CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
FOURTH SESSION, HELD FEBRUARY 3RD, 1896.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND, BY
JAMES DROVER BARNETT
Short-hand Writers to the Court,
ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
THE POINTS OF LAW AND PRACTICE
REVISED AND EDITED, BY
EDWARD T. E. BESLEY, ESQ., Q.C.,
OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW.
STEVENS AND SONS, LIMITED, 119, CHANCERY LANE,
Law Booksellers and Publishers.
On the Queen's Commission of
OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
The City of London,
AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY, WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
Held on Monday, February 3rd, 1896, and following days.
BEFORE the RIGHT HON. SIR WALTER WILKIN , Knt., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; Sir JOHN COMPTON LAW RANGE , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court; Sir JOHN WHITTAKER ELLIS , Bart., Sir REGINALD HANSON , Bart., M.P., and Sir JOSEPH SAVORY , Bart., M.P., Aldermen of the said City; Sir CHARLES HALL , Q.C., M.P., K.C.M.G., Recorder of the said City; GEORGE FAUDEL PHILLIPS ,. Esq., Lieut.-Col. HORATIO DAVID DAVIES , M.P., FRANK GREEN ,. Esq., WALTER VAUGHAN MORGAN , 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.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
WILKIN, MAYOR. FOURTH SESSION.
A star (*) denotes that prisoners have been previously in custody—two stars (**) that they have been more than once in custody—a dagger (†) that they are known to be the associates of bad characters—the figures after the name in the indictment denote the prisoner's age.
LONDON AND MIDDLESEX CASES.
OLD COURT.—Monday, February 3rd, 1896.
Before Mr. Recorder.
180. GEORGE DONOVAN (25) PLEADED GUILTY to a burglary in the dwelling-house of Theodore Julian Preston, and stealing therein a clock and goods, and also to a conviction at Stafford in October, 1894, having then been previously convicted— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
182. WILLIAM HARBORN PRICE (37) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to two indictments for stealing, whilst employed in the Post Office, post letters containing orders for 10s. and 5s.—He had been twenty years in the service— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. SOPER Prosecuted.
WALTER ROBERTS (190 J). On January 13th I was on duty in the evening with Detective Baker, coming down Avenue Road; I saw a man standing against a pillar-box—the prisoner is the man—he walked away; I hurried after him—I put my hand into the aperture of the pillar-box, and I found that my hand was covered with a sticky substance—when I got within eight yards of him he hurried across the road; I went after him and stopped him—I did not lose sight of him at all; there was nobody in the road but him—I said, "I am a police officer; what were you doing at that letter-box?—he said, "Nothing, governor"—he put his hand in his pocket and dropped some letters as I seized his hand—Baker picked them up—I took him to the station—on the way he said, "A man asked me to hold them while he did his boots up"—when he was charged he made the same reply—I took the names and addresses on the letters at the station—there was a lamp right opposite the pillar-box.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. There was no other man near the pillar-box—you did not say to me, "Why did you not catch hold of the other boy?"—I did not keep punching you in the back—you kicked me
in the leg and were very violent; a young man came to assist me—I did not put my hand in your pocket and throw the letters on the ground.
ERNEST BAKER (117 J). On the night of 13th January I was with the last witness in Avenue Road in plain clothes—I noticed the prisoner walk away from the pillar-box—I put my hand in the aperture of the box; it was sticky—Roberts went after the prisoner; when I got up to them they were struggling—I picked up two letters in the road, and said to the prisoner, "I am a police officer, and shall take you to the station"—he was very violent, and used most insulting language—at the station this box was found in his inside coat pocket; it contains a sticky substance—I produce the envelopes of the two letters—they were both sticky—there was no one but the prisoner near the pillar-box—a young man and woman were there when I arrested the prisoner.
HERBERT WILLIAM NELSON . I am a postman at Clapton—on 13th January I made a collection from the pillar-box in Avenue Road at seven o'clock—it was then perfectly free from any other substance—I afterwards cleaned the letter-box; the aperture was then very sticky.
WALTER JAMES KENNEL . I am an assistant in the Consular Service, and reside at Clapton—on 13th January I wrote a letter to the treasurer in the Temple; this is the letter—I posted it myself about half-past eight in the Avenue Road pillar-box.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I did not steal the letters at all; the other chap stole the letters and said, 'Hold these,' and then ran away, he told me he had stolen them before; I did not know whether that was right or not."
The Prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY.—Recommended to mercy by the JURY on account of his youth and good character— Judgment respited.
184. ALBERT RUDOLPH JENTSCH (19) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a watch, the goods of Edward Gooding; also to stealing a watch and other articles, the goods of Maurice Pagliero, in a dwelling-house; to forging and uttering an order for the payment of £10 10s., and to forging and uttering a receipt for £10 10s., with intent to defraud.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. HARRISON Prosecuted.
ELIZABETH WRIGHT . I am in the service of Miss Perry, at 6, Castilian Road, Paddington—about 10 p.m. on January 18th, I went to open the lavatory door and found it closed from the inside; and thinking something was wrong I fetched a policeman—he sent me to the butcher's for a chopper to break the door in—when I came back the policeman was just going out into the garden after the burglars—I afterwards saw the prisoner being brought in from the garden—the door from the garden to the breakfast room had been closed, but not locked, and the lavatory window was open wide enough for a man to get out of—I keep a supply of beer downstairs—the policeman found an empty bottle in the lavatory; it was just like those we keep downstairs; no bottle had ever been left in the lavatory before—it had been taken from the bottles down-stairs; I knew by the number—to get into the lavatory a man could go through the garden door and the breakfast room, or could get through the lavatory window—after the prisoner was taken to the station the lavatory door was burst open.
WALTER RATLEY (183 X). On January 18th I was on duty in the Warwick Road about 8 p.m., when I was called to 6, Castilian Road, Paddington—I found the w.c. door locked—I asked if anyone was in there and got no answer—I tried to force the door with my shoulder, and failed—I sent the servant to the nearest butcher's for a hatchet—I saw the shadow of a man sliding down the rain-water pipe outside—I ran out and caught him in the garden, and asked him what he was doing there—he said, "I am come for a night's doss"—his boots were off—I asked where they were; He said, "By the gate"—he put them on, and I took him to the station—he went quietly—he used very bad language on the way to the station, and threatened, when he had done his time, if the servant and me were not dead, he would shoot the pair of us—I charged him at the station; he made no reply—I then went back to the house and forced the lavatory door, and found in it an empty beer-bottle—to get in through the lavatory window from the garden a man would have to climb about ten feet on to a landing window, and then get round and in at the lavatory window—the easier way would be to get in by the door—I could not see from footprints which way he had got in—when I took the prisoner in the garden he was not asleep, but trying to make his escape—his boots were against the gate.
The RECORDER directed the JURY that the case shaped itself as one of larceny in a dwelling-house.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Monday, February 3rd, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
187. HENRY GEORGE THOMAN (27), [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] to burglary in the dwelling-house of Graham Keith and stealing 3s. 7d. and 2 1/2 d. his money; also to burglary in the dwelling-house of John Menzies' and stealing 18s. 6d. his money. He stated that he had been laid up for months with typhoid feverand was turned out of his lodging and had to walk the streets.— Judgment Respited.
188. GEORGE WILLIAM LYWARD (26) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to unlawfully making false entries in the books of John Roland Soper, his master; also to stealing £6 11s. 2d., £10 and £10; also to embezzling the sums of £2 11s., £14, and 6s. of his said master.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
189. FREDERICK POWIS (70) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to forging and uttering an order for £10 10s., having been convicted at Colchester of misdemeanour on June 30th, 1893; also to unlawfully obtaining £5 11s. from Harvey Nicholas and Co. by false pretences, £3 1s. from John Dow, £2 10s. from Mortimer Ernest Newton, and £1 from Swan and Edgar, Limited— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
MR. PASCALL Prosecuted.
ELSA BARNETT . I live at 70, Smith Street, Westminster, and am an Austrian—I have no business—on Thursday, January 16th, I was near Victoria Station—the prisoner Bonner came up and asked me to go with him; we walked on—I said I did not want to go much further, and he smacked my face with his open hand several times; he hurt me—I called out, "Police!" and Bailey, who I had not seen before, came up—took my handkerchief from my neck, and my pin, and said, "If you don't give your purse up we will kill you"—I called "Police!" and they both pushed me down; but the police came up, and they ran away—I did not know them before—I recognised them that night.
Cross-examined by Bailey. I was directed to go before a Magistrate the next morning—I did not go, I did not want to press the charge.
FRANCIS BURROUGHS (409 A). On January 16th, about 1.15 a.m., I was on duty in Victoria Street, and the last witness complained to me of being robbed—I went in search of the men, and caught them together walking in Gravel Lane—the woman came up, and I asked her if those were the men—she said, "Yes"—they said they had never seen her before—I took them to the station, and found the handkerchief about twenty yards from where I had arrested them—they had passed that place, and nobody else was about—when they were charged they said that they were innocent, and had never seen the woman before.
Cross-examined by Bonner. I took you thirty or forty yards before the other constable came—I did not hear you say that you had been drinking with the woman in the Windsor Castle; you said you had not seen her before.
Cross-examined by Bailey. You were walking—you did not say that you went there to make water.
THOMAS GATTING (41 A.R.) On January 16th I went to Burroughs' assistance, he had the two prisoners in charge, and the prosecutrix said, "I wish to charge those two men; they came up to me and asked me to give them my purse, and that if I did not they would kill me"—they both said, "Don't listen to her, we never saw you before in our lives; were not you drinking with us at the Windsor?"—she nodded her head—they refused their address.
Cress-examined by Banner. You did not say, "Were not you drinking with us at the Duke of York?" you said, "At the Windsor."
ELSA BARNETT (Re-examined). I remember charging the prisoners at the station; neither of them asked me whether I had been drinking with them at the Windsor, nor had I done so—I had not been drinking with anybody at the Windsor.
Cross-examined by Bailey. I have never said that I went up Victoria, Street, and brought the policeman down—I am sure you are the two men.
Bailey's statement before the Magistrate. "I know nothing about it. I am as innocent as a child. I never saw the woman before."
Banner's defence. I was never charged with such a thing before. The constable says he never heard "Police" called. I was making water against a hoarding, and the policeman took me. I never saw the woman. in my life before.
F. BURROWS (Re-examined). I cannot tell whether they had been relieving themselves against a hoarding—they had stopped when I came up to them—the woman was perfectly sober.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. KERSHAW Prosecuted.
CHARLES THOMAS DURRANT . I am a colliery agent—I have known the defendant many years; he is my cousin—he was formerly a partner in the employ of Myers and Co., colliery agents—he entered my employment on the last day of September or October 1st—he told me if I would employ him he could make a very good business, as the man he was with was bankrupt—I employed him as a clerk at £1 a week and 25 per cent. on the net profits—he said that he had a good connection with a large class of people and also among-shipbrokers—I took a special office for him in Billiter Square, and he came there—he said, about Christmas, that he knew a Mr. Allen who had introduced him to Mr. Seale, who was a ship's husband, that is a storekeeper, who sees to the victualling of Mr. Grant's ships—they are a large firm, and he said that they were not satisfied with the coal they were having and he was negotiating an order, and Mr. Seale would want a Certain amount of commission out of it, and he could not get the order unless he had something to give Mr. Seale, who would expect £10—I objected to give £10 to people I did not know—he said that Mr. Seale would not want the whole amount down at once, and suggested giving him a sovereign, which I gave him on account—he left the office and came back in half-an-hour, and said he had seen Mr. Seale, who took the sovereign and put it in his waistcoat pocket, and said that it was rather small, and he should expect the balance, but he gave the order—that was on January 2nd; and on the same day he wrote a letter from me to Messrs. Grant, of which this is a copy—on January 7th I was told that Messrs. Grant wanted a confirmation in my own writing and I wrote him this letter, and posted it myself. (Confirming the order and stating that a copy would be sent from his office at Cardiff.) I was in London that day, and the next day, Wednesday morning, when the defendant showed me the same letter returned to me, and said that
Messrs. Grant were not satisfied with my confirmation, as the details were act out—I saw the India rubber stamp, and that confirmed me that the letter was genuine—I sent another letter from Cardiff, where I had gone to take an office, because the defendant told me that Messrs. Grant would give us a vote, and it would be absolutely necessary to have an office at Cardiff; I went there on the evening of the 8th, leaving my brother Alfred in charge of the office, and posted my letter next morning, but got no letter or telegram in reply—I never saw my letter again—on the 10th I received this letter from the defendant. (This said, "Do not wire to Grant, I arranged with McGregory about Orient line; Arthur gave me £3 to give him next week.—A. E. Lockyer.") He had said that Mr. Steele had introduced him to Mr. McGregory of the Orient line—on the Saturday I had this letter from the defendant saying that Mr. R. Grant wished to see me on Tuesday—I returned to town on Saturday the 11th from Cardiff, and saw the defendant the same evening, he said that I should have to see Mr. Steele on Monday morning—I went there at ten a.m., and the prisoner said that he had already seen Mr. Steele, who had to go to Tilbury Dock and would not be back till five o'clock—I waited till six o'clock, when I got a telegram signed Steele, and did nothing that evening—on the morning of the 14th I went to the office and the defendant said he had already seen Mr. Steele, who wanted to know whether it would be convenient for me to see him at twelve o'clock—I said, "Very well, I will wait in till 12.30," I waited in, but Mr. Steele did not appear—the defendant came into the office and said, "Mr. Steele will be sure to be round"—I had another engagement, and gave the defendant a half sovereign, so that he could let me know where they had gone—when I went back, the clerk at the office told me something, and I went to Crosby Hall to see if I could see them but could not—about three o'clock I saw the defendant in Billiter Square, and asked him where Mr. Steele was, he said he had gone to the Albert Docks, and had got the order in his pocket—I said, "You go to Fen-church Street Station, and if you cannot find him, I will go with you to the Albert Docks and see Mr. Steele"—he took a ticket, and I saw him off by the 3.23 train, and did not see him again that night—I said that if I did not receive a wire from him by five o'clock I should wait in, and at 5.30 I went to Mr. Anderson's and to Messrs. Grant's and made a communication to them—I never got any order—on the 15th I received this letter from the defendant. (Stating that he had sprained his ankle, and ricked his knee, and the doctor would not allow him to walk, and asking for money that lie might take a cab to the office.) I paid the £1 on the false representation that he was going to give it to Steele to get me the big order.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I have sometimes given you more than £1 a week; I never gave you less—I did not tell you I had been established for a long while in Cardiff, I never had the slightest idea of Cardiff till I got the order—I did not instruct you to go about and say that I had been established there a long while—you were always paid your petty cash, and even had the money before-hand, but they were not paid—you always had coal to sell for me, but not at a prohibitory price; it was very possible for you to have done business if you desired to, and coal has been sold at a price beyond what I was
offering it for—£200 would not cover my expenses in establishing offices in London and Cardiff.
ARTHUR ERNEST DURRANT . I am a solicitor, of Greenhithe, Kent—on January 9th I temporarily took charge of my brother's office while he was at Cardiff, and the defendant said that he had been ordered to obtain coal by Mr. McGregor, and that Messrs. Anderson were the agents, that he had been promised a large order; that Mr. McGregor had asked him for certain money as a fee, and he expected £10—I offered him £3, which he said would do.
GEORGE STANLEY ELLIS . I am a clerk to Messrs. G. R. Grant, ship-brokers, of 3, Billiter Street—we never had anyone named Steele in the employment, nor had we authorised anyone to negotiate for coal—I received this letter from Mr. Charles Durrant, and about an hour after we opened it a person, not the prisoner, called to make a statement, and I gave him the letter—it bore our stamp, which is done to every letter we receive—I received a telegram from Mr. Durrant at Cardiff, and another letter which I took to the prisoner in London, thinking it had come by mistake; he asked me to come out into the passage and thanked me there.
Cross-examined. It was possible for you to call at the office with a-card not for us, but not probable.
LOUIS WILLIAM DANTON . I am clerk to Anderson and Co., managers of the Orient Line, jointly with another company—they do not employ anyone named McGregor—I know no one of that name, and I have been in the employment fifteen years—I do not know the prisoner, we make our own contracts—I know of no proposals for a contract with C. T. Durrant.
Cross-examined. It is possible for you to come into the office and not see me—Mr. Durrant told me he had given you certain money, but it is not the way of doing business to give an employe money to bribe another firm.
The prisoner in his defence said that Mr. Durrant did not understand business, and offered him £2 a week, but sometimes paid him short giving him a sovereign, and saying that he (the prisoner) must invent something to enable Mr. Durrant to pay him, that everything he had done was with Mr. Durrant's sanction who had told him since that if he would go back and work for him he would let it fall to the ground; that he had no intention to defraud, and that the £4 was deducted from his wages, Mr. Durrant owing him £10 and he taking £6.
C. T. DURRANT (Re-examined). It is not true that I told him that if he went back to work for me I would not go on with the prosecution—the £4 has not been repaid to me.
The prosecutor stated that he had found out several other cases of dishonesty against the prisoner; that he had been bail for him in November, 1894, when he was convicted at Marlborough Street, but had taken him into his employment to give him another chance.— Nine Months* Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, February 4th, 1896.
Before Mr. Recorder.
PLEADED GUILTY to having been previously convicted, Bonner on three occasions.
DAVIS— Fifteen Months' Hard labour.
BONNER— Four Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. LAYTON Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended Johnson.
EDWARD BALDRY . I live at 9, Gower Place, and am superintendent worker in the Army Clothing Department, Pimlico—on the morning of January 6th, about five minutes to six, I was passing through Seven Dials on my way home, between Little and Great St. Andrew Street—as I was walking along I observed a policeman talking to two men and a boy out-side a public-house at the corner of Great St. Andrew Street—after the policeman had spoken to them they moved on in front of me, then suddenly stopped, and the taller man (Johnson) threw his arm across my chest and the shorter man (Malligan) struck me a violent blow on the nose and the top part of my chin, and broke away a portion of my tongue which I have not recovered—I did not lose sight of the men after that—I looked for a policeman—the men walked in front of me a distance of seventy paces—I found a policeman, and gave information, and had my nose dressed—I gave a description to two detectives while in the doctor's surgery—I think my nose was broken—I went to Bow Street Police-station—I was there shown ten or eleven men—I failed to identify the men at that time. After a time Malligan was placed in the dock, and I at once said he was the man—I had not the slightest doubt of his being the man—I saw Johnson next month in the dock on another charge, and identified him; I have not the slightest doubt about him—I have no doubt the prisoners are the two men that assaulted me.
Cross-examined. It was very dark at five minutes to six that night—there was not a soul there but the policeman and the persons he was speaking to—it appeared to me that he was ordering them away—the thing that drew my attention was the policeman talking to them—the two men then separated and came towards me, and the robbery was the work of an instant—Malligan placed his hand down my coat, it was buttoned up—he faced me, I had a full view of Johnson's face when the policeman was ordering him away—I did not see his face when he robbed me—at the station I gave a description to the police of the thief—I was only shown one row of men to identify one person—next morning, at Bow Street, I saw Johnson charged with stealing a watch—I did not know what he was charged with—I could then see his face, and I recognised him.
JOHN REED (443 E). On January 6th, about a quarter-past six, I was on duty in High Street, Bloomsbury, in plain clothes—I received some information, and the prosecutor was pointed out to me; he was bleeding from the nose—he made a statement to me and gave me a description
of certain persons—at half-past eight that evening I saw Mulligan on the Seven Dials—I stopped him and told him I was a police officer, and I was endeavouring to tell him what I was going to take him for, when he put his foot behind me, pushed me back and gave me a violent kick in the stomach; I kept hold of his leg—I arrested him from the description I had received from the prosecutor—I got him to the station, the prosecutor failed to identify him—I then charged him with the assault and the unlawful possession of an expensive hard felt hat which he was wearing; he endeavoured to conceal it, and put a cap on—the prosecutor said "he is the man that struck the blow; I swear to him now I have seen him properly"—Malligan replied, "If I had you outside I would knock your two eyes into one"—next morning I formally charged him with this robbery; he made no reply—next morning I felt fairly well, and fit for duty—the prosecutor gave me a description of two persons.
EDWARD TAIT (17 ER). On January 6th at half-past eight I was in Seven Dials, off duty in plain clothes—I saw last witness catch hold of Malligan, he turned and threw the officer down and kicked him a most violent blow—I ran and assisted in keeping hold of him till the officer got on his legs—his behaviour was most violent all the way to the station—I struck him several times with a walking-stick which I was carrying, he was so violent; he called on the crowd to rescue him.
JOHN LEADER (154 E). On January 6th at ten minutes to six. I was on duty in Seven Dials, outside the Crown public-house I saw the two prisoners in company with a lad—I requested them to move away, they were right across the pavement; they went away in the direction of Shaftesbury Avenue—I saw them several times during the afternoon, Johnson especially—I did not know him before.
Cross-examined. There were several persons standing at each corner of "the Dials "loitering about, as they always are there, but not on the same pavement where the prisoners were, they were the only persons standing there.
The Prisoners' statements before the Magistrate. Johnson said, "I can prove I was at home at Battersea, with my mother at six p.m. "Malligan "I was coming from Compton Street, after being there to give my brother 3s.—when I came out of the tobacco-shop these two detectives got hold of me, they never told me what for till I was at the station, when they got a lot of men, and the prosecutor said I was not the man, and next morning he said I was."
GUILTY ,—A previous conviction was proved against Johnson in July, 1893, of larceny from the person, sentence nine months. Malligan was stated to be of a violent character, and both prisoners as associates of a gang of thieves.
JOHNSON— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour and Twenty Strokes with the Cat. MALLIGAN— Twelve Months' Hard Labour and Twenty Strokes with the Cat.
MR. BOND Prosecuted.
—I employed the prisoner to collect some accounts in the early part of December last; Mrs. Glass owed me £11 odd—the prisoner was to collect it, and give it to me as he got it—I did not receive it from him—the endorsement to this cheque is not mine; I never authorised the prisoner or anyone to write it.
RICHARD WHITE . I am a bagmaker, of 67, Tottenham Court Road—on January 8th the prisoner called on me to pay me 4s. 6d., part of an account that he owed me; he handed me this cheque—I said I did not like taking cheques—he said, "I can insure this being all right"—I said, "It is endorsed"—he said, "Yes"—I gave him 15s. 6d., and paid the cheque away—I have known him several years.
THOMAS WEBB (Police Sergeant E). On Saturday afternoon I saw the prisoner in the Regent public-house, Regent's Park—I called him outside and told him I was an officer, and should take him into custody for forging Mr. Russell's name—he said, "Do you mean this cheque?"—I said, "I mean one"—he said, "I was employed by Mr. Russell as his agent; I thought I had a right to sign; he authorised me to sign them"—on the way to the station he said, "I got drunk; I had a little drop too much, and got robbed of it"—after he was charged he said, "There was another cheque"—he afterwards told me he intended to return to Mr. Russell with the money, but had too much, and was robbed of it—he told me where he had cashed it, and gave me every information.
The prisoner called
MARIA LAIDLAW . I am the prisoner's mother; I am sure he would not have done this if he had been in his right mind—he has suffered from his infancy—I have a paper from Dr. Alexander when he left the asylum in 1893, where he was for a second attempt at suicide, and another paper from Dr. Walker, of Holloway—he has lived at home with me at different times, but he is often away—he has had temporary employment, but can do no brain work.
Prisoner's Defence: I cannot answer this case. I have no recollection about it, and cannot account for it. I have been going about in dread of my life; I should like an imprisonment for life.
GUILTY.—Strongly recommended to mercy by the JURY.— Judgment respited for inquiry.
196. MARTHA AMELIA HOWE (29) PLEADED GUILTY to feloniously marrying James Stewart, her husband being then living. The prisoner alleged that her husband had brutally ill-used her, and had left her to live with other women, and had threatened her life. The husband denied this.— Judgment respited for inquiry.
197. ARTHUR CAMERON (23) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to two indictments for stealing and receiving magic-lantern slides of Herbert Newton, and other goods from Messrs. Shoolbred and Co., and to a previous conviction in January, 1895. Other convictions were also proved against him.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. And
198. HENRY COXHEAD (24) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to four indictments for forging and uttering receipts for £10 each, and stealing two deposit-books from Henry Milward.— Judgment respited.
MR. CAMPBELL Prosecuted, and MR. SANDS Defended Ashton, and
MR. BURNIE Defended Driscoll.
SAMUEL JONES . I am a warehouseman in the City, and live at 10, St. Paul's Street, Islington—on Christmas Eve, about half-past six or a quarter to seven, I came out of my house to call a hansom cab—I went down to the New North Road, about six doors off—the cab followed me back to my house—as I went to my steps I saw three men approaching me; I had never seen them before that I know of—I gave some directions to the cabman—as I turned round to go up the steps to my door I found the three men round me, one to the left, and the other two to the right; one of them, Driscoll, came and looked me full in the face, at the same time I felt a tug at my watch-chain; I kept my watch, but they got my chain, and made off at once—I turned round and looked at the other two, and I caught sight of Ashton, and then made off after Driscoll shouting "Stop thief "twice—the other two had followed me after Driscoll; I was knocked over into the road—I got up and looked round, and I could see the smallest of the two go round the corner, and I have never seen him since; the other man stood about fifteen yards off, and watched what I was going to do; I looked at him so as to know him again. It was Ashton, he ran away as fast as he could; I followed him to the corner; I could not see him, and thinking it was a bad job, I gave it up—when I got back the cabman was there; I said something to him, and went into the house—the skin was knocked off both my hands; there was a good deal of blood from both hands; I felt the most pain next day—I went to Maidenhead that night, and remained there till the following Monday, the 29th; I could not leave the house for four days; I went to a chemist's at Maidenhead, and had my hands dressed; I came back to my own house on the 29th—Sergeant Smith called on me; I gave him a description of the three men who had assaulted me, as far as I could, and later that night I was invited to go to the Police-station at Islington to see if I could identify any of the men; there were about eight or nine men there, and I directly recognised Ashton—he was not dressed as he is now; he had a jacket on—when I first saw him he had on an overcoat; I should say the coat he has on now; it was a long light overcoat; he had not that on when I went into the station; after the other men had left, the police gave him back his overcoat; he put it on, and then I could see a once that he was the person—ho said, "If any man will give me time I will do for him, if I swing for it—I should say that the overcoat he put on then was the same that he has on now; it looked to me that night like a dark brown; I believe it to be the same he has on now—on January 1st I again went to the station for the purpose of identifying some one, I saw about the same number of men, eight or nine, and I at once picked out Driscoll as the one that took my chain—seeing the two prisoners now, I have no doubt whatever that they are two of the men who assaulted me on that night—I gave £3 15s. for my watch, I have never seen it since.
Cross-examined by MR. SANDS. St. Paul's Street is a very wide street, there are no shops in it, only residents—when I first saw the three men they were coming towards my door from New North Road—I did not
see anybody else in the street at the time, there was a gas-light in the passage full on, there is no garden in front of the house, the steps are flush with the street—there is a lamp opposite, half way between the house and New North Road, about twelve or fifteen yards from the house—the men paused as they came towards me, at first I thought they were ordinary travellers, going along—I did not notice how they were dressed, one was tall and two were short—the man that stared me in the face snatched my chain, the other two stood by, on my right—I first looked at the two, and then made off after the other—the cab stood there—when I got up Ashton was standing on the pavement on the other side of the road looking at me; I was nearly on the other side then—I called out twice before I was knocked down—the cab never moved—the cabman was on the box—when Ashton got on the other side, the lamp was shining straight on him, and I could see him plain enough—it was at Maidenhead I gave information to the police—the Sergeant came to see me there on the 28th—he told me who he was—I had never seen him before—he told me he had heard of the case, and asked if I could give a description of the man; he did not ask me if it was a young, smartish chap—after I had given him the description he said, "I believe I have got one of the men"—he went to the station, and I followed him—I said two men were short, and the other was a taller man with an overcoat—the eight or nine men I saw at the station were dressed like labouring men, I should say as middle-class fellows; some as tall as Ashton, most or them near about the same height; they were of all ages, a mixed lot—I was simply asked to go and see if I could identify one of the men—the three men were all young—Smith said, "I think we have got the Call one."
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. I did not take much notice of the three men at first; the whole thing was done in three or four minutes—I was examined before the Magistrate on January 2nd, I mentioning about Driscoll looking me in the face; I am pretty well sure I did; of course I can't call it to memory now.
Re-examined. I told the Magistrate how it was done, and that Driscoll took my chain.
JAMES SMITH (Detective Sergeant N). I first received information of this affair on December 27th from the Maidenhead police—on December 29th I called on Mr. Jones at 10, St. Paul's Street, Islington, and he made a communication to me, and gave me a description of three persons, in consequence of which I went back to my station, asking Jones to follow me—I got seven other men and fetched Ashton from the cell, and told him he would be put for identification for being concerned with two other men in robbing a gentleman of a watch-chain in St. Paul's Street on 24th—he looked at the men, and said something about his coat, and started to pull it off—I said, "Full it off; I will put it away"—I put his coat in the corner—he placed himself among the seven men—I asked him if he was satisfied—he said, "Yes"—Jones came in, and looked up and down the men, and stepped back to the inspector, who asked him if he saw anyone he knew—he said, "Yes"—the inspector said, "Go and touch him," and he went up and touched Ashton directly—I gave Ashton back his coat, and Jones at once said, "That is the coat the man was wearing when he robbed me"—when I placed Ashton in the dock he turned to Jones and
said "I give you my word, if anyone puts me away I will awing for him"—when I came from the doorway of the inspector's office he said to me, "You knew I should get out of the other offence, so you got this up, against me, but I shall go down in the morning with my quids, and I shall get off"—on January 1st I saw Driscoll in the Prince of Wales public-house, Hoxton—I called him out—another officer was with me—I told him he would have to other to go to Upper Street Police-station with us for being concerned with two other men in robbing a man in St. Paul's Street on 24th December—he said, "I think you are getting this, up for me, Mr. Smith; this is the third time you are taking me up there"—I said, "We shall act fairly about you; if you are not identified you will be set at liberty"—I took him to the Police-station; he was placed among seven other men—Mr. Jones attended, and at once picked him out, saying "That is the man snatched my chain"—Driscoll said nothing to that—he was put in the dock and formally charged—he said I was getting it up for him—Jones had given me a description.
Cross-examined by Mr. SANDS. Ashton was a bit excited, he laughed about it—no doubt he was angry or he would not have said what he did he seemed rather desperate at the time—I got in seven men as like him as I could; they were perfect strangers to me, casual passers by—none of them were policemen—some were rather taller, some shorter than Ashton—I don't think I told Jones that I had got the short man, or the tall man; I might have.
Cross-examined by MR. BURNIE. I first heard a description of the three men on Sunday—Driscoll had an elder brother Edward who in somewhat like him; you can see the difference when they are together—he also has a younger brother like him—I saw Driscoll in a public-house in Hoxton opposite where he lives, on Christmas Eve close on nine o'clock—the other officer who was with me when I arrested Driscoll is not here.
Re-examined. Driscoll and his brother were talking together in the bar on Christmas Eve at nine; no one else was in the bar—as I opened the door they stood in front of me—I did not say anything to them nor they to me—I know them both—I did not know of the robbery them.
Witnesses for Ashton.
ELLEN PERRON . I have been staying with Mrs. Ashton at 33, Shepperton Road since my young man, the prisoner Ashton, has been in trouble—his father is employed at the Britannia Theatre—I was living there on Christmas Eve—I left my business and got to 33, Shepperton Road about 5.45—Ashton was at home then—he and I remained in the house together till about 8.50 and then went out.
Cross-examined. I am in a business, but I don't want my parents to know about this case. (The witness declined to write down where she was employed. MR. CAMPBELL did not press the question.) I usually arrive back from business at 5.45; I usually leave my business, which is in the West-end, about 5.15, and it takes me about twenty minutes to walk to Shepperton Road—I think I left business at 5.15 on Christmas Eve; I walked straight home—when I got home at 5.45 Ashton was mending his sister's pair of shoes—we did not go out till nine; he was playing a month organ; we had a jolly evening—we had supper about 8 p.m. I should think; we had some fish—I am sure Ashton was there at supper—his brother was not there—he remained in the same room the
whole time from 5.45 to nine; I am positive he never went outside the dloor—he and I went for a walk alone at nine o'clock.
By the COURT. I am a cigar-maker—Ashton has been at work decorating with his father at the Britannia—he was not at work at this time—no one asked me if I remembered what occurred on this night, or to give evidence—I thought I had a right to give evidence, as I knew he was at home that evening—he never called my attention to the time on the Christmas Eve.
ELIZABETH ARNOLD . I am no relation to Ashton—I occupy the two back parlours of the house in which his parents live—I am housekeeper to a gentleman at the Shepperton Road—I was at home all Christmas Eve making things comfortable for my family for Christmas Day—I went down several times in the evening to get water—about 8.50 or 8.55 I saw Ashton going out with a man; I spoke to him.
Cross-examined. I don't know if Miss Perron comes frequently to the house; I don't know who comes—Ashton is her young man—she generally calls at the house about 6.30, when she has done business, as far as I know—I believe Ashton does not live at Shepperton Road, but he was there on Christmas Eve—Miss Perron arrived about 6.30—I was called downstairs by Ashton's mother to have a glass.
Re-examined. Ashton was in the house in the afternoon; I heard them laughing when Miss Perron came in—I had seen him in the house about three o'clock; that was the only time I can speak to till Miss Perron came, as far as I know—it is no business of mine to notice when she comes in or out; sometimes she is earlier and sometimes later; I think she generally comes in about 6.30—she might have come in earlier or later that evening.
Witnesses for Driscoll.
CAROLINE DRISCOLL . I live at 7, Barrett's Buildings, Hoxton—the prisoner, my son, lives with me—he was at home on Christmas Eve from three o'clock until seven; he helped me to stone the plums for the Christmas pudding—about seven o'clock I went with him to the King's Arms, which is opposite—his brother, Harry Driscoll, took us there with Alice Adams, a great friend of mine—we stopped at the King's Arms till ten; Harry left at nine; but Walter stopped with me—Sergeant Smith looked in the public-house between 8.30 and nine.
Cross-examined. Driscoll was not outside my door between three and seven, he was stoning three pounds of plums—we had tea at 4.30—Miss Adams came about 5.30—between three and seven I chopped my suet, washed the currants, and made my puddings, after he had stoned the plums—he helped me before tea—we occupy two rooms—at six o'clock he was with me; we were talking—the plums were stoned then—and he had a free hour between six and seven.
Re-examined. He did not go out—my lady friend fetched a pint of ale and we sat there and drank it; he as well.
By the COURT. Driscoll, another son, and two small boys live in my house—I am a widow—no one came and asked me if my son was at home at that time—I went to the Police-court; the prisoner never asked me about it; I knew the three of us were there.
house is ten to twelve minutes' comfortable walk, I should think.
ALICE ADAMS . I live at 72, Grange Street, Hoxton, and am a brace-maker—I am single—I went to Mrs. Driscoll's about 5.30 on Christmas Eve—Walter Driscoll and his mother were there—no one else came in till seven—between 5.30 and seven Driscoll did not go out at all—at seven o'clock Harry Driscoll came in, and then we all went across to the King's Arms, where I, Walter, and his mother stayed till ten.
Cross-examined. I am a friend of Mrs. Driscoll, my mother was her neighbour—they had just had tea when I got there—after tea he washed and sat down talking till seven—I am no friend of his—we had no drink there till after we came home, after ten—I took no drink there that night; I may have before—I did not fetch any for Mrs. Driscoll that night, I am sure.
HARRY DRISCOLL . I live at 7, Barrett's Buildings, and am the prisoner's brother—he has an elder brother Edward—he does not live at home—I am a stoker, and work at a glass-blower's—on Christmas Eve I left home at five to go to work, leaving my brother at home—I returned about seven and found my brother there—I went to the King's Arms with my brother and mother and Miss Adams—I asked them to go.
Cross-examined. I was not at home between six and seven—when I got up, between 4.30 and five, Walter had been helping mother to stone plums, and we all three had tea—I went straight to work at Lewis and Trower's; we were going to work all the holidays, but the metal was not ready—Miss Adams was there at seven when I got home—I was not there when she arrived—I came back about seven to make supper-time of it as the glass was not properly hot, and we could not work—I went back to work about nine.
Evidence in reply.
MARGARET KEDGLEY . I am married—James Ashton lodged in my house from about November 9th until December 27th or 28th—on Christmas Eve he came in at five and asked to see my husband, as he wanted to borrow 1s.—my husband was not in—Ashton sat down and waited for him a little while—I asked him to have a cup of tea, but he declined—he left about 5.30—I told him he had better call again, and he said he would, but he did not come again that night.
Cross-examined. Shepperton Road is not more than five or ten minutes walk from my house—I know it was five when he called, because of having tea ready for my husband; and it was 5.30, or a little later, when he left; before six—he did not sleep at my house the night before Christmas Eve.
Witness for Ashton.
CAROLINE ASHTON . I am the prisoner's mother—he slept at home on the Monday night before Christmas—I knew he lodged at Mrs. Kedgley's but he did not go home to his lodgings when he was late—he got up on Christmas Eve about nine, and never went outside the door till past nine at night—I was in and out of the house all day except when I went to do a little marketing between four and five—I had to get home before six because my husband was at work at the Britannia, and his tea had to be ready by six—my son was there when I went out and when I came
in—Miss Perron came about a quarter to six, she generally comes just before six—my son was in when she came.
MRS. DRISCOLL (Re-examined by the COURT). My son has been hawking oranges and lemons in the street.
Five other convictions were proved against Driscoll.
GUILTY .—ASHTON— Fifteen Months. DRISCOLL— Eighteen Months. (See New Court, Friday.)
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, February 4th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. LYNE Prosecuted.
ALFRED WILLIAMS . I live at 13, Wilmington Place—on the night of January 15th I saw a fight; I saw the prisoner with a knife in his hand run after another man, overtake him, and cut his throat with a knife; he fell; I knew him before—the police went after the prisoner, and brought him out of a public-house.
CHARLES NEWMAN . I live at 21, Verulam Street, Gray's Inn Road—on January 15th, about 11.30 p.m., I was in a public house, and saw the prisoner there—we had a fight about ten yards from the public-house, and after that I went away for some time—I was afterwards stabbed in the neck, I do not know by whom, and taken to the hospital, where I remained eight days—I am all right now—I was also injured on my leg with a knife.
ANTONIO MASTROCOLA . I sell ices in the street—I am an Italian, and live in Great Bath Street—on January 15th I was in a public-house, and saw a fight between the prisoner and the prosecutor; they fought again outside, in Clerkenwell Road, and both fell—the prosecutor went across the road, and the prisoner after him, with an open white-handled clasp-knife in his hand—two of his friends tried to hold him back—it was then about 11.40—I did not see what he did with the knife, but I saw the prosecutor afterwards with his throat cut.
THOMAS HARRISON BUTLER . I am medical officer at the Royal Free Hospital, Gray's Inn Road—on the night of January 15th the prosecutor was brought in with a wound on the right side of his neck, about three-quarters of an inch long; it consisted of two parts, separated by a small piece of flesh—the back part was over an inch deep, and some important nerves were severed—it went within a quarter of an inch of the carotid artery, and if that had been severed he would have died—this is not the kind of knife I should expect to do it—it healed at once; he was dis-charged in eight days, but he is still an out-patient.
A. MASTROCOLA (Re-examined). This is not the kind of knife the prisoner had in his hand—it was not a pocket penknife; it was a sailor's knife.
JAMES STEPHENS (Police Inspector G). On the night of January 15th I took the prisoner in the Griffin public-house, Clerkenwell Road—he said, "You have made a mistake"—I took him to the station; he was charged, and made no reply—I found this knife in his waistcoat pocket; there was no blood on it, but there was a spot of blood on his waistcoat and another on his right hand—I searched the neighbourhood and found no knife, but some little time had elapsed before I arrested him, which was 300 or 400 yards from where the fight was; I found the man bleeding and took him to the hospital, and then went to the Griffin and found the prisoner there.
A. WILLIAMS (Re-examined). I have known the prisoner a long time, a year, by the name of Carroll, and I knew the injured man; they live in Clerkenwell Road.
Prisoner's Defence. I was in the public-house and had a fight with the man, but as to stabbing him I did not; he went away, and I went into the public-house.
JAMES STEPHENS (Re-examined). I arrested him—he was turned out of one public house just before eleven o'clock, and I arrested him at another public house at 11.30—it was 11.25 when I found the man bleeding, and as soon as he had gone to the hospital I went in search of the prisoner—I did not go to the hospital, I sent a constable.
A. WILLIAMS (Re-examined). They had not both Tnives, only the prisoner—this is not the knife I saw him with—I saw him cut the prosecutor's throat.
T. H. BUTLER (Re-examined). I cannot say whether there is blood on the knife or not—if I was shown a dirty old waistcoat, and saw a stain on it, I could not say whether it was blood.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Clerkenwell on June 19th, 1895, and ten other convictions were proved against him, some of which were in the name of Carroll .— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
JACOB SOLOMON . I am a cabinet maker, of 4, Colt Street. On Saturday evening, January 25th, as I left my house, I saw the prisoner just in front of it, on the pavement—he said to me, "Can you tell me the way to Whitechapel?"—I did not answer—he said, "I am a stranger here"—I said, "If you go up to the top, you will find Whitechapel"—I went to my business, and at seven o'clock I saw him near the station, and took notice of him—I fastened my place up at 8.30—there was nobody there but a lodger on the second floor—I went to a party with my wife, and returned at a quarter to three and found the police in possession, the window open, and the curtains drawn back, and clothing of mine taken out of the drawers and thrown on the ground—I went to the station, and identified the prisoner as the man who asked the way to Whitechapel.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I am sure you are the man—I took good notice of you because somebody broke into my place three months ago and stole £25.
Street—on Saturday evening, January 25th, I was standing at No. 1, Colt Street, which is exactly opposite No. 4, and saw a man jump out of the ground floor window on to the pavement, and run away—I called "Stop thief!" and a constable brought him back in about two minutes—no one else was at that end of Colt Street.
Cross-examined. My father, my husband, and I, did not say, "That is not the man"—I do not absolutely identify you.
PHILIP NATULSKI . I am a boot-clincher—on the night of January 25th I was in Colt Street, and saw a man running—I ran after him, but could not catch him—there were cries of "Stop thief!" and in a minute or two the prisoner was brought back in custody—I am not certain he is the man I was running after—I lost sight of him where Buxton Street runs into Colt Street.
WILLIAM CLARK (279 H). On the night of January 25th I was in Buxton Street about 12.25 and heard a woman shout, "Stop him!"—I saw the prisoner running from Colt Street, which turns out of Buxton Street—I ran him through several streets, and when I got close to him he turned suddenly and butted me with his head in my stomach; I seized him but did not speak to him—he said, "I am going home, governor; I am not the man"—I told him he must come back to Colt Street—he said, "I shan't; I am going to supper at my brother's, in Eyre Street," which is in the neighbourhood—I took him to the station, and then returned and found the prosecutor's window broken open—an entrance had been effected by forcing the parlour window; the catch was forced off—I found four matches there of a peculiar kind, red, and this box of matches of a similar kind were found in the prisoner's right trousers' pocket—he was charged with burglary, and he said, "I am an innocent man; I was going to my brother's to supper in Eyre Street; I had just come from the Flower Pot public house at the corner of Brick Lane"—that is a quarter of a mile from where I saw him running—from the place where he butted me in my stomach it would take him five minutes to get to the Flower Pot—I asked him what number in Eyre Street his brother lived at—he said he could not give the number—he gave as his address 63, Gibraltar Walk, Bethnal Green; I inquired there and found that his mother lived there, but he did not—I have inquired and found that he has no brother living in Eyre Street—the prosecutor gave me this chisel as found on the premises; I handed it to the sergeant.
Cross-examined. The matches found on you were not black ones, I have not changed them for matches of the same colour as these.
DAVID TURNER (Police-Sergeant 21 H). On January 25th, about 12.45 a.m., I heard a cry of "Stop thief!" and saw a man in dark clothes and a hard felt hat run out of Colt Street into Buxton Street—Clark took up the chase and brought the prisoner back within a minute—I went to 4, Colt Street, and found the window had been forced; this is the catch—this chisel corresponds with the marks on the window-ledge—the prisoner wore a hard felt hat and dark clothes.
Prisoner's defence. The witnesses have been making up a false charge against me. I am innocent.
GUILTY .—He then
PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction on July 2nd, 1888, and seven ether convictions were proved against him.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. A. E. LYONS Prosecuted.
SOLOMON COHEN . I live at 57, Bow Lane, Poplar—on January 15th I went into a public-house with a friend between eleven and twelve—I had two watches, a chain, 2s., and a few coppers with me—I put the watches in my trousers' pocket in the public-house—I saw Smith and about five other men in the public-house—I did not notice Donovan—I left the public-house about 12.10, and was in the West India Dock Road, and about five men came up to me; Smith took me by the neck—he and another stopped me—I was struck, and got a black eye; I did not see who did that—my watches were taken from my trousers' pocket, and 2s., and a few coppers—I called, "Police!" and about ten minutes afterwards they came—this is one of the watches; I have not seen the other, nor the chain—they were silver—the second man was a little taller than Smith—I cannot say if Donovan is the man—I am sure of Smith—my hand was injured, and swelled up very much—I don't know how that was done—I had marks on my throat, which was hurt—I had to lay up for a few days, and could not work because of my hand—my right ear was black and blue.
Cross-examined by Smith. When I came out of the public-house you were standing on the left side, and another man on the right, and you caught hold of my throat—you were the chief manager of the lot; you went out of the public-house first—you were in front of me at first—I did not feel hurt the first day, but the next I could not get up in the morning.
Cross-examined by Donovan. I stood by the counter in the public-house and drank my beer, I was frightened to turn round—I did not turn to see if you were among the five or six men—my friend was struck.
WILLIAM RUSSELL . I live at 24, West India Dock Road, and am a bar-man at the Coach and Horses beer-shop, West India Dock Road—on 15th January, between ten and eleven, I saw the prosecutor in there with another man—he left between ten and eleven—between eleven and twelve I walked outside the door, and saw a scuffle in the road—I did not go to look at it till I heard the prosecutor's voice, and then I went and' heard him say, "My two watches, my two watches"—he had hold of Smith by the chest, who struck him in his eye, I think—I did not see Donovan—another public-house is close to ours.
Cross-examined by Smith. You had not got hold of Cohen by the neck when I came up—I was there before the two policemen came up—I did not see Cohen strike you, he had hold of you by the chest—you were both standing up in the road—he said he had lost two watches—I cannot say with which hand you struck him—I did not see anything in your hands.
JAMES DAVIS (223 K). On 15th January I was on duty in the West India Road with Rose—I heard cries of police; we ran up—I saw the prosecutor struggling with Smith—forty or fifty people were round them—Donovan had hold of Cohen's collar at the back—I knew him before—when he saw me he rushed through the crowd, and I lost sight of him—I took Smith to the station—he struck Rose between the eyes with his right hand, and then threw something along the ground—I saw Rose
pick up this watch, which Cohen afterwards identified—on January 16tb I was outside the Police-court where Smith was charged—I saw Dono-van there, and arrested and charged him—he only said, "All right, sir; I wish to have the landlord of the beer-house as a witness"—I said, "What house!"—he said, "The beer-house where the job happened"—I have known Donovan for the last two months by name—I am quite sure he is the man; I saw him holding Cohen, and who ran away.
Cross-examined by Smith. You had hold of Cohen somewhere about the throat; I cannot say with which hand—I did not see anything in either of your hands.
Cross-examined by Donovan. You had hold of the back of Cohen's neck outside the beer-house in the road—I did not follow you when you went into the crowd because Rose called out, and I thought he would be over-powered, and I ran to his assistance—I did not know Smith before.
THOMAS ROSE (66 K). I was in the West India Dock Road on January 15th with Davis—I heard cries of police, and went in the direction, and saw Smith struggling with Cohen; his left band was in Cohen's right trousers' pocket—he was striking him with his right hand, and holding this watch in that hand—he tried to get away—I said, "I am a police officer, give me that watch in your hand"—he said, "Yes, take it," and struck me between the eyes with the watch—we both fell; he under me—he shouted "Look out," and threw away the watch as he was lying on the ground, among the crowd—it struck the foot of a man, and I reached over and picked it up, holding the prisoner at the same time with another officer's, assistance—Smith was very violent—I took him to the station and charged him; he made no reply—I have not found the other watch and chain—I know Donovan, I do not identify him as being there; my time was fully occupied in securing Smith; directly I took him I was struck three times on my forehead by a fist, by some of the gang—my nose was cut open between the eyes—I did not go off duty.
Cross-examined by Smith. You held Cohen with your right hand, and had your left hand in his right trousers' pocket when I came up—you struck him with your right hand—you struggled on the ground—I believe you were being struck by a friend of Cohen's when I arrived—I and the other constable did not strike you at the station—I did not tell Cohen what to say.
Re-examined. Smith's eye was inflamed next morning—he fell to the ground, and so might have caused it—I was in plain clothes, and Cohen did not know I was a constable till I got to the station.
Cross-examined by Smith. I and Rose did not pay you in the station archway—I did not say "If Mike was here, I would pay him the same."
FRANCIS CHARLES DEREHAM . I am a licensed beer retailer of the Alma Arms, 16, West India Dock Road—on the night of January 15th, about 9.30, Smith came in with three men, and a few minutes afterwards Donovan came in—they stayed till 11.30 drinking beer—in the mean-time Cohen came in with three friends and they called for drink—I saw
Smith pointing to the chain Cohen was wearing—Cohen saw that and put the watches and the chain in his left trousers' pocket—I left the bar, and when I came back they had all gone—I know nothing of what took place outside—I left you in the bar when I went away—you are a customer—some men were not having a row with Ginger—I saw nothing occur in my house—you and the others were together in the same compartment.
Smith in his defence stated that when he came out of the public-house Cohen hit him on his mouth, and he hit Cohen, who said something about watches and then a plain-clothes constable seized him.
SMITH— GUILTY .
DONOVAN— GUILTY of robbery . They then PLEADED GUILTY to previous convictions, Smith at Newington on October 22nd, 1894, and Donovan on June 10th, 1894, at the Thames Police Court. Other convictions were proved against both prisoner, and some of Smith's companions are undergoing penal servitude. SMITH— five Fears' Penal Servitude. DONOVAN— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
WALTER BAKER . I am a manufacturer of foreign goods at 3, Jewin Street—on January 9th, between seven and eight p.m., I was just inside the door of my warehouse, and heard a case shifted—there is a kind of lobby there—I opened the door, and saw the prisoner and another man carrying the case towards a barrow, which was at my door—they saw me and ran away—I followed the prisoner, caught him, and held him till the police came—I asked what he had done with my case—he said he did not know anything about a case—I gave him in custody—the case contained buttons, value £25 or £30, it had been removed about five yards—I had seen it five or ten minutes before.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I told my clerk, but I did not go back into the warehouse to do so.
MARY ANN SHEERER . I am married, and live at 3, Domingo Street, St. Luke's—on January 9th, at a little after six o'clock, the prisoner came and asked me to lend him a barrow to move some cases in the City—I lent him one, and afterwards saw it in the possession of the police—I did not know the prisoner before, but I have no doubt about him.
WILLIAM HARRIS (166 City). The prosecutor gave the prisoner into my custody on January 9th—I then went to Mr. Baker's place and saw the barrow in front of the door—I showed it to the last witness, and she identified the prisoner, who was by himself in a cell—I did not point him out as the man who was awaiting trial.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I wish it settled here; I was asked to assist in putting it on the truck; the case was on the pavement, and two men asked me to take it to Button's, and I said I would, as I wanted a job."
The prisoner repeated the same statement in his defence.
He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of burglary at this Court on December 10th, 1888.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, February 5th, 1896.
Before Mr. Justice Lawrance.
MR. HUTTON for the prosecutor offered no evidence, the Magistrate having dealt with the case when before him, and no bill having been preferred.
NOT GUILTY ,
MR. HORACE AVORY with MR. E. PERCIVAL CLARKE Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
AMOS EADY (167 H.) On December 14th, about half past twelve, I was on duty near the public-house—I saw three men come out of the house—the prisoner was one of them and the deceased was another—when they had got about thirty yards from the public-house they commenced an altercation together, and then they began struggling—while they were struggling I noticed a pipe fall, I could not see from whom, it was a dark-coloured pipe; it appeared to be a wooden one, or a composition; it was a whole pipe, not merely the bowl—the prisoner picked it up with his right hand and put it in his pocket—I heard him say, "What have you been treating those strangers for, you have twenty-five or thirty shillings that belongs to me and I mean to have it"—I asked them to leave off; they left off, and came down Shoreditch towards Bethnal Green Road—I followed them as far as Calvert Street, when they again commenced struggling—I went up to them and told them to leave off; they did so, and the three men came on down Shoreditch together towards Bethnal Green Road; I followed them as far as the London Music Hall—I made a statement to Mitchell, a constable there, and then returned to my own position—I had known the prisoner and the deceased by sight before—when they came out of the public-house the deceased was very drunk, and the prisoner was the worse for drink—about I a.m. I came off point duty, and went in the direction of Bethnal Green Road. I there saw a crowd of people, and saw the prisoner detained by Sergeant Darnell; I stated to him what I had previously seen, and the prisoner was taken into custody.
Cross-examined. After I told them to leave off they walked quietly away in the direction they were going—the London Music Hall is about 200 yards from the corner of Church Street—I lost sight of them at the music hall.
HENRY MITCHELL (73 H.) On Saturday, December 14th, I was on duty in High Street, Shoreditch. About a quarter to one, in the morning I saw two men and the prisoner coming along Shoreditch from the church towards Church Street, the worse for drink—the deceased was the first,—Eady was following them—he spoke to me, and I watched them for about fifty yards—they passed H 422 (Phillips) on the way—they were apparently quarrelling—the prisoner said, "You know you have got the b—money, and you won't turn it up"—after they passed Phillips I stopped, I did not keep them in view; I looked round again in the direction,
and saw the deceased on the ground at the corner of Church Street—I hurried up to the spot, Phillips was there then—the prisoner assisted the deceased up, I and the third man assisted—Phillips asked the deceased if he would charge the prisoner—he replied, "No, we are all pals, and have been drinking together"—the prisoner said, "I know the man; I know where he lives, I will see him home"—they went away towards Bethnal Green Road—I knew the three men by sight—I had seen them together before on several occasions.
JOSEPH PHILLIPS (422 H). On the morning of December 14th, about a quarter to one, I was on duty in High Street, Shoreditch; I saw the prisoner and another man at the corner of Church Street quarrelling as to money matters—I saw the prisoner strike the deceased a violent blow on the left side of the face—directly after I noticed a slight trickling of blood down the left side of the nose—I did not see any mark above the eyebrow—I went up to the deceased; he had fallen on his back—I said to him, "Do you know this man that has knocked you down?"—he said, "Yes, we have all been drinking together"—I asked him whether he would charge him—he said, "No"—the third man was there at the time—the deceased was able to get up by himself—the prisoner came on his left side, and the man on the other side said, "It is all right, we will take him away"—they went towards Bethnal Green Road, and I lost sight of them for two or three minutes—the deceased was going on arm in arm with the others—I afterwards saw the ambulance going towards Bethnal Green Road—afterwards I ascertained what had taken place there; I went back to the place where I had seen the man knocked down, at the corner of Church Street—I examined the spot; I saw a small pool of blood, about the size of a two-shilling piece.
Cross-examined. I was examined before the Magistrate, and also before the Coroner, I mentioned before the Coroner that after the deceased had been knocked down I saw blood trickling from his eye. I did not mention it before the Magistrate; it is in print now in the Morning Advertiser; my inspector will show it you—he has not been speaking to me since the last trial—I said at the last Session that that was the first time I had mentioned the blood in the eye—I said last Session that I did not mention it before the Magistrate.
Cross-examined. When I came up first the prisoner tried to run away—I did not suggest that the injury that caused his death had occurred after he had passed Church Street.
Re-examined. It was not at the corner of Church Street that the prisoner tried to run away, it was on the second occasion, and he was brought back by 201—I suggested that the prisoner's coat should be examined, and there were stains of blood on the sleeve of the coat he was wearing—I was not asked about that before the Magistrate, I mentioned it before the Coroner.
WILLIAM DARNELL (Sergeant 3 H). On Saturday, December 14th, about 12.55 a.m., I was in High Street, Shoreditch—I saw three men opposite 3, Bethnal Green Road—the one who was lying on the footway was James Fitt—the prisoner was standing near—I do not know the other man—I saw the prisoner stoop and place his arms round the deceased and try to get him upon his feet—I said to the prisoner, "What is the matter with this man?"—he said, "Not much, we have been having a
glass together, and I want to get him home"—I looked at the deceased on the pavement and saw he was unconscious—I saw a little blood trickling from the corner of his left eye—I sent the policeman who had accompanied me to the spot for the ambulance when I saw the man was unconscious—I asked the prisoner how the man came by his injury—he replied, "I want to take him home"—I asked him if he knew who he was—he said, "No, he is a stranger to me"—I said I should not allow him to be taken away until seen by a doctor—I asked the prisoner for his own name and address—he said, "What for?" and turned and walked away—the other man, who took no part, walked away with the prisoner—when the constables Bridle and Hopkins arrived I directed Bridle to follow the prisoner and bring him back—when he brought him back I told him I was not satisfied about the matter, and he had better come to the station to the inspector—the prisoner said, "No, take the man to the hospital"—by this time the ambulance was coming—Phillips came up just after the prisoner was brought back and made a statement to me—the deceased was placed upon the ambulance and taken to Commercial Street Station, where he was seen by Dr. Cameron—he was then taken to the London Hospital—I accompanied him—he was seen by a student, Mr. King, I think—he was quite unconscious on the way, but at the hospital he said, "I want to go to the closet," or "Let me go to the closet."
Cross-examined. The prisoner's answer to my inquiry whether he knew who the deceased was, was not" We are both pals," nor when I asked for his address did he say, "Why should I tell you?"—Bridle was not present all the time; I do not think he was when I asked the prisoner how the deceased came by his injuries; I am not positive—the distance from the corner of Church Street to the spot where I found the deceased is 112 yards.
ROBERT BRIDLE (201 H). I followed the prisoner by direction, and brought him back—on the way he said he had had enough of him all the evening, meaning the deceased.
Cross-examined. I came up, and found the sergeant with the deceased—the prisoner and another man were standing by—the sergeant said, "Do you know the injured man?"—I understood him they had been drinking together—I did not hear him say, "We are both pals"—my deposition before the Magistrate was read over to me—I could not say whether I said the prisoner said they were both pals—(Read from deposition: "The prisoner being asked by P.S. 3, if he knew the injured man said they were both pals. On being asked for both name and addresses the prisoner said, 'Why should I tell you?")—that is all right—I could not swear to the word "pals"—I have no doubt I swore before Mr. Justice Hawkins that the prisoner replied, "We are both pals," and that the attention of the Jury was called to the fact that the sergeant and I did not agree about that—I have not since agreed with the sergeant.
JAMES FORD (Inspector H). About 1.20 a.m. on December 14th, I was in charge of Commerical Street Station, when the deceased was brought in on an ambulance—he was insensible—in consequence of his condition I sent for the Assistant Divisional Surgeon, Dr. Cameron, who came and examined him, and the deceased was at once removed on the ambulance to the London Hospital—the prisoner was brought in and charged with unlawfully wounding the man—when the charge was read over he made no reply
—he had been drinking—on searching him I found in his right hand coat pocket this pipe bowl—I called his attention to the absence of the stem, and he commenced to search his pockets, and not finding it said, "I believe I have lost it, I had a smoke out of it to-night"—I examined his overcoat, and on it found little stains, and in his pocket I found a handkerchief with stains the colour of blood on it—I made a note of his reply about ten minutes afterwards—he did not say, "He had a smoke out of it"—he said nothing to me about picking up the pipe—Inspector Miller took the charge.
Cross-examined. I found no tobacco or matches on the prisoner, I gave my evidence before the Coroner before the prisoner did—when I said before the Magistrate the prisoner said he had "smoked out of it" the prisoner called out something, I am not able to say whether he said it was false—he said something, and I saw the constable put his hand up. At the adjourned inquest the prisoner made a statement before the Coroner—he said he had smoked out of it. On a subsequent occasion the prisoner put Inspector Miller in the box—his evidence was confined to the statement at the police-station—Mr. Bishop said he should dismiss the charge of manslaughter as he undoubtedly struck the prosecutor, and for that assault he would bind him over in his own recognisances—I said "you have not heard the evidence," when Miller called my attention to it—then. Miller's evidence was given, which was confined to the conversation between the prisoner and me about the pipe—I had given evidence previous to that—before the prisoner was committed, and said "I had smoked out of it, not he"—I am certain the prisoner said at the station, "I suppose I have lost it—I had a smoke out of it to-night"—my book says so—(Read: "I called attention to the pipe being without a stem—he said, 'I have had a smoke out of it to-night,' and at the same time searched his pockets. He said 'I cannot find it—I suppose I must have dropped it.' ")—that is what I am reported to have said, but to the best of my belief I said what is in ray book—I did not notice any discrepancy—I cannot explain it.
WILLIAM MILLER (Inspector H). I was at Commercial Road Police-Station when White was brought in—I read the charge to him—he was charged with unlawful wounding—he made no answer to. it—I saw Ford search him, and the bowl of the pipe produced—I heard the prisoner say, after having searched his pockets, "I suppose I have lost it, I have had a smoke with it to-night"—this is the bowl of the pipe—this is the stem.
Cross-examined. Mr. Justice Hawkins repeatedly commented on the discrepancy in his summing-up—I am certain the prisoner said "I" not "he"—he did not use the word "pipe," but the words "with it"—the Inspector taking notes of a conversation would take down, as nearly as possible, the words—I did not take a note—I should be surprised if the word "pipe "appeared in Ford's note and not "it."
ROSETTA FITT . I live at 259, Bethnal Green Road, I am the deceased's widow—I have not seen my husband use a pipe like that—I have seen him with a wooden pipe some time ago, a good while ago—he generally smoked a clay pipe.
Cross-examined. I speak from my knowledge of him at home—I was seldom out with him.
DR. CAMERON, M.D. Early in the morning of Saturday, 14th
December, I was called into Commercial Street Police Station—I found the deceased lying, apparently insensible, on his back—his appearence was consistent with his having been drinking—he was slightly conscious—when the sponge was applied to lave the wound he put up his hand to push me off—there was blood on his face, and considerable mud—the blood came from the inner side of the left eye—I found a penetration of the eye and a fracture of the skull—he was so gravely injured that in consequence of my order he was removed to the hospital—it is possible he could speak after receiving the wound, but under ordinary circumstances it is improbable—he would be more likely to move if drunk.
Cross-examined. I was not a witness before the Magistrate, nor before the Coroner—I first appeared at the last trial—I believe the case to be assisted by a, post mortem examination—under ordinary circumstances after his injuries I do not think he could walk 112 yards—the circumstance not ordinary would be drunkenness—he would not suffer as a sober man would—it was not impossible for him to make a rational statement, but it is improbable.
CHARLES EDWARD SPARKS . I am house surgeon at the London Hospital—the deceased was admitted about 2 a.m. on December 14th—he was suffering from shock and a wound on the left eye-lid—on the inner side—the eye-ball protruded considerably—the next morning the police communicated with me, and I was shown this pipe bowl—the deceased died on Monday night at eight o'clock—he recovered somewhat after admission to the hospital—an operation was performed on his eye—this pipe stem was found inside the orbit of the eye—it fits this pipe—it had made a wound on the left eye-lid, and had pentrated the optic frame—it was embedded half an inch—the mouthpiece was pointing towards the brain backwards and a little upwards—he died from exhaustion following, and caused by, the injury—I made a post-mortem examination—the skull was fractured; the eye-ball was thin, and the brain was lacerated about half an inch—I did not find that it was injured—the deceased made no statement at the hospital—he made a rambling remark, but there was nothing connected in it—he gave one name, and I believe another—it is possible after his injuries he could have spoken or moved, but it is not probable.
Cross-examined. I should say he could not have walked 112 yards; it is most improbable—it is improbable he could have made such a rational statement when asked by the policeman if he wished to charge this man, as "We are all pals"—I think you may say it is impossible—I gave the Coroner the aid of my opinion—the jury returned a verdict against the prisoner—I think I told the Coroner it was not impossible for the deceased to move or speak after his injuries—my opinion was challenged by the prisoner's counsel at Worship Street Police Court—I said there it was not probable he could speak or move after his injuries—it would be painful for him to do so.
Re-examined. It would depend as regards the shock whether he was under the influence of drink or not—I heard the evidence of the last witness—I agree with it—when I speak of walking I mean walking by himself.
James Fitt on the 19th and 27th of December last year—on the 27th White was sworn in the usual way—he was cautioned—he gave evidence, which was taken down and signed by him—I produce the original depositions, which were afterwards signed by White—"Frederick White, before the Coroner, upon his oath, saith (having been cautioned and represented by counsel): 'I reside at 22, Green Street,. Bethnal Green. I am a master fishmonger. I knew deceased by sight. I have seen him five or six times. I went into the Bell public-house, Shored itch, to have a drink on Friday, the 13th December, about eleven p.m. About five or six minutes afterwards deceased, with four or five other men, came in. I was offered a drink, and I had it. We stood talking together for some time. Deceased and four or five others went with me to the Spread Eagle in the Kingsland Road, and then we had three or four half-pints of rum to drink between us. We stopped in there for some time, and it was getting late, and we went from there to the Gun public-house, facing, and there we had two or three drinks. I had ale; deceased had twopennyworth or threepennyworth of rum. We stayed in there till closing-time. There was some quarrelling between us all, but I don't know what it was about. Deceased was hopelessly drunk. I had had sufficient. I remember going down High Street after that. I don't remember deceased falling at Church Street. I did not knock him down I don't remember any police-constable coming to us there, and asking deceased if he wished to charge me. I do not remember passing any other constable until we got to the corner of Bethnal Green Road. When. we got to the corner of Bethnal Green Road there were about four men with deceased. I stopped to wait for a 'bus to go home, but I now think the last 'bus was gone. I walked a little way along Bethnal Green Road. Deceased and the other men had gone on before me. When I walked a little way along, then I saw deceased lying on the pavement with his face downwards. When I went to pick him up I found the bowl of a pipe (now produced) which belonged to the deceased; at least I saw him smoking a similar pipe during the evening. I have never smoked a pipe like that in my life. After picking the pipe up, in my excitement, lifting the man about, I put the pipe in my pocket. I have seen the other men before in the company of deceased, but I only know them by sight. I have tried to find them and can't. I was admitted to bail last Saturday. I have never had any money transactions with deceased in my life. The pipe (produced) was not in my possession at any time during the night until I picked it up. I do not smoke at all. I saw deceased smoking a wooden pipe in the Gun, and also in the Spread Eagle. I did not state in the charge-room, when spoken to by the Inspector as to the stem of the pipe being missing, 'I had a smoke out of it to-night; but I said 'He was a-smoking of it to-night' The Inspector was writing in my presence. I told Inspector Ford I picked, the pipe up when I picked up the man. I believe both Inspectors were present.—(Signed) FREDERICK WHITE."
Before the Magistrate White said: "I reserve my defence; I call no witnesses here."
NOT GUILTY .
The prisoner was tried for this offence at the last Sessions, and the JURY not agreeing were discharged without returning any verdict.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, February 5th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
207. HAROLD STEWART MELHUISH BRAGGE (30), and FORRESTER KENNEDY (28) , Unlawfully conspiring to obtain and obtaining by false pretences from Thomas Willmore £3, and other sums from other persons with intent to defraud.
BRAGGE PLEADED GUILTY .
Mr. BODKIN Prosecuted, and Mr. GEOGHEGAN Defended Kennedy.
SIDNEY ERNEST STAINSBY . I am a printer of 180, Brompton Road—in July, 1894, I did printing for Kennedy to the amount of £2 4s. 6d.—the account was sent in, and the money was owing in August 1894—about August 22nd or 23rd Bragge came and handed me a letter, which I opened and read—an open cheque was enclosed in it; I believe this is it. (This cheque, on a sheet of paper, was on Stuckey's Bank, Ilminster, for £6 5s., drawn by H. Stewart M. Bragge in favour of Forrester Kennedy.)—I was asked to cash it; I refused because I said I did not know who the drawer was—he said, "I am the drawer, and there is a balance at the Bank"—he said, "I am known to Mr. Willmore"—I knew Willmore as a tradesman in the same road—I still refused to cash the cheque—I did not see Bragge again nor Kennedy; the account is still owing.
Cross-examined. I never saw Kennedy about this matter.
CECIL GEORGE STAINSBY . I am a brother of Sidney Stainsby, and live at Winchenden Road, Fulham—in August, 1894, I was in my brother's employment—about August 24th or 25th, 1894, I was in my brother's office when Kennedy came in with Mr. Willmore, and I believe Mr. Bragge; I could not swear if it was he—Kennedy said, "Why did you refuse to cash a cheque of mine sent to you yesterday?"—I said the cheque presented was not one of his, but was drawn by a total stranger—I knew Kennedy; I had seen him come in in connection with printing orders—he turned to the man I believe to be Bragge and said, "the cheque was drawn by my friend, Bragge," indicating him—the person I believed to be Bragge said "Yes, I brought the cheque up myself"—Willmore said to me, "I think' you should have obliged a customer by cashing the cheque," or something like that—I believe this to be the cheque; it was one precisely similar.
RICHARD HOUGH . I am the landlord of the Hare and Hounds public-house—in August, 1894, I was the landlord of the Montpelier Arms, Brompton—one day, towards the end of August, 1894, Kennedy, who was in the habit of using the house, came in with Bragge, whom I had not seen before; Kennedy introduced him to me—after some conversation Kennedy said: "Will you change this cheque for my friend?"—handing this cheque for £6 5s.—I said "Yes, I will change it," and I gave the £6 5s. to Kennedy—I paid the cheque into my bank, and it was returned marked "No account"—I went to Bragge's father's house (T knew where I he lived) and saw Bragge—he said the cheque would be all right; he could not understand why it had not been met—he would write to his bankers and make it all right in a day or two—I understood he had got some property at Ilminster—Bragge said he could not understand it, but he would be up in a day or two and pay me—I went to the Westminster Police Court, and, on making a complaint there, a summons was granted
against Bragge—a little while after that a clergyman called on me and had some conversation, and gave me his own cheque for £6 5s., and I gave him Bragge's cheque and letters—the clergyman's cheque was met—the summons was withdrawn; I gave no instructions for that, I took no further notice of the summons—on two or three occasions after that I saw Kennedy, and spoke about the cheque transaction—he said he would not have asked me to change it had he not thought it was all right—when I parted with my money I believed the cheque was good and would be paid—he did not mention anything to me about Mr. Stainsby.
Cross-examined. I did not know at the time that Bragge's father kept a large boarding-house in the neighbourhood of Fulham; I understood afterwards that he did; he belongs to most respectable people—Kennedy may have come two or three times to my house afterwards—I found out after going to the Police-court that Kennedy lived in Fulham, a mile and a half from my house.
Cross-examined. I did not charge Kennedy at title Police-court.
THOMAS WILLMORE . I am a commercial traveller, of 5, Coverdale Road, Chelsea—I knew Kennedy in 1894—I have seen him in Bragge's company on several occasions—towards the end of August, 1894, I was in the Bell and Horns public-house with the prisoners; they asked me if I would change a cheque—I declined at first, and Bragge said he was worth some money, and was a schoolmaster in the country, and was up in London for a holiday and had spent all his money, and he pressed-me—he wrote out this cheque in the public-house—while it was being written Kennedy wanted it made out for more money and I would not have it, and it was made out for £3 10s. to me or my order, on Stuckey's Bank, Ilminster, dated August 23rd, and signed H. Stewart M. Bragge—I endorsed it and took it to Mr. Hardcastle who cashed it for me—I gave Bragge £3 in Kennedy's presence, and kept 10s.—about a week afterwards Mr. Hardcastle came to my private house, and after some conversation I paid £3 10s. to him and he gave me the cheque, which is marked "No account"—I then went and saw Kennedy at his lodgings—he said it would be all right, he would see me paid, and he gave me Bragge's address at his father's private hotel, near Earl's Court—Mrs. Willmore went to see Bragge—I afterwards met him in the street, and said that if he did not go and put it right I should lock him up—his mother brought a sovereign to my private-house; that is all I have had—when I endorsed the cheque I believed it was good; Bragge told me he had property at his private-house, and a good situation as a schoolmaster, and I believed him.
Cross-examined. Bragge said he had property at Ilminster—Kennedy told me that Bragge had said that the bankers Stuckey were connected with him by marriage—that was after the cheque was cashed—I have not cashed cheques for Kennedy before; my firm have frequently done so—I don't think they have cashed any as high as £25; it was three or four years ago—I was a member of the firm three or four years ago; I am not now—my firm was Willmore Brothers, glass merchants—I have retired from business—those cheques were always honoured—Kennedy did not tell me that he and Bragge had had a quarrel on account of these two cheques.
Re-examined. The cheques my firm cashed were drawn by Mrs.
Kennedy, I believe, his mother in Edinburgh, on a Scotch bank, and on bank forms—it is three or four years ago—he was then living at Earl's Court—I knew him—I have known his father for fifty years, his first wife was my sister; the prisoner Kennedy is the son of his second wife—his father is Irish, his mother Scotch.
WILLIAM HARDCASTLE . I have no occupation—I live at 43, Walham Grove, Fulham—in August, 1894, I lived in the Brompton Road, and was acquainted with Mr. Willmore, who brought me this cheque for £3 10s., and I cashed it for him—I paid it into my account, and it came back marked "No account"—I saw Mr. Willmore, and got the £3 10s. from him.
JOHN HILL . I am a clerk at Stuckey's Bank, Limited, at Ilminster, Somerset—no one of the name of Harold Stewart Mellhuish Bragge ever had an account there; I do not know the name as a customer of the bank—on August 25th, 1894, this cheque for £6 5s. was presented to the bank for payment, and marked "No account"—on August 29th this cheque for £3 10s. was presented, and similarly marked—I do not know Bragge.
WILLIAM PODGER . I am manager of the Blue Posts public-house, Tottenham Court Road—at the beginning of December, 1895, I saw Bragge—I had known him about twenty-two years before at Ilminster, I was at his father's school there—he and I are natives of Ilminster—a week or two afterwards he came with Kennedy into my public-house, and after some conversation Bragge asked me to cash him a cheque for £5, which he showed me—it was written on half a sheet of note-paper, and stamped in favour of Bragge on a Burton-on-Trent bank, and drawn, I believe, by Kennedy, I am not sure—I said I did not cash cheques—Bragge asked me to advance him £1 on the cheque, and pay it through the bank, and he would have the other later on when it had gone through the bank—I did not do that—Kennedy said I was very rude to his friend not to cash the cheque—I said, "To convince you that I will not cash the cheque, I don't think the cheque is worth the stamp on the paper"—they then called for drinks, and I refused to serve them; there was a little noise, and they refused to leave; they were very annoyed that I would not serve them—they left that bar—I gave instructions in the other bars that they were not to be served if they tried to enter the other bars—they tried three other bars, and wanted to argue with the commissionaire, and I said if they created any disturbance he was to get a constable to clear them away.
Cross-examined. The cheque was already written out when they came—I was speaking to the prisoners for about five minutes—I did not take the cheque off the counter; it was lying on the counter in front of me—I recollect the amount of it—to the best of my recollection it was drawn by Kennedy; but I will not pledge my oath—I was also asked, after refusing to advance £1, to pass the cheque through my bank first—I do not know when Bragge's father gave up his school at Ilminster and came to London—I had not seen him for twenty or twenty-two years.
EDWARD WILLIAM SEWARD . I live at 31, Lanark Villas, Clifton Road—I had known Bragge many years; I come from Ilminster—my sister keeps the Lord Elgin public-house, Elgin Avenue—about December 26th last I saw Bragge and Kennedy at the Lord Elgin—Bragge introduced Kennedy as his friend—I asked Bragge what he was doing, and
lie said he had been making private inquiries in the Midland—after some conversation he produced this cheque written on a half sheet of paper for £6 10s., purporting to be drawn by George F. Watkins in favour of Bragge upon the Union Bank, at Burton-on-Trent—he asked me to cash it for him—I told him I had not got sufficient—I was only visiting my sister as an ordinary guest—I gathered that Bragge had got the cheque from the man he had been making inquiries for—I asked him if a sovereign was any good on it—he said, "Yes," and I went and asked my sister for a sovereign, and I got it, and let him have it; and I got a pen and ink and got him to endorse the cheque, and he did so—I paid it into the bank—on December 28th, two days after, I saw him again at the Lord Elgin; he asked me if I had got it through—it had not come through the bank at that time—on December 30th he called at my house at 10.15 p.m.—I was in bed and did not see him; I heard his voice—on December 31st I received a communication from my bankers, and the cheque marked "No account"—the same day I went to the Lord Elgin in the hope of meeting them there, but did not see them—my sister is very ill, and is not here; she gave me this piece of paper, an I O U for 30s., signed by H. M. S. Bragge, of Philbeach Gardens, Earl's Court—I next saw the prisoners at Bow Street, in custody.
Cross-examined. I went to school with Bragge's father—I am an old friend of his family—Kennedy was a stranger to me until I saw him on December 26th—he told me he was a doctor—he wrote out a prescription for me after I had parted with the money; I tore it up—all the conversation about the cheque passed between me and Bragge; while it went on Kennedy was looking on and listening—the money was handed to Bragge—he had some whisky or stout I think in front of him.
WILLIAM ALLEN . I am a clerk at the Union Bank, Burton-on-Trent—we have no customer of the name of George F. Watkins or Forrester Kennedy—I have no knowledge of either of those names in connection with our bank—on December 30 this cheque for £6 10s. was presented at our bank, and marked "No account." I don't know the writing of the cheque as connected with the bank in any way.
JOHN KANE (Sergeant C.I.D.).—On January 22nd I received a warrant for the prisoners' arrest, and on the evening of that day I arrested Bragge at Earl's Court—in consequence of a telegram I found there I took him to Bow Street and then went on to Euston, where I saw Kennedy arriving by the 10.45 train from Scotland—I followed him into the Eueton Road and stopped him—I said, "Kennedy, I have just arrested Bragge, and I hold a warrant for your arrest for being concerned with him in obtaining money by worthless cheques from Willmore, Seward arid his sister; I am alluding specifically to the cheque for £6 10s."—he said, "I wrote the cheque for Bragge; he asked me to write it to bluff some women, and he would get Seward, who was an old friend of his father, to cash it"—I said, "The cheque for £6 10s. is unquestionably in your writing"—he said, "Yes; I admit I wrote it"—I took him to Bow Street Police-station where Bragge was detained—I read the warrant to post-prisoners—Kennedy said, "I only wrote the cheque at Charing Cross Post-office to have a game with some women; three or four days afterwards Bragge said, 'Let us go to Seward and get it cashed and we went to the Elgin"—that is a public-house kept by Seward's sister—Bragge turned to
Kennedy and said, "You had better shut up and say nothing; you are giving the whole game away, old man"—Kennedy shut up—Bragge made no reply to the charge—I heard the officer on duty read the charge to them; they made no reply.
Cross-examined. Kennedy did not say the women knew Bragge's writing, and that was why Bragge wanted him to write it—I made notes of this conversation—Kennedy had clearly been drinking—it was 10.45 p.m.; he had just arrived from Edinburgh—I do not recollect if he said he thought the cheque had been burnt.
KENNEDY— GUILTY.—Strongly recommended to mercy by the JURY as they believed he had been Bragge's dupe. (See Third Court, Friday.)
MESSRS. WOODGATE and BARKER Prosecuted.
CHARLES NEWTON . I am a chimney sweeper, living at 4, Shaftesbury Place—I know John Driscoll by sight, as living a few doors from me—a little after eleven p.m. on January 19th I was standing outside my door, with my wife, listening to the shouting and row that was going on at No. 6—I walked in the direction of No. 6, next door but one to me, and seven or eight yards off, on the same side of the way—I could not get near the door, there was such a crowd—the door was shut—five or six minutes after I was there the door was opened—when I got near the door I stood outside for five or ten minutes, for the purpose of listening to what was going on inside—suddenly the door opened, and there was a bit of a scamper among the thirty or forty persons who were standing in the street listening—when the door opened the three prisoners, and I believe another man, came out—I was struck on the head with something very hard, I don't know how, or by whom—I lost consciousness—when I recovered I found myself lying on the ground in the basement of No. 6—I do not know how I got there—'John Driscoll, William Hearne, and a girl were there—William Hearne was kicking me, and he said, "Kill him! let us kill the—!"—the girl said, "Don't do that, it is Mr. Newton"—Driscoll was standing on the second stair up, doing nothing except looking on—I lost consciousness again—at that time my head had been injured, and blood was running down my face—I cannot say whether my ankle was broken, I did not try to move—when I came to again I was still in the basement, William Hearne was throwing water over me—Driscoll was there, I believe he was giving me a cup of tea—Driscoll and the girl were there—I heard a sergeant saying, "If you don't open the door, I will break it down," I was trying to get up the stairs, but could not do so—I did not know then my ankle was broken; I could not get up—Driscoll stopped me; I asked him to help me—he said, "Not before my mother comes in"—then I heard the voice saying, "If you don't open the door, I will burst it in"—the girl helped me partly up the stairs—I found I could not use my feet—in the meantime the door must have been opened by someone—I found four or six constables in the pas sage—I was sent to the hospital in the ambulance—I do not speak as to Andrew Hearne—when I first went from my door to No. 6, before it was opened, I saw Andrew and William Hearne at the first-floor window,
brandishing one a knife and the other a poker, I think—they were being held back, or they would have been out—I believe a struggle was going on inside at the window—I believe Andrew Hearne had the knife, and William the poker—I had seen them in the afternoon—there was a lamp alight in the street beneath sufficient to recognise them—I was taken to St. Bartholomew' Hospital—I remained there till 4.30 the next morning, when the plaster had set on my leg, and then I was taken to the station to charge the prisoners, and then home—I have been to the hospital since as an out-patient.
Cross-examined by William Hearne. I should think most of the 30 or 40 people round the Driscoll's door were women, inhabitants of the court—I did not see any strange people—there might have been 12 or 13 men there—no one had any weapon in his hand—the door was opened by someone inside when you rushed out—I saw someone knock at the door before that—I found out afterwards that it was Mr. John Walker, and that he was the person they were having the row with—he did not go in, no one answered—he only knocked once from what I heard, a rat-tat-tat, a regular knock as if he wanted to be let in.
Cross-examined by Driscoll. When I regained consciousnesss, I should say you were three or four stairs up behind William Hearne—don't remember your asking me how I got in.
Cross-examined by Andrew Hearne. I don't remember seeing you there after you rushed out.
JOSEPH WILLIAM NEWTON . I am a cabdriver living at 29, Shaftesbury Place, and am the last witness's brother—about 11.5 on Sunday night, January 19th, I came to Shaftesbury Place—I saw a crowd outside 5 and 6—I know Driscoll by sight—he lives there—I waited at the bottom of the court by the lamp post; I had been for a walk with my young woman—William Hearne was shouting out of the first-floor window of No. 6 to the people, and knocking his head against the window sash—I did not see my brother—I did not see the door of No. 6 opened, but I heard screams, and saw the three prisoners rush out when it was opened, and the people rushed back—I did not notice if the prisoners held weapons—a man, who afterwards proved to be my brother, was struck, as if hit on the head, and he fell on the step of No. 6—Andrew Hearne, who had run round the corner, ran back, and all the prisoners pulled my brother inside the door and shut it, and Andrew then rushed down the court after someone else—I did not know it was my brother then—about ten minutes after I made a communication to a policeman—I was present when the door was opened from the inside, by a little girl I think—I heard a sergeant and other police demanding admission—a sergeant, acting sergeant and three or four other police were there—they were kept outside about ten minutes—I heard them say they would break the door down unless it was opened—I went in with the police—Driscoll was in the passage—when the door was opened my brother was brought into the passage, and placed on the doorstep outside, and then taken to the hospital.
Cross-examined by William Hearne. There were between 80 and 90 people of both sexes outside—I saw no weapons in their hands—I was standing not more than fifteen yards away—I drive a cab and come home about 2 a.m., and two or three nights before I had seen you hanging out of
the window—I could tell your voice, the way you had been shouting then—I have never molested anyone in the street; I have not been fined for it—after you pulled my brother in the door was closed, you were inside then—part of your door was broken—Shears was locked up for breaking the door, and discharged next morning by the Magistrate—he had no weapon—I did not say to the constables when Driscoll was arrested, "Whatever happens to my brother I will lay to your (Driscoll's) charge.
Cross-examined by Driscoll. I was eight or nine yards behind the other people, and it was five or six yards from the back of the crowd to your place—there might have been fifty or one hundred people in front of me—I am five feet five and a half; I don't know if there were taller people in front of me—there was a light next door to your house, and a light where I was.
Cross-examined by Andrew Hearne. I saw you there when my brother was pulled in; and just before the police asked for admission you were in charge of the policemen at the bottom of the court; you had been pointed out as one of the men.
ALBERT WILLIAM SHEARS . I am a dock labourer living at 17, Shaftesbury Place, which is a court—on January 19th, a little after eleven, I was coming up the court and saw a crowd at No. 6, and I stopped there—I saw the row at the door—Charles Newton fell: Driscoll pulled him inside No. 6; William Hearne was behind Driscoll; I saw him in the passage—the door was shut—the crowd broke a panel of the door, and I could see inside then, and I saw William Hearne and Driscoll in the passage; William Hearne had a piece of iron or a poker in his hand—I did not see Andrew—Mrs. Hearne charged me at the Guildhall with smashing the door, and the Magistrate dismissed the charge—I had nothing to do with it—I was charged before Newton was brought out; I was the first one charged—I was locked up all night.
Cross-examined by William Hearne. I was not in a public-house that night with John Walker and others—about one hundred people were round the door, men and women—they and I had nothing in our hands—I had a sweep's rod at the finish when the policeman came up, there was a little iron screw at the end—I got it because I was trying to release Newton; it be-longed to him—I did nothing to the door—it was at 11.7 that Newton was pulled through the door—I did not see you pull him in—I did not see anything in your hand when he was pulled inside—I was by myself—Newton fell on the three steps to your door—I did not see anyone attempt to prevent you pulling him in—when Newton was inside I went to the top of the court to find my missus; there was no constable there then; it was 11.15—I was locked up at 11.20; the constable that came up the court took me; when I came back the panel was broken in—I took the rod out of Newton's stack, which stands just inside the door.
Cross-examined by Driscoll. I have known you for six or seven months since you lived up the court—I do not how long you have lived there—your mother and father live there—I was three or four yards from the door—I should say 100 people or more were there, the court was full of men and women—none of my confederates were there—I am not a champion pugilist—I had a beer-can in my hand at the door.
Cross-examined by Andrew Hearne. I did not see you.
HANNAH WALKER . I am a charwoman, living at 26, Shaftesbury Place—I am single—about 11.10 p.m. on January 19th I was in our kitchen, and heard my father quarrelling with someone in the court, and when I went up I saw him and William Hearne quarrelling; my father was in the court, and William Hearne was hanging half out of the window of No. 6—he said, "I will scatter some of them"; he had a long piece of iron in his hand, it looked like a poker—someone pulled him in, and then ornaments and other things were thrown out of the window—the window was then shut—this disturbance with my father caused a crowd to collect—two or three minutes after all at once the door opened, and William Hearne appeared at the door, carrying what looked to me the same piece of iron—he struck a man, I afterwards found was Newton, on the head with it—the man fell down on the step, and Driscoll appeared with William Hearne, and they dragged him in, and the door was shut—another man was in the passage, but I did not recognise him—the crowd wanted to rescue Newton, and broke a panel of the door, and afterwards the police came—my father was quarrelling with William Hearne about me, because they had a lodger whom they turned into the street, and we took in, and Foley, William Hearne and Driscoll assaulted me.
Croat-examined by William Hearne. My father was quarrelling with you because you knocked me about—you struck me the night before; your sister came and hit me first—Foley pulled me out of the door, and she struck me—I don't know if I gave her a black eye; she had a black eye at the Court, I cannot say who did it—I did not hear my father knock at your door—the thing in your hand looked like iron, and a little more than twelve inches long—I was four or five yards away when I saw you strike him—I was against the door of No. 25 or 26—there were no people in front of me, they were at my side—I was right at the side—I swear I saw you strike the man with the iron—no one tried to obstruct you and Driscoll from dragging the man in.
Cross-examined by Andrew Hearne. I did not see you.
WILLIAM WALKER . I am a tailor living at 26, Shaftesbury Place—about 11.15 on January 19th I had some angry words with William Hearne, who had assaulted my daughter the night before—he was at the first floor window, which was open—he had a weapon like this produced—he said to me and the crowd that he would scatter us—I don't think he was drunk—he and I had about five minutes' conversation—a crowd, collected—the window was shut—afterwards the street door was opened and William Hearne came on to the threshold and struck Newton with a weapon like this—Newton fell face downwards on the second step and was pulled into the passage—I did not observe if anyone was with William Hearne, because I was standing obliquely.
Cross-examined by Driscoll. I knocked at your door at three in the afternoon—I was not intoxicated—I did not take off my coat and offer to fight anyone in the house.
Cross-examined by Andrew Hearne. I did not see you drag Newton in.
LAURA SPICELY . I live at 6, Shaftesbury Place; Driscoll and Andrew live there, but I believe William has only been staying there—on this Sunday night there was a great noise going on in the house—I locked myself in my room—I heard William Hearne say "Bring down my knife"
and afterwards I heard him say "Bring down my revolver"—I did not hear any more of the quarrel.
Cross-examined by William Hearne. I said to my boy the night before, when Walker knocked at the door, "Don't open the door"—you were at the house at Christmas time.
WILLIAM HANNEN (463 City). A little after eleven on January 19th I was called to Shaftesbury Place—I saw a crowd—Shears was thrusting a rod at the door, which was locked—(he was afterwards charged for damaging the door, and discharged by Alderman Truscott)—I saw, through the broken panel William Hearne with an iron bar like this, and Driscoll, who had a carving knife—Driscoll said, "The first b——that enters this door I will put this through him"—they saw us there, we had given them notice that it was police who wanted to get in.
Cross-examined by William Hearne. The door was broken when I arrived—I saw no one in the passage then but you and Driscoll—I could see the passage and what was going on—I took Shears to the station; at the time no mention was made of a man being inside—I did not see Newton.
Cross-examined by Driscoll. You stood near the door, facing it, in the centre of the passage—I was opposite you; I saw you distinctly—I could not say if you bad your jacket on; William Hearne was in his shirt-sleeves—I could not see what garments you had on.
Cross-examined by Andrew Hearne. I did not see you.
THOMAS STEVENS (Sergeant 35 City). On Sunday night, January 19th, I met Andrew Hearne by the General Post Office; he said there was murder taking place in Shaftesbury Place—I went there, and saw a crowd of about 100 people—a panel of the door of No. 6 was broken out—I looked through, and saw Driscoll and William Hearne inside; they had nothing in their hands then—Hannen bad gone to the station with Shears at the time—Driscoll and William Hearne said, "Look here, they have broken our door in; protect us from that crowd"—I got assistance of other constables, and began to clear the crowd away—in consequence of what Joseph Newton said to me, I returned to No. 6—I said to Driscoll and Hearne, whom I saw inside the door, "You have a man in here"—Driscoll said, "No, governor; no man in here, governor"—I said, "I know you have; open this door, or I will force my way"—William Hearne disappeared; Driscoll began to open the door, and ultimately ran to the end of the passage; the door was opened by someone inside—I went in, and saw Newton being brought up from the cellar, assisted by William Hearne and Driscoll and a woman—he was bleeding from the head, and in a semi unconscious condition, very wet, and quite unable to stand—blood had been freshly washed from his head—I said to Driscoll, "You know something about this"—he said, "He came in here for protection, governor"—I assisted Newton to the door, obtained an ambulance and sent him to St. Bartholomew's Hospital—I then went back to the house and arrested Driscoll, and handed him to another constable who took him to the station—he was identified by Joseph Newton—I entered the house, and in the first-floor back room I found William Hearne covered entirely by the bed clothes, as though I they had been thrown over the bed—he was fully dressed—I said, "I want you"—he said, "What is the matter? I am hurt; my leg is
broken"—I said, "Come out and let us have a look at it"—I took him into the next room and examined his leg, hut could find nothing the matter—as he said it was injured, I got assistance, carried him down-stairs and sent him in another ambulance to the hospital, where the doctor examined him—he was able to walk from there to the station—he remained at the station till the injured man was brought back from the hospital on the ambulance, and then this charge was preferred against him of being concerned in maliciously wounding—while the injured man was lying in the ambulance in the station William Hearne said to him, "If I get punished for this, Charley, I am innocent, as when I brought down that cup of tea to you I was dumbstruck to see it was you"—Driscoll said nothing—Andrew Hearne said, "You may as well put it all down to me."
Cross-examined by William Hearne. There were a great many people in the court at the time; they were all behaving themselves; inquiring what had taken place—they followed me to the door, and I had to keep them back—you had nothing in your hand when I arrived.
Cross-examined by Driscoll. Two or three other people were in the passage—your sister was explaining it to me—when I first went to door I could not understand you, you were all talking—I put questions to you when quietness was restored.
Cross-examined by William Hearne. It was not used as a substitute for a bolt in the door—you were upstairs when I found it—it was on the floor near the yard-door—I did not pull it out of the place where the bolts were wrenched off.
FRANCIS WARD GROSSMAN . I am house-surgeon at St. Bartholomew's Hospital—on the early morning of January 20th, about 12.30, I examined the prisoner—I found a great deal of blood about him, seven or eight wounds on his, head, two wounds on his face, a large lacerated wound on his forehead, and a very small one on his face—he had a fractured fibula (the ankle bone) on the left-side—the various injuries might have been caused in almost any way; this piece of iron might have caused them—it might possibly have caused the injury to the ankle, but it is very improbable; I think a kick is more likely to have produced that—he was conscious, and, I think, sober—I should think those wounds would cause considerable suffering—I should think he would recover entirely in about six weeks now—his leg was put into plaster of Paris, and when that was dried, in about six hours, he was sent home—he is attending as an out-patient—I think his leg will be quite strong in six weeks; one wound in his head is not yet healed, but ought to be in a week or two; all the others have healed—I examined William Hearne when he was brought in—I found nothing the matter with him—he said his legs were broken; they were not—I gave him the electric battery and he walked away.
Cross-examined by William Hearne. I beard that you were injured in a great many places—I don't think you told me anything—I examined everything that was suggested.
William Hearne called
or thirty of them had weapons—on Saturday night they holloaed out that they would bring a gang from Nile Street to beat three men in the house—When they came, about 11.5, Shears, Walker and prosecutor came to the door and knocked and shouted for my husband, cursing and swearing that they intended to kill the lot of you, and if we did not go out they would come and pull us out—you looked out of the window, and told my husband to keep inside, and your mother to go down and bolt the door, and said that under no consideration must they be allowed to come in—the people outside forced the door open, breaking the bolts at top and bottom, and the people came into the passage, and the prosecutor in front—he was shoved into the passage, and what occurred to him I don't know.
By the COURT. I did not see Hearne with any weapon; I did not see the prosecutor struck outside—I saw Driscoll come down with a cup of tea to the prosecutor—the girl saw him in the kitchen—I don't know how he got there—when the door was broken open, fifteen or sixteen forced their way in with long weapons, and some of them got over the wall at the back—I do not know how the prosecutor got injured; it was not from any man in the house, it must have been by the crowd that rushed into the passage.
By William Hearne. When your father came downstairs they struck him, and gave him a black eye; he is a very old man—I saw you with a 12-foot rule; you were helping your father to make a dress-coat—you tried to keep everyone in the place quiet.
FANNY HEARNE . I am your sister—on Saturday night, January 18th, Hannah Walker struck me in the eye—on the following day, at 11.30, her father knocked at our street door, and called us Irish bastards—I do not know how Newton came to be injured—I came down on Sunday to get my bat and clothes from the kitchen, and I saw Newton at the bottom of the stairs; I called out for you and said, "There is a man here"—you said "Where?" and came down and looked at the man, and called Driscoll, who said, "It is Newton"—he said, "Fanny, give me a cup of tea to give to the poor fellow"—I went upstairs and made him a cup of tea and came down with it, and gave it to you, and you gave it to the prosecutor, and he was taken upstairs by you and another brother, and a policeman—I was screaming out of the first-floor window," Murder and Police!" because of the crowd.
By the COURT. A policeman came and took William out of the back room; I don't know what was the matter with him; he was exhausted—he was in bed covered with the clothes—he was there all the time, and never went out—the night before the people had challenged him to fight—the piece of iron and a stone were thrown at me when the door was broken by Shears—they said, "Come out, you Irish bastards, we will give you Home Rule."
JEREMIAH FOLEY . I am the husband of Norah Foley, and a tailor—on the Saturday night Walker knocked at the door and challenged you down to fight—on Sunday, at dinner time, he renewed the disturbance—on the Sunday night, about 11.5 he, in company with Newton, Shears, McDonald, and others, knocked violently at the door and said they intended forcing their way in if we did not go and fight with them, and that they intended to murder us—I said I would fight any one of them; and they said they would not give me the opportunity to fight if they
got me downstairs—at 11.30 there was a multitude of fifty or eighty half-drunken mutinised persons—they knocked at the door—I was in bed; I got up—in five or ten minutes after there came burst, burst at the door; and I heard a scream, and ran downstairs without any trousers on—the door was forced in and there were sixty to fixity persons flourishing sticks and things and saying, "Come out"—I ran back to my children—I do not remember seeing you—I had seen you two hours before.
MRS. HEARNE. I am your mother, and live at 6, Shaftesbury Place; my husband is a tailor—at 11.30 on this Sunday night Shears, Newton, Walker, McDonald, and a gang of men came to the door and said, "Foley you come out, you b——Irish bastard, or else if you don't I shall tear you out of the place"—they burst open the door—there were about 100—when Shears was breaking the door with a hammer I holloaed out: "Murder! Police!" and said to Hannen: "This is not fair play; my sons are upstairs, and I am frightened of my life of Walker and Shears"—Newton was standing by the side of Shears; they are the two best fighters in the court—Shears was taken to the station, and I went and charged him—when the door was broken in all the men fell on the top of one another, and the prosecutor fell and got hurt among them, I think—I was away for half-an-hour at the station—my husband got knocked down in the passage, and my little girl got a black eye—this poker never belonged to me.
DENNIS HEARNE . I am a tailor—at 11.30 on this night I saw the lot coming to my house, and they smashed the door; I could not see who did it—my sons had nothing in their hands to commit this deed—no one knew the prosecutor was downstairs till my daughter found him—I don't know how he got downstairs—I was struck, and got a slight black eye.
William Hearne, in his defence, stated that when the mob came he had only a foot rule, with which lie was measuring a coat; that they burst in the door, and Newton must have been fatten on, and so received his injuries; and that when he was found in bed he was suffering from a kick.
Driscoll stated that he was helping to make a coat when 80 or 100 people came, and he denied that he had injured Newton.
The COMMON SERJEANT considered that there was not sufficient evidence to go to the JURY as against
ANDREN HEARNE.— NOT GUILTY .
WILLIAM HEARNE and DRISCOLL GUILTY .
WILLIAM HEARNE then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in August, 1893. Nine other convictions were proved against him— Three Years' Penal Servitude. DRISCOLL— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
No evidence was offered by the prosecution against Andrew Hearne.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Wednesday and Thursday, February 5th and 6th, 1806.
Before Mr. Recorder.
210. JOHN MUNRO and ALEXANDER MUNRO , Unlawfully having in their possession, on July 9th, certain articles intended for the food of man, which were unfit for the same. Another Count, Unlawfully possessing articles, on July 3rd and 18th, for the purpose of preparation, which were unfit for food.
MR. MUIR and MR. JAY Prosecuted; MR. C. F. GILL and MR. ARTHUR GILL Defended.
MILLNER JUTSAM . I am a solicitor, practising at 24, Finsbury Pavement, and Clerk to the Mile End Vestry—I was present, on December 13th, at the Thames Police Court when the defendants were charged with offences against the Public Health Act, 1891, Sec. 47—they elected to go for trial.
Cross-examined. The summonses, dated November 29th, were for having the material for the purpose of preparation for sale on October 3rd, 1895—another with having the materials for the purpose of sale on the same date—there were two other summonses for similar offences on 10th October—the defendants elected to 50 for trial through their solicitor.
Re-examined. I was also present on January 3rd, 1896, when the defendants again elected to go for trial for offences on July 9th, 1895—I had given them notice that the Magistrate would be asked to commit on that matter also.
MR. GILL submitted that the prosecution were not entitled to go into the charge with regard to July 9th. MR. MUIR contended that under the Summary Jurisiction Act the proceedings were quite in order, and that the case of Reg. v. Brown (1, L. R., Q. B., 1895), covered this case. The COURT held that the evidence was admissible.
THOMAS TAYLOR . I am Medical Officer of Health for the Hamlet of Mile End Old Town—the Vestry is the sanitary authority for the district, which includes 42 and 42A Ocean Street, which I visited on July 9th with Mr. Spender, a member of the Vestry—I walked in and said I had come to look round the premises—the defendants were opening tins of meat on a bench just round the door I went in by—some of the tins had been opened and the meat was bad—this is a correct sketch showing the premises (Copies produced and handed to the JURY)—the meat was corned beef, which was going to be prepared; there were 2 lb., 4 lb., 6 lb., and 14 lb. tins—tins were opened in my presence, some of which were bad—I said I should seize those as being unfit for food—I asked Alexander what was going to be done with the corned beef—he said it was going to be ground up and used for various kinds of potted meats—on looking round the premises I saw a number of tins of salmon and lobster; some had been opened—some the defendants opened at my request—those that were bad I seized—on another bench, opposite this bench, were small tins of meat in a box or case—I said, "Some of these are blown"—they were bulged at each end outwards; that indicates that gas had formed inside and blown the tins out—they were not fit for food—Alexander said, "I know they are a failure"—there were, I think, eighty four tins of bloater paste—some were opened subsequently some of the corned beef was mouldy on the top when the tins were opened—one of the defendants, both were present, said, "Yes, we chuck this meat out of the tin, cut a thick slice about an inch off the top, and smell the remainder"—I said I should seize it—one of the defendants agreed the small tins were
bad, and said they were going to have them destroyed—I asked them where they purchased the meat, and the salmon and lobster—they said the meat came from Bundock's, and the salmon and lobster from Todd Brothers—I asked if they had any invoices, and they produced these two from Todd Brothers, containing the words, "We will always change anything absolutely useless for you"—I said, "I shall take the whole of these round to Thames Police Court"—that meant all I had seized—I took them, the Magistrate saw them, and they were condemned—I seized four 14 lb., ten 6 lb., eight 4 lb., and five 2 lb. tins of corned beef; also eight-four 2 oz. tins of bloater paste, twelve tins of salmon of from 1 lb. to 2 lb., and seven tins of lobster about the same size—the salmon and lobster may have been 1/2 lb. tins—the total seized was 130 tins—I gave them to our Sanitary Inspector, Mr. Lyon, with the invoices produced and my instructtions; within about a fortnight the articles were examined by him—Alexander described the process of manufacture—he said the corned beef was ground up, and made into various kinds of potted meats; the meat was put into tins, which were soldered down, and subjected to heat, pricked, and after the air was out, re-soldered—all I saw were in tin cases and hermetically sealed—as to some red herrings, I said, "What is done with this?—Alexander said, "Those are ground up, mixed with margarine, which you nee, and made into bloater paste"—on October 3rd, in consequence of information I received from Bastian, I next visited the premises with Lyon—I entered by the same door—I saw in the centre of the premises some cases containing tins of meat and rabbit—on the top of the cases were a number of opened tins; six of these were bad—the defendants agreed that they were bad—I said I should seize them—I asked one of them to open some tins of corned beef—afterwards, both Alexander and John opened twelve, seven of which were bad, and about half-a-dozen tins of rabbit, two of which were bad—whilst John was opening these tins, and the inspector was superintending, I went round the premises; on coming back I saw Alexander standing at the entrance of what is marked on the plan as "Coal Store," and there I saw about sixty tins of soup—they were below, leaking and blackened—I said I should seize them as being bad and unfit for food.—Alexander said, "I know they are bad, they are going to be put in the furnace three or four at a time"—I said, "It will take a long time to get rid of them"—one tin of soup was found in the centre of the place near the tins—that was bad—I then requested Alexander to open some more—he said he might open the whole of them, and if they were good they could not possibly use them before they went bad—then I said I should take the whole I considered bad of the meat, the soup, and the rabbit to the police-court—he asked me to give him a note of all I seized—I at first refused, but he said he would not let the goods go off the premises, and I afterwards gave him a note—I did the name in July—he repeated the request, and said if I gave him A note he would get "others," or "good ones" for the ones seized—I said, "Where did this meat come from?" John said, "From Bundock's Alexander said, "No, it did not."—I then asked for invoices, which Alexander refused, and said, "I should like to have this matter thrashed out"—I said, "You will have an opportunity, no doubt, now"—about October 10th I received further information from Bastian, in consequence of which I called at 42,
Ocean Street, with Lyon—I went in at the same door—I saw John Munro standing close to a bench—I said, "Have you any meat on the premises for me to see?"—he said, "No, only bloater paste, which you see we are making"—I looked round the ground-floor, including the Coal Store, and Lyon went the other side of the premises—on the bench was a large mass ground up—a mixture—John called Alexander down stairs—then Lyon called my attention to another part of the premises on the ground-floor, marked on the plan, at the end of a passage, close to the w.c.—behind a door I saw a number of tins of meat stacked up and opened—the inspector, Alexander, and myself were then in the yard—I said, "What are these?" indicating the meat that was stacked—Alexander said, "Oh, those are all good but two"—I examined them, and found eight out of eleven which I considered unfit for food—a number of large closed tins were lying in the corner unstacked—I said, "What are these?"—he picked up several, examined them, threw them down again, and said, "These are all right"—I said, "Open some of them for me"—he absolutely refused—I said I should do so myself, and Lyon began to open some—we opened six, four of which were bad—I said I should seize the lot, those that were unopened as well, the 4 and the 8—he said, "They are a very bad lot for the Magistrate to see, but they are good"—he picked up one of the four and smelled it—he said, "I shall have an opportunity of refuting this"—I said it was bad—he said, "I would swear to them in any court in, England"—I said, "You will be taken to the Court, and at two o'clock this afternoon you will have an opportunity"—became to the Courtat two o'clock with his solicitor—the Magistrate examined and condemned the meat—Alexander did not make any objection—I saw two canes tied with rope—I said, "What are these?"—he said, "They have nothing to do with you"—I said, "I shall see for myself," and I pulled the top off the cases—I took out-several small tins of potted meat with labels round them like these, which I took off. (Two labels were, produced, one of potted tongue and one of chicken, on which was "Palmer Brand," a trade mark of a Palmer or Friar, and, "A Delicious Relish; Palmer's Bombay Works, Ocean Street, London, E"—I opened four or five—I said, "These are bad, and unfit for food"—he said, "I know they are; they are returns"—that was returns to them—I seized forty tins of potted meats and one tin of rabbit—one case contained nine dozen and another six dozen of assorted potted meats—there were 221 tins altogether—I left on the premises five of corned beef, which I found all right—on 3rd October I seized twelve 6-lb. tins of corned beef, one 4-lb. tin, and two 2-lb. tins of rabbit, sixty-one 2-lb. tins of soup—seventy-six tins; in July 130 tins—I saw no bloater paste left on the premises in July, only salmon, lobster, and tinned meats—on October 3rd I do not remember any soup being left; there was a quantity of beef, and probably two cases of rabbits—the corned beef seized was a dark colour, black in places, and had an offensive odour.
Cross-examined. If the bad meat were mixed with good food it would destroy it—it would make it unfit for food in time—if some of that seized were mixed with a large quantity of good meat it would probably neither smell nor taste after a time—the good would become bad in time—I mean it would not blow out for probably a week or a fort—
night—that is the shortest time I can think of—the blowing out of the tin is one suspicious circumstance—it would put me on my guard—there was no difficulty in detecting that the meat was bad—the furnace would not influence it—I do not suppose any human being would purchase soup in the condition this was—it was like water—it had some fatty substance—I had visited the place some months before July 9th—the defendants said that any time I came I should find bad meat on the premises, and I said it would be my duty to seize it—I asked them what they did with the bad meat, they said their practice was to return it and get fresh tins in their place—I was not told that skilled men were employed to test everything that was used—I saw others there—I know nothing of Howse—a small fraction would turn out bad—I was not told the first lot had not been examined—I did not know when it had come in—I saw an invoice of July 4th, and one of July 9th of Todd Bros.—when I had said the potted meat was bad one defendant said, "I know they are"—they said something had gone wrong in the process—I do not remember their saying the tins were defective—I made this note of what took place on July 9th, the same day (Produced)—the invoices were given to the inspector—I made inquiries of Todd Bros.' manager the next day—the soup tins held about a quart—nothing was said about the soup being intended for sale—nor whether the tins found in the passage had been examined—there was no roof to that part which was an extension of the passage outside the factory—I had no interview with the defendants after the 10th—I took no proceedings.
Re-examined. I report to the Vestry; they ordered the prosecution on the advice of their solicitor—they meet every fortnight—I have made no experiment as to how long it takes for meat to go bad—the defendants called no skilled person to test the meat at any interview—nor suggested such a person was on the premises—bad soldering of tins would not account for the meat going bad—I was cold there were other invoices than the two produced—no others were produced at that time.
HAROLD SPENDER . I am a journalist and one of the Mile End Vestry—I accompanied Dr. Taylor, on July 9th, when he visited these premises—the first thing I saw on getting inside the door was a large number of tins of meat on the left side—as far as I remember I saw the two defendants, but they have a brother who is very much like them—a large number of tins were opened at Dr. Taylor's suggestion, and a slice was cut off one piece, and Mr. Munro said that the meat was good, and Dr. Taylor said that it was bad—I then fetched a truck and had the things fetched away.
FREDERICK HERBERT LYON . I am Sanitary Inspector for Mile End New Town—about July 12th I went to 42 and 42A, Ocean Street, and asked John Munro for the invoice which he showed to Dr. Taylor—he gave me three of Lundoffs', and said, "I marked one of the invoices"—he said that he could not find the invoice of Todd Bros'., but he believed Alexander had it—I left my card, and asked him to send it, and afterwards received one by post, marked E.
Cross-examined. I was there on October 10th when Dr. Taylor went into the factory; one of the cases was closed—I have said, "One case at least was open"—six tins which were in a case were opened—I did not open more than three cases; I selected the tins I wanted opened.
CHARLES BASTIAN . I am a mat-maker, of 40, Cadiz Street; I make my mate at 26, Ben Jonson Road—the defendants occupied a stable opposite my place; I have seen Alexander there—that is their carman (Ben Manning)—I saw him take one lot of cases in which looked like tinned meat cases—twenty or thirty cases, with tins in them, were on the van—that was about October 8th or 9th—I smelt a horrible smell from the stable, and complained to Dr. Taylor about it twice, and looked through a partition in the next stable and saw twenty or thirty cases and some tins with the lids off, and two girls working there—I saw their hands going round the tins, as it they were opening them—I could smell through the little crack a faint, horrible smell—I complained to the doctor once while the girls were there—I have seen open tins taken away from the stable in cases several times, four at a time, and once there were six—one morning I went the same way as the cart, and it stopped at Munro's factory—the smell continued for about a week after I complained to Dr. Taylor; I have not noticed any bad smell since.
Cross-examined. I have lived there about fifteen months, and was there pretty well every day—I did not smell the stable before October.
JOHN HENRY WILLOUGHBY . I am an estate agent, of 2A, Ben Jonson Road—I let a stable at 3s. 6d. to Manning, in the name of Munro; that is the man (Manning)—this is the rent record (Produced) it is made out in the name of Munro—Manning paid the rent at first, and afterwards one of the prisoners when I called for it—they are still in possession of the stable, and paying rent for it.
ARTHUR CHARLES PERRIN . I live at 21, Arundel Road, Forest Hill—I am principal buyer of the fruit and tinned goods department of Messrs. Stanler, 150 and 151, Fenchurch Street—I have had eight years' experience in buying tinned meat, and buy 8,000 or 10,000 cases of tinned provisions in a year for them—this invoice A, shows five cases of corned beef, without saying the size—they are sold in 1 lb., 2 lb., 6 Ib. and 14 lb. sizes—2 lb. tins are about 14s., and 4 lb. tins 14s. to 20s. a case; 14 lb. tins are 30s.—there are sometimes twenty-four tins in a case, and sometimes forty eight—you cannot purchase corned beef at 12s. a case and get honest meat—the price on invoice E is 10s. a case of 6 lb. tins; the price of them is 20s. to 28s.—the next is three cases of 1/2 lb. lobster at 8s.; the value of that is 40s. a case; it is one-fifth of the wholesale market price—nearly all salmon is in 1 lb. tins; it was possible to buy that at 15s. last July—F does not say what number of tins—here are two cases of tinned rabbit; they are generally 1 lb. tins, at about 7s. a dozen—the price here is 10d.—I could not buy it sound at that price—we have acted as agents for the sale of Palmer's goods for about ten months—it is the practice to allow for tins of bad meat; we sometimes have them back and sometimes not; the average of returned goods is not more than one per cent., and upon Palmer's goods returned it is about six per cent; the total dealings we had with Palmer's are 1,482 gross supplied and 83 gross returned; that makes up the six per cent.
Cross-examined. The price of tinned beef is affected by the market; if I bought it at 12s. a case I should doubt it, but I do not think we should entertain it at all; I have bought some lately, but nothing so low as that—I have bought meat from Liebig, and Arnold, and
Brooks, dealing direct with them—we did not have Palmer's meat at our place, I think my junior went once or twice to their premises—we have sold 482 gross; that means over 200,000—Dr. Taylor called, I think, in November—we had one instance since July 1st of Palmer's goods being returned—we distribute to the smaller grocers—a customer would pretty soon find out if it was bad—I have seen it worked out from the books—six per cent, is rather a heavy percentage—goods are very often returned in consequence of the bulging of the tins—the beef I speak of buying came straight from Eastman's—lots of tinned beef are sold at auctions at a lower price than it can be obtained for from the manufacturer.
Re-examined. Bulging of the tins indicates that air has got into the tin, and the contents are bad—by this document (Produced) I find six gross supplied by Morrell, of Bradford, on September 6th, and thirty-six tins returned; on August 21st, one gross supplied, and six tins returned; on August 16th, three gross supplied, and seventeen tins returned on October 31st; on October 2nd, one gross supplied, and the whole quantity returned as bad on the 22nd; on August 21st, one gross supplied, and one hundred and eight tins returned on November 15th; that is 108 out of 144, and out of a lot supplied on January 26th two grots were returned—some from Harding, of Croydon, and Granger, were credited to us, but not returned; they took our word—our traveller gets the orders and we send them up to Palmer's, who would send them on to the customer—I have never hoard it suggested before to-day that the gross to Docker was returned because it was not ordered.
WILLIAM CHARLES YOUNG . I am an analytical chemist, of 19 and 20, Aldgate, and Fellow of the Institute of Chemistry of Great Britain and Ireland, and of several scientific societies, and public analyst of the Whitechapel district, and hold other public appointments—I have for many years had experience in the examination of animal matter in the various stages of putrefaction, and am acquainted with the chemical changes which take place—I have heard Dr. Taylor's description of these articles—in my judgment they were absolutely putrid—it is possible, by heating putrid meat and flavouring it with spices, to remove the taste and smell, and it would then pass as good, but it would probably be poisonous—it might keep for an indefinite period, assuming that all the germs of putrefaction were destroyed, but if a small quantity of air was left behind, putrefaction would re-appear; the time would depend on the germs left behind and the temperature in which it was; in some cases it would show germs of putrefaction in three days, and in other places three months—if the meat had mould on the top, none of it would be safe to eat.
Cross-examined. It is possible so to treat meat that the objection, would be removed; you would know it as cooked meat; and, with flavouring, the public would not recognise it, but it would still retain the poisonous matter, which would be deleterious to health—it is practically impossible to destroy all the germs, but it is possible to neutralise them over a period of three months; the principal process is great heat to destroy the animal matter—by using water which contains chalk they get a higher heat than with plain water.
Evidence for the Defence.
ALEXANDER MUNRO . I am one of the defendants in this case—my father's name was Donald Munro—he was engaged in this business up to July last, and I was brought up to it—I am now twenty-six—my brother was over me, not this brother—another brother was employed as a general workman—I took the management on July 27th, after which I had the control of the business, and my brother John assisted me—Palmer had carried on the business which my father acquired, and his name was always continued in the business, which is that of preservers and packers of potted meat and soups—our staff varied in winter, but it was about fifty in the summer—after July, Howard was employed as chef; he had a special knowledge of the work; he came to us from one the biggest houses in the land, Peck's, in Snow Hill—I was the buyer from July 26th; sometimes I could buy as many as 100 cases at a time, sometimes I could buy only small quantities—the bulk of the meat comes from America—shipments arrive every week; sometimes they are small, and sometimes very large—from July to the end of the year I bought about 800 to 1,000 cases—the meat so bought is brought on to the premises direct from the seller and packed in a warehouse, and when we are going to use it the things are all opened, and it goes before the chef for examination, and if he finds a bad one he puts that on one side—when the whole of the parcel is examined, the bad ones are returned to the seller and credited to our account, or others given in the place of them—no meat is allowed to be prepared for food before it has passed the chef, after that it is taken from the tin, put through a machine, put on a bench and spices added to it, and it again goes through the machine; it is then taken from the machine-room to the filling-out machine, after which it is soldered down and then examined for leaks; they then go to the preserving tank and are boiled in water at boiling point; the steam is turned on; they are then taken from the tank and pricked in a small hole to allow the air to escape; the hole is then re-soldered, and they are put back into the preserving tank until they are preserved sufficiently, and the tins are wiped before they go upstairs—we have thousands of customers—the manufactured stock was kept on the top floor, the bulk of it, and some in the larder, which is on the ground floor, referred to as the passage—we made from 10,000 to 12,000 tins a day, and the turnover from July to December was about £17,000—I have purchased meat of Bundock, Todd, Steade, and Bishop, which is one of the biggest houses in the trade—we do not buy of McCall; we cannot buy large enough—I have bought good meat at those prices from all those people, and below those prices—some tins are spoiled in the soldering process; we very often find a leaky tin sent us; it floats on the water, but the contents would not be bad—we take back bad tins at any time—we sent out six or seven million tins between July and the end of the year, and we have not had one complaint as to the condition of the meat—the name "Palmer" was not on all the tins we sent out; some wholesale people prefer their own label put upon them, and we have them printed for them, but on the others the name is Palmer—Dr. Taylor came on July 9th—tins sometimes give from bad soldering; anybody who passes and sees a tin floating, takes it out and it is sent to Stevens' shoot, or burnt in the furnace—as to stock
returned, customers sometimes put it in a damp place; that has more effect on them than anything, and at times they are placed in a grocer's window near the gas, and almost baked; but whatever the fault is, we take them back, even if caused by the customers—it is not to our interest to have returns; it damages us; it is not necessary that the contents of the tins should be bad that they should be credited—one witness Perrins never communicated with me, though I was still supplying him with large quantities; we sent them a quarter of a million labels of a special brand just before this prosecution—Dr. Taylor came to our place on three occasions but never examined the stock; on the second occasion, October 3rd, he looked at a few tins in the stock room and found nothing, and went down again; he found it was all good, and took nothing from there—on July 9th eighty-four tins of potted meat were seized, they were on a stove in front of the preserving tank by themselves entirely separated from our stock—they were all what we call traitors; none of them were intended to be sold—the bulk of our tins which would go to the public were on the first floor, but, of course, there is always a large amount of stock downstairs, because it is coming out of the tank all day; but as soon as it is manufactured it goes upstairs—the sixty-one tins of soup were found three feet from the boiler door—there is a passage where coal is kept; that is where they were found—the contents might not have been bad, but the tins were—they were going to be burnt—we should not put them on the fire while we were using steam—the other lot came from customers; those were the two oases which were taken from the yard, and contained tins of potted meat—I showed them to Dr. Taylor; they must have been supplied some time before, because it was an old label—we had no intention of re-selling them; we sometimes examine returned tins, and if we found any of them good we should have to re-lacquer and re-label them, and we should not feel justified in doing that—six tins of corned beef were on top of a stack of cases labelled "bad"—they had been condemned by the chef—when Dr. Taylor asked for the bad ones we sent for them to the back yard, and brought in thirteen or fifteen tins of corned beef, which had already been opened and condemned by the chef—the doctor then asked for other tins; we opened some others, and one tin the doctor said was bad, and I said that it was good; we had an argument about it, and eventually the doctor left it behind—those tins had not been opened before, either by me or the chef—the lot brought from the yard came from Dunlop, and the others from Todd Brothers, on the same day that the doctor came—nothing had been done to them before he arrived; they were on the van, and we had no opportunity—as part of the same purchase from Todd Brothers, there was a quantity of calinon and lobster which came in that way—an invoice was produced that day—the lobster we bought was from a lot Todd Brothers had had; it was a parcel made up of odd tins; odds and ends, and others were damaged in the side, and would not sell in a shop—the lobster turned out better than the salmon—we gave a fair market price for the corned beef; I have bought it since, and I could buy it to-day—there is no difficulty whatever in getting good tins from people whose tins we object to—it would be impossible to put bad meat with good, one taint of sour-ness would turn a dozen tins bad—invoices were sent for, and we gave them—there was another visit on October 3rd—the thirteen tins seized
that day came about October 1st, from Webster's—they are in a large way of business with regard to meat—this is their invoice (produced)—Mr. Webster is here—on October 3rd we had some hundreds of tins in the factory—the cases opened that day were opened in Dr Taylor's presence—none of them had been examined by the chef—we were asked to open particular tins selected for the purpose—I told the doctor he might open any number of tins, but we should not be able to use them before they went bad—we can only use a certain number of tins a day, and we are not making meat all day, we are making bloater paste—we begin work at seven a.m., and the doctor came at eleven; we like to use the meat the same day as we open it—we had eight cases of rabbit in stock from Webster's, which represents 192 tins, and two tins were found—Webster brought a tin of rabbit a few days before, as a sample; we opened the tin, found the contents good, and bought the rabbits, but we kept the sample tin to see if the bulk corresponded with it; it was thrown under a bench—the doctor opened about eight of the other tins, which he selected, and found one bad one; the tins were still in the cases just as they were delivered—we had the sample tin open several days before, and it was rotten, but we had to see that we got the same sized tin as the sample—the tin was brought in, and opened, and found to be good—the price given for them was the price at which we could buy them good—on October 3rd, when the six tins of soup were spoken of, we had 18,000 tins in the larder upstairs—that is not an open place by the w.c., it is beyond the office—when Dr. Taylor came on October 10th, we had between 400 and 600 tins of beef on the premises, some in the passage, some in the factory, and some in the larder—there were tins of meat in the yard which had not been examined—we had had a consignment of meat from Webster that day, and there was a consignment of 2 lb. tins of beef from Stephen Bishop on the safe—I cannot say when that had come in—there were three stacks of tins in the yard, just put down, which had not been examined, and another lot which had been turned out of the cases and not examined, and another lot which had been examined and not passed, found not good—the good ones were either standing open, or had been taken into the factory—some of them had been examined when the doctor came—I came down and saw the doctor in the yard—he opened quite fifty tins on the third occasion—between thirty and forty were found bad, and he took away five or six—they were bulged and pricked—the doctor asked me to open tins; I refused; I had given him every assistance, and had already told him that we wanted the matter thrashed out—he left two cases and some odd tins open and good—I say that what the doctor says is not correct—he opened the tins in the yard and handed to me what he said were, good, and we put them just inside the door, and the bad ones he had put in the passage—I had in my possession when he went tins which had been passed and taken into the factory, and tins opened while he was there and passed; and, further, we had sent in on the evening of his visit of October 10th a van-load of beef which we had on the premises; he did not care to examine the meat that was in the factory, but he came in at the factory door and saw it; he made direct for the yard, and after he had done with the yard he went away—forty or fifty cases were not opened; we cannot decide upon them without opening
them—we desired to ascertain what our position was, and I said, "We are anxious to have it thrashed out; a tin of meat must come into our possession before we can examine it"—we were not visited from July to September—he did not ask where our prepared stock was, or take away anything which we had prepared for sale which would have gone to the public—each time he called we were manufacturing either meat or bloater paste, and he looked at it and smelt it—we said on October 10th that it was necessary for the meat to come into our possession before we could examine it.
Cross-examined. I have had about five years' experience in the manufacture of tinned meat, and in buying it twelve years—I do not want anybody to tell me whether meat is bad—the chef was present, and opened some of the tins—we did not invite the doctor to any place; he had a right to go where he liked; I did not tell him our stock was upstairs; he never asked—our staff is male and female; we have machine girls to attend the machines which grind the meat, and we have fillers up and blockers up, and glazing girls—the examination of tins cannot be done elsewhere; in the factory it could be popped into the machine, but it would be at our own cost, and spoil the batch—if the chef left his duties to examine the meat we should sack him; we do not examine hundreds of cases of meat every day—we first used the stable as a stable, and on October 10th Ben Allen took a van-load of meat there; that was the first day we had any meat in the stable; of course some of it was bad, but we could not find that out till the cases were opened—we sent the meat to the stable because we had not room for it—Dr. Taylor knew it was there—I am satisfied we did not send the meat there till the evening of the doctor's visit—I did not notice if it had a horrible smell; there was a tremendous smell at the stable, but that arose from three water-closets at the back of Bastian's—I did not know that at the time; I learnt it on Tuesday or Wednesday last week—the closets were not in our stable, they were close at the back of it—I informed my solicitor of it—I observed that Bastian was not cross-examined as to that—I take it as a fact that at the Police-court Bastian was cross-examined as to whether the smell arose from stable manure—we employed two girls in the stable to open the tins with an opener; they are here, and so is Ben Allen—I will not swear he did not take in two cases the following morning—I was not at the stable while the two tins were being opened, and cannot speak as to the smell—I say that it had no bad smell; if there was any hole, it would smell—Stevens' shoot is for rubbish; they are dust contractors; we contract with them to remove bad meat from our premises as rubbish; we pay 6d. for two tons, or two van-loads—I have no book to show, we should only put down "shoot money, 6d."—we have not sent any 2 lb. tins to them; we send those to Somers—I did not buy this meat on invoice E; my father bought it before I took the business that was shown to Dr. Taylor when he visited our premises—it was receipted when the money was paid, and I should say that the meat was paid for on delivery, speaking from what we do now—in the event of Manning going with the goods, which I believe he did, someone would go with him to pay the money—this memorandum, "We will change anything that is absolutely useless to you," was on this invoice when we
showed it to the doctor—Todd Brothers do not always put that on their invoices, but it was put on this one because there had been a bother about some goods which they said were not unsound—it would have been just as well to put, "We will return any tins which are bad"—the lobsters are very cheap, I heard they were worth 40s., and these are 8s.; they had no market value so far as the shop-keeper is concerned—I daresay he would have taken 6s. for them; they were perfectly good, but their appearance condemned them; more than a dozen, I should say two dozen, were opened, and seven were bad—I know there were more than a dozen by the space they occupied on the bench—I do not consider that a good proportion; we should have got an allowance for the seven—I have got no note of the number opened; I do not say that the doctor is telling a lie about it—these five cases of corned beef in invoice A contained 72 lbs. each, but I cannot tell you what sized tins they were—none of the goods which I sent out after I took charge of the business, on July 28th have been returned, not one tin—in the case of Docker, of Birmingham, where one gross was sent out and one gross returned, that was because they could not effect the delivery, the consignees refused to accept them—this document is from the consignee. (This was dated October 7th, and stated that the meat was returned because it was very bad and unfit for sale; that he should require more, but had rather not receive more just yet)—we had supplied meat to Docker prior to July 29th—we often take meat back six or seven months afterwards—the cases weigh 21 lbs. or 22 lbs.—we supplied two gross in September to Morrell, of Bradford, and on October 7th thirty-six tins were returned, but the bad ones may have gone out with a prior consignment; we have never had a tin of Star brand sent back—I swear that none of the Star were returned after July 20th; in the event of it being only two or three tins the carriage would come to more—I took Mr. Perrin's word for it that Harding was supplied with twenty-one gross; 108 were not returned to us—as far as Harding, of Croydon, is concerned, I could say immediately if I saw the tin, but I have not seen it—I say that we have not had a tin returned which has been manufactured since July 6th—we keep about three weeks' stock in hand—we supplied Ranger, of Red Hill, with three gross, and on January 1st he returned two gross; many persons have returned their goods owing to this prosecution—we can produce the letters—as to destroying by burning, we could put in five gross of them without adding any fuel—that is a very good way of destroying soup, and very inexpensive—the returns on October 10th were manufactured before I took over the business—I have not got our books here, I was not told to bring them; they were taken away from us—to the best of my belief, the 180 tins came from Bromley Wigley and Sons, of Cambridge; I do not know whether we credited them with them—I should have had the customer here if I thought it would have been disputed—I do not recollect taking a tin of corned beef on July 9th, cutting a slice oft it, and smelling it; but I will take the doctor's word for it—I do not remember his taking away the one with the top cut off; I do not dispute cutting the slice off—I was not on the ground floor on October 3rd, when the doctor came; and when I went down he was examining the six tins of meat, which I say were all bad—I told him they had been rejected; I
cannot say whether I said because they were bad—I was present when he asked my brother John to open some more; we have disputed the doctor's figures all along—I say that John opened twenty or thirty—I did not say to Dr. Taylor, "We have got some soup which was rejected, and we are going to destroy in the furnace," but I think our chef did—I was there; I followed the doctor—he picked up the soup, and we told him it was bad—we had been turning over our stock, and found that they were leaky—they were our own manufacture—I picked out the bulk of them myself at the end of September, and in October they may have been returned and taken into stock; I cannot say—the doctor may have said that it would take a long time to destroy the soup in the furnace, but not to me—he asked me to open some more on October 3rd, and I refused; we could not keep them after they were opened—I expected them to turn out good—before that, the soup and rabbit tins had been found bad—I sent a girl to the factory to open them, and after that they were brought to the factory—the girls come to work at seven; this work was done at eight or 8.30—my position is, that we are carrying on a genuine business with good meat, and art anxious to court inquiry—the July invoice for the goods found on our premises on October 3rd was never produced—our former solicitor Advised us not to give the invoices to the doctor—he did not advise us not to tell from whom the cases came, but I might just as well give the invoices up as tell the doctor where the meat came from—this is the only invoice I have—we have dealt with Webster and Co. about six years—large quantities of meat which has gone bad are sold for manure I do not know whether Webster and Co. buy it for the purpose, they carry on business at Stratford as bone and tallow works, but I only knew that recently—the larder is close to the w.c.—that is not where the goods were found on October 10th—the larder is behind the office—very few of these things were close to the w.c., and they were all bad ones—the doctor, I think, said, "What are those?"—I did not say, "They are all good but two"—the doctor said that the whole Of them were bad—there were some tins on the ground unopened in a corner; the doctor said, "What are these?"—I did not say that they were all right, he asked me to open some; I refused, and he opened them himself—I do not remember the number, but four or six were bad—he did not say, "I shall seize the lot," nor did he do so, but he seized thirty-five in front of the w.c.—I decidedly dispute the accuracy of his evidence; I have disputed it all along; I think it is a great mistake—I picked up one and said, "Should I have an opportunity of refuting this, could swear it in any court in England"—the doctor said, "I shall take the lot"—I nodded towards the good ones, and said, "Those are rather a bad lot to take"—I attended with my solicitor before the Magistrate—the tins of meat were all open when the Magistrate came in; the smaller ones were not—they were Dad; we told the doctor so before he condemned them; we pointed to them and said, "Our chef has condemned those," but he did not take my word for it, and opened them—it was not necessary for us to open them—my statement is that the doctor opened forty or fifty tins, passed all of them except five or six, and put them all into a case—he left two cases full, and some odd tins of corned beef which he found either in stack No. 1 or No. 2; not mixed up with those which were condemned—there
were three stacks in the yard; the third stack was things which were bad—if we found a bad one it would go to stack 3—the two cases tied up with rope, were cases I described as returned—I do not remember the doctor saying, "What are these?"—I may have replied, "Nothing to do with you"—I said, "Those are goods which have been sent back"—the doctor pulled off the top of the case; he may have opened four or five under my eyes; I handed him two or three tins out of the case, and said: "These are blown"—I do not remember his opening four or five and saying: "These are bad," or my saying: "I know they are, they are returned"—this is a large business, between July and December, the Palmer Co. turned over about £17,000, and we got the money for the debentures, and found we could not issue them—Lisbon took 500 debentures, and McKie 400—our business was the security for them, it was on the money borrowed on the debentures that the business was carried on: we had the debentures prepared, and our solicitor advised us that we could issue them, but we should have to apply to the Court of Chancery—we were weekly tenants, but our solicitor did not know that: the people we borrowed the money from knew it—the solicitor did not ask what security we had—Arthur Brown is a solderer at weekly wages—his share was £1, he never paid it—Henry Clots is a solderer, he did not pay his pound—William Collins and Ben Manning, and Tom, a clerk in the employ, just the same: the shares were given to them—all they got was a share in the new company—Palmer had left about four months and a-half—no dividends were paid, only interest on. money advanced—Alexander Munro is myself—I did not draw a cheque for the money—if the company went into liquidation, I have no evidence that I ever paid a farthing—Hector Munro is my brother, and Rosie Munro my mother.
Re-examined. Mrs. Lidstone advanced £800, and there were several other persons and my wife—all the claims on the company were satisfied when it was wound up—the fresh company was formed to enable the company to issue debentures under our solicitor's advice—the persons were aware of what the position was; my wife was aware of it—there is not the slightest ground for suggesting that anybody bad been defrauded—meat slightly tainted would be absolutely useless—sour meat would be absolutely useless—we told them we would not buy unless the meat was all right, or they would change anything that was wrong—we generally expect more to go bad when they go by water-carriage—Chaff's, of East Grinstead, was two percent; that is a fair average—to the best of my recollection, the cases returned by Docker by rail were in the same condition, only more dirty—I say that in spite of the letter which has been handed to me—if the case returned as bad was bad, it must have been sent before July 6th—I take it that it was on that letter that we returned the case, assuming that it referred to our goods—I say that Ranger returned two gross in January in consequence of the feeling about this prosecution—if the goods returned by Docker bear the Star brand, I should say that they were manufactured after July 25th—dampness would injure them, or being put in a shop window near gas—I received this letter from a customer returning goods: "January 16th, Messrs. Palmer: Gentlemen.—We have found since the prosecution we cannot sell the meat. As we have nearly the whole consignment, we must
ask to be allowed to return it. Williams and Son"—we have had similar complaints from other people, and took the goods back on account of the prosecution, not on account of them being bad; that was after the prosecution—in July we gave the fullest information to Doctor Taylor, and told him where we got the goods, and gave him the fullest opportunity of examining the premises—as to withholding the invoices, we acted under advice—the labels Dr. Taylor produced are taken from tins in two cases; they show that the goods were manufactured prior to July, as since July we have had a different style of label altogether; it is the same size, but it is in three panels, and everyone in the employment knew that the label was changed—we did not use up the old labels, we have them now—we had notice from the prosecution to produce various documents, they are here—we had no notice to produce our books—I consider that the invoices show the transactions—what was condemned by the Magistrate was bad—we never buy a job lot of meat—we have to send these bad tins back to be changed—an allowance was made to us for the goods condemned by Dr. Taylor; he only went up to the first-floor once, he would find that we had a large stock up there—even supposing meat unfit for food had been made up into potted meat; there would he no need to open it, it would be found out almost as soon as it came from the tank; I believe it is impossible to have stuff in tins in stock perfectly rotten without its blowing out immediately—I have never heard of a tin with rotten food in it not being blown out; it must come out, the gas would blow it out.
JOHN MUNRO . I am the second defendant, and a brother of the last witness—I have heard his evidence, it is correct—I was present in July and October, when Dr. Taylor called—I was not in the room when he was there on the 10th, and cannot speak to the conversation in the yard, but there was a very large quantity there in boxes and ordinary cases—after he left on the 10th, six or seven tins and two cases were left down stairs, and there was a good deal which he had not touched—it is most untrue that there were only five tins left.
Cross-examined. I have had six years' experience in preparing tinned meat, not so long as my brother—I agree that if rotten meat is put into a tin it will blow up at once—I never knew it put into tins, but I can tell by the outside appearance—I don't say that it would blow up the tin within a day, it might last three months—long before then it might have been eaten.
Re-examined. The tins are boiled in water, and for export we put salt into the water, the stuff wants to be more preserved in hot climates—it will keep a long while in England unless there is anything wrong.
WILLIAM ETON HOW . I live at 17, Blunton Park, and am chef to this company—I have had twenty years' experience in the manufacture of tinned meats at Messrs. Gumming and Co.'s and Arthur and Co's, of Barbican, and with a firm on Snow Hill, and at Bolton and Noel's—those are persons well known in the trade—my duty at Ocean Street was to examine all tins returned after they were opened, which was always on the ground floor, and those not fit for use were cast on one side—my strict injunction from Mr. Munro was that I was not to pass anything that was not perfectly good, and good stuff was to be returned for them—I carried out those instructions, and good tins were given in
the place of the tainted tins sent back—I should place the fresh ones in a corner, and draw the carman's, Wilmot's, attention to them, or the one before him, Manning,—in the process of cooking the tins in the tank, some float to the surface owing to a defect in the tinning—if a tin is full of wind it floats, and I throw it into a box, and it is taken away with the rubbish—when Dr. Taylor came on July 9th Mr. John Munro cut some corned beef in two and asked my opinion on it; I said that is was good; the doctor did not condemn it; it was left there; the doctor said, "I shall not take it"—I did not see any mould on it—cutting it in two would show the quality of the meat better than looking at the outside—it was not a question of the quality of the meat, but Mr. John Munro and the doctor had an argument and they asked my opinion—on October 3rd I was in the boiler house when the doctor came in; he pointed to some tins of soup and said, "What have you here?"—Mr. Alexander Munro said, "That is soup that will go away as rubbish"—it was put there for me to destroy on the fire—meat intended to be used has never been kept in the stoke-hole.
Cross-examined. I cannot say whether we use hundreds of tins in a day; we may use a hundred of corned beef—I have to inspect the tins in the course of the day—my duty is to examine the meat before it is used, and to see that it is properly made and season it—I burn the bad stuff in the coal hole—I have a pretty busy day—I daresay I have used 200. Tins in a day if we are working from seven a.m. to nine p.m.—we examine at all hours of the day—the girls do that, but I have to pass the meat before it goes to the machine, and before passing the contents into the tins I sometimes come across a bad one. I might reject two or three tins of corned beef a day, or five or six after the girls have opened them—there is co limit—the floaters are not bad, it is good stuff—one box of small tins in October were all floaters without labels, but I cannot tell you how many were in a case—I will swear that a box of floaters was seized—one of the cases seized on October 10th contained all floaters—they had no labels, and could never have been sent out—some of them were only half full.
Re-examined. The large tins of corn beef are placed on one side till we have some more—they are not left in the factory stinking for a week: not longer than a day or two, I think—forty tins of bad meat in a day is not a large number—when we are very busy we might have fifty or sixty—when a tin of meat is bad there is a blackness on the tin—you had better ask Dr. Taylor why a tin was cut in two; it was at his suggestion.
Cross-examined. Gas makes the floaters rise—at that time the stuff in the tin is good but we put them on the fire and burn them because they are no earthly good to anybody—Dr. Taylor took away some floaters, I think it was on his last visit, October 8th.
By the COURT. I never knew of any female being sent to the stable—I should be surprised to hear that some of the women and my master's boy went to the stable and opened tins there—I have known the premises so full that we had to send goods elsewhere, but I never asked where to—I never heard of the female hands being sent off.
EDWARD ALBERT HARDY . I was manager to Todd Brothers, wholesale grocers, 153, Commercial Road—they had dealings with the Farmer Co.—this is an invoice of our firm, we supplied these goods, three cases of beef,
three of lobster, and one and a-half of salmon on July 9th—they were delivered on the same day and we were paid on the name day—we can supply good sound meat of this description at these prices, and if it was not good it would be changed; that is our practice—did not see these tins; they were soiled outside, perhaps rusty or stained, that would have an effect on the price; it is uncertain whether it would have any effect on the condition of the meat inside—we have changed tins before this for bad ones sent back to us—it is a question of honesty whether they return us the tins sold to us—the lobsters at 8s. were sold at clearing-out price; they are made once a year, and florae might be more than a year old; whether they would last more than a year would depend on the packer—I wrote this on the invoice; we occasionally allow persons to destroy tins, but we did not know whether they did not claim too many, and we wanted them brought back, as we had not seen the tins in question—we have bought potted meat from the defendants from the time they took the business, and it was very good; I have eaten some of it—we had a few bad, about 2 per cent; that happens with every packer.
Cross-examined. Mr. Todd is the sole partner; I am his manager, and take the responsibility of selling these—I live on the premises—I am not a member of the vestry, nor is Mr. Todd—on July 31st I saw on the agenda that the vestry passed a resolution to prosecute our firm; this is it (produced)—if the tins were not soiled they would fetch 2d. or 3d. more per tin—I do not agree that the proper price would be 20s. or 28s. per case—the lobsters were a very odd lot; I may possibly have suspected that some of them were unsound, but not unwholesome—I would not have taken them back—I knew they could all be opened and the sound tins used for food—I took no precaution to prevent the unsound ones being used for human food—lobsters are worth about 40s. a case, and I sold them at one fifth of that price—there was no contract to exchange good for bad lobsters—it was an error to put on the invoice that they would be returned, we had a verbal arrangement—it is the practice of the trade to exchange good for bad, but I put this note on, because sometimes they claimed more than they ought—I do not remember telling Dr. Taylor that no invoices were given to Munro, because it was a cash transaction, it is quite likely—it is six months ago—I do not remember saying, "We allow for bad tins on some occasions; we have had them returned back latterly, we have taken their wordforit"—my memory is not defective as a rule—this, "We will change anything," was not put on after July 9th; it was on at the time—I believe Hector paid me the money in my office—it was one transaction, the cart came to the door and delivered them and I paid for them.
Re-examined. I have heard nothing more of the Vestry prosecution—I have not been served with a summons, and they have allowed six months to elapse—I believe Dr. Taylor asked me, "Have you sold any fish?"—we do not look upon salmon and lobster in tins as fish, and I said, "No"—we were having some drains repaired, and he said, "I shall have to make a seizure here"—when I told him he had seen returned, tins there he contradicted it.
beef, were sent to Munro—I was away in the country, but I should say that they were delivered the same day—12s. is a price at which sound beef can be supplied; it is less than the ordinary price; if the tin is damaged it would be, perhaps, five per cent, less—being away from home, I cannot say whether we exchanged any of those, but we should do so.
Cross-examined. I am described over my door as "Merchant and contractor"—this corned beef came from different places—I suppose I must take the responsibility, though I was away—I know Joseph Sells and Co., of Whitechapel Road, preserved provision merchants, and importers of colonial produce—I do not cart away all the bad provisions for him, never in my life; not once—I have had no quarrel with him or his son—if young Mr. Sells says that I have contracted to take away his bad provisions it is a confounded lie—I cannot suggest any reason why anyone should say that of me—I am employed as a carman, and I take away refuse; I have carted meat tins from other places, but never from Mr. Sells—I have not the slightest recollection of doing any carting work for him—I do not describe myself as a merchant on this billhead A, because I have moved into another place round the corner, and have taken another business; I am not living there now—I did not describe myself as a merchant in making this, invoice out in July; I did not make it out, but it is my printed form—I was away from home on July 24th; there is no description of "merchant" on these two billheads, or of what I am on this other invoice of July—they were odd tins in this case, twos, sixes, and fourteens—I can't say where I got them, they were sold at a reduced price because they were damaged; only the tin was damaged—I have changed about seven per cent, for Munro, but six per cent, is more usual—I have books by which I can trace the tinned meat—I live in the hamlet of Mile End; I never heard that I was to be prosecuted.
Re-examined. There is not the slightest truth in this suggestion about Mr. Sells—I have been engaged in this business twenty-five years, but I have been ill for six months of last year—I have been employed to inspect meat by the English, French, and German Governments.
By the COURT. I have been employed to take away condemned meat—I took it to the wharf, where it was burnt, and then sold to the manure manufacturers—if we saw anything to save we should take it out—there are sometimes two or three tins which are all right, and I keep them, and put them in my store.
ROBERT JAMES WEBSTER . I am a canned goods merchant and bone-collector, of Marsh Gate Lane, Stratford, and Bow Lane—I have supplied canned goods to Mr. Munro—this (produced) is an invoice of goods supplied—sound meat can be supplied at 8s. in cases of sixty pounds—it had been knocked about—I cannot guarantee what is inside, but if the meat is not sound I take it back—at 12s. a case I can supply sound meat, or change it—these were goods returned, on which an allowance had been made—I have bought meat at 12s. a case, and have got thousands of invoices showing it.
Cross-examined. I am a meat manure manufacturer—I convert all bad things into manure, just as I do bones—if I find a few good tins I save them, and do not consider it wrong.
By the COURT. It is not usual for the two businesses to be combined,
but all the tinned meat manufacturers abroad manufacture manure. I have meat in the Port of London even—I buy large quantities for the purpose of manure—I buy the good tins to sell; sometimes we get a little old stuff knocking about, and that; is made into manure.
JAMES WILMORE . I am the defendant's carman—I have been employed to fetch tin goods from Mr. Burdock and Mr. Todd, not every day—I have taken tins back to Todd Brothers and to Burdock, and they gave me the same number of good ones in return, and I took them back—I did not take any tinned meat to a stable rented by Mr. Munro—I have not taken cases of meat from Ocean Street anywhere else but to the makers.
GUILTY .— Six Months' Hard Labour each, on each Count, to run concurrently.
OLD COURT.—Thursday, February 6th, 1896.
Before Mr. Justice Lawrance.
MR. TORR Prosecuted.
The prisoner, being a foreigner, the evidence was interpreted.
ALBERT TIMMS (100 H.) On the afternoon of January 17th, at twenty-five minutes to four, I heard four reports from fire-arms in Spectacle Alley, High Street, Whitechapel—I ran across the road towards the sound, and saw the prisoner being held By Listen—I said, "What's the matter"—he said, "I have done it, I wish I had done for the b——, I would in a few more minutes"—he said that in English—I took him to the station—he was sober—the charge was read over to him at the station, and he simply said, "Yes."
JOHN LISTON . I live at 16, Venn Street, Bromley—on the afternoon of January 17th, I was in a neighbour's house in Church Street, White-chapel—I heard four shots in Church Street, I went outside and saw the prisoner running after the prosecutor in Spectacle Alley—I caught him—he had this revolver in his hand, I took it from him—he said, "He has got my girl"—Timms came up, and I handed the revolver to him, and he took the prisoner into custody—when the two men were running, the prisoner was from ten to twelve yards behind the other—I did not see him fire any shots.
MORICO SPEKKE . I am a machinist, and live at 22, Hunt Street, Spitalfields—I have known the prisoner a few weeks—on the evening of November 17th, at twenty-five minutes to four, I was in Church Land with a friend, and met the prisoner coming towards me on the other side of the street—he ran straight at me, and fired—I saw the pistol, he took it out of his pocket when he was near me—I turned round and ran away—when he fired the first shot we were straight face to face—I don't know how many times he fired—I have said it was four times—he ran after me and shot me in my arm—I cannot tell which shot that was; I think it was the second—he shot three times before he stopped for a little time; I thought he was running away, and I looked after him; it was then that the last shot was fired; I think that was the fourth—I did not feel anything; I only felt my side; I did
not feel the bullet—I felt something; I was wearing a watch in my left side pocket—the prisoner never spoke a word to me the whole time—I did not fall; I staggered against a board, and I do not remember anything else—Dr. Phillips' assistant attended to me at the station, and afterwards I was attended by Dr. Moore—holes were made in my sleeve—this is the watch I was wearing—this mark was not on it before.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I think you were about a yard from me when you first fired—I can't tell how far off you were, when you fired the other three—you were further off than when you fired the first—the constable brought my watch to the station the next morning—there is a hole in my overcoat, and also in the undercoat.
JOHN CAMERON . I am a B.M. and Master of Surgery, of 2, Spital Square, and am divisional surgeon of the H division of police—I was at Leman Street station on January 27th, about four in the afternoon, and there saw the prisoner and prosecutor—the prosecutor was suffering from a bullet wound in the left arm; it had entered just under the elbow, passed down through the arm about six inches, and lodged in front of the wrist, where I removed it—I have compared that bullet with the pistol; it appears to fit, and belongs to the cartridge—from the position of the wound, the assailant must have stood behind, and on the left hand side—I found a slight bruise on the left side—I examined his clothing and found a hole in the overcoat and waistcoat corresponding with the wound, into the watch pocket, and I noticed a mark on the watch, and the works were loosened—the bullet had penetrated the clothes and struck the watch and indented it; I think the bruise on the body was caused by the bullet being violently pressed against the watch; if it had not struck the watch the consequences would have been very serious; the watch was exactly over the heart—the bullet I took out corresponded with those in the cartridges in the box.
Cross-examined. The Magistrate did not say that they did not correspond—I believe the bullet first struck the bone of the arm, and then went round—I took the bullet out of his pocket at the time I was dressing the wound, and the sergeant took charge of the watch—the prosecutor was quite conscious—there were two doctors before the Magistrate, and they contradicted each other.
JOHN WILSON MOORE . I have attended the prosecutor privately—I was at the Police-court, and attended to him—the Magistrate asked for the doctor who attended; I said I was doctor No. 2, and Mr. Cameron said he was doctor No. 1—the wound was a shot wound; it will be some time before he recovers the use of his arm.
THOMAS WILTSHIRE (Police Sergeant H.) On January 17th I saw a crowd in Whitechapel, and found the prisoner in the custody of Timms; the revolver was in Timms' hand—it was a six-chamber, four of them had been discharged, the other two remained loaded—I asked the prisoner if he had any more cartridges—he said, "I have plenty, I bought a packet"—I said, "How many?" and he produced thirty-seven from his coat pocket—I found a bullet embedded in the wood of a shutter at the side of the window of a beerhouse at the corner of Spectacle Alley—I took it out with a bradawl—that was the bullet that was fired from the first shot, just as he was running into Spectacle Alley; the bullet was found
rather more than eight feet from the ground, and a few yards from where they first met.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I had a girl; I saw the prosecutor one night come out of her house, and I asked him to leave the girl, as I loved her. I warned him to keep away; he told me to do what I liked. I had a pistol. I met him in Church Lane; I took out my pistol. I had a pistol. I met him in Church Lane; I took out my pistol. I could have shot him; I ran after him and fired three other shots. The prosecutor came to the station with a wound. I did not touch him; it was accidentally done."
The Prisoner, in his defence, repeated in substance a similar statement, and added that he had no intention to injure the prosecutor; he only thought to frighten him, to make him leave the girl alone.
GUILTY. on Second Count.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HALL Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
WALTER JONATHAN HOLDEN . I keep the Red Cap public-house, Camden Town—on Sunday evening, January 26th, about five minutes to eleven, I saw the prisoner and another man at my bar having words with the barman—I went and asked what was the matter; the barman said they had called for ale and refused to pay for it—after some little time his companion paid for it—they then began to use violent and abusive language; and seeing that they were likely to create a disturbance I sent my potman for the police—he brought a policeman and they were ejected, I saw the prisoner being ejected—afterwards I saw the flash from a pistol outside through the glass, and heard a report.
Cross-examined. I had not to my recollection seen the prisoner before at the house, I did not know him as a customer—he was as twenty—he was quite sober, otherwise he would not have been served—his companion was older than he—the abusive language was to the barman, it was violent and filthy, and would not bear repeating—the constable assisted the barman to eject him, he opened the door with one hand and assisted to eject him with the other—he took hold of his arm, he resisted very violently—he was put out pretty quickly—there were a great number of persons in the bar—no more force was used than was necessary—I know nothing of him—before the magistrate he said, "I don't know what made me do it."
JAMES WILLIS . I am barman at the Mother Red Cap—on Sunday evening January 26th I was serving at the bar a few minutes before eleven; the prisoner came in with a friend; they called for two glasses of ale which I served, and on asking for payment I was greeted with a volley of obscene language—I requested them to leave the house—the landlord said they must be ejected—on hearing that they challenged me—the
prisoner said, "Come over and try to put us out, you b——, we will do for you, you b——"Mr. Holden had to send for a constable, and when he came Mr. Holden ordered him to eject and I assisted him—on getting them outside the prisoner's companion struck me three or four times—my attention was called by people shouting outside and I heard the report of a pistol; I saw it in the prisoner's right hand; he fired, and said, "Take that, you b——"—he was about two yards off me, I felt a tingling sensation on the right side of my face and neck—the constable rushed towards the prisoner; he still had the revolver in his right hand, pointing at him—the next thing I saw was the officer fling him to the ground—I heard some words used towards the officer, but I am mot sure of the words.
Cross-examined. I had never seen the prisoner in the house before; I had seen him since; I had no quarrel with him; I had no knowledge of him whatever; I had done nothing to make him angry; I did my duty—the bad language was addressed to me, and also to the customers—he had not had too much to drink—when I was told to eject him I jumped over the bar; I alighted in front of him, and started pushing him towards the door, and the policeman also—he was got out pretty quickly; I think he had his foot against the door; the policeman had to unbolt the door.
LIZZIE DOWDING . I live at 7, Carlton Street, Kentish Town—on the evening of January 27th I was standing outside the Bed Cap—I saw the prisoner ejected from the house—Willis was by my side, and the prisoner was about two yards off; I heard the discharge of a pistol, and saw the flash, and I turned round, and said I was shot; I found that I was shot in my arm, and I was taken to the hospital.
Cross-examined. I had never seen the prisoner before—I have not yet recovered the use of my arm—I saw the prisoner put out by the barman—I have seen people ejected from a house; it is not a comfortable thing.
HENRY MYERS . I am potman at the Mother Red Cap—I was sent to fetch the constable—I saw the prisoner ejected by the barman; I followed him outside—I saw the prisoner put his right hand to his side, bring out a revolver and fire at the barman, who was standing two or three yards from him; another man was challenging the barman to fight at the time.
Cross-examined. I saw the two men in the house before they were outside; while they were at the bar they were acting in a violent way and using very bad language—I should say they were sober—the prisoner was pushed out; he was threatening the barman.
GEORGE SLADEN (173 Y). I was sent for to eject the prisoner, and assisted the barman in doing so—when outside he struck at the barman but he warded off the blow with his right hand; the prisoner afterwards put his left hand to his right breast pocket, took out a revolver and fired at the barman, and said, "Take that, you b——, I meant it for you both"—I ran at him and tried to knock him down, and just as he raised the revolver my brother officer knocked him down in the roadway—on the way to the station he said, "Is the b——dead yet? if not he ought to be, and you as well, I meant it for you both"—when the charge was taken he said, "And I will do for you, if it is for years to come."
Cross-examined. When asked for his name he gave it as "Herbert
Jameson"—I believe his name is Ward—I have heard of Dr. Jameson—I have made inquiries, and his father is a respectable man, and the prisoner is a respectable quiet young man—I have not ascertained that he has served in the militia, or where he obtained the revolver.
WILLIAM WHITBBEAD (287 Y). I was outside the Mother Red Cap on this night—I did not see the prisoner ejected; I came up when he was outside—I saw a revolver in his hand and saw him fire at the barman; he was on the kerb—he pointed it towards the public-house; the barman was at the door—I heard the report, and saw the flash—he then turned the revolver to Sladen, and I immediately rushed at him, and wrenched it from him—I produce it; it is a five-chamber—it contained four loaded cartridges; one was discharged—I assisted in taking him to the station.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: I don't know what made me do it.
James Ward, the prisoner's father, a cycle-cement manufacturer, of King's Cross, deposed to his peaceable character, adding, "He has a little temper at times." Another witness also spoke to his good character.
GUILTY on Second Count—Recommended, to mercy by the JURY on account of his youth.—Three Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. HORACE AVORY Prosecuted, and MESSRS. C. F. GILL and GUY STEPHENSON Defended.
CHARLES BUTTON . I am official shorthand-writer in the Divorce Court—on 21st November last I was present in that Court in the suit of Cox v. Cox and Dyball before Mr. Justice Barnes, the Queen's Proctor intervening, who was then showing cause against the decree nisi which had been obtained by Mr. Cox—Alfred Felix Brown was called as a witness for the Queen's Proctor—he was sworn in the usual way—I took a note of his evidence, and produce a transcript.
Cross-examined. I think the suit was originally heard in 1894—the papers are here from Somerset House—at the end of the petitioner's case the wife withdrew the charge against Mr. Cox, Mr. Robinson acting for her—Mr. Cox then went into the box, and denied the adultery, also one or two ladies—the decree nisi was on November 22nd, 1894, Mr. Cox was examined on that day—he was not cross-examined, the decree nisi being by consent—the Jury found that he had not committed adultery with Jane Good—the Queen's Proctor alleged three or four cases of adultery, and also alleged that material facts had been withheld from the Court—one of the allegations was that, during 1894, Mr. Cox had committed adultery at a house, 35, Besborough Gardens—the date was not alleged in the plea, it may have been in the particulars, which I have here, it is not alleged at that particular house—the first allegation is in July, 1894, and other occasions between the end of 1894 and January, 1895—I have a note of what was said by Mr. Cox's counsel at the conclusion of the case on November 22nd (reading it)—then the decree was rescinded, the petition was dismissed, and he was cast in all the costs of the Queen's Proctor.
Re-examined. Particulars were delivered on June 4th, 1895, and further particulars on August 16th, 1895.
EDWARD FONTBLANQUE HARDING-COX . I was the petitioner in a suit for divorce from my wife, which came on for hearing in December, 1894—the Queen's Proctor afterwards intervened, and that intervention came on in November, 1895—on the first trial of the suit counter-charges were made against me by my wife—I went into the witness-box and made a general denial of the charges—at that time no charge was made against me with any person in Besborough Gardens—when the Queen's Proctor intervened, he alleged adultery with some person in Besborough Gardens, and also with Mrs. Robertson about December 6th, 1893, and alleging that I had visited her about Christmas, 1892—in November, 1895, I was present with witnesses to meet those allegations—I did not go into the witness-box about Besborough Gardens, but I did not admit it—I think it was the next morning after the decree had been rescinded that I consulted my present solicitor about the proceedings for perjury—I was present when the prisoner gave evidence, and also the prisoner, Ellen Rock. (The evidence given by the prisoner Brown was put in and read; it in substance alleged that while in the service of hrs. Rawle, on December 26th, 1893, he was sent for to 73, Egerton Gardens, to assist at a luncheon party, and that he there saw Mr. Cox with Madge Robertson, Miss Rawle, Mr. Cox, and two other gentlemen, one called Hoppy, with certain photographs on the mantelpiece, etc.) I have never in my life been inside 73, Egerton Gardens—I have never spoken to or been in the company of Miss Rawle—I know of a man nicknamed Hoppy; I do not know him personally—I was not in his company in 1893—I have never been in his company except in the hunting-field—I have never been in Mrs. Robertson's company, either about Christmas, 1892 or 1893—I think the last time I was in her company was about 1886 or 1837—1887 probably—she was one of my witnesses at the Divorce Court—I had not been in her company since 1887 until I saw her in Court—I was not in London at Christmas, 1893—I left London about December 17th or 18th, and went to Paris to attend a Commission to take evidence on one of my wife's charges, and I then proceeded to Cap Martin, Mentone, where I remained till January 4th in the following year—my solicitor, Mr. Greenwood, went with me from London, and Mr. Burke and my son, Raymond, and Mr. Miller, a tutor—we stayed together at the Hotel Maurice, Paris, and my son, Mr. Bourke, and Mr. Miller went on to Mentone with me—while at Mentone I corresponded with my solicitor in Paris and in London—I think he returned to London—I was in Paris at the taking of some evidence on the Commission in relation to this suit—I had never been such photographs as the prisoner described at Mrs. Robertson's I had no knowledge of any photographs of mine being there—I have been photographed in a jockey dress—I used to ride as a gentleman jockey and I have been photographed in a foraging cap and undress uniform—I don't know of their having been sold.
Cross-examined. There was no arrangement by which I was to allow my wife £1,000 a year; Sir Edward Clarke said so in Court, in case of the divorce being made absolute—it was after that, that I went into the witness-box—I did not desire to go into the witness-box—I was anxious to make a general denial, I was perfectly prepared to go in—I made a
general denial of the charge—I was not cross-examined—six months afterwards the Queen's Proctor intervened, he left it to the last time—the prisoner and Miss Rock were not my witnesses, they did not take any part in it—they have not been connected with any private inquiry agents—I think four charges of adultery were made against me by my wife—I contested the Queen's Proctor's case up to the time I went into the witness-box; the case went on for three days, I think—I did not know these two people, they said they knew me; I know they did not, but Brown may have seen me, or pointed to me in Court and said, "I know you," but I did not know him—when the Queen's Proctor had judgment I was saddled with all the costs of the proceedings—I was a little annoyed—this is my prosecution, in the interests of justice and the public—I think there were two or three applications before Mr. Vaughan granted the summons—I did not apply personally, I was represented by my solicitor—I think he applied three times—I had heard what the prisoner had sworn, every word of it; he said he had been sent for by some servant of Mrs. Robertson, or Miss Robertson, I think he gave some name, to wait at table—I did not inquire whether he had been sent for I did not know anything about it—we knew that there was a party; he mentioned in his evidence that a servant of Mrs. Robertson's came for him; I think he said Miss Shaw—I think the prisoner said the Queen's Proctor sent for him—I am very angry with the Queen's Proctor; I think I have not been treated fairly—my representative saw Miss Shaw; I saw her myself—I do not know where she is now; I have no idea—Rock was a servant of Madame Middleton; so I understood; she was not a servant when I knew Mrs. Middleton; that was the first time I saw her; I could not say who the servant was—in the defendant's statement he explained how he went to Miss Middleton's house; no doubt he was sent for and did come there—I had not been to her house, 33, Egerton Gardens; it was No. 67—she is a lady I had met in town; I spoke to her once when having supper at the Continental, and I saw her once at a club called the Gardeners—I should say that this lady did have a a luncheon party; I take that for granted—I have no doubt that the prisoner was sent for and did wait; and no doubt Miss Rawle was there, and two gentlemen whom I knew; I know who they were; I think one of them is in trouble with Dr. Jameson at Pretoria—he is a short gentleman with a clean-shaven face; the other is one that was there, he has come back; I think he is called "the criminal"—his appearance has been described; I never had him described to me; I am told he was a fair man—I have heard that he is not a bit like me; a lady told me so—I saw Miss Rawle at the Court while the Queen's Proctor's case was going on—she is one of my witnesses; I had not spoken to her then; there was no reason why I should not have spoken to her; I have a slight acquaintance with her—I understand that Mrs. Rawle went to see the prisoner after he gave evidence; and the woman, Miss Rock, after she had given her evidence; I can't remember the details; something of that kind was said—Miss Rock was another servant of Miss Rawle's, a fellow servant of the prisoner.
Re-examined. I have no doubt now there was a luncheon party somewhere; not at 73, Egerton Gardens in 1893—I know that Mrs. Robertson is ill with typhoid fever—when I say I believe that the prisoner was waiting at some luncheon party, I refer to a luncheon party spoken of by
Mrs. Rawle; I had no knowledge of it whatever; I only go by Mrs. Rawle's evidence before the Magistrate—I was never at any luncheon party, or any party in 1892 or 1893 in company with Mrs. Robertson and Mrs. Rawle—at the Divorce Court when I gave evidence the prisoner pointed to me and said, "That is him, I know him quite well."
CHARLES GREENWOOD . I am a member of the firm of Greenwood and Greenwood, of 12, Serjeant's Inn—we were acting for Mr. Cox—I left London with him in December, 1893, to go to Paris, with his son, Mr. Burke, and the tutor, Mr. Miller—Mr. Cox remained in Paris up to December 19th or 20th, and then went on to Mentone—after my return to London I received letters from him from Mentone up to January 2nd—at the hearing in November last of the Queen's Proctor's allegations the witnesses were in attendance in the precincts of the Court for the purpose of disproving the charge of adultery with Mrs. Robertson; I had them there.
Cross-examined. I had subpoened I should think thirty, not on that particular point, but generally.
Re-examined. I was present and heard what Mr. Inderwick said—it was according to the shorthand notes—at that time there was no allegation about Besborough Gardens; that allegation was made for the first time by the Queen's Proctor's plea.
EDITH RAWLE . I live at 12, Ovington Gardens—I know Mrs. Robertson, who is also called Madge Middleton—in 1893 she lived at 73, Egerton Gardens—I was present at the Divorce Court in November last for the purpose of giving evidence on Mr. Cox's behalf—it is not true that I was at a luncheon party in Egerton Gardens in 1893—I was never in Egerton Gardens in 1893—as far as I know I do not think there was any luncheon party there at Christmas, 1893—I believe I heard at that time that Mrs. Robertson was ill—I was never at any luncheon party in the presence of Mr. Cox—I had never spoken to him up to the time I saw him at the Divorce Court—the prisoner was in my service as a manservant—Ellen Rock was also my servant in my husband's time—they were in my service up to about a year ago last Christmas, 1894—I think I discharged them in that year; they were with me in 1893; I think they were with me from three to four years—I cannot quite tell; three to four; I almost think it was three, both of them—on Boxing Day, 1892, I went to lunch with Mrs. Robertson—the prisoner went there to wait on that occasion—there were two guests besides Mrs. Robertson and myself; two gentlemen; I am quite sure only two; Mr. Cox was not one of them—there were no photographs of Mr. Cox on Mrs. Robertson's mantelpiece at that time—I have never seen any photographs of Mr. Cox in my life—I am quite sure there were no such photographs.
Cross-examined. I don't know how often I had lunched with Mrs. Robertson—this luncheon party was not in 1891—I knew her servant, Miss Shaw—she might have been sent to my house with a message—I did not know her; she was living with another lady before Mrs. Robertson, who I was intimate with—I can't say who asked me to lend my servant at luncheon that day—I think I may have lent her because Mrs. Robertson's was away—I think Miss Shaw asked me, I don't remember—while the luncheon party was going on Miss Rock came to fetch me—she just came into the room where th
luncheon party was—she must have spoken to me, and went out again, that was all—it was a very pleasant party—it was about two o'clock, the usual time—Mrs. Robertson was not a comparative stranger to me; I knew her well by sight—she was very likely called Madge at luncheon, I don't know; I called her Madge—one of the gentlemen was a very intimate friend, the other was a stranger almost; I believe he was called "the Criminal"—he was not an intimate friend—I really did not take much notice whether he was a tall man; I think he was rather short; I quite forget if he was clean-shaved; they were both clean-shaved gentlemen—I saw Mrs. Rock after she had given evidence, and told her she had mistaken Captain Doyne; he was a man of middle height, and with rather a long nose—I suppose that was my description of him—when Mr. Cox's case was on I was subpoened for him—I was prepared, I was called—I told Mrs. Rock that she was thinking of 1892, not '93—I think my own words in describing the gentlemen were, "One was, like Mr. Cox, clean-shaven."
Re-examined. What I said at Bow Street was, "The only likeness between the gentlemen present at the lunch and Mr. Cox was that one of them was, like Mr. Cox, clean-shaved"—that was the only likeness—that gentleman was perfectly well known to the prisoner, and his name—he had seen that gentleman before at my house—it was Brown's duty to open the door to anybody who called—he waited at lunch in 1892; I forget whether he stayed in the house afterwards—I told Ellen Rock that she had mistaken that, gentleman for Mr. Cox—it is hard to say that Brown had made a mistake—I know Rock must have made a mistake; she only went just inside the door—as to Brown, I think he must have known one from the other—Rock also knew that gentle man by sight.
ELLEN MACDONALD . I am a nurse attached to Brompton Hospital—in 1893 I remember nursing Mrs. Robertson at 73, Egerton Gardens—she was suffering from typhoid fever—I began nursing heron November 19th, and remained nursing her till January 12th, 1894—she was seriously ill; her life was in danger—on Boxing Day or Christmas Day that year she was seriously ill in bed—there was no luncheon party there.
MR. COX (recalled). At the luncheon party I gather from the examination that there were two gentlemen named Brent wood there.
FRANK HASTINGS DAWNAY . I know Captain Doyne very intimately—I know Mr. Harding-Cox by sight.—Q. Is there any such resemblance between them that one might be mistaken for the other?—A. Except that they are clean shaven. Q. Beyond that?—A. Hardly.
NOT GUILTY .
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, February 6th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. GRIFFITHS Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
MONTAGU ATHLADO HOLBEIN . I am a cotton merchant in Laurence Lane—among other things I deal in Silesian cloth—in the early part of January I sold four rolls of Silesian cloth to Mr. Peacock for something under £5; there were from 80 to 86 yards in each piece—that cloth was given to an employe, Taylor, to take to Mr. Peacock, who lives at Camberwell—Taylor came and gave my manager certain information—this is one of the rolls.
Cross-examined. Velven and Armstrong were first charged with stealing the property; but the police afterwards withdrew the charge against them and they were discharged—the prisoner was not then before the Court—when he was arrested Velven was called as a witness; I do not think Armstrong was.
ALFRED CHARLES TAYLOR . I live at 87, Acorn Street, Camberwell, and am in Mr. Holbein's employment—on Friday, January 3rd, the manager gave me four rolls of Silesian cloth to take to Mr. Peacock—I put it on a hand truck—I had occasion to go into the post-office in Barbican between five and six p.m., and when I came out my barrow and the cloth were gone.
ROSE MANVEL . I live at 40, Napier Street, Hoxton, a tenement house—Velven occupies the top rooms upstairs; I occupy the parlour and kitchen—on Saturday, January 4th, someone gave one knock at the door; our friends knock once for us, and three times for the upstairs people; but a stranger would not know that as there is nothing on the door about it—I went to the door and saw the prisoner—I did not notice whether there was anything by the kerb then—he asked for Velven—I said, "You had better knock three times"—he did so—I left the door open and went away—I think Velven came down, I am not sure—as soon as I got in the kitchen, I noticed a truck just opposite the door, with four blue things, like these rolls, on it—it was between nine and ten in the morning—I saw them again on the following Tuesday, when the prisoner came again, about the same time in the morning—I was in the area, and looked up and saw him—I did not see if anyone was with him.
Cross-examined. I have been lodging at that house since July 15th last, Velven came two or three months afterwards—I had never spoken to him—I had not seen the man who came to the door before that Saturday—I had no reason to study his face—I never saw anyone coming to see Velven—my area is below the level of the pavement; there are railings at the edge—the area wall is about the width of this table, from the kitchen window; the pavement is a little wider—I have a curtain and sewing machine by the kitchen window—I happened to look from my kitchen window into the street—the truck was about two feet from the ground; it was like a costermonger's barrow, rather higher at the back—about a week after the Monday, Velven said to me, "Did you see a truck outside the door?"—I did not then know that Velven had been charged with stealing the property; I knew it afterwards—I don't think he had been charged when he spoke to me—he did not ask me to go to the Police-court; I said I would go—I did not see Velven in the dock at the Guildhall; I saw the prisoner there—I was only there once—before I went Velven told me he had been locked up and discharged; it was before he said that he asked me if I could remember seeing the truck on the
Saturday morning—my kitchen window is well below the level of the pavement—I was not asked to pick out the prisoner from others; he was in the dock by himself—I recognised him at once as the man I had seen, when he came into Court, before I heard the charge that was made against him.
Re-examined. I went into the Court and the prisoner came in afterwards; then my baby began to be fidgetty and I took it out, and came back when I was called—Velven only said to me, "Did you see those things on the truck when you opened the door to Sutton?"—I said, "Yes, I did not see the truck come up, but when I opened the door I saw it"—I can swear this was the colour of the things; I went to see them at Moor Lane—I did not see the truck afterwards.
FREDERICK GEORGE VELVEN . I live at 40, Napier Street—on Saturday, January 4th, I heard three knocks at my door about nine a.m.—I went and saw Sutton—I had known him for about two months before—he said, "I have got four pieces of linen; do you think you can sell them?"—I said, "Yes, I think so"—I asked him what I was to ask per yard—he said, "2d. a yard"—I said, "Very well, I will see what I can do"—I asked him where the pieces were—he said, "Here they are on the truck"—he brought in one of these rolls in blue paper—I cannot say how he brought them to my house; I stood in the passage where he delivered them—I said I would see him later on, and would see what I could do—I cut off a sample from one of the pieces and went to Long in New North Road, who said, "Oh, these are Silesias" said, "What are they worth?"—he showed me a sample and said, "I sell this retail at 2¼d.; I have another here 2¾d., a better sample than yours"—I said, "What are they worth to you?"—he said he could not give me more than I 1/2 d.—I went back and saw Sutton at his confectioner's shop in Lever Street, Hoxton; I knew where he lived; I told him what I had done; he said he could not take it—I went into the City to see what I could do with it—I called on a friend, and then went to a public-house and saw Armstrong—I showed him this sample, and had a conversation, and eventually he went to Peacock's with a sample, and sold him the four pieces, so he came back and told me; he brought no money—I saw the prisoner again, and told him they were sold for 2d. a yard—the four rolls were still at 40, Napier Street, where the prisoner had delivered them—on Thursday, the 9th, I went to Mr. Peacock's to collect the account, £2 18s. 2d.—he said, "I shan't pay you"—I asked him the reason, and he said, "These goods are stolen, and I could send out for a policeman and give you into custody"—I said, "Indeed"—I was arrested and charged with Armstrong before the Magistrate and remanded for a week, but on the Monday I was discharged—when the prisoner brought these goods he did not say what they were, or how he became possessed of them; I was always given to understand that he bought job stuff and goods—he said they were a job line—I told him it was Silesia after I had been told so, and he said, "I thought it was linen."
Cross-examined. I did not see what it was brought in to Napier Street—I did not ask Mrs. Manvel, "Did you see the truck in which the cloth was brought?"—I first heard, when Mrs. Manuel gave evidence at the Police-court against Sutton, that the cloth was brought in a truck—I did
not hear how it came, from any other witness—I think I asked her after my release, "Did you see what the stuff was taken off of?"—I can not remember if that was before or after she gave evidence—I asked her on my release whether she had seen anything, and would she come to the Police-court and say what she saw; I was locked up during the remand—"Wise came and saw me in the cells before I was brought into Court on the remand; that day he asked the Alderman to withdraw the charge against me and Armstrong—I gave myself up to vindicate Armstrong when I heard of his arrest, because I gave him the samples—I heard the detectives were about, and went in their walks; they have known me for years as an umbrella manufacturer—Wise told the Alderman that he knew me as the associate of convicted thieves—I had not heard before that the prisoner was a convicted thief—I last made an umbrella a few years ago—I am mixed up with a patent now—I made one umbrella not many weeks ago—I made one for the Prince of Wales, he carries it now—I was charged with street betting and fined £5; the Alderman said they could not prove I had been betting, but he thought I was there for that purpose—I have taken papers for betting men—I have been a turf commission agent in the name of Fredericks; I met with reverses in the umbrella trade—I curried on the umbrella trade as Stephen Velven; he is dead; I managed his business; he failed—he was my brother—I traded in that line also as Macmillan.
GILBERT SMALL (Detective, City). I received information of this robbery, and watched the prisoner's house on January 10th—I saw the prisoner leave, and followed him to a stable in Princetown Street, and said I. should arrest him for stealing and receiving some cloth in the City of London—he said, "I know nothing about it; I am in a maze"—I took him to Moor Lane Station, where he was detained—we searched his place.—I returned to Moor Lane and heard Wise say to him, "You will be charged with stealing and receiving four rolls of silesia and a trolly"—the prisoner said, "I know nothing about it"—he was shown the cloth—he said, "I have never seen it before in my life"—Wise said, "Do you. know a man named Velven?" the prisoner said, "I do not"—Wise said, "Do you know a man at 40, Napier Street?"; the prisoner said, "No, and if he said I gave it to him to sell he is a liar."
JOHN WISE (Detective Sergeant, City). On 10th Jan I saw the prisoner detained in custody at Moor Lane—I showed him the rolls of cloth, and said Velven had made a statement to me, and I should charge him with stealing and receiving these four rolls of silesia—he said he had never seen them; that if Velven said he had seen them it was a lie—I said, "Do you know 40, Napier Street?"—he said, "No"—I said, "Do you know a man that lives there?"—he said, "No"—he was charged—I got the cloth from Mr. Peacock, 6, New Zealand Avenue, where Armstrong offered it for sale—I cannot say how the bulk got from Napier Street to Peacock's.
Cross-examined. I said to the prisoner, "A man, named Velven, is in custody for dealing with stolen property, and he said he sold it for you "; the prisoner said, "I know nothing about it"—I have known, Velven about two years; I did say he has been a book-maker during that time—I should be very careful about believing him on his oath—I should
certainly not like to hang a man on his uncorroborated evidence—I have seen him with several convicted thieves; more than two—I did not go to 40, Napier Street, and see Mrs. Manvel—I first saw her at the Guildhall charge-room when the prisoner came up on remand—he had been out on bail—Velven made a voluntary statement to me going from the cells to the Guildhall, which takes about five minutes—I told him to speak the truth.
Re-examined. He made a statement to me, and I made inquiries, and then asked the Magistrate to allow me to withdraw the case as to him—my inquiries were made after the prisoner was arrested—the prisoner was not placed with others for identification because he was out on bail, and he had been to Manvel's house in the interval, I heard.
He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony on June 19th, 1893. The police stated that they had seen convicted thieves go to his house, and I was suspected of carrying on the business of a receiver. There tow another, indictment against him for breaking and entering— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
217. ROBERT LEWIS (21) and CHARLES FRANCE (51) Burglary in the dwelling-house of Francis Cadwallader Adams, and stealing two clocks and other goods, his property. Second Count, receiving the same. MR. ABRAM Prosecuted.
The evidence was interpreted to France.
FRANCIS CADWALLADER ADAMS . I am a solicitor, living at 14, Earl's Terrace, Kensington—on December 29th, when I retired, my premises were thoroughly closed—next morning I was called by my servant of 6.30 or 6.40—I went down at once, and found the door from the kitchen wide open—a pane of glass was cut out from a glazed door of the scullery—the back door into an outhouse, and the door into the garden were open—I went down the garden and looked in the bushes, and saw over the dustbin marks of soil from the borders; those marks went over the dustbin to the next garden and into the road—the window of the scullery, which is protected by bars, had been forced, and so had the lock which holds the fastening, and when the window was broken the person had command of the house—I missed these two clocks, a mahogany case of silver fish knives and forks which I have not recovered, six new dinners table knives and some old ones which were taken from a drawer in the sideboard—the property taken is worth altogether about £40.
GEORGE TAME . I am assistant to Mr. Brabbington, a pawnbroker, of Wardour Street—I know France as a pawning customer—on December 30th France pledged this clock with our manager for £1—he asked £1 5s.—on January 1st he came in and said, "I want to see this clock" I took the ticket to the manager, who said, "Is this your property?"—France said, "The man sent me to pledge it, Mr. Williams"—the manager said, "Go and fetch Mr. Williams"—he went out—France came back some time afterwards by himself, and wanted to know what was the matter—he can talk English—the manager told him to fetch Mr. Williams—he came back some time afterwards with Lewis, and then said he would fetch a policeman to clear himself; he wanted to know what was the
matter—he was asked to explain how he became possessed of the clock, and he threw down some tickets and said he would fetch a policeman—Lewis stopped in the shop—a policeman came back with France and took him into custody—I had not seen Lewis before—the other tickets did not relate to property pawned at our place.
Cross-examined by Lewis. The first time France came in on January 1st, he had a dark-haired man with him; the second time he came by himself—when he came in to pawn the clock he said it belonged to Williams—when the manager asked him where he got the tickets from he said from a man he knew by sight.
FREDERICK POTTER (314 C). About 1.30 on 1st January I was called to the George and Dragon public-house, Greek Street, Soho, by France—he there accused Lewis, who was at the public-house, of giving him three pawn tickets concerning stolen property—Lewis said nothing—I took him to Brabbington's, in Wardour Street, where the manager examined the tickets and identified them as relating to stolen property—he identified France as pawning this clock—France said, "That is quite right; I did pawn the clock"—I took the prisoners to the station—on the way Lewis said, "I bought those pawn tickets of a man I know by sight."
WILLIAM TRAVIS (Detective M). On January 1st I went to Brabbington's, and saw this china clock—I afterwards went to Vine Street Police-station, where I saw both prisoners—I told them they would be taken into custody for committing a burglary at 14, Earl's Terrace, Kensington—Lewis said he gave these two tickets, and in fact all the tickets to France to sell, and he bought them of a man he did not know—one of the tickets related to this skeleton clock, and the other to the knives, pawned at Aldous' in Berwick Street.
ALFRED YOE . I was with Travis, on January 1st, when the prisoners were arrested—I told France he would be charged with Lewis, with breaking into this dwelling-house, and stealing £30 or £40 worth of property—he said, "I did not break into any house, the clock was brought by a man to my address on the 30th about 11 a.m., and he asked me to pledge it at Brabbington's, Leicester Square, for £1; I did so, and gave him the money and also the ticket; I was not in the neighbourhood at the time the burglary was committed"—Lewis said, "I shall get out of this; I did not break into any house."
Cross-examined by Lewis. He did not describe you as the man who brought the goods; he said a man about thirty-five, something after his own stamp—this knife was found on you at the station.
HERBERT GUARD . I am a pawnbroker's assistant at Mr. Aldous's, of Berwick Street—I produce these twelve table knives, which were pawned on December 30th for 6s., and this skeleton clock, pawned with us for 10s: its value is about £1—I do not identify the persons pawning.
GEORGE ERSEL (360 Y). About 4.30 a.m. on December 30th I was passing along Earl's Terrace, Kensington—on stepping from Earl's Terrace into Kensington Road I saw France standing under the East Lodge of the terrace, sheltering from the rain—it is about one hundred yards from the prosecutors house—he asked me the nearest way to Piccadilly—I
directed him straight up the road—I said, "It is a very wet morning"—he said, "Yes; I am wet, cold and hungry"—I said, "If you go up the road a little further there is a coffee-stall at the railway station, under shelter, and a tire there," and I left him—he was not carrying-anything—I am sure he is the man—he was wearing an Alpine hat; Lewis had one like it at the station—he spoke in broken German; I could understand his English; he is the man—in the charge-room he was asked if he had seen me and he said, "Yes;" he did not say where.
France, in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence, said that he pawned the clock for a man, and that Lewis gave him four pawntickets and asked him to sell them on commission.
The COMMON SERJEANT considered that there was no case as against Lewis.
LEWIS— NOT GUILTY .
FRANCE— GUILTY of Receiving.— Nine Months' Hard Labour. (See next case.)
218. ROBERT LEWIS PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling-house of Elliott Hutchings, and stealing a sugar-basin and other goods; also to a burglary in the dwelling-house of Alice Holgate, and stealing two clocks and other goods.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Friday, February 7th, 1896.
Before Mr. Justice Lawrance.
MESSRS. HORACE AVORY and BIRON Prosecuted, and MESSRS. GEOGHKGAN,
MOORE and ROACH Defended.
ANN BRANDON . I am the wife of George Brandon, and live at Leighton Buzzard—on 19th December I went to the Holloway Mortuary and there identified the body of Maria Chipperfield—I had known her all her life as Maria Clarke—my husband and I had adopted her when she was two years old—her mother lived in London—the girl lived with us as our daughter until December, 1893, for fifteen years; she then went up to London to take a situation as barmaid—she came down to see us at Leighton Buzzard and stayed with us for a few days, and the prisoner came to see her from time to time—she came to us again on the 13th, and stayed till some time early in December, and on the 7th she left and went to London—I next saw her on the 17th December, when she returned to us with the prisoner as her husband—I had previously received a telegram from her—they said they had just come from Cork, that they had been married there—they stayed with us that night—in the course of the evening he showed us a razor, which he said he had bought at Cork-next morning she was not very well; she went back to bed, but ultimately they went to London by the 1.40 train—I saw them off to our station—they then seemed to be on very good terms—she was a right-handed girl.
Cross-examined. She was then wearing a fur boa round her neck—she never told me that her mother greatly disapproved of her marriage—she never said anything about her mother.
Re-examined. She appeared to be happy in her marriage; she seemed to be all right.
By the COURT. She called me "Mother"—I had said that she was, too young to be married—her uncle and aunt did not live at Leighton Buzzard Grove.
GEORGE BRANDON . I am the husband of last witness, and lived at Leighton Buzzard—the prisoner came down there before December 6th; he had been staying for a day or two; while there she just gave him a slap in the face—I told him if I had been there I should have punched his face—I remember their coming back on December 17th; they sent a. telegram—they said they had been married in Cork—he showed me a razor; it was not in a case.
Cross-examined. He said he had bought it in Cork; he did not say as a present to his father.
ALICE STROUD . I am the wife of William Stroud, a wheelwright, and live at Westminster—the deceased was my niece—I last saw her alive about three weeks before the inquest, the day she left the Star to go to Leighton Buzzard—I knew at that time that she was engaged to be married—I did not know the prisoner; I had never seen him—on December 6th I received this letter from her from Leighton Buzzard. (Read: "My dear Uncle and Aunt,—Just a line to say I am coming up to London. Alf wants me to be married in London. I have asked him to put it off till Sunday as I want a few things—mother is so nasty; she won't advise me; indeed, if she knew where, she would stop it—we are going to Ireland if we are married, for ten days, etc., your loving niece, Maria.") This letter (A) is in" the' deceased's handwriting. (Read: "The Lodge, Leighton, Beds.—My dear Alf—Just a line to say I will be at Euston, as arranged, to-morrow Friday; shall come by the 11.20 from Leighton; but, Alf, dear, I think it best to wait until Sunday before we are married, as there are one or two things I should like to get, for instance, a coloured dress—if I am ever married at all it shall not be in a black dress, as you know time is so short that I cannot get one here. If you had told me a week or two ago I could have had everything ready, so I hope you will consider this as best, and postpone it for two days, it will not make much difference, will it? Mother is very nasty about it; I shall be glad to get away from here again. I hope you got home all right last night, as I did. I don't think I have any more to say until I see you to-morrow, so will conclude with fondest love.—Yours very truly, ANNIE."
HERBERT AUSTIN . I am manager to Austin and Co.—the prisoner has been in our employ from early in 1891 till December 6th last year—on the morning of December 6th, he asked to be allowed to go into the City on business of his own, and as he was going I gave him a number of cheques to pay into the bank, and, in addition, I gave him an open cheque for £15 to pay wages and other things—this (produced) is the cheque—as he had not returned about half-past three I went to the bank and made inquiries, and found that that cheque had been cashed—these letters marked "D," "E," "F," "G," written on our business paper are in the prisoner's handwriting—he never returned to business.
The following letters were put in and read:
" June 22nd, 1895.—To Miss Clark,—Dear Annie,—If you only knew how I feel you would be sorry for writing to me like this. I love you from the bottom of my heart, and no one else shall have you. I am not
going in the Ram any more, and don't tell people all you know, because it only comes back. That May is a devil; don't you trust in her for a friend; do write to me. Trusting you are quite well, with love, yours faithfully, A. CHIPPERFIELD. I had a telegram come to me half-an-hour after you had arrived; it cost me over 30s. I have a nice present for you, if you are good. It is no use trying to put me off. I can never forget how good you have been to me."—"126A., Bermondsey Street, S.E., London, July 23rd, 1895.—Dear Annie,—I am sorry I was late this morning, and could not come and see you, as the bridge is all up. It makes it so late when I get over the other aide. I shall not be in to-night, as I have some business to do at Stratford after I have finished. I hope you will not go with anybody else of an afternoon. I shall not take May out again in a hurry. I always told you that she was no class. Trusting you are quite well, with best love, yours, etc., A. CHIPPBRFIBLD."—"126A, Bermondsey Street, S.E., London, July 29th, 1895.—Dear Annie,—You greatly upset me last night. I thought when I came in on Sunday morning there was something on, else for my not wanting to take you out in the afternoon. I should only have been too pleased to do so; but as it was such a wretched day, and being a short Sunday, I did not think you would care to come. I have 'turned over a new leaf, and feel much better for it. I want you to meet me at the Bank to-morrow at 2.30, I have something I wish to ask you. It is not very nice for me to come and see you when you are making arrangements with other fellows. It it just the same; if I were in your place you would not like it. Anybody would think I was a fool. I thought after what you told me last Sunday you would be all right. I had no sleep all last night through you. I think it is very unkind of you to go on like this, when I am trying to do my best for you. I have been greatly upset lately without you making more trouble. I was going abroad, only I put it off for you. You know I love you, and would do anything for you. Of course, if you do not like me, I would rather you tell me than to make a fool of me. I can assure you that since we made it up I have not been with one girl. I shall not say any more at present, so trusting you are quite well, I remain, yours truly, A. CHIPPBRFIELD."—"126A, Bermondsey Street, S.E., London, November 13th, 1895.—Dear Annie,—It was unkind of you not to turn up the other afternoon. It was not because you could not come, because I saw you looking out of the window, and the same when I was on the 'bus coming back. One thing, I was not put out, as I had to come to the City Road. I do not know why you want to be so nasty towards me lately; I know I have said some nasty things to you when I have been half drunk, but it is no use to keep thinking about old sores. I have apologised to you, and I am sure it will not happen again. Will you write, and let me know, per return, if you will come out on Sunday if fine, or, if not, Tuesday next, so as I can make arrangements? You know very well that I love you, and it greatly upsets me by your being so off-handed. Do not forget to write. Trusting you are quite well, with best love, yours faithfully, A. CHIPPERFIELD."
ANNIE MARTIN DROYER . I live at 82, Tiverton Road—the prisoner lodged with me from August last year till December—I remember his going out on the morning of December 6th, and returning about one with a young lady, in a hansom cab—he went upstairs to his room and
changed his linen, and went away in the cab with the young lady—he said he would return in a few days—he had a bedroom and the use of my sitting-room to have his meals in—he did not say anything as to how he was coming back, or where he was going to live.
JOHN STANLEY . I drive a four-wheeled cab"—on the evening of December 18th last, I was at Euston Station—at the arrival of the 9.15 train, I was hired by the prisoner; he and a young lady got into my cab—they had one box outside, and two or three small packages inside—he told me to drive to Annette Crescent, Essex Road; he did give me the number, but I have forgotten it—on the way he told me to pull up just outside the station, at a refreshment bar—they both got out and went to the refreshment bar—we then went on to the White Horse, Liverpool Road, that would be five or six hundred yards from Annette Crescent, he there got out, went into the public-house, and brought out a glass of wine to the young lady who remained in the cab—and he asked me if I would have one, and I went in with him, and had a glass of ale—when we came out he took the glass back to the house and came out, and I saw him looking at two or three of the doors of the house, as if looking for somebody—he told me to wait a little while, and he went away for a considerable time—he turned towards the Angel way, that would be away from Annette Crescent—I only noticed him as far as looking in at the doors of the house, just round the corner—he was away very near an hour. I did not notice the clock, but judging the time—the young lady all that time was sitting in the cab—I had some coversation with her; she was cheery enough—she said she was getting cold, would I fetch her a glass of port and a sandwich, and I went in and got it, and she told me to get a glass for myself—at the end of about an hour the prisoner came back, he got in the cab and told me to drive on—the lady still continued sitting on the near side of the cab on the back seat—the luggage was on the front seat—we had got within a few yards of Annette Crescent when a man came running round the cab, and asked me to stop, he said there was something wrong—I had not heard anything; the road was very rough with large stones—I pulled up as quickly as I possibly could, and looked round and saw the young lady's head hanging out of the window of the door, dripping with blood—some persons lifted her out, and she was taken to a doctor's—I drove to the doctor's door a few doors off, the doctor was not at home—I afterwards took the luggage to the Police-station in Upper Street—they had another cab to take the prisoner to the hospital.
THOMAS BROWN . I am manager of a public-house at 86, Martin's Road, Islington—about four minutes to eleven I was in Essex Road, near Annette Crescent; I heard screams from a four-wheeled cab, between thirty and forty yards off; I saw nothing till the cab got nearly opposite me; I called on the cabman to stop, and I saw a lady at the window of the cab, slightly leaning out trying to grasp the handle of the door nearest the kerb with her right hand; I opened the door, and with slight assistance she stepped out—she was making a gurgling sort of noise, with her hands towards her throat, as if trying to draw attention to it; I saw blood coming from her throat, she was taken to a doctor's—I then looked inside the cab, and saw the prisoner leaning in the left-hand corner with his hands crossed as if asleep, I saw a red mark round
his throat, as if it was cut—when I first came up to the cab I saw that the lady had a fur boa round her neck; I could not say whether it was tied or loose—the throat was not exposed; I could only sea the blood oozing down.
ALFRED GRIFFITHS . I am a carman at Islington—on the night of December 18th I was near Annette Crescent when I heard a woman's scream—I did not see where it came from, but I thought it came from a cab—I ran immediately to the cab and saw a woman with her head out of the window, and with her hand trying to grasp the handle on the near side, the pavement side—I believe the last witness opened the door—I noticed blood on the black fur in front of her—she stepped out by herself and laid hold of my arm—I only saw the blood on the fur of her jacket; I could not say for certain whether the fur was round her neck—I took her to Dr. Richardson's, he was not in, and I went and fetched Dr. Gray, and when I got back she was dead—when I heard the scream I was between 100 and 150 yards off, just between Annette Crescent and Halliford Street.
Cross-examined. I did not measure it—I never saw Brown till I got up to the cab, he was there first—I was from sixty to seventy yards from the cab when I first heard the scream.
WILLIAM EDWARD WRIGHT . I live at Islington, and am employed at the Civil Service Stores, in Bedford Street—on the night of the 18th December I was near Annette Crescent—I heard screams, apparently of a woman—I saw the cab coming along the road—it pulled up on the opposite side of the road; the screams appeared to come from there—I crossed over, and by that time the woman was being led or carried away by two men; I assisted to get her to the doctor's—I first looked in the cab and saw the prisoner sitting in the back seat leaning towards the corner on the near side—I was about thirty yards from the cab when I heard the scream, just across the road, not quite opposite.
WILLIAM CAPPER (326 N). I was on point duty in Essex Road on the night in question—I was called by Brown to a four-wheeled cab which was standing in the road opposite Annette Crescent—I looked in the cab and found a fur; the woman had been taken to the doctor's—I saw the prisoner sitting on the back seat on the left side, his head was in the corner in a drooping position—I noticed that he had a gash in his throat, I took him to Dr. Robinson's surgery—I was there when Mr. Gray came in—I took the body of the woman to the mortuary—in the course of the evening I searched the cab and found this razor—it was against the off-side door, across the cab, lying on the floor; it was wet with blood.
Cross-examined. Before I searched the cab, I opened the door and saw the prisoner sitting oh the left hand side—I spoke to him—I then directed the cabman to the surgery—that was about fifty yards off—the cab remained outside when the prisoner was taken in—he was in the surgery nearly two hours—the cabman remained outside till the constable came and took charge of it—that would be about twenty minutes or half an hour—Constable Trapper was in charge of the cab—the cab-was afterwards taken to the station by another constable—it remained outside the surgery about an hour before it was driven to the station—it was over a mile from the surgery—I found the razor while
the cab was standing outside the surgery—it remained there about twenty minutes—during that time the constable was with it—he is not here.
Re-examined. When I found the razor the cab was in the same place as I had left it.
HUGH HARLEY (Police Sergeant 45 N). I took the prisoner from Dr. Robinson's surgery to St. Bartholomew's Hospital—his clothing was searched in my presence—in the inside pocket of his great coat I found this razorcase—the razor fits it—£1 3s. 8 1/2 d. was found upon him—also a shaving brush and this letter (A) addressed to him from the deceased, beginning, "My Dear Alf."
JOHN ASHTON (427 N). On the evening of the 18th I went to Bartholomew's Hospital, and remained there in custody of the prisoner—he spoke to me that evening, I was in plain clothes—on the 19th he touched me on the arm, and said, "Have you seen my wife?"—I said, "No"—he said, "She is in the mortuary"—I said, "Oh!"—he then said, "I wish it was me instead of her, for she was a good girl—we were married on Monday, and came to London on Wednesday; took a cab from Euston and stopped at a pub. just outside the station, and had a drink, and then stopped again at the White Hart Public-house, Liverpool Road. I left my wife there some time, and went to try and find a pal of mine, Frank Cannon, but could not find him. I got in the cab again, and we drove down Essex Road. I remember we were all right when we passed the Brewers' Public-house, you know where I mean; but I don't remember anything after that, only drawing the razor across my own throat. I suppose I must have cut her throat; but, my God, I should not like to think I did. I bought the razor in Cork, as I had been there about a fortnight, and I had been shaving myself: I bought a brush, too. Did not you find it?"—I said, "Yes"—he said, "We were going to call at my father's house in Annette Crescent, and then go to where we were going to stay"—that was all that was said on the 19th—on the 21st he spoke to me again—he said, "The inquest on my wife was to-day, so my sister said. Do you know what the verdict was?"—I said, "No, I don't"—he said, "I wish they would let me see the papers, but they won't"—I said "Oh, won't they?"—he said, "I should be a lot easier in my mind if they would"—I don't suppose I shall be out of here before Christmas, shall I?"—I said, "I am sure I could not say"—"Ah, well," he said, "I don't want to be, for I can have my friends come to see me here, and they would not allow me to see any at Pentonville, would they?"—I said "I don't know"—he spoke to me again on the 2nd of January—he then said, "Well, there is one thing I like about you that are watching me, you policemen, I mean, you have never asked me any questions about this job, and I have not said anything particular to you; what I have said you are not going to say anything about it, are you?"—I said, "Yes, there are some things will have to be mentioned"—he said, "What I said to you?"—I said, "Yes"—he said, "Well, that is not much."
Cross-examined. I watched him by night; I was relieved in the day by other constables belonging to the same division; they would report to the same station—the prisoner remained in the hospital till January 3rd—one of the other constables was called before the Coroner—I believe I am the only one who reported any conversation held with the prisoner—the others were also in plain clothes—I did not tell him that anything he
said would be used against him—he knew I was a constable—I don't think he expected I should repeat what he said.
Re-examined. I did not invite him to make any statement.
GEORGE BEADON ADAMS . I am house surgeon at St. Bartholomew's—I was there on the night of December 18th, when the prisoner was brought in by the police. I attended to him for the incised wound in his neck—in my opinion it was a wound produced by the razor, and done by himself—After I had dressed the wound he said, "It's no good; I wish I had taken strychnine, I had some"—he remained in the hospital until January 3rd.
Cross-examined. I never saw any strychnine.
FRANK CANNON . I am a diamond setter, and live at 30, White Lion Street, Clerkenwell—I have known the prisoner about five years—I did not see him on the evening of December 18th; I was at home till about nine, and then went out.
Cross-examined. I knew the deceased girl; I knew her when she was a barmaid at the Star; she and the prisoner kept company, and walked out together—I used to go to the Star with the prisoner; I never usred the house; I have seen her and the prisoner together, when she was behind the bar—I have never spoken to her about the prisoner when he has not been there; once I did—she did not say that sooner than marry him she would kill herself—I heard her say that she wished to Christ she was dead; that was not in connection with her marriage to the prisoner; some time before. I and a friend were speaking about how she was going on at the time the prisoner and her were keeping company—she did not say, "I wish I was dead "in reference to her approaching marriage with the prisoner; we said to her, "You are enjoying yourself all right" and she said, "No;*I wish to Christ I was dead"—that was about four months before she left her situation—I could not tell you about the date; I don't keep dates—when I heard she was found dead in the cab of course that expression came to my memory; I say that was about four months before her marriage—she did not seem excited when she said it; she seemed tome all right—I said, "What do you mean?" and she said, "All right," and nodded her head and walked away; that was the only time she said that in my hearing—she did not strike me as excitable—I have never been with them when they were walking out together; have been with them for a drive; I did not notice that a little thing would put her out—I can't say that I have ever seen her very cross, or out of temper—I had known her about two years; during that time I have never seen her out of temper—the prisoner did not tell me that he was going to get married—I have met him at the Star; I generally saw him at the Two Brewers; that is not far from Annette Crescent.
Re-examined. The prisoner knew the deceased when she was at the Ram and Teazle; we both used that house—she was an attractive girl, according to people's judgment; she was a nice sort of girl—the prisorier was fond of her and courted her very shortly after she came to the Ram and Teazle—as far as I know he was courting her during the last two years—it was about four months before she left the Star that she mode use of the expression referred to; it was one evening—Mr. Stanton was in the bar at the time, there might have been other persons; he was the only friend of mine there—I had only asked her how she was going on in
the ordinary way—the prisoner was not there—I said, "How are you going on with Alfred?"—I could not say exactly what she said—that was the only time I heard her say anything of that kind.
JAMES BUCKLE (Police Sergeant N). I remember on December 18th a tin box being brought to the station; I saw it on the morning of the 19th—I took out of it certain papers, which I afterwards produced, there are three of them, and an application for a situation—here is a certificate of marriage; I did not find that in the box; it is dated December 16th, 1895, between Alfred Chipperfield and Maria Clark, bachelor and spinster, of full age, before E. A. Bruce, Rector, Glanmire Road, Cork (one of the letters was from the deceased, addressed "Dear uncle and aunt" and one "Dear mother" but not posted)—I produce a glove which was given to me by the mortuary keeper.
MALACHI JOSEPH ROBINSON . I am an M.D. practising in Essex Road—on December 18th, about eleven p.m., on returning from visiting, I found Dr. Gray at my surgery, and the deceased woman; she was then dead—the prisoner was also there; he was bleeding from a wound in his throat; it was such a wound as might have been self-inflicted, it went from left to right, just about the middle of the larynx, across the front of the throat, transversely—after attending to his wound I sent him to the hospital—afterwards, on December 21st, in conjunction with Dr. Gray, I made a post-mortem examination of the body of Maria Chipperfield—when I first saw her she was wearing gloves on both hands—they had been taken off when I made the post-mortem—there was a cut on the forefinger of the left glove—I found a wound on her throat, it was three inches and a-half in length, commencing an inch below the angle of the jaw on the left side, half an inch from the inner side, extending obliquely downwards, and to the left; it was deep at the commencement, and got shallower as it proceeded, and the skin was at last divided on the left—it was about half an inch deep on the right; it had divided the left vertebrae and the branches of the external carotid artery, and divided the windpipe—that wound was the cause of death—there was a wound on the forefinger of the left hand, commencing at the knuckle on the thumb side, a slice was taken off—it was difficult to say in which direction; I could not tell; looking at the glove, I should say it was from before, backwards; there is the flap of a cut in the glove, which shows that the cut must have been that way, away from the thumb, not towards it; from the general appearance of the wound I certainly say that it could have been self-inflicted—it could have been inflicted by another person—the cut on the finger might have been inflicted either way—from the character of the wound alone I should say it more resembled a self-inflicted wound than a homicidal one—it seems more probable that a woman would scream after having a wound inflicted upon her than having inflicted it herself.
Cross-examined. I was examined twice before the Magistrate—on the first occasion I was shown this glove—the scream leads to the opinion that the wounds were not self-inflicted—leaving out the scream, I am of opinion that they were self-inflicted—if the scream was after the cut, I should say it was self-inflicted, on the ground of the oblique direction from right to left—I have examined the glove, and the cut on the finger; if she took the razor in her left hand, and drew it across her throat, that would account for the appearance of the wound—the cut on the glove is
below the knuckle—the direction of the flap of leather alters my opinion, it could not very well be done in that way—I saw the glove before I gave my evidence before the Magistrate—I only said it might possibly have been done so, but very improbably; that bit of leather is the only thing that makes me change my opinion.
Re-examined. I said at the Police-court, "The wound on the left hand must have been done by the sharp part of the razor, and could have been done if the woman was holding the razor in her hand"—at the time I said that I had not in my mind the direction of the wound, as is now indicated by the flap of the glove—I now say that changes my opinion—in my judgment, the wound on the neck could have been inflicted by a person sitting beside her in the cab—I adhere to that—the wound on the finger might possibly be produced by her putting up her hand to protect herself—I adhere to that—I also say that the oblique direction of the wound from above downwards leads me to think it might have been self-inflicted, that it would be more probably caused by a self' inflicted wound.
By the COURT. That would entirely depend upon the position of the person—if a person was lying on a bed the cut would be right across; if otherwise it would be more obliquely upwards—if the person were higher than the person sitting by the side probably the wound would be more transverse than obliquely downwards—a wound inflicted by another person is generally horizontal; that would depend upon the position of the parties towards each other at the time—I was examined before the coroner before I gave evidence* before the magistrate—the coroner asked me, "Do you think a woman would scream after inflicting such a wound upon herself?" and I said, "I think it improbable"—I still say if it was self-inflicted it must have been done with the left hand; if inflicted by any one else I could not say whether it was with the right or left hand; if the woman was sitting on the left hand, it could be done—if sitting in that position it would be impossible to use her left hand, in that case I think it would be done farther back, it would depend upon how much he was in front of her; if the man got up and stood in front of her, that would account for it; there was luggage on the seat in front.
THOMAS UNDERWOOD GRAY . I am a licentiate of the College of Physicians and Surgeons, of 140, Essex Road—I was called into Dr. Robinson's surgery on this night, and afterwards in conjunction with him made a post-mortem examination—I have heard his description of the wound on the woman, I agree that that is accurate as to its direction; I also saw the wound on her finger—I have not seen the glove since it was on the woman's hand—I see it now; it does not look now as it appeared to me when on the hand; the glove was then fresh, and the whole of the flap filled the wound; it is not so now; the cut must have been from within outwards—I cannot say that it began at the thumb; it looks so from this flap, but it did not look so when I first saw it—there is a little tear on either side of the flap—I think the cut began from below, and went from within outwards; it does seem more up than down—if it had begun from the top, the first thing cut off would lie the very thing that is left—I saw the wound on the prisoner's throat—in my judgment that was self-inflicted, and with the razor held in the right hand—the wound in the woman's throat was oblique, downwards,
to the left—that was my opinion formed on the sight of the body, and that it was self-inflicted, by the left hand—it could not have been self-inflicted in any other way—I saw the wound on her finger; I thought at the time that it was done with the heel of the razor—I don't exactly see how I can think any differently now; it seems to me the wound was made as the razor was held in this direction (describing)—I think it was done in the act of grasping the razor.
THOMAS BOND . I am surgeon to the Westminster Hospital and lecturer on forensic medicine, of 7, The Sanctuary, Westminster Abbey—I have had a very large experience in surgery generally; I have heard the description of the wounds found on the deceased both on the throat and the finger, also of the wound on the prisoner's throat, also the evidence as to the woman screaming—in my judgment it was probably not self-inflicted—it was such a wound as might have been caused by a man sitting or standing by her side in the cab—in my judgment it was probably so caused—the obliquity of the direction of the wound does not, in my judgment, make it in the slightest degree improbable; it indicates nothing except the relative position to each other; I mean, if the man was above the woman at the time, the obliquity would be downwards, because he would cut away from himself; if he was on a level very likely it would be transverse, and if he was below the level it would be probably upwards—I have seen this glove, and heard the description of the wound there—in my opinion that was not a wound likely to have been caused by the woman herself on her own finger, in my judgment it would more likely to have been caused by the razor being drawn from above down-wards, across the finger from the thumb, from inside towards the end of the finger—if she had put up her hand and the razor had caught the hand before it had caught the throat, that would be the cut that would be made—the screaming does not help me in forming my opinion, inasmuch as I have never heard a woman scream after cutting her throat, and I have never seen it written.
Cross-examined. I say if the wound was self-inflicted it could only be done by the left hand, taking the wound alone; possibly a left-handed man might inflict such a wound—the incline particularly shows me it was not done with the woman's left hand—the glove was stained with dry blood a little, not much—I cannot imagine that such a wound would be caused by the razor being held in the left hand, not even if the razor slipped, I have tried it—my idea that the wound was not self-inflicted is not based upon a hypothetical position of the prisoner in the cab, my opinion is based upon the wound itself; it might have been caused by a person sitting or standing, either way—a person who saw the dead body, and saw the glove on the hand would be in a better position to form a judgment than one who had not seen it, if one had not had an accurate description—of course we do not know that all are skilled as to forensic medicine—I am not basing my opinion upon the evidence of persons not skilled—I consider they are not skilled in this matter; that is my opinion.
Re-examined. They may be excellent persons to attend upon their patients—I have seen a great number of deaths, both suicidal and homicidal.
inspector, and "I am going to arrest you on a warrant"—I read the warrant to him, and afterwards told him I should further charge him with attempting to murder himself by cutting his throat with a razor at the same time and place—he said, "I know nothing about it—I don't remember anything I would not do such a thing—are you going to take me to the Police-court?"—I said, "Yes."
GUILTY .— DEATH .
NEW COURT.—Friday, February 7th, 1896.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted, and MR. KEMP, Q.C., Defended.
MR. KEMP stated the prisoner could not appreciate his position; that the prosecutor owed him £4,000 with interest, and as he held a power of attorney for that amount he considered he was justified in drawing out the money, but under his (MR. KEMP'S) advice he would
PLEADED GUILTY to the uttering. The prisoner then stated that he was
GUILTY of the uttering and the JURY found that verdict.
By the advice of his counsel (MR. GREEN) the prisoner stated that he was
GUILTY, the JURY then found him
GUILTY .— Six Months' Hard Labour, to run concurrently with his former sentence. (See page 259.)
JOSEPH LITTLE . I am a jeweller, of 140, West Derby Road, Liver-pool—I made the acquaintance of the prisoner and a man named Reece some time ago in a public-house in Jermyn Street, and in December I met Reece there again—I went to Kemp's house, it was very well furnished—he said he had an appointment for that afternoon, and a man wanted some goods to make a present, and he would arrange for the customer to come next day, Saturday, December 28th—on that day went to the place appointed, the Leicester public-house, Coventry Street, and found Reece and Kemp—Reece looked at some goods, and Kemp selected three rings, price £16, and two brooches and a pendant, £24—two cheques were drawn on the London and South Western Bank—he said, "They will give you the money at once because the money is there—but I found he gave me crossed cheques. (These were signed by Kemp, and marked, "Refer to drawer") I also sold him a diamond ring, price £6; he was to have it on approval till next night, Sunday, as I was going to Liverpool—I have obtained back all the jewellery supplied to Kemp—on the Saturday morning, after he had selected the jewellery for himself, Clark came in and Kemp said, "This is the gentleman who wants the jewellery"—he examined some, and made an appointment at the same place at seven p.m; I went there and found Reece, Kemp and Clark—before that Kemp said that Clark had plenty of
money, he had told me that the night before, he said that he had a good banking account and that he knew him well; I believed that—Clark selected a crescent brooch, a marquise ring, two half-hoop diamond rings, and a cluster bracelet—he said he had left his cheque-book at home, but he had got his pass-book, which he handed to me, and said, "You see what a splendid account mine is"—it was £2,000, and was made up to December; I turned to the making-up in June and there was £1,600 to his credit then—he said, "He is a splendid fellow; he has paid me scores of cheques"—I took the cheque for £129 believing that statement—on Sunday, the 28th, I went to Kemp's house and saw him, Reece was there; he said he had not sold the ring, and asked me to give him till Tuesday night for the return of the ring—I said, "Where does Mr. Clark live?"—he said, "At Boscobel House, Albert Place, Tottenham Court Road; I cannot remember the number, but can take you straight to the house; I am there two or three times a week"—I felt very uneasy, and did not leave London—I went on Monday morning, but could not find Boscobel House—I went to the bank on which the cheque was drawn, and no such man was known there; I went to Alfred Place, and no such man was known there—I then went to the Police-court, and swore an information—the £16 cheque for the three rings was paid on the Saturday.
Cross-examined by MR. NOBLE. Kemp introduced himself as a dealer in jewellery—both the cheques I received were on the same bank—Clark spoke to Kemp, who introduced him to me—on the Sunday night Kemp said to me, "Of course, you will allow me something for this"—I did not promise him anything definite—he said that he could dispose of plenty of jewellery for me.
KATE CONNELL . I was the prisoner's servant at 8, North Bank, St. John's Wood—I am not there now—on December 30th he gave me this diamond bangle bracelet and ling (produced), and told me to pawn them at Best and Brown's, in Lisson Grove, in the name of Kemp—I am in the habit of pawning jewellery—the pawnbroker advanced £27 on them—when I came out I saw the prisoner and Clark—Clark gave me a marquise ring and told me to pawn it at Knapp's, in Church Street, and to give the name of one of the young ladies who lodge in Kemp's house, and I gave the name of Mrs. Abel Mansfield—two young ladies live in the house, and I wait on them; Kemp is the landlord—I pawned the ring at Knapp's for £18 in the name of Mrs. Abel Mansfield—when I came out, Clark was waiting at the corner, and I gave the £18 to him; Kemp could see me do that—Clark came to Knapp's house that morning, and they had lunch together.
Cross-examined. I heard Kemp say that he would not sign his name to any more dirty business—they had high words, and Clark said that he could get more—before I said anything, the prisoner said to Clark, "Are you going to pay Little or not?"—I heard no reply, but the prisoner threatened to lock Clark up because he was not going to pay Little—in most of these cases I was asked to pawn in my master or mistress's name.
By the COURT. I had given the name of one of the women before—the prisoner is a dealer in jewellery—besides being the landlord of the house, he will buy or sell anything—he told me to speak the truth to Clark—I am very seldom refused at pawnbrokers, on account of Mr. Kemp being well
known—he caught me up at the end of North Bank, and said, "I do not like having anything to do with Clark; if anything happens, speak the truth"—I heard a conversation and an argument between the prisoner and Clark—he said that Clark ought never to have bought the things if he could not afford to pay for them.
BENJAMIN BERTRAM BARNETT . I am manager to my father, a pawnbroker, of 395, High Holborn—on December 19th the prisoner brought me a diamond crescent brooch, and I lent him £45 on it in the name of George Mansfield, 30, New Inn Road, N.W.
Cross-examined. I had had several transactions with him as Mans-field, and always knew him as perfectly honest; he trades as Mansfield, but I think he gave the name of Kemp, because he did not like to pawn in his own name.
Cross-examined. I knew she was the prisoner's servant; she has come there many times, and my transactions with her were perfectly satisfactory—she pawned ladies' jewellery—the prisoner has obtained many things from me; he offered me £20 for a lady's seal-skin jacket a few months ago.
WILLIAM BROOKS . I am manager to Mr. Knapp, a pawnbroker of Lisson Grove—the girl Connell pawned a marquise ring with me for £18, in the name of Mrs. Connell for Mrs. Abel Mansfield—I knew her as a servant living in the neighbourhood, and supposed Mrs. Abel Mansfield was living in the house.
FREDERICK DODD . I am manager to Best and Bowett, pawnbrokers, of 66, Theobald's Road—I produce a diamond ring pledged by the prisoner for £20 on December 30th, in the name of George Kemp, Grosvenor House, North Bank.
Cross-examined. I had seen him once before; he made some small purchase.
ALEXANDER MCMULLEN (Police Sergeant C). On December 30th I was at the station when the prosecutor made a complaint, and at six p.m. I saw the prisoner in Piccadilly, and told him I had a warrant against him and Clark for obtaining £195 from Mr. Little, of Liverpool—he said, "I bought some jewellery of Mr. Little on Saturday, and paid him two cheques, and I got this ring on approbation"—he was wearing thin ring, and in his trousers pocket he had these three diamond rings and two brooches (produced)—he was charged, and said, "I bought £40 of jewellery of Mr. little, and paid him for it"—he also had on him ten guineas in gold, and a cheque-book and paying-in book—he gave his address at North Bank.
Cross-examined. He gave me the address where the things were I pledged, but prior to that I had been told by telegraph—Mr. Little has got the pendant, I got it at St. James's Restaurant; a gentleman was going to buy it.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of larceny at Clerkenwell on April 3rd, 1888, when he was sentenced to Five Years' Penal Servitude; he had also been sentenced to Five Years' Penal Servitude at Norwich for sheep-stealing.— Judgment respited.
THIRD COURT, Friday, February 7th, and
OLD COURT, Saturday and Monday, February 8th and 10th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
223. FORRESTER KENNEDY (28) and HENRY ROBERT ELTON, Unlawfully conspiring to obtain, and obtaining, by false pretences from Mary Harriet Maclean, £100, and other sums from other persons with intent to defraud.
MESSRS. C. F. GILL, BODKIN, and GUY STEPHENSON Prosecuted, MR. MARSHALL, Q.C., and MR. TRAVERS HUMPHREYS Defended Elton, and MR. J. P. GRAIN Defended Kennedy.
HARRY FREDERICK CHITTOCK . I am a clerk in the office of the Registrar of Joint Stock Companies—I produce the file of the American and Parisian Massage Company, Limited, which was registered on July 3rd, 1894, by Messrs. Lever and Nelson—the nominal capital appears to be £10,000, in 2,000 £5 shares—the original signatories are Bragg, Broad-bridge, Marks, Willmore, Blackburn, Romilly, and Atkinson, with one share each—the registered office is 6, Artillery Street, E.C.—I find a letter on the file signed Forrester Kennedy, and dated December 19th, 1894, enclosing the annual return—the shareholders in that are the seven original signatories, each with one share, with the addition of Kennedy, who holds 900 £5 shares—I find by the articles and memorandum of association that the object of the company is to carry out an agreement between Kennedy and the company—there is no such agree-ment on the file.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. The contract may be in existence, but unfiled—the latest paper I have here is December 19th, 1894—Elton's name does not appear here.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I have no prospectus here.
THOMAS WILLIAM WATSON . I am a gun-maker at 29, Old Bond Street—in May, 1894, my first floor was to let—I got into communication through a house agent, with Kennedy who wanted it for the offices of a massage company—I agreed to let the two rooms and a lavatory on the first floor for £150 a year—the first quarter's rent was to be paid in advance, and was paid—some time after the rooms were taken Kennedy went there—furniture was brought into the front room, and there may have been some in the back room, but unimportant—Kennedy came in the morning and left in the evening—a brass plate, with the name of "The American and Parisian Massage Co., "was put up on the street door posts—Mr. Faithful appeared to be there daily, and took part in the business that was going on—on one occasion a number of ladies came, on separate days—it came to our knowledge that they came in answer to an advertisement—on several occasions Kennedy spoke of the company being formed, and said it was going on swimmingly—a few days before Michaelmas quarter-day, when the next rent would be due, I saw Mr. Faithful giving directions for some furniture to be taken away—Kennedy afterwards said that he had been very badly served; that it was practically taken away from him—as to the rent, he said we should not lose anything—I did not get my rent—some days afterwards I got the keys—that was the last I saw of Kennedy.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. I did not see Elton in the matter.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. Faithful was much more regular in attendance than Kennedy, and more frequently there, and seemed to take the general conduct of the matter more actively than Kennedy—I saw him after I got possession of the premises—he said he would do his best to get me the rent—there was a three years' agreement.
ARTHUR HERBERT FAITHFUL . I am employed at 2, Coleman Street—in June, 1894, I answered an advertisement in a newspaper for a secretaryship—I received an answer, and went to 29, Bond Street, where I saw Kennedy—he said he wanted a secretary for the American and Parisian Massage Company, and showed me a prospectus of it—my salary was to be £150 a year—an arrangement was made for me to go to Mr. Sherwin White's office in the Wool Exchange—I went there and saw Kennedy and White, and was practically engaged as secretary—that day or next day there was a meeting of the signatories of the company, at which I was present—I took these minutes. (These were dated July 17th, 1894, and stated that Blackburn, Marks, Broadbridge, Willmore, and Romilly were precent; and that it was resolved that the draft contract referred to in the memorandum and articles of association be adopted; that one share each be allotted to the signatories and 900 to Forrester Kennedy; that Mr. Trimnel be solicitor, Mr. Faithful be secretary at £150 a year, Mrs. Emily Wilson be lady superintendent at £100 a year and 2 1/2 persent, on the next proceeds of the Bond Street Branch; and that Dr. O'Connor be medical officer of the company.) I took up my secre-tarial duties at Old Bond Street—I had very little to do; a few applications for posts as massueurs came in, otherwise no business was done—I was there from ten a.m. till four or five p.m.—I had not much to do; I smoked a pipe, and wrote a few letters occasionally, and went to Sherwin White's occasionally—a few people came in every day—Kennedy was there nearly every day—he did some correspondence, and saw people who came—no books were kept, except this minute book—no money was ever paid in to my knowledge—no shares were taken—Kennedy gave me some shares to try and dispose of—if I had sold them the money would have been paid into the bank—I did not dispose of them—I did not bother much, because I saw no money coming in—my brother hat them now; he paid nothing for them, they were deposited with him—Mr. Bridge was a visitor at the office—I was present at a second meeting of the signatories when they appointed Major Claridge and Or. Burrell as directors—they each had a qualification of five shares; Major Claridge's were given to him by Kennedy out of his 900; Dr. Burrell was going to pay for his, I understood—I received no money from either of them—I don't think the five shares were ever given to Dr. Burrell—rafter about two months I got letters from Claridge and Burrell, resigning; I showed them to Kennedy—we had no dealings with the City Bank, Bond Streets who were named as the company's bankers; nothing was ever paid in or out—I did not get one halfpenny of my salary—I asked Kennedy for it; he always put me off—I took the furniture on August 31st, and sold it; for £10, which I kept in lieu of salary—I saw Mrs. Emily Wilson; she was appointed manageress of the Bond Street Branch; but it was never opened—I think, if money had come in, the branch was to be started at once on other premises—I saw this prospectus of July 20th, 1894—I have here the agreement of July 17th, 1894, between Kennedy and the company,
and this memorandum of association which I read out at White's office to the signatories, and then it was handed to the solicitor of the company.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. I never saw Elton—as far as I know Sherwin White was promoter of the company—he told me about the first time I saw him that £3,000 was promised to be subscribed to the company—I believe Mr. Trimnell, who was solicitor at that time to the company, is very respectable—he was a friend of my brother; he acted for the company as solicitor as long as I knew the company.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I am now clerk to my brother who is secretary to the Buenos Ayres Western Railway—I was in the Navy as sub-lieutenant—I told Kennedy I had no doubt I could procure subscriptions to the extent of £1,000 for this company if £3,000 were already found—I said I thought Mr. Somerset, a friend of mine, would go in for the company—I then believed in the bona fides of the company—I believe if the money had been there it would have paid very well, and if conducted by persons who understood the massage business—Kennedy would have come down a great deal in his terms to the company—he was, ready to do that; and then it would have paid very well if we had got the money—he was hopeful and sanguine as to the success of. the company; and I was hopeful at first—I have brought no action against Kennedy for my salary; about £24 was due when I took the furniture—I sold it for £10—I got the furniture man to come and value it, and take it away—Kennedy was a medical student, at Edinburgh, I believe—Mrs. Wilson called several times, I have not met any of the other ladies.
Re-examined. I left the Navy in 1885—I thought this would turn out a good thing if it were started—I have no doubt Kennedy would have taken less than £4,500; I daresay he would have been content with £200 in the end, because he had not much to sell, only "Dr. Wilson's Skin Tonio"—I don't know that he would have taken anything from £4,500 to £5.
EMILY WILSON . I live at Blackpool, and am a widow—in May, 1894, my attention was attracted by this advertisement in the Daily Telegraph, to which I replied—I received this answer from Kennedy on May 15th, 1894 (asking her to call, and stating that a small sum would have to be invested as security)—I desired to obtain employment where the duties were light—I came to (own, and saw Kennedy at 4, Abingdon Villas, and afterwards went to 31, Wool Exchange, where I saw White—Kennedy told me I had been appointed as lady superintendent to the company at £4 a week, but that I should be required to find £200 as security for the money that passed through my hands—I returned home, and on May 21st I forwarded a cheque for £100 to Mr. White—I received a letter of May 22nd from Kennedy, acknowledging the receipt of the cheque for £100 by White—I afterwards forwarded a second cheque for £100 on May 24th to White—on June 1st I received this acknowledgment from Kennedy. (The receipt was for the balance due for preliminary expenses in accordance with the agreement; and the agreement was that in consideration of her providing £200 towards the preliminary expenses of promoting the company the would be appointed superintendent at £4 a week, and receive 200 shares as security.) I subsequently came to town, and went to 4, Abingdon Villas and Bond Street—no business was done there—I got no employment—I asked
Kennedy for my money back, but could riot get any of it—I have lost the whole £200—I had no money passing through my hands—I saw a printed prospectus like this, with my name on it—I never saw Mr. Trimnell, the solicitor, or Mr. Clarkson, the auditor, or Dr. O'Connor, the medical officer—I saw Mr. Faithful once.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL, I never saw Elton.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. White was the company promoter—as far as I saw he was really the active person; he was to find the money—I understood that from Kennedy all along—White was to finance and promote the company—Kennedy always expressed the belief that, if the money was found, the company would be a paying concern—he said he had many promises through White and others that the shares would be taken up—he expressed himself on several occasions disappointed that the promises had not been fulfilled—he was always in hopes—both the cheques I sent were payable to White's order and crossed, and were paid bearing his endorsement—I did not talk over the matter with Mr. Deighton, my solicitor, before I parted with either cheque, I did afterwards consult him—I took no proceedings to recover the money—the Public Prosecutor communicated with me about last December; up to that time I had no idea of taking proceedings against Kennedy or any one else.
THOMAS BIRD LEVER . I am a printer, of 9, Gracechurch Street—I registered the American and Parisian Massage Co. at White's request, and, subsequently, at his request, did printing for that company—between May 25th, 1894, and April 11th, 1895, I printed about 17 different prospectuses, each containing alterations, at White's direction—I printed 500 copies of one prospectus, when the premises were opened at Bond Street—I printed this book of 250 share warrants in June, 1895, at Kennedy's request, and gave it to him when he called—the prospectuses were paid for, the share warrants were not—these are specimens of the prospectuses.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. I had known White for some years, and had done a great deal of business for him; all the orders for printing the prospectuses came from him—I printed the 500 prospectuses in 1894, when the office was in Bond Street; the other prospectuses were limited to proofs; they were substantially the same, the principal difference was the names on the front—I had no orders from Elton—about May, 1895, I saw Elton who asked me if I knew White, and whether he was respectable—I said as far as I knew he was all right; I had done a great deal of work for him, and he had always paid me—he is a company promoter—I think Elton did not know him up to that time—I think I asked whether he was going to pull the company through, and he said he believed he had got some one to put money into it, and he hoped to do so—I only knew by sight Mr. Trimnell whose name appeared on some of the prospectuses as solicitor.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. All directions for the alterations came from White, and I sent in the bill to him and in his name, and he paid it—I was sending the book of share-warrants to White's address when Kennedy came in for them—it would be the practice to send them to the promoter.
Re-examined. I have not seen White lately—no share-warrants have been taken out of this book.
SIDNEY ERNEST STAINSBY . I am a printer, of 180, Brompton Road—at the beginning of July, 1894, Kennedy came and gave me some orders for note headings and envelopes—the printed heading was "The Massage Company, 29, Old Bond Street"—a few days afterwards he came and gave me an order for 250 share warrants for that company, which I printed—I was not paid for anything.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. £2 4s. 6d. is the amount of the unpaid account.
Re-examined. I am subpoenaed by the Treasury here.
GEORGE ROBINSON . I am in the employment of Messrs. Maple and Co.—in June, 1894, Kennedy ordered from us furniture to the value of £19 odd, which was delivered at 29, Old Bond Street—we got no money—we got judgment in the County Court, which was unsatisfied.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. We heard afterwards that it had been removed—after applying for payment, I saw Kennedy on 26th January, 1895, who said he could not make any proposal then for payment, but he would do so as soon as possible—the furniture was ordered for himself—Blackburn, who signed the memorandum of association, held a good position at Maple's over twenty years ago; we knew him as a very respectable man—he is alive—I never heard till this moment that he signed the articles of association.
EDWARD LOWDELL . I have no occupation—I live at 5, Bathurst Street, W.—I saw an advertisment in the Daily Telegraph at the beginning of 1895, and in consequence went to Sherwin White, 31, Wool Exchange—I was looking out for a directorship—I had some conversation with White, and he suggested I might become a director of the American and Parisian Massage Company—I went on one or two occasions to his office, where I saw Miss Shakespear, Mr. Bragg, Dr. Torrance, Walker and the prisoners—about middle February, 1895, there was a meeting at White's office at which I and the prisoners and Miss Shakespear were present, Dr. Torrance being in the chair—there was a discussion that the vendors offered certain things to be sold, and suggested that a place should be opened in Jermyn Street and branches opened in the country—the Jermyn Street place and the branches were to be a going concern before the company took them over—Dr. Torrance suggested that, and that was agreed to by the other directors present—I was not aware I was a director—I invested no money in the company; no one did, so far as I know—I received a letter from White and went to another meeting—I went to Jermyn Street once, at the invitation of one of the prisoners; nothing was going on there; there was some furniture in the house—I saw Miss Maclean there—Kennedy went with us there—I don't believe the name "American and Parisian Massage Company" was up outside then; afterwards I think it was—on another occasion there Kennedy told me that Miss Maclean was a friend of his wife—on one occasion, as I was leaving, she asked me, in Kennedy's presence, whether I thought the business would be a success—I said I could not tell; or words to that effect—Kennedy was behind me on the stairs, and he sort of pushed me, and hurried me on, Miss Maclean being left on the landing—on another occasion I saw Miss Clarke at Jermyn Street—I asked Kennedy about her, and he said she was lady manageress, I think—I was never a director—I think I heard Miss Maclean's name mentioned at the meetings at
White's office; I don't think I heard of Miss Clarke there—nothing was said to my knowledge about any money having been paid by either of them—I think something was said at one of the meetings about one of the ladies having paid money—I think I went to two or three meetings; no business was done—after a visit to Jermyn Street, in consequence of what I saw there, I went and saw Miss Clarke at Brentford and made a communication to her—I saw Miss Maclean and told her something—I then sent in a letter refusing to have anything to do with the company—that was about April, 1895, or a little later perhaps—I received at White's office a cheque for two guineas.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. My first acquaintance with White was when I answered the advertisement in the paper—Dr. Torrance did all the talking at the first meeting, which lasted from one and a-half to two hours—I believe Miss Shakespear had a massage practice to dispose of, or some connection among people who liked that treatment, and that that was the object of her meeting the directors on that day—the company did not want to take over the business in Jermyn Street till Kennedy had got things into working order—I would not be concerned in what I knew to be a swindle—I considered it to be a perfectly bona-fide concern at the time; I did not trouble about information; I simply answered an advertisement and went there—the time was chiefly occupied in going through a draft prospectus that was put on the table; Dr, Torrance went through it and made some alterations—I did no criticism of it—I was not a director then, I went with a view of being a director—when I found there was nothing to sell I did not trouble much about it—I attended at Coleman Street after that because Mr. White wrote me some letters—I wrote on February 7th, 1895, "On the conditions arranged between us I shall be glad to become a director of the American and Parisian Massage Company"—on that date I was prepared to become a director—if it is stated in the depositions that I said the day I was appointed a director may have been March 15th, it is correct—I dispute that I was appointed a director—I saw a prospectus with my name as a director; I understood it was only a draft, and that none were issued to the public—I cannot say if a resolution was passed on March 15th, 1895, that Mr. Trimnell's resignation be accepted, and that Mr. Elton be appointed solicitor to the company; if it is down it was—I understood I was to be qualified by having a certain number of shares presented to me—my interest in the company was to be nil—I was willing at that time that my name should appear as a director—my remuneration was to be a guinea at each meeting—no shares were ever allotted that I know of—a resolution was passed on May 16th, "That the appointment of Mrs. Norris as secretary be cancelled, for the reason that she has not fulfilled the qualification"—I dispute that I was a director—at the first meeting it was settled that when the vendor established the thing as a going concern we would take it over; as we had not taken it over, I can only surmise that the company was not constituted—I received a cheque for £2 2s., but I dispute that I was a director—I had that money for the trouble in going there as a prospective director; the waste of time—mention was made of Mrs. Norris, but I don't remember any suggestion being mode that her money should be returned to her—I remember a resolution on May 22nd
that Kennedy be appointed a director to join the Board after allotment—I resigned my connection with the company soon after June 7th, 1895, when Elton resigned his position as solicitor—at one of the meetings Elton said he had engaged Miss Maclean—he did not have notice on behalf of the company to engage a lady manager—the arrangement between Kennedy and the company was that he should engage the staff, and that the company should take to it when the company was completed—he did not mention the terms on which he had engaged her.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I made White's acquaintance through the advertisement—from the beginning to the end of my transactions with reference to this company, all the matters were practically with White—my negotiations were with White and Kennedy—I believe White was the promoter of the company—the public were to find the money, I believe—this is my signature to the minute that Kennedy be a director, to join the Board after allotment.
Re-examined. The advertisement was for a director—I attended four or five meetings—Dr. Torrance and Mr. Hughes Walker were there as directors—I know nothing about the bank, the auditor or the medical officer of the company—I do not think I read the prospectus; Dr. Torrance read it at the first meeting; that was a preliminary meeting—I thought the thing was in the future—I had no knowledge of Mrs. Wilson or Miss Clarke—I am not a director of any company introduced to me by White—I am the director of a Leicester quarry company—I am not a director of the Ventor Gap; I was asked to be, and my name was on the prospectus—White introduced that to me—this thing turned out so badly that I refused to have anything to do with it.
GEORGE HENRY TORRANCE , M.R.C.P (Ireland). About the beginning of 1894 I became acquainted with White—I received a communication from him, and went and saw him at Coleman Street—at the beginning of 1895 I attended a meeting at which Lowdell, White, Kennedy, Miss Shakespear, and some other proposed director were present—I had received a draft prospectus before I went, and had gone through it; it was something like this one; the names of two directors were written on it—my name was there, but they did not know who I was for they put me down M.R.C.S.—we discussed this prospectus at the meeting, and the articles of association, and when that had been done I asked White what Kennedy bad got to sell for this large sum—he said he had some skin wash or something, which I said was perfectly worthless; I did not countenance it at all, and I told him I did not think that was worth consideration—I said, "Is there any business to sell to the company?"—I was referred to Miss Shakespear, who was present—either White or Kennedy said that she had a connection as a masseuse—I asked her had she a business to dispose of—she said she had a good connection with the medical profession, and she thought she could concentrate it if a place was established—I said, "You will establish this business first; when you have a business to sell, I will reconsider the matter; until then I will not have anything to do with it—both my brother directors acquiesced in that; and White said, "Now, Miss Shakespear, you hear what you have to do;" and then the matter terminated, and from that day until June, when I got this letter from Elton, I heard nothing of the company—that was my whole connection
with it—I could not have been a director because I never subscribed one penny—that was the only meeting I attended—I never authorised my name being put upon a prospectus—it afterwards came to my knowledge that my name was upon a prospectus—I received a letter from Elton last June. (This stated that in consequence of Forrester's improper conduct at his office that morning he, Elton, had resigned his position as solicitor to the company.) I sent this reply on June 8th. (Stating that he had no idea the Massage Company was in existence; that he had said he would join it if it was formed, but that he had heard nothing of it since.) I called and saw Elton, and I afterwards saw Kennedy—I asked why my name appeared on the prospectus. I received no explanation—I said, "Under the circumstances I must request you to write me a letter stating that my name was used without my knowledge and sanction, and you must undertake to have all the prospectuses destroyed on which my name appears, and not to solicit subscriptions on those prospectuses"—I received this letter from Kennedy to that effect—I also went to White and requested him to see the chairman of the meeting at which he said the directors were appointed, and get him to write me a similar letter—he would not do that, but he wrote to say the chairman had signed the minutes of a meeting stating that I had not been appointed a director—I had no knowledge of money being obtained from Mrs. Wilson, Miss Clarke, Mrs. Norris and Miss Maclean.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. Before I went to the meeting I received a prospectus, which I went through—there was no chairman at the meeting; it was only a gathering together of proposed directors—I did the great part of the talking—the meeting may have lasted half-an-hour—we discussed the prospectus paragraph by paragraph—I said there should be a business first formed, and then consult us to see if a company could be formed; I considered that suggestion was adopted, and there-upon the meeting terminated—I suggested that Kennedy and Miss Shakespear should get the connection into a concentrated form and make a business of it, and then form it into a company—I understood Miss Shakespear was there to offer a connection, but when I came to question her I found she had no business; she had a connection with medical men, but no business established—she said she could bring business to the proposed premises—I suggested when that was arranged it should be handed over to the company—I heard nothing of a meeting in May—White got me a statement from the chairman of the meeting which appointed the directors stating that I was not appointed at that meeting—I always thought the business itself was a good idea; if it had been properly carried out I should not have minded putting money into it; I thought it would have succeeded well.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I have been in considerable practice—I should not allow my name to be used in connection with a company unless I thought it was bona-fide—if what White said had been correct I should have had no objection to joining the company, I quite approved of the scheme—I should have put several hundred pounds into it if it had been carried out according to my idea—I only saw Kennedy once at the meeting, and once at Jermyn Street—it was my own impression that it would be successful if carried out, and I imparted that to White—I do not remember having any conversation with Kennedy on that particular subject.
CHARLES JOHN WILLIAMS . I am a clerk in the Bank of England—these three £10 notes, 36,069, 36,070, 36,075, dated January 21st, 1895, were paid into the Bank of England; the first on May 11th, 1895, by the Capital and Counties Bank; the second on April 29th by the London and County Bank; it is stamped Oxford Street Branch, and would be sent from there to the head office; and the third on April 27th by the Capital and Counties Bank—this £5 note (91,564) was paid in on April 29th, 1895, by the London and Westminster Bank; and this £5 note (29,147) on November 2nd, 1895, by the same bank—on the note, 91,564, is the endorsement, Hy. R. Elton.
THOMAS WILLMORE . I live at 5, Uverdale Road, Chelsea, and am a commercial traveller—I am acquainted with Kennedy—in July, 1894, I met him, and he asked me to go with him to the Wool Exchange to recommend Kennedy to the secretary or manager of the Massage Company—I went and saw White, and attended a meeting at which four or five gentlemen were present, with Mr. Blackburn in the chair—I did not pay much attention to what took place; I had no interest in it at all—I attended one other meeting at which someone came to tell the meeting that a lady at Bond Street had resigned—I saw no lady there—I took no share in the company; one was sent me by post; I don't know by whom—I did not pay for it—I did not sign my name to the articles of association; it appears there—I gave no authority to anyone to sign it.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. I attended a meeting on December 5th; my name appears in my writing in the minutes as attending—I was not aware I was a director—I do not know whether a resolution was then passed that the agreement with the vendor be filed at Somerset House—I took no interest in it—the meeting lasted perhaps a quarter of an hour—I went at Kennedy's request—I did not know it was a meeting of directors—I signed the minutes of the company's meeting, because Kennedy asked me to do so, and said it was all right; there was no responsibility—I don't know that, in consequence of that resolution, instructions were given to the solicitor to file the agreement with the vendor—I believe Mr. Elton was there as solicitor, not Mr. Trimnell—I do not know that Elton had no connection with the company at that time—I don't know that a resolution was passed that Miss Clarke should be appointed superintendent of the company at £200 a year—I did not attend a meeting after that—I was not at a meeting on March 15th, and did not sign this—I believe I was present at a meeting at which Elton was appointed solicitor, and was present after he was appointed—I said before the Magistrate I was present when he was appointed, but I don't know if he was appointed then or not—I was not present on March 15th.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I do not know Albert Blackburn's writing; I had letters from him twenty years ago—I am not a glass manufacturer now; I was once—this writing is not my son's, or anything like it—I did not tell Kennedy I would go into the office and sign it when I had the articles of association presented to me; I had no office then—I swear I know nothing about this signature—at the first meeting Kennedy gave me £1 1s. for going there and recommending him, I suppose—I don't know what I received it for; I was surprised to receive it—Kennedy said he was applying for a berth in the company, and wanted
somebody to recommend him—Kennedy introduced me to White about a month before.
Re-examined. This signature, purporting to be mine, appears to be in a different writing to the other signatures in both places, and they both purport to be witnessed by Kennedy—they are not at all like my writing.
JAMES MARTIN . I am clerk to J. A. Lound, solicitor, of 11, Great Turnstile, Holborn—I had the letting of 132, Jermyn Street, for the owner, Mr. Wharton—on November 30th, 1894, the first and second floors of that house were let to Miss Shakespear—the solicitor acting for her was Henry Elton—her references were Elton and Lewis—I subsequently ascertained that Lewis was Elton's clerk—the rent was £110 a year, and the lease was for five years and a-half—on January 22nd she wrote-suggesting that she should assign her interest—I saw Elton and it was suggested that Miss Shakespear being unable to carry out the terms of her lease, it should be surrendered, and that he was in treaty with parties to take an assignment—I received this letter from him of February 5th. (Stating that he was in treaty with the American and Parisian Massage Company with reference to the lease of the premises.) I wrote to Elton as to the circumstances under which the lease had been obtained, and in consequence of my threatening to take proceedings, I received this letter from him. (Hoping that his client would be able to make some arrangement in the course of a few days.) Miss Shakespear paid nothing—I saw Elton, and then received this letter of February 12th, when Kennedy's name first cropped up. (This stated that an agreement between Miss Shakespear and the authorised agent of the Company had been signed, and asked for the usual license to assign.) On March 1st, 1895, the assignment was executed to Kennedy, Elton being the witness—I communicated, with a reference, J. Sinclair Kennedy, of Londonderry—so Kennedy got possession of the premises—he did not pay any rent when it became due—I first got some money from him about May—I was paid £11 1s., for my costs in reference to the assignment, by this cheque of April 23rd, drawn on the National Provincial Bank by John Mackenzie—this cheque for £27 10s. on the National Provincial Bank, drawn by Mackenzie in favour of Mr. Wharton, was paid for rent in May—that is all we were paid—I distrained for the rest after June—we took possession, and Kennedy executed a surrender.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. I applied for rent at Christmas—as Miss Shakespear took the premises from Christmas day nothing would be due till Lady day unless there was a covenant to pay in advance—after some correspondence, the date in the lease when the first payment would be due was altered from December to March—Kennedy went into occupation on March 1st under the assignment, and nothing was due till he went into possession—the distress was some time in July—the drawing-room was fairly furnished and there were two massage couches on trestles—I saw the foundations for baths, but no baths—there were a good many towels—I received a notice on June 7th from Elton that he had resigned his connection with the company—I think Elton told us the company would take over the premises, but that in the meantime a gentleman would take over the business and make it a going concern; that was referring to Kennedy.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. He said a company would be formed and that he proposed to have the lease in Kennedy's name as agent for the company—I had a satisfactory reference to Kennedy before the assignment took place—Kennedy paid the half quarter's rent which Miss Shakespear had agreed to pay, when he paid the costs; he also paid the rent due in March—we distrained for the quarter due in June—Kennedy came to me with Miss Clarke; she said in his presence that she had already advanced some money, and if I could advise her to go further into it she was prepared to do so—she seemed to have some knowledge of the company—I asked Kennedy to retire while I consulted with her, and then said, "My advice to you, Miss Clarke, is, don't invest"—she said she had a very good opinion of massage treatment, and there was a profit to be made out of it—she discussed the matter fairly with me, and said she was very anxious to invest her money, and would speculate if Kennedy gave his mind to it; it was a question of investing another £200 in the company.
Re-examined. She said she had already put money into it—I had no knowledge then of money having been obtained from Mrs. Wilson—I knew money had been obtained from Miss Maclean—I knew Miss Clarke had already invested £200, and I advised her not to invest any more.
GEORGE ABEL HARRISON . I am a decorator, of 3, Jermyn Street—about December, 1894, Kennedy came and asked me to do certain work at 132, Jermyn Street, which I had given an estimate for to Miss Shakespear—about two months elapsed between giving the estimate and Kennedy's calling—I asked Kennedy for a reference, and he gave me Elton—I called on Elton in Chancery Lane, and asked him if it was all right to go on—he said, "Yes," and I went on with the work—I asked Kennedy for money, and he gave me a cheque for £15 on 2nd March; that left £16 10s. owing—I have never had that—I finished the work for which I had contracted—some time after that Kennedy came to my office with Miss Clarke, bringing a bill of exchange for £200, I believe, and asked me to discount it—I declined; he left it with me—two or three days after he called, and I gave it back to him—I put the matter of the balance of £16 10s. into my solicitor's hands—later on I heard what the massage business was going to be, but at the first start I did not know—the work I did was decorating walls.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. I did not know at first that Miss Shakespear was starting a massage institution, but soon afterwards Kennedy came and asked me to put some baths—Elton told me Kennedy was going to form it into a company and issue a prospectus—I understood that when Kennedy came on the scene Miss Shakespear retired from it.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. My first introduction to the company was through Miss Shakespear—I don't know if White or Kennedy gave me the £15 cheque—I do not know White—the cheque was paid—I understood that Miss Shakespear was to pay half the money and Kennedy the balance; two months elapsed and she did nothing, and then Kennedy came and asked me to do the work—I agreed to the terms, provided she gave me a bill backed by two good names—she never gave me such a bill—she asked me long before I knew Kennedy to go through the house and make out an estimate of what the decorations would be; and when Kennedy came I agreed to do the work on the same terms that I had agreed
with Miss Shakespear—I took him as my creditor from that time—I looked on it as an ordinary business transaction—I have wiped the debt off as a bad one.
BERTHA JANE CLARKE . I live at the Maisonette, Brentford—in September, 1894, I saw in the Daily Telegraph this advertisement to which I replied, and I got into correspondence with Kennedy—shortly after I went to see Kennedy at Oakley or Redcliffe Square. (The advertisement was for a lady to receive and interview ladies, salary £4 a week, of good appearance and address, and in a position to invest a small amount of capital.) Kennedy told me a company was being formed for massage treatment; he handed me a prospectus to read—he said I should obtain good interest for money, as it was likely to be a very good concern, and there was nothing infra dig. about it—he said all the directors were men of good position, and would bring good interest to bear on it; that the lady who was going to take a position in it must be able to invest a small amount of capital—I asked him what capital he thought necessary—he said he had not thought anything about it, but equivalent to the first year's salary; it was a guarantee of respectability, and he thought he might say about £200—he said, the company would be a gigantic success, and would pay at the very least 40 per cent.—I was to interview people who came—I noticed the name of the City Bank in the prospectus—there was "Lady Superintendent" without any name being given; he said my name would be put there—I was to send a cheque for the amount I invested, and was to receive 40 share warrants—I said I should require a reference—he said he could offer me 100 if I liked—I said I should like to consult my solicitor, and that he should see the promoter of the company—Kennedy then gave me the name of Shir win White—an arrangement was made for my solicitor, Mr. Woodbridge, to see White—I had a communication from Mr. Woodbridge, and after that saw Kennedy again, and told him Mr. Woodbridge had no faith in the company, and had advised me, the same as my other friends, against investing in it—he said that was absurd, evidently they were jealous; he said of course, a solicitor was always very cautious, and erred on the side, if anything, of over-caution, that he had an uncle a solicitor, who was the same; but it was perfectly genuine; in a manner it was a speculation, naturally—after hearing what he had to say, I was over-persuaded by him, and agreed to let him have the money—this (produced) is an agreement between me and Kennedy as a student of medicine who has agreed to sell 40 shares in the American and Parisian Massage Company, and obtain for me a situation at £200 a year; but he said he was a doctor—I sent my solicitor's cheque for £200, and endorsed it to the order of Kennedy and White to whom I had it made payable—it has been paid—I got warrants for forty shares on red ink forms—I also got what purports to be an extract from the company's books, "Resolved that Miss Bertha Jane Clarke be and is hereby appointed secretary to the company at a salary of £200 per annum"—I had seen the prospectus—I afterwards wrote to Kennedy and enclosed a prospectus with the name filled in—I wished to adopt my mother's name, Mulcock; and it was so settled "J. Mulcock"—I wrote to Kennedy once or twice between December and May, but did not see him; I got a telegram in May and went to Jermyn Street and saw him, and asked him what he wanted, he
said, "What do you think I want? Cannot you come on Monday?"—I saw him on the Monday at Mr. Elton's office, Chancery Lane, that was the first time I had heard of Mr. Elton—Kennedy introduced me to Mr. Elton as solicitor to the company—I said that I had £200 invested and I wished to know if it was all right before I invested any more—I asked Mr. Elton if it was a genuine concern—he said, "Yes, if it is once started it is a genuine concern, an absolute certainty"—he introduced me as the lady-superintendent—it was in consequence of what passed in Jermyn Street, that I went to Elton—I paid a cheque for £100—he wanted me to get my friends to take shares—I said no, if anyone had to take up shares, it would be myself—I drew a cheque for £100 a day or two afterwards, and it was arranged that I should send it to Elton's office; but Kennedy wrote to me and asked me to send it to him, to save delay—it was my own cheque—I received a letter from Kennedy in reply—he promised to let me have the share warrants, but I never got them—I received this letter from him on June 18th. (Stating that in consideration of her advancing a further £100 to aid in completing the premises, he agreed to hand her more shares, and to refund the money advanced, if the company were not successful.) I several times went to Jermyn Street, beginning in May I believe—sometimes I went two or three times a week, sometimes a fortnight or three weeks would elapse between my visits—the premises there were partially famished—I never saw any massage being done there—I went by appointment with Kennedy, relative to opening the business—Kennedy wanted to borrow more money; he said friends who were going to invest were abroad, and most plausible tales—he mentioned Mr. and Mrs. Lee as people of very high position, and with a great deal of money, they were abroad—he wished to start the business as soon as he possibly could, and if I would let him have the money he would give me high interest and make over shares in the company to me—he did not fix a sum at first, then he wanted £100 and the £50, and then he asked me to pay the rent of the premises in Jermyn Street—before I invested the second £100 I told Mr. Woodbridge, and he said I was very silly—I heard of Miss Maclean through Mr. Lowdell—I told Kennedy before I invested any further money I desired to know who Miss Maclean was, and he wanted to know how I had heard of her, and I said Mr. Lowdell had written about her; he considered it was a great piece of impertinence, and how did Mr. Lowdell get my address?—I said I did not know except from White—I wanted to know who she was, and Kennedy, after a great many excuses, said, "Miss Maclean is to sleep on the premises; she has taken up shares in the Company, and for that she is to have the privilege of sleeping on the premises," I suppose as a sort of caretaker—I did not agree to put in an extra £100; he got no more from me—at the end of August 1895, Kennedy came down to see me at Brentford—I said I could not understand his coming down to see me; I thought it rather peculiar; and he said, well, it seemed such a shame that such a good thing as the massage business might prove to be should break up completely for the sake of a few pounds; would not I consent to give a little more money?—I said I was letting my house for six months, and I wanted all my money for current expenses—he said could not I let him have a little—I said, "No"—after some hesitation he took
out a paper from his pocket—I said, "What is that?"—he handed it to me—I laughed when I saw it—he asked if I was hysterical—I said it was strange; my friends had said he would do it—it was a bill of exchange at three months for £200, which he wanted me to accept—he said his wife would sign, and would be answerable for it, but she had not got it just then; but that when her brother came of age he could dispose of his property, and if anything went wrong he would return it in full; but it could not go wrong—I said I could not do it, but I would think over it, and he left me the paper—he came the next night, and I told my maid to say I was not at home—then I had letters from him saying that it was very important—I went into Derbyshire and heard nothing more of him—the first night after my return I had a letter from him asking for an appointment, and at last I saw him—he said everything would have to be sold up if I did not see him at such and such an hour on a certain day, and so I went up—I said I could not sign—he called his wife in, and they talked to me, and ultimately I put my name to the bill—I had a letter from his wife in which she agreed to be answerable for £100—on the following Sunday I talked to my brother about the bill; and afterwards my brother came to London and saw Kennedy, who gave a sort of explanation—my brother asked him if he had the bill and might he see it (He had tried to pass it with Mr. Harrison)—he handed it to my brother who destroyed it—my brother forbade Kennedy coming to my house, so he sent his wife instead—I had no communication with him after that—I had no part of my salary—I had no work to do—I did not get a farthing of ray money back.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. I had only one interview with, and no letter from, Elton—before I saw him I had been to Jermyn Street, and seen the premises—the only words of his I am certain of are, if once the company was started its success was an absolute certainty—I could not be certain of anything else—he may have said that, as far as he could answer for it, it stood a good chance of success; but I know he said that if it started its success was absolutely certain—Kennedy had had £200 in 1894, before I saw Elton—the matter of the £100 was arranged with Kennedy in Elton's office; it was agreed I should direct it to Kennedy at Elton's office; but Elton wrote that, to save time, he preferred me to send it to his private address—Elton said to Kennedy, "This lady has already invested £200, and she is appointed lady superintendent"—I parted with my money in consequence of what Kennedy said entirely—the last hundred I should not have parted with had not someone else told me it was genuine; thereon, Kennedy told my brother it would open in three days, certain—I parted with my money in consequence of what Kennedy said, but he said it in front of Elton, who was a solicitor—I thought at first it was simply to obtain the post—I should not have paid the second sum if only one man had been there—I should have had to obtain someone else's opinion—Mr. Woodbridge said to me, "I am an old-fashioned man of business"—I exercised my own judgment, and chose to advance the money, but I was influenced by the fact that Elton was a solicitor, and gave me thin advice.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I placed before Mr. Woodbridge what Kennedy had told me; he does not hold with ladies speculating—I thought this was a good company; Kennedy said one lady made £40 or
£50 a week with two or three assistants—I never speculated before, and shall not again—I thought I was going to make a good thing by investing this money; I understood what 40 per cent, means—I first went to Jermyn Street at the end of February or beginning of March, 1895—the premises were incomplete, no business was being carried on; the decorators were in—I saw no towels or goods being delivered—there was a place for a bath—there were things in the waiting and reception rooms—I went several times—I had then parted with £200—I did not make up my mind then that the company was a fraud—I did not think I had really lost my money until I resigned my appointment—I believed exactly what Kennedy told me, and that if sufficient money came in, or if it were once started, the company would be a financial success—I first met the prisoner's wife in June or July, 1895; she was introduced as his wife—she said her husband was such an honourable man he would not have anything to do with anything otherwise; that he refused invitations to dinner because he was unable to return them to the people who invited him—I first came to the conclusion that I had been defrauded after my brother destroyed the bill—when I told my brother about the bill he said, "If you don't go and get that bill back I shall go to Scotland Yard"—I went the first thing on Monday morning to Harrison because Kennedy had told me he was going to discount it for him—in September 1895 after I asked for the bill back, but before it was destroyed, I gave Mr. Wood-bridge instructions to prosecute Kennedy—he said Miss Maclean was first—Kennedy said the furniture was to be put in by Barker of Kensington, and that the delay was owing to their dishonourable conduct—I spoke to my friends of what I was going to do; they said I should not do it—White was not the chief spokesman as to the success of the company, not so much as Kennedy—I only saw White once and Mr. Woodbridge saw him once—Kennedy made infinitely more impression on me than White.
Re-examined. When I first answered the advertisement I did it more out of fun than anything else; I did not expect to have a reply—when I parted with my money I supposed I was going to get employment—I believed the statements that were made to me at the first interview; I read the prospectuses then—no mention was made to me then of Mrs. Wilson—I had no idea that £300 had been obtained from her; if I had known it I should not have had anything to do with the concern—I wrote to him on September 10th:—"Sir, I consider you have acted most disgracefully with me;" that was when my brother went to see, him about getting back the bill—I thought I had as good a judgment as any one else—£150 was due to me as nine months' salary—I got no farthing of that or the £300.
ALEXANDER PECK . I am a clerk in the advertisement department of the Daily Telegraph—some of the advertisements went through my hands, one marked 95 appears in the paper of October 21st, 1894; it bears on the back of it F. Kennedy, 41—I also produce another, marked 97, which appeared on March 13th, 1895: "Lady Secretary wanted for West-end office. Address Lady Secretary"—I produce another, No. 96, which appeared in April, 1895; that bears on the back, F. Kennedy, care of Elton, Solicitor, 55 and 56, Chancery Lane: "Lady required for reception-room; preference given to a widow. Care of Elton, Chancery Lane"—No. 98 appeared in October, 1895: "Lady required; £4 a week,
with room, gas and coal; duties light; receiving patients. Preference given to one willing to invest a small amount. F. Kennedy, 31, Grown Road, N.W "
THOMAS MUGLISTON . I am a cashier in the Bond Street Branch of the City Bank—in July, 1894, Mr. Faithful suggested to our manager the opening of an account with us in the name of the American and Parisian Massage Co.—I was shown a prospectus like this—we consented to our name appearing on it as bankers of the company if the preliminaries were satisfactory, i.e., that the certificate of incorporation be exhibited, and enquiries to references as to respectability, and the genuineness of the concern—no money was tendered; no account was opened—on September 3rd, 1894, our manager, Mr. Mullins, wrote to Faithful withdrawing our name, and after that date the company had no authority to use it as that of their bankers.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. I gave my consent to the account being opened—enquiries were made at the outset as to the respectability of the company, and they were satisfactory for some time.
CHARLES HEATH PINNOCK . I am a confidential clerk in the employment of Messrs. Barker's, Kensington High Street—about the end of March, 1895, I was instructed to make enquiries about Kennedy, and I saw him on several occasions—at that time we had done certain work at 132, Jermyn Street, and received orders for further work—after several conversations I told Kennedy we should require a considerable amount paid down before we completed the amount of work he had ordered, which was about £120 worth—I agreed to do the work on condition that £40 was paid down, and the balance paid by two instalments, one at one month, and one at two months—I then went to Elton's office at Kennedy's suggestion—Elton said he had no money to pay with; an appointment was made for the following morning, 27th April, when I saw the prisoners at Elton's office—I then received four £10 notes from Elton for which I gave a receipt—Elton was very anxious that I should give an undertaking that all work and orders in hand should be completed within a very short time—I absolutely declined to execute the orders by any given time, as some contingencies might arise that might prevent us carrying out the orders, some of the goods being special goods, massage couches and so on, to be specially made—I should think we had done about £60 or £70 worth of work when that £40 was paid; when we stopped work we had done £135 altogether; we had exceeded the contract—we only got the £40—our firm received further orders for work to be done—at the beginning of May I saw Kennedy, and pointed out that We had done work to the extent of £135 on the £120 arrangement—he was very anxious that we should go on and complete the work—we had orders amounting to something like £70, more than that at the time—his explanation was that as soon as we had completed the things a company could be formed, and with the shareholders' money we should be paid—before I applied for the instalment of £40 I called on Kennedy, and pointed out that the contract had been exceeded by £15, and we had another £70 order in hand, and he promised to let me have a payment—I called several times, and he made various promises to send money to our office, and then, on May 30th, I met him at the corner of Chancery Lane one day, and he said, "I have a cheque in my pocket for you now;"
and we went into a public-house, and he handed me Mr. Mackenzie's cheque for £35 on account of the £120; it was met—we continued to work; the plumbers were fitting a bath—we did work altogether to the extent of £170, and we got £75 in all—we got judgment in the County Court by default for the instalment of £40—it is still unsatisfied; the other amount we have not obtained judgment for.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. The £75 worth of work would complete the orders which had been given, including the bath—we supplied a lot of furniture—there were two massage couches, six were ordered—the other £75 would have completed the orders which had been given; I cannot say it would complete the furnishing of the place—it included one bath; the fittings were provided and the bath delivered, but Kennedy objected to it and it was removed, as it was not the class of bath he ordered—then the difficulties about the instalments occurred, and we did not supply it—I sued Kennedy for the balance—I did not regard Elton as a debtor.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I took it from what Kennedy told me, that a company was to be formed at Jermyn Street—a massage business was to be formed; I could not say whether it was a genuine affair or not—Kennedy said the company was about to be formed, and that, if the public subscribed, the company would be a success in his opinion—he represented that if we furnished the place money would be forthcoming; there was a lady who would find him the money, and we should be paid off—I think I asked him twenty or thirty times for the £40 instalment; he represented that through our not completing the work he had not been able to raise money from the public, and therefore the company had not that a company was to be formed at Jermyn Street—a massage business was to be formed; I could not say whether it was a genuine affair or not—Kennedy said the company was about to be formed, and that, if the public subscribed, the company would be a success in his opinion—he represented that if we furnished the place money would be forthcoming; there was a lady who would find him the money, and we should be paid off—I think I asked him twenty or thirty times for the £40 instalment; he represented that through our not completing the work he had not been able to raise money from the public, and therefore the company had not been a success.
SUSAN JANE NORRIS . I am a widow—in March, 1895, I was stay ing at Bristol—on March 12th I saw this advertisement in the Daily Telegraph for a lady secretary for a company, preference given to one willing to invest a certain amount—I answered that—on March 19th I received a letter signed Forrester Kennedy. (Asking her to meet him next day at Elton's office.) I came to. London the next day, and went direct to 55, Chancery Lane, about four o'clock—I there saw the prisoners—I said I came in regard to the letter and advertisement—they showed me this prospectus with the names of directors, and bankers, and solicitor, and the auditor and the registered offices—I read it through—they both asked if I was willing to invest money to obtain the post of secretary—I said I would willingly invest money if it was a bona-fide thing; I said that I could not afford to lose my money—I was most desirous then of getting employment—they said I should receive a salary of two guineas a week, my engagement to begin in ten days' time—I should have to do secretary's work—it was optional where I lived—they wanted me to in vest £100—I said I had not got it to invest—they asked me how much I could pay down, and I said £50—Kennedy said, "When will you let me have the other £50?"—Elton at once said, "Let that be at Mrs. Norris's convenience"—I said my money was at my bank in Plymouth, where my home was—I said that after I was in receipt of the salary I should be allowed to pay the balance at my convenience; that I could pay it out of my salary, and I ultimately agreed to do so—it was suggested that I should go and see White at the Wool Exchange the same evening, and I went there with Kennedy about
5.30 or six—I was introduced to White—I asked him if it were a bona-fids thing I was entering into; and he assured me it was—Kennedy was there all the time—as well as I remember, he asked me to draw a cheque on a half sheet of paper, as I had not my cheque-book—I drew a cheque on a piece of paper to Kennedy's order, and he endorsed it—I then went with Kennedy and had some refreshment—I went back to Elton's office, but found he had gone—I then went back to Bristol the same night—I read the whole of the prospectus, including the part about Miss Shakespear's large connection—they furnished me with the stamp for the cheque on the blank sheet of paper—I signed an agreement at Elton's office before I went to White's; it was written while I was there. (The agreement was she should advance money, and receive vendor's shares and the appointment of secretary.) Some days afterwards I received a letter from Kennedy asking me to remit him some money—I received these letters from Elton. (The first stated that he had taken a flat for her, and would be glad to know what steps she was taking. The second stated that, owing to Mr. Lowdell having to leave town, the Directors' meeting could not take place the day before; and asked her to send £50 within the next ten days.)—I made no promise to pay more; I distinctly said I could not pay the money; the arrangement I made was to pay the other £50 out of my two guineas a week—I told White I could not pay the other £50—I also received this letter from Kennedy. (Asking her to send the balance by return, as more money was needed for furnishing; stating that she was purchasing some of his shares; that the Directors had made him defray the cost of opening the first branch, and that he hoped to arrange for her to live on the premises.) I received this copy of a supposed resolution as to my appointment as secretary, and I believed my salary of two guineas a week was to commence from March 25th—I had not got the money he was asking for on March 26th—at the end of April I unexpectedly met the prisoners in Bristol, just outside the house at which I was staying—they said they had come to see me, and wanted to know why I had not written to them for some days—I explained that I had been ill and unable to attend to business, and they said they should like to have a talk with me, and they asked which was the nearest hotel—we went into the coffee-room—I was to have share warrants for my money, and I was to sign them—they wanted to know if I could draw any more money—I said I had a little—I thought then I had more at my bank than I had—they suggested I should draw what I could—I drew cheques for £15 and £10 I think—I think Kennedy took them—they went away together to return to London—I think it was one cheque for £25 that I signed, and not two—I know now that I had not got sufficient money at the Bank to meet that cheque or cheques—Elton wrote saying it was dishonoured—on April 26th I received this letter from Elton. (Stating that unless her dishonoured cheques for £40 were taken up and the equivalent value paid by Monday the Directors would, at their meeting, cancel the resolution under which she was appointed secretary.) I became alarmed, and came to London, and went to Elton's office, and saw the prisoners—I replied to their letter that I had not the money to meet the cheques for £40, and preferred the agreement to be cancelled and for my £50 to be returned, with the expenses of my journeys to town—before I drew the £50 I showed Elton my pass-book,
which showed that I had £61 upon which I could draw—I drew this cheque on April 13th for £10 to Kennedy and it has been paid through my bank, so that I have parted with £60—having said I could not pay the other £40 I came to London and went to Jermyn Street, where I saw Kennedy—I asked for my money back but did not get any of it—I have had no situation and no wages of any kind—I saw no directors to my knowledge—on June 7th Elton wrote telling me as he had nothing more to do with the company, to address communications in future to Kennedy—afterwards another lady instituted a prosecution, and I communicated with the Treasury authorities, and I was called as a witness—after Miss Maclean had prosecuted Kennedy, and before the Treasury had taken it up, Kennedy came to see me; I had written to him to say I had determined to take legal proceedings—he asked me not to pursue a prosecution; that he had some money promised him by his mother, and if I did not pursue this course he would pay me my share and quit the country—meantime I had spoken to my solicitor about it, and he advised me to have nothing to do with the matter—I said to Kennedy, "I hope you will get the money and pay me," and there it ended—I drew this, cheque for £25 on April 3rd.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. Kennedy was the spokesman at first when I was handed the prospectus and asked what I thought of it—I saw Lowdell's name on it—I understood that as soon as the place was fitted up and furnished it would be started as a massage institution, and that would be in about ten days' time—and they asked if I would be prepared to enter on my duties at that time—he said Barkers of Kensington had the furnishing in hand, and he expected it would have been completed by that time—my salary was to commence from the 25th.—I did not know anything about massage—I had no doubt from what Elton and White told me that it would be a successful thing—from what other people said I conceived a favourable idea of a system of establishing a place of the kind—I daresay I was at White's for an hour and a half—I was anxious to hear what he had to say—he went into it thoroughly, all the time was taken up about this matter—although the agreement was signed at Elton's office before I went to White's there was an under-standing that it was not to take effect unless I was satisfied with what White said as promoter—I relied a good deal on what White said—I paid the £50 cheque in his office to White's order, and handed it to Kennedy—my other cheques were handed to Kennedy—before I left Elton at his office, he said "Before you pay your money, you had better go and see White, who is the promoter of the company"; that was because he could give more information about the company and about the undertaking generally than anyone else—I understood Elton was acting as solicitor to the Company; and I applied to him as to whether it was a bona-fide company, and he assured me it was; as solicitor to the company I thought I could depend on him—at Bristol they wanted me to sign share warrants, and I did sign some, not all, and they took them back—I said I could not pay another £50 in a fortnight's time—the cheques for £25 and £15 were not given on the same day—I wrote a letter to the effect that I would see whether my bankers would give me a small overdraft—I think I drew cheques for £15 and £10 at Bristol, and a cheque for £25 at another time—I wrote and
asked my bankers for an overdraft in Elton's office, and at his request, he dictated the letter—I have a small annuity—that was when I drew the cheque for £25—it was after I was told that the money would be required for completing the furnishing that the suggestion was made about the £25 cheque, and I believed they wanted the money to help the furnishing—after giving the £25 cheque I went to Jermyn Street several times; the first time was some time in May—I met Kennedy once on the stairs; that was the early part of May, I think—the place was partly furnished—I asked him why the business had not been started, and he said he could not get the place furnished, that Barkers had been delaying with the work.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I paid attention to what Kennedy said; it induced me to part with my money—I daresay I asked Kennedy how much money I should have to invest in shares, and he said £100—I said I had not £100 to invest—my annuity is not sufficient for my maintenance—I was not desirous of speculating; my idea was to obtain an engagement with good remuneration, as I thought, and I parted with my money because I thought I should gain good wages; I should not have done it otherwise—on the strength of what the prisoners and White told me, I believed that if money was forthcoming from the public it would be a successful concern—I handed the £50 cheque to White, and he handed it to Kennedy—I understood White was the motive power in forming the company—I relied on what he told me to a very great extent, not altogether.
By MR. MARSHALL. I am quite sure that Elton did not suggest that I should take the advice of an independent solicitor—I may have been to Jermyn Street two or three times before April 6th; I thought it was later.
Re-examined. I am quite sure I signed the agreement in Elton's office before I saw White.
EDWARD TOWERS . I am principal clerk in charge of the records in the Patent Office—a register is kept there of patents, including medicines, and such like things—I cannot find any entry relating to Dr. Wilson's skin tonic, or any name of that kind; probably I should have found it if it were there.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. A patent would be registered at our office if granted—I have nothing to do with trade marks.
MARY HARRIET MACLEAN . I have been a governess—in April, 1895, I was living in Guilford Street—I saw an advertisement in the Daily Telegraph on April 8th. (This was for a lady for reception room, salary £3 a week, a moderate amount to be invested; preference given to widow. Apply Surgeon, care of Elton, solicitor, 55 and 56, Chancery Lane.) I am unmarried—I replied to that advertisement and received an answer from Elton, and I kept the appointment he made at his office—I saw the prisoners there—I was desirous of obtaining employment of that kind—I said I had come after the advertisement and about the letter I had received—they showed me the prospectus, and told me particulars of the situation—I read the name of the bank and the directors' names, and Kennedy, I believe, showed me in the directory their addresses—they asked me if I had any idea what kind of situation I had come after—I said, "The idea that came to me was it was a specialist's reception room;" from the advertisement I concluded it was a doctor's; that I had no idea,
it was connected with massage, of which treatment I had no knowledge—they said the directors were all men of good social standing and well off, and that the Bank was in Bond Street, I think—they said they wished to have a staff of ladies of good social standing by birth as well as education, so as to ensure their place being successful; that the qualification of the directors was £200 each; that my duties would be to write letters and send out circulars, and see after people who came to be treated, and arrange the price and take their fees; that they required me to invest £200 as security, the same amount as the directors gave—I cannot say who said that; the one corroborated what the other said—they said the directors were going to make the appointment very soon, at the next meeting; that they had bad heaps of applicants—I told them I did not wish to invest as much as £200; and after discussing the matter at considerable length I came away—they told me they had one or two ladies who could invest the amount; and mentioned one, a friend of Mrs. Patrick Campbell—I said I did not wish to invest in anything that was not absolutely safe—the same evening I got a telegram, "Wait till I call dinner"—my interview with them had been at one or 1.30—after the telegram they both came to where I lived; Kennedy came in, Elton waited outside—we could not discuss the matter in the dining-room with other people there, and they told me that the directors' meeting was coming on on Friday; this was Wednesday—I went to dine with them at the Roma Restaurant in Holborn to discuss the matter—Elton said they very often went to dinner there—we talked about the matter all the time—I told them that I had no money that I could immediately realise—I told them I had Rome bank shares, and some other money that I had been rather unfortunate with, and they thought they might realise some of that, and get a loan on it, I mentioned the North of Scotland and Canada Mortgage Company, where I had £120 on deposit—I said I did not wish to withdraw that—they arranged for me to go to Elton's office again the next day, and I did so; but they had to go to the City—I think they asked me if meanwhile I would go home and see about those bank shares; and I was to call at the bank and ask if they would take them off my hinds, and then come back to Elton—I went back and saw them, and was introduced to Mackenzie, a friend of Kennedy—they said he was a rich man, whom Kennedy had known a very long time, and that through his brokers he could sell those bank shares for me—both prisoners were present—they told me they would take £100—on Friday, 12th, Kennedy called on me about ten or eleven a.m, and asked me to go to Elton's office with him—I said, as it was Good Friday, the office would not be opened—he said he was going to get his letters and meet Elton—I went; the office was closed—coining back we met Elton in Russell Square—Elton said the directors' meeting was postponed till Tuesday—on April 14th I got a letter from Kennedy, asking me to call at Elton's office on the Tuesday, and I went—I gave to one of them, in the presence of the other, my bank shares—I had to communicate with the Canadian Mortgage Company to get the money—on the Tuesday I was introduced to Mrs. Kennedy—I asked her if it was with her full sanction and approval that I went into these things, and she said, "Certainly"—I asked her why they should reduce the sum they required from £200 to £100 on account of me—that conversation was in Elton's office—I am
not sure whether the prisoners were there—I was to have a costume, a kind of uniform, different from that of the nurses—I was to be allowed a long holiday in the autumn, and a piano in the reception-room—I wrote to the secretary of the company in Aberdeen, where some of my money was deposited, and gave authority that it might be dealt with—my first idea was to get a loan on it from the National Provincial Bank of England through Mackenzie, but two years' notice had to be given before it could be withdrawn—while this was going on I received the offer of a situation in Russia—I went to Elton's office and showed him the letter and said, "I think I had better go there because there is no money to be paid down"—they told me Russia was a frightful place to live in; and I preferred staying in London—they said I could not withdraw without treating them rather badly—it was the day before the money was paid, and it was really on the way—the same day I went to Elton's office to sign an agreement; he was out—I went to the City, and when I came back to the office I signed a letter; I had signed one before; I signed three, two drawn by Elton and one by Kennedy—on 25th a boy came for me and I went to Elton's—I saw the prisoners, Mackenzie, and Lewis, Elton's clerk—I then signed this document, dated April 24th: "I hereby authorise you to receive from Mr. Mackenzie, as my solicitor, all moneys payable to me as between myself and Kennedy, being the balance of a sum of £100, after allowing £11 payable to Mr. Lound—I had no idea that Elton was my solicitor—I thought a cheque for £100 was handed to Elton—I did not see it; they had no right to spend my money before I had given it to them—Mackenzie handed me a cheque for £20—I got no employment after that—I got no money back—Elton has now a bank share certificate of mine that I paid £140 for in addition to this other matter—I did not give it to him; I gave it to Lewis to look at, and Elton put it in his safe and locked it up; I asked him to give it back, but he said it was not a business-like proceeding—it is not worth £140 now—Elton was extremely anxious to act for me—I said I did not require it—I went to the Jermyn Street premises, before parting with my money—I saw Bragge there very often—I" went with Kennedy and his wife—I and Mrs. Kennedy were introduced to Mr. Lowdell one day at Jermyn Street—another day Mr. Lowdell was coming downstairs, and I asked him if he thought this thing would be a success, and Kennedy, who was going downstairs behind Mr. Lowdell said, "Go on, go on"—after Mr. Lowdell had gone, Kennedy said I should not speak to him like that—I did not know at the time about another lady manageress being engaged—I knew that perhaps Mrs. Norris was going to, be secretary, but she would not pay enough money—two days after I saw Mr. Lowdell going downstairs, and after I had parted with my money, Mr. Lowdell told me about Miss Clarke—I think I asked him to write to her—I asked Kennedy what she was going to be; he said "superintendent"—I said there seemed very little difference between the two—I saw no business to manage or superintend—I received, on July 22nd, this letter from Elton. (Stating that his bill of costs against her had been, delivered and he must request settlement by Wednesday.) He said that Because I sent Mr. Lound, the solicitor, with a letter to try and get my Bank share certificate from him—one bill of costs was £14; there were two bills together amounting to over £24—I had no situation and our money.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. These bills from Elton were charged against me for taking my money—I believe they told me that the massage establishment was going to be furnished by Barkers—I do not think that was on the first day—they told me on that occasion that the place was already started, or that it was about to be started in a few days; I was to be manageress—they said that the work was being hurried on, to get the place ready as soon as practicable—I do not think that I understood that my money would go towards paying the expenses—Elton told me to pay it to him, because he would see that it was properly used—I thought that it was to be invested in the company, and that I should get the dividend on it—Elton told me he would pay it into the bank—I should not expect it to lay idle—I gave it as a sign of good faith, and to bring me in some interest—I do not know that it occurred to me what was to be done with it—I did not ascertain that there was any banking account before I paid my money—I do not know why the cheques were cashed through Mackenzie; I believed what the prisoners told me—I cannot tell which prisoner told me about the directors' qualification; no one was present except them—I was with them for about an hour—Kennedy told me he thought he knew my brother at the Edinburgh University, but it is quite a mistake; my brother was there, but he was no friend of his—I spoke to Lewis, Elton's articled clerk; I did not tell him that that was so—my brother was not a student with Kennedy, and does not know him, he told me so last summer—I have not been with Kennedy to the La Fonda wine buffet; I have been out with him, but I do not remember the name of any place except the Roma and the Star and Garter in Oxford Street—Mrs. Kennedy and Mrs. Elton were there; it was about April 26th, immediately before or after I paid my money—this matter was being freely talked over then—I may have gone to another place with Kennedy, I do not remember the name—he took me to the Central Hotel in Whitcomb Street—we did not talk the matter over there—I was never angry with him—it was on Good Friday when he called for me in the afternoon and he was rather disagreeable in the house and made rather a disturbance, and to get him to go away I went out with him and we drove there in a cab—he said that Mr. Elton was coming there, and I thought it better to wait there as I did not want him to come back to my house and make a row—I was not alone in his company after that; his wife or Elton were there too—the amount realised from my property was £120, of which I ultimately had £20, after Elton had kept it for some weeks—if I saw £11 handed to Mr. Lound's clerk, I did not know it had reference to me—I did not understand the amount handed to Elton was £82—I signed this document of April 24th without reading it; Lewis read it out; I had already signed two letters bearing on the same matter—I don't remember seeing Mr. Lound's name on it, I may have done—I saw Mr. Lound the day before I paid the £100 to Elton—Mr. Lound was at the office, and I was told he had something to do with the lease, and we all four walked down to the bank together, and Mr. Lound and I stood outside while the prisoners went in; I did not know it had any bearing on my money—I signed one letter which Elton read and another which Kennedy read, authorising Mackenzie to get this money—on the day I paid the money I went with Lewis and Elton to Barkers' to get some patterns for the
costumes; they went to the counting-house to order baths, I think, I did not know anything about that—there was no friction between me and Mrs. Kennedy—Mrs. Elton circulated a scandal about me with regard to Kennedy taking me to the Central Hotel, and I told Elton I was surprised she should do so as he knew it was absolutely untrue—I wished to sell my shares in the Universal Bank if I could get anything like their value for them—I said I thought it was a very bad speculation; I did not put the matter into Elton's hands to recover the money on them; Lewis suggested that they should try to sell them for me, and they were to put an advertisement into a paper, for which I paid Lewis 6s. or 7s., and it was never put in—they did not endeavour to realise the shares; Elton was very anxious to take counsel's opinion about it, and I said I would first have an auditor's opinion—it was not put into Elton's hands, and it would only have been if the auditor corroborated their ideas.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I had a little money before I saw this advertisement—my brother is a graduate of a Scotch university—I am merely here as a witness—if some one offered me my money back I should have no objection to take it—if they had acted honourably by me I should not have prosecuted.
JOHN MACKENZIE . I was in March and April, 1895, the licensee of the King's Head, in Aldersgate Street—I had known Kennedy for many years—about April, 1895, he came with Elton, whom he introduced as the solicitor for the Massage Company—Kennedy asked me to cash a cheque for £25, which it was explained was given by a lady, who was obtaining a situation in the company, and buying some shares—it was written on a half-sheet of paper, which made me hesitate—I afterwards advanced £5 in gold on it to one or other of the prisoners—I paid the cheque into my bank—Elton assured me it was a good one—next day the prisoners called and had refreshment, and I advanced a second £5; I afterwards advanced a third £5; £15 in all—a few days afterwards the cheque came back, marked "N.S."—I went to Elton's office on April 17th and made a complaint about it, and asked to be repaid—the prisoners and Lewis were there—Elton was very much put out about it, and could not understand it—Mrs. Norris was sent for, and when she came, Elton asked her about her balance—a little later she fetched her bank-book, which showed a balance of £12—she then drew a cheque for £10, which Elton handed to me—it was paid in and honoured; that left me £5 to the bad—I was to be paid that when they got it; they said there was a lot more money expected—a few days afterwards Miss Maclean was brought to me, and there was a conversation about some Scotch shares she had, and I arranged with my bankers to realise them—I took her to the manager and introduced her—a little while afterwards I learnt from the bank that £120 had been received, and I went to Elton's office, taking my cheque-book—a statement of what was to be paid was drawn up by Elton—later on, in the presence of the prisoners and Miss Maclean, I drew this open cheque for £82 in favour of Elton or order (that was cashed the same day at my bank); this cheque, for £11 1s., in favour of Mr. Lound; a cheque for £2 to Kennedy; £20 was given to Miss Maclean, and the balance of £6 19s. I advanced to Kennedy in small accounts from time to time—a little while after I received further visits from the defendants, and I at their request
paid into my bank a cheque for £100 drawn by Miss Clarke in favour of Kennedy—with the money represented by that I drew a cheque to Messrs. Barker for £35, a cheque to Mr. Wharton, the landlord, of Jermyn Street, for £27 10; repaid myself the £5, which I was to the bad on Mrs. Norris's £25 cheque; and drew some smaller cheques to Lowdell, Hughes, Walker and the Gas Light and Coke Company, Electric Light Company, and to Kennedy for £12 5s.—I knew Kennedy in Scotland many years ago—I was asked to invest money in shares in this company; I said no.
Cross-examimd by MR. MARSHALL. I kept £6 19s. from the £120 as owing to me by Kennedy I think—of the £82 Elton gave Kennedy £10 on the same day—Miss Maclean gave the £20 she received to Elton to keep for her; it was made out in Mr. Murray's name—she came back afterwards and got me to give her a cheque in her own name, and the other was cancelled—I thought she seemed to thoroughly understand the business—she made the arrangement with the manager of the National Provincial Bank herself, the prisoners remaining in the street while she did it.
HARRY BERTRAM WILKINS . I am a clerk in the Aldersgate Street Branch of the National Provincial Bank—Mr. Mackenzie has an account there—on April 25th, 1895, a cheque for £82 was presented and cashed on his account by seven £10 notes, 36,069 to 36,075 inclusive; two £5 notes, 91,564 and 29,147, and £2 gold.
ARTHUR BAXTER . I am a clerk in the Holborn Branch of the London and Westminster Bank; the Holborn Restaurant keeps an account there—on April 26th a £5 note, 91,564, was paid into the credit of their account.
ARTHUR THOMAS GRANT . I am a clerk in the Oxford Street Branch of the London and County Bank; Louis Cossavella, a restaurant keeper, has an account there—on April 27th, 1895, a £10 note, number 36,070, was paid into his account.
WILLIAM MOODY . I am chief letter clerk at the Capital and Counties Bank—Nicholas Sherwin White had an account there; I know his writing—these two bundles of cheques are signed by him; most of them are in favour of Kennedy apparently.
JOHN KANE (Police Sergeant E). I was in charge of this case, and in the course of it I got into communication with Bragge—I received from him a bundle of documents, including some original minutes; some draft prospectuses and agreements and letters—Mr. Frayling afterwards handed me a letter containing these two bundles of cheques ranging from January 9th, 1894, to April 9th, 1895; I took out the amounts of the cheques; the total amount of cheques drawn in favour of Kennedy by White is £222 3s.
Cross-examined by MR. MARSHALL. This statement of accounts is headed, "List of payments made to and on account of Forrester Kennedy from May 22nd, 1894, to July 1st, 1895;" the payments altogether amount to £400.
Cross-examined by MR. GRAIN. I know nothing of White—I prefer not to say whether there is a warrant out against him.
ELTON received a good character.
KENNEDY GUILTY on all counts.
ELTON GUILTY on the first, third, and fourth counts of obtaining money from Miss Maclean—
( NOT GUILTY on the second count, charging the obtaining of £50 from Mrs. Norris ).
Kane stated that he believed Bragge had been led astray by Kennedy. Bragge received a good character.
BRAGGE— Nine Months' Hard Labour. KENNEDY— Nine Months' Hard Labour upon the forgery indictment; Five Years' each upon the second and fourth counts of the misdemeanour indictment; these sentences to run concurrently. ELTON— Judgment Respited.
The COURT and GRAND JURY strongly commended the conduct of Sergeant Kane.
Before Mr. Justice Lawrance.
MESSRS CHARLES MATHEWS and HORACE AVORY Prosecuted;
MR. DRAKE Defended.
JANE YOUNG . On December 21st last I was living with the prisoner at 10, Alnwick Road, West Ham—I had been living with him for some months—we occupied a front room on the first-floor—on the 21st he went out to work as usual; he worked in the docks—he came home at something past seven or half-past six—he went out again, and stayed out till half-past eleven—I was up in Miss Marchant's room—he was not sober, he had had a drop to drink—we had a few words because he did not take me out, and I began to put on my things to go out—I said I would—we had a struggle, and in the struggle the revolver went off—I was trying to go out—I had left Miss Marchant's room, and came into my own room—he said I should not go out—I attempted to put on my hat, I could not get it on—I did not see anything in his hand—he prevented me from putting on my hat, he pulled it off, I had not the chance to put it on, and then he fired the revolver, and I don't remember any more—he did not say anything before he fired—I was at the back of the door when he fired—he was in the same place, close to me—I was hit in the neck—he fired twice, the first one did not hit me—I had never seen a revolver in his possession before that day—I was taken to the Seamen's Hospital, and remained there till January 29th; when he came home that evening we were on good terms, and when he went out.
Cross-examined. I had lived with him five months; I had known him about four years—he is twenty-two, I believe, much younger than I—while I was living with him he was a hard-working sober man—he had never threatened me—he always treated me kindly; I never had any fear of him—he was a member of the Labourers' Union—he resigned that some time ago, and became a free labourer; I believe so—I don't know that
he was threatened by the members of the Union—I had seen one cartridge, while living with him; that was some time before December 21st—I don't know that he received a wound in his head about twelve months ago by the fall of a heavy piece of timber—he did not suffer from his head while living with me—a man named Marchant lived in this house three men, father, and two sons—none of the Marchants came into the room before I became insensible—I had been across to Marchant's room before the prisoner came home, not afterwards—during the struggle our room door was thrown open, and one of the Marchants came in; the one that was shot; the father was not in; he was locked up at the time—he had been living in the house—he left on the Saturday night before—all the time I have known the prisoner he has borne a good character as a hard-working steady man.
Re-examined. I saw the cartridge before the 21st; it was in his box; I had seen it ever since he came to live with me; it was a long cartridge—I don't know the difference between a gun cartridge and a revolver cartridge—I never saw him with a revolver—this (produced) is the same cartridge—I had never before that night tried to go out as late as that—I was vexed with him, because he did not take me out—I said, "Now you have had your fling; I will have mine."
WILLIAM MARCHANT . I live at 10, Alnwick Road with my mother and sisters—I was at home on the night of December 21st—about half-past eleven I was in the back room first floor—opposite the prisoner's room—I had seen Miss Young that evening, she had been in our room talking to my mother, just before the prisoner came in—I let him in about half-past eleven—after he went into his room I fancy I heard a bit of a noise, like something knocked over, I was not aware whether it was a shot—I heard a second and then I went to his door; it was shut—I said, "What's up, George?"—I can't say whether he answered me or not, all I remember is that he opened the door and came out and shot me—I saw. the flash, but I could not see him, because his room was in darkness—the shot caught me in my right arm and right thigh; I could not say whether it was two shots or one—I went into their room, there was a light there—the prisoner followed me in and fired across the bed at me—my sister was sitting in the bed with a baby in her arms—I could not see the revolver then in his hand; but as he brought it up to me I could see the flash of it—he opened the door with his left hand and came in and held it across the bed at me—I fell as he put it up—I did not exactly see him shoot my mother; but after he shot her I saw him put it across the bed at my sister, but there was nothing in it—I saw him point it at her on the bed, he pulled the trigger, I heard the click, it did not go off; he then ran downstairs—I was taken to the hospital and remained there a fortnight—I had never seen the prisoner with a revolver before that day.
Cross-examined. I had known him between two and three years—he had no ill-feeling against me that I know of—I did not go into his room at all.
SARAH MARCHANT . I am the wife of Henry Marchant—on Saturday night, December 21st, about half past eleven, I was in the back room, first floor, with my son, the last witness, and my daughter Sarah—Jane Young had been in my room talking to me—I heard the prisoner come in—Young went into her room, and the door was shut—I heard them talking—he
generally talks loud—I heard a noise—I thought it was something fallen over—it was like a pistol—then I heard a scream, and then another report—my son went and knocked at the door and said, "What's up?"—the prisoner said, "It's all right, Bill," and opened the door and shot him, and my son came back into the room and said, "Mother, I am shot"—the prisoner followed him into the room and fired two shots across the bed—my son was on the other side of the bed, and could not get out—my daughter was in the bed—the prisoner fired at my son and then at me; I saw him alter the direction of the pistol; I am sure of that—he did not hit me—he then ran downstairs and went out into the street—I went down behind him—he shot William in the street—I sent for the police and went back to my room, and there found Jane Young lying on the floor, bleeding—I waited with her till she was taken to the hospital—before I heard the first shot I heard Young say, "You might have taken me with you," or "Why did not you take me with you?"—the police inspector afterwards found a bullet in the room, and my son found one under the bed and gave it to me, and I gave it to the inspector.
FRANK JOHNSON . I am a miller at Canning Town—on December 21st, about twelve at night, I was in Adamson Road, Canning Town, about half a mile from Alnwick Road; while standing there I heard a splash in the water where there is a foundation for a new Board School; I then heard a report of firearms and saw the flash; a man was standing at the corner—the prisoner came towards us and pulled the trigger at him twice, but no report followed—he said, "I am done"—I saw a revolver in his hand; he was about fourteen yards from me—I could not see what he was firing at then, it was rather foggy—he came towards me with the revolver in his hand—he said, "Here you are, there is nothing in it"—I rushed towards him—he said he would give it to a police officer; I did not take it from him—I had seen him before, as I had been going to work; I recognised him; I looked him in the face as I took hold of him—he went down the street and I saw nothing more of him—he had no coat on; as far as I could judge he was sober.
Cross-examined. The splash of the water was caused by his running into it—I cannot tell the name of the other man I saw there; I know him by sight.
ALFRED GOLDING (Police Sergeant K). At a quarter past one on the morning of December 22nd I went to 10, Alnwick Road—in consequence of what I heard there I went to 35, Mary Street, I found the prisoner there in bed in the back room upstairs—I told him I should arrest him for shooting Jane Blighton and William Marchant, at 10, Alnwick Place; he made no reply—I took him to the station, on the way he said, "May I say anything?"—I said, "Whatever you say may be used against you in evidence, you can make a statement if you like"—he replied, "If that is the case I shall say nothing"—at the station he made no reply to the charge—he appeared to be sober.
GEORGE GILBERT . I am an inspector stationed at Canning Town—about half-past one on the morning of December 22nd I went to 10, Alnwick Road—I went again at 3.10 and made a search—in the first floor front room behind the door I found this bullet in a pool of blood—on the bedstead I found a coat hanging, and in the right hand pocket I found
this case containing forty-two revolver cartridges, and in the same pocket I found a loose cartridge—in the back room I found a piece of linen saturated with blood—it had evidently fallen from the woman when she went into the room—I afterwards received from Dr. Rust another bullet, which corresponds with those in the cartridge, and another bullet was handed to me by Mrs. Marchant similar to the others; this other one was found in the prisoner's waistcoat pocket when he was arrested, that is not similar to the others, it is very different, the others are much smaller—I think this is a rifle cartridge; it is about three times the size of the others—the revolver has not been found—search was made for it that morning for three or four hours, but it has never been discovered—the house where the prisoner was arrested is about three-quarters of a mile from Alnwick Road.
JAMES RUST . I am house surgeon at the Seamen's Hospital, West Ham—I helped to take charge of Jane Young when she was brought there on the morning of December 22nd, she was suffering from a 8-in. shot wound in the left side of the neck, the bullet had passed through the neck into the left side of the throat; it has never been extracted; I expect it had fallen out from the mouth—she remained in the hospital in a very dangerous condition for some time—she was not discharged till January 29th—at the same time I examined William Marchant—he had three wounds, one on the right arm, one on the right side, I think the three were produced by one shot, the bullet had passed just below the skin of the arm and then struck the side, causing two wounds, and then came out—I extracted the other bullet from the side and handed it to the inspector—the man was in the hospital up to the 4th January, he was never in a dangerous condition.
CECILIA BARRY . My father keeps a gunsmith's and photograph shop at 11, Barking Road—on 19th December last, I remember serving a man with a revolver, called a bull-dog, and fifty cartridges; like these produced—T don't think I should know the man again, I have no recollection of what kind of man he was, he was rather tall and dark.
GUILTY on First Count. The prisoner's father gave him a good character and stated that he had met with an accident some time ago, from a piece of wood falling on his head, since when he had been more excited.— Twelve Years' Penal Servitude.
After same legal discussion, Mr. Avory offered no evidence, and the After some legal discussion, MR. AVORY offered no evidence, and the jury found the prisoner
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
ELIZABETH HIGGINS . I live with my parents at 9, Fendall Road, Bermondsey—on December 20th I went through the ceremony of marriage with the prisoner, and on October 30th he struck me on my mouth, and told me to go out of his house, as I was no wife of his; he had a wife and six children—these are my marriage lines, in which he is stated to be a bachelor—after our marriage he said that he was living with a woman five years, but had no children by her, and that was the reason they parted—I lived with him a month before we were married, and he did not ill-use me, but he did after I married—I am lame, but that is atrophy, nothing to do with him—I kept company with him three months before marriage—I left him on December 1st, and went home to my mother.
WALTER CHANDLER (225 L). On July 5th, 1893, I took the prisoner in custody for assaulting his wife by cutting her forehead and setting fire to her; he was sentenced to two months' hard labour at Lambeth Police-court; his wife was present, her name is Ellen, and he gave his name George Thomas Pearce, plasterer, 14, Dean's Buildings.
EDWARD WILLIAMS (Police Sergeant M). I took the prisoner on December 4th, and I told him it was for marrying Elizabeth Biggins, his wife Ellen being alive—he said, "I was not married to her, I merely lived with her, and she has children by me; I admit I struck her, and a separation order was made against me"—he was then charged with bigamy and bound over—I could not get the rest of the evidence—on December 21st I took him again, he said, "I was given to understand by Mrs. Anderson that she was dead, why I told you I was never married to her was because I did not want to."
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I thought she was dead before I married the other, not seeing her for so long—I understood Mrs. Anderson to say that she was dead.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. BARKER Prosecuted.
JOHN DAVIS . I am a milkman, of 7, Southwell Walk, Paddington, in the employ of the Great Western Dairy Farm Company, Limited—this can I recognise as their property; its value was 8s. 6d. when new—on 6th January I left it at the Cyprus Restaurant, in King William Street—I next saw it on 16th January at the Police-court.
at the Crooked Billet with three quarts of milk in it—I next saw it at the Southwark Police-court.
RICHARD BEARD (Detective M). At three in the afternoon of January 9th I was in Trinity Square, Borough, with Detective Kemp—I saw the prisoners there—Evans was carrying a milk-can under his arm; Cohen was walking with him—in consequence of numerous losses of this kind I asked Evans where he got it from—he said, "I bought it in Whitechapel about three months ago"—I said, "How much did you give for it?"—he said, "3s."—I did not feel satisfied, and took him to the station—Cohen said, "I have nothing whatever to do with it; I have only just joined Evans; I live in the same lodging-house"—the small can was in the large one—at the station Evans informed the inspector that he bought the can a month previous in Aldersgate Street.
EVANS— GUILTY .
COHEN— NOT GUILTY .
EVANS then PLEADED GUILTY to having been convicted at Southwark on 22nd October, 1894, after a previous conviction.— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
There was another indictment against Cohen, upon which no evidence was offered.
MR. SOPER Prosecuted.
EDWARD MACDONALD . I am a clerk in the Savings' Bank Department of the General Post Office—I produce thirteen notices of withdrawal and thirteen receipts, corresponding to the notices—one of the receipts is for £10, and dated June 24th.
JOHN AYREJ . I am an artist living at 13, Millar's Street, Camberwell—I am a depositor in the Post Office Savings Bank; this is my book 11218 A, at the office 17, Walworth Road—on April 27th I left England to fulfil an engagement in South Africa—I was away fourteen weeks and returned on August 4th—before going away I gave my deposit book to my wife—I gave her enough money to last her while I was away—I gave her no authority to draw on the deposit account—if I died she was to take it to my agent—soon after my return she told me £5 had been taken out; I did not examine the book then—there is an entry on June 24th of the withdrawal of £10—some leaves have been torn out of the book—I did not know they were out when I first came back—I was at Margate with my wife in September—I saw her there with the prisoner, who had represented himself as my wife's brother-in-law—at Margate I was taken towards them by my daughter; I saw them talking together, and when they saw me coming towards them they ran away in different directions, so that I could not catch either of them—my wife returned to my lodgings, but next day she went off with the prisoner, and she has not returned and lived with me since—I never authorised the prisoner to fill up anything—about a fortnight ago I saw my wife—in consequence of information she gave my daughter she found these two missing sheets and handed them to me—I find from Mr. Macdonald that £75 has been withdrawn from my account.
Cross-examined. I wrote from Johannesburg to my wife, saying that if she wanted more money she was to get it from my agent, Mr. Napoli; she knew where to get it.
Re-examined This signature to the receipt for £10, dated June 24th, is not in my writing; it is a very good imitation of mine.
BELINDA AYRES . I live at Gough Street, Gray's Inn Road, and am the wife of the last witness—he went abroad in April, I believe, last year—he gave me £21, and his bank book before he went—after he went the prisoner lived at my house until about a day before my husband returned, early in August—the prisoner paid me no money for lodgings or anything, but sometimes he bought food—I was short of money while my husband was away, because I lost my purse while out shopping—I did not tell the police or anybody except my children that I had lost it, nor advertise for it—the prisoner was living with me at the time I lost it; I asked him to withdraw some money from my husband's account, and he drew out £75—I always went with him to the post-office—I saw him sign this receipt; it is in his writing—he always handed to me the money he got, and I spent it—I did not buy a horse and harness—I believe the prisoner borrowed the money from someone to buy a horse and harness—he used to keep himself; he brought his food in—I don't know what work he did, sometimes he distributed bills; I believe he worked on a paper called the Mascot—I suggest he earned money while living in my house—he lived at my place, but not with me—afterwards I went away with him—I made a statement to Mr. Macdonald which he took down, and which I signed—the signature to this receipt is like my husband's; I don't know how the prisoner was able to imitate it; the only signature he got was from the bank book—the prisoner actually lived in the rooms I occupied—I asked him to do this, and he said he would get into trouble if he did it—we went to different post-offices to get the money—I did not tell the prisoner I had no authority from my husband to withdraw the money—I don't remember telling Mr. Macdonald that the prisoner knew I had no such authority—I don't know if I told him we had spent the money together, I was too much upset.
FLORENCE BELINDA AYRES . I am the daughter of last witness—I remember my father going away last year; I don't exactly remember the date; I think it was in July—I knew Pike; I had seen him before father went away—he came the same day and stayed at our house all the while father was away, and he left the day father returned—I remember a pony and trap coming; I went out in it with Mr. Pike and mother—a short time before father came back mother said she had got £20 out of the bank, and she did not know what papa would say when he came home—I asked Pike whether he got it—he said, "Yes"—he said, "Feemie "(that is my nickname) "can make it all right with her father," to my mother that morning—Pike had got the money out of the bank because she had lost her money—she did not say she had lost her money before that day—on one occasion I saw her give Pike money, she pledged the tablecloth to get it.
Cross-examined. The pony and trap was before father went to Johannesburg, it belonged to another man, I don't think the prisoner had it when he came to stay with us—afterwards he had a trap from Mr. Corney, that was the one I drove out in with my mother and him—I remember mother being thrown out of it.
receipt is dated Jane 24th—I paid that £10 on that day to the prisoner, and saw him sign it.
FELIX NAPOLI .—I am a theatrical agent, and live at 55, Waterloo Road—I have known John Ayres for several years—he went to Africa last year, the engagement was made through me—I had no authority from him to pay his wife money while he was away on this occasion; but when I saw him off, he said his wife, "When you want anything you know where to come to."
MRS. AYRES (recalled). I tost my purse at the end of May—I have never gone to Mr. Napoli for help—I sent to him for £1. don't know if it was on June 25th—I went for another £1, and got it.
CHARLES WATKIN BAXTER . I am a financier, and carry on business at 14, Wardrobe Road, Camberwell—I have known the prisoner for two years—in May or June last he asked me if I would start him in business, and said if I would buy him a pony and trap he could do very well—I bought him a pony, which I gave £9 10s. for, and harness, which I gave £2 15s. for, and a trap, for which I gave nothing—Mrs. Ayres paid me £6 10s. for the trap, I charged £9 10s. for the pony, altogether I made out a bill for £16—I had £4 sent me in September, in £1 a week; I believe it came from Mrs. Ayres, her child brought it to me—I had a promissory note, and the payments were on account of it.
GEORGE FREDERICK FRANKLAND . I am a cabman, and live in Sturgeon Road, Surrey Gardens—I have known the prisoner for the last eighteen months—on January 6th I saw him outside the King Lud, Ludgate Hill—he asked me to have a drink, which I did—I asked him how Nell was, meaning Mrs. Ayres—he said she was well, and as fat as butter—I said, "I heard say she was starving"—he said it was a lie—I asked him who was looking after her—he said he was—I said, "How about the money?"—he said, "You know I had a pony and trap out of it."
Cross-examined. I did not say to him that I knew where the money had come from.
JAMES JOHNSON (234 A). On the 17th I arrested the prisoner in Shoe Lane; I read the warrant to him—he said, "I am fully prepared for it, I knew that the warrant had been issued, I drew the money and signed the receipt at the instigation of Mrs. Ayres; it was in this way, when Ayres went away he left £19 with his wife; she was out shopping down the Walworth Road when she had her pocket picked of all the money; she had four children to keep, and being destitute and knowing there was money in the bank she suggested to me that I should draw some out; the notice of withdrawal was obtained and signed by me, and I handed her the money"—I made a note of it at the time—when charged he made no reply—when I read the warrant to him I said the amount was £75—he said that was quite correct.
GUILTY . He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony on October 13th, 1890, at Bow Street.— Eighteen Mouths' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
229. GEORGE CARTWRIGHT PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully obtaining certain food from Robert Steel, also from Henry Nicholas by false pretences, having been convicted of felony at Clerkenwell on June19th, 1893. Five other convictions were proved against him.— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BUTTON Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, FEBRUARY 24TH, 1896.