on the 27th, and he denied conspiring with Reeves and Woodhouse to give false evidence.
SCAIFE— GUILTY .
REEVES— GUILTY, but recommended to mercy by the JURY, as they considered she had been Scaife's dupe and tool.
There was another indictment against Scaife for suborning Woodhouse to commit perjury, which was not proceeded with. Scaife had been convicted in April, 1883, at Liverpool, of attempting to obtain money by false pretences, and sentenced to Eighteen Months' Imprisonment.
SCAIFE— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. REEVES— Discharged on Recognisances.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, December 11th, 1895.
Before Mr. Recorder.
SIDNEY JAMES GUILNETT . I am Deputy-Superintendent Registrar of Marriages for Manchester—I produce the register containing the original entries of marriages at St. John's Church, Manchester, of 1870—under entry 164, of 2nd March, 1870, I find a certificate of the solemnisation of a marriage between William Henry Cadman and Ellen Pemberton; it purports to be signed by both those persons, and by two witnesses and the officiating clergyman; he has been dead five or seven years—this is an exact copy of the original entry.
Cross-examined. The names of the two witnesses are James and Sarah Appleyard.
ELIZABETH KINDELL . I am the wife of James Kindell, cotton manufacturer, of 10, New Barnes Street, Manchester—my maiden name was Pemberton—I am the sister of Mary Ellen Pemberton, who married the prisoner—I have known him many years—prior to the marriage he kept company with my sister Mary—I was not present at the marriage—I used to visit them after the marriage—I saw them at the house, living as
man and wife—nine children were born of the marriage—she had seven living when he deserted her; five are now living—they had been married a good many years—after he deserted her he came back, and then went away again altogether—the signature of "William Henry Cadman" on this certificate is his hand-writing; I know it; I have seen him write, and the signature, "Mary Ellen Pemberton," is my sister's—I was with my sister on October 27th, when she received this letter (produced), it is the prisoner's writing—my sister is still living in Manchester, where she has lived since her marriage.
Cross-examined. She was not married from home; she was married from Manchester—the prisoner was a very kind father—I have not had any letters from him for a long time; he always wrote a back hand; in the register it is slanting, but I swear it is his writing—I have had letters from him, through my father.
MARTHA SMITH . That is not my name—I will write my name down on paper for my Lord's information (it was handed to his Lordship)—I have known the prisoner about fifteen years—I was single when I first met him—I was then employed in the Post Office at Manchester—he did not tell me what his business was—I understood he was a commercial traveller—he used to come into the office for telegrams—some years After that I walked out with him; that was about the Jubilee year, at the time of the Manchester Exhibition; I walked out with him for about two or three years before any intimacy took place between us—he used to come home, and pay me great attention—my mother, of course, thought his intentions were honourable—he did not say whether he was single or married; of course I thought he was single—nothing much was said about marriage before the intimacy—of course, he asked me to make arrangements to get married, and he gave me the money to get the licence, and he also bought a wedding ring—I got the licence, it was a special licence; at least, Mr. Hewlett, of Brunswick Street, got it in London—I paid £2 10s. for it—the licence was to be got in three days, and the marriage was to be any day afterwards; it did not take place; it was kept being put off by the prisoner—he gave me no reason for it—he said his business was abroad, and he thought it had better be done abroad—he said he was going to Brussels, and he sent for me to come to London, and, of course, I came, and he made arrangements to go to Brussels, and then he thought it had better be in London—I stayed in Brussels till September 26th, 1888; it did not take place in Brussels, he said it had better be in Paris—I went to Paris on September 26th—he was there for a day—it did not take place in Paris; he said he had no time—in Brussels I heard something, in consequence of which I asked him, Was it true that he was a married man?—he said, Yes, it was true, but we could be married in Paris; he did not think it would make any difference; we could be legally married there.
By the COURT. I went to Paris with the object of being married there; then, when we got there, he only stopped a day or so, and then he went away, and remained away for some time—he told me one morning that his wife was in a madhouse or a lunatic asylum, and perhaps would be dying any day, and if she did so he would make the wrong right—he said nothing about staying away—I always thought he was coming back, but he did not—I had no money at the time—I had to apply to the English
Consul for money to bring me home—I came to London—I met the prisoner in London, and he sent me home to my father at Manchester—he afterwards came to my father's house—I had to write and tell father I was married; the prisoner told me to do so, and he afterwards came to father's house as my supposed husband; he stayed, perhaps, a day or two, and then went away, but he came back again in March, 1889—a baby was born; he will be seven next year—I afterwards had another boy; they are both living—my father taxed him with being a married man after my eldest boy was born, and said he should not allow him to be there, and then he said he should leave England altogether—my father has been dead five years—after his death I went to live with friends—I sometimes met the prisoner in town—sometimes he would send me something when he had it; sometimes ten shillings, sometimes a sovereign—the last time I saw him in Manchester, was three years ago come next January; I then had a second boy by him—he took me to the pantomime, and said he would try and come back again, if he could, in June—I had a letter from him—he would then send me about five or ten shillings a week—on June 23rd he sent me money—I have not seen or heard anything of him since—I had £125 in Consolidated Bank shares and Lancashire Insurance shares, and he took them; I did not give them to him—I have got the money through my brother—he got it transferred from my name to his, but I think the prisoner had mortgaged the certificates—I have had no money from him since June, 1893.
Cross-examined. About fifteen years ago I was in the employ of a Mr. Bailey—he never told me that the prisoner was married—I did not know that his wife and family lived in Manchester—he did not make any definite proposal of marriage then, not in so many words; it was understood so; he always came over and took me out, and intended honourably—the £5 was given to obtain a marriage licence, not for any other, purpose—when I went to Brussels it was not to take charge of the prisoner's exhibits there—he asked me to look after his interests there while he was away—I went there, thinking to be married—he had not promised to get me employment, I was engaged in the Post Office at the time—I went to Paris to get married and to look after his business there, and in other places; it was not a business arrangement—he treated me very kindly, he put me into a shop; that was to get my money, and that was how I lost it.
Re-examined. I have come here with the full consent of my husband, who has taken me and my children.
BEATRICE CAROLINE HODGETTS . I live near Rye. In 1886 I first met the prisoner. I was living with my mother at that time, at East Dulwich—he continued to visit me there, and in July, 1887, he proposed marriage to me; it was to take place either that year or the next—in 1888 it was fixed for July or August that year; something happened to postpone it. but the engagement continued down to June, 1889—he told me that his business was principally in Brussels, and the marriage was to be there—my mother did not approve of that, but in the end she gave way—at the end of August, 1889, I went to Brussels, my mother being already there, and on September 4th I went through the ceremony of marriage with the prisoner, before the Mayor; there were witnesses to the marriage—I handed in a certificate of domicile as requested, stating
how long we had both been in Brussels—this is it (produced)—the prisoner described himself as born in Manchester on February 15th, 1845, and described himself as a bachelor, and myself as single—after the marriage we went to stay at Ostend for a few days, and then came back to England—we remained here till about the 12th of October that year; then we went over to Paris, where he had a business, and we remained there down to September 1891—while there, he was very often going to England—my mother was with me in Paris; she died on September 27th, 1891; she had an income of her own—she made her will in my favour, leaving all to me—before her death she made a deed of assignment of her property to me; upon that I raised a mortgage, and I afterwards sold the reversion; the prisoner had the benefit of that—he had everything; I don't think I had more than between £400 and £500—we first had a mortgage of £2,000, that was taken up, and then some more money. I think he had between £3,000 and £4,000 before my mother's death; there was not a farthing left when she died; she had an annuity that died with her. The prisoner was in London at the time of her death. I telegraphed to him and he came over, but not in time for the funeral; he stayed two or three days and then went back, leaving me alone—he sent me a little money from time to time, about £20 in all, until February, 1892—I did not see him at all before I came to London; the landlord would not let me stay there as I could not pay the rent—in London I met the prisoner by chance in the street; he did not know that I was coming—he then told me to take a room somewhere. I did, and he came and stayed with me two days—then he said he had to go to Manchester on important business, and I never saw him again till this year—I had letters from him, the last time was at the beginning of July, 1892—between those dates I made a discovery, in consequence of which I could not do anything. I had no money—in May, 1895, I was told he could be found, and I laid an information and gave him in charge—I gave evidence before the Magistrate at Clerkenwell, and he was remanded on bail for a week; he then went away and was afterwards re-arrested in Manchester.
Cross-examined. Before our engagement my mother invited the prisoner to come and stay there—we were not in financial difficulties at that time; We were not wanting money very badly—my mother had not quarrelled with her trustees' solicitors—they did not suggest that if I were to marry they would advance money to her—a Mr. L. came and told me that the prisoner was married; that was a year before our marriage—I spoke to the prisoner about it; he denied it—I knew a Mr. Daley—he was not a solicitor; he was clerk to a solicitor—he did not advise me to go through the ceremony at Brussels, which was worthless.
Re-examined. When I was told this about the prisoner I wrote to him at Brussels to come back—he never replied—I was naturally angry—ray mother became ill; she was very much infatuated with the prisoner, very fond of him, because he said he was just about the same age as a son of hers who had died in December, 1888—while the prisoner was away we heard from a friend that he had come back to London, and my mother begged me to go and see him, and if he was not married to make it up again—he came back with me, and took his most solemn oath that he was never married to the woman, that he had lived with her, and had two children by her, but he would never have anything more to do
with her—I certainly believed him, and we made it up, and he did come back—at the time I went through the ceremony of marriage I believed that I was being legally married; we could not go through the ceremony without complying with all the legal formulas.
JULIUS HOLDEN . I am Chief of the Civil Office at Brussels—I produce a certified copy of a marriage solemnized on September 4th, 1889, between William Henry Cadman, bachelor, and Beatrice Caroline Hodgetts, spinster, at the Hotel de Ville, Brussels—it is also certified by the English Legation at Brussels—I also produce two certificates of domicile, given by the police authorities of Brussels to the same parties, also a book which was delivered to the contracting parties at the time of the marriage.
WILLIAM BLIGHT (Detective Sergeant G). On the 11th of June, this year, I was at King's Cross Station, and saw the prisoner there—he was given into my custody—I told him I was a police officer, and I should arrest him for bigamy—he made no reply—I took him to the Station—Miss Hodgetts was there, and saw him—he was taken before the Magistrate and remanded on bail—he absconded from his bail, and I heard no more of him till October last, when, in consequence of what I heard from Manchester, where he was detained on some charge, I arrested him on a warrant, and brought him to London, where he was formally charged—he made no reply to it—Inspector Hargreaves, of the Manchester Police, handed me these two certificates, purporting to be certificates of marriage, one dated 1885 and the other 1887—I showed them to the prisoner—he said, "Oh, there is nothing in them; they are bogus"—I went to the Register of Marriages at Somerset House and searched, and found no entry whatever of such documents—amongst the prisoner's papers I found these two certificates of domicile and this book.
GEORGE HARGREAVES . I am a Detective Inspector of Manchester City Police—on October 14th last I saw the prisoner at 24, New, Brown Street, Market Street, Manchester. I told him I was a police officer, and asked him his name—he said "Mr. Greenwood," he hesitated first and asked what I wanted to know his name for—I told him that I had reason to believe that he was William Henry Cadman—I then asked him who Dubeny, Gladstone and Co., were; that name was on the door—he said, "I am their representative, their place is in London." I said, "London is a large place"—he then admitted that his name was Cadman—I told him he was wanted for bigamy, and I took him in custody to the Town Hall—he said, "I am guilty of bigamy, but not of the long firm frauds"—at the Town Hall he was charged, and remanded to Strange ways Gaol—on October 29th he was handed over to Blight—I searched his premises while he was in custody—I found a portmanteau and a box which I handed to Superintendent Hicks.
EDWIN HICKS . I am superintendent of the Manchester City Police—on October 14th I received from Hargreaves a large tin box; it was locked, I got the key from the prisoner's personal property, and in it found between 2,000 and 3,000 letters, among them the two certificates purporting to be marriage certificates—the prisoner's name appears in each.
mother he was in the habit of sending her money, for about a month or five weeks—£1 a week at first, and when in difficulties it got down to 10s.—he was very kind to us—I was about ten years old when he went away—I believe this is his signature to this marriage certificate—I said before the Magistrate that his writing had altered a great deal—he writes backward, this is written forward.
Cross-examined. My father lived on with my mother till about 1883—he left her when I was about ten—he has not been to our house for about eight years—he left her in 1883 with seven children—he did not come back—I next saw him at the central station—she was without support all that time, except what she got from the parish—I last saw him about last Christmas; he then asked me how mother was—I saw him several times in Manchester; he asked how we got on at home, and I used to tell him.
— GUILTY .— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. WILLSON Prosecuted.
FREDERICK CLABBON (292 F). On the morning of November 6th, at 3.50, I was on duty in Percy Gardens, Kensington, and saw Savage in Bayswater Road, going towards the Marble Arch; opposite 3, Wellington Terrace. He stopped there, went to the window, and with his arm broke the window—he then went towards Notting Hill Gate, where he was joined by Mitchell; they walked a few yards, and returned towards No. 3—they saw me, and walked hurriedly on—I saw no one else pass the window—I went after them with another constable, and stopped them—I told Savage the charge—he replied, "I am going to Covent Garden, you have made a mistake."
Cross-examined by Savage. It was your left arm that broke the window. You did not take anything out.
Cross-examined by Mitchell. You were stopped by 211 F about 100 yards from the window.
JAMES WILLIAMS (211 F). I was on duty in Bayswater Road. I heard the crashing of glass in the direction of Wellington Terrace—I at once went in that direction, and met the two prisoners, followed by the last witness—I stopped them, and asked what was up—they said "Nothing"—292 arrived, and from what he told me I arrested Mitchell—I told him the charge—he said, "You have made a mistake, we are on our way from Kilburn to Covent Garden"—I took him to the station—they were about 150 yards from the window when I stopped them.
Cross-examined by Savage. I could not see you when I heard the breaking.
Cross-examined by Mitchell. At the time I heard the crash I daresay I was 200 yards from the window.
FREDERICK CLABBON (Re-called). When I heard the crash I was standing in Palace Gardens, from there I could see straight on to the shops in Wellington Terrace—Palace Gardens is a private road, and I was inside the gates, between twenty and thirty yards from the shop. I could not be seen.
Terrace—about half-past 10 on this night I locked up the premises securely—the window was perfectly sound—the police awoke me between three and four; there was then a large fracture in the window; there were many pieces of glass both outside and inside—I did not miss any article.
Cross-examined. I was sleeping at the top of the house at the back—I heard no sound till the police rang the electric bell—there were no shutters to the window—a light was burning inside—it was a large single sheet of plate glass.
PAUL HALLMARK (Sergeant F). I visited the premises on the 15th—I found a pane of glass broken about 25 inches by 15, as though someone had gone sideways through it—considerable force must have been used—I produce a piece of the glass, one-eighth of an inch thick.
The prisoners in defence stated that they were going to work at Covent Garden when the constables arrested them, and denied all knowledge of the broken window.
GUILTY of the attempt. SAVAGE*— Nine Months' Hard Labour. MITCHELL— Four Month's Hard Labour.
MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted.
SARAH OSBORNE . I live at 72, Strand—I was present at the marriage of the prisoner and my sister at Old Lambeth Church about sixteen years ago—they separated and then lived together again—I have seen my sister here to-day—I was in communication with her about 1892, she must then have been living at Brighton—I did not know the prisoner in 1892—I believe my sister last saw him about 1891—I believe they finally separated in 1889.
SARAH ANN BARKER . I live at 34, Bridge Road, Hammersmith—on February 24th, 1892, I went through a form of marriage with the prisoner at the Registry Office, Fulham—this is the certificate; he is described as a widower—I had known him some time before I married him—he first described himself as a widower, and afterwards told me (before our marriage) he had been divorced—I lived nearly two years with him, and then he deserted me, leaving me with a child, and without money—I went home to my mother, and have since been supporting myself and the child, as a barmaid—the child died three months ago—after he left me I received this telegram from him, "Come at once, Charles is dying, Russell"—Russell is his mother's name—I went to see him, and there was nothing the matter with him.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You did not tell me you were not divorced—I was engaged as a barmaid at the time—you did not say when you left for Newcastle that if anything happened to Mrs. Redfearn we would get married again to make it legal.
on duty in the Strand, when Mrs. Redfearn came to me, and stated in the prisoner's presence that she wished to give him into custody for committing bigamy—I asked her how she knew he had committed bigamy—she said, "I have the marriage certificate, but I have not it with me at the moment"—the prisoner said, "I know nothing about it"—I asked the prisoner and his wife to come to the station, and he was charged the next day and made no reply.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: I wish to say that this was not done with any fraudulent intent. My first marriage was very unhappy, and we mutually agreed to part. I told Miss Barker I had a wife living.
The Prisoner called
ELIZABETH RUSSELL . I am the prisoner's mother—I often told Miss Barker you had a wife living before you married her; she visited my house for a short time before you were married—I did not know of your wedding with Miss Barker—when I first knew her in December, 1891, or January, 1892, I told her your wife was living, and that you were not free—I had a letter from you, and went to see you—you said, "We have done it"—I said, "Done what?"—he said, "Got married"—I said, "Oh, Charley! how dreadful; it will be found out," and then Miss Barker came out of the adjoining room, and I said the same to her—she said, "Never; it will never be found out"—I protested and said it would, and asked her on what grounds she felt so sure, and she said she would deny she had ever married him—that was in 1892, I think; I knew nothing of the marriage till the day after.
By the COURT. I did not know they were going to be married or I would have stopped it—my daughter, the prisoner's sister, sent this telegram—the prisoner may have done it in my name—she came and found he was not dying; I knew what he wanted her to come for, though I did not know he had sent this telegram—he wanted her to come up, and she would not—he did not desert her.
Cross-examined. He sometimes takes the name of Redfearn-Russell; I have married again—I did not send this telegram; I suppose the prisoner did it himself—I thought the first wife was living at Brighton, and that it was too late to tell her.
Re-examined. My daughter, who is in Manchester, also told Miss Barker that your wife was living—I thought it dreadful that a respectable young woman should be committing bigamy—I could not stop the marriage then, it was too late.
The prisoner in his defence stated that he and his wife had agreed to separate, and that he had no intention of deceiving Miss Barker.
GUILTY .— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, December 11th, 1895.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. GREENFIELD Prosecuted, and the evidence was interpreted to the prisoner.
CHARLES DROBIG . I am a furrier, of 16, Northampton Street, Clerkenwell—on November 17th, at 11.45 my house was fastened and closed—I was called by the police next morning, and found the shop-window forced open, and a pane of glass broken—I missed seventy-two sable skins and other articles, which I have identified—these are my property. (Produced.)
WILLIAM COLE (492 G). On November 19th, at 2 a.m., I was on duty, and saw two men near the prosecutor's house—one of them pointed to a house—I stepped into a doorway and watched them, three men joined them, they turned round Charles Street—I ran into Goswell Street—as soon as they saw me the three men dropped some things in the road and ran away—there were four men altogether, and the prisoner was one of them, I saw his face; another constable pursued him, and I went back and picked up the articles, and took them to the station, and the prosecutor identified them—when I first saw the men I was about 120 yards from them, but I got within twelve yards of them—they were running—I had a side view of them, but the prisoner looked me full in the face—he wore a brown felt hat—I did not pick him out when I found him in custody.
EDWARD SHIELD KNIGHT (481 G). I heard a whistle about 2 a.m., and saw the prisoner turn out of John Street alone—I ran after him about thirty yards, caught hold of his arm, and tripped him up—he said, "All right"—I took him to the station—he said, "The man gave me 2s. to carry the things—he said he was a hairdresser—after the charge was read over he said in English, "I did not do it"—I have not found his address—three metal watches and a chain and latch key were found on him—he spoke English and defended himself at the Police-court, and, said there that the man gave him 2s. to carry the things, as he was moving.
FREDERICK WHITING (362 G). I was on duty in Goswell Road about 1 a.m., and saw the prisoner and another man, who was carrying this bundle of seal skins under his arm—Cole took him and I took the prisoner; they ran in different directions—I blew my whistle several times—he turned a corner and another constable took him.
JOHN ROWKINS (494 G). On November 19th, about 2 a.m., I heard a whistle, ran into Goswell Road, and saw a man with a bundle of furs—I went to the prosecutor's shop and found the front door open, and some sables and two boas in the passage; I took them to the station—the front window was forced open from the bottom, and the catch broken off—this,. jemmy was found in the shop next morning.
TEEHAN KIRK (Police Sergeant). I was present when Inspector Lewis took down this statement—the prisoner spoke in German, but I am a German, and put it down in English—he said: "At 11 p. m. on the 18th I met a man who I only know as Charley in Soho. There was another man with him who I do not know, but I could identify him. At a public-house in Tottenham Court Road Church asked me to go to his lodgings in Islington, as he had not paid his rent, and help him to move. He said, 'You wait here while I go for the clothes.' About fifteen minutes later he came, bringing a bundle. We went to the end of the
street. I saw a policeman, who said, 'He! what have you got there?' Charley threw the bundle in front of the policeman; another policeman caught me."
Prisoner's Defence: I never did anything in my life of this kind. I have always earned my living honestly. The man who made use of me first, of all gave me several glasses to drink, and he never told me the matter was not a bona-fide one.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
The JURY considered that the girl might be taken to be over 16, and, therefore, found a verdict of
NOT GUILTY .
The evidence was interpreted to the prisoner.
WILLIAM ALFRED BUCKLAND . I am an engineer, of 12, Packham Street, St. Pancras—I left my house fast, on the latch—it would require a key to open it from outside—on Sunday, October 27th, I got home about 12.45, and went to bed—I was awoke about 4 or 4.30 by a noise, and heard the front door close; I got a light, went downstairs and found the coats and a smoking-jacket had been taken from the hall and a black bag containing tools—this is my coat, it was on the rack; and this pipe and tobacco pouch were in the pocket—I recognise this hammer because I made the handle—the value of the articles is from £8 to £10.
LOUISA DAVIDSON . I have lived with the prisoner as his wife eight months—some man came and fetched him at two o'clock one morning; he had no great coat when he went out, but he brought home this coat and another—he brought a black bag with him, but I did not see it open—I was in bed but I was awake—I think he brought this hammer the same night—he had a pipe something like this—he speaks English; I am English, I cannot speak Italian.
JOHN ROBINSON (Police Sergeant G). On Saturday, November 23rd, I was on duty in Calthorpe Street and arrested the prisoner as a suspected person—I took him to the station and found this pipe, tobacco pouch, handbag, and four pipe-cleaners on him—I then searched the house where the woman Davidson lives, and found other things—the prisoner was charged with burglary—he said, "This is my property; that is good enough for you.
Cross-examined. I found the hammer at your lodgings and the other things in your pocket.
FREDERICK HARNOTT . I am assistant to Mr. Bulworthy, a pawnbroker of 71, Gray's Inn Road—this great coat was pawned on November 8th. by a woman I do not recognise, in the name of Ann Terry, 12, Brook Street.—I work at Crosse and Blackwell's—I received this coat from a man, not the prisoner, nor was he present—I pawned it and gave the ticket to the young man who gave me the coat, and I know he went to get it out and was stopped—the prisoner was with him.
Prisoner's Defence: I was in bed, and a man knocked at my door and told me to go with him: we went to the club, and I was there with him
till 5 a. m. Then I came out with him, and he asked if I wanted to buy an overcoat. I said "No." He said he would go and fetch it, and he brought it to me. He had a small, empty bag with him and two overcoats—when I got indoors I looked at the overcoat, and he said, "Will you mind keeping it till to-morrow morning?" I went to bed, and he came and fetched it the next morning.
He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at this Court on September 10th, 1894.
Three Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. GREENFIELD Prosecuted.
FLORENCE STONE . I keep a restaurant in Holborn—on November 26th, about 8 p.m., the prisoners came to the bar—Phillips asked for two drinks—I gave him two glasses of bitter—he put down a halfsovereign—I gave him 9s. 8d.—he then asked me to give him the half sovereign back and he took it and the change together, and asked me to give him a sovereign for it; I was just going to do so when the mistress came up and stopped me, and took the money which he had put down on the counter—they both ran away; she called the police.
HENRY GALE (286 E). I was on duty outside this restaurant at 9 p.m., and saw Phillips sitting by the landlord—I stopped Crossley running across the road—they were both taken to the station and charged; they made no reply.
Cross-examined by Crossley. You were about 100 yards from the house when I arrested you.
Crossley's Defence: I met Phillips and he asked me to have a drink; when he ran out I saw that there was something the matter and I ran too; I call him.
HENRY PHILLIPS (The Prisoner). I met you in Holborn and asked you to have a drink—I paid with 10s. and ran out—I did not tell you I was going to ring the changes, but I believe you had an idea what I was going to do when I asked for the half-sovereign back.
CROSSLEY— NOT GUILTY .
PHILLIPS received a good character; but Detective Sergeant Brogden stated that he had been charged with a similar offence before, and that he was the associate of thieves.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted, and the evidence was interpreted to the Prisoner.
floor—one of my rooms is used as a club by a number of Italians—the prisoner was not a member, he has only been there as a visitor—he was there on Saturday night, November 16th, and some more Italians—a girl named Frances Perry was there, she left between two and three on the morning of the 17th—before she left she asked Poggi for some matches—he took a candle out of his pocket and cut it in two, and gave her a bit and some matches out of a box—after she had gone Poggi and two men had some refreshment in the first floor back room—they left between 3 and 3.30., and I shut the window at 3.40 as I was going to bed—I locked the door outside and locked up the house—I got up next morning between 7.30 and 8, and the door of the first floor back room was open, the lock was broken and the window open—the window is about eight feet from the ground, and looks into a small turning—I found my shop ransacked, and missed an accordion, value about £3, which I had put there the night before—I have not seen it since—we have an automatic gas meter in the basement, and I gave my partner 1s. worth of coppers to put into it, the night before—I found the padlock of the drawer into which the money falls, cut off and lying on the floor, and the drawer in the back kitchen with nothing in it—I found this box of Bryant and May's matches under the meter; that is the sort of box that Poggi took out of his pocket the night before—I also found a piece of candle on a shelf beside the meter; it did not belong to me; we do not use candles in the basement—Frances Perry came and spoke to me, and I saw her in the middle of the day speaking to the prisoner in Wardour Street—I found Poggi near Holborn Town Hall about 3.45, and spoke to him in Italian—he said, "How goes it, John?"—I said, "I am all right," and asked him about the stolen property, and said, "You took some money from my gas meter"—he said, "I never done it; I will bring your stolen property back at 10 o'clock to-night"—I had threatened to give him in custody—I said, "I have a witness to prove it; you ought to do something else for a living"—he said, "I never did it; it won't be more than 25s. or 30s.," meaning the value of the robbery altogether—he was wearing new clothes, but the same jacket and handkerchief he has now—his trousers and boots were new since the night before—he did not come at 10 o'clock—I wrote to the Gas Company the next morning, and gave information to the police; and pointed out the prisoner—he knew that I had this gas meter, because when the game was going on someone said, "Go and put another penny in the slot."
Cross-examined. You said, "If I do not bring back the accordion and the money I have stolen, I will bring the worth of it"—you also said, "I know who has got it, and I will get it for you."
FRANCES PERRY . I live at 88, Cleveland Street, Tottenham Court Road, and was employed at Crosse and Blackwell's two months ago—I sometimes went to this club—I do not speak Italian—I know Poggi; I do not live with him—I asked him for a light, and he gave me some matches out of a box like this; it looked three parts full—next morning Sunday, I called on Mrs. Peregrinetta, and said something to Mr.
Pereguinetta, and between one and two o'clock I saw Poggi in Wardour Street—we went into a public-house, and I asked him if he had taken the money out of the gas meter—he said, "No"—I said, "Yes, you did it"—he said, "Yes, I did"—the conversation was in English—he had new boots on—I have known him twelve months, and have been living with him—I repeated that to Mr. Pereguinetta.
FRANK BECKETT . I am an automatic meter clerk; I took the state of this meter and set it, and put it down in a book—I went again in consequence of a statement from Mr. Pereguinetta, and from the state of the meter there ought to have been 15s. 5d. in the drawer, but it was broken to pieces, and the lock wrenched off.
JOHN ROBINSON (Detective Inspector G). On November 18th Pereguinetta complained to me, and I went to 2, Back Hill—an entry had been effected by the first floor window, which is about seven feet from the ground—I found marks on the mortar and on the window sash—somebody had entered by the window and forced the door, inside—the catch had been broken some time previously and mended—on the same afternoon I saw the prisoner in a public-house on Eyre Street Hili—I sent someone to call him out—he came out, and I said in English that I was a police officer, and should arrest him for breaking into the club, 2, Back Hill, and stealing an accordion and some money—he, said "I know who did it, but if you will let me go I will go and get it"—he had no difficulty in understanding me—I asked him his address at the Police-station; he said he lived anywhere—I cannot find it—he had on new trousers, boots, and braces; he told me how much he gave for the trousers—he said before the Magistrate that he received the money for the clothes through the Italian Consul.
----CURTIS. I was at Bow Street when the prisoner made a statement in Italian; I took it down, and, at the Magistrate's request, translated it—this is a copy, in the writing of a friend of mine: "I told the sergeant I gave 3s. for the trousers, 2s. for the boots, and 1s. for the braces; and that money was sent to me from Italy. Frances Pearce is not to be relied on, as she cannot bear me; for two or three pints of beer she will say anything."
The Prisoner, in his defence, stated that he did not give Pearce any matches, because he had none, and had to ask for one to light his pipe; that what he said was that he knew the class of people who went there, and if it was left till evening he might be able to furrage out who had done it; that the witness Perry could not he relied upon, as she could not bear him, and all she had said was from spite, and that all who went to the club were thieves. He called
MR. POGGI. I am a baker and pastrycook, and am the prisoner's brother—I sent him 100 francs about two months ago.
GUILTY — Nine Months' Hard Labour.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Thursday, December 12th, 1895.
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
MR. HUTTON, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence upon this charge.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
EMILY GODFREY . I live at 2, Park Villas, East Finchley—in March, this year, the prisoner came to my house with her husband and three children; at first they occupied three rooms upstairs—the eldest was a boy about five or six, a girl about three, and the boy Reuben was a baby in arms—they remained there till August, and left on Tuesday, the day after the Bank Holiday—after they had been there a few weeks, she left the baby at different times, from about ten in the morning till half-past three—that happened on several occasions, but only once or twice for so long as that—she left no one to take care of it or feed it—it could not feed itself—I have fed it at times—sometimes she would leave it for half an hour, an hour, or more; then she would come in and put it to bed, and the other children too—it would cry when left; that was why I went up to it, got it some food, which it would take ravenously—I have done that several times, sometimes about ten in the evening—it was not very often that I heard them crying—the little boy was kept very dirty; at first it was not so bad, it got worse—it was a very delicate child—she said it had rickets and consumptive bowels—she had to go out to work; but not at the latter part of the time.
RUTH FLEMING . I live at 3, Park Villas, next door to the prisoner and her children—I remember the child Reuben—the prisoner spoke to me one day about it—she asked me if I would allow my daughter to take care of it for her during the day, when she was going out to work—that was some time in May—I said I did not think my daughter was old enough to take care of a child a fortnight old, but I took it in; it was very dirty and emaciated; I said, "It is a very miserable little object; have you had it under medical treatment?"—she said No; it had rickets and consumptive bowels; that she had taken it to the doctor at Great Ormond Street some time ago, and they said they could do nothing for it—I undressed it, but I could not hold it, it was so dirty, and smelt so bad—I washed it, and dressed it in doll's clothes—we had no other things to fit it—my little girl of ten cut up some stockings, and made a tiny pair of doll's stockings to put on it; it was a most tiny child—I had it three days in each week—I got my lodger to take it to the Temperance Hospital.
By the COURT. I did not notice any vermin about the child—there
was the same dreadful smell about it every day; we had to repeat the washing each time we took it from her.
JANE DISCOMB . I lodged at 3, Park Villas—I first saw the child in May, when Mrs. Fleming had the care of it; it was very poor, and very little and delicate—it was rather dirty; we used to wash it; the joints were rather dirty, and its underneath part; we used to take off its clothes and wash them—it looked as if it had not sufficient to eat; it was not well—I took it to the Temperance Hospital, and showed it to the doctor there, and the matron gave me a bundle of clothes for it—the prisoner was with me; she used to have it of an evening when she came from work; it seemed to be getting on, and the prisoner said so herself, and I saw her with it out in the yard—afterwards I did not think it looked quite so well," I said so to her—she said, "I think it is getting on nicely"—she provided for it, if she had a few halfpence; if not, I used to get it something.
By the COURT. She used to go out washing, and I used to have the baby early in the morning before she went out—I never saw any vermin upon it—I am not accustomed to children, I have had none of my own—I saw no neglect or ill-treatment—I used to give it bread and milk, I thought that was the right thing, the doctor said she was to feed it on some particular food; I could not say whether she got it—I did not see it after January 7th.
JANE BARROW . I live in Prospect Place, East Finchley—I remember taking in the prisoner and her three children—I could not say the date exactly—I reckon it was about two months before the child died—she said they had been living at Mrs. Godfrey's—they stayed with me till the child died—I saw it when they came, it was not very clean; it was fairly clean; it was very weakly—the doctor was never fetched till I found it was dying. I then called out, "For God's sake, Mrs. Green, send for a doctor;" she had taken it to a doctor about three weeks after she had been with me—she gave me a shilling a day, and half a crown on Saturday—she was away two days and a-half out of the week—when she was at home she looked after it herself; she always treated it very kindly, and was very kind to the other children—I had a sick husband to attend to.
By the COURT. It was a very poor, weak child—it had whooping cough, and so had the little girl—she gave me a shilling a day when she went out to work; that was for food, and for keeping them there and giving them shelter—she used to take a glass of beer, but I never saw her come into my place in drink—I never saw anything of that sort.
THOMAS WILLIAM HICKS . I am a fully qualified medical man and live at Park House, East Finchley—I remember the prisoner's child Reuben—I first saw it from ten months to a year before its death, about October or November, 1894, it was a poor, delicate, emaciated child—it was not then suffering from rickets or consumption of the bowels; it was from exhaustion; there was no definite cause for that, it was in an exhausted, emaciated condition, improper food would account for it, giving it food that it could not assimilate—I did not learn that from its birth it was a poor little thing, that would not influence my judgment, then, or now—I next saw it on October 10th, it was then dead—I made a post-mortem on that day in company with Dr. Hochee—it weighed 6 1/2 lbs. the normal weight should have been from 16 lbs. to 24 lbs.; it
was poorly clothed and dirty, not filthy; it was extremely emaciated—I could find no organic disease to account for that emaciation—I attributed it to malnutrition.
By the COURT. That might arise from improper food, or want of food, quite as likely one as the other—that may happen with the kindest mother in the world, if she does not understand what food would assimilate—the first time I saw the child it was having condensed milk, and I altered that to cow's milk, and gave instructions as to the dilution of the cow's milk—it was a nurse child—I attended it for a week afterwards and then never saw it again; it was always an emaciated child from the first, and very small—milk would be the proper food—malnutrition would be not putting water to it, or giving it milk or food stuff which would not agree with it at the time—I told her to dilute the milk—I had some fault to find with the utensils in which the milk was kept; they were dirty, the bottle in which the milk was given was not clean, hence one could not be responsible for the milk; there was nothing harmful in the bottle except dirt, which is hurtful—the emaciation might arise from disease—I should rather suspect disease of some sort to linger in the frame of a child that was always a puny little thing—the appearances might be accounted for by want of a sufficient quantity of food, or want of strictly proper food, or disease—the post-mortem showed no disease; I never saw the child at its birth—if it always was so from its birth I should have suspected something wrong; it was very small when I saw it.
JAMES HOCHEE . I live at Park Gate, East Finchley, and am a fully qualified medical man—I assisted Mr. Hicks in the post-mortem examination—I have heard his evidence, and agree with it; there was no disease—frequently a child is born very small and very weak in consequence of the mother herself not being properly nourished, but not itself in a state of disease; being born small it may not be expected to survive—I could not say if it was not so in this case, but if I had such a child under my care I should require it to be very frequently fed with milk and water, one part of milk and two of water—it would entirely depend upon how it got on—the prisoner's husband was my groom some years ago—I have not seen anything of him since to my knowledge; I have understood that he has been a bad husband.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I have a very bad husband, and had to go to work to support my children. He ill-treated me badly, and has broken a brass rod over my back. I have had to send my children out sometimes. He gave me money sometimes. I never took to drink."
The prisoner handed in a paper which was read at length, in which she described a system of ill-treatment and drunkenness on the part of her husband, which compelled her to go out to work for the support of herself and children; that the baby was very small and delicate from its birth, that she did her best for it and the other children, but the child was always ill, and nothing did it any good.
The prisoner, having been sworn as a witness, declared that her written statement was perfectly true, and that she had not seen her husband since she came out of Barnet Union a month ago.
NOT GUILTY .
For other cases heard this day see Kent and Surrey cases.
NEW COURT—Thursday, December 12th, 1895.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
ROBERT WILLIAMS . I am a labourer, of 69, Camden Road, Holloway—I have been working for the electric lighting department of the Islington Vestry—on Friday, November 22nd, between seven and eight p. m., I was in the middle bar of the Clarence public-house, Seven Sisters Road, Holloway—there are three bars—I had been paid my wages for the week, fifty-four hours, £1 9s. 3d., and I had in my purse a sovereign, a four-shilling piece, and a florin—I had paid for some beer—the prisoners were there when I went in—I have known them for years, but never associated with them—George is a labourer, and used to live next door to me—Reeks is a bricklayer—Ted Flack, the barman, offered to row me on the Thames the following morning for a sovereign, and I took a sovereign out and showed it to him—the prisoners could hear the conversation—Flack wanted to row on the Lea, but I objected, and put the sovereign back into my purse, and put my purse into my right trousers pocket—Mrs. Fisher, who I knew, was in a bar on my left, and from what she said, I went in and treated her and her husband to some beer, and had a glass myself—I paid for that with a florin, which I took out of my purse, and left the sovereign there—I took the 4s. piece out, and put it in another pocket—George and some other men asked me to give them some beer; Reeks was with them; he is called Puddingy; he asked me for twopence, and I gave it to him—they asked for more beer, and I paid for another pot, and then Reeks asked for another twopence to put to the first—I refused, and said, "You have had 10d.; you ought to be satisfied"—they said, "Go on; we will make it up to you when we get work"—they then held me against the partition; Reeks took me by my left shoulder, and George by my right and put his hand in my trousers pocket, and took my purse—I made a snatch at it, and he passed it behind him—I said, "Don't act the fool, give it me back"; I put my back against the door, and said that no one should leave the bar till I got the purse"—one of them named Webb shoved me away from the door, saying that he wanted to go to the urinal—I went out and called a police sergeant—the prisoners followed me out and went to the urinal—they all came back to the public-house, and George handed me my purse saying, "Here is your purse"—I looked inside it, the sovereign was gone, and I gave George in custody—the others had gone away—next morning I gave evidence at the Police-court against George, the Magistrate asked him if he had any evidence to call, and Reeks called out from the body of the Court, "You changed a sovereign at the bar;" and at the Magistrate's request he went into the witness box and I saw him sworn on the Testament—having given his evidence the case was adjourned till the afternoon when the two barmen were called, and the Magistrate committed George for trial; Reeks was put back for a week—I then went and made a statement to the Treasury.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. I finished work at five o'clock and went and had two half-pints of ale in Holloway Road, and then went to another house and had another half-pint, and from there to the Clarence where I paid for two pots in the middle bar, with coppers, and two pots in the other bar—I was not drunk—the sergeant came into the bar, and I said to the men, "One of you has got my sovereign" and pointed to George and said, "I believe that one"—the sergeant said, "Are you sure?" and I may have said, "Well, one of them had it"—on that the sergeant declined to take George—I had told him about their having held me against the partition—some of them then left the bar; George gave me the purse after the sergeant said that he could not take him—when we were outside, George and I went to the sergeant together and it was then that I said for the first time that George put his hand in my pocket and took the purse out—George did not say in answer to that "You took your purse out of my right-hand coat pocket," nor did I answer yes—I walked with the sergeant to the station, about a quarter of a mile, but did not mention about any man holding me while the purse was taken till I got to the station—there was a great deal of excitement.
Cross-examined by REEKS. I do not say that you are one of the two men who held me against the partition.
Re-examined. When George and I went together to the constable outside, I asked him to take him, but he would not; I was too much excited then.
HENRY DAUGHTON (78 Y). I was four or five yards from the Clarence—Williams came up to me about 9.20—no one was with him—Reeks and another man were standing outside the house near the urinal—I went with Williams into the bar—there were four or five men there—George was among them—Williams said, "I have lost a sovereign"—I said, "Who has got it?"—he said, "I believe this man here," pointing to George—he pointed to each man, they were in a circle, saying, "One of you have got it, now tip up"—Williams had been drinking and was excited—he knew what he was doing—he did not make it clear to me, and I said, "I decline to interfere," and left the bar, and the landlord turned them all out—Williams did not seem satisfied when he got outside and we took names and addresses, and in a minute or so, George came up and said to Williams, "You took your purse out of my right-hand coat pocket, did not you, Bob?"—I understood Williams to say, "Yes, George took the purse out of my right-hand pocket." I said, "See if the sovereign is in it." He said, "No." I said, "Will you charge him?" He said "Yes." I took him to the station, he was charged, and made no reply—while the charge was being taken by the Inspector, Williams said for the first time, "They shoved or pinned me against the partition and took the purse with the sovereign in out of my pocket"—I am sure he said "They."
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. The prisoner come up with the prosecutor who said, "He put his hand into my pocket and took out my purse with a sovereign in it." George said "You took the purse out of my right-hand coat pocket, did not you, Bob?" Williams said, "Yes"—there was an argument first, there was a lot said.
Cross-examined by Reeks. You waited outside by the urinal and when
I came out you were still there, but you had gone when George was was taken in custody.
WILLIAM GEORGE HOBBS . I am second clerk at the North London Police-court—on November 22nd when George was charged I took the evidence; he was asked if he wished to call evidence and somebody at the back of the Court said, "Yes, I will give evidence," and Reeks got into the witness-box and was duly sworn—I took his deposition; I took his name as Reed, but Reeks is the man—he said, "I am a bricklayer of 9, Commercial Road, Holloway. I was in the Clarence public-house and saw the prosecutor paying for pots of beer," I did not see him take his purse out; I saw him take a sovereign out of his purse and change it over the bar for silver and gold, and put the change in his pocket"—the case was then put back for the barman to be called; the Magistrate pointed out what they had said—George then said, "I do not wish to call any witnesses; he came up himself; I do not wish to have him bound over"—there was subsequently a charge against Reeks, and I gave the evidence I have given to-day—when I had finished his evidence I read it over and he said, "I am very sorry if I told the gentleman that, I was in drink at the time"—he did not seem in drink—this was more than a week afterwards at 12 a. m.
ERNEST FLECK . My father is the proprietor of the Clarence—I serve in the bar—it is a fully licensed house—on Friday, November 22nd, I had observation of the three bars from 6.20 p.m. to 8.20 p.m., and from 8.40 to 10.30—I saw Williams there at seven o'clock—I did not change a sovereign for him that evening—I served him with two pots of beer, and he paid 8d. for them—he showed me a sovereign about 7.30, between his thumb and finger, and said that he would row any man for a sovereign—the prisoners were not there then—they were in another bar later on.
By the COURT. I saw nothing of a man being held against the partition by two men, nor did I see Williams with his back against the door, saying, "No one shall go out till I get my sovereign"—there are five bars; two of them are public bars, and my brother and I served in them the whole time we were there—there is a place for jugs and bottles—if a man were held against a partition, I should not notice it—there are often things done like that—I did not hear a man with his back against the door, call out that nobody should go out till he got his sovereign; if it had been said I should have heard it.
FREDERICK CHARLES FLECK . I help my father and brother—on the evening of the 22nd I was with my brother in the bar; nobody else was there—I did not change a sovereign that evening—I saw Williams in the bar—he produced a sovereign between his finger and thumb, and told people in the bar he would race them for a sovereign—I did not see either of the prisoners there—I was on duty from 6 to 8.40, and from 9 to 12.30—my brother goes twenty minutes before me, he goes on from 6 to 8.30, and comes on at 8.40, and goes to bed at 10.30—while I was there I did not see one man holding Williams by one shoulder and one by the other—I should not see it because I should be serving, and if it was supper time we should be one hand short—I should not notice it if they were only larking—there are three barmaids and another brother.
Cross-examined by Reeks. I did not see the prosecutor put his back to the door and say that no one should go out till he got his sovereign.
The Prisoners' statements before the Magistrate: George says, "I do not know what I have to go for trial for, I am not guilty. I have lived there all my life, and never have been accused of such a thing before." Reeks' statement (only partly ready as regards the present case.)"I did not take any sovereign. I did not see it go. I thought I saw the prosecutor change a sovereign in the bar."
Reek's defence. The prosecutor came in and said he had lost a sovereign when he was in the bar, and he went out and came back—I thought he had changed the sovereign over the bar, or else I should never have gone near the Court.
NOT GUILTY .
The evidence in the last case was repeated. The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate. "I am very sorry. I was in drink. I know nothing about what I was saying."
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Friday, December 13th, 1895.
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
MESSRS. BODKIN and E. PERCIVAL CLARKE Prosecuted, and MESSRS. GEOGHEGAN and NOBLE Defended.
The prisoner being a Chinese and imperfectly understanding English, the evidence was interpreted to him.
ALFRED ROYLE THAYER . I am in the office of the Mercantile Marine—I produce the original log of the ship Creedmore, she is described in the articles as a Colonial ship belonging to Manilla—the articles were de posited with us.
WILLIAM RAMSAY KENNEDY . I am the master of the sailing ship Creedmore—on the 2nd of December, we arrived in London from the port of Manilla—the prisoner was cook on board, and the steward was a man named Sing En—they had been messmates between seventeen and eighteen months, both were Chinese—during that time so far as I observed they were on friendly terms—on November 22nd, at half-past two in the afternoon, the ship was on the high seas, about sixty miles to the southward of Ireland—I was called from my cabin, and found Sing En lying on the floor outside my cabin—he was making a tremendous noise, and blood all round him—I examined him, and I found a cut about three inches long one way, and another cut about two inches long the other way, in the centre of the big cut—I could not say how deep they were, a small part of his inside was hanging out through the wound—it was a clean cut wound, it was bleeding quite a lot—there was a clean cut on his left hand, right across the palm—I called the chief officer, and we took his clothes off and put five stitches in the wound, washed him and put some sticking plaister on, bandaged him up, and put him in his bunk, and made him as comfortable as we could. I sent for the prisoner—he was standing outside the cabin door while the dressing was going on, while I was attending to the deceased—I examined the prisoner; I found a big gash in
his left arm—I should judge about two inches long, just above the wrist—it was bleeding considerably—his arm was bare; he had his sleeves rolled up—I did not notice any other wounds on his arm—I attended to that, and bound it up—I then asked him, in the presence of the steward, how the thing happened—the steward was conscious, and able to hear it—he spoke in English—anyone not accustomed to their talk could not make out what they said—he said he was standing by the water-barrel in the galley, cutting a piece of tobacco, and the steward was standing by the table, making the model of a little ship, and the steward said to him, "You don't do any work. Why did you not run away from the ship at Newcastle? I will kill you before you get to London"—the cook replied that he did not want to run away from the ship, and that he did his work properly—"What do you want to kill me for?" and, with that, the steward picked up the big knife off the table, and made a blow on his head like that (describing); that he put his left arm up to save his head, and he received the blow on his arm, which he now has the wound of—he then wrestled with the big knife, and, being the stronger, he got the knife from him and pushed it into his stomach—that was all he said then—I then asked the steward in the cook's presence, who used the knife first—he said the cook used the knife first, and that he did not use it at all; that he then told the cook to have fish for to-morrow's dinner, and with that he was sitting down making a small ship on the stool at the galley, and the cook picked up the knife in his left hand and cut his hand, and that they fell on the floor—I asked if there was anyone round there to see it—he said, "No; they came round after they heard the scream"; that he then came running aft to the cabin; he said the cook was a very bad man; he did not know what he wanted to kill him for; he said that to me frequently—I locked the prisoner up in his own room—I afterwards went to the cook's galley; I found nothing unusual there—while I was sewing up the wound the carpenter brought up three knives (produced); one of them is larger than the others; this is the big one, marked "Bull dog"—it belongs to themselves; I don't know whether it is the steward's or the cook's; it was kept in the galley for carving meat—I examined them; I found blood on the big one, close to the point—there was nothing on the other two—the steward got worse gradually, and died on November 29th, and was buried at sea—nothing had happened to him besides the wound; he vomited all the time, up and down—the wound was three inches one way and two the other; it was all one wound; it was as if the knife went that way, and turned round and went that way; it looked to me that they were both clean cuts—we touched at Newcastle on our way home—we had been there when the cook and the steward were in the company.
Cross-examined. The prisoner came to us with discharges and an excellent character—he gave me every satisfaction, and was a thorough good sailor—I always found him a peaceable, inoffensive man; he was in no way quarrelsome—I entertain so high an opinion of him that I would still give him a berth—I said at the Police-court that he said, "We wrestled, then I threw out my left hand and had hold of the knife; the steward was down on the floor when I pushed the little knife into him"—that was what he said—this is the little knife that was the one he was using in cutting the tobacco—the sailors might have been chaffing the
deceased about a Christmas card that his wife had sent to the prisoner; I did not hear anything about it—I never heard any threat between them; they al ways got along peaceably and quiet—I never heard him threaten to kill him.
By the COURT. When the cook put up his left arm, that protected his head, he received the wound.
EDWARD JACKSON . I was an able seaman on board the Creedmore—I was on board on November 22nd—about two in the afternoon I was passing the galley, and saw the cook and the steward; the cook was cutting a pipe of tobacco, the steward was making the model of a ship; they seemed to be in a friendly way—I went for'ard to get a drink of water, and about three or four minutes after I heard screams from the galley—I ran to the galley door, and saw the cook and steward wrestling with a big knife; the cook was standing up alongside the water-barrel, and the steward was lying down on the floor on his back—the cook had hold of the knife with both hands—the steward had his right round the cook's left wrist—the steward had hold of the knife, with his left hand round the blade and his right hand round the cook's left wrist—I did not see the wound then; he must have been already wounded then—I did not see any blood, but he dropped the knife on the floor then; they both dropped it—I was within three feet or so of them—the steward got up and came on deck; he was then bleeding on the right side—the cook came out on deck from the galley a minute or two afterwards—neither of them spoke to me—I followed the cook to the cabin door, and asked him what was the matter—he said that the steward asked him why he did not leave the ship at Newcastle, and he said he had no reason for leaving the ship, and the steward said, "I will kill you"—the cook answered, "What do you want to kill me for? In a couple of days more we will be in London"—that was all that was said to me—I noticed the three knives on the floor after the cook came out—I did not pick them up—they were lying together, a little bit apart, about a foot or so.
Cross-examined. In the galley there is a shelf, bound with copper—next day I noticed a cut on it, as if from a knife—I believe it was a fresh cut—both the cook and steward appeared to be wrestling for the knife—this little knife was lying on the floor by the steward's feet—the knives belonged to, the galley, they were always there—I have seen the steward using it—this little knife must have been under the steward when he was lying down—I had seen him using it in making a model.
MR. DERMAN. I was chief officer of the Creedmore on her last voyage—on November 22nd, between two and three p.m., I was in my bunk and heard a scream—I was called to the steward, and assisted in dressing his wound—I also attended to a gash across the prisoner's wrist—a few days afterwards I said to the prisoner, "What knife have you used?" he said, "The small knife;" "I said, "It must have been the big knife, as there was no blood on the small knife"—he made no reply.
Cross-examined. He said, "The steward used the knife first, and I took it away from him; I was cutting up tobacco and pushed the small knife into him"—he said that he pushed him away with the small knife which he cut him with—I am chief officer of the ship—about a week before November 22nd I was passing the galley door, and saw the deceased in there; he said, "Mr. Derman, one time one man marry one
girl; he go away and when he comes back find another man in the house; he kill the man and run away, policeman catch him, he tell policeman to stop, then he would take knife and kill himself"—I never heard anything about his being very jealous of the prisoner—I furnished this statement to the Treasury.
By the COURT. The first time I was asked about this was at the Police-station—I was not examined before the Magistrate—this is the first time I have been called on since I gave my statement—no one put any questions to me before the man was committed for trial.
HENRY THOMAS HAMILTON . I am surgeon to the H Division—on October 2nd I examined the prisoner, and found four wounds on the posterior inner surface of his left forearm—three were trivial and had quite healed, one was an inch and a half long downwards and inwards—they were recent—the large wound was still suppurating; the others were quite well; there were scabs on them—the large wound might have been caused by either of their knives or by any sharp instrument—inflammation of the liver would be caused by puncturation.
HENRY DREW (Police Inspector H). On December 2nd the prisoner was brought to Shadwell Police-station; the captain and some of the officers of the Creedmore came with him, and made statements to me, which I wrote down—Mr. Piercy was sent for, and translated to the prisoner, who made a statement—Mr. Piercy translated it to me as he made it, and I wrote it down and read it in English to Mr. Piercy—I do not understand Chinese.
By the COURT. I have not got the charge-sheet here—I had charge of this case—Derman was taken before the Magistrate, but not examined; the gentleman conducting the prosecution, Mr. Lewis, I think, did not think proper to examine him—I took him before the Magistrate each day—I thought of examining him on the 2nd.
GEORGE PIERCY . I am a Wesleyan missionary, and have resided thirty-two years in China—I live at Assay, Cambridge Road, Leyton—on December 2nd I went to Shadwell Police-station, and heard the prisoner make a statement in Chinese—I translated it into English, the inspector wrote it down sentence for sentence, and I read it over to the prisoner; I do not know whether he signed it, but I did—the prisoner did not correct any part of it (Read:—"He cut me first. The steward was making a small model ship; he said to me, 'You don't do your duty properly.' I said, 'I think I do; I have done my cooking in the way you require of me.' The steward then said to me, 'When in Newcastle why did you not run away?' I answered, 'I had no reason for running away, and did not wish to do so.' He said. 'As you have not run away before we get to London, I will kill you.' I asked him, 'Why will you kill me? in two or three days we shall be in London.' The steward then took up the big knife and aimed a blow at my face; I used my left arm to defend myself, and was cut near the wrist. I then thrust out my hand, with the small knife in it, in self-defence, and, without design, cut him. He fell on the floor; I put down the little knife, and took hold of his hand to take away the big knife. He would not let go, but let go with one hand, and caught hold of the blade and cut his hand; I shook him, and he let go altogether and went out. After he went out I followed aft, with my wrist bleeding. The captain was at the door of the
cabin, and bound up my wrist, and then called on me to go back to the galley, which I did, and the carpenter came to me some days afterwards and said, the man was dead, and you will be tried for your life; it is the English fashion, life for life"—I said, "I don't know the cause of enmity of the steward to me"—the carpenter said, "I know all about it; he was jealous of you about something which took place at his home"—a few days before the occurrence, when in the galley, the steward told the mate something about a woman in which there was considerable jealousy aroused against me, and the quarrel arose out of that—it is nothing more than jealousy; he was always growling at me, and wanted me to growl at him, so there could be a quarrel, and he would kill me—I always laughed when he growled at me.
Cross-examined. I kept a boarding-house at Liverpool when my husband was away at sea—the prisoner stopped there, but he had nothing to do with me—my husband had just come home—the prisoner stopped at the boarding-house with me while my husband went on a short voyage, and when he came back he told me he was anxious to take the prisoner on a voyage as cook—that was in July, 1894—I tried to dissuade him from doing so, and there was a little bit of bother about it—I did not say anything to my husband one way or the other—at Christmas, 1894, I sent a Christmas card to my husband, and one to the prisoner, in the same letter, which was addressed to my husband at New South Wales.
W.R. KENNEDY (Re-examined). This is the log—I have read it all—the prisoner said tome that they had been quarrelling—he pulled the knife from the steward and stabbed him in the stomach—both statements are in the log—the statement of the dead man was that the cook picked up the big knife, and made at him, and when he came to grapple, he, being the stronger, pulled the knife from him and stabbed him in the stomach.
NOT GUILTY .
NOT GUILTY .
ARTHUR SMITH . I am a labourer, living at Chiswick—I have known the prisoner twelve or thirteen years, and the deceased, his brother—on Saturday night, November 2nd, I was with Walter Honour about 10.55; we turned out of the George IV. public-house, High Road, Chiswick—my attention was attracted by a crowd on the opposite side of the road, near Mr. Wyatt's, butcher's, shop—I and Honour crossed the road—I saw the two Nobles and the prisoner's wife and Stromeyer, a sweep who worked for the prisoner—I fancied they had been rowing—they went towards Hammersmith, and me and Honour too—a crowd was following—when they got to Upham Park Road the deceased said, "Which one shall I fight?" to either the prisoner or Stromeyer, and I said, "Don't fight, you will get locked up; here comes a policeman"—a policeman was
coming; they moved on—just before they got to Little Hammersmith Station the prisoner came from the roadway and struck the deceased on the right side of the face with his fist—the deceased was then on the hard paved path, and the prisoner in the road alongside the deceased, about two yards from him—I did not hear him talk to his brother—the deceased was the worse for liquor—I saw the blow struck, and then the deceased fell on his head on the path; the left side of his head struck the path—I saw the blow reach his face—I was about 2 1/2 yards off—I did not see the deceased turn round—a constable came up—I went to pick up the deceased, and the constable told me to lay him down—the prisoner walked to the roadway, and I saw no more of him—the deceased was unconscious on the ground.
Cross-examined. I was on the path by the deceased's side—it was on the left side of Hammersmith Road—we were all going towards Hammersmith—the deceased, Honour and I were walking alongside one another—I was nearest the wall—the prisoner's wife was two or three yards behind—I saw the prisoner's fist reach the deceased's face, and he fell down—I did not see Alfred turn round—when struck the deceased had his head towards Hammersmith—the prisoner was not in liquor.
Re-examined. If he had fallen forward on his face he would not have had his head towards Hammersmith if he had turned round.
By the COURT. I saw the prisoner's arm go, and immediately after that the deceased fell.
WALTER HONOUR . I am a bricklayer, of Chiswick—I was with Smith on November 2nd a little before eleven p. m.—we came outside the George IV. and waited outside two or three minutes—I asked Smith if he would have a walk with me towards Hammersmith; he went with me—we saw a crowd over the road and went over—I did not hear anything; I stood back against the shops; something was said—they walked oh till they got to Upham Park Road, when somebody was going to fight—I did not know the prisoner or any of them—I saw one man with his coat off; I could not recognise him—I stood back on the pavement, and they were on the corner of the path—I heard one man say, "I will fight you"—a policeman came up and they moved on—Smith went up and persuaded them to go away—as they went away they were talking; I could not hear what was said—I should think they were net on friendly terms—I heard the prisoner say, "Look at him going along with my wife"—the deceased was going along with her—about thirty yards the other side the railway-station, the prisoner was in the road, and the deceased was on the path with the prisoner's wife—she was just behind the deceased—I was very close to them—the prisoner came out of the road and struck his brother on the right side of the face with his right fist, and he fell on the pavement—his fist reached him—I could not say if the deceased wanted to fight—I heard some one say, "Which one have I got to fight?"
Cross-examined. The night was not very dark; the stars were out—I could not recognise the features of the men whom Smith told not to fight—I could say whether the man whose coat was half off went to the deceased—I don't think there was much force behind the blow which reached the deceased—the prisoner came out from the side of the road, and his brother was, as nearly as I can say, in the centre of the path—the
deceased fell sideways—I believe the deceased was very much in liquor—I had observed that before, when coming up the road.
ROBERT SHEPHERD . I am house-surgeon at West London Hospital—I did not see the deceased when he was brought in—I saw him about 9 a.m. on November 3rd—I heard he was Alfred Noble—he was unconscious when I saw him, he appeared to be suffering from concussion and compression of the brain—I examined him, he had a lacerated wound on the left side of his forehead, reaching down to the bone—that wound might have been caused by a fall on the pavement—the man never regained consciousness—he was trephined on the afternoon of that day to see if it were possible to relieve the compression of the brain—his left eye was slightly blackened; there were no other marks or bruises on him—he died on 4th at 6.15 a.m.—I made a post-mortem examination—the cause of death was compression and concussion of the brain, and fracture of the brain.
CHARLES FAULKNER (387 T). On November 2nd, about 11.5 p.m., I was on duty in High Road, Chiswick, and my attention was attracted by a crowd of people near the Roebuck public-house quarrelling, and someone said, "I will fight you"—I went towards the crowd and it disappeared—I followed towards Hammersmith—when I came to the corner of Upham Park Road Stromeyer, who was with Alfred and William Noble and William Noble's wife, began to pull off his coat, and said, "I will fight you"—he was near the prisoner—I went towards them; they again disappeared—I followed them up the High Road—before we came to the railway station I heard the prisoner, who was walking in the roadway, several times say, "You dirty dog"—the deceased was walking on the footway with the prisoner's wife—after the prisoner had said that he rushed out from the road and struck the deceased, who, in consequence, immediately fell down in a heap backwards—the prisoner made across the road, and I lost sight of him—knowing him, I attended to the injured man—I found him bleeding very profusely from a wound on the left side of the forehead—I stopped the bleeding and sent for a doctor and the ambulance—I afterwards saw the dead body of the deceased at the Lambeth Mortuary, where the inquest was held—that was the body of the man who had been taken to the West London Hospital.
Cross-examined. I cannot say something was not said before the prisoner said, "You dirty dog"—there was no extra noise at the time the blow was struck—there were a number of people there besides the ones I identify—all the party was close together—the deceased had turned round before he was struck; he was almost full-faced, almost enough to be struck on the left side of the face—if the prisoner had advanced to him in a diagonal manner, he might have struck him on the other side—he turned round as he was walking—he was not very much in liquor; he had been drinking.
DAVID RAWLINGS (Inspector T). I arrested the prisoner, and told him I should take him into custody for assaulting his brother, and doing him grievous bodily harm—he said, "I followed him up the road, when he turned round to strike me, and I struck him in self-defence."
Cross-examined. Before this the prisoner had sent down to the Policy
station for protection, and said his brother and wife were removing the furniture—I sent a constable, mid the brother was gone then.
GEORGE VERE BENSON . I am Deputy Coroner for West Middlesex—I was present at the inquest held on the body of the deceased—the prisoner was then a voluntary witness and gave evidence which I took down—it was read to him and he signed it, and the Coroner signed it—this it the Coroner's signature—I took the deposition—the prisoner had an opportunity of cross-examining all the witnesses; he was represented by a solicitor—he was cautioned. (The prisoner's deposition before the Coroner was read. In this he stated that his brother had worked for him, but that he got rid of him six weeks before on account of his dirty habits that he went to Peterborough for two days, and when he came back found his wife drunk and his brother packing up the bedding, and a boy with a cart ready to take the things away; that he went to look for assistance; that certain things were taken away that night, and others the, next clay; that every day he saw his wife with his brother; that she used to be with him at night; that when he spoke to her about it she called him bad names; that on November 2nd he and Stromeyer met his wife with his brother, that they called him names; that he followed them to find where they were living, and that finally his brother hit at him, and he hit back, and his brother fell, but he did not know if his blow reached his brother.)
Witnesses for the Defence.
ALFRED STROMEYER . I am a chimney-sweep, now living at 74, High Street, Bradford—on November 2nd, just before eleven, I was in a public house with the prisoner; we were both quite sober—the deceased and the prisoner's wife came through the door in the compartment, and she said, "Good-night, you dirty little pup," referring to the prisoner—and the deceased, as he followed her, said, "Good-night, Tommy Dodd; you cannot sleep with this no more," referring to her—the prisoner said, "Come with me, Alfred, and I will see where they are living, and I will see if I can get my things back"—he meant things that I knew had been taken away by the deceased and old Mr. Noble's boy—we went up the, main road towards Hammersmith, and when we got this side of Elliot Road the deceased challenged me and the prisoner to fight—Mrs. Noble only kept cursing and swearing—I did not see the prisoner make any attempt to fight before his brother offered to fight him—when they got to the other side of Elliot Road, I was going along the pavement on the left hand side, a tidy way from Little Hammersmith station, the deceased turned and said to a man, "Come and pick me up while I fight one of these two—I said, "I will fight you"—the prisoner did not fight; the deceased offered to fight him, and the prisoner refused two or three times—he and his brother were calling one another names going up the road—the prisoner spoke about his having his wife and his things—on the other side of Little Hammersmith station, under a big tree, where it was not very light, the prisoner was in the gutter and I by his side, and the deceased and Mrs. Noble were on the pavement—the deceased turned round two or three times to strike the prisoner going up the road, in a threatening way—the prisoner walked along by my side, and I did not see him do anything—then the deceased hit at the prisoner and the prisoner offered to hit him, whether he hit him or not I cannot say, but
the deceased fell down—I saw him on the ground—I did not see him fall—it was about half an hour after we left the public-house that this happened, or it might be a shorter time—I knew the deceased had gone off with Mrs. Noble because I have worked for the prisoner, and we met them morning, noon, and night together; and they kept taunting the prisoner—the deceased kept laughing to me about going off with the prisoner's wife: "I have got his old woman."
Cross-examined. The prisoner has been my employer—I gave some evidence before the Coroner, but I had hardly time to finish it—the deceased said outside the public-house, "I have got your old woman, good night," not inside—I was not called before the Magistrate because I had not time to wash myself, and my face was black, and for the same reason they would not hear me before the Coroner for a long time—on the second occasion before the Coroner my face was clean, and then I gave evidence and signed my deposition—Mr. Benson was sitting beside the Coroner when he would not hear me—when I got near Little Hammersmith station I went away for a certain purpose, and did not see the blow struck that made the man fall.
G. V. BENSON (Re-examined by the COURT). The Coroner did not refuse to hear Stromeyer, but he reproved him for coming in that condition, and said he did not know whether he could take his evidence in that condition—Stromeyer was sober—the Coroner told him to stand back and not leave the Court, as he might require to take his evidence presently.
A witness deposed to the prisoner's character, as a steady, quiet, inoffensive man. INSPECTOR RAWLINGS also deposed to this being the prisoner's character.
ALFRED STROMEYER (Re-examined by the COURT). When the prisoner's wife said "You dirty little pup," the prisoner said, "Go along with my——brother"——I was not there when the deceased fell, and did not see what caused him to fall.
Recommended to mercy by the JURY, as they thought he had suffered great provocation.— Discharged on recognisances.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
MR. HUTTON, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence on the inquisition.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
JAMES NURTON . I live at 7, Harpur Street, Bloomsbury—I am an officer of the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children—on October 25th I went to No. 2, Rowley Street, Deptford, and to a room on the second floor—I there saw the prisoner—she had a baby in her arms, and there were four other children there, one aged thirteen—the room smelled very badly, a dirty kind of smell—the child she was nursing was very dirty, there were vermin in its head, also sores on its head—I said to the prisoner, "The baby looks very ill"—she said, "Yes, it is suffering from consumptive bowels"—I asked her if she had taken it to a doctor—she said, "Yes, about two months ago"—I asked what she had been feeding it on—she said from cow's milk and also from the breast—I asked her where it slept; she said, "On that bed," pointing to a 4-ft. 6-in. iron bedstead; it consisted of three sacks filled with shavings, and two pillows filled with flock, the whole of which were in a very dirty state—I asked her if she had any covering in the way of bedding—she said, No, she had not, but her husband was going to get some sheets and bedding on the following Saturday—I advised her to take the child to the doctor without delay—I went there on the following day, alone, and saw her and the child; it looked in the same dirty state—I asked if she had taken it to the doctor; she said she would take it to the doctor that night, Dr. Hawkesworth—she also said her husband was going to get the blanket and sheet on the Monday; the room was in the same condition—on the following day there was no food in the room, and I went for some milk and food for the children—I saw the child take the milk; it took it very ravenously—on the 25th I weighed the child—on the second day there was food, bread and butter, and some milk for the baby—I went again on the following Monday, the 28th, with Inspector Chown—there was no alteration in the state of the room or in the state of the child—she told me she had taken it to the doctor on the Saturday; in the meantime I had communicated with Dr. Cable.
By the COURT. It is usual in these cases to have the Society's doctor; I instructed him on the Saturday—I went to Dr. Hawkesworth, and he told me the woman had taken the child to him three months-before.
EDWARD HAWKESWORTH . I am a medical man, of 249, Evelyn Street, Deptford; that is about fifty or 100 yards from where the prisoner lodged—I remember attending her child in July—I do not remember who first brought it to me; I was told it had diarrhœ a and sickness—I gave it medicine—I saw it no more until October—the prisoner brought it to me on October 26th; it was then suffering from bronchitis and sores in the head—some of the sores I should say were due to lice—there was nothing about them to show that they came from lice, except that they usually accompany lice—there was one old sore which, I think, might have been due to ringworm—the child was thin and dirty; there was a nasty smell from it—I saw vermin in its head—I told the prisoner to take it home, and ordered some beef-tea and milk for it, and I think a little whisky or brandy; I saw it again either on the 30th or 31st, it was then alive, but very bad—I saw it in my surgery, a little girl brought it—I considered that it was
dying, I did not notice as to its cleanliness, it was too ill—I told the child to take it home and not to bring it out again—on November 2nd I made a post-mortem examination of it, it weighed 13 lbs. some ounces, the normal weight of such a child would be 24 or 25 lbs., if fully developed and thriving—it was a fully developed child; I saw nothing to tell me it was not; it was a delicate child—I noticed lice on the body and on the head, and sores, some on the back and some on the head—I should say some of those on the back were probably bed sores, and others were old ones; I could not say what had caused them—I found traces of bronchitis and the whole of the internal organs were very pale and bloodless—the bronchitis in itself was enough to cause death—want of cleanliness would have a bad effect, it would require a little extra care to keep off the vermin—bad air or unsuitable or insufficient food would account for the emaciation.
By the COURT. As to food, what will suit one child will not suit another; we find a good many kind mothers who do not know how to treat their children, they give them unsuitable food and they do not thrive—the presence of lice would prevent sleep, and cause great irritation; lice very often come of themselves, or from dirt; I have sometimes seen very clean people catch one or two, they breed very rapidly, it would take a week or two to get into that state, it had vermin on the head when I first saw it—I cannot remember whether I spoke to the prisoner about it—I should be likely to; as far as I can remember—children vary very much in weight; in a child a year old it would vary in from sixteen to twenty instances—I understood that this child was two years old; I was not in the habit of seeing the prisoner; I was never inside the house.
GEORGE HUGH CABLE . I am a medical man, of Royal Hill, Greenwich—on October 27th I went and saw this child; I had never seen it before—the room was in a filthy condition; it smelt very offensive—the child was dressed; it had on a small frock and a little shift; I could see the body; I lifted up the frock—the child was in a very dirty condition, in fact, grimed with dirt—the smell in the room was as if filth had been emptied on the floor and had not been cleaned up, and there was soap and candle grease, and other matter, as if it had been all grimed in together—I told the prisoner that her room was in a very filthy condition; why did she not clean it—she said she had—I said "You have made a very poor attempt at it"—I saw vermin on the child's head; it was apparently very ill—it was suffering from bronchitis, that was enough to kill it—I could not trace the suffering from anything else; there was emaciation—I told the prisoner it was very ill, and she ought to have great care of it, or she would lose it; that she must keep it warm, and act according to the instructions she had received from Dr. Hawkesworth—I thought his advice excellent—my attendance was on behalf of the society to report—they generally prefer to have some one who has seen a great many of these cases, and able to examine into them—I have other practice.
DR. HAWKESWORTH (Recalled). Vermin are easily got rid of by application to the head—I cannot remember that I recommended any—I did not see whether my directions had been carried out—the first time I saw the child it was suffering from an ordinary attack of bronchitis; the next time it was a more severe form.
PRISONER. I don't wish to say anything, everything I gave it passed through it.
GUILTY — One Month Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. KYD Prosecuted.
CHARLES JOHN ROZIER . I am a lighterman, and live at 61, James Street, Deptford—on November 12th I went to bed about twelve—I looked round the house; it was all securely fastened—I left a coat hanging on the back of a chair in the kitchen; in an inside pocket of the coat there were some documents to the value of £596, some bills of lading and my licence; this (produced) is my coat, the papers are gone.
SARAH ROZIER . I am the prosecutor's wife—on November 12th before going to bed I saw that the house was fastened up—in the night I heard something, I came down and found the kitchen door and the scullery window open; the fastenings were broken; I missed my husband's coat.
JOHN WOOD (511 R), At six in the morning of the 13th I saw the prisoner in New King Street, Deptford, he entered a coffee shop—I went in and asked him where he got the coat he was carrying on his arm; not this one but another—he said, "That is my coat"—he said, "I bought it"—I said, "Where?"—he said, "Find out"—I took him into custody—there was a two foot rule in the coat pocket—on the way to the station he said, "That is not the coat you want, governor"—at the station he was charged with the unlawful possession of this coat, it was identified by Mrs. Keen as stolen that same night—I had been watching the prisoner from 11.30 till two, and lost sight of him at the railway arches at the back of Mr. Rozier's.
ROBERT KEEN . I am a labourer, of 123, Loam Street, Greenwich—this is my coat; it had a rule in the pocket; I missed this coat and another, when I came down in the morning, and this other coat belonging to Mr. Rozier was lying on the window.
WILLIAM GALL (264 R). I was with Wood when he arrested the prisoner—I afterwards went to the house and found that the scullery window had been forced open; the bolt had been forced out—at the station I told the prisoner he would be charged with burglary—he said, "The waistcoat he left hanging on the fence; that the window was open when he got in and he took the coat off the nail at the back of the kitchen door, but he never saw any papers"—I had been watching him with Wood, and lost sight of him just by the railway arch.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "The door was open in one case, and anybody could get in; people ought to be more careful. I have nothing to say in the other case."
Prisoner's Defence: I don't know nothing at all about it.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at this COURT on October 22nd, 1894, five other convictions were proved against him. DR. WALKER stated that the prisoner was of weak intellect.
Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. MORESBY Prosecuted.
ALBERT PARKER . I keep the Kent Arms, North Woolwich—on November 12th I went to bed about twenty minutes past one—I was the last person up—I looked at the doors and windows, and they were secure—I was knocked up by the police at two minutes to two; I put on my trousers and socks, and came downstairs—I struck a light at the bar door, and saw the prisoner standing there—as soon he saw me he laid down on a seat and began snoring—I went for the police, and he was taken—the door was bolted; by shoving against it it would push the bolts—an iron bar goes across the door; it was bolted at the top—something put between the doors would shift the bolts, and by shaking the bar would go down.
ROBERT POINTER (737 K). On November 12th, at two a.m., I was on duty in Dock Street, North Woolwich; I heard a creaking noise, and I went on and found the door of the public-house partly open—I aroused the landlord; he came down—Stainer came up, and we went inside, and found the prisoner lying on the seat in the bar—he said he had been locked in the previous night; he was sober—I had tried the doors at half-past one, and found them all secure—I found on him 10s. in gold, some silver and bronze, and a metal pin.
GEORGE STAINER (190 K). At two a. m. on November 12th I was proceeding along Albert Road; I heard a noise of breaking and shaking of the door—I found Pointer there—the landlord came down—we went in, and found the prisoner lying on a seat in the private bar, pretending to be asleep—he said, "I was locked in here"—I said, "You could not have been, for I saw you in High Street at half-past one, and you asked me the way to Shadwell"—I found this metal pin on him—I tried it to see if it could be inserted between the folding-doors, and I could push the bolt back with it, and then by shaking the bolts would come open—there was a bar across the door, it was bent, and the doors would open.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I was not twenty-four hours off my ship; I was drunk; I would not go and do a thing like that; I had money to draw; I came ashore with £2 in my pocket."
Prisoner's Defence. I come from South America. I was never here before. I came home with £2. I lost my way the same day. I bought a pair of boots, a hat and handkerchief. I could draw £3 16s. 9d. next day; would I commit a felony? The pin I used on board ship—I had only just come to land.
GEORGE STAINER (Re-called). He did not apply to me to call anyone from the ship—he asked me to go to the ship to see if his money would be right—I went, and the officer said the money would be retained for him when they came back—they knew nothing about him till he shipped at St. Senate.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction of felony at Liver-pool on September 15th, 1894, and three other convictions were proved against him.
Nine Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. BIRON, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence.— NOT GUILTY .
MCKENZIE PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. STEWARD Prosecuted.
WILLIAM HATCH (344 P). On the morning of November 17th I was on duty at the corner of Clayton Road and Albert Road, Peckham—I saw two men come out of the front garden of 95, Albert Road, each carrying a bundle—I went towards them—as soon as they saw me they dropped the bundles and ran away—I followed, and blew my whistle, and a constable joined in the chase and stopped Farewell—I had lost sight of him for a minute—we brought him down the road towards the station, and on the road picked up the two bundles—we took Farewell to the station and searched him, and in his left boot found this table knife, and in his right boot this jemmy, and in his pockets this handkerchief, and a purse containing 4 1/2 d., a box of silent matches, a key, and a piece of wax candle—in one bundle I found this pipe, a marble clock, key—at the station he said, "I admit going into the show"—the handkerchief that was tied round the clock, he said, was his.
CHARES SHIELDS . I live at 94, Albert Road, Peckham—on November 16th, before going to bed, I saw all safe—I was aroused between three and half-past by the constable, and missed this clock and other things.
FAREWELL PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction in June, 1893, when he was sentenced to Three Years' Penal Servitude; other convictions were proved against him.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour. MCKENZIE— Three Years' Penal Servitude; other convictions were proved against him.
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
MR. LEVER Prosecuted.
LENA HELLIN . I live at 135, Princes Road, Lambeth—I lived with the prisoner six months—I am not married to him—on November 19th, about four o'clock, I saw him in the street, and told him he could not go home with me, as Mrs. Whiting would not let him in—that caused a quarrel between us, and he gave me a smack on my face, but nothing to hurt—my nose bled—about six o'clock Mrs. Lot and Mrs. Laws and I were having tea in the kitchen, and the prisoner came in, hit me on my back, and I felt blood—I bent down and got a wound on my arm—I heard something go into the fire, but did not see it—someone fetched a
constable—I was taken to the station, and my wounds were dressed by a doctor—I gave evidence next day, and went to the infirmary, and remained there till December 7th.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not hear you say that you would hang for me.
GEORGE WHITING . I am a coal-porter, of 135, Princes Road—the prisoner and the last witness have lodged with me since the middle of June—they were on friendly terms till two or three days before this when they had both been drinking and were quarrelling—on November 19 I was in the kitchen with her and Mrs. Laws, and my wife—the prisoner knocked at the door; my wife went to open it, and said, "You can't come in here, Mr. Hellin;" he pushed past her, and crossed the room to Mrs. Hellin and began thumping her—I said, "I won't have this," and got him to the door; meanwhile she shifted to the fireplace and sat in an easy chair, and the prisoner was thumping her; I was going to him, and my wife said, "You silly fool, he has got a knife; come away," and pulled me away—I said, "I will go and fetch a policeman," and I had hardly got up the area steps when my wife shouted "Murder" and "Police"—the prisoner said, "I will do for the b——landlord directly"—Mrs. Laws fetched a constable—I did not see the knife.
ELIZABETH WHITING . I am the wife of the last witness—I saw a mob outside my gate about 4.30, and Mrs. Hellin ran down the area steps, and Mr. Hellin kicking her—I opened my door and took her in—he abused me very much, and used bad language outside—he said, "I will be hung for you and Mrs. Hellin before the night is out"—about six o'clock a knock came; I went to the door, and he had this knife in his hand; he pushed me away and went into the kitchen—Mrs. Hellin ran to the side of the fireplace and sat in a chair—he said to my husband, "If you don't leave go I, will stab you," and stabbed him in the arm—he went out, and the prisoner kept on stabbing Mrs. Hellin—I said, "Oh, Mr. Hellin, don't kill her in my kitchen"—he then used very bad words and ran after me, and said, "I will stab you," and I saw him stab me—he stabbed Mrs. Hellin five or six times, and then put the knife in the fire.
Cross-examined. I told the policeman you had put the knife in the fire.
ELIZABETH LAWS . I am the wife of Thomas Laws, of 137, Vauxhall Street, Lambeth—on January 19th I was in Mr. Whiting's kitchen at six o'clock—there was a knock, Mrs. Whiting opened the door; the prisoner pushed her aside and came in; she called "Help!" and the prisoner stabbed Mr. Whiting through the arm—I rushed out.
GEORGE PAYNE (Police Sergeant 21). On November 19th, about 65, Mrs. Laws called me; I went to this house and said to the prisoner, "What is this?"—he said, "They know, I don't"—I told him he would be charged with stabbing; he made no reply—I took him to the station and asked him if he had a knife at home—he said, "No, I have got no knife; they fell among the thieves"—I went back to the house and found this knife (produced) in the fire—the large blade was like this. (Half-open)—the prisoner was not at all under the effects of liquor—he did not stagger, nor was his speech thick—he answered my questions clearly—he might have been drinking during the day, but was not affected whatever.
and found four wounds, one on the upper part of her left shoulder blade one-third of an inch long and half an inch deep, another at the lower angle of the same bonei half an inch long and an inch deep, the tissue surrounding it was very much swollen—another wound was on the lower side of her right arm an inch long and half an inch deep—her jacket, bodice, flannelette, and chemise were saturated with blood—the upper three wounds were bleeding freely, and had to be stitched—the wounds were such as might be caused by the large blade of this knife; the point is broken off—one of the wounds was stopped by the bone which may have broke the point of the knife, but the point was not found—the wound on her back was near the lungs, but was stopped by the bone.
Prisoner's Defence. I was coming home and the landlady would not let me into the house. I went out and walked about, afterwards I went back and knocked at the door, and could not get in. I went into the landlord's kitchen to ask permission to get a key to get to my room, a struggle commenced, and I struck out right and left. Mrs. Hellin was sitting by the fire and said, "He has cut my arm." Mrs. Whiting was not in the place at all.
GUILTY on the Second Count. — Three Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
No evidence was offered.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, JANUARY 13TH, 1896.