CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
FIFTH SESSION, HELD FEBRUARY 24TH, 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.
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On the Queen's Commission of
OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
The City of London,
AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY, WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CEIMINAL COURT,
Held on Monday, February 24th, 1896, and following days.
BEFORE the RIGHT HON. SIR WALTER WILKIN , Knt., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; Hon. Sir ALFRED WILLS , Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court; Sir REGINALD HANSON , Bart., M.P., and Sir STUART KNILL , Bart., LL.D., Aldermen of the said City; Sir CHARLES HALL , Q.C., M.P., K.C.M.G., Recorder of the said City; Lieut.-Col. HORATIO DAVID DAVIES , M.P., ALFRED JAMES NEWTON , Esq., WALTER VAUGHAN MORGAN , Esq., WILLIAM PURDIE TRELOAR , Esq., JOHN CHARLES BELL , Esq., GEORGE WYATT TRUSCOTT , Esq., and FREDERICK PLATT 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. FIFTH 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 24th, 1896.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. ORMSBY Prosecuted.
ARTHUR HAMMETT (90 A R). On February 10th, at a quarter past ten p.m., I was on duty in York Street, and saw Cooper loitering about St. James's Railway Station—I passed him, and saw Mahoney standing with three other men—I dispersed them—the two prisoners went towards St. James's Railway Station—I was in uniform—as I turned to leave the station I saw a man come out of the western door and take a hasty look round—I went up and saw Cooper standing by a gentleman, and Mahoney close to him, and he took a coin from his left hand and said, "Take that," and ran away—I seized Mahoney and said, "Give me what you have in your hand"—he refused, and struggled to run away; I blew my whistle for assistance—Mahoney said, "This is for drink, Mr. Grant"—assistance came; the constable took the coin from Mahoney's right hand and gave me the sovereign—he said, "I will go quietly"—at the station he said, "On Wednesday evening I had a drink with Mr. Grant"—at 7.30 I went to St. James's Park Tavern, and saw Cooper sitting down—I called him outside, and said I should take him for being with Mahoney, for stealing a sovereign from a gentleman, name unknown—he said, "What are you taking me for?"—I found no money on Mahoney, only a small article and A knife—nothing was found on Cooper.
Cross-examined by Mahoney. You struggled to get away from me to get at Mr. Grant; you called him by name—I did not know him.
Cross-examined by Cooper. You were loitering about; you were not minding a cab.
being snatched from my hand at the booking office by Mahoney, but I did not know him; and I cannot recognise him as the man who robbed me—I know Cooper by sight, as standing by a cab rank sometimes—I am not in very good health, and am now under a doctor.
Cross-examined by Mahoney. I do not recollect drinking with you at the Aquarium Tavern on February 6th, nor having seen you before, nor your telling me of your troubles—I did not speak to you on the night of the 10th; I have not known you for several years—you asked me at the Police-court if I had not given you a sovereign; I never did—I knew Cooper by sight; he may have got me a cab sometimes.
JAMES FRASER (Police Inspector). On February 10th, about twenty minutes past ten, I ran upstairs, and found the prosecutor holding Mahoney, who had a sovereign in his hand—the prosecutor said, "Will you take it from him?"—I said, "No," and he gave it to me—I had seen him about that morning—he said Mr. Grant gave him the sovereign to have a drink.
The Prisoners' statements before the Magistrate: Mahoney. "I plead guilty, if you will kindly dispose of this case, and take into consideration that whatever sentence you may pass, I shall have to serve nine months; my mother is dead, and my wife in a madhouse." Cooper. "No; dispose of the case, that is all."
Mahoney's defence. "It looks very black against me, I admit. I have known Mr. Grant a considerable time; he gave me 9d. to get a drink, and promised to assist me the next time he saw me; and when I saw him on this night, he said, 'Wait till I get change for a sovereign.' He held it in his left hand. The policeman pounced upon me at once; I said, 'Let me speak to Mr. Grant; this is no robbery; he will give it to me willingly.'"
—MAHONEY PLEADED GUILTY to a previous conviction at this Court, and sentenced to Nine Months' Hard Labour. Other con-victions were proved against him.— Six Months' Hard Labour (he having still six months to serve upon his previous conviction). A previous conviction was also proved against COOPER.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
232. WILLIAM STARKEY (17) PLEADED GUILTY to feloniously breaking and entering the parish church of Friern Barnet , and stealing five surplices, a clock, and other articles, the property of the church-wardens; also to two previous convictions.— Eight Months' Hard Labour.
233. CHARLES BLOWERS [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to burglary in the dwelling-house of James Freeman, and stealing a clock, and other articles, his goods. The prisoner received a good character from his employer, who stated that the prisoner's situation was still open to him. It was said that he had committed the offence when drunk, and to have voluntarily given himself up.— Discharged on Recognizances.
234. HARRY EDWARD PIDDIFORD (37) and WILLIAM JOHN CONNOR (16) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to stealing an order for the payment of £291 10s. 9d., the property of their masters. Connor's father deposed to his son's good character.— Discharged on Recognizances.
236. FRANCIS NASH (50) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to unlawfully committing an act of gross indecency with Arthur Cask, and indecently assaulting the same person. The prisoner had been sentenced to Ten Years' Penal Servitude for so doing in 1885.
MR. DRUMMOND Prosecuted.
WILLIAM HENRY FRANKLIN . I am a general dealer, of 44, Great Peter Street, Westminster—I know the prisoners—between six and seven p.m. on January 27th I was in the Star and Garter, Great Peter Street, with two women—I had 10s. 6d. in my left trousers pocket—Clark came in, and asked me to stand him a drink—I told him I had no money to stand him a drink with—he hit me in the face, knocked me down, and knelt on my chest, while Didden put his hand in my pocket; they ran off then by different doors—I felt in my pocket, and found I had only 1s. left—before I was knocked down I had spent 3 1/2d., so that I ought to have had 10s. 2 1/2d. left—I went to Rochester Row Police-station, and made a complaint, and then I came back to the Star and Garter, and accused the prisoners, who were there, of robbing me—they wanted to fight me—I walked out, and they followed me with five or six men—I followed them to the Adam and Eve public-house, and told a policeman outside; he got another policeman, and we went into the public-house, and the prisoners were taken into custody, and eventually taken to the Police-station—I was a little the worse for drink, but I had still got my wits about me, I knew what I was doing—I have known Didden for years—I am quite sure the prisoners are the men.
MAGGIE NEIGHBOUR . I live at 43, Great Peter Street, and am single—on the night of January 27th I was with the prosecutor and Rose King in the Star and Garter—Clark came, and asked the prosecutor for a drink—the prosecutor refused—Clark knocked him down, and knelt on his chest, while Didden put his hand down his left trousers pocket and robbed him—both prisoners ran out then—I remained in the public-house—I was standing at my door, opposite the public-house, when the prosecutor came back—I saw the prisoners come out—I am quite sure they are the men; I have seen them about Victoria lots of times—when the prosecutor came back I saw the prisoners leave the Star and Garter, and I pointed them out to the prosecutor—I and King were quite sober.
Cross-examined by Clark. You did not speak to me in the bar after the prosecutor was robbed.
THOMAS HOLBROW (14 A R). About 7.45 p.m. on January 27th I was on duty in Wood Street, which is a continuation of Great Peter Street—I saw the prisoners and four or five young men going towards and entering the Adam and Eve—they came from the direction of Great Peter Street—after they had gone into the Adam and Eve the prosecutor made a complaint to me—I got assistance and entered the public-house with 155 A and the prosecutor, who pointed out the prisoners as the men who had robbed him—I said I should take them into custody—Clark said, "All right! let us have some more beer before we go"—three or four pots of beer and some bread and cheese were on the table—the prisoners came out of the public-house quietly, and went up Wood Street into Marsham Street, where they called on their companions to rescue them—Clark became very violent; I was obliged to hold him against the railings and
blow my whistle for assistance—Hunt and two other constables arrived—Clark kicked Hunt on the shin and ankle, and he kicked me on the ankle, and caused me to fall on the roadway—a very violent mob of nearly 200 persons got round us—there were a lot of their companions—while I was on the ground one of their companions made a running kick at me and missed me, and kicked Clark in the side—I was obliged to send for the ambulance eventually, and then we got Clark to the station—he was charged with robbery and assault—he made no answer except to threaten the prosecutor for turning copper—Didden went quietly; the other constable took him—5 1/2d. was found on him.
THOMAS HOLLINGSWORTH (155 A). I went with Holgrove on January 27th into the Adam and Eve, and was there when the prisoners were arrested—Clark was violent—Bidden was very violent at first in Wood Street, and then he said it was no use; he would go quietly—another constable came to my assistance—Clark was taken on an ambulance to the station.
JAMES HUNT (69 A R). On January 27th I heard a whistle, and went into Marsham Street, where I found the two prisoners in custody, and a very large crowd—I assisted Holbrow—Clark was very violent—he said, "I am not going any farther," and threw Holbrow down—he kicked me on the right ankle and shin, grazing it, and saying, "Take that, you—"—I had to send for the ambulance to take him to the station—I was on the sick list in consequence of these injuries; I am quite well again now.
Didden, in his defence, stated that he saw the prosecutor lying on the ground, and put his hand into his pocket.
Clark said that he asked the prosecutor to treat him, that the prosecutor hit him, and he hit back, and the prosecutor fell to the ground, and then Didden came up and put his hand into his pocket.
[Assumed found GUILTY: see original trial image]
The prisoners then PLEADED GUILTY to convictions of felony, DIDDEN in April, 1894, and CLARK to a conviction of felony in March, 1895. Holbrow stated that the prisoners belonged to a gang of notorious thieves
DIDDEN—Fifteen Months' Hard Labour and Twenty Strokes with the Cat.
CLARK—Twelve Months' Hard Labour and Twenty Strokes with the Cat.
NEW COURT.—Monday, February 24th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
238. THOMAS GRIFFITHS (25) and ELIZA MURPHY (23) PLEADED GUILTY to feloniously having counterfeit coin in their possession, with intent to utter it, both having been before convicted of a like offence. Several other convictions were proved against them.
GRIFFITHS— Twenty Months' Hard Labour.
MURPHY— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
240. ERNEST ARTHUR WALBREN (20) , to two indictments for stealing post letters containing photographs and other articles, he being employed by the Post Office; also to obtaining three rings and other articles from John Nicholls, with intent to defraud.
He received a good character.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
241. EDWARD TOMBLESON (20) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to stealing, while employed in the Post Office, two post letters, containing three postal orders, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
242. WILLIAM ANDREWS (23) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to burglary in the dwelling-house of Charles Henry Booth, with intent to steal. Having been convicted at Wandsworth on January 6th, 1891.— Discharged on Recognizances.
243. MINNIE PHEBY (20) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to three indictments for burglary, and stealing a clock, a gold brooch, and other articles of Annie Morris Hawkins and Herbert Tyson.— Nine Months on each Indictment, to run consecutively.
245. JOHN KEMP (24) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to breaking and entering the dwelling-house of Berthold Herman and another, and stealing two coats, and 17s. 5 1/2d.; also to breaking and entering the warehouse of Harry Adlam, and stealing 1s. 3d., the money of Harry Southern. Having been convicted at Clerkenwell on June 24th, 1895. Several other convictions were proved against him.— Three Years' Penal Servitude. And
246. HENRY JAMES YOUNG (19) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] , to stealing a watch and other articles from the person of Henry Schultz Young. Having been convicted at North London Sessions on May 21st, 1894. Other convictions were proved against him.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
WILLIAM HENRY WOOD . I am foreman to Seeley Allen, a manufacturing electrician—on the morning of February 10th a man spoke to me as soon as I opened the premises—I looked down the stairs and saw the prisoner on the ground floor, in a porch by the letter-box, with this bag in his hand; it is Mr. Allen's—I went out and found the prisoner in Great St. Thomas Apostle, and said, "I believe you were at 25, Garlick Hill just now—he said, "No"—I said, "I believe you were, what have you got in that bag; does it belong to you?"—he said, "No," and, after some humming and hahing, he bolted—I called, "Stop thief," and he was brought back in custody—this bag and contents are the property of my employer—I missed similar articles; here is a box of compasses—the bag was on the office-table, with nothing in it; whoever took it must have put the things in it—the prisoner said that he found them in the doorway.
JOHN WRIGHT (653, City). On the morning of February 10th I was on duty near St. Thomas Apostle, and saw the prisoner running; I caught him—he said that he found the bag—he was searched at the station, and four compasses, three gloves, and some pawn tickets found on him—he said, "I took them in the office."
The Prisoner. I deny that; I said that I took the compasses out of the bag.
The prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate, and in his defence, said that he picked the bag up in the doorway, opened it, and put the compasses in his pocket, and was going to take the bag back.
— GUILTY **. He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at Clerkenwell on June 4th, 1888, and was sentenced to Five Years' Penal Servitude.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. RICHARDS Prosecuted.
STEPHEN PILBEAN (79 H). On February 14th I was on duty in Trinity Square which is outside the City—I heard a clock strike 11.30, looked at the pillar-box, and it was all right; I put my hand in the aperture—ten minutes later I examined it again, found some sticky stuff on the box, and saw the prisoner moving off; he ran; I chased him forty yards, took him, and asked what he ran away for—he said that he never saw me; he ran to catch a train—he had one hand in his pocket—I asked what he had in his hand—he said, "Only a little advertisement," and pulled out this paper, covered with a sticky substance—I afterwards went back to the place where I arrested him, and found this letter, with a sticky substance on it, addressed to Mr. Webb, and this tin box, lying on the pavement fifteen yards off, with sticky stuff in it—that spot was before I came up to him.
JAMES WALKER . I am attached to the General Post Office—on February 15th I went to Leman Street Station, and took the prisoner's coat and other articles—I took the letter where it was addressed, had it opened, and got the envelope—I also took some sticky stuff from the letter-box.
HENRY WILSON DAVIS . I am an analyst in Government employ at Somerset House—Walker brought me a tin box, a letter, and a card—I examined them microscopically; they had on them a paste made of wheat flour—it would be adhesive if stuck on a letter-box—I found it on the sleeve of his coat, on the letter, on the card, and on this piece of paper.
Cross-examined. The stain on the coat was dry; but I do not know whether it was of long standing—there was sticky stuff in each of the pockets.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that the heard the clock strike a quarter to twelve, and was running to get a glass of beer before the public-houses closed, and the policeman, who he had not seen, stopped him; that he knew nothing about the pillar box; that he did not give the policeman the paper, and that the paste on his coat had been there for eighteen months, and was caused by his making up parcels as a bookbinder.
S. PILBEAN (Re-examined). The man I ran after turned back and looked round—I did not lose sight of him—I am sure no other man was running—this was his under-coat—he gave a correct name and address—I understand he is a tobacconist and confectioner, but has been out of employment
some time—I cannot ascertain that he has been a book-binder.
GUILTY .—The officer stated that the adhesive substance had been found in the same letter-box eight times in six weeks.— Judgment respited.
(For Old Court, Tuesday, see page 413.)
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, February 25th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
249. WILLIAM LEE (55) PLEADED GUILTY to making false entries in the treasurer's book of the Pinner Working Men's Benefit Society, with intent to defraud; also to embezzling £1, and £1; also 10s. of the said Society, his masters.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. LAWLESS Prosecuted, and MR. NOBLE Defended.
GEORGE JOHNSON . I am a licensed hawker, of Sunbury—on Saturday, 5th Feb., about two o'clock, the prisoner came and asked me to let him have a horse for a week to carry out a contract—I said that he might have one for three days—he said, "I will give you £1 for three days"—he was sober—we went to the Salthorne Inn, and had some drink, and a baker there drew up this document, but did not read it to me, or tell me what was in it; I cannot read or write; the prisoner put his mark to it:—"February 19th, 1896. Bought of George Johnson by Thomas Stone. If not suitable in three days Mr. Stone will pay £10: or £1, and return the horse to the owner"—I had the horse with me—the prisoner got on his back and rode away—at the end of three days I made inquiries and found the prisoner at Hounslow on Sunday, the 9th, sitting on Powder Mill Bridge—I said, "Good-morning"—he said, "Did you have that note I sent you?"—I said, "No; you must come to the Police-station with me"—he said, "I will come if you will forgive me for what I have done"—we went to the Police-station, where he said to the sergeant, "I turned the horse on to the moor"—the sergeant would not take the charge, and told me to go and see whether the horse was there, and come back and let him know—I went to look for it, and in consequence of what I heard I went to Mr. Brazier, of Staines, a horse slaughterer, and in consequence of what he told me I got a warrant—on Tuesday, February 11th, I saw my horse at Mr. Reynolds', at Han worth—the prisoner was arrested, and I charged him—I received no money from him.
Cross-examined. I did not tell the baker to write, "Bought of George Johnson," or say anything about the prisoner paying £10 for the horse—the prisoner was sober enough to mount the horse and ride off—I go about from place to place—I did not ask the prisoner where he lived, or make any inquiries about him; he came with ah apron on, and said that he was a contractor, and wanted the horse to draw bricks—when I saw him on February 9th I did not ask him for the money for the horse; I thought, as he had not returned it, he was going to take it altogether, and I should buy another.
Road, Staines—on February 5th, about four p.m., the prisoner came and said, "I have got a horse for you," which he brought—my house is about an hour's walk from the Spelthorne Inn—I said, "Whose horse is it?" he said, "Mine; I bought it; and have been taken in"—I said, "How much do you want for it?"—he said he would leave it to me; I gave him 15s. for it—I sold it for £2—it is alive and well, and looks better than it did before—the prisoner seemed to have had a glass, but he knew what he was doing.
Cross-examined. I have known him six years, and never knew anything against him—I am a valuer of horses—it was an old tumble-down horse, and I am surprised to hear that the prosecutor values it at £10.
Cross-examined. It is not worth more; if I had the transaction again I would not give £2 for it—£10 would be an absurd price.
GEORGE WILSON (Detective Officer). I received a warrant on February 11th, and at 4.30 that afternoon I saw the prisoner, and read it to him—he said, "I sold the horse to Mr. Brazier for 15s."—on the way to Staines he said, "You do not call it stealing, sir?"—I said, "Yes, I do; is this the receipt you gave?"—he said, "Yes, that is my mark."
Cross-examined. I know him; he has never been charged—he said, "I sold the horse for 15s.; if I had not been drunk I should not have done such a thing."
GUILTY .—The prosecutor stated that he had been three weeks without his horse, and was obliged to pawn the harness for funds to come to this Court.— Judgment respited.
MR. A. GILL Prosecuted.
ELIZA BOXALL . I am the wife of Charles Box all, a warehouseman, of 38A, Goodge Street, and I have a newspaper-shop there—at the end of last year, or the beginning of this, the prisoner came and gave his name on paper, R. W. or W. R. Smith, and asked me to take in letters for him—four letters came—he called three times, and took them away, and the last one he opened in my shop, and I saw a pink paper, which I believe to be a cheque.
ALGEY LYNES . I am a tailor, of 183, High Street, Shoreditch—on January 14th the prisoner, whom I did not know, came in for a pair of trousers, price 10s. or 10s. 6d., and tendered this cheque (produced)—I gave him the change—the cheque was stopped when it was presented.
JOHN HENRY DEMPSTER . I am a medical man, of Ewley Station Road, Red Hill—on January 8th I received this letter, purporting to come from William Robert Smith, 38A, Goodge Street—I knew Dr. William Robert Smith, who was attached to King's College Hospital, and believed it came from him, but did not know his writing—I sent a reply, enclosing this cheque for £3—I received information, which induced me to stop the cheque at my banker's. (Letter read: "My dear Dempster,—I am in a bit of a hole for want of ready cash. I want you to lend me £3 for a week or two; I know you will not mistrust me.—WM. R. SMITH.")
and know Mr. Dempster—this letter was not written by me or by my authority—I have never lived at 38A, Goodge Street—I never received this cheque—it would appear in an old register that Dr. Dempster and I were at King's College together—I do not know the prisoner in connection with the hospital—I never saw him at all.
CHARLES ARROW (Police Inspector D). I arrested the prisoner, and found in his possession this piece of paper, with some memoranda on it—I pasted it on this paper; it contains the names of three medical men, and their qualifications and appointments—I have compared them with the letter purporting to be signed by Mr. Smith; they are precisely the same, and the ink is the same.
Cross-examined. This memorandum belongs to this envelope—you did not tell me that the envelope was given to you.
WILLIAM HENRY CHAPLIN . I am landlord of the White Hart, Coopers Square, Leman Street—I have known the prisoner about three years; I do not know what he is—he came to me in January, and asked me to cash this cheque. (Drawn by Eric Pritchard for £3, and endorsed W. R. Smith)—I did so, and paid it into my banker's—it was not paid—I lost the £3.
Cross-examined. I never heard your name till the cheque was returned—when the detective came I did not know your name; I found it out by a young woman—I did not hear you addressed by name, I only knew you by sight.
DR. SMITH (Re-examined). I know the name of Eric L. Pritchard very well—this is not my endorsement—I did not give the prisoner authority to sign my name on this cheque.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that he was the tool of another man, who he believed to be a graduate of the University of Edinburgh, and who sent him to fetch the letters.
— NOT GUILTY .
ROBERT LANCASTER . I am cook on board the steamship Stewart, lying at Fresh Wharf—on February 22nd I was ashore, and met the prisoner; my friend gave him a glass of beer, and so did I—I asked him to get me a comfortable lodging, and he took me to a lodging-house in Cable Street—we slept in the same room; he had one bed, and I the other—I hung my coat and waistcoat at the foot of the bed—I had three sovereigns and two half-sovereigns in the waistcoat pocket—the prisoner had a can, and I gave him some beer in it—the landlord woke me up, and my money was gone.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I was not drunk; I had only had a little peppermint.
ADOLPH CASE . I am a coffee-house keeper, of 66, Cable Street—on February 22nd, about 11.30 p.m., Lancaster and the prisoner came, and I gave them a room with two beds in it—they were both sober—about two o'clock I heard somebody walking in the room, and come downstairs
to my door—it was the prisoner—I asked him what he wanted; he said he wanted to come out; I said, "You can't at this time of the night"—I got up—he said that the other man was awake, but I went up and found him asleep—I woke him up, and asked him if he missed anything—he got hold of his waistcoat and said, "I miss my money"—I sent for a policeman.
Cross-examined. You did not knock at my door and ask me to let you down into the yard—you said you wanted to go out to get some drink, but would come back again—you were dressed just as when you came in—£1 1s. 4d. was found in the beer-can.
HENRY BROOKS (434 H). On the night of February 22nd, or the morning of the 23rd, I was called to Cable Street, and saw the prisoner with a can in his hand—I looked in it, and found a sovereign and 1s. 4d., and 8d. on him—I cannot find the rest of the money.
Cross-examined. I did not find the can by the side of the bed—you had it in your hand.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I know nothing about his money."
Prisoner's defence. I went to the house with him. I was in bed two or three minutes before him. I could see from where I lay that he was shuffling about in his pockets. About 2.15 I got up, but I did not attempt to go down till I knocked at the governor's door. He came out and said, "You must not go." I said, "I want to go down to the yard; if you think there is anything wrong, send for a policeman." I went upstairs again. The policeman picked up the sovereign from the chair by the bed where this man slept.
GUILTY .— Six Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, February 26th, 1896.
Before Mr. Justice Wills.
MESSRS. C. F. GILL, BODKIN and STEPHENSON Prosecuted, and MR. CAMPBELL Defended.
MARY CHAMBERS . I am eleven years old, and lived with my mother at 12, Greenside Road, Shepherd's Bush—she lived apart from my father, with several other children; part of the house was let out in lodgings—Mrs. Pearson occupied a room on the first floor with the prisoner as her son—in the course of last autumn he came and stayed for some time in the house with his mother—on the day my mother died I saw the prisoner standing dressed in his mother's room—t went to school; I came back about a quarter to one, and got my dinner, and my mother took up some food to the prisoner on the first floor front room; that would be about one or a little after—I did not see my mother after that; she remained upstairs till I went out to go back to school, about half-past one—just as I was going out I heard a scream from upstairs, and then a second scream—I ran out of the house, and saw my sister Margaret at the back door; and on going round to the front I saw my other sister; she had started for school before me—I saw a policeman,
and told him what I had heard; I then went back to the house—the scream I heard was from the stairs—I was in the basement, on a level with the street.
Cross-examined. I remember Mrs. Pearson going away to nurse someone some six weeks before this—when she was away mother used to carry up his dinner to the prisoner—she was very kind to him—when Margaret was going to school she called out, "Good-bye, mother," and mother called out something in reply—that was about five minutes before I heard the scream.
MARGARET CHAMBERS . I am thirteen years old; I was living at 12, Greenside Road, with my mother and sisters—on Monday, January 20th, I was at school in the morning—I returned about a quarter to one; I had my dinner—about one, mother went upstairs with some dinner—about half-past one I was ready to go back to school; mother had not come downstairs again; I called out "Good-bye," and she answered, I think, from inside Mrs. Pearson's room—I did not hear any other voice in the room—shortly after I left the house my sister Mary ran after me and told me something, and the doctor and police were fetched—the other children are all younger than I.
Cross-examined. I generally took up the prisoner's dinner to him—I remember mother saying that day, "I must take some dinner up to that poor creature upstairs"—she said that kindly—she was always exceedingly kind to him, and we all were; we thought him a little strange—when I called out "Good-bye, Another," she answered in her ordinary voice, just the same as she did any other day.
GEORGE DICKENSON (266 T). About 1.40 in the afternoon of January 20th, Mary Chambers came to me on fixed point duty, and I went to 12, Greenside Road—I knocked twice at the door; I got no answer—I went round to the back, found the door open, went into the kitchen and into the passage; it was dark; it was very foggy—I stumbled against something, struck a light, and then saw the woman lying on the right side in a cramped position, with her throat cut; the body was in the passage, but the head was lying in the room—I sent for the doctor—a little child was in the front breakfast-room—I found this hammer lying at the feet of the body; it had wet blood on it—I also found this small shoe-maker's knife lying in a pool of blood by the side of the body—I did not go upstairs till the sergeant came.
WALTER GAMP (Police Sergeant). On January 20th, about ten minutes to two, I went to 12, Greenside Road, and there found the deceased lying in the passage dead; the last witness and the two daughters were there—I traced foot-marks of blood upstairs into the first floor front room; they had the appearance of bare feet; the room door was half open—I looked into the room, and saw the prisoner there; he was in the act of placing a shirt under the bed; I picked it up; there was blood on the wristband—I said to him, "What are you doing here?"—he said, "Eh?"—I repeated my question—he said, "I am a lodger"—I said, "I shall detain you on suspicion of murdering the woman downstairs"—he made no reply—I took possession of the shirt—I found a pair of men's socks saturated with blood, inside and outside, also a towel, a neckerchief, and a small piece of flannel, with blood on them—there was a basin of water in the room slightly discoloured—he wiped his hand on his coat; it had a small blood mark.
on the arm—I took him to the station, and saw marks of fresh blood on his coat and vest.
ROBERT MARKHAM (Sergeant T). I went to the house and saw the prisoner in the first floor room—I said, "You will be charged with murdering a woman, whose body is downstairs, by cutting her throat"; I also cautioned him—he replied, "I have nothing to say"—he was taken to the station; blood was found on various parts of his clothing, and also on his bare feet.
ELIZA PEARSON . I am a widow, and by occupation a nurse—up to the 20th January I lived at 12, Greenside Road, Shepherd's Bush, on the first floor, as a lodger of Mrs. Chambers; the prisoner is my son—previous to the 25th September last year he had been away for over six years; I then found him in my room on my return—he did not recognise me; he stayed with me, sleeping on the sofa, for a couple of days or so—when he last left home I had a tumour on the side of my face, which had changed my appearance, and he did not know me—he had been to where I had formerly lodged to inquire where I was to be found—after I spoke to him he knew me—he did not tell me where he had been—I asked him one or two questions, but I got no answer from him; so I did not trouble—I did not know at all where he had been—he remained with me two nights, sleeping on the sofa—he went out during the day, and came back at night; I do not know at all what he did—I told him I had no accommodation for him—he did not seem to take any notice; he went away for four weeks; he did not tell me where he was going; I did not hear from him during those four weeks—he then came back; that must have been towards the end of October; and stayed with me again—I asked him once or twice where he had been, but he made no answer, or very little—he did nothing; he went out in the morning and came back at night—sometimes he would read a little, but he said nothing; he would sit there quiet—I spoke to him several times about the inconvenience of his stopping there, but he made no answer—towards the middle of November he would not eat his food; he was lying in bed for four days; I could not get him up; he would only just take a cup of tea—I asked my doctor what I could do with him; he said I had better have him taken to the infirmary—I have asked him what was the matter with him, but he did not make me any answer—I got an order, and he was taken to Fulham Infirmary for about a month, up to the middle of December; Mrs. Chambers and I went one visiting day to see him there—I asked him if he felt better; he said "Yes"—I told him he had better stay there for the winter, as I could not afford to keep him—he took no notice—I told him he would have to leave, for I was expecting to be called out every day—he came back to me about the middle of December, and stayed as before, and then I left for six weeks—I then asked Mrs. Chambers to attend to him, and left some money with her, and I called in occasionally of an evening to see Mrs. Chambers—on Friday, January 10th, I called and found the prisoner in my room—I got angry with him, and told him
he would have to leave, as Mrs. Chambers had given me notice on account of his being there; Mrs. Chambers had gone up with me—he got angry with me, and said he would pick the chair up and hit me on the head, and split my head open, if I said anything more to him—Mrs. Chambers interposed, and said he ought not to speak to me like that—then we both left, leaving him in the room—I just called in on Friday, the 17th, but did not go upstairs or see him—this hammer is mine; I used to keep it in a box under my sofa.
Cross-examined. When he came home on September 25th he thought Mrs. Chambers was his mother; he asked her if she was—when I put questions to him as to where he had been he would not give any answer, or offer any remark—he would sit there in a moody sort of way—for five days before he was removed to the infirmary he took no food; Mrs. Chambers sent it by the children—in the infirmary he refused food for four days—when I called on the Friday night before this, he seemed rather angry with Mrs. Chambers at interposing, but he did not say anything to her.
WALTER TROWTON (242 T). On the evening of January 8th, about eight, I was called to 12, Greenside Road by Mrs. Chambers, and went to the first floor front room, the door of which I found locked—I knocked several times, and, getting no answer, I burst in the door—I found the prisoner in bed, and undressed, but wide awake—another constable, who was with me, said, "Well, what is the matter with you?"—he made no answer—I said, "Why did not you open the door?"—he made no answer—Mrs. Chambers said, "You are a sulky, sullen fellow. Why did you not open the door when I knocked?"—he made no reply to that—there was a tray in the room, and teacups and plates—I did not see any food; it looked as if food had been taken up—Mrs. Chambers said, "You see I brought him food on this tray, which he had yesterday; I have brought food up to him before, and placed it outside the door, but he has refused to eat it"—he made no answer—the constable and I then came away—he never spoke a word.
Cross-examined. Mrs. Chambers had complained of his locking himself up from about nine p.m. the previous evening—I thought that extraordinary and I thought his appearance very strange—I could not say that he was quite off his head—I thought him ill at the time, and thought it funny that he did not answer.
FREDERICK ARTHUR MAYNARD . I am a registered medical man, and live at 6 Archurch Road—on January 20th, about twenty minutes to two, I was called to 12, Greenside Road—I there found the body of the deceased lying in the basement passage; she was not quite dead; she died within a minute or two of my arrival—there was blood in two or three places on the floor—I found some wounds in her throat, and also on the head—I subsequently made a post-mortem examination—I found a large bruise on the left fore-arm, and a bruise on the little finger and the index finger of the right hand—that one might have been caused by this hammer, but not those on the head; altogether I found sixteen wounds; some of them might have been caused by the hammer, not all—there were two on the, back of the head—they were scalp wounds—they might have been caused by a blunt instrument, such as a hammer—four or five of those on the forehead were quite clean cuts, as if from a knife—the others
were lacerated and jagged—the two large wounds at the back of the head must have been caused with considerable violence, the others were not so severe—the two may probably have stunned her—I examined the neck—on the right side I found a punctured wound which penetrated the neck from one side to the other, severing the arteries, veins, gullet, and wind-pipe—profuse bleeding must have resulted—on the left side of the neck there was an incised wound half an inch deep and four inches in length—the one on the right side of the neck could have been caused by this large knife; the one on the left might have been done with either knife.
Mr. CAMPBELL called
HENRY CHARLTON BASTIAN , M.D., F.R.C.P., F.R.S., Physician to the Hospital for the Paralysed and Epileptic. I have had a great deal of experience in cases of insanity—I have been in Court today and heard the evidence, and have been furnished with a copy of the depositions taken before the Magistrate—I have had two interviews with the prisoner; he is of weak intellect, and when I examined him was suffering from delusions, especially with regard to his mother—he said she was not his mother, that she was not the woman he was bred from, that his brothers and sisters were all bred from different women—at times he made very rambling and incoherent remarks—he has chronic disease of the ear, a purulent discharge, and polypus in the external canal—there is no evidence of any definite disease of the brain—there is abscess and inflammation of membranes of the brain—I think it probable that he was of unsound mind at the time this tragedy was committed—I believe he was under the influence of an attack of acute homicidal mania at the time he committed the act—I think he did not understand the nature and quality of it.
Cross-examined. I have seen a great number of cases of homicidal mania—it is not necessary that there should be in all such cases delusion or hallucination, but it is more apt to occur where there has been previous unsoundness of mind—sullenness and moroseness favour the idea—at first I had some doubt as to the possibility of shamming, but those doubts were removed upon a second examination—on the first day I found no evidence of delusion, his memory was fairly good, and he answered many questions fairly enough—I ascertained that he was in Dartmoor five years—he was sentenced to six years' penal servitude for house-breaking—after his discharge he was at Pentonville a week, he was then sent home on September 25th—I did not ask him as to his treatment at the infirmary.
Re-examined. I made my examination of the prisoner at the request of the Treasury.
JOHN JAMES PITCAIRN . I am Assistant Medical Officer at Her Majesty's Prison, Holloway—Dr. Walker is ill, and has been for some weeks—I have seen his report in this case—I substantially agree with the evidence given by Dr. Bastian, and am prepared to offer similar evidence,—the prisoner's conduct in prison has been just as morose and sullen as it was before he was arrested—he has never held any communication with any of his fellow prisoners—his mental capacity shows him to be incapable of shamming—he told me that the children of Mrs. Pearson had faces very black, and he entered into a long disquisition, without any meaning as to black and white children—he has a very ill-shaped head—
he spoke about what he called a coin table, and made a curiously involved statement as to its having something to do with arithmetic—he has what is known to specialists as a distinctly neurotic tendency and a deformed palate.
GUILTY of the act, but being insane at the time.— Ordered to be detained as a criminal lunatic during Her Majesty's pleasure.
NOT GUILTY . The prisoner was tried and convicted at the last Session for inflicting grievous bodily harm upon the same person.
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, February 26th, 1896.
Before Mr. Recorder.
Being a deserter from the Army, the prisoner will have to be tried by Court-Martial.— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
MR. PASMORE Prosecuted.
HENRY BIRD (City Patrol). On February 11th I was with another officer in Aldgate, at 6.5 a.m., and saw the prisoner drawing a barrow containing a number of sacks—I said, "What have you got in those sacks?"—he said, "Cigars"—I said, "Whose are they?"—he said, "My master's, where I work, Mr. Van Salk, of Fenchurch Street"—I said, "Where are you going to take them?"—he said, "To the railway-station; any mate took away the invoice in his pocket last night, and that is where I am going"—we walked some way with him; he put the barrow down, and said, "Come on, I will show you the house; I know it when I see it"—he said that it was Osier's, in Northumberland Avenue—I remained with the barrow, and let Pearson go with him—in about twenty minutes Pearson ran back to me, and took the barrow; we went into Bell Lane, and saw the prisoner in custody—I took him to the station—on opening the bag we found a card with the name of Van Salk, 66, Fenchurch Street, on it—there were 219 boxes of cigars in the barrow—I found on the prisoner a watch and chain, a large seaman's knife, a box of matches, and a pair of dirty socks, which had evidently been put over his boots—the barrow had on it the name of Scrivner, of Crutched Friars—there is no such place as Northumberland Avenue there.
HENRY PEARSON (City Detective). I was with Bird—we followed the prisoner into Bell Lane, Spitalfields, about six o'clock, where he was stopped—we asked what he had in the barrow; he said, "Cigars"—we asked where he was going to take them—he said, "To Farringdon; I got them from Mr. Osier, in Northumberland Avenue"—he put the barrow down, put on his coat, and said, "Come with me; I will show you where Roberts lives"—he asked a man if be knew where Roberts lived—he said, "Yes, just up there"—I said, "It is no good," and was just going to seize
him, when I received a blow from behind, not from the prisoner, and then a second blow, and fell into a shed—they tried to close the door, but I struggled, and saw the prisoner leaving the court—I gave chase, and saw him enter Brunswick Buildings—I did not see any more of him till I saw; him in Newman's custody five minutes afterwards, and said, "That is the man I want"—I went back to Bird, and told him—I saw the prisoner in a cell—he said, "It was a fair capture, governor; it is a bit of luck that I was caught."
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. There were two men before we passed you with the truck; one was a short man; they did not put their hands on the truck.
GEORGE NEWMAN (47 H R). On February 11th, about 6.20, I heard a police-whistle, ran into Galston Street, and saw several persons going into some buildings—I went to the other side, and the prisoner came running through, and said, "He has gone this way, governor, the man you want"—he ran, and I ran and caught him, and asked him what he was running for—he said, "To get home"—I said, "You must come with me"—he said, "To tell you the truth, governor, it is my mate you want"—I took him in custody.
GEORGE HOOPER . I am housekeeper at 66, Fenchurch Street, which, is let out in offices—I live on the third floor—on February 10th, at 11.30 p.m., I saw this bag safe, and the office fastened up safely—next morning: the police showed me that the place had been broken into from some waste ground at the back; a window three feet long in the office had been taken out.
HEINDRICH VAN SALK . I am a cigar merchant, and have a room on the ground floor at 66, Fenchurch Street; this bag is mine; it contained 222 boxes of cigars, 119 of which have been recovered—they were safe the evening before, and the office was securely fastened; there was no window out.
JESSE CROUCH (City Detective Sergeant). On February 11th I examined 66, Fenchurch Street, and found that this padlock had been forced from the wall, and a door adjoining the premises leading to some vacant land at the back—the window of Mr. Van Salk's office had been removed and twisted over—a pot of treacle was found in the office—this knife and some putty were found on the prisoner—there was a hole in the glass three feet long and eighteen inches wide; the glass was split in two, as if it had been cut with a diamond.
ERNEST ARTHUR SIDEY . I am manager to Charles Thomas Scrivner; I saw a barrow belonging to him at Seething Lane Station—it was safe on Monday night at 6.30, when I left Crutched Friars—it was taken away for safety.
PLEADED GUILTY .
—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at this Court in this name of William Styran on January 13th, 1890, when he was sentenced to Seven Years' Penal Servitude, and two other convictions were proved against him.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour; having still to serve twenty-one months of his former sentence.
The JURY commended the conduct of the police.
MR. LOUIS Prosecuted.
FLORIDA RIQUCCI (Interpreted). I am a cook, and live at 15, Eyre Street Hill—on January 27th, at two a.m., I was in Little Bath Street, Clerkenwell, and wanted to go to bed, as I had to start working next day—I was alone—I met the prisoner with four or five companions, who shook hands with him, and said, "Good evening"—his intimate friend, whom I knew, asked me if I had seen the brother of another one—the prisoner likewise shook hands with me, and at the same time stabbed me—I did not know him; I had only seen him on one evening, when he said he was going to kill all the Piedmontese. (The Interpreter explained that "Piedmontese" meant all persons who were not Neapolitans). I hastily drew back, clutching his shoulders; and his necktie, which was loose, remained in my hand; I gave it to the police; this is it—his friends ran away, he stared at me a little while, and then ran away—I could not run after him on account of the bleeding—a friend of mine, who had been stabbed by the prisoner the week before, took me to the hospital—I was there four days, and have not been able to work yet—I feel the wound still when I cough.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. When we met that evening you did not say, "Don't go and call your companions to come and kill me"—you shook hands with me—you did not say, "Don't kill your companion, but if you like to have it out, now is the time"—I did not search in my pocket for a knife; I had no knife, not even a penknife—I cannot use my right arm at all—you did not say, "Don't use any instrument, because I am the younger of the two"—you had shown your knife to several people—it is not true that I wanted £16 not to appear in Court; your friends came to my bedroom and asked if I would withdraw from the prosecution—I said that my blood was not to be sold, and I would not have any money.
By the COURT. The man whom the prisoner had stabbed the week before was a friend of mine, and the prisoner seemed to owe me a grudge on that account; he was here yesterday and the day before, but the Inspector said it was not necessary that he should remain.
THOMAS HARRISON BUTLER . I am resident medical officer of the Royal Free Hospital—the prosecutor was brought there on the morning of the 27th; he had a wound on his right side a quarter of an inch long and an inch and a-half deep, penetrating the liver to the extent of half an inch—he was suffering from the loss of a considerable amount of blood—he is out of danger now—the blow penetrated through his shirt, and I think he had a coat on.
JAMES STEVENS (Police Inspector G). On January 27th I took the prisoner, and took him to the prosecutor in the hospital, who said, "Yes, that is the man who scabbed me;" the prisoner said, "No"—I took him to King's Cross Police-station, where he was charged, and said, "No; me no stab anyone."
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I was passing the club, and saw he was going to call his friends, and I did it in selfdefence."
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. The Police stated that he bears a very good character.— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted, and MR. WARBURTON Defended. JOHN NICHOLLS. I am a grocer, of 49, Stevenson Street, Canning Town—in October last I made the female prisoner's acquaintance—she said her name was Martha Eliza Webster , and that she was single—it ripened into friendship, and we soon afterwards became engaged to be married—on December 27th I made her a present of an engagement ring, which cost £7—I never visited at her house, because she said that the furniture was for sale, that she was housekeeping for her stepfather, who had gone away and left her, and she did not know what to do, and next time we went out she asked me if I would stock a shop if she got one and put some furniture in—I said that I did not mind; that was a week or two after Christmas—she afterwards told me she had found a shop at Berdoe Road, Homerton—I went to look at it, and met the male prisoner at Poplar Station—she introduced him as Mr. Brown, and said that he understood about shops—on the way back, she said that it would be very lonely for her, and would I mind Mr. and Mrs. Brown coming to live upstairs—I agreed—she went into the shop on January 15th—I gave her some carpets, an easy chair, and other articles, value £5, and a tea-canister, and other articles, value £2—we both represented ourselves as married, as the landlord might object—she said she saw him looking at her ring, which was very black, and I bought her another—on January 18th the male prisoner came to my shop and fetched some sugar and other articles value £3, and on a later day articles value £7—I also supplied articles value £19 6s. 9d.—he did not tell me he was married to her, nor did he ever speak to me about my future marriage, either then or when she introduced him at Poplar Station, but he could tell we were engaged, because I said about the shop, what is her, is mine, and what is mine is her, and after they got into the shop we said that we would put the profits of the two shops together when there were any—we were going to get married in two or three months, and that was said in his presence—he is not deaf, and it was said in an ordinary tone—she had altogether between £70 and £75—I inquired at a registrar's office, and then showed the prisoners an extract from the marriage register; they did not deny it, but said, "Now you have found it out, there is no deception; can we not come to some arrangement?" and that they would pay off 10s. a week—I communicated with the police—I would not have made these advances if I had known she was a married woman—we behaved as lovers, and I used to kiss her in his presence.
Cross-examined. She had a brass wedding-ring; I did not give her that; and I did not see it till she went to the landlord, and then she told me she borrowed it of a person downstairs to keep up the deception with the landlord—the shop was to be stocked with the same sort of things that I dealt in—she did not talk about getting a divorce from her husband, but he said something in a playful sort of way after it was found out—she did not say that she was married, and that her husband was at the German Hospital, Dalston—I am a bachelor.
SAMUEL LEE (Detective Officer). I produce this certificate—on February 14th I took the female prisoner, about eleven p.m., at 48, Berdoe Road, and said, "I am a police officer; I shall arrest you both on a warrant"—I asked the male prisoner if his name was Sanderson—he said, "Yes"—I said, "Is this your wife, Mr. Sanderson?"—he said, "Yes"—she said, "He must have known I was married; he is the biggest mug I ever met: I should like to meet another like him; I told him my husband was my stepfather; he always heard me call him 'father;' he used to see him kiss me in front of him; he ought to know I was married"—she gave me three rings.
WILLIAM KEMP (Police Sergeant S). I went with Lee and took the male prisoner; after the warrant was read he said that he knew it was going on, but did not interfere because he thought it would be all right—he had been introduced as Mr. Brown, a shopfitter, and shortly afterwards as his wife's stepfather—I searched and found this letter (Not read).
GUILTY .— Six Months' Hard Labour each.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, February 26th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MESSRS. C. F. GILL and A. E. GILL Prosecuted; MR. HUTTON appeared for Saunders, and MESSRS. GEOGHEGAN, ROOTH and NOBLE for Redfearn.
GEORGE ROLPE . I am a carpenter, of 110, Argyll Road, Netting Hill—last April I was in charge of work going on at 97, Cornwall Road, Bays-water—on Saturday, April 6th, I left those premises about 1.20, having locked them up—I hung the keys up in my employer's workshop—I returned on Monday, 8th, about 8.30 or 9—as I went upstairs I saw several servants' aprons that had been pulled out, and scattered on the floor—I did not know exactly where the plate was kept—I went through into the dining-room, and there saw the window open—that window is at the back of the house, where there is a long garden—the ladders we had been using in our work were lying in the garden—Mrs. Burkiss, the caretaker, came in about 9.20—I did not direct her attention to this condition of things.
FRANCIS EDWARD LOWLESS . I am chief clerk at the West London Police-court—I was there on 3rd May, when James Saunders was charged with the larceny of a silver kettle, and other things, the property of Lady Hozier—on the hearing of that charge, Redfearn was called as a witness, and gave the evidence in this deposition; it was not read over to and signed by him because the prisoner was discharged; he said: "I live at 330, Edgware Road, and am a jeweller; I produce a soup-ladle and other articles, bought by me on 8th April from a man for 7s., about twelve noon. I do not recognise the prisoner; the man was much younger than the prisoner; there was also a grog-kettle and stand that I left on the counter after the man had gone, and it was stolen soon after I purchased it"—there was a remand, and ultimately Saunders and another man were discharged, as there was not sufficient evidence of identity.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. Burkiss gave evidence on May 3rd and 10th, I think.
HARRIETT BURKISS . I am the wife of John Burkiss, of 21, Convent Gardens, Netting Hill Square—last April I was acting as caretaker at 97, Cornwall Road, the residence of Lady Blanche Hozier, who was away—I was supposed to go there in the morning to see if there were any letters to forward to her ladyship—on Monday morning, April 8th, I went, and, going into the pantry, I noticed one of the drawers open, and I opened another unlocked drawer in which the silver was kept, and found all the silver was gone from the drawer—to the best of my belief this is the kettle that was taken—the window of the back room was open; it is the drawing-room, but it is used as the dining-room; the window looks into the garden.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. Her ladyship told me on the 8th not to go to the house again, but said that she would come round to my house that night—she did not come round, and I did not go to the house again.
GEORGE BURKISS . I am a sailor, and am a son of the last witness—I had nothing to do with 97, Cornwall Road, of which my mother was caretaker—in April, 1895, I heard of the robbery—I was then living at home—I did not know Saunders—I first came to know him on the Monday after the robbery, April 8th—I was told that somebody wanted to see me in the Admiral public-house, in Church Street—I went there, and saw Saunders—I asked him if he wanted to see me; he said, "Yes," and he paid for some drinks there, and we went to the Green Man public-house, in the Edgware Road; he paid for something, and told me to stop there for a little while, as he was going out for a few minutes—he did not say where he was going—he came back in from ten to fifteen minutes, and gave me 4s.—I asked him what he gave me it for—he said, "I will tell you in a minute"—I said, "I do not want it; I don't know what it is for"—he would not take it back, so I put it on the counter and spent it in beer—he told me he had been along to the old Jew's to sell the spoons and forks, which were no good, which he got from 97, Cornwall Road—he said he got in there through the back window—I said, "I expect my mother will get the sack now"—he said, "Oh, no, she won't; that will be all right"—he said he got the things out of the drawers—I said if I had known they had been going to do it I would have stopped them—on the previous Friday, about 5.30 or 6, I had seen Saunders in Kensington Park Road, drinking at the Grasshopper public-house—I was with some chaps outside, and he passed by two or three times—I did not speak to him—I have known Mott about twelve months—I never saw him with Saunders—Saunders did not mention the name of anyone as being with him when he got these things out of 97, Cornwall Road—after the Monday I did not see Saunders till I saw him charged at the Police-court on May 3rd—he was charged alone—I gave evidence there—Tom Putt came and told me to go to the Admiral; he was one of the men there—Mott told me on the Friday who he was—when I got to the Admiral on the Monday I recognised him by some sores on his neck as the man I had seen, at the Grasshopper on the Friday—I was told he would be in the Admiral—Mott told me on the Monday morning where he was
and I went up to him and said, "Do you want to see me?"—he said, "Yes"—I asked him what for, and he said, "I will tell you presently"—I do not know where Redfearn's shop is—I did not drink the beer—I spent the 4s. in beer to get rid of it.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. I don't know how many quarts I got for the 4s.; I did not want the money—about a dozen men were there; none of those men are here; I do not know their names—I have no one to corroborate my story about seeing Saunders in the public-house—I understood him when he told me he had committed a burglary in the house in which my mother was caretaker; he told me after giving me the 4s.—I put the 4s. all down together, and asked for four shillings-worth of beer—I took no notice how many pots, they gave me—no one is here from the public-house—Saunders paid for a drink when we got to the Green Man—it was in the Green Man he made the statement to me—when I came out of the Green Man I went towards home; I saw two or three policemen, going towards home; I did not tell them about Saunders because I did not know if anyone was following me; I might have got my head bashed in, or something of that sort; that was my only reason for not telling them, I swear—I did not swear at the Police-court my reason, because my mother would get the sack—I had worked at 97, Cornwall Road—I never went to the drawers in the pantry—I have been in the pantry—I knew there was plate in the house; my mother told me that—I had not been in the house for about a fortnight before the 8th—I had been there once when the painters were there—I worked in the house while Lady Hozier was at home—I had been in all the rooms of the house—I knew there was plate in the drawers in the pantry—I have helped my mother to clean it—I cannot say when I last helped to clean it before the 8th—I bad been away for a fortnight, if I recollect—I had last been in the house to fetch letters when the painters were in the house, about six or seven days before the burglary—I am quite sure I never told anybody that the plate was in the, pantry—I never asked the man in the public-house any question a—Sergeant Wheatley came and questioned me—I was not frightened of being taken into custody for this burglary myself—I did not know he was coming—I have never been in trouble—I have been on a merchant ship for nearly three months; I left it last Thursday—I have my discharge—when the burglary took place I was living at home with my mother; I was not doing anything—soon after I went away on a barque to Algiers—I had been out of work in April, since Lady Hozier went away—on the Monday I met Mott, and he said, "You go up to the Admiral, in Church Street, and you will see a man there with some lumps behind his ear; he wants to see you"—I did not ask what he wanted to see me about—I had known Mott for twelve months—I saw him on the Sunday, outside a public-house in Kensington Park Road—I did not speak to him—I knew him when he worked for Dr. Potter—I did not know he had been in trouble or convicted—I have seen him in public-houses—I never drank with him—I saw him on Friday, April 5th, in a public-house—I swear I did not see him on the Saturday—I saw him on the Sunday in the Kensington Park Road—we spoke together for two or three seconds; we did not go into a public-house—I do not know when the burglary took place; Saunders did not tell me—Mott was not in the
public-house when I bought four shillingsworth of beer—Wheatley came to me about five a.m. on May 2nd—between April 7th and May 2nd I had done odd days' work—I was taken to the station, and was in the billiard-room till about ten o'clock; I was told not to leave—I made my statement to Wheatley when he came to my house and woke me up—policemen were playing billiards in the room while I was there—I gave before the Magistrate evidence similar to what I have given to-day—the Magistrate dismissed the case.
Re-examined. I am eighteen—I have been in two ships during the last nine months—I was wrecked off the Spanish coast.
WALTER MORRIS SMITH . I live at 109, Coleshill Buildings, Westminster—Redfearn was my employer, at 330, Edgware Road, from the end of February, 1895, to January 4th, 1896—the Green Man public-house is about twenty yards from 330, Edgware Road—I know Saunders as bringing things to sell to Redfearn—I saw him first in April—I saw him in the shop ten to twelve times between April and July—I did not see him after July—the first time I saw him was Monday, April 8th, I believe; it was two days before Sergeant Wheatley came—I saw Redfearn pay Saunders some money that day—before that I saw this silver kettle at the back of the shop—I first saw that kettle on April 8th—I believe Redfearn said to Saunders the stuff was only plated, and he gave him the money—Redfearn asked my opinion about the kettle before Saunders came in—I examined it, and was dubious about its being silver at first—I believe it is not hall-marked; it is of foreign manufacture—I applied a test which showed it was silver of poor quality—Redfearn was present when I tested it; he said it was silver, and he could understand me not believing it was silver in the first place, because of the quality—he agreed it was silver, though of low quality—I did not price it—Redfearn did not say at the time where he got it from; some weeks afterwards he told me Saunders was the man he had bought the kettle of—I was present on the 10th, when Wheatley came and asked me if we had bought a lot for 7s.—I said I did not know—I called Redfearn in, and he produced this kettle, a soup-ladle, two sauce-ladles, some spoons and forks—Wheatley said he would have to produce them at the Police-court on his finding the thief—the things were left on the counter, and we expected the police officers back—Redfearn afterwards told me that the kettle had been stolen from the counter, and he sent a note to the police to that effect—I saw the kettle again in August at the shop, among the stock—Redfearn asked me if I would try and sell it—I believe it to be the same kettle—its weight is 41 oz.—I asked him no questions about it—its value as old silver, if melted down, would be between £4 and £5, I should say—I tried to sell it, but returned it to Redfearn, as I could not get enough for it—I was not at the Police-court in May—I submitted it to Mr. Arrowsmith, a private gentleman—he would not buy it—subsequently Mr. Sandheim had it—this postcard was written to him by Redfearn (staling that he was willing to submit the kettle to him)—Mr. Sandheim took the kettle away and brought it back—I was Redfearn's manager—we kept the ordinary sale books—when we bought things they were entered on a slate, from which we entered the gross amount in a bought book—no details were entered there of articles purchased—I
believe I asked Arrowsmith £25 for the kettle—a silver article made abroad would not be so valuable as one made in this country.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. I was born in the jewellery trade—I have no knowledge of foreign hall-marks—I have seen marks something similar to those on the kettle, but I should not know the originality of them; they would not convey to me that the kettle was silver—I have seen kettles with stands, not like this, but similar to it—I could not say where it came from—Redfearn has a plate licence—purchases are entered on the slate, and then their total is entered in the book—I was asked to resign on January 4th—I said before the Magistrate, "I believe Mr. Redfearn was in doubt as to its being silver"—I told him that I thought at my first look it was plated; that was before I tested it—after testing it he said it was silver of very low quality—I believe, when Wheatley called, the kettle was referred to as a plated article—Mr. Redfearn had two other assistants—the kettle, after being shown to Wheatley, was placed on the end of the counter; then Redfearn went out—I believe it was on the counter when he came back—I understood Wheatley was coming back for the articles in a short time, and they were kept on the counter for him—I went to dinner when Redfearn returned, and when I came back he told me the kettle was miming—I never remember anything else being stolen from the counter—I only know Inspector Conquest in connection with this case—I was asked to resign on January 4th—before Redfearn's arrest I saw Conquest in the Edgware Road, and he spoke to me; I did not know him before that—that was some long time before I resigned—I had never been to Scotland Yard before January 4th, or had a statement taken from me—I knew on January 4th that this kettle was in the window—I should not have said that it was concealed from view; any person coming into the shop could see it—I have seen Saunders about twelve times—he has sold small pieces of broken silver and plated spoons and forks—I believe there are large dust-heaps on the canal banks near 330, Edgware Road—I have not seen them.
By the COURT. I mentioned £25 to Arrowsmith, because Redfearn entered it in the book at that price when it was entered out on approval to me to submit—the slate is kept for three or four days and then rubbed out—he had no stock book that I know of—Wheatley came on April 10th, the first thing in the morning—the police list arrived about nine o'clock; I do not know on which day; after we bought the kettle, I believe—I do not think that Redfearn knew the things were in the nine and Cry when he bought it—he could soon have found out if he had looked.
DAVID SANDHEIM . I am a partner in the firm of Sandheim Brothers, jewellers and curiosity dealers, of Ladbroke Grove—I have occasionally made purchases from Redfearn—in August last I saw this kettle in his shop—he told me it was a very fine kettle, and asked me 12s. 6d. an ounce for it, and wanted me to purchase it—I refused to buy—he then wanted me to take it on approval—I told him it was useless my taking it, as we had no customers in town in August for that class of article, but that if he had it later on in the season I did not mind showing it—he said that the people from whom he had it thought very highly of it—he described it as weighing 42 oz.—I subsequently gut a postcard from him,
and I had the kettle and stand on approval at 10s. an ounce to me—I had no doubt about its being silver—I did not recognise the foreign hall-mark or test it, but I was satisfied it was silver without testing it—I was inclined to think it was Norwegian, but I did not think it was Dutch—it is all hammered—I don't know if it is Dutch—an article of this kind is never made in white metal.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. As far as I know, it is unique—I deal in old silver and curios, among other things—I never before saw an article like this—I never saw marks before like those on it—I cannot say where it came from—the value of such an article would depend on its history and on the buyer's appreciation of it, and on its being a fine specimen of its school—it only appeared to me as a fine specimen of hammered work, not as belonging to any particular school—to a collector it would not matter whether it was cleaned; both the kettle and the stand are silver.
Re-examined. It was cleaner when I saw it than it is now.
GEORGE WHEATLEY (Sergeant F). I received some information about this burglary, and a description of the stolen kettle—it was put in the police list—on April 10th I went to Redfearn's shop with another officer at 10.30 or 10.45—Redfearn knew me—I asked him if he had bought any plated forks and spoons, and a kettle from a man on 8th (that would be the previous Monday) for 7s.—he hesitated a moment, and then said, "Yes, I bought some odd stuff"—he went into the back shop, and brought out the kettle and stand, two sauce ladles, two tablespoons, five small forks, a pickle fork, a small bottle stand, and a soup ladle, etc.—I looked at them and said, "Is not this kettle silver?"—he said, "No, it is only plated, and of no value"—the other articles I knew were plated—I examined the kettle, but I could see no lion stamp on it—I said, "Did you buy any more property of the man?"—he said, "No"—the list in which was a description of the kettle would reach him in the morning of the 10th—I had another list, in which all the property was mentioned; I showed him that as well—the list he received was the pawnbroker's list; it should have reached him about 8 a.m., or before—this other is the police information; it included the toast-rack, and soda-water bottle stand—I drew the prisoner's attention to the fact that the kettle was in the list, and that it was described us silver; that the things were part proceeds of a burglary, and that no doubt I should arrest the thief shortly, and then he would have to produce them in the Police-court, and that I would call back and let him know when to do so—I asked him to put them away in a place of safety, as they were stolen property—I asked him if the man who sold them had given his name and address; he said no, that the man told him he had bought them at a rummage sale, and wanted to get rid of them; and that he had given him 7s. for them, though he would have been satisfied with 5s.—I asked him if he would know him again; he said yes; and he described his age as between 30 and 40, 5 ft. 5 in. or 5 ft. 6 in. high, with dark moustache, and the appearance of a dealer—I asked if he had any entry of this transaction in his book; he said No; but that he had on the slate—he took down the slate, which was hanging at the back of his shop; there was a list of the articles in question on that slate; it did not contain the toast-rack or soda-water
bottle stand—he made a rough list for himself at the time—I went away, and endeavoured to find the thief—the next morning a note was left for me at the station; it was on one of Redfearn's bill-heads: "Awaiting your promise to return yesterday that kettle got stolen off the counter. Please have it put in the list"—it was in the list already—I called at the shop immediately, but did not see him—I called again in the evening, and saw him, and asked for an explanation—he said his assistant had removed it from where he had placed it, and put it on the counter without his knowledge, and during his absence—I told him it was very strange, after being informed by the police, that he had not taken greater care of it, and that I should inform the Magistrate of the facts—he said, Very well; he had done all he could—subsequently Saunders was in custody—about five a.m. on May 2nd, I was sent for, and found Saunders detained in custody, and I told him he would be detained on suspicion of committing this burglary, and that I should get witnesses—I went to Burkiss's house shortly before six, and saw the son, and from what he said I got him to accompany me to the station—when Saunders was charged, he said, "I don't know anything about it; if you knew it was me, why had not you got me before? I have been about here. You will have to prove it"—I received this memorandum of the things from Redfearn on that afternoon; the kettle, toast-rack, and soda-water bottle stand are not on it—in the afternoon, when Saunders was brought up, Redfearn said the man was not there that he bought the property from—Saunders was placed with others—subsequently he gave evidence before the Magistrate—Mott was arrested, brought up with Saunders, and they were both discharged—there was no evidence against them except that of the boy—the Magistrate ordered the things to be given up 'to Lady Hozier—after that we received information, and we went to Redfearn's shop on January 10th—I was present when the kettle was found; I identify it as the same kettle.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. Burkiss first saw Saunders at the station, where he was placed with a number of other persons about 11.30—Burkiss had been at the station from 7.15 or 6.30—later on he was allowed to go home—when Redfearn saw Saunders at the Police-court he repudiated all knowledge of him; the Magistrate asked him whether he knew him in connection with other transactions, and he said he did not know him at all.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. The kettle was not quite so tarnished when I saw it—I have seen a lot of silver, the proceeds of burglaries, and other things, and old plate—I took this kettle for plated when I first saw it, because I was told so by Redfearn—the pawnbroker's list did not come to his shop till 1.10; in that list there are two kettles; only one was found at his shop—it is described in the list as Dutch.
PERCY BUTTON BARBER . My house was broken into on the night of October 8th, and about £100 worth of plate and silver and other things were stolen—they got in by cutting away the shutters of the kitchen window, and they got into the dining-rooms and took the things away—among the articles stolen was a lobster pick exactly similar to this.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. Of the £100 worth of things stolen this lobster pick, value 10s., is the only thing identified—this is a common pattern, but it is silver; they are usually plated.
LADY BLANCHE HENRIETTA HOZIER . I live at 97, Cornwall Road, Notting Hill—in February last I left my house shut up, and I left the keys with Mrs. Burkiss—during my absence from London some repairs, were done to my house—on April 8th I got a telegram which brought me home—I missed a number of silver and plated articles; among them this silver kettle, toast-rack, and soda-water bottle stand—information was at once given to the police—I called at Redfearn's shop with Wheatley in April, and heard Redfearn tell Wheatley that the kettle had been stolen—at the beginning of this year Conquest came and made a statement to me, and I went with him to Redfearn's: while looking about his shop I recognised this toast-rack and soda-water bottle stand, and Conquest subsequently found this kettle, which has been in my possession since 1878; it was given to me—it was bought at Dicker's, in Vigo Street.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. The toast-rack and soda-water bottle stand are plated; I am sure they are mine; the stand was specially made for me—the toast-rack was given to me—I do not know what country the kettle comes from.
Re-examined. £40 was asked for the kettle, and between £36 and £40 were given for it in 1878—I have had the soda-water bottle stand about four years; I wanted one rather stronger than usual; I have no doubt it is mine.
WILLIAM WHITE . I am a retired builder, of 66, Cambridge Gardens, Notting Hill—these mathematical instruments and teaspoon and jam-spoon are mine—I missed them on the morning of 5th July, 1895; they were safe the night before—the mathematical instruments were in a case—on the morning of the 5th I found that the house had been broken into during the night; the library window had been forced up—I lost about £15 worth of property.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. One of these instruments I bought specially from another shop—the case was left behind—I have not the slightest doubt these are my property—a good many of the things I missed have not been found, some of the silver articles.
ALICE CLARA DAVIS . I live at 5, Colville Square, Bayswater—I recognise these two plated tablespoons, with my husband's initials, "T. B. D.," and this toast-rack—I missed them in July—the drawing-room window had been opened, and a man had got into the dining-room and taken all the things from there into the drawing-room, and then the drawing-room had been fastened so that we could not open it.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. We missed other property, £12 worth in all; these which we have recovered are worth about £3.
REBECCA JAMES . I am the wife of Walter Culmer James, of 15, Marlow Road, Kensington—I recognise these articles: eight ivory-handled fish-knives, seven forks, six pearl-handled dessert knives and forks, a plated fish-service, plated fruit-spoons, plated milk-jug, six plated coffee-spoons, and a pair of plated salad-servers—we missed them on Saturday morning, August 31st; the house had been broken open, and this property stolen.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. Altogether about £25 worth of property was stolen, including a lot of silver, which has not been recovered—the value of these things is about £5—there is no crest or mark on them.
JAMES WOODWARD . I am a gunmaker, of 40, St. Charles Square, Kensington—on the night of December 23rd my house was broken into, and a quantity of silver spoons and forks were stolen; these two spoons are part of them—one of them bears my initial—I communicated with the police.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. I estimated the value of what I missed at £25—these two spoons are worth about £1; I do not think I should get that for them if I sold them.
JOHN CONQUEST (Inspector, Scotland Yard). On January 10th, at 3.38, I went with Lady Blanche Hozier to 330, Edgware Road—I said to Redfearn "Do you remember this lady identifying some spoons and other articles stolen from Cornwall Road by housebreaking?"—he said, "Yes, I remember"—I said, "I am a police officer; have you seen anything of the kettle which was stolen from your counter? You know the one I mean"—he said "No, I have not seen it since"—I said, "Are you sure, as I have reason to believe you have that identical kettle on your premises now?"—he said, "No, I have not seen it since"—Lady Hozier them noticed this toast-rack and soda-water bottle stand on a shelf in the window at the back part of the shop—I asked the prisoner to get them down; he did so—she said she was sure they were her property—I looked about for the kettle, and again said to him, "I still believe the kettle is on your premises"—he said, "No, I can assure you it is not here"—I then called in Wheatley and Collins, who were outside—I said "These are police officers as well as myself, and I am going to search your premises"—I ultimately got on a stool, and, looking round his shop, I saw this kettle and stand separate in the window, and behind a kind of picture clock, quite out of sight—no one could see it from outside or within—I brought it down and showed it to the prisoner—her ladyship immediately identified it—I said, "You hear what this lady says"—he said, "Yes, I hear what she says, but I did not know that was the article you were referring to"—I said, "You will now be charged with feloniously receiving this kettle and other property stolen from this lady, well knowing it to have been stolen"—he said, "I have an explanation to give"—I said, "How did you come by it?"—he said, "I don't know how I came by it"—I searched the premises, and in the fireplace of a bedroom on the top floor I found this apparatus for smelting gold and silver with two crucibles and two moulds—it would be used with gas—on lifting up a board I saw pipes, communicating with the meter in the basement which could be attached to the apparatus—there was an arrangement in a cupboard by which the burners could be lowered, and so more pressure got on the gas for the apparatus—I also found a considerable quantity of broken silver, consisting of the tops of pepper-boxes, scent bottles, cases of watches, and all sorts of articles-everything that bore a crest or monogram could be readily melted down; this is as large a smelting apparatus as I have ever seen—I never saw a jeweller have one like it; refiners have them—I did not find any articles from which the prisoner could have made silver jewellery after melting these things down—I found these mathematical instruments in a drawer in the shop, wrapped in paper—these two silver spoons I found in the prisoner's safe—the toast-rack and plated spoons with the initials J.B.D., and this lobster pick I found in a cheffonier in the prisoner's dining-room—the articles
spoken to by Mrs. James were in the window, wrapped up separately in paper, quite hidden from view—these other spoons were in his bedroom—I found all the articles which have been shown to be stolen in various parts of his premises—they have been reported to the police, and have been in the pawnbrokers' lists from time to time in the usual way—those lists are also sent to jewellers.
Cross-examined by MR. GEOGHEGAN. Some of this silver in the box is cuttings; a very small portion—there are several thimbles—some of the pieces bear crests and monograms; this is the back of a watch—none of the pieces have been traced to any burglary—I find on the crucible the name of T. Fletcher, Warrington—I don't know that Messrs. Pringle and Co. sell crucibles like it; this catalogue contains an illustration very much like it—before I went to Redfearn's I had seen Smith, and had a conversation with him—I did not know where to find the kettle—you could not see it from outside the shop—I was in the shop half or three-quarters of a hour before I found it, and then I did so by getting on a stool—he told me he had been for forty years a jeweller in the Edgware Road; that is not true—he has been there fifteen years—I never searched a jeweller's premises before—most manufacturing jewellers are refiners; they would have a larger apparatus, but they might have one like this—Redfearn was not a manufacturer, but only a retail dealer in old and new plate—this apparatus is not large enough for a refiner.
Re-examined. On January 25th I found Saunders at Marylebone Police-court—I said to him, "Since you were arrested for the burglary at 97, Cornwall Road, a man named Redfearn, a jeweller, whom I believe you know, has been arrested for receiving this silver kettle; you will now be charged with being concerned with Redfearn, well knowing it was stolen with other articles"—he said, "Why, does the old man say I sold it to him? I can prove I did not sell it. Why, he said it was stolen from his shop. I can bring witnesses to prove I did not sell it to him"—Redfearn had given evidence at the Police-court to the effect that the article had been stolen from his premises, and Saunders would have heard that—I took possession of several books at Redfearn's place, among them a bought book—there was no entry of a purchase of a kettle in April—there appears every month an entry of the purchase of so many ounces of old gold and silver, with the price, without details—on April 13th the amount is £14 4s.—the lists were left by different officers during all this, time.
By MR. GEOGHEGAN. The toast-rack and soda-water bottle stand were not concealed—some articles had to be behind others—the shop is well stocked—I only took away what I thought might be identified; I left the bulk behind—I went to Smith, not in consequence of this matter; I thought he might tell me something—I purposely met him in the Edgware Road in October, after seeing him come out of the shop—I had a conversation with him in January—I questioned him about the kettle, and learnt what he has deposed to—I then had the kettle, and Redfearn was in custody—I should think it was not in consequence of anything that passed between me and Smith that he was discharged from his employment—Saunders was in custody before he was charged with this.
SAUNDERS then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in February, 1892, at this Court in the name of James Andrews . He had been convicted on nine other occasions, and had twice been sentenced to Seven Years' Penal Servitude.— Four Years Penal Servitude.
RED-FEARN had been convicted of bigamy.— Three Years' Penal Servitude. There were other indictments against the prisoners.
OLD COURT.—Thursday, February 27th, 1896.
Before Mr. Justice Wills.
MESSRS. C. F. GILL and HORACE AVORY Prosecuted, and MESSRS.
GEOGHEGAN and MOORE Defended.
ROBERT GILBERT (408 X.) On Wednesday, January 29th last, about 12.50 a.m., I was on duty in Prince's Road, Netting Hill, and heard a disturbance in William Street—I found the prisoner and a woman outside 37, William Street—the woman said in his presence, "I charge this-man with striking my baby 'across the head with a shovel"—I said, "Fetch the baby down for me to see"—she went into the house and; brought out the baby; there were no marks of violence on it; there was a smear of blood on the forehead; the prisoner said, "That has come off her hand, where she has been scratching me; look here, see what she has done," and he showed me marks down his face and neck; they were recent marks, and they were bleeding at the time—I said, "Will you charge her with the assault?"—he said, "No"—I advised them both to go indoors—the deceased went in—he said, "It's no use my going in; I shall get no rest to-night"—she was standing at the door, shrieking at him—they were abusing each other; he outside, and she in—I requested him to go away, he refused, and I took him to the station and charged him with disorderly conduct and obscene language—after the charge was taken I found a razor in his inside coat pocket; it was taken from him—he was brought up at the Police-court the same morning and fined 4s., which he paid—the deceased was present at the time—I saw him with her afterwards, outside the Court—she commenced quarrelling with him, and said, "You deserve six months for bruising my body"—under my avoid he went away, and went into a public-house, and the deceased, in company with another woman, followed him—at his request the razor was handed to the deceased at the station after the charge was taken—it was subsequently found in the room; this is it—on January 30th, about half-past nine at night, I saw the prisoner again, in Princes Road, at the top of William Street—he said, "It was through you I got locked up the other night; she is a wicked woman; if I leave her, and go away from her, and send her money, she goes to my old people's house in Chelsea and breaks the windows, and smashes the doors open! Oh, God! what am I to do?"—I advised him to go home—he said the baby fell off the bed undressed
when he came home at half-past six, screaming, with no light in the room—"She is a wicked woman; trying to put me away; if I go home there will be another row; perhaps she will bring a fellow home to sleep with her; then I and the baby will be pulled out of bed, and we shall have to sleep on the stairs, the same as I have had to do before, when she brought home a man, who gave her 6s."—I think he then left me, and went indoors—he was crying, and seemed very much distressed—he put up his hand to his head, and said, "Oh, God! what shall I do?" several times—about five minutes to one in the morning I passed the house—I heard them quarrelling, and using obscene language on both sides, but no threats.
Cross-examined. He told me that she had been locked up several times for assaulting his parents at Chelsea—that is so, because he would not go and live with her—after paying his fine, he came away perfectly peaceful and quiet, and she came up and commenced quarrelling and following him—he said, "I have given her £1, and sometimes 25s. a week, but she is not satisfied with that; I don't wish for her to go out."
JOHN MICHAEL LEONARD . I am a labourer—on Thursday night, January 30th, between half-past eight and nine, I was in the Earl of Zetland public-house, at the top of William Street—about nine the prisoner came in; I knew him by sight, not by name; I noticed that he had a scratched face; I asked him who had done it—he said, "Woman again"—it looked to have been recently done; it was not bleeding—he had a pint of ale—he stayed there till about half-past eleven—he left me and came Out for about five minutes four or five times during the evening—he said, "When I get home and see my old woman I will give her something"—I knew the deceased by sight; I saw her three times—the prisoner had been drinking; he was not to say drunk, but as if getting over the effects of drink; he was rather excited, not to say drunk—I came outside, and he came out and said, "I think I will go home"—he went down William Street, where he lived, and that was the last I saw of him that night—we had had four or five pots between five of us.
Cross-examined. When I first saw him with the scratches he did appear rather excited—I did not know that he had been charged and convicted at the Police-court; he looked excited and upset; he spoke quietly enough; he could walk all right; he told me he had been a seaman—the ale he had was 4d. ale.
GEORGE TERRY . I live at 23, William Street—on January 30th, about nine in the evening, I was in the Earl of Zetland public-house—I saw the prisoner there and got into conversation with him some time after a drink together—I had known him for about four weeks—he lived in the next room to me, with the deceased; they were frequently quarrelling; I could hardly hear the man speak a word—I have frequently seen her stamping on the floor and jawing at him; I have not seen or heard any violence beyond words—in the public-house on the 30th he said something about being bound in 4s. or some days—later on he said he meant to do it—we had been tying knots and talking about the stokehole; I said I was never down the stoke-hole, I had been going aloft—we were writing puzzles on paper, and he said he meant to do it—whether he meant to do what we were writing or not I don't know; that was all that took place; nothing more than quarrelling with his wife.
Cross-examined. I was examined before the Coroner—I said there that she used to worry him, that he was very quiet, and there was hardly a word out of his mouth in answer to her; that is the truth; the quarrel and nagging was always her fault—this was at No. 23, where they lived then—he had left there about a fortnight.
JANE MADDIGAN . I am the wife of John Maddigan, a labourer, living at 37, William Street—the prisoner lived there with the deceased About a fortnight—she was with me two days; then she took the room underneath, and was there about ten days—my room was the top room, on the third floor, on the left; their room was under mine, on the right, over the kitchen—she was a most violent woman—I have heard her quarrelling with him on several occasions—on the night he was locked up And fined 4s., I saw her tearing him down the face, and he merely pushed her, he never laid his hands on her—I knew her by the name of Mrs. Payne; she always went in that name to me—she would go out with me in the morning, and if we went into a public-house she would go out with men—I have said to her, "Could you not sell a few flowers instead of going with men?" but she would take no notice—on the night of the 30th I did not see anything of her—I saw him about a quarter to nine, outside the Zetland—I went home about nine, and went to the prisoner's door for my oil bottle—he was standing in his room, with no boots on; he was then drunk—he said he could not let me have anything till she came home—I saw nothing of the child—after that, I went out; I returned about half-past twelve—I had to pass their door to go upstairs—I heard nothing when I went in—afterwards, between half-past twelve and one, I heard the deceased come in, and I heard her swearing and speaking about A shilling, and calling out Tom—I came out on the landing—we were talking, and the deputy of the house, who collects the rents, called to me to go indoors, and I went in and went to bed, and heard no more.
Cross-examined. When I came in, his door was shut—when, she came in she was jawing about a shilling, quarrelling with him—when I came on my landing she quarrelled with me, and wanted to fight me, and used bad language—I did not hear her burst open her door—I had known her about four years—she was not always living with him; at that time she had been, and she had been away from him—she did not tell me that he had been to sea three times to avoid her—I know he has left her, and she went to his parents' house, in Chelsea, to find what had become of him—she told me she had had a month for breaking their windows—when drunk she was very quarrelsome—she was generally the worse for liquor of an evening—she never came home till the public-houses had shut—she used very bad language towards him—she flew at him and scratched his face; all he did was to put her on one side—the money she got she spent in drink and clothing—she told me she had spoken to two men to give Cripps a good hiding—that was two years ago last Christmas—on January 25th I was at the Pulham Bridge public-house with her, drinking at the bar—the prisoner passed by, and she threw a glass at him—in spite of air this he appeared fond of her, but she was very jealous of him—the baby was about six months old—I never saw the prisoner raise his hand to the deceased—she has actually pawned the coat off his back to get drink.
AMY GODWIN . I live at 36, and am deputy of 37, William Street, where the prisoner and deceased lodged—I knew her by the name of Biles—on the night in question, about a quarter to one, I was in 36, and was aroused by a noise in 37—I got up and went in—I heard Maddigan and deceased quarrelling—they were swearing at each other in loud voices—the deceased was in her own room, with her door shut—I knocked at her door and told her to be quiet, and I told Maddigan to go to her own room; she was sitting on the stairs and shouting at the deceased—I followed her up to her own room—I then came downstairs and knocked at the deceased's door, telling her to hold her noise till the morning—I heard no other voice than hers—I then went back to bed—I stayed there from three to five minutes—in about ten minutes I heard a noise like a smash of china in No. 3 room in 37, on the ground floor, the deceased's room, which is on the same floor as mine in 36—I got up and dressed, and I heard a noise like a gurgling in the throat—I went out to the gate and saw the police sergeant—I said something to him, and took him to the prisoner's room—I saw blood on the ground—he was tracing the blood-stains—on going into the room I saw a great quantity of blood, the table upset, and everything disarranged and on the floor, and turning round, I saw the baby lying in a pool of blood on the floor—I saw a razor lying near the fireplace; a constable picked it up—the bed appeared to have been slept in—I saw some beer-cans on the front of the fireplace, and one at the back of the table, upset, and the table was on its side—I did not see any blood on the bed—I afterwards saw the prisoner in custody—he had on a coat and socks, but no waistcoat and no boots.
Cross-examined. The door of the room was fastened by a bolt and a lock—the door had been violently burst open; the staple was forced out, the lock was off, and we could not fasten it again; crockery was lying all over the place; I noticed a small broken earthenware milk jug, such as cream is sold in; it was usually kept in a cupboard at the far end of the room; it would hold about a gill—that was near the side of the bed—there were splashes of blood on the top of the jug, but not on the sides—there were three cups; all the crockery in the room had evidently been thrown about.
CHARLES GARNER . I live at 37, William Street, in a room on the ground floor, on the other side of the deceased's room—on the night of January 30th I heard her come home; she was calling Tom, and could not get in—there was no answer, and she kicked and banged, and burst it open—I heard her saying Tom, and asking the reason why the door was fastened against her—the prisoner was answering her back; I did not hear exactly what passed; while she was talking the woman above shouted down, and angry words passed between them, calling each other names; I heard Mr. Maddigan say, "Don't stand there arguing the point; go down and fight her"—she went down, and was still quarrelling when the deputy came in, and told them to be quiet—the next thing I heard was a smashing of crockery, and then the woman came out, and I heard a gurgling noise, and somebody going out of the street door, and a, few minutes after I heard the police whistle—I got up and went out, and a short distance from the house I saw the woman lying on the ground, about forty yards from the door; I went and had a look at her; she never spoke—before I heard the kicking at the door everything had been quiet
for twenty minutes or a quarter of an hour—I heard the woman cry out, "Tom, Tom, why did you fasten the door?"—I saw the door shortly after, it had been burst open; it was about a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes after Mrs. Goodwin came on the scene that I heard the smashing of crockery.
BEATRICE RICHMOND . I was passing along William Street the night this happened, about half-past one—I saw a woman come out of the gate of 37; she had no bonnet on; I heard a sound like one gargling the throat—as she got to the lamp-post I saw that she was bleeding very much—I saw her fall to the ground, and blood gushed out from the wound—I spoke to her; she did not answer; I called "Police," and two constables came.
JOHN WILLOUGHBY . I live at 11, William Street—on the night this occurred, about, half-past one, I was passing 37, and heard a smashing of crockery—I stood there for a few seconds, a minute or two, then I walked on, and as I walked on I saw a woman come out of 37—I looked back, hearing a noise; she turned to the right as she came out, and went towards Princes Road—I then saw the prisoner come out of the house; he passed me and turned to the left—I could not say whether he had a small hat on, or no hat; he had no boots on, he was, running—I followed him down the street, but lost sight of him; it was dark—I then went to the woman; she was lying on the path; I saw that her throat was cut, and blood was streaming from her; while I stood there I saw the prisoner cone up to the spot where the woman was lying—a constable was them then—the prisoner said, "Oh, here I am, copper; I did it; I hope she is dead"—and while he was going down the street I heard him say, "I have had my revenge"—he also said, "I should like to kiss somebody "; the child was brought out of the house—that was when he had given himself up to the police.
Cross-examined. There was quite a little crowd there then—it could not have been more than two minutes after I heard the smash of crockery that the woman ran out of the house, with her throat cut.
BENJAMIN EVERETT (Police Sergeant 47 X.) On the night of this occurrence I was with Sergeant Taylor in Princes Road, which adjoins William Street—I heard a woman's voice in William Street, and on going to the place I saw the deceased lying on the ground, with her throat cup and bleeding; she was about forty yards from the door of 37—the deputy of the lodging-house spoke to me, and I followed her into the ground-floor room on the left—it was in confusion—the table was upset; blood had spurted all over the room; there was a large pool near the side of the bed, and a child of about six months was sitting near it—after seeing the room I went back to the woman, and while I was with her the prisoner came up from Princes Road—there were a few persons round—he said, "Here I am, copper; 1 done it; I hope she dies; I will take a bit of rope for her; I paid 4s. out of my pocket through her yesterday; I meant to do ft, the cow"—I took him into custody—op the war to the station we had to pass 37, and the deputy came out with a child in her arms—he asked to kiss the child, which I allowed him to do—at the station he was charged with the murder—I handed him over to the inspector, and went back to the woman—the prisoner appeared to be perfectly sober.
Cross-examined. The station is about 200 yards from where I arrested
him—I think he was in the station nearly an hour before he was charged—I left him in charge of the inspector—he had marks of violence on both sides of his face; they had blood on them—he was wearing a tie round his neck—I saw blood on the shirt-front.
FREDERICK TAYLOR (Police Sergeant X.) I was in company with Everett, I heard a voice calling "Police"—I went to the spot where the woman was lying, and, from what I saw, I went for Dr. Jackson—I afterwards went to the prisoner's room at 37; it was all in confusion and blood, one plate was broken—on the floor I picked up this razor, about a foot from the fender; it was wet with blood—I ran to the station; there the prisoner saw me looking at the razor—he said, "Let's look"—I held it up, and he said, "That's what I did it with"—I afterwards gave it to the doctor, also a scarf which the prisoner was wearing, it had marks of blood on it.
JOHN FENEMORE (Inspector X.) On January 31st I was in charge at Notting Hill Station at 1.35 in the early morning, when the witness Richmond came 'and made a statement to me, in consequence of which I sent the ambulance to William Street—about five minutes to two the prisoner was brought to the station and placed in the reserve room—I told him to sit on the seat—he said, "All right, Mr. Inspector, I am fined 4s., you know; she accused me of hitting the youngster with a shovel; I have had a bit of my own back; I have cut her throat, and I hope she is dead, that's all"—I had taken that charge when he was brought in for disorderly conduct.
Cross-examined. The moment he came in he made that statement—when charged he said, "I reserve my defence,"
GEORGE KING (Inspector X.) I was present when the prisoner was charged—I searched him; while being searched he said, "There is only one thing I hope, and that is that she is stiff and dead before I get the rope round my neck"—that was after he had been charged; after he said, "I reserve my defence."
Cross-examined. I have made inquiries about him—at the time of this matter he was in work—I have been to his employers; they give him an excellent character as a workman, and steady and sober when at work—I have made inquiries about the deceased—I did not know her personally; she has been convicted of breaking the windows of his mother's house, and on February 22nd, 1895, she was in prison six weeks for violently assaulting the prisoner with a poker, and on December 2nd, 1895, one month hard labour for assaulting his sister—I was informed by his foreman, and also by his master, that she had been there, and caused great annoyance and disturbance; so much so that they had to remove the prisoner into another building out of her sight—I was informed that he had gone to sea three times to avoid her; I have seen two of his discharges—she has frequently gone to his parents' house, when he was at sea, and kicked up a disturbance, because they would not tell her where he was—she was a very violent woman; I cannot get any one to say a word for her.
Re-examined. He has been guilty of assaulting her—she was about twenty-eight years of age.
of an assault on the deceased, and sentenced to two months' hard labour by Mr. Sheill at Westminster Police-court.
Cross-examined. I was present—the woman appeared in Court with bandages round her head—after the charge I saw her go into a public-house, and when she came out the bandages were off, half an hour afterwards; her head was then all right.
HERBERT ALEXANDER JACKSON . I am Divisional Surgeon of police at 11, Portland Road, Notting Hill—at two a.m. of January 31st I was called to William Street by Sergeant Taylor; I saw the deceased lying on the footway dead—I had her removed to the Police-station yard, and subsequently to the mortuary; I only made a superficial examination at that time afterwards; I made a full one—on the right side of the neck there was an incised wound eight inches long, dividing the jugular vein, and nearly through the carotid artery; on the left side of the neck there was an incised wound five inches long not touching the vesseles—on the right hand there was an incised wound on the ring finger, and on the middle finger on the back, each about an inch long—on the left side of the head there were two bruises—the long, deep wound was the fatal one—the woman bled very quickly to death from such a wound; it was not self-inflicted—it was not a back-handed wound—I examined the shirt, scarf and socks handed to me by the police—on the shirt there was a quantity of blood in front; I also saw the razor with marks of blood on it.
Cross-examined. It would be a gross exaggeration to say that her body was covered with bruises, the only bruises I saw were on the scalp; those might have been caused by a fall.
By the COURT. I did not see the prisoner at that time; I saw him at the inquest on February 14th, and before the Magistrate—he had some-scratches on the side of the face, and on the neck, apparently done, with a nail; they were healing—there were some marks on his throat, as if he had had an abscess which was healing, no marks of violence; there were two small marks, they were not such as could be made by a sharp instrument; they were old wounds healed up, they were scars.
MRS. MADDIGAN (Re-called.) The crockery in the deceased's room was kept on the top of the cupboard.
GUILTY of Manslaughter.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
NEW COURT.—Thursday, February 27th, 1896.
See Surrey Cases.
THIRD COURT. Thursday, February 27th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MESSRS. GRAIN and KERSHAW Prosecuted, and MR. EDMONDSON Defended.
Wright, shorthand writers, of Chancery Lane—I was engaged by the Great Northern Railway Company to take shorthand notes on February 5th at Bloomsbury County Court, in the action of Stone v. The Great Northern Railway Company, before His Honour Judge Bacon—I saw the prisoner sworn as a witness, and heard him examined, cross-examined, and re-examined, and I took down in shorthand the questions asked him and the answers he made—I produce my shorthand notes, of which these are the transcripts; they set forth fully and accurately all the prisoner said at the Bloomsbury County Court. (Certain passages were read from the evidence of the prisoner, which were to the effect that he left the Satellite on October 31st, taking with him his black bag, upon which was painted a Union Jack, and which contained all the articles named in the list afterwards handed to the railway company, except a south-wester; that he never before caw the white bag produced, nor the coloured Handkerchief, and that none of the articles in the white bag were his; that on October 31st he left King's Cross by a train between twelve and one for Middlesborough, and that his black bag was lost on the journey.)
THOMAS HEWSON . I am usher at Bloomsbury County Court, Portland Street—I produce a certified copy of entries in the Registrar's books of Stone v. Great Northern Railway Company—it bears the Court stamp and the Registrar's signature—I also produce a copy of the original summons in that action, to which the particulars, containing the list, is attached—on February 5th the action was called on before His Honour Judge Bacon—I swore the prisoner, the then plaintiff, in the ordinary way—there was a verdict for the defendants, with costs.
WILLIAM STEPHEN . I am captain of the Satellite, a coaster—in October she loaded a cargo of salt at Middlesborough—on October 7th I engaged the prisoner as an A.B. seaman—when he came on board he asked for an advance, and I gave him this advance note for £1, dated October 7th—he said he wanted the £1 to buy some clothes and pay his lodging—we sailed about the 12th for the Thames—it was bad weather during the voyage, with rain, sleet, and snow—I spoke to the prisoner every watch about his clothes—I said, "Have you no better clothes than that?"—he said, "No, I have no better clothes than these; these are all I have got"—he had a dungaree jacket; you could see his stockings through the sides of his shoes—we arrived in the Thames, and began to discharge cargo about October 16th; the prisoner assisted in doing that, and then in taking on board a cargo of burnt ore; it is a copper ore of reddish colour, which sticks to your clothes—the prisoner was paid off on October 31st; I paid him for a month; he had only been twenty-four days on board—he wanted to go, as he said he had a lawyer's letter from Middlesborough, stating that he had some property in his country, and he wanted to go there for it—I said if I could get another lad he could go, and I engaged Hubert that day—I paid the prisoner £1 1s. 6d., the balance of his wages, about ten o'clock that day—he asked if I would let him sleep aboard that night, and I said, "Certainly, it will save your lodging ashore"—I don't know whether he slept on board that night of 31st or not—I did not see a black bag with the Union Jack on it in his possession—I should not be likely to take notice of the men's baggage—I have my part of the vessel, and they have theirs.
Cross-examined. There was no quarrelling or dispute between me and the prisoner—I had no more words with him than with anyone else on board the vessel—we all messed together, because we are only allowed so much a day for victuals—many words are used which mean the same as "God bless you"—I cannot work my ship without them—I do not know what clothing he may have had in the forecastle; I only saw what he had on—it was the forenoon watch; it was snowing, and he was badly clad—Hopper, the mate, is captain now on a voyage to Sunderland—when I say it was snowing I mean it was heavy rain and sleet—I don't know whether the prisoner left the ship on 31st after I paid him—Hopper would know—I don't remember hearing Hopper say at the County Court that the prisoner left the ship on the 31st, immediately after receiving his money—we never advance money without cause—I do not know that, especially on coasting ships, men want to get as much advance as possible—I did not know the prisoner before this—he is better dressed now than he was at Middlesboro'; he had a tweed suit on then; he is smarter now.
HERBERT WAKERELL . I was an apprentice on the Satellite In October at Middlesboro', where the prisoner joined her—I rowed him from the shore to the Satellite—he had as his kit a white bag, something like this; an ordinary sailor's bag—he had no other bag, no black one—I was on board with him on the voyage to London,—his shoes were very bad while he was on board, they were in boles; you could see his socks through them—when we were anchored at the buoys off Rotherhit he I saw him rowed ashore by two other men; he took a bag like this white one with him; it was tied up with this bit of ribbon—I had seen the same ribbon tied round his waist to keep his trousers up during the voyage; I know it by the colour—I saw him wearing this monkey jacket at sea during the voyage—when he left the Satellite I saw no black bag with him.
Cross-examined. The bag he took from the Satellite was the same one that he brought aboard—I never saw him wearing sea boots—the detective showed me this jacket at Southampton, and asked if that was the coat that belonged to Stone—I said the tie was round it—the name of Vallin, which is on this big, I do not remember seeing on the bag I flaw at sea—I never in my life saw a seaman's black bag—I did not take particular notice of the jacket at sea—Cheney and Boyle were with the prisoner in the boat when he went ashore in the morning; I forget what time it was.
Re-examined. I am an apprentice, and did not sleep in the forecastle.
ROBERT BOYLE . I was an ordinary seaman on board the Satellite when she loaded at Middlesboro', and until she arrived in the Thames in October—when the boat, in which the prisoner came aboard, came along-side, his kit, in the shape of a white bag like this, was handed to me, and I put it in the forecastle—the prisoner shortly afterwards came down there, and emptied out some of the contents—I noticed this monkey jacket, old flannel shirt, singlet, blanket—I saw a little tin box, like this, in his bunk; and this looking-glass, which I identify by the flower on it—nearly all sailors carry a white bag like this—when we got to London, and after the prisoner was discharged, I rowed the prisoner half-way to the shore—Cheney went with us—the prisoner only took this white bag
with him—I bought this necktie from the prisoner for one penny, in the Thames.
Cross-examined. The prisoner went ashore with Cheney and me, shortly after breakfast, between ten and eleven—I swear that when he came on board at Middlesboro', he was alone in the boat, except for the man who rowed him—I know the jacket I saw in the forecastle is the same as this by the button, which has a crown and anchor on it—I never saw a button like it before—I have been at sea for fifteen months, and never saw a crown and anchor on a button before—I cannot say if I ever saw a sailor's black bag—I cannot say what kind of bag the captain or mate, or Smith had; I did not notice—the detective came to Southampton, and asked us if we recognised this bag—I said yes, and I said to whom it belonged—I did not notice the name of Vallin printed on the bag—I did not see the bag lying empty—I saw no lettering on it at any time—I did not see the name Vallin on it at Southampton—it was laid on the hatches—it was emptied—I identify it by its general appearance—it is like a sailor's ordinary kit bag—I use a white canvas bag like this, and most men on coasting vessels have bags like this—sailors have shirts and rugs like these.
THOMAS SMITH . I live at 5, Sternbrook, Dover—I was one of the crew of the Satellite when she came from Middlesboro' to the Thames—I remember the prisoner coming on board—he had not much of a kit; he had a white canvas bag, like this—his quarters were in the forecastle, alongside me; I could not help seeing his bag and kit during the voyage—I recognise this coat, which has some name inside; this dungaree, this blanket, a brush very much like this, I could not swear to it; oilskin trousers like these—this neck-tie he used to tie round him as a belt—I saw no black bag belonging to the prisoner, no other bag besides this—I saw him leave the ship, taking his white bag with him—I did not see him pack the bag, I was at work at the time—he took no black bag with him, or anything but the white bag.
Cross-examined. I don't remember your asking me at the County Court if the name of J. A. Coe was inside the coat—there were a few words between the captain and the prisoner, I cannot say what about—words between a captain and one of his crew are very regular—I cannot say if other seamen came aboard with him, because I was at work; only one bag was handed up from the boat—I saw him come aboard; the apprentice fetched him; I could not say if anyone else was in the boat—the floor of the forecastle is very wet when we wash it—I told the prisoner where pen and ink were—I did not say to the prisoner when the floor was wet, "You have got a very good bag; it won't get wet at the bottom."
DAVID JOHN HUBERT . I am a sailor—on Thursday afternoon, October 31st, I agreed to engage with Captain Stephens on the Satellite—the following morning, November 1st, I went aboard between 7.30 and 8—I was told someone was going to leave—I saw the captain, the mate, Smith, Boyle, and the prisoner—he said, "Do you come to replace me?"—I said, "I have come to replace someone, but I don't know who"—he said, "It must be me, for I am leaving"—that conversation took place in the forecastle—I saw on the floor there a dirty white canvas bag,
like this—it was packed full, ready to go—I afterwards saw the prisoner leave the ship; I am sure it was on November 1st.
Cross-examined. I have been at sea for some time—I have signed articles on many occasions—I signed articles in the Satellite on November 1st—we generally sign on coming on board—I never signed two or three days afterwards on a coaster, and I have never seen it done—it is not done so strictly as it is on board a deep-water ship; in that case you are brought to a shipping office to sign, and the actual hour is put down—on a coaster you might sign when you come on board, or in the evening, but always on the day you come on board—on a coaster you sign on board before the captain—I never sign the next day—I signed articles the same evening that I came on board—the captain was on board when I arrived; I suppose it did not suit him for me to sign then—I was staying at East Smithfield, and I left there on the morning of November 1st, and when I got on board I saw the prisoner heaving at the winch—they had a few-more baskets to finish the lighter—I did not see him go ashore—the Custom House authorities keep the articles—they have to be delivered up to them every six months—I do not know where the articles I signed are.
W. STEPHEN (Re-examined.) The articles are at the Board of Trade Office. (MR. EDMONDSON stated that no doubt the entry in the articles was dated November 1st.)
SAMUEL CHENEY . I was a seaman on board the Satellite when she sailed from Middlesboro' to the Thames—I did not see the prisoner come on board—I saw his kit during the voyage—it was this small white sailor's bag—I saw this name, W. Vallin, on the bag during the voyage, when it was in the forecastle—I saw most of its contents—I saw some writing paper, an old jacket with buttons with crown and anchor, like this; a rug; dungaree trousers; this tin; this tie, which he used as a belt—I saw this note-paper and envelopes in his hand in the fore-castle when we were off Cherry Pier, unloading—he said, "See what I have bought"—that was after he had been ashore—there are flowers on the envelope—before he went ashore he asked me if I would lend him a sheet of note-paper—I lent him some—I saw him pack up his bag before he left—this was the bag he took ashore—I saw him putting the things in—he tied it up with this bit of stuff—I saw him leave the vessel, taking this bag with him—I saw no black bag with a Union Jack on it; there was not one in the forecastle.
Cross-examined. I have seen a black bag, but never in the prisoner's possession—the detective from the railway company came to see me and talked to me—he did not take me to the Police-station—the prisoner asked me if I would give evidence for him; I told him I did not want to have anything to do with it—I went to his solicitor and made this statement, which I signed; I don't think it was read over to me before I signed it—the solicitor wrote something, and then I signed it—I said then, "I cannot say definitely whether it was a black bag or a white one; I did not take notice of the colour "; I told Mr. Withy it was neither black nor white; it was a dirty brown—I said that the prisoner had more clothes than most seamen; he has had—I have not been on boats before with him, but I have seen him take his bag out of houses in Middlesboro', when he has been going on steamships—he has had a well-filled bag—I
have not seen his kit before—I have seen him well-dressed—he had no money on that ship—I paid to Mr. Withy, "I have never seen much of the contents of the bag"—I cannot tell you everything that he has got; I only saw these things—I did not speak about the bag to Margaret Shepherd in Middlesboro'—Ward and Derapsey have asked me questions about this case, and I told them I did not know anything about it—I did not say it paid me better to speak for the Great Northern Railway Company than for a black man—I told them nothing—I did not say a few lies would not hurt Stone—I have been in prison for fighting and for stealing, four times altogether—when we were at Cherry Gardens Pier, before the prisoner left the boat, he gave me an old pair of trousers, and an oilskin cape, and an old pair of shoes—he had on an old pair of elasticside boots when I saw him last—the shoes he gave me had been left by someone else in the forecastle—I left him between ten and eleven; we went and had a drink together near the pier—he went away to the station and did not come back—that would be somewhere about 10.20 a.m.; after ten o'clock—I do not remember the day.
LILY HALL . I live at 5, Russell Street, East Darlington—I am a sorter and packer at the Darlington, Middlesboro' and Stockton Laundry, at Darlington—I put these marks, 7545 M, on this collar, and entered the figures and letter in this register which I keep, and against them I entered, "Stone, Durham Street," as the person to whom the collar belonged—M stands for Middlesboro'—there are no dates in this book, except that of the week; this entry would have been made in the week ending August 24th.
Cross-examined. I cannot say if we have had other things from Stone to wash—I should enter the name of Stone because his name would be on a list in the parcel—we have collecting agents—the man's own list would be in the parcel, I expect—I think this is the only entry we have of Stone, Durham Street—I cannot say if any other article was in the parcel—I cannot say if there was any initial on the collar.
ARTHUR ELLIOT TEMPLE . I am attendant at the Lost Luggage Office, Great Eastern Railway, York—on November 1st, 1895, at 6.20 p.m., the prisoner came to the office, and said he had lost a black canvas bag, with a Union Jack painted on the side—I asked him where he had come from—he said, "King's Cross"—I asked him if he had come by the last train, meaning the train due at 6.5—he said, Yes; that he had not lost his bag by that train, but he came the day before from King's Cross, and he had it labelled for Middlesboro'; that when he got to Peter-borough he got out of the carriage, and went to the guards' van and asked the guards if they had a black canvas bag, with the Union Jack painted on the side, in the van; that they said, "No;" that he said he would go back to King's Cross to look for the bag, and that he did so on the same day, the 31st, and left particulars there, and they told him they had not got it there, and he had better proceed to Middlesboro'; as it was labelled for that place it would go right through, and that they told him to call, on his way to Middlesboro', at York to see if we had it; and that on this day, November 1st, he came on to York—he asked me to take particulars of the missing bag, and I told him that, seeing he had left particulars at King's Cross, he had better go on to Middlesboro' and leave particulars there—I told him that I had not
got any bag, and bad never seen such a hag—he said he had lost one or two bags before on the same line, and this time he would make them pay for it—he came again afterwards.
Cross-examined. When the story about his going back to London was repeated on another occasion, the prisoner denied that he had ever said so—he said I had made a mistake, and that he had not said so to me—I was on duty between five and nix on October 31st in the Lost Luggage Office; I went off duty at 6.30—I do not remember his coming on that day, or anyone inquiring—I do not remember hearing through the porters of any inquiry on that day—I refused to enter any complaint in my book, because I understood he had been back to London to enter it there—I don't know if he staved in York on the night of October 31st—I did not see him during the clay on November 1st—I was on duty from nine a.m. till 6.30 p.m., except when I was at dinner, from 12.45 to 1.45—the Lost Luggage Office is open all night—after 6.30 two other men would be on duty—I don't remember his saying, when he came afterwards with his solicitor, that he had inquired of other people besides me at York—I saw no white, black, or other bag at York.
JOSEPH HENRY COOPER . I am parcels clerk at the NorthEastern Station, Middlesboro'—I took down these particulars, which appear in the unclaimed luggage-book under date November 1st, 1895, from the prisoner, who said he had lost a bag. (These described a sailor's bay, four feet high, painted black and with the Union Jack on it, labelled for Middleboro' from King's Cross, at twelve noon, on October 13th.) He said it was the third time he had lost his bag, and that someone on that occasion would have to pay for it.
Cross-examined. He called day after day at the office to see if it had turned up—I heard nothing about a white bag being found—I was ready to give him information if the bag turned up—I did not hear the Railway Company's witnesses say that the bag was discovered, and sent back to London on 6th November.
JAMES LEEK . I am cloak-room porter at the Great Northern Station, Leeds, and I was in charge there on November 1st, 1895—it is my duty to receive parcels brought in as unclaimed—I find in my book for November 1st, the entry, "Porter Biddle brought a white sailor's bag out of luggage van, 3.28 train, No. of parcel, 644"—that was the train arriving at 3.28 on November 1st—I kept tire bag there till November 6th—I saw some of the property in it turned out by Detective Warden—I do not identify any of the things I saw—they were put back, and the bag was sent off in the same state as I received it.
Cross-examined. The train arriving at 3.28 would leave King's Cross at 10.35 a.m.—I made this entry; I only know from it that Biddle brought the bag in—other porters were on the platform—I remember Biddle saying that he knew nothing about it till his attention was called to it.
DAVID WALTER WARDEN (Detective Inspector, G.N.R.) Early in November, 1895, I went to the Lost Property Office, Leeds, and there saw this white bag—I emptied out the contents on the floor—it is in the same condition as to contents now as it was then.
Cross-examined. Many articles lie about the floor of the office—I did not take a list of the things—in going from Leeds to London
things might have been taken out or put in—it was tied up at the mouth with a piece of string.
JOHN SIMMONS . I am a porter at the Lost Property Office, King's. Cross—I received this bag on November 6th, and made an entry of it in my book—I paw the name Vallin on the bag, and entered that name—Parish inspected it there; it was then in the same state as when I received it.
Cross-examined. Parish saw it on November 6th, the day it came—he examined it because a black bag had been lost; I knew that on November 6th.
JOHN KNIGHT OVENS (Detective Inspector, Great Northern Railway Company.) I am stationed at Doncaster—on November 15th, acting on instructions from Parish, I went to Durham Road, Middlesboro', where I saw the prisoner at his lodgings—he made a statement to me which I took down, and can repeat if necessary—after that I received this bag, and showed it to Cheney, who identified the contents—I then sent it back to King's Cross in the same state as I had received it.
Cross-examined. I showed it to Cheney on December 5th, I believe—I did not examine Cheney at the Police-station, Middlesboro'—I had reason at that time to suspect a fraud had been committed on the company, and was working on that assumption.
HENRY CHESTER (Police Inspector, G.N.R.) On December 14th I received this bag and its contents at King's Cross—I took it down to the Satellite, at Southampton, and saw all the crew with the exception of the captain—I brought the bag back and handed it to Parish; it and its contents were then in the same state as when I received it.
RICHARD PARISH (Police Superintendent, G.N.R.) I have had the conduct of these inquiries—this bag and every article in it are now in the same state as when I first saw it—I took this list of the articles at the time; this collar is in the list.
Cross-examined. The list was made after the bag was returned from, Leeds; the bag was not connected with the prisoner for some time after it reached my office—I heard the porter say that on November 6th it was thought it might be the bag in reference to Middlesboro'; it was not exactly connected with the prisoner in his mind—I did not regard it as an attempted fraud from the beginning—I have hundreds of similar cases, to deal with, and I did not inquire into this as a case of fraud for four or six weeks after the bag got into my possession—as soon as I had satisfied myself I worked on the assumption that it was fraud—I have no means of ascertaining who Mr. Vallin is, and so I have not tried to do so—every man on duty at King's Cross has been seen and questioned as to whether he took a bag—if a porter at King's Cross were asked to label a sailor's bag, he would do so—in some cases they remember the incident, but in this case they do not.
WILLIAM SEWARD . I live at 30, Sparshot Road, and am a booking-clerk in the Great Northern Railway Company's service—I produce my train book, showing the tickets issued for the various stations from King's Cross—tickets issued on October 30th, after 8.30 p.m., would appear under the date of October 31st, as each day closes at 8.30—I make up this book after the departure of the trains—sometimes we put three or four trains together, but generally the book is made up after the
departure of the principal trains—under date October 31st I find that no third-class ticket was issued from King's Cross to Middlesboro' by the 12.30 train—the first ticket issued from King's Cross to Middlesboro' on that date was for the 2.20 train; that ticket is No. 2390—five tickets were issued, but 2390 was the first—some were issued before 12.30—some were issued by the ten o'clock train.
Cross-examined. Although the 12.30 train did not go to Middles-boro', we should give a ticket for that station to a person applying; all tickets issued at 12.30 would be entered at that time—we should enter it At the time the train was booked out—there would be separate entries for the 12.30 and 1.30 trains—I have not been censured by Mr. Parish for my careless way of booking—I do not think I said at the Police-court that a ticket issued at 12.30 for Middlesboro' would be entered by the 1.30 train—1.30 is the Middlesboro' train; the 12.30 is not—we should tell A passenger coming at 12.30 that he had to wait for the 1.30 train, but we should enter the ticket at 12.30—we group certain trains together, so that this book does not indicate the true time—six tickets for Middles-boro' were issued altogether on October 31st—if you go by the 12.30 train to Middlesboro' you have to change at Doncaster.
Witnesses for the Defence.
JOHN BROWN . I am a seaman—I reside at 1, Durham Street, Middlesboro'—I have known the prisoner for about three years—I have never shipped with him, but I have slept in the same room with him at 1, Durham Street, a lodging-house, on several occasions when we have been on shore together—about October 7th I was on shore—I went aboard my ship on October 14th—I remember the prisoner joining the Satellite about October 7th or 8th—I saw him making preparations for going aboard; he put some clothes in a black-painted canvas bag, when I was in the room, the night before he went aboard—it was an ordinary sailor's bag, only painted black—I cannot say I noticed anything painted on it—when he had packed the bag, he left it in the room till he went away the next morning—this white bag was not it; I never saw it in his possession—the black bag was taken out of the room—I don't know what became of it afterwards—I have occupied the same room with him pretty often, and dined at the same table, but I did not associate or go out with him—we did not drink together—I was never in a public-house—this is a sailor's lodging-house—I cannot say what clothing he put into the bag—he always wore good clothing whenever I saw him walking about—I have just returned from sea—I never saw a button like this before; I think I should be able to recognise it if I had; it has a crown and anchor on it.
JOHN BERESFORD . I am Registrar of Seamen for the Shipping Federation at Middlesboro'—I have known the prisoner for about four years—I think I saw the prisoner on the morning he had to go aboard the Satellite—on that morning I had occasion to go to Mr. Liness's house in reference to the crew of another ship, and I met the prisoner in the passage, and passed the compliments of the morning to him, and said, "Are you going aboard?" and "Is that your bag at the door?" and he said, "Yes"—the bag lying at the door was painted black, and the ordinary shape of a sailor's bag—I did not take particular notice—I did not notice anything on it—I don't know where the bag went—it was
standing by itself—when I came out I saw neither the prisoner nor the bag—the prisoner's character is very good, so far as I know—we have reports from various masters if a man's character is not good, and we have not had any report about him—he used to dress very well; better than the average of sailor men ashore—I have seen him several times in the evening and after work.
Cross-examined. I did not say to Detective Maroney that I thought I must be mistaken as to the bag being black.
WILLIAM LINESS . I am a lodging-house keeper, of 1, Durham Street, Middlesboro'—I have known the prisoner between three and four years; he has lodged at my house when on shore—I remember his leaving to join the Satellite—I know he took a bag with him, because he could not go to sea without one—I never saw him in his working or ship dress; I only knew him ashore, and then he was always dressed very respectably indeed; he could always change in various colours at any time—my wife did a good deal of his starching at one time, but not of late—I brought these four collars and fronts, which belong to him, and which he left behind—they are marked "R. A. Stone." (These were also marked with a number, and the letter M.) His general character is very good—I have seen many dozen black bags in my lodging-house, and white ones as well—I never saw one marked "W. Vallin "; I never knew a man of that name—I have not known seamen sell bags to one another; they sell them to slopmen sometimes—as a rule, real sailors have two bags, a large one and a smaller one, which they call the kit bag—this bag is large enough to carry plenty to go to sea—whether they take all their best clothes to sea depends where they are going to—I know cases where they have left their clothes; but if they are going to places like London, where they know people, or have been before, they take their best clothes with them; or they might ship again from London, and would want all their things.
Cross-examined. Any washing that came to the laundry from 1, Durham Street would very likely be entered in my name—I was interviewed by Ovens—I said I could not swear whether the bag the prisoner took away with him on that occasion was black or white—I have seen several things painted on bags—I could not say whether this bad a Union Jack, or a pennant, or what—I have not seen many with a Union Jack painted on them; if I had seen one I think I should be likely to remember it.
Re-examined. It was not necessary that the prisoner should pay me for his lodgings before he went to sea; I did not trouble him for money at that or any time, or any other boarder—I have had as much as £25 of his money in hand.
JOSEPH MACGALITY . I am a merchant tailor, of Cleveland Street, Middlesboro'—the prisoner has been my customer for some time past, and has made considerable purchases of clothing from me—this is the correct account; it runs from October, 1893, to January 3rd, 1895; a pair of tweed trousers not entered here have been bought since then—the total amount is £7 19s. for various kinds of clothing: trousers, coats and waistcoats—my mother cashed the advance note in this case, and gave the prisoner £1 for it.
GUILTY .—The COMMON SERJEANT stated that he should treat the case as one in which the prisoner had lost his white bag, and had then set up this claim.
The JURY stated that that was the view they took.— Three Month's Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, February 25th, 1896.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MESSRS. GEOGHEGAN and MOORE Prosecuted, and MR. PURCHLL Defended.
After the case had proceeded for some time MR. PURCHLL stated that he was not in a position to resist a verdict of GUILTY on the Counts for receiving, and the prisoner so stating, the JURY found that verdict, and MR. GEOGHEGAN did not proceed on the Counts for stealing.
MR. BAYLIS Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
EDWARD PARKER MILNE . I am manager to the Economic Smokeless Fire Company, in Shaftesbury Avenue—on January 15th, 1894, the prisoner brought this note, headed "J. Kelly, practical builder and dealer in tools, 158, Brondesbury. Kindly forward me one of your stoves, and let me know the price"—this was handed to me when I came in—the prisoner was not there then—he afterwards came and saw over the place, and saw some samples—the following day we received this order for a stove—we sent the order on to the makers, Leggatt and March, in Scotland, who forwarded a stove of the value of £5 10s.—subsequently we received this paper from the prisoner, stating that be would call—that was in answer to a letter which our secretary wrote—he received more goods, altogether amounting to £71 15s. 9d.—we made many applications for payment, but have not received any money.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. We had no arrangement as to discount; we should take off 15 per cent.—altogether I saw you seven or eight times—I asked you how the stoves were working, and you said they were working very well; that was when you were calling for other orders—we advertised the stoves; they were a patent, nothing like them made—I never went or tent to your place of business that I am aware of.
JOHN COLE (Detective C.) About a quarter-past eight, on January 18th, I saw the prisoner in the Holloway Road—I went up to him and asked him if his name was Kelly—he said yes—I said, "Josiah Kelly?"—he said, "No, Frederick Kelly is my name"—I said, "I believe you to be the man who obtained stoves at 100, Shaftesbury Avenue in January, 1894, I bare ft warrant for your arrest"—I read it to him—he said, "All right, I will go with you, but I shall say nothing more till the proper time comes"—I took him to Vine Street station; the charge was read over to him—he said, "Quite right."
Cross-examined. You were about to get into a trans car when I arrested you—I addressed you as Kelly, and said, "I wish to speak to you"—I
asked you to take some refreshment, and treated you—you did not say you were better known as old Fred Kelly.
JAMES FREDERICK DENHAM . I am assistant to the Economic Smokeless Fire Company, of 38, Judd Street, King's Cross—on January 15th, 1894, the prisoner called at Shaftesbury Avenue with this note, purporting to come from a Mr. Kelly; it was enclosed in an envelope—he said I could open it; I did so—it is signed Josiah Kelly, requesting the bearer to be allowed to see one of our stoves—I showed him the working of our stoves, and he said he would go back and report what he thought of them—I subsequently saw him a dozen or fourteen times, from January to April—he used to come and select cooking utensils for the range he had previously bought—he used to take the things away himself—I addressed him as Mr. Kelly, and he never said anything different—Mr. Milne asked him one morning how the stoves were working, and he said they were all working very satisfactorily.
Cross-examined. You brought the note yourself—I had never seen you previous to that Monday afternoon—I was in the shop when you brought it.
HERBERT CROMBIE . I am an estate agent, of 154, High Road, Kilburn—on August 1st, 1893, the prisoner took from me the house, 158, Liveredge Road, Brondesbury, at £32 a year—he remained in possession till May 1st, 1894—we received £2 from him; we subsequently applied to him for rent several times, but that was all we received—he was never really living there; he was there from time to time, and I applied to him for money—the house was practically empty; it was a shop with two rooms—there was very little show of business, a few builders' things, but no business being carried on.
Cross-examined. The windows were whitened over; no stock, and nothing exhibited for sale—to the best of my belief, the windows were whitened over; at any rate, you could not see through them—I have not got the Agreement that was entered into—you said you would take the house for three years, and do what repairs were necessary, and then you would commence rent, you did paint the front door—I had a letter from you from a hospital, stating that you were there to undergo an operation—when you gave me the £2 you said that you were short—I said you had better give up possession—you had a man there, but I understood he only came in during the day.
BERNARD E. CLARK . I lived at 157, Liveredge Road, Brondesbury, next door to the prisoner—I have seen him there in 1894—I never saw Any business carried on there—I am a builder and decorator—I never saw any building operations there—I saw some stoves delivered there—I have not seen any name up, only a circular on the glass, "Josiah Kelly and Co.," and some details.
Cross-examined. I never saw any coals there—I never saw you doing any work—a man named Hanbury was there; he asked me for work, and I gave him some—I have not seen ladders and timber there, or Any trace of business carried on.
Kilburn—early in 1894 the prisoner asked me to move some stoves from 158, Liveredge Road, to an ironmonger's in the Junction Road, Kentish Town—I moved six or eight, as near as I can remember, at different times; they were very heavy.
Cross-examined. There was no secret about it—the police first spoke to me about this nearly six weeks ago—I removed some chamber things for you to another place; you paid me for removing the stoves.
WILLIAM SCOTT . I am a builder and ironmonger, of 253, Junction Road, Kentish Town—I have known the prisoner some few years—I can't say that I have known him doing any work as a builder—in 1894 I had some communication with him about some stoves—I contemplated having a sale; he said he had some stoves on his hands, and he would like them put in ray sale, and sell them; I believe there were five or six—I received them, and they were sold with other property, and he had the value of them; each time he brought one I gave him a sovereign; after paying the auctioneer's expenses he had the balance; I think it was £2, I cannot tell exactly; they were all sold but one—I believe most of them were new; they came singly—they were packed in parts—it is not usual to pack them in cases, they are too heavy—the prisoner said he had them on his hands from some buildings he was doing in Hornsey; I believe there were six; I don't know the value of them.
By the COURT. My sale was in 1895—I received them from him some time in 1894—I could not say the time of year; it went over a lapse of time; they came one after another, in an open cart—I had never known such a thing before—I think I sold them a twelvemonth after the first one came, it may have been eighteen months, I could not say—I put very little value on them—they were new patent staves—I never saw them before or since.
By the Prisoner. I have known you some four or five years, I should think—I knew you as a builder—you told me you had built a great many houses—the arrangement was to sell the stoves by auction—I had a lot of surplus property, and contemplated a sale—it was not arranged that I should have the stoves to introduce to my customers—I did not sell any, except at the sale; I never led you to suppose so—I was not aware that you were ill in bed for many months prior to the sale—at the time the stoves came to my premises I told you I was going to have a sale—I saw you soon after the sale, I can't say when exactly, a month or two after—I gave you money from the sale—I cannot say the date—I never had any receipt from you—I was not aware that you were in bed nine months before your arrest; no one told me so.
ARTHUR HERMAN KONWENHOVEN . I am manager to the London Fire Appliance Company, 83, Upper Thames Street, and Queen Victoria. Street—on November 29th, 1890, I received this order on the back of this card: "Josiah Kelly, builder, etc., 184, Hornsey Road. Mr. Sadler,—Please forward me as soon as convenient one of your No. 6 stoves to burn oil; I will see you on Saturday"—I had never seen the prisoner at that time—Mr. Sadler had the matter in hand; he has left the employ; I do nut know where he is—I never had any personal communication with the prisoner, but we had orders from him, which were executed—I have applied for payment several times by letter to F. J. Kelly, at Hornsey Road, also by our representative—on
December 16th we received this letter, in the same handwriting: "Oblige me by sending one of your oil-stoves as soon as possible. Kindly hurry them up"—in consequence of the order, other stoves were sent, amounting to £;9 4s. nett—we have never received any money from him—the goods were sent in the belief that he was carrying on a legitimate business, and that the goods would be paid for.
HOOPER JOHN HOSSY . I live at 28, Orpington Road, Hornsey—from 1882 to 1893 I was employed in a timber-yard at 143, Hornsey Road next door to the prisoner, 184—I never saw any business transactions there—the prisoner lived there from six to eight months—he occasionally came to our yard and purchased small articles, to the value of 4d. or 6d.; the largest amount was from 4s. to 5s.—I never saw any business carried on there.
Cross-examined. I supposed you wanted the articles for little jobbing work, as other customers have done—you were there to-day and gone tomorrow—I have not seen you since you left the house till I saw you at Maryborough Street—I was invited here by Sergeant Cole—I never had Any quarrel with you.
HENRY HOLDEN WHITE . I am clerk to Seriven and Co., iron merchants, in Upper Thames Street; we represent Hoy ton and Co.—in March, 1891, we received this letter, asking for prices, which we forwarded, and on March 11th received this order for six rolls of asphalt roofing from F. Josiah Kelly—believing it to be a bond fide business order, we sent the roofing—we applied for payment by letter, but received no reply or any money.
Cross-examined. We put the matter into the hands of our solicitors, but they were unable to find you—Inspector Cole asked me to come here.
Prisoner's defence. "I have been in business all my life, and am well-known in the building trade. I have been unfortunate for the last seven years; but they can bring nothing against me."
GUILTY .—He then Pleaded Guilty to having been convicted at this Court on April 8th, 1889, of a similar offence, and other convictions were proved against him.— Five Years Penal Servitude.
OLD COURT.—Friday, February 28th, 1896.
Before Mr. Justice Wills.
MR. HARDY Prosecuted.
MARY TYSON . I am the wife of Charles James Tyson—I lived with him in Hoxton until January 6th—I then left him, and went to live with my brother; after that I went to the prisoner; he is my uncle's brother—I lived with him till I went back to my husband; that was on Saturday night, February 8th—while living with the prisoner we lived happily, so far, but we had several quarrels—I did not tell him I wished to leave him, but he had some idea that I meant to go back to my husband; he did not do anything—I never saw him after that Saturday night, when I went back to my husband, and asked him to forgive me—on the Sunday night I was in bed with my husband and two of the
children, and when I woke up my throat was done, and I saw the prisoner standing in front of me—I began to halloa, and felt blood coming from my throat—my husband said, "Wake up, you are dreaming"—I said, "I am not; look!"—the prisoner picked up a plate and threw it at my husband; then he walked to the foot of the bed, and looked under my throat, and turned round and said, "Oh, I have not done you enough, you will get over that, I did not intend you to get over that"—my husband got out of bed and flung a jug from the table—I held him as tight as I could, so as not to hit the prisoner—he said, "You mean murder"—the prisoner shut up the knife, said a wicked word, and went out—the police took me in a cab to the hospital, and I had my throat sewn up.
By the COURT. The first Saturday night we were together, as I sat at the table the prisoner said it would be my last night; that he would do for me if I ever left him—he did not produce a knife then.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You were in the room, as near as I could judge, about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour after the offence was committed—I could not exactly tell whether you were drunk or sober; I was too much upset—when I came to live with you your circumstances were pretty comfortable—you treated me as well as could be expected for a working man; I might have said that you treated me like a lady—we had several quarrels; once you told me never to tell you any of my thoughts about my children; to keep my thoughts to myself, and not to make myself miserable—you were working at the Galvanized Iron Works, at Black wall; my husband did not get you the sack from there—you afterwards worked at the Docks—you brought home what you earned—I went out as if to get some coals, and went back to my husband—you said you would not let me go back—I have known you twelve or fifteen months—last April you received your Army Reserve pay, and we had a grand old spree, and I told you I was very fond of you—I left my husband because I thought you would put me in a better position—my husband drank a good deal; he was not a drunkard; I was advised to leave him—I told Mr. Sutton that I was married to you, and you were very good to me, and gave me mostly every penny you earned.
CHARLES JAMES TYSON . I am the husband of last witness—I live at Hoxton, and am a scavenger to the vestry—my wife left me on January 6th last—she came back to me on Saturday night, February 8th—she was sleeping with me on the following Sunday night, with my two little children—I was awoke by my wife's groans, and saw the prisoner standing at the corner of the table, with a knife in his hand—I said, "You are here"—he said, "Yes," and he took a plate off the table and threw it at me—he looked at my wife, and said, "She is not bleeding fast enough," and he made a second attempt—I got hold of a jug, and he ran out of the house—he said, "I have not done you enough, you will get over that, and I did not intend you to"—next night I received this letter from the prisoner in this envelope, with this paper. (This contained violent threats.) I handed the letter and other papers to Sergeant Willis.
Cross-examined. I came after you with the jug, but did not throw it.
prosecutrix was brought there about 10.30 p.m., suffering from an incised wound on the left side of the neck, about two inches in length; it was not deep, it was a superficial scratch of about an inch; it had been bleeding, but not much; it was not a dangerous wound; it had been done by a sharp cutting instrument, probably a knife; it was not selfinflicted; I sewed it up and kept her there about half-an-hour—she was faint; I gave her a draught and sent her away—she was an out-patient afterwards—I saw her last Saturday; she is quite well now.
PHILIP WILLIS (Police Sergeant. I) arrested the prisoner on the morningof the 11th in Connaught Road, Canning Town—I told him it was for feloniously wounding Mary Tyson, with intent to kill her—he made no reply—I took him to Hoxton Station, where he was charged—I showed him this letter, which I had received from the prosecutrix's husband on the Monday previous—I said, "This is a letter sent by you to your nephew"—he made no answer—this list was in the envelope.
Cross-examined. I went to 15, Berners Street, and received your Army Reserve pay—this list shows forty-five items.
By the COURT. He was perfectly sober when arrested; I saw no sign of his having been drunk.
The Prisoner, in his defence, denied that he had any intent to kill the woman, but that, being in drink, he knew not what he was doing.
GUILTY on the Second Count.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. MUIR Prosecuted.
MATILDA FOX . I live at 42, Northampton Street, Clerkenwell—Agnes Frances Bunker occupied a room with her mother on the second floor at that address—the prisoner lived in the same room—he is an outside porter at the Central Meat Market—on the morning of January 2nd I saw the woman with her head bleeding; before that I had heard the prisoner in the house; I heard a good deal of talking; she had been talking all the morning, and I heard the prisoner—I knew him by the name of Jack; sometimes he was called Uncle Jacky—I saw him come downstairs that afternoon about half-past two—he said, "Good evening, miss"—three or four minutes before that I heard the deceased say, "Oh, Jack; oh, Jack, don't"—he turned back upstairs again and kissed her, only once—about ten minutes afterwards Greaves came down, and two or three minutes after that I saw McCarthy come down—she showed me her head; it was fearfully smashed, and on the left side I saw blood—I gave her a piece of rag—I afterwards saw her go away with Greaves to the hospital; I opened the side door for her—about seven the same night she came back; she was pretty well in drink then—the prisoner seemed to have been drinking.
ALFRED GREAVKS . I live at 237, Northampton Buildings, Clerkenwell, and am a railway porter—on January 2nd I saw the deceased woman McCarthy; I went up to her room about half-past twelve; the prisoner was not there then—the woman was suffering from the effects of drink—the prisoner came in after 1; he was partly drunk; they had some drink together, a quart of beer and a quartern of rum—they were
friendly at that time—they afterwards started quarrelling over the dinner, and the prisoner struck her over the head with a saucepan, only once, on the left side of the head; she fell back, and the saucepan broke—I saw that her head was bleeding very bad—the prisoner went out a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes after he had done it—he endeavoured to stop the bleeding, both of us did; we were not able to do so—I said she wanted a doctor—he did not say what he was going for when he went out, that was about half-past two—I remained with the woman about ten minutes or a quarter of an hour, trying to stop the bleeding—I then went into the street, and she followed me—we walked to St. John's Gate, and got an ambulance—her wound was dressed at the hospital—I left the hospital with her, and brought her straight home, and there left her—I did not see her into her room, I took her to the door, and she went in—she had some drink on her way to the hospital, and some on coming back—I did not see her strike the prisoner before he struck her—he took the saucepan off the hob, not from her—I did not see him fall down—the woman staggered back and fell in my arms—she did not strike her head on anything.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. We called at the Cross Keys on coming back—I was not so drunk—I took the saucepan from the tire-place and threw the stew out of it—I did not see her strike you with it—I did not notice her strike you on the leg with it and break it, or see you fall, or see her come over and fall against the fireplace—it was a small ordinary fireplace—this produced is the saucepan so far as I can see—you took a belt off the head of the bed when you went out.
FRANCIS WARD GROSSMAN . I am house-surgeon at Bartholomew's Hospital—on January 2nd the deceased was brought there by Greaves; she was suffering from a fractured skull and a wound on the left side of the head, above the left ear; the wound was down to the bone—she was drunk—she did not stay in the hospital, she refused to stop; we kept her some time, trying to get her to stop, but she would not; she went away—next day she returned and remained till February 9th, when she died—an operation was performed on February 2nd—we removed a portion of the bone of the skull at the point of fracture, and found a small abscess underneath the bone—the cause of death was a cerebral abscess, and another abscess inside the brain—the abscess inside the brain caused death; the other had nothing to do with it; that was relieved by the operation—I think the fractured skull and the injury she had originally received caused the abscess—this saucepan would cause the injury—it would be more likely to be caused by a fall, if she fell against something projecting—I think a fall, unless a very severe one, would be insufficient to cause fracture in that, position—I think there would have been more injuries than one single wound, probably more bruising and laceration—our attention was not called to that, but we should have seen it, of course, because she was put into bed the next day—the injury, if caused by a blow, must have been a severe one—the skull was of natural thickness—a severe fall against a grating or anything sharp might have done it—a brick would hardly have been heavy enough.
McCarthy at 42, Northampton Road, by striking her on the head with a saucepan—he said, "I heard she was dead; I have been expecting you, and I will go quietly," which he did.
EDWARD CLEGG (Inspector G.) On February 13th I was at King's Cross Road Police-station when the prisoner was brought there—I entered the charge against him, and read it over to him—it was for feloniously causing the death of Agnes Frances McCarthy, by striking her on the head with a saucepan—after being cautioned he elected to make a statement, which I took down, read it over to him, and he signed it. (Read: "On January 2nd last I went home and found this man in bed; not taking any notice, I got over on the other side, and fell to sleep; she said, 'You ain't going out; I said, 'I must,' as I had only 2s.; she said, 'You ain't going to stop here;' the next thing I found myself on the floor; she had hit me on the leg with the saucepan; I rolled over, she fell over me; I got up and placed her on the bed. I saw blood oozing from her head, and said to Greaves,' Good God! get the basin, and let us stop the blood; I said, 'Get a doctor.' I went downstairs and saw Mrs. Fox, and said, 'Come back and bathe her; I can't stop this bleeding.' I went out and met a man, and asked where I could find a doctor; he said,. 'They won't come without a fee.' When I came back I found they had been at the Cross Keys drinking, and was told she had been to the hospital and had her bead dressed; I did not think it necessary to fetch a doctor then.") I got this saucepan from the deceased's mother at 42,. Northampton Road, on February 13th, in the evening.
MARIA MCCARTHY . I live at 44 and 45, Kirby Street, Hatton Garden—the deceased was ray daughter—I lived with her—the prisoner came occasionally—we had one small iron pot, that held about a quart of water, and we used to boil potatoes in it—we had no other saucepan, only this small one—I am quite sure of that—this is it—it was all over blood and hair.
Cross-examined. That is what you hit the girl with—my daughter told me so before she died; that was in the hospital on the Monday—that saucepan was in the fender, in the fireplace, about three yards from the bedstead—I left at 8.15, to get to work at 8 30—I did not leave my girl with anyone—I came home at 8 p.m.—when I left home my daughter was in bed—the other man left at 1.30 a.m., you left at 3.30—he was not in the bed—you were sitting on the box with me, and he was sitting on the side of the bed with her—her clothes were on—I lost a day's work, and took my daughter to the hospital, and left her there on the Friday—I got her to tell me what happened on the Monday at dinner time—this is the first I have heard of my daughter going to the Grand Theatre with Greaves—she could not have gone to the Grand on the Thursday night, when I found her on the bed with her head bandaged up—she did not tell me anything about the Grand—Greaves was supposed to be her young man; they are affianced together—I cleaned the hair off the saucepan; it smelled so, and I was going to throw it in the dust-hole, but was told not to throw it away, as I might want it—this is her portrait when she was eighteen—that is her husband—he is a soldier—she was twenty-six when, she died.
Prisoner. I can't say more than is written down.
GUILTY .— Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. CLARKE Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
No evidence was offered.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Friday, February 28th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
270. WALTER GIRTIN BARNARD PLEADED GUILTY to making false entries relating to his property in his books, four months before the presentation of a Bankruptcy petition by him, with intent to conceal the state of his affairs.
Canon Benham, who deposed to the prisoner's good character, undertook to enter in recognizances to bring the prisoner up for judgment if called on.— Discharged on Recognizances.
MR. WARBURTON Prosecuted, and DR. MANUEL HOWE Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. DRAKE and HARRISON Prosecuted, and MR. BANKES Defended.
WILLIAM FRANK STUTTLE . I am a boot manufacturer, of 4, The Broadway, Bromley, Kent—I started the business, and I am assisted in it by my wife—last year I wanted a loan of £100 to assist me in carrying on the business, and I inserted an advertisement for that purpose in some of the London papers—among the replies I received was one from the prisoner, dated September 25th, in consequence of which I called at his office in Queen Victoria Street—I had several interviews with him—he first suggested that he should insure me for £150 in one of the societies for which he was agent—he was to be the moneyed man who was going to find me the money—I said I was already insured, and did not want to be insured again—then he made a suggestion about my taking a partner—I mentioned that to my wife, but she would not hear of it—on April 8th he came to Bromley and suggested that I should draw a bill for £100, which he would accept if I could find someone to discount it—I could not find anyone to do so—he then drew four bills, each for £25, which I accepted; one was at two months, one at three months, and two at four months—my wife, who then had an account at the Birk-beck Bank, endorsed the bills—I handed them over to the prisoner to discount for me—he was to have 10 per cent, for doing so—he went away, saying I should hear from him in a few days—I gave him 15s. 6d. for his out-of-pocket expenses—I went to see him once or twice at his office in Queen Victoria Street—I received this letter on October 21st. (Enclosing a draft advertisement, and asking for 10s. to pay for two insertions in the Daily Telegraph. The advertisement was for a partner
willing to invest £200.) I replied, refusing to carry that out—I did not get the money—I saw him about a week after October 8th at 171, Queen Victoria Street; I asked him about the bills, and he said, "I am very sorry; I cannot find anyone to discount them at present"—I called again the following week, about October 21st, and saw him—he said he was very sorry he had been unable to get the bills discounted, but he was going to see a friend in the afternoon who he toped would be able to discount them for me—after that I received his letter of October 21st about the advertisement, and I replied—I received this letter on October 22nd. (Stating that he was sorry the idea of advertising was abandoned, as he felt sure he could get a partner with money, and that if he intended to carry out the proposed arrangement as to giving bills to creditors, and wished him to come to Bromley on Thursday, he must know next day.) He did not come to Bromley—I next called, and saw him in town on the following Monday, about October 25th, because he suggested that I should give my creditors bills, which I strongly objected to—I was in town, as a rule, every Monday, and I used to call on him—I saw him at the beginning of November; he said he was sorry I had abandoned the idea of giving bills to my creditors—I said I was not pressed in that way; I wanted money to carry on business with at Bromley, and I would rather he cashed the bills he had—I received these letters of October 25th and November 1st from him. (The first stated that he had not received a definite answer as to the bills; the second stated he would call next day with a client who, he thought, would do the bills.) He called on November 1st with Mr. Longman, who, after discussing the matter, said he would not discount the bills himself, but that he would draw up two bills on his own account, with the prisoner's signature on them, and cash them; he would not give me a definite answer then, but he said he would let me know in a day or two—afterwards, in November, I called on the prisoner with a friend, Mr. Wright—that was before I received a letter from Mr. Mount—I said, as the bills had been so long in hand, I thought he had better not discount them, but return them to me—he said one or two were out; that he was seeing a friend that afternoon who he thought would discount them if I would leave it—I wrote on November 21st, asking formally for the bills, and I received this reply of November 25th. (Stating that after many trials he had failed to get the bills discounted, and tluit he returned two, the other two he would procure and forward)—he enclosed two bills, one at three months, and one at four months—the remaining two I have not yet had—the next intimation I had was this letter from Mr. Mount, a solicitor, on December 12th. (Giving notice that his acceptance, due on Thursday, was dishonoured on presentation, and that unless the amount were received next day, with 10s. for charges, he would be proceeded against.) I called on Mr. Mount the next morning, and then I called on the prisoner—I told him I was very much surprised at receiving the letter I had from Mr. Mount, as he had distinctly given me to understand that the bills had never been discounted—he said it was a great mistake somewhere; that he had never received a farthing for the bills, and that it was being kept back for an account of the name of Schutte and Co., to whom he owed £9—I received this document at his office the same morning. (This was an undertaking by the prisoner to procure the acceptance from Mr. Mount, and return it, and to hold himself
responsible for it.) have never received it—I was sued on that two months bill—the action was tried last Friday, and was decided in my favour as against Mr. Mount—I don't know where one of the four months bills is—I have never received anything from the prisoner for those four bills.
Cross-examined. I had a good many conversations with the prisoner as to how to raise the money—I said I would ask a friend, a hatter in the Commercial Road, to discount the first bill; he would not have it—the prisoner said he could raise the money for me—I instructed him to discount the bills as best be could, and give me the proceeds—he had authority to place them and discount them—I complain that he did not give me the proceeds—I did not know that Longman had one of the bills till almost the end of December—he told me Longman had the bill; he did not say for what purpose—he did not say he had placed one bill with Longman, and the other with Mount to discount—I had about fifty answers to my advertisement; I saw three of the writers before going to the prisoner—he only came twice to Bromley—he said he was making every possible effort to discount the bills, and I Relieve he did make such effort, and that if he could have discounted them on profitable terms, he would have done so as soon as he could—probably he did not find it very easy—he was not to have £25 out of the £100 for his trouble—no mention was made of a bonus—these were the only four bills drawn up; they were not in my possession—I never saw all four at his office, only three—he said one was in the hands of a friend, who, he hoped, would discount it—I could have had the three back; I did not object to his having them then; I did not ask for them.
Re-examined. I asked him about twice for the bills—when I wrote on November 2nd, hoping for better luck next time, it was in reply to his letter in which he used the same words—he purchased some boots for his wife; he did not pay for them—when I saw him in town after November 2nd, he said he was doing everything he could to discount the bills.
CECIL BRANDRAM FIELDS MOUNT . I am a solicitor, of 17, Grace-church Street—about October 9th, 1895, the prisoner called and asked me to discount this bill for £25 at two months—I told him it was no part of my business, and declined to do it—I remarked that the acceptor lived at Bromley—the prisoner asked me if I, knew Bromley, and many people there—I told him I knew Bromley very well, and some people there—he asked me if I knew anybody at Bromley who would discount the bill—I said I might, but I did not care to trouble about the matter at all—he said if I would discount the bill he would pay two instalments, amounting to £4, which were due to a client of mine, Schutte, under a judgment of the City of London Court, against the prisoner—he pressed me very hard, and as I wanted to get the instalments, I consented to do it, but I said I must first know how he came by the bill, as he was drawer and endorsee of it—he told me he had negotiated a loan of £1,000 for the acceptor, and that his commission was £25, the amount of the bill—I made inquiries at Bromley and two other places with a view to discounting the bill, and in the meantime the prisoner, who had frequently seen me, asked me, if I could not get the bill discounted, would I make him a cash advance—I ultimately wrote him this letter of
October 23rd. (This regretted that they had not succeeded in discounting the bill, but proposed that he should endorse the bill and hand it to them on the condition that they should pay to Mr. Schutte the £4 due, and £4 for the November and December instalments, deduct £2 for their charges, and hand him a cheque for £4.) Those arrangements were carried out; he accepted the offer in writing in our office paper, and I gave the prisoner a cheque for £4, which has been paid—I sued Mr. Stuttle on the bill—he was put to the expense of contesting it—judgment went against me—I did not discount the bill.
Cross-examined. I believe judgment went against the prisoner—I held the bill at first for the purpose of discounting it through someone else, but I was unable to do so—there are some very highly respectable tradesmen in Bromley—I have known people in small shops, such as there are there, who have had property worth many thousands—I found the bill was not negotiable—I did not call and see the prosecutor; I had no reason to believe there was anything wrong about it; I had known the prisoner for some time—he has carried on business in Fleet Street and Queen Victoria Street—I had had business relations with him—I had sued him in the City of London Court, and got judgment against him for a client—I tried to get the bill discounted in three quarters.
CHARLES WRIGHT . I am a shop and office fitter, of 5, Newman's Row—I am the prosecutor's brother-in-law—on several occasions in October I went with him to the prisoner's office—after Stuttle had received Mr. Mount's letter, I went with him to the prisoner; Stuttle asked him for the bills—he said he would get them and deliver them that night, so that we had them the next morning—we asked him if he had received any money for the bills; he said he had not—I saw him the day after the writ; he asked me if I had the writ; I said, "No"—he said, "You give that to me, and you need not trouble anything further about it; I will see that that is all right, and you shall have the bills to-night"—prior to that I was present when the bills were produced on one occasion; he did not let us have them.
Cross-examined. He showed us the bills to show he had not used them up to that time—I knew Shuttle was employing the prisoner to discount the bills, if he could—I may or may not have seen all four bills when I called on the prisoner.
MR. BANKES submitted that if when the prisoner handed the bill to Mr. Mount he did so for the purpose of getting it discounted, he carried out the purpose for which he received it, and did not convert it to his own use (whatever was subsequently done with the proceeds), and that he could not be found guilty upon this indictment. (Q. v. Weeks, 10 Cox's Criminal Cases; Q. v. Cosser, 13 Cox's Criminal Cases.) MR. DRAKE contended that the question should be left to the JURY as to the intention of the prisoner; the intention need not be at the time of handing over; there must be a definite time of conversion, but when the precise moment was did not matter; the bill in this case was endorsed over to Mr. Mount. (Q. v. Oxenham, Law Journal, 1877; Q. v. Jackson, 9 Cox's Criminal Cases.) The COMMON SERJEANT ruled that all the prosecution had to show was a time when, the article being bailed to the prisoner, he converted it to his own use; that time need not be the moment it was handed to him. He endorsed, the bill to Mr. Mount, and parted with all property in it, and the case must
go to the JURY upon the question whether the prisoner at the time Imparted with it intended to convert it to his own use.
GUILTY .— Judgment respited.
(For Cases tried in Old Court, Saturday, see Kent Cases.)
THIRD COURT.—Saturday, February 29th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
The prisoner had suffered some three years before from mental, aberration and general nervous breakdown.— Discharged on Recognizances.
MESSRS. WARBURTON and ROACH Prosecuted, and MR. TURRELL Defended.
MR. WARBURTON, in opening the case, stated, as one of the facts upon which he relied as negativing a false pretence, that the prisoner had been previously convicted. The COMMON SERJEANT ruled that this was contrary to the practice of the Criminal Courts, and discharged the JURY from giving, a verdict. Another JURY 'was then empannelled, and sworn to try the case. The fact of the previous conviction was not stated nor proved before them until after they had returned fair verdict.
EDWARD BATH . I am an architect, of Queen Anne's Mansions, Westminster, and 158, Cromwell Road—I was an architect in Cardiff and Swan-sea from 1881 to March, 1895—on March 25th I saw this advertisement (This offered a good partnership to a smart young architect and surveyor in a good West-end office; capital required, about £600; plenty of work advertiser just won large competition.) I answered it, and eventually I came to London, and saw Fryer on March 30th at Queen Anne's Mansions, where he had an office—he said, "I have carried on business for some eight years, since 1887," and he produced a long list of works he had executed and carried out—he said, "I have certain large works in hand, representing about £90,000 worth of work, contracts to that extent"—his commission would be five per cent.—he said he had earned a good living, that he was very much overworked, and needed a partner to assist him—I said, "I had had a fairly good practice for years; I have been careful; I have saved some money, and I can find the £600 capital named in the advertisement for the purposes of this business"—I said, "What is your position?"—he said, "Oh, I have had a good practice; I have not been able to save much; I have always earned a good living and paid my way; I have furnished these offices, an you see; I owe nothing but current trade debts, and all these shall be cleared off before a partnership is entered into"—he had three rooms, an inner and outer, and clerk's, or drawing, office; they were on the ground floor, and were furnished luxuriously, much beyond the ordinary—he had four or five clerks in the drawing and outer offices—I remember he distinctly said, in reply to me, "I am solvent; there is nothing against me"—he did not
mention there being a charge on the furniture; I did not ask him about that—he said, "I shall require £500 premium for a half-share in this business for seven years, and such a premium will cover the half-share of my belongings," the office fittings, and so on—it was a half-share of everything he had—I was to pay £25; five per cent, before the partnership deed was drawn, or any steps taken—I returned to Wales, and sent him the same night, or next day, a cheque for £25, which was duly paid—I thought it was a good concern, and I believed his statement that he had always paid his way, and was solvent, and that the office furniture belonged to him—there was correspondence, and then I came to London and went to the office on April 16th—on Wednesday night, April 17th, my confidential clerk, Mr. Newcombe, made a communication to me about the prisoner—next day, after lunch, I saw the prisoner at his office, and asked for a private interview—I said, "On entering into partnership I wish no secrets or anything material to the business or ourselves to be withheld from each other. All men are liable to be misrepresented, and if ever you hear anything against me, I want you to come to me direct about it. A communication has reached me, and I come to you with it direct. I cannot believe it; but it is represented to me that you have been a bankrupt. Is that true, or is it not?"—he said, "It is absolutely untrue and that and other statements can only have emanated from a prejudiced mind"—the prejudiced mind he referred to was a junior assistant, Strong, who informed Newcombe—Strong was discharged from the office in consequence—I thanked the prisoner and shook hands—he thanked me for coming direct to him as a gentleman—the same day, April 18th, I executed this deed of partnership, and gave him this cheque for £475, which has been honoured—we did one job for the Surrey County Council, a contract for £4,500, upon which about £225 will be paid; and other business has come in, but there was no return from the prisoner's business until August—I brought my connection with me—the Surrey County Council job is just about finished—the prisoner had given a charge of £50 in respect of it to Crowe; I did not know of that till the prisoner was made a bankrupt a second time in January, 1896—I heard of it just before Christmas—the receiving order was made against the prisoner on January 3rd—there was no other direct business—we received the first money from clients, the Surrey County Council, in August—we had a case of finding a mortgage for clients, which resulted in a commission of £8 10s.—that was the only paying work there was at the time the partnership was entered into; some other work has come in since—several articled pupils have come to us through answering our advertisement.
Cross-examined. I complain of the prisoner's advertisement which I saw—his was not a good West-end practice; and a good partnership was not offered—I was in partnership with the prisoner for about nine months—the first few months I complained to him about the business—I said at the Police-court I made no complaint of the working of the business for nine months, or with the result of the nine months' working—I do not deny that the prisoner is a good architect—he is clever in his business—there was plenty of work in the office, but very little of it paid; it was purely speculative work, for which we had no tenders or clients; we would
see a desirable site and prepare plans, and desire to interest a client in it—beyond the County Council work, that was absolutely the work for the nine months—I complained of the work being speculative; it was a question of making ends meet over and over again, of paying the office expenses, which were altogether about £30 a week—that £30 a week came out of capital; I did not take my drawing accounts—this balance-sheet was prepared from March 25th to January 3rd, by Mr. James, a chartered accountant, who was nominated by the Official Receiver after the receiving order; he is quite independent—I did not sign the balance-sheet—I signed a statement of maximum outstanding moneys to come to the firm—there is an item, "Articled clerks' premiums, £475, and £100 contingent"—one of these clerks came in June, after I had had rather more than three months' experience of the business, which had then begun to turn—one of the articled clerks paid £150 by quarterly instalments of £25, another paid £128, and a third paid £150—we entered into a covenant (I have to take that burden now) to pay the clerks certain salaries, amounting to £2 a week, for five years—I considered we were acting honourably in taking those young men, because by that time certain. bond fide business had come in, as shown by the balance-sheet—that was new London business, nothing that I had brought from Wales—I brought some business from Wales—we opened a branch at Richmond—I furnished two rooms there for an office—we kept two clerks there—the prisoner lived at Richmond—I do not complain of the business on the nine months' working—I did not suppose I was entering on speculative business—I object to the prisoner's bankruptcy, and to other matters since then—the partnership is now dissolved by process of law—I am carrying on the business as a tenant in common with the Official Receiver—I have the whole business, subject to what has happened, as the result of the bankruptcy—in consequence of the prisoner's second bankruptcy the credit of the business has been seriously injured, and business has been taken away, and I have to begin practically de novo—I had to help the prisoner over and over again to the extent of £700—I advanced him money out of the business; I took nothing myself—I allowed him to overdraw about £650, and in respect of his overdrafts, he gave me a charge on his interest in the business—I did not assist him because I was pleased with the business, but because discredit was being cast on me—I proved under the bankruptcy for about £650; the prisoner was indebted to the firm £128, and I proved for the return of premium obtained by fraudulent misrepresentation—I had confidence in him up to January, and thep I discovered he was an undischarged bankrupt—discredit attached to me so much that I should have moved to dissolve the partnership on January 14th—I say the partnership is null and void; I have taken no civil action—I have only received £123 out of this business; the prisoner has taken all the. money—after my charge on his share is wiped out the prisoner is still indebted to the firm in £128—Mr. Emanuel, a solicitor, was acting for the prisoner in November; I asked him also to act for me—I told Mr. Emanuel something to the effect that I was very sorry for Fryer, who was a man of great ability, and that by March next he would be in a position to pay all his liabilities, as I believed at that time that he owed only a nominal amount—I was then and am now in sympathy with
the prisoner, and am only driven to this painful action by the discredit thrown on me—I asked Mr. Emanuel, through telephone, when I first found out that the prisoner was an undischarged bankrupt—Mr. Emanuel said the prisoner had repeatedly deceived him, and he supposed he had done the same to me—I said I would help him to clear off the bankruptcy proceedings against him—the interview on March 30th did not last half an hour, as he was anxious to go to the boat-race, and I had to return to Wales that night—the conversation we had related mainly to the business he was doing—I remember his using the word "solvent," in reply to a question—he told me he had paid his way, and owed nothing but current accounts during the eight years he had been in business—I remember the conversation in detail—he produced certain plans and said, "That is the work we have in hand"—I saw the work that was in the office, and was satisfied—the work he represented amounted to over £90,000 in contracts, and all that has come into the office resulting from it is £4,500—he said he had paid his way, and was solvent—the £475 was paid on April 18th, in the private room at the office, not in the manager's room at the bank—we went to the bank to open an account on the following day—I did not give Clements instructions to discharge Strong; the prisoner wrote a letter—I had no control over Strong at that time—I told Clements Strong had made a statement in the office, and I had asked the prisoner to deal with him—that was immediately after the conversation; we called in Clements; the partnership deed being ready, I accepted his statement—Clements was a witness to the partnership deed.
Re-examined. I allowed the prisoner to overdraw £625 because he was repeatedly getting into trouble, and to get him out of bankruptcy petitions—he gave cheques to Mr. Emanuel, of which I knew nothing until they were presented—it was all kept back from me—I was most anxious up to January 3rd to meet his creditors, and prevent his being made bankrupt—on three occasions I agreed to allow my share of capital and other money to go to save the prisoner being made a bankrupt—if I had known he was then an undischarged bankrupt, I should not have allowed him to make these overdrafts, and when I learnt it on January 14th I said, as he was an undischarged bankrupt, I could go no further—I was assured that the whole of his debts would be paid by these overdrafts—the item in the balance-sheet of £876 contingent is the amount for which we can send out bills, but from letters I have since received it is all subject to realisation, and it is very doubtful if we can get it in—the business has been wrecked by the bankruptcy, and I have lost the whole of my premium by it.
By MR. TURRELL. I heard of this on January 12th—criminal proceedings were not commenced before January 24th, because I had lost a small black bag containing papers about this matter, and I could not lay the matter before my solicitors; the bag was recovered on the 22nd or 23rd; and, further, I should not have taken these proceedings, but that the prisoner, after the receiving order, endeavoured to obtain money from the Surrey County Council, and obtained £20 or £25, representing that it was for wages on behalf of the firm—I would not say I should not have prosecuted him but for that—Mr. Haley, a solicitor, and a client of the firm, to whom I explained the matter, talked over the matter with the prisoner's solicitors, and a document was drawn up, which I have seen
within the last few days, before I commenced criminal proceedings, I believe—I applied for a summons on January 24th; this document was brought to ray notice about a fortnight after January 15th—I had no knowledge of it till after criminal proceedings were taken—my solicitor told me he had asked the prisoner to sign a paper, and that the prisoner had refused to do so—he said under the circumstances we had better hand over the matter to his London agents, and I saw them on January 15th—I cannot say that if the document had been signed by the prisoner the whole matter would have been at an end.
SIDNEY NEWCOMBE . I am an architect's assistant; I live at 128, Cromwell Road—I lived at Swansea till 1895, when I came to town with Mr. Bath—on the Wednesday after Easter I communicated something I had heard to him—it was the first day I was in the office.
COURTNEY LEWIS . I live at 84, Grove Park Terrace, Chiswick—in September, 1894, I was connected with a firm of furniture dealers in Gray's Inn Road—the prisoner bought from the firm £43 worth of office furniture, under a living agreement to pay £3 a month—it was sent to Queen Anne's Mansions—the furniture remained our property until the whole amount was paid—this is the agreement, with schedule—I have seen the schedule attached to this bill of sale—in March, 1895, only £10 had been paid; by the end of March £20 had been paid—the instalments were always in arrear—I gave him time—on March 18th £15 had been paid, and about £27 was due—I have given notice to everybody, as the holder of the bill of sale and the Official Receiver are claiming, that it is my furniture, and the Official Receiver has acknowledged that it is—only £5 is now due on it, but it should have been paid six months ago—I have not claimed for interest.
HENRY DIPROSE . I am a mortgage broker, of 4, Camberwell New Road—on February 18th, 1895, the prisoner gave me a bill of sale over his furniture at Queen Anne's Mansions, for £40—I did not know he had got the furniture on the hire system, or I should not have advanced the money—he has only paid me £10; £30 is still due.
JOHN WORTHEM . I am a clerk in the Bankruptcy Department of the High Court—I produce the file of proceedings in the prisoner's bankruptcy—on November 10th, 1891, he was adjudicated bankrupt—his liabilities were £2,790, and his assets £62—he is described as an architect and surveyor—he is still undischarged—on January 3rd, 1896, another receiving order was made against him—the liabilities are £762, and the supposed assets he gives as £654, made up of half the share and goodwill of the firm of Fryer and Bath, and £4 cash in hand.
CHARLES BEARD (Detective Sergeant A). At six p.m. on February 1st I served a copy of the summons on the prisoner at 48, Church Road, Richmond—he read it and said, "It is monstrous; I shall have a perfect answer to it when the time comes to make it.'
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I reserve my defence, and call no witnesses here. No fraud was intended, and I shall call witnesses at the trial to prove that no fraud was intended."
GUILTY** upon the Second Count.
The JURY desired to recommend him to mercy. Mr. Bath joined in this recommendation.— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Friday and Saturday, February 28th and 29th, 1896;and
OLD COURT.—Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, March 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th, 1896.
Before Mr. Recorder.
275. DANIEL MORTIMER, alias SKATES ; JOHN CHARLES SKATES, alias CHARLES BARRINGTON ; NORMAN GOLDEN HENNAH ; JOHN ABRAHAMS, alias CHARLES BARRINGTON , alias J.C. SKATES ; and ANTONY MADDOWS , were indicted for unlawfully conspiring to obtain an order for £5 5s. from Alfred Jordan. Other Counts for obtaining other sums from other persons.
MR. CHARLES MATHEWS, MR. HORACE AVORY, MR. A. GILL, and MR. E. PERCIVAL CLARKE Prosecuted; MR. WARBURTON appeared for Mortimer, SIR FRANK LOCKWOOD, Q.C., for J. C. Skates, MR. COHEN for Hennah, and MR. CANDY, Q.C., for Abrahams; Maddows defended himself.
HARRY FREDERICK CHITTOCK . I am clerk to the Registrar of Joint Stock Companies, Somerset House—I produce the file of documents connected with the registration of the World's Great Marriage Association, Limited, which was registered on January 26th, 1893—among the subscribers to the Memorandum of Association are John Abraham’s and Mortimer Skates, described as marriage negotiators—Mr. H. Vernon and Mr. Frank Gould are also members—the office is 40, Lamb's Conduit Street—the notice is signed, "Charles John Skates, Director"—there is a document of January 25th, 1892, between John C. Skates, 2, Montagu Place, Russell Square, and Norman G. Hennah—Mr. Skates is described as the proprietor of the Matrimonial Herald, the copyright of which he purports to sell to N. G. Hennah, and the good will of a marriage negotiator, with the assets and the book debts—the purchaser to received £20,000, which he is to accept in fully paid-up shares; it is also stated that J. C. Skates shall be appointed managing director at £1,000 a-year—Mr. Hennah is described as the secretary of the company—on May 3rd, 1895, I had notice of the change of address from Lamb's Conduit Street to New Oxford Street—the last return of shareholders is dated June 19th, 1895; total issue up to that date, 4,007 shares; I find John Charles Skates, of 5, Mecklenburgh Square, the holder of 3,460 shares; Mortimer D. Skates, 11; Hennah, 6; Meadows, 3 shares; exhausting 3,891 of the total issue—the nominal capital of the company is described as £25,000 in £5 shares.
ALFRED JORDAN . I am a tobacconist, of 41, King William Street—I am not quite sure whether I had a business in Brighton in May, 1893—my attention was attracted to an advertisement in the People newspaper, and I wrote to the editor of the Matrimonial Herald for a copy of that paper, which I received, and found in it a blank form like this, (produced), which I filled up accurately, and sent it back to 40, Lamb's Conduit Street—I then received this letter, May 13th, 1893. (Signed "Charles Barrington," and stating that they could at once put him in communication with a selection of most suitable ladies, enclosing a pamphlet and stating that their fee was £5 5s. to cover all expenses till marriage.) This is the pamphlet (produced)—I saw in the Herald that the editor granted personal interviews at stated times, and wrote, desiring a personal interview—I received this letter in reply. (Making an appointment with the
editor at 5, Mecklenburgh Square.) I did not go to London to pay a visit, and on May 18th I received this letter: "We have been in communication with several ladies whose ages are all in accord with your requirements. We have arranged with three of them, and on your becoming an associate, we shall be happy to send you their names. CHARLES BARRINGTON"—I did not go to Mecklenburgh Square—I then received this letter. (Dated May 26th, and stating that the present season of the year was exceptionally 'prolific in effecting speedy and advantageous matrimonial engagements, and requesting his decision as to being enrolled an associate.) I enclosed five guineas to Charles Barrington, and received this receipt. (This stated that the witness was entitled to an unlimited number of introductions till a marriage resulted. Another letter from Charles Barrington stated that they had written on his behalf to a lady, aged twenty-five, giving her description, and asking him to send her a letter to the care of the Editor, and giving the names and descriptions of three other ladies, and thanking him for his photograph.) I wrote to the three ladies whose names were given to me, and received this letter. (Dated June 10th, to the care of the editor, requesting him to inform the witness that, by the advice of her medical attendant, she was going abroad; and another letter from Miss Annesley, stating that the particulars did not correspond with her desire.) I then received this letter. (Dated June 8th, 1893, and enclosing a pamphlet and a form of agreement to fill up as a free associate, fee £5, or as an associate for a fee of £20, £10 now and £10 when he became engaged.) This pamphlet was enclosed, which deals with the advantage of becoming a free marriage associate—not answering that, I received this on the 12th. (This stated that they were negociating with some eligible ladies on the wit. ness's behalf, but could not introduce them till he sent his subscription.) I returned the agreement sent me in the letter of June 8th, but enclosed no money, and on June 16th I received this letter. (Signed, "C. Barrington" acknowledging the receipt of the agreement, and stating that he might expect to receive some desirable introductions in a day or two.) That was followed by this letter of June 19th. (Enclosing the names of some very charming ladies, Miss J. Fergusson and Miss Bennett, with their descriptions and fortunes.) After that I went to 5, Mecklenburgh Square, and asked for Charles Barrington—the prisoner Abraham’s came—I told him my name, and said that I wished to get suited—he said no doubt I very soon should be, and gave me the address of a lady, but I was to write to her to the care of the editor—I did so, but do not remember receiving any reply—he said he had had thousands of ladies on the books—I then received this letter: "August 4th, 1893. Dear Sir,—Kindly let us know the result of your negotiations with the ladies; we congratulate you on your arrangements.—Pro the Board, CHARLES BARRINGTON, Pres."—immediately after that, I wrote, asking if I could have an advertisement inserted in the Matrimonial Herald—I received this reply. (This stated that he could do so, and asking if he required further introductions. Signed, "C. Barrington, pro the Management.") I wrote an answer to that on the 2nd, and received this. (Stating that his advertise ment had been received, and his letter forwarded to the lady. Signed, "C. Barrington.") That was followed by Barrington's letter of September 4th. (Giving the names, ages, descriptions, etc., of Miss F. M. Hamilton,
Miss Mollie Egan, and Miss E. M. Farley) I wrote to them and received replies from two of them, but nothing came of it—the negotiations then went off, and I ceased to correspond with the Association, but it was reopened by my writing to them in May, 1894—I then received this letter of May 9th. (Signed, "Daniel Mortimer," stating that he had decided to recommend the management to accent the case in their more select department, where it would have the more invaluable assistance of special and individual care and attention, and introductions from more eligible clientele, and if so, he would be just in time for their London and Holiday season negociations, which were proving brilliantly successful.) This was followed by another letter on different stationery to the others. (Headed "Fashionable and High-class Marriage Department," and stated that the directors had decided, on Mr. Mortimer's recommendation, to give the witness the benefits of this department, which were set out, for which the preliminary subscription was £31 10s., as in the pamphlet, but which they would reduce to £17 10s. on Mr. Mortimer's urgent recommendation. Signed, "Charles Barrington, Secretary.") This paper (produced) came about the same time—I do not know whether it was in the letter—I filled it up and returned it—I occupied at that time the proud position of being the champion draught player of England—I was particularly interested in games of skill, and was anxious that the lady should have similar tastes—I gave my income as about £400 a year; that appeared to me about accurate—I went on to say that the lady should have brown eyes, dark hair, good teeth and complexion, able to see and hear without artificial aid, a spinster of the middle-class, English, to belong to the Church of England, domesticated, fond of tennis, able to swim, income about £200 a year, and some definite amount of private property—about May 19th I received this letter. (Stating that the London season negociations were now in full operation, that many of the ladies were fond of games of skill, and as the witness was engaged in an international contest, it was a most favourable opportunity for him.) I sent no money—I then received this letter of May 26th. (Front, Barrington, enclosing photographs of three ladies, asking him to select one, and to enclose his own photograph.) I selected the one which most appealed to me, and returned one of my own photos for submission to the lady, but sent no money—on June 5th I received this letter. (Acknowledging the photographs, and stating that the lady he had selected had an income of £730 per annum, £80 of which left her estate at death, and about £3,000 capital, giving a personal description of the lady, who requested to be communicated with through this department only, and who very much liked the witness's photograph.—CHARLES HARRINGTON.) I answered that, but sent no money—I said I hoped she would not be sent to the Continent, like Miss Marriott—believing the statement in that letter, I sent a post office order to Mr. Mortimer for seventeen guineas on June 15th, 1894, which was acknowledged by this receipt of June 18th, 1894, and this letter. (Advising him to send a letter to Miss Alice May, age 22, £730 per annum and £3,000 capital, orphan, musical, vocal, nice face and figure, to the care of Special Negociator, 40, Lamb's Conduct Street. Signed, "Charles Barrington.") I communicated with Miss Alice May, "care of Special Negociator," and received this letter. (Signed, "Alice May, pro Special Negociator," requesting the witness to send his
photograph.) I sent it, and then received this letter from Alice May. (Thanking him for the photograph, stating that she was pleased with it, that he had an intelligent head, which was proved by his being champion, and being able to conduct so many shops, promising to conside the matter, and let him know.) I wrote again, and on July 12th I received this letter from her, "care of Editor" (Stating that she was going to Jersey and St. Malo for some little time, but that the Negotiator would forward the witness's letters to her.) I went on writing, and on July 20th I received this. (From Alice May, stating that unexpected business had called her to London, but that she would leave for St. Malo on Monday to visit a lady relative who was companion to a Baroness there.) That was the last letter I received from her—I continued to send letters to the Association, and to receive letters from them, giving me additional names, but nothing came of the correspondence—I believed in the existence of Alice May, and that the description given of her was correct.
Cross-examined by SIR F. LOCKWOOD. I am still a bachelor—my age is 25—I was about 22 when I first gave my mind to matrimony—this was my first venture—I am not fond of games of chance—I do not think I had any chance, although I had fifty ladies' names and addresses, and I think I wrote to all of them; I have no recollection of missing any; I thought it was not wise to confine my attention to one—when I was writing to Alice May I was writing to other ladies at the same time—I won the title of champion draught-player of England; I did not give it to myself—I have a hair-dressing saloon in London—I never, in the course of my long experience in London and Brighton, saw a woman like the one I described in my application; but the Association was to find her—I have kept all the ladies' letters (Producing them)—one lady died; this is her memorial card—I had two letters from her; and that was near about all I required—I think this memorial card is genuine—I have no doubt this letter (another) is genuine; it is written on paper with a printed address—I think that was her first letter; in it she says she should like to know the gentleman's habits—I wrote to her, and I think I sent my photograph—in this (another) the lady says she wishes the correspondence to cease; we had not had a tiff—I had not told her that I was corresponding with about thirty-nine other ladies—I had not seen her, but I think I saw this photograph (produced)—I had told her my position and occupation—this "Alfred Jordan, 1893, draught champion of England," on the back of my photograph, is my writing—I had a long correspondence with her; she wrote to me to send her photograph back, and she returned mine. (SIR F. LOCKWOOD read several letters from a lady whose name he did not mention to the witness.) I met that lady at the seaside; she was Church of England—there was nothing the matter with her eyes; nothing was wrong, but we were not engaged; she would not engage me, but I had not quite made up my mind—I had not been showing a little coldness—I did not make the proposal on the sands; I had not made up my mind—I went down because I wanted to sec her—when I saw my photo returned I thought she did not wish to continue the correspondence—as to this other letter, I do not think I broke it off; I think I wrote last—I answered this lady's letter, and got this postcard: "The lady you have been writing to is very ill; she wishes you
to write again and send the photo."—I also received this: "October, 1893. Dear Sir,—I like the tone of your letters; tall, dark hair, twenty-five, musical; income £100 a year, which is strongly tied on myself. If this is favourable, I should like to see your photograph"—I sent my photograph, and very likely it was that that put an end to it—I understood that to be a bona fide case—here is one letter from a lady abroad—I had about fifty-two ladies to correspond with; most of them answered, and it is not very likely that one remained un-answered—I could form an opinion by the replies whether they were worth looking after—I saw five of them personally—I saw the first lady once—I saw the next at Ealing, and had a correspondence with her—she gave me her address—I did not fancy her—I saw her two or three times—I thought at first that she might do—I saw her next at Margate, and came to the conclusion that she would not do—I did not see her again—she was a respectable lady living with her parents—I did not ask her whether she had the necessary fortune—I was visiting her shortly after paying the seventeen guineas—I was very likely still corresponding with Miss Alice May—at first she appeared to be worthy of my regard, but when I got to Margate things looked different—she wanted me to buy things wherever she went—she did not want an engagement ring—I do not know when I saw the next; they were all about the same time—I gave up a good deal of time to it—I met No. 3 in the National Gallery, by appointment, and we continued a correspondence—I did not tell her she suited—we did not meet again, because she did not make another appointment—I have no doubt that this was a bona fide answer to my letter. (The witness was directed to bring any more letters or photographs which he had to-morrow.) I met No. 4 at Burgess Hill, on my way to Brighton—I had corresponded with her; she was a respectable lady, and up to the average in looks; that seemed to be a genuine case—we had a long conversation, and took a walk together; I got on pretty well with her; I did not care for her, but I do not think I told her so—I do not remember telling her I would write to her and meet her again—I did not see her again—I saw No. 5 in Lowndes Square in the afternoon; she was about the same as the others, genuine, and, as I was living in London, I met her again; it was not bad fun, and it did not cost much—I met her two or three times, and she was to write and arrange to go to the theatre, but she did not write—I did not write and complain; I dropped her—all these ladies were within a few mouths—I think I liked the first best, but they were all pretty equal to one another—I had sent a special photograph to the Association of the sort of thing I wanted—this (produced) is my sample—the ladies I saw were fairly up to the sample, but none of them were like this—I did not reject them for their looks—I would have taken one not beautiful at £100 a year, and one downright ugly at £1,000. (The witness was directed to write down the names and addresses of the five ladies he met, which he did.) I think I have got other letters here (Opening a bag)—I think these are all—they are not all from ladies, but they are all connected—this one of October 5th is from me—it begins "Madam—Having been advised by Mr. Mortimer to write to you"; that is the way I generally began to write to them—I do not think I have any more, only a card—
this batch of correspondence is all in the same writing—I did not see that lady; I think she was the last I corresponded with—I am not in correspondence with any now—I asked some questions about her personal appearance; I do not think I asked if she had filbert nails. (The lady's letter stated that tier nails were "filberts.") I have no reason to doubt that these are all genuine cases—when I met ladies they knew me by a flower in my button hole, or something like that.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. I had over fifty letters—I went on some time, and then stopped till my financial position improved, and then I wrote again and said I should like some more letters—most of the ladies' social position was as good as mine—the questions were very minute. (Thirty-one printed questions had been sent to the witness to fill up.)
Cross-examined by MR. COHEN. The negotiations were by letter, except when I went and saw Abraham’s—I never came across Hennah.
Cross-examined by MR. CANDY. I either asked for Charles Barrington or the editor when I had the interview with Abrahams—I did not go by appointment, only casually, as I was passing; I had paid five guineas and seventeen guineas—I had become an associate at the time of the interview, but had not been put into the high class—I saw Abrahams alone; the interview lasted about ten minutes; I only put down the address of a lady which I took with me—I asked for more introductions—I never saw Abrahams again.
Re-examined. The interview with Abrahams was about July, 1893—about that time there was a correspondence about paying £10 down, and £10 when my marriage was effected, instead of the free marriage fee; but it may have been afterwards—the interview was not paid for—the ladies whom I corresponded with and met said that they had not any means—I think this second batch of letters belongs to 1894—this other batch did not go off on the question of money; but it was a long distance to go for an interview, and it did not come off—I made out the form of my requirements and accurately stated my position before I paid the fee.
DOUGLAS DAVID WHITE DRIVER . I live in Ireland—in May, 1894, I saw this advertisement in an Irish paper—"Matrimony.—A lady, spinster, orphan, of large independent fortune, having spent the last ten years in constant attendance on an aged parent, is now willing to correspond, with regard to an early marriage. Messrs. Penryn, 83, Grosvenor Street London."—I answered it, and received this letter. (From Daniel Mortimer, the World's Great Marriage Association, 40, Lamb's Conduit Street, thanking the witness for his letter, enclosing a form of particulars for him to fill up, and asking him to send his photograph.) I replied to that, and on June 12th, 1894, received this letter. (Stating that the Association only introduced ladies and gentlemen who had enrolled themselves by subscribing ten guineas, but as there was a probability of a speedy arrangement, they would only charge five guineas.) I read the pamphlets which were enclosed, and then received this letter of June 20th, which I did not answer. (Stating that arrangements had been made with three ladies on his behalf.) I then sent postal orders, value £5, to the Association—I had seen another advertisement, No. 45,605, in a paper
they sent me—I do not remember the substance of it, but the lady had a good amount of means, because I was attracted by it—I then received this letter. (Requesting him to write to the lady, and they would forward it, and enclosing the names and addresses of other ladies; enclosing a receipt for the money, which entitled him to an unlimited number of introductions. Signed'. "D. Mortimer." I then received this letter (enclosing a form, and stating that he could become a free associate for £20. Signed: "D. Mortimer"—I wrote to say that I would become a free associate, but did not send the money—I then received this further letter. (Enclosing photographs of two ladies, one with £1,200 a year, and one with £1,800 a year)—I wrote to Miss Cartwright. and I think I wrote to them both—I then received this. (From D. Mortimer, stating that they should be pleased to hear from him, as they were waiting to introduce the two ladies to him.) At that time I had written to Miss Kershaw, whose advertisement I had seen in the Matrimonial Herald, and received this reply. (Signed, "Negotiator;" and stating that Miss Kershaw would prefer to wait a few days). I then received this (Dated July 18th, thanking him for returning the photographs, slating that the ladies were anxiously wait in, and offering to receive subscriptions in two equal instalments, one to be paid now, and one a week after marriage. Signed, "D. Mortimer")—I waited ten days, and then I got this letter. (Asking for a reply, and stating that the ladies were anxiously waiting.—Signed, "D. Mortimer")—I then sent £10, and got this letter of July 25th (Acknowledging the receipt, and requesting him to write letters to Miss M. Granville and Miss B. Masterton, and send them to the office, when they would be forwarded.) Those two ladies were the ones who had been previously mentioned—I wrote to both of them, the one with £1,500, and the other with £2,000 a year, but got no answer—I had told the association that my financial position varied, but that I had nothing to count upon, and to let any ladies know that I had nothing, so that they should not cherish any false hopes—I had studied for the law, but had not been called as a barrister—I then received this letter, (Recommending him to write, care of Editor, to Mrs. Morgan, without encumbrance, and with an independent income; also to Miss K. M. Smith, 6, Tivoli Road, Kingstown, Dublin, and Miss M. J. D., care of Editor, both with independent incomes.) I wrote to Miss Smith and Mrs. Morgan, but got no answers—I inquired further about Miss A. J. O.—I then received this letter. (Advising him to write to all the ladies, and stating that Miss M. J. D. resided in Dublin.) Up to that time I had not got an answer from anybody. I received this letter in August. (Giving another list of ladies' names and descriptions.) I do not remember whether I wrote to those—on August 20 I received this letter. (Enclosing a copy of newspaper.) About that time I was writing in reply to advertisements in the Matrimonial Herald—I then received this. (Enclosing letters which had been specially forwarded.) I then let it drop—I was away yachting all the summer—on October 13th I received this letter. (Enclosing the names and descriptions and incomes of Miss Smith and Mrs. Shaw, and of Miss C. Cranfield, who had over £800 a year and large expectations, daughter of a J.P., and stating that the witness's letter had been forwarded to Mrs. Morgan.) I had made a statement in my letter about my means
—that was the first I had heard about Miss Cranfield—I think I wrote to all three ladies—I got a reply from two of them—this one purports to come from Miss Cranfield. (Thanking him for his letter forwarded by Mr. Mortimer, stating that the particulars in it appeared satisfactory, and that she would be pleased to correspond with him, and asking for his photograph.) I then received this. (Dated November 5th, stating that they had duly forwarded his letter and photograph to Miss Cranfield, and that they could not find Mrs. S. D.s photograph, which had probably been returned to her.) The enclosure to Miss Cranfield was a letter which I had addressed to her, and in reply received this letter from her. (Thanking him for his photograph, remarking that he seemed to be at peace with all the world, postponing her answer to a question he had put to her, as there was such a thing as marrying in haste.) I wrote to her again; I had mentioned my position and means—I then received from her this letter of November 17th, 1894. (Thinking him for his prompt reply, and using a great many French words; the witness having used French words in filling up the printed form as to his requirements.) I replied to that, but got no further letter from her; that bit of French was her final effort—on November 19th I got this letter from the Association. (Asking him, if not engaged already, to write to Miss M. Taylor.) I cannot say whether I wrote to Miss Taylor, but I think I wrote to the Association, complaining that they had not sent anything suitable, and every time I wrote they sent me a letter—I mentioned Miss Cranfield, and told them not to send any names unless there was something definite about them—I received this letter of January 15th. (Stating that Miss Cranfield was engaged, and giving the names and descriptions of Miss Gertrude King and Mrs. Laura Minchenton, widow, both addresses to the care of Editor. Signed "D. "Mortimer.") I received other letters and names but stopped corresponding in May, and had no communication with them till November 26th, when I wrote this letter to Mortimer. (Explaining that as there seemed no chance of his getting any satisfaction in the shape of letters, only two ladies having acknowledged them, he should feel obliged by the return of his money, they keeping £2 2s. to pay them for the trouble they had had.) I got this reply. (Dated November 28th, 1895, saying that owing to certain legal proceedings then pending their negociations were suspended, but that they hoped to resume shortly and would then give him introductions.) I found out afterwards that they were up at the Police-court at that time—this (produced) is the form I filled up before I paid any money.
Cross-examined by MR. WARBURTON. I had about twenty names submitted to me—I wrote to them all pretty nearly, and described myself to the ladies in the same candid way as I did to the Association—I told them I had no private or professional income—I only heard of two ladies who had £250 a year or less—£1,800 a year was not the lowest I was prepared to sell myself at—perhaps I looked upon the £5 as rather A good joke, but not the £10, or I would not have paid it—it would be more difficult for an unprofessional person to do this, but I looked to the Association to do it.
Cross-examined by SIR F. LOCKWOOD. I got three answers from ladies I corresponded with, but did not see any—I always stated bluntly and honestly what my financial position was; a good many ladies did not answer—this is the photo I sent—I was never on the high class list, I
was a free associate—I selected some of the names to write to, about twenty altogether—I could not say how many names were furnished to me—I made a judicious selection—at first I did not really mean business, but I thought if I came across any person suitable it might be desirable, if it did not it would be something to pass the time; it was a little dull in the country, and I wanted something to break the tedium—I answered the advertisement in a light-hearted spirit, but I was led to believe that something satisfactory would come out of it before I paid the £10—after paying the £10 I wrote to most of the names supplied to me—a lot of names were sent to me, but never anything definite—they sent me names, mostly to the Association, but very few addresses.
By the JURY. I got answers from three ladies, but did not get any interview—there was only one lady with whom there was any chance of an interview, and one who wrote to me showed that she had been done by the Association—they had not given a true description of me at all—that letter has not been produced; I think it was destroyed—I was very sorry for the lady, and wrote to her—the letter of Miss Cranfield I thought was a do from the start to the finish.
ALBERT GRUNFELD . I am a tailor—in August, 1891, I saw an advertisement in the People newspaper, and wrote to 40, Lamb's Conduit Street, for a copy of the Matrimonial Herald—I received this letter, enclosing a copy of the newspaper and a form of particulars to fill up and return at once—I filled it up, "A. Grunfeld, 30, widower, without encumbrance, under medium height, dark, tailor's cutter, £200 a year," and a note with regard to the lady is, "Not over 30"—on August 31st I read this letter. (Signed "Mr. Mortimer" stating that the usual subscription teas £5 5s., but in the witness's case they would reduce it to £2 12s. 6d. to cover all expense till marriage.) In answer to that I went to 40, Lamb's Conduit Street, early in September, 1894, and asked to see Mr. Mortimer—I was given a card and directed to go to 5, Mecklenburgh Square, where I asked for Mr. Mortimer—I was shown into a room, and Mr. Abrahams came—he promised to find me a wife, and said he had thousands on the books—he produced a form, and proposed a sum which the lady was to have, and which I had left blank; it was about £150 a year, I saw it at the Police-court—he said that I should be suited very easily from the ladies on the books—I said, "I don't want money, but I want a good wife," he said he could satisfy me in any way—I paid the £2 12s. 6d. in cash, and he asked for 5s. for the interview, which I paid, and he gave me a receipt for each—he left the room, and brought them in ready written—I then left, and afterwards received this letter of September 7th. (From D. Mortimer, strongly recommending three ladies, Miss Ellison, Miss L. A. Berwick, and Miss Markhouse, with their descriptions and fortunes, all three addresses to the care of the Editor.) I wrote to all of them, and received this reply from Miss Ellison. (From Negotiator G. E., acknowledging his letter which had been submitted to Mint Ellison, and requesting his photograph, and enclosing hers.) I sent my photograph to the care of the Editor, and received this reply. (From Negotiator L. G., asking, on behalf of Miss Ellison, for a few days, before deciding whether to enter into a correspondence.) I then received this letter of October 19th. (On behalf of
Miss Ellison, she considers she is not suitable to you, "Negociator L. G.") Another letter said that the particulars did not quite satisfy Miss Berwick's requirements—I had no answer from Miss Markhouse; while this was going on I was receiving these letters from the Association. (Introducing the Free Marriage system to the wetness on payment of £12 10s., signed "D. Mortimer.") That enclosed an agreement, which I signed and sent back, but sent no money—I then received this. (Acknowledging the receipt of the agreement, and stating that they were preparing a selection of most valuable introductions for him.) I then received this letter, giving the names and descriptions of Miss Walker, Miss Lakin, and Miss Smith—I wrote to them, but cannot remember whether I got any answer—I had written to the Association, saying that I was not a very good English scholar, and I thought the correspondence had better be conducted by them, and on September 27th I received from them this letter. (Stating that they considered that ladies liked to communicate with gentlemen themselves.) On October 16th more names were sent to me, but still without any definite statement with regard to means, and on October 20th a further letter, in which they suggest that I should adopt a nom de plume; I agreed to that, and went on receiving letters of November 28th and December 30th, 1894; and January 15th, 29th, and 30th, 1895—I wrote to most of the ladies; nothing came of it; and I wrote to the Association, complaining that the ladies did not reply, and asking them to arrange an interview; they did not answer, but on February 4th, 1895, I received this letter. (Expressing sorrow; and saying they had forwarded his letter to Miss Dyoll, and recommending him to join their more select department.) That was followed by a letter of February 9th. (This stated that a good many of the ladies were anxious to meet with a widower, preferably dark, and about thirty, and that the preliminary charge was £21, payable on registration, but that, through the recommendation of Mr. Mortimer, the directors would reduce it to seven guineas.) I answered that, but did not send any money—I then received this letter of February 14th, 1895. (Stating that it was impossible for the department to act without prepayment, as the ladies relied upon the guarantee which this fixed rule ensured them, and that they did not stipulate for gentlemen of large means, having ample means of their own.) I wrote, but did not send the money—on February 18th another letter came, very like the last—I received a letter enclosing the photograph of a lady, which I returned to the Association for further particulars, and then received this letter. (Acknowledging the photograph, and enclosing fuller particulars of the lady, and stating that she had £340 per annum, £90 of which would go to a cousin at her death, and had also £1,000 capital at her free control; that she was considered very good-looking, with pretty blue eyes, nice figure, etc., affectionate, kind-hearted, musical, aged 24, and the orphan daughter of a well-to-do tailor. Signed, "D. Mortimer, President.") I was pleased with the lady's description, and acknowledged the letter, but did not send any money—on March 30th I received this letter. (From Mortimer, stating that the lady was an associate of the Select Department, and that they could not introduce the witness until he had paid the reduced subscription of £7 7s., as quoted to him, and that if he allowed this opportunity to pass, it would never occur to him again, and if he did not accept the offer they would introduce some more appreciative gentleman,
as the lady would call on them on Monday.) Other letters passed between the Association and me and Miss Millen through the "Special Negociator"—I then received this letter of March 16th, 1895. (Stating that he might range the whole of England without finding a lady so suitable, and that it was only through their varied field for choice that such a selection could be made.) Then I wrote, engaging the services of the Association—still I did not send the money—on March 8th I received this letter (from Mortimer, pressing for his subscription). And on March 12th this letter. (Complaining that the witness had not culled, and saying that they were glad the lady had not called on the Monday, or they should have been obliged to introduce tier to some other gentleman, and the witness would have lost her.) I had sent the money on the previous Saturday—the receipt is dated March 14th. (This letter stated: "You are now enrolled an associate of this department, and we hope shortly to have the pleasure of congratulating you upon a satisfactory engagement.") The next is March 16th. (Stating that the Association were negociating on the witness's behalf with Miss Nellie Millen). I answered through the Association—I received this letter of March 18th. (Asking for a further description of himself before they forwarded his letter to Miss Millen.) I wrote this letter of particulars, a copy of which is on the back of theirs—the answer is from Miss Millen, of March 21st. (Approving the particulars, and promising an interview when they knew more of each other.) Then I wrote: "You are quite correct in thinking we ought to know a great deal of each other previous to an interview. I quite agree with you that matrimony is a solemn and sacred thing," and "If the heart does not feel affection the rest is mockery"—this letter of April 10th is from the Association. (Promising to write to Miss Millen on his behalf, and let him know the result, but as ladies had whims and fancies, she might be corresponding with other gentlemen on her own account, and recommending clients to write to more than one lady in case of failure.) I continued to correspond with the office, because I had not the address of the lady—I received this letter of May 8th. (From Miss Millen, through the Special Negociator, stating that she found the witness's letter on her return from the country, but could not name a rendezvous.) And this letter from the Association. (Stating that Miss Millen was about to return home.) Then this from Miss Millen of July 2nd. (Stating that she was suffering from palpitation of the heart, and ordered to the seaside, that she had given up all thought of matrimony, and hoped he would get a nice lady, as he deserved one.) I replied to the lady, hoping she was not so bad as that, and that the correspondence might continue—then I received her reply of July 11th. (Thanking the witness for his "exceedingly kind letter" that the doctor had advised her to go to Malvern, and hoping he had enjoyed himself in Germany.) I replied kindly, and received this letter of September 9th direct from the lady, who had had my address from the beginning—I had asked her to exchange addresses, but I had not hers. (This was from St. Malo, stating that she was still suffering from palpitation of the heart.) I answered that I was sorry she was still poorly, etc.—that was all I had for my seven guineas.
Cross-examined by SIR F. LOCKWOOD. I sent one or two photographs to ladies—one to Miss Millen and one to Miss Ellison—I was satisfied with them—T generally received them back—the reply from two of the fifty ladies I sent letters to was, "I do not want to correspond"—I never had
the address of Ellison or Milieu—my correspondence continued about eighteen months, with about three ladies at one time—the addresses were sent me by the Association—most of the fifty ladies never replied—I destroyed the letters I had some time ago—I destroyed the correspondence with one when I "went on" with another—I did not express myself with regard to money; I wanted a good wife; but if there is money, I do not think anybody will refuse it—my first connection with the Association was through reading the advertisements of the Matrimonial Herald—a large proportion of the ladies' answers came through the Special Negociator—some answered from their own addresses—I thought the concern was genuine—in the cases of the ladies I had seen, it was genuine; but they are only a few—the correspondence with each lady lasted a week or two; in Millen's case a couple of months—I went to look at a widow; I found her in a good house, and apparently in comfortable circumstances—I had an interesting interview, but did not go to see her again; I did not care to—I was told several times by the Association and by Mr. Abrahams that the widow wrote to them, asking for me; but I asked them not to recommend ladies older than myself, no matter how much money they hail, as I was not running after money—I think the widow's case was bona fide, and that she was willing to enter into negotiations with a view to matrimony—I met three ladies altogether—with the second lady I had a short interview at some railway station by appointment; we had previously exchanged a few letters—I did not see her again; I did not wish to—in those cases I was not willing; in others the lady was not willing; I could not compel them—the third lady I met accidentally when I went to Mecklenburgh Square to complain of not having received a proper answer from Miss Millen, nor her address—her name is Shellenburger—I have seen her again—she is away from London—she left me—I did not take her on—I do not know what you mean by "take on"—I did not court her—I paid her attention—I replied to her letters—her Christian name was Clara or Clarision. (A letter of November 21th, 1895, addressed, "My dearest Clarision" expressed his disappointment at not having received a letter from his darling, concluding, "With best Love, yours affectionately, Albert.") Otto was her brother—I was introduced to her family as a friend—I wrote the same as she wrote—she was an exceptional friend. (Another letter of November 26th stated, "I am very glad you enjoyed your visit on Sunday.") I had taken her to my friends, perhaps to the club—I did not introduce her as the lady who was about to become my wife—there was no definite conversation about that, far from it—Mr. Abrahams introduced me, and left us, and we conversed about twenty minutes—I told him I had formed a good opinion of her, and he said directly, "Oh, no, she is nothing for you; we will do for you someone else better in a few days," and I received other letters, introducing me to other ladies; in the meantime I received her letter, mentioning our interview, and so we started the correspondence—the 500,000 crosses in the letter is something not to be understood—I never saw a lady clerk in Mortimer's office; that was only suggested—I copied about the crosses from the other letters—she put millions in hers—you would be more surprised if you saw her letters—I have got them. (Another letter, of November 29th, 1895, was addessed, "My own Darling Clarision"; it
contained other affectionate expressions, and stated that the writer expected a ring from his working jeweller friend, and sending 500,000,000 crosses.) The ring was to be a present—I did not think about an engagement. (Similar letters were read of December 4th, 1895, and January 14th, 1896.) I did not become engaged to the lady—I dined, but not with my future mother-in-law, and I protest against it—perhaps the letters expressed my feelings at the moment—she wrote me the last letter—I had a letter yesterday—I wrote to her about a week ago—I have not her letter with me—the correspondence is still going on in a friendly way—not like you have read; far away from it.
Cross-examined by MR. CANDY. I had a great number of interviews with Mr. Abrahams—I went in the first instance to an address in Lamb's Conduit Street—I was told to go to 5, Mecklenburgh Square to pay £2 12s. 6d.—I saw Mr. Abrahams there—I had a form to fill up before that—I sent it filled up—then the question of money came up between me and Mr. Abrahams—he referred to it first—I saw him write on the form, but not what he wrote—I went the second time to complain against the way I was treated—I head a letter at that time addressed to Nellie Millen; Mr. Abrahams asked me for it, and told me he would forward it, and tell me where she would give me an interview, or her address—then he asked me if I would see a lady client in an adjoining room—he took me to her and left us there—the letters I did not destroy I delivered up at Bow Street—I have some in my custody—to my surprise, my letters to Shellenburger were given up, through her mother being told that I made a false statement at Bow Street when I said I did not know Otter Deutschmann, when she gave them up—that is not the Otto I have now spoken of—I believe he is a clerk—I do not suggest that the working jeweller is Otto.
Re-examined. My visit to complain to Mr. Abrahams was at the end of August or the beginning of September, 1895—I still believed him to be Mortimer—I was introduced to Shellenburger accidentally, and Mr. Abrahams never spoke then about marriage; he only said, "Just have a chat"—I had not seen the lady before that—when I said I was pleased with the lady, he said, "Oh, do not mention it; she is nothing for you," and the next day I received three other in trod actions—I never asked her if she had means—I do not think she has—he said nothing about her being a client of the Matrimonial Association—I do not know what her occupation was—she is at present a governess in Ireland, I am told.
HENRY CHARLES SUTTON . I live at Bow; I am a clerk—in March, 1895, I saw an advertisement in one of the morning papers; in consequence of which I wrote to 40, Lamb's Conduit Street, to which I received this reply under the date of March 9th, 1895. (Signed, "D. Mortimer" asking full particulars, and would no doubt satisfy his requirements.) In that letter was this form, which I filled up and returned. (The lady to be from, eighteen to twenty-five, with approximate income, at least £100 per annum.) I then received this letter of March 12th. (Requesting subscription for membership, Jive guineas, but accepting £2 12s. 6d. to cover all expenses.) To that I replied, guaranteeing payment on receiving an introduction to a lady—on March 19th I received this letter. (Requesting half the fee, £1 6s. 3d., to be forwarded, and the balance as soon as an engagement should be effected.) I had in the meantime received certain
testimonials—the correspondence then remained in abeyance till July 19th, when I wrote, enclosed the instalment, and requested a list of ladies suitable to my requirements—on the back of that letter, under initials, sums of £300 and £800 were named, and on July 17th this letter came, giving the names of three ladies, named Burford, French and Mil ward, with incomes of £300, £180 and £2,000—I wrote to those three ladies, and on July 22nd a letter came from "Negotiator L. G.," stating that my letter had been submitted to Miss Burford, who requested my photo, and this letter of July 30th purported to come from Miss French at Reading—I received no answer from Miss Milward—on July 24th I received this letter, marked "personal and confidential." (This was signed, "D. Mortimer," and requested the sum of £10 in order to become a Free Marriage Associate, according to enclosed agreement.) On July 25th I received this letter, purporting to come from Miss Burford. (Stating that, for several reasons, she preferred to wait, before entering into correspondence.) On same date I wrote to Mr. Mortimer, requesting to be informed as to my liability in becoming a free associate, and I received this answer from him, that I should be entirely free of all liability; upon that I sent on the £10, which was acknowledged with a receipt on July 30th, and an introduction to a lady specially selected, desirous of arranging an early marriage, signed "Daniel Mortimer"—on July 31st I received this letter: "103, New Oxford Street. Dear Sir,—Agreeably with our promise, we enclose herewith particulars of highly desirable ladies, and trust same will meet your views.—For the Management, D. MORTIMER." (This contained the names of three ladies viz., Miss L. A. Mousley, 12, Bircumshaw's Road, Derby; Miss A. J. Hayes, care of Mrs. Godden, L. C. D. R., Station Road, Canterbury; and Mitt L. E. Carble, 2, Queen Street, Peterboro', with description of each, as to personal attractions and position.) That was followed by a third letter from Negotiator L. G., on behalf of Miss Burford, to say that, after careful consideration, she is of opinion that she is not suitable—on August 26th I wrote, asking for further introductions, and on the back of that I received three further names with descriptions, to whom I wrote and received replies—on September 2nd I wrote again to Mr. Mortimer, stating that I had good reason to believe that the advertisements in the Matrimonial Herald were bogus, demanding suitable introductions, or the return of the sums obtained from me by false pretences, within seven days, or should take proceedings to enforce it, and communicate with Scotland Yard—I received an answer which, I believe, I handed to the police—after receiving the last answer I continued the communication with the Association, and they furnished me with further names, some of whom answered; they were chiefly without means; they were of no use to me, and only put me to trouble and inconvenience; and I wrote on November 7th to Mortimer that I had been instructed by the Commissioner of Police to take out a warrant, and that unless my money was returned, I could hold no further correspondence with them—that was answered by a letter of November 8th, expressing surprise, and stating that they would get three other ladies—I did not reply to that; there the correspondence closed, and the prisoners were taken into custody, I being one of the informants, and a warrant was granted.
Cross-examined by SIR F. LOCKWOOD. At the time I first communicated
with the Association I was not privately commencing a negotiation on my own account; I am now making an overture to a lady of my acquaintance; I did so shortly after I wrote for the papers, before I paid my subscription; I had paid nothing then—I knew that my name was on the books; I had sent in my particulars; I had described myself as "tall, dark, slim, six feet, fairly educated, clerk in a drapery ware-house, wages 21s., amateur flute and piccolo player; lady must at least have £100 a year"—that was a consideration—twenty-five ladies were introduced to me, at least I received their names and addresses; I wrote to all of them; in many cases I wrote to their private addresses; I received replies (these were handed in)—I did not carry on the correspondence with any of them for any length of time—I saw one in October, I think before the 28th—that was with a name that had been submitted to me; I saw that lady at Broxbourne, Herts—I was not pleased with her; I did not particularly like her; I don't know whether she took to me—I had no doubt she was a genuine person, willing to enter into an engagement with me; I did not see her again; I believe I had a letter from her of September 14th, 1895—I answered it; I had not then made up my mind to have nothing to do with her; I wanted to see whether she was suitable—I went down there to find out how the people had been cheated by this Association; I believe I went as a spy, I won't swear that I did; I did not answer the letter of September 14th as a spy, but as an honourable man—she had stated in her letter that she had no means; that did not conclude the business with me; I have no copy of my letter to her—I told her I was an abstainer, and a member of the Church of England; I really meant business, and suggested we should meet—she wrote, describing her dress, so that I might know her; I answered that, and then went down and saw her, but I did not care for her—she seemed to care for me; she appeared fonder of me than I of her, but I broke it off—I wrote to her when I got buck, about a week after, breaking it off—I have no copy of that letter—I think that was the longest correspondence I had with any one of these ladies—I think I wrote twice to others, not more, I think. (MR. LOCKWOOD read other letters from ladies to the witness.) I corresponded with a great many ladies; I did not know that they were not genuine; they gave names and addresses, and I wrote answers—my private overtures came to nothing—I glanced over the pamphlets that were sent me—I corresponded with other ladies apart from the names sent to me by the Association; I got no answers from them—I wrote in September, demanding the return of my money, and the next week I wrote, requiring more introductions—I wrote to all the names I had—I wrote to a Miss Adams—she said her capital was £170.
Cross-examined by MR. COHEN. My wages were really 10s. a week and board and lodging at the shop—if I married I could not take a wife there; I did not state that to the ladies I saw—I had not been instructed by the Commissioner of Police to prosecute; that was a falsehood, to try and get my money back—I remember receving a violet pamphlet; I read it—I was not expecting to receive the identical names of the ladies; I was not misled by such names being used—I did not consider they were fancy names; I had my doubts whether they were genuine or not.
Re-examined. My visit to Broxbourne was subsequent to the letter
of September 2nd, in which I told the Association that their advertisements were bogus—I had communicated with Inspector Marshall before I wrote about being instructed by the Commissioner—he was going to take out a warrant, and I had been in communication with Sergeant McCarthy—when I spoke about having doubts about the ladies' names, I meant that I had doubts whether they existed at all; I could not be sure till I had seen them.
GEORGE BASON . I work at a machine in Northampton—in June, 1895, I saw an advertisement in the Weekly Times and Echo respecting the Matrimonial Herald, and I, in consequence, wrote to 103, New Oxford Street, enclosing stamps—I received this reply, dated June 13th, 1895, signed "Pro Management, D. Mortimer." (This stated that a copy of their newspaper was sent, and that in addition to the names therein they had a large and increasing number of lady members, etc., similar to the letter sent to the previous witnesses.) A form and pamphlet were enclosed—I filled up this form and returned it; it correctly describes what I am and what I want—I stated that I was a well-to-do working man, with a total income of £60 per year; that I wanted a wife with an approximate income of £200 a year—I sent that after they wrote on June 19th enclosing me a duplicate form, and asking me to fill it up—I received this letter of August 8th from D. Mortimer, enclosing this violent pamphlet; the letter states that in my case the subscription for membership would be £2 12s. 6d. to cover all expenses until I should be suited—I do not think I replied at once—I received this letter of August 9th from D. Mortimer. (Stating that they had written to several lady members respecting him, and had received answers from three, who seemed favourable, and that if he joined the Association they would for ward their names.) I then sent £2 12s. 6d. in this letter—I received this letter of August 13th from D. Mortimer. (Acknowledging receipt of subscription, and specially recommending him to Miss L. Burford, care of Negotiator L. G., 103, New Oxford Street; age 25, fair, good figure, medium height, well educated, musical, £400 per annum: Miss A. C. French, care of Editor, name address, age 28, brunette, nice-looking, 5ft. 4 in., refined and musical, £250 per annum; Miss F. Millward, same address, age 27, brown hair, blue eyes, good appearance, domesticated, has £2,000 capital.) I wrote and said I would write to the ladies—I received this letter of August 21st from D. Mortimer. (Stating that Miss Burford's height was 5 ft. 5 in., and that Miss Millward was rather tall.) I had stated in my requirements that I wanted a tall lady—I wrote to Miss Burford, not to the other two—I also wrote to Mrs. Wood—while I was awaiting an answer I received this lithographed form, with blanks to be filled up, as the free marriage subscription, stating that to me the fee would be £8—I received this letter of August 27th, from 103, New Oxford Street, signed "D. Mortimer." (Stating that they had forwarded his letter to Miss Burford, and that directly they had his decision re the marriage subscription, they would be prepared to give him further introductions.) I also received this of August 28th from Negociator. (Stating that his particulars and letter had been submitted to Miss Burford, who would like to see his photograph before arranging for an interview.) I sent my photograph—I received these letters of September 3rd, 10th, and 16th, from D. Mortimer, asking for my decision about the free marriage subscription. (The letter of the 16th
contained the passage: "The ladies specially arranged with on your behalf are anxiously waiting to hear from you.") I did not send any money, but I wrote a letter to the Association, asking for an outside reference in regard to them—on September 18th I received this reply from D. Mortimer. (Stating that R. Davies, solicitor, of 46, Chancery Lane, would, no doubt, be able to satisfy him as to the ability of the Association.) I received this letter of September 19th, which purports to be written by the Negotiator, and states that Miss Burford will wait a few days before entering into correspondence—I received this letter of September 23rd from D. Mortimer. (Stating that they desired to hear from him favourably, so that they might introduce him at once to the ladies specially arranged with on his behalf.) I then remitted the full marriage subscription, £8, by means of a postdated bank bill—I received this letter of September 30th from D. Mortimer. (Acknowledging the receipt of the £8, and stating that they had written again to Miss Burford on his behalf.) I did not hear from Miss Burford after I had sent the money, I think—they sent me further names—I wrote to one, Mrs. "Wood—I only had one answer—I believed in the existence of Miss Burford during the time I was corresponding with her, and I believed in the contents of the letters written to me before I paid my associate's fee and my free marriage fee.
Cross-examined by MR. LOCKWOOD. I get about £60 per annum, in weekly payments of between £1 and 22s.—I wanted a very tall widow with £200 a year—I only corresponded with one widow, Mrs. Wood—I looked for the letters I received from her, and could not find them—I began to correspond with her about August, I should think—she did not come up to my standard according to the description—I did not see her—I corresponded with her at a private address—I only got one letter from her—I wrote two to her; I have no copies of them—I cannot remember whether I was in correspondence with her when the Police-court proceedings were commenced—most probably it dropped through owing to the proceedings, I could not say for certain—I believe she was described as being good-looking and domesticated, with no family, and with about £600 capital—I did not see any lady—I was in no doubt at first about three names sent me—I began to doubt after I had paid the money—I had six names altogether—I was introduced to Mrs. Neville in my own town, Northampton—I did not go to see her—she was described as "about forty-six, fair, nice appearance, educated, domesticated, grocery and off-licence, and has property"—I preferred someone out of my own town—I made no inquiries about her—I had Mrs. Walker's name sent me—she was described as "tall, dark, aged forty-three, has a business"—I did not correspond with her—I don't know whether she was tall or not—she did not write to me—her address was sent me, I did not write to her—I did not refer to the gentleman whose name was given as an outside reference.
Cross-examined by MR. SCARLETT. I did not care to ask a lady in my own town; I preferred to have one from further away—I wanted a wife, certainly—as the name of a reference was given me I thought it was all right—I gave my own name; I should not be surprised at ladies adopting a nom de plume under the circumstances—I did not post-date the draft for £8 ten days in order that I might get the names of ladies before my
draft became due—I do not remember if I or the bankers suggested its being post-dated; I could not say why it was done—I had the money at the time—I thought I should get some further names directly I sent the draft—I said in one of my letters that if the lady was willing to go to the West Indies I was willing to go there—I prefer a warmer country—Northampton was not too warm for me.
Re-examined. I was perfectly genuine in my wish to obtain a wife—I was willing to live in England or elsewhere if the lady desired it.
By the COURT. There is no ground for suggesting that I wanted to get away from Northampton, or that there war anything that made it unpleasant to me.
JOHN CHABLKS GEORGE . I am a house decorator in Yorkshire—early in August, 1895, I saw an advertisement in a local paper referring to the Matrimonial Herald—I posted some stamps to an address in Oxford Street, and received this reply, enclosing a form for me to fill up—I did not fill it up immediately; I wrote to the Association, making some inquiry as to expense—on October 2nd I received this letter—I answered that, and paid a guinea—a further form was enclosed; I filled in that, stating my requirements, and sent it to the Association, and on October 5th, 1895, I received this, which required a subscription of five guineas, which would lead to my introduction to a high class of ladies, and would accept three guineas to cover all expenses till suited—I replied on October 12th. enclosing cheque for three guineas, drawn in favour of Daniel Mortimer, and under date of October 14th I got this receipt and a list of ladies: "Mrs. E. Lampard, fair, good figure, £300 a year" (I had stated that the income I wanted was £250); "Miss L. Digby, thirty-four, widow, five feet five, £500 cash; Miriam Clarke, thirty-three, widow, no children, good figure, private income, and worth £500"—I had stated that a widow with £250 a year would not be unacceptable—I wrote to one of the ladies, Mrs. Clarke—on October 16th I received this letter, telling me that my letter had been forwarded to Mrs. Clarke—I did not get any reply—on October 21st, having written to Mrs. Lampard, I received this letter from Negotiator L. G., asking for a photograph—on October 25th I had a letter, saying she would wait for my photograph—I also wrote to Mrs. Digby—on October 23rd I received this letter, dated from Beading: "Mrs. Digby does not seem to answer your requirements," and enclosing a lithographed form, requiring a free marriage subscription of £10, in order to be registered on the books—I did not send any money—on November 6th I received this letter. (This stated: "We have completed engagements with Mural other desirable ladies, and will place you in correspondence.") I replied to that on the back of that letter, stating that there seemed no straightforwardness, and that they were treating me shabblly—I did not go on with the correspondence after that—I placed the papers in the hands of Mr. Dawes, of 36, Chancery Lane—I had parted with three guineas, believing the statements in the correspondence; they were not successful in getting more.
Cross-examined by MR. CANDY. I did not describe myself as "educated'—I described myself as a widower, with seven children, medium height, musical, house decorator, £250 capital—that was all right—I did not use the word "educated"—as long as the lady was nice, and had a nice appearance, I did not mind whether she was a widow or spinster—I do not consider myself educated—I did not want an educated lady as a
wife, I did not ask for one; I wanted somebody in my own station in life—I was in correspondence with the Association with a view of having more names submitted to me—I complained of the silence of several weeks; I wanted to be put in communication with more desirable persons—I began with the Association in October, and on November 10th the books of the Association were in the hands of the police—after they asked me for the £10 I thought it was only a money-making job; I considered the three guineas was a sufficient fee—I am not now in search of a wife—I no longer desire to be married.
Cross-examined by MR. SCARLETT. I have a different opinion now to what I had then—they got my money on October 12th, and on November 8th these proceedings were instituted—the Association stated that they had several on the books, but I am told they were not the right sort—I communicated with Mrs. Clarke from their instructions, I had one letter from her—they did not supply me with the private address of any of them.
Re-examined. I stated accurately my position to the Association—it was after I had sent in that form that I had the letter of October 5th.
ROBERT BROCKETT . I am a forester, living at Clarkston—in August, 1895, I saw an advertisement in the Glasgow Herald, and in consequence I wrote to 103, New Oxford Street, and sent some stamps for a copy of the Matrimonial Herald—I received a document with blanks to be filled up—on August 8th I received this letter, enclosing another form, and asking me to fill up the particulars—I filled that up, and sent it to Mr. Mortimer, 103, New Oxford Street—I correctly stated my income as about £60 a year—I wanted a lady with about £500 a year—on August 14th I received this letter signed, "D. Mortimer." (Stating that from the particulars given they could fully understand his position and requirements, and had no hesitation in saying that they could at once place him in communication with a selection of most suitable ladies, and with excellent prospects of a prompt and pleasant result; that if not successful with the first selection they would send him a second and third if required, until he, was suited, and that they would reduce the subscription to £2 12s. 6d. in hit case.) I read the pamphlet—I sent £2 12s. 6d. in cash by registered envelope, addressed to D. Mortimer, 103, New Oxford Street—that was acknowledged by this receipt of August 26th—I received this letter of the same date, signed by Mortimer, giving me three names with whom to correspond: "Miss C. A. Gilbert, c/o Negotiator, 103, New Oxford Street; age 21, orphan, rather dark, good figure, medium height, well educated, musical, £350 per annum. Miss E. Locke, c/o Editor, same address, age 24, nice-looking, 5 ft. 6 in., refined and musical, used to country life, £300 per annum. Miss "W. Ingram, care of Editor, same address; age twenty-five, dark hair and eyes, good appearance, fond of outdoor life, domesticated, £2.400 capital"—I believed in 'he statements made in that letter, and wrote to the ladies, believing I was writing to the ladies mentioned in the letter—I received this letter of August 31st, from "Negotiator," enclosed in another envelope with the post-mark of the next day. (Stating that his letter and particulars had been submitted to Miss Gilbert, who would like a copy of his photograph before arranging for a personal interview.) I wrote that I would send a photograph shortly—I received this letter of September 12th from "Negotiator," enclosed in another envelope with the post-mark of the next day. (Stating that Miss
Gilbert would wait for the photograph.) After that I sent a photograph to 103, New Oxford Street—I received this letter of September 18th from "Negotiator," enclosed in another envelope as before. (Stating that Miss Gilbert wished to thank him for the photograph, which the returned, and that she preferred to wait for a few days before deciding whether to enter into correspondence with him.) That was the last I heard of or from Miss Gilbert—I wrote to Miss Locke, who replied on September 10th, from Reading. (Stating that the particulars did not seem to satisfy her requirements, and although the editor had very warmly recommended the, application, the did not think correspondence would result in any favourable understanding.) That was sent to "care of the Editor, 103, New Oxford Street," and was not forwarded to me till October 16th—I received no answer from Miss Ingram—while the correspondence with those three ladies was going on between the end of August and the middle of October, I received a letter, dated September 5th, 1895, from the Free Associates' Marriage Department, signed by D. Mortimer, asking me to become a free associate upon the payment of £10; it enclosed an agreement form for me to sign—I did not sign it—I wrote to the Association about it—I received this letter of September 11th, signed "D. Mortimer." (Stating that he need not sign the agreement if he became an associate.) I decided to become a free associate, but did not send any money—on September 27th I received thin letter from D. Mortimer. (Stating that they were very glad to learn he had decided to become an associate, and hoped to hear from him at his earliest convenience, at they had splendid opportunities of arranging a happy and advantageous match for him, and that when they received a remittance they would return the share he had enclosed.) I had a share in a gold mine, of the nominal value of £15, in September, 1895—I sent that to them to hold until I paid them, and I sold another share, and paid the Association £10, and took the balance—when I received this letter of October 10th the money had not been paid. (This letter stated that they should be glad to have his reply, to that they might at once introduce him to the ladies who were waiting to hear from him.) On October 15th I received this letter, enclosing a receipt for the £10—I then received this letter of the 16th, giving the names of three ladies; Miss Bell, twenty-four, middle height, etc., with good capital; Miss Francis, in a good, sound position; and Miss Fiddler, with a nice figure, etc., and a good income—I wrote to those ladies, and got replies from them all—this is the answer I got from Miss Francis. (Stating that she had no means, and worked for her living. "The letter from Miss Bell stated that she had no independence, and that it was useless getting into correspondence, as he wanted a fortune.) Miss Fiddler's answer is destroyed—she was no better than the others as far as means were concerned—that was the beginning and end of the matter.
Cross-examined by SIR F. LOCKWOOD. I was looking for money and for a woman—I intended to get married if I got a chance—I was making as a forester 18s. a week, and 5s. or 6s. extras—I am 23 years old—I expected to get a woman with £500—I was going to stand out for money if I got a woman who could make me happy—Miss Fiddler had some money, but it would stop if I married her—I could not exactly say what her means were—I burnt Miss Fiddler's letter after these proceedings had begun—she said she had either £40 or £70 a year from the Government, and when she married that would go—I did not write to her after
that—I did not invite her to see me—I did not see any of them—I heard from five women.
Cross-examined by MR. SCARLETT. I never vent to the office, and never saw any of the prisoners.
FRANK BATSON . I live at 83, Grosvenor Street—I have taken in letters at my shop, which I delivered to a young man named Downing—I charge 3s. for each batch in a particular name—there were several other names.
SUSANNAH SHAW . I keep a newspaper shop, 101, Davies Street, Berkeley Square—that is at the Oxford Street end—from May, 1895, I carried it on by myself—after May, Downing called for letters; there were a number addressed to Cecil Main and Colonel—I was paid 2s. a week—I know nothing of the advertisements by Mr. Sheffield in connection with 101, Davies Street, a gentleman of very large means.
—DOWNING. I am employed at Gould's Advertising Agency, 54, New Oxford Street—it is not a private house—Mr. Frank Adam Gould is the manager—at the end of 1895 I used to collect letters from 83, Grosvenor Street, and take them to 101, Davies Street—Cecil and Colonel were two of the names on the letters, and Smyth and Penryn, and I daresay there were more—81, Wells Street was another newspaper shop which I made arrangements for—one had 3s. per time, and another 2s. 6d. a week—I usually collected letters at newspaper shops once every day, and took them to 54, New Oxford Street, and they were sent by a messenger to 5, Mecklenburgh Square every day—I had many letters a day; up to 30.
Cross-examined by SIR F. LOCKWOOD. I collect for a great many people—what I know as to the destination of the letters is what I have been told at Mecklenburgh Square; I have seen the messenger start.
WILLIAM HILL . I live at Binkerton House, Upper Holloway—No. 103, New Oxford Street, belongs to me—I let No. 93 to Mr. Peebrun, and have the counterpart of the lease here—I afterwards consented to the house being sub-let to J. C. Skates.
THOMAS HENRY GUERBIN . I am an expert in handwriting, of 59, Holborn Viaduct—I have had considerable experience in the examination of writing, and have given evidence in a great many cases in this and other Courts—I have examined the documents in this case, and have had placed before me a number of examples of the writing of the different defendants, also the registration documents filed at Somerset House, and the Memorandum of Association, containing the signatures of John Abrahams and Mortimer Daniel Skates—also a notification of the registered address of the company, 49, Lamb's Conduit Street, signed "John Charles Skates," and the agreement between J. C. Skates of the one part and Norman Skates of the other part—also the signatures to the Limited Company, in January, 1895; a list of shareholders was returned in the writing of Pennall, and signed by him as secretary of the company—I have also seen the signatures in the books of the Bloomsbury Branch of the London and Westminster Bank for the purpose of opening an account,
and among them those of Charles Harrington, John Charles Skates, Daniel Mortimer, and John Abrahams; the signatures of Skates and Barrington operating on their signatures, and the others on the account of Mortimer and Company—this (Produced) is a sample of Maddows' signature; it is a receipt for wages—a number of cheques were submitted to me, drawn on that account by Mortimer, and Abrahams—I have made a careful study of the five defendants' writing, and can identify a number of documents produced as being the writing of one or other of them; many of them are in Maddows' writing—I have had signatures of John Cecil, but not letters—these exhibits, 26, 29 and 35, are letters from Negotiator L. S. for Miss Burford, dated July 22nd and 25th, and all addressed to Mrs. Sutton are undoubtedly in the same writing, but I do not identify them as the writing of either of the defendants—exhibits 65, 112, 113, 120 and 162 are, to the best of my belief, all in the same writing, but not in the writing of any of the defendants—there are some distinct writings to that of Negociator L. G. which purport to be written by Mr. Sutton for his brother—exhibits 99, 100, 101, 102, 174, 175, 176, 134, 135, 145, 146, 147, 148 and 324 are undoubtedly in the same writing—to the best of my belief, exhibits 79, 114, 204, 204A, 320, 325 and 326 are in one writing, but not that of any of the defendants—290 is not in the same writing—having in my mind the receipt signed by Maddows, with the date and figures, I can identify No. 19 in Button's case, 47 in Bacon's case, and 283 in Brockett's case—I believe this (283) to be a lithograph; it is dated August 8th—exhibits 31, 32, 33, 41, and 42 in Pennard's writing, are all in Sutton's case—in Bacon's case 59, 63, 64, 66, and 67 are in Hennah's writing, to the best of my belief—81 and 83, in Jordan's case, are in Hennah's writing, to the best of my belief—I believe 160, 161, 163, 164, 165, 166, in Driver's case, and 208 in George's case, and 293, 294, 266, 297, 298 in Brockett's case, to be in Hennah's writing; and also 314 in Willett's case—this cheque of October 2nd, 1895, signed "J. C. Skates," and this cheque of December 13th, 1895, signed "Charles Barrington," are, I believe, signed by he same person—this cheque of September 16th, 1895, signed "John Abrahams" and "D. Mortimer," is, to the best of my belief, in Abrahams' writing; they both correspond with the signature in the Memorandum of Association—those ten cheques (Exhibit 315) are all signed and filled up by J. C. Skates, and I believe the endorsement "B. Mortimer" to this cheque of May 13th 1895, is Skates' writing; also these cheques of May 1st, 1895, and September 24th, 1895, endorsed. "D. Mortimer"; also the second endorsement to this post-dated bill, and I think the first also, but I won't speak positively—the date to the cheque of December 16th, 1895 (Exhibit 313), signed "John Abrahams and Mr. Mortimer," is in Skates' writing; and so, I believe, is the date and the word "bearer," and the initials in this cheque of December 13th, 1895, and "J. C. Skates," and so is the date of this first cheque of December 19th, 1895, and it purports to be signed by him—I was not able to decide upon some letters, and put them under the head "unknown "; they bear a resemblance to Skates' writing—this receipt for salary and commission, signed "Penniker," is in the same writing as the memorandum—the two nooks, F. 1 and F. 2, found by the police at Mecklenburgh Square in November, contain the names of the complainants
in this case—I find just such initials and just such descriptions in those books as I find endorsed on these two letters—although the books were kept in more than one writing, they were mainly kept by a person signing "W. Hellier."
Cross-examined by MR. WAKBURTON. This cheque (exhibit 313), though in a larger writing, is the same as this in the memorandum—I have not said that the "Mortimer" on the cheque and the "Mortimer" on the letter are the same.
Cross-examined by SIR F. LOCKWOOD. In No. 1 three letters are obviously in the same writing; there is, I should say, no attempt to disguise them, it seems quite a natural hand; I call it an honest hand—batch No. 2 are all Negociator letters, and they are in the same hand as one another, and in a natural hand—die letter signed "Alice May, pro Negociator," is in the same writing as the one signed "Alice May" only—all the Millen letters except No. 48 are "pro Negociator," and the one signed "N. Millen" only, is in the same writing, there is no attempt to disguise—the letters in group 4 are written in the third person, except the Annesley letter—I can generally detect a feigned hand; there is a want of uniformity of parallel forms; you find them constantly varying; you also get a slower writing, and there is an absence of freedom—I find no indications of a feigned hand in any of this correspondence.
Cross-examined by MR. COHEN. I have seen all the books open, but I have not examined them—I have seen Hennah's writing in some of them, posting them up—I do not find one letter signed by Hennah, or one cheque with his writing on it—there are frequent entries in his writing in this book (The Free Association Book), but I have not examined them.
By the COURT. I have found his writing in plenty of other letters; he was taking part in the general correspondence.
LAURENCE U. JEANE . I am a clerk at the London and Westminster Bank, Bloomsbury branch—I produce a certified copy of three accounts opened there, and a summary of them dated November 28th, 1894—the first was opened on October 13th, 1884, in the name of J. C. Skates, when he signed the signature book—I produce a certified copy of his account from January, 1893, to November, 1895—on March 23rd, 1893, another account was opened in the name of Charles Barrington by a payment in of £140, and on that day £100 was drawn from Skates' account in favour of Barrington—in the half-year, July to December, 1894, in Barrington's account I find a debit entry of £500 on September 8th, 1894, and on the same date a credit entry of £500, and in the half-year, January, 1895, to June, a debit entry on February 7th in Charles Barrington's account of £50, and on the same date a credit entry of the same amount in the account of J. C. Skates—a third account was opened on November 7th, 1894, in the name of D. Mortimer, by a payment in of £300, and in Charles Barrington's account on the same date, an entry of £300, so that Mortimer's account was opened by £300 from Barrington's account—Barrington's account was operated on in the name of Skates—in the next account cheques were to be signed "John Abrahams and D. Mortimer," and on May 6th, 1895, I find a debt of £100 and a credit of £100 to J. C. Skates on the same day, and I find another £100 on March 14th, 1895, debited to Mortimer and credited to Skates on the same day; on July 6th, a debit to
Mortimer of £50, and a credit to Skates of £50; on August 3rd, a debit to Mortimer of £450, credited on the same day to J. C. Skates; on November 16th, two debit entries to Skates of £100 each in the name of Davis—from March 23rd to June 30th, 1893, the payments in to Barrington's account were £1,542 5s. 1d., and among the payments out I found considerable payments in the name of Brown, and payments less considerable in the name of Foulker—in July, 1893, the payments amounted to £2,193 10s., considerable payments to Brown, and less to Foulker, whose names occur again in the account from January to June—between July and December the payments were £2,695 0s. 6d., and on Mortimer's account from January to June, 1895, the payments were £3,730 13s. 7d., from July to December 5th, 1895, £3,069 15s. 9d.—in November, a cheque to bearer for £300 was drawn out on Mortimer's account, and on November 9th, £300 to Davis—I also find a credit for a bank bill for £8.
HENRY MARSHALL (Police Inspector, Scotland Yard). On November 9th I received a warrant from Bow Street Police Court, and on November 11th I went to 03, New Oxford Street, the office of the World's Great Marriage Association, which is a large building with a very large front-age, and the name in large gold letters—the only office was just a little room in front, where a youth was stationed to answer inquiries—he gave me a card, and I went with Sergeants McCarthy and Hail-stone to 5, Mecklenburgh Square, and asked to see Mr. Daniel Mortimer, whose name was printed on the card—I was shown into the first-floor front room, and after some time the defendant Maddows came in with a number of papers and one of these forms and a book of testimonials, as he was going to interview someone to take particulars of a marriage—I had given the name of Perkins—I said, "I want to see Mr. Daniel Mortimer"—he said, "He is not here, I am his representative"—I said, "well, what is your name?"—he said, "Oh, it is not usual to give names; what is your business?"—I said that I should like to know who I was talking to, and pressed him for his name—he refused, but said he was a director of the Association—I continued to press for his name, but failed to get it—he said that Mr. Mortimer was away ill—I then told him: I was Inspector Marshall, and had charge of the Criminal Investigation Department, that the other two were officers also, and desired to see Mr. Charles John Skates—he said he would fetch him; I sent Sergeant McCarthy with him, and they returned with the prisoner Skates—I said, "This is not Mr. Skates, this is Mr. Charles Barrington"—Skates said, "Oh! Mr. Marshall, I thought I explained to you before that 'Barrington' was the name I used in the business, but that my correct name was John Charles Skates—I said that I did not understand it so—I knew him in the name of Barrington, and also of Mortimer—I said, "I have a warrant for your arrest; is Mr. Hennah here?"—Maddows and he both said, "Yes"—I said that I had a warrant for Hennah's arrest, and sent McCarthy to fetch him, and he and Maddows came back with Hennah—I then said, "I want to see Mr. Daniel Mortimer," and Skates said, "Oh! that is my brother; his correct name is Mortimer Daniel Skates"—I said, "Oh! then he is one of the shareholders of this Association?"—he said, "Yes, and he is a director too"—I then sent McCarthy, with Maddows, to find him—I said to Skates, "Then you are the head of this concern?"—he said, "Yes, I
am engaged in it"—McCarthy then brought in Daniel Mortimer, and I explained it to all four of them—Maddows was not included in the warrant—I read the warrant as far as the name of Borrick, one of the complainants, when Skates said, "Oh, that man has got his money back"—I said, "Oh, yes, I am aware he has got the greater part returned since he lodged his complaint at Scotland Yard, and these proceedings were started"—I completed reading the warrant, and Skates said that the persons who complained to us were simply outsiders—he asked me to read the warrant again—I did so, and he said that the complainants came there and wanted them to secure them wives at once, and that they did a large legitimate business—I said, "You know we have had complaints at Scotland Yard for many years; it is alleged that you have been inserting these bogus advertisements in newspapers all over the country, and also in your own paper," which I produced, "and so entrapped them into paying first registration and afterwards free Association fees, and that you had really no intention of getting them a wife at all; at any rate, you fail to carry out what you suggest you can do"—Skates was the spokesman generally; he said that they did a large business, and it was only the outsiders who complained—I placed them in charge of an officer, and then went over the house—I saw in Skates' hands 125 letters which had been received; another officer went through them—it is a very large house, and the stables at the back had been turned into offices with some little additions—I saw a great number of books, letters, and photographs, and took possession of the things we have here, and McCarthy took a few things subsequently when he arrested Maddows—I took the index book, the high-class register for men and women, and this book containing the sample advertisements in different papers in town and country; this was the one in use; there were a large number of them besides this—I found among them the one known as the Cecil advertisement—I found a large bundle of letters with the other advertisements on them; I found this advertisement, 317; and 377 is a reply to it, from females all over the kingdom—in the books there is an advertisement by Miss Huntly, of 83, Grosvenor Street; there are 163 answers to that from gentlemen residing in all parts of the kingdom. (This was from a widow, with two children amply provided for.) I arrested Abrahams on February. 13th, at 63, St. George's Avenue, Tufnell Park; he addressed me first by saying, "Oh, Mr. Marshall;" I said, "Yes; you are Mr. Skates;" he said, "No; my name is John Abrahams"—I said, "Well, I always knew you as J.C. Skates, and Barrington, and Mortimer, and I have a warrant for the arrest of persons in those names," which I produced—he said, "I admit I have used those names sometimes, when Mr. Skates has been our, at 5, Mecklenburgh Square"—I read the warrant to him; he said he was simply a paid servant of the Association at a weekly salary—I said, "You are a director and a shareholder, and you have interviewed Mr. Richards"; he said, "Oh, you mean Mr. Ibbs"; I said, "Yes," and took him to the station—when I arrested the two Skates, Mortimer said that Daniel Skates was his brother, and Hennah told me that J.C. Skates was his uncle, who had married Abrahams' daughter—Maddows is no relation at all—I went through the books found, and between January 1st, 1895, and the arrest, the receipts in the registration department alone were £3,307 4s. 4d.; but there is a break of about a week, and in the Free
Marriage Department the receipts were £2,095 3s. to November 9th, there being a break of a little over five weeks, which cannot be found—I find that the fee for the Free Marriage Registration department varied from 10s. to 10 guineas, and in the Free Association department from £1 10s. to £25—these are the two books which Maddows had when he came into the room—in one of them I find a registration for the almost nominal sum of £5 5s., and in another for the "almost nominal sum of £10 10s."—I could not find any receipts connected with the high-class marriage department, or of money received for interviews, other than counterfoils, which exist in great numbers.
Cross-examined by SIR F. LOCKWOOD. I never knew that Skates assumed the name of Barrington for the purpose of some theatricals, and I have known him some years—he had told me on a former occasion that his name was Barrington, and Abrahams told me that he was Skeats—it was in 1893 that I had that conversation with him, and I rather think prior to that—I was not instructed to take proceedings against him in 1893, but I was instructed by a Magistrate to investigate the case—no investigation took place, but I made exhaustive inquiries, and made my report to the Magistrate, but there was no inquiry—they refunded the money, but the Magistrate did not know anything about it—I tried to bring the prosecutor forward, but he was kept away.
Cross-examined by MR. COHEN. Hennah was not connected with the previous proceedings; J.C. Skates and Abrahams were the only men, but there were three or four women, whom I never could find—I said that Hennah was the secretary, and then the other officers fetched him; McCarthy will tell you from where—when he was brought in he admitted at once that he was the secretary—there was no attempt to detain documents, because I had sufficient strength to take all I required—he told me that he is Skates' nephew, and I heard it from his father.
Cross-examined by MR. CANDY. The date of the warrant is November 9th, and I executed it on the 16th—his name is not in it—I did not know his name—I had seen him in 1893, in the proceedings at Clerkenwell, and on other occasions—I understood his name was Skates; I thought they had been fencing with their names, as they had done before, ringing the changes—I never knew him as Abrahams, but as Mortimer, Skates, and Barrington—I had been to Mecklenburgh Square three or four times in connection with complaints which had been made against them year after year—I had asked for Skates or Barrington, and now I found it was Abrahams I interviewed, and not Skates—when I pointed out that he was a director and shareholder, he did not deny it, he rather assented to it—it is perfectly possible that either I, or someone on my behalf, may have called at Mecklenburgh Square and asked for Skates and seen Abrahams—if you called for Inspector Marshall at the proper department, and I was not in, somebody who was doing duty for me might come forward, but he would consider it his duty to tell you who he was—I had a warrant for Abrahams' arrest—I gave the name of Perkins, because I thought he would not see me if I gave the name of Marshall.
Cross-examined by Maddows. I found nothing connecting your name with them; you are the only one of the five whom I do not know—I think you said that Mr. Mortimer had sent a note to say that he was ill—I took the
names and addresses of all the clerks, except a small boy—you took me upstairs and handed a bundle of letters as to marriages which had been effected through the Association; you said that they were of great importance, and I have kept them carefully.
Re-examined. Maddows said that Mortimer was away ill, but Mortimer came into the room, and it turned out that he referred to Abrahams, who was away ill; and, subsequently, Abrahams told me that he was away ill that morning, and sent a note—the proceeding in 1893 was a private prosecution as far as it went; process was applied for, but a monetary payment bought it off—we have had many complaints at Scotland Yard. By the JURY. I read some of the letters in the bundle Maddows pointed out to me—they will be produced; I had better not say anything about them.
JOHN MCCARTHY (Detective Sergeant E). On November 14th I received a warrant, and went with Sergeant Hailstone to 5, Mecklenburgh Square, and saw Maddows—I said, "Are you Mr. Maddows?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "I have a warrant for your arrest for conspiring with persons in custody to defraud"—he said, "I suppose it is all right?"—I said, "The warrant is all right, signed by Sir John Bridge"—I took him to Bow Street—he gave his address, "Antony Maddows, 5, Mecklenburgh Square"—I knew he was not living there, and asked him for another address; he declined to give it—I found a number of memoranda on him—he made no reply to the charge—he said that he sent down over-night to see Mortimer, and he was ill and unable to come—it was I who went with Maddows to fetch Hennah—I discovered a letter which said, "Omit Reading for the future"—that was in the office where Hennah was working, but I cannot say whether it was on the table he was working at—I find, among other receipts, one for wages, signed Maddows—No. 320 was found in the office, and 334A. (The letter to Miss Burford.) No. 335 is one of the Reading letters to Miss Lock, dated October 8th; 336 is another Reading letter—I discovered a great number of letters addressed "Care of Editor," and considerably over one hundred unopened—Miss Marshall's is dated June 13th, with the Reading post-mark; that was unopened; I opened it—thirteen index books were taken from Mecklenburgh Square; I have received them; they contain the names and addresses of persons answering advertisements—Hennah came to the station voluntarily when he came out on bail, and said that when a name had been obtained it was written in the index book with the address, and the person was then written to, a correspondence opened, and they were asked for a fee—he volunteered that, and said that if the fee was not forthcoming, a second letter was sent, and a tick, called the repeat tick, placed on the right side of the name, and if the fee was not then paid a smaller tick, called the hand tick, was placed on the left side of the name, and after payment the name would be transferred to the register—this letter (Driver's, of the June 19th, 1894) shows the repeat letter; the date in the margin will show—I do not know what C. F. N. means; they use manyabbreviations, and one book is kept entirely in cipher—the books contain about thirty-five names and addresses—I find the name of Jordan entered in this book (The routue register), but do not find opposite it the names of MISS L. Byng Miss. S. Anslie, or Miss Marriott, I can only find the names of Miss L. Byng ✗ and Miss Anslie in book F I—I discovered Miss
L. Byng in book C 3, described as a lady without any money—I am sure of that. (She had been described as "to have a small legacy at twenty-one") Two books were handed to me, called "Nom de plume" books—those two ladies' names are not in them—the two books are similar; one is a continuation of the other—turning to "Jordan" in F 1, I find the names of those three ladies put opposite his; "Miss F. Byng" is written full, then comes "Miss S. A.," and then "Negociator 217"—I find here the description given to Jordan as the personal description of those ladies—I find the same names given a great many times with widely different descriptions—"Miss S. A" appears 105 times, with a different description as to ago, person, and fortune—I gave up the inquiry after letter H—the entry about Miss L. Byng is "tall, fair, good-looking, without"—in the ladies' register Miss L. Byng has no address after May 16th, and shortly after "Will come to see us, May 16th"—the last date is May 19th—under the head of "Correspondence," F 1 and F 2 give the initials which were supplied, with the description of each lady—this is a memorandum book by which the Association knew the particular description that had been given, to aid them in conducting their correspondence—I find Miss Alice May as the first lady introduced to Jordan; I do not find her name entered in any books; I include in that answer the nom de plume book, but I find a reference "Miss A. May equals Miss A. M. Austin," and, turning to C 1, of 46, I find Miss Ada May Austin with the nom de plume of Miss A. M. Stewart; I follow that lady to the high class register. C 9, 40, and find her description there, but she does not tally with Miss A. May; the entry is "Miss Ada May Austin equals Miss Stewart;" she is described as being 25, but Jordan's name does not appear opposite to her—I find that thirty-five names were submitted to Jordan subsequent to June 18th, and only one is a high-class lady—out of the other thirty-four names there are four which I have been unable to trace in the register book; one was Miss Rich—prior to Jordan paying the high-class fee he had two ladies from the high-class register, so that he got a larger number from that register before paying the fee than afterwards—Miss Rich had no money, although she was on the high-class register; that is quite common—the name of Miss Penryn which was given to Mr. Driver, does not exist in any of the registers; I only found it in the advertisement—I cannot find Miss A. W. Cart-wright in any of the books; there is a Miss A. B. Cartwright—as to Grunafeld's case, I cannot find Miss Ennison, Miss Borwick, or Miss Markhouse in any register, always excepting F land F 2—I only found Miss Nelly Willcox’s name in pencil in the high-class register, and attached to that in pencil is "tailor's daughter"—I have gone through the introductions given to Grünfild, and out of twelve names sent to him after he joined the high-class register only two are from that register, all the 'others are low class. (MR. MATHEWS read the names, ages, and descriptions and fortunes of the ladies whose names were sent to the different complainants, which the witness compared with entries in the books, and found that they did not agree.) There is a Digby on the Nom de plume register; I traced it to the other register, and found it is a man—I got different descriptions there; Mrs. Clarke is described in many ways—I do not find the name of Cecil in any of the registers, only in the advertisement book, and, to the best of my belief, Miss L. E. Mastell's name does not
appear—I found this photograph in Bacon's case, and this receipt for wages.
Cross-examined by SIR F. LOCKWOOD. This is the ladies' high-class register—it begins about October, 1893; there are about 215 names in it to October, 1895; most of them have private addresses, some are "Care of Editor," the private address is necessarily entered in the register—there is an analysis of the Roman Catholics, the Irish, and the Scotch—I have not communicated with any of them to see if they are genuine, for aught I know they are—there are only 187 ladies, not 215—Jordan had six names given him, exclusive of the first three—I have referred to the register, and eight of them, including Alice May, cannot be found—I find the details and private addresses all except seven, and I should say that they are genuine—there are about 6,000 names on the register, more men than women—in the ladies' register there are 3,735—in book L to Z, folio 2, I find the name of Neville; she is described as 23, well connected, good old family, £500 per annum, wants a gent, highly connected, with £10,000 per annum—she is not married, she was transferred to the high class, and is still there—she first appears on the routine register in 1890—Miss Hayhurst is not on the high-class register, she is still routine—she has not been married—"Married" is generally written on the entry—in L to Z, folio 93, Miss A. McNeil is transferred to the high class, and marked "married"—A. May is marked "daughter of a woollen merchant, will have a dowry; no tradesman, not less than £100 per annum settled income"—Miss Gibbs was not transferred; she wanted a gentleman with £300 per annum, and she has got him—I can find no real record of her marriage; sometimes they are marked "Married" when they are not. (The names, ages, descriptions and fortunes of other ladies were fare compared with the descriptions in the books A to K and L to Z, which differed in many particulars.) Driver never had sixteen names exclusive of the five negociated with; I found them, all but two, in the register, with their private addresses; those are apparently genuine cases—Grunfell had thirty names sent; I found them in the register, with private addresses given, and apparently genuine—sutton had thirty-three names sent, and I found all except one in the register, with addresses, and they are apparently genuine names—only three were recommended to Bacon, I searched for them in the register; they are genuine as far as I could judge—the references of those supplied to Brockett are correct—I find the entry "Married" in a great many cases.
By the COURT. There is nothing to show whether they married anybody connected with the Association—some letters were given to the police other than Shellingarten's.
Cross-examined by MR. COHEN. On the day the first raid was made in Mecklenburgh Square I was sent to fetch Hennah—I went into the office; he was seated at a desk, apparently doing clerical work—there were about eleven clerks there that day—he boldly avowed that he was secretary of the Association, and came to me afterwards and explained the books.
Cross-examined by Maddows. You went to Bow Street, and offered to give any assistance in your power with respect to the documents—I found several receipts for weekly wages to the other clerks on printed forms, and all similarly worded—I could find no real register of marriages—I was present when you handed a number of letters to
Inspector Marshall, and when you took possession of a book marked "Marriage Register" with a number 31 or 32, you offered me the whole lot, but I only took two—a lot of documents were found on you—the roll consisted of extracts from the books, I understood—except the page turned down, there is nothing to show any marriage, but it is called a marriage register—there were two letters coming from a gentleman, but not of that date, they were old letters—I do not, of my own knowledge, know that the gentleman held a very high position in society, but I believe he did—this is the roll of names.
Re-examined. A number of ladies' names were sent to Jordan, both before and after he came on the high-class register—where they were genuine the ladies' names could be found on the books, with the exception of the Negotiator letters—by far the greater number of ladies submitted to Jordan, both before and after he became a member of the high-class department—a number are marked in the books as haying no income at all—among the names submitted to Jordan I find Anard and McCloud; I do not find McNeil or Hayhurst—seventeen names were submitted to Driver besides Miss Granfield's—a number of ladies on the books are said to have no income or a small income—I find no tingle person submitted to him having anything like £1,800, £1,200, or £800 a year—thirty names were submitted to Grunfel before and after he became a member of the high class—Miss Shellingarten's name was not submitted to Mr. Grunfel, but it was to Mr. Sutton; she is described in the books as having no means—thirty names were sent to Mr. Sutton, except one found on the register; they were described sometimes with small sums of money as capital, but generally without any income—three names, I think, were submitted to Bacon; they had no means; but I invariably find ladies, described on the books of the Association as having no means, requiring husbands with fortunes or incomes; but ladies requiring £500 a year were introduced to persons having nothing.
JOHN MCCARTHY (Re-examined) This document (produced) was found in Maddows' bag; it is headed "Particulars and Reference Wanted"—I found two names on it, a lady named Wilson, and a gentleman named Waldron, and both names appear in the marriage register—I found in the same bag this letter addressed by Mr. Waldron to the Agency. (This stated: Why I did not write before was became you made such a great mistake. Every communication with clients was unsatisfactory lam now married to Miss Wilton, not through your agency. I was well pleased with my interview with Mr. Barrington")
ARTHUR HAILSTONE . I am a police sergeant, attached to the Criminal Investigation Department—I was present with the police at 5, Mecklenburgh Square, on November 11th—I heard Maddows say that Mortimer had written to say that he was ill, and would not be there that day—he was pressed by Mr. Marshall, and said, "I am one of the directors; it is not usual for the company to give their names"—I saw Skates with a number of letters in his hand, and was present when he held up some letters to Maddows—I told Maddows to put them on the table in the ground-door front room, and he did so—I have examined those letters since; they bear dates from November 7th to 10th, and on one of them were thirteen memoranda in blue pencil, indicating that they had been read—Marshall and McCarthy left the room, leaving me with Skates in
custody—he said, "This is a monstrous thing; this is a respectable business; we have thousands of ladies on our books"—subsequently he said, "I do not see how you can charge me; I have had nothing to do with the business for the last two or three years"—I found this bundle of 230 letters, of which 167 were addressed, "Care of Editor," some to Lamb's Conduit Street, and some to 103, New Oxford Street, the dates ranging 1892 to 1895; about half of them were unopened, among which was one signed "Gertrude Abbot," November 9th, 1892, and another to Miss Burford, dated October 19th, 1895; and this letter, purporting to come from Miss Marshall, dated June 13th, 1895, and a letter from Miss E. Locke, dated "Reading, June 13th, 1895"; the two last were in envelopes with the Reading post-mark on them—I found a number of books there, but no minute book recording the doings of the directors or the company, and no books relating to the Limited Company—I found in no book any resolution ordering any reductions—Mr. Folkard is the printer of the newspaper, and Mr. Brown is the advertising agent—this letter was found by the police. (From Miss Locke, stating that she had received Mr. Bell's letter, which was exceedingly favourable, but as a former correspondent had approached her again, she did not feel at liberty to proceed further in the matter.) That is headed "Special letter to the care of the Editor"—when we first went there we found these two pamphlets, the violet one and the brown one.
Cross-examined by MR. COHEN. I have received the testimonial pamphlet, there are some letters of thanks in it some of which purport to come from people who are on the books of the Association—they are all put forward as testimonials to the Association—I find in folio 2, "From an heiress of social standing who married into the peerage and who was given away on her marriage by an English Duke" then it goes on "Dear Sir, matters have been satisfactorily arranged with—, therefore do not send any further introductions"; another is "From the son of a peer (English) of the realm and late Cabinet Minister upon his marriage with an heiress introduced by the Association,"—I have found the original of that—I have no doubt of those being original letters—on page 92 I find "From a member enclosing newspaper cutting respecting marriage of a peer's son brought by the Association. I send you the enclosed out of the Globe because I know it will interest you"—that is addressed "Dear Mr. Barrington, March 19th, 1885—I have found the original of that and the cutting with it—on page 98, I find this, headed "High-class Professional," I am much obliged to you for the manner in which you have conducted the matter, and shall be pleased to recommend the services of the Association to anybody requiring a wife"—I have found the original of that, and believe it to be genuine—these letters are from 1884 to 1889, and are put in pamphlet form, I have compared nearly all of them with the originals, but some letters are missing, the date of the last is August 7th, 1895—I have examined the books, they show that a large business of a kind has been carried on since 1884—I have looked through about 700 letters, out of which I found about 182 engagements have resulted, and I find the records of 48 marriages—in the bundle of 125 letters which I found, 19 were complaints of making false promises and of not getting answers to letters, and that the advertisements in the
Standard and other papers were delusive—the others were applications for the Herald, and one thing or another.
Cross-examined by Maddows. I have not the original here of the letter on page 13 from the "Rich bachelor," stating, "I and now engaged Miss—, our marriage will not take place till August;" it is an original, but the writer mentioned that he was very poor—Marriage Register No. 30 was left on the premises; I have got 31 and 32—I do not know what the entry is—testimonials 242, 249, 322, 334, and 335 refer to the marriage of the same gentleman—they are from three persons, and from their letters it appears that the gentleman was married twice in two or three months—I believe the letters are genuine, but I cannot say as to the marriage—I believe his marriage is entered in the books—there are some entries crossed out—I have said, "I find in many instances the same letters have been sent twice"—two extracts have been made from one letter—No. 163 is from a lady who was called for the defence at Bow Street; she stated, I believe, that she was a single woman, she is shown in the pamphlet to be married and the register is quoted, and 204A refers to the same person—163 is from a lady of means and a young professional gentleman—"Dear Sir, I am corresponding with Mr.—you need not trouble to negociate with anybody else," and 204A is from a lady without means, who made a most advantageous marriage—this is the letter—the two letters are exactly alike except one word, she is shown to have been married according to this extract, whereas she is single—I have got the original of the letter on page 3 from Lady—, an English Peeress, one of whose sons was married through the Association to a wealthy heiress—as to her being an English peeress, there are several ladies of that name—I do not doubt that it comes from one of the most honourable statesmen England has ever had—No. 118 is "From a highly-born lady who married a peeress's son, and was given away by a Duke on her marriage" one guinea was by this letter enclosed by the highly-born lady—these letters are years before you had anything to do with the company. (The prisoner read several other extracts from the pamphlet, and the witness found the real or supposed originals of some of them.) No 410 is from a clergyman. (Stating that he was going to be married next week.) That apparently comes from the person who wrote it—in one letter a gentleman complains of being "done."
Re-examined. The book of testimonials is certified as containing correct extracts from the letters examined by E. L. Ernest and Co., chartered accountants, 63, Queen Victoria Street—in the headings to extracts 238 and 271 the writer is stated to have married a poor person, or it is a poor person who has married a rich person, they are from, the same person—Nos. 249, 197, 365, and 226 come from two persons named Paul and Tudor, and they are made to show that those two persons have contracted four marriages—I find a description in each, and in the marriage register I find them differently quoted—in another case, 54, 96, and 420, are from two persons, Whiting and Owen, and, by the heading. 54 is from a small fanner, married to a lady with means; 96 is the marriage of a farm attendant, to a female teacher, and 420 a farmer marrying a young heiress, I have turned to the letter, and Mr. Whiting says that she had no means—in 429 and 431, from a Mr. Wren, he is described as a well-to-do widower, and in the letter the writer says that
he is out of employment, and in a state of poverty—25 and 68 are from one letter divided, the heading of each testimonial being different, and the marriage register is quoted so as to show that there have been two marriages—in the bundle in Maddows' bag, I found the names of Mr. Walrond, and the Rev. Mr. Adams, and I find in the marriage book a Lieut. Adams connected with the same lady, and an entry on the other side of the book "Settled"—that purports to be a record of the marriages effected by or through the Association—I also found this correspondence in Maddows' bag; this is information supplied through Stubb's office, "Confidential. In answer to your question, respecting the Rev. F. A. Adams; he has, it is said, recently married a daughter of G. W. Sprules, Esq., of Manx Field, Wray Common, Reigate; his income is between £600 and £700 per annum"—I also found this letter from Mr. Adams: "What do you mean by your repeated suggestions that I was married to Miss Sprules, of Reigtae, through any influence of yours; she was never introduced to me through any of your agents, etc. You can take what action you like, but, if you claim to have had anything to do with my marriage, I shall not merely reply that it is false, but that on the falsehood you attempt extortion, etc. It will surprise me if an English jury does not give me exemplary damages.—F. A. ADAMS"—there are several more.
Maddows, in his statement before the Magistrate, said that he was not a director, and had never exercised any control over the staff or the system of business; that he had never been editor or sub-editor of the "Matrimonial Herald," and never had or exercised any authority as to its contents or its publication, having never seen the printer or publisher till after these proceedings commenced; that in point of employment he was the youngest member of the staff, except the office-boy, and was merely employed at a weekly salary, subject to a week's notice, under a written agreement of November 25th, 1893, prepared the solicitor of the Association, and had never received any money besides his salary, except the dividend on three shares standing in his name, and that he had never, by word or by letter, held out any false pretences, or conspired, or attempted to defraud any of the complainants. He repeated the same statements in his defence.
J.C. SKATES received a good character.
— GUILTY .— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MORTIMER and ABRAHAMS— GUILTY .— Three Years Penal Servitude each.
MADDOWS— NOT GUILTY .
The JURY were unable to agree as to HENNAH, and were discharged; and his case postponed till next session.
MR. MATHEWS offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
The JURY commended the conduct of the Police, in which the RECORDER concurred.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, March 3rd, 4th, and 5th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MESSRS. HORACE AVORY and GUY STEPHENSON Prosecuted, and MESSRS.
C. F. GILL and E PERCIVAL CLARKE Defended.
FANNY NUTT . I am a widow—in December, 1894 I was living in Delancey Street, Regent's Park—my husband had been dead then not quite twelve months—about six o'clock, on Monday evening, December 2nd, I was in Bond Street, dressed in widow's weeds, when the prisoner came up and said, "You must be a very young widow?"—I said, "I am; I am only twenty-one"—he said, "Tell me all about your husband, and how he died"—I told him all about him—he eventually asked if he might call—I wrote down my address and gave it to him—I said I was not in the habit of receiving gentlemen, but he might call, as he said he would be such a friend to me—he said he could not stop and talk to me that evening as he was going to a grand dinner, but that he would write, and let me know when he would call—I was talking to him for about a quarter of an hour—he did not give his name—next morning I received this letter. (This was on paper with the printed heading," Grand Hotel, London," and stated, "Please expect me to-morrow, Tuesday, between one and two o'clock.) Next day, between one and two, the prisoner drove up in a cab—I let him in; he took off his coat, and sat down in a chair by the are—he said he had got a nice house in St. John's Wood; would I like to be his housekeeper? that he was just sending the lady who had been living with him away to Coventry; she had no money whatever, and he was not going to give her any; she had got about £18,000 worth of jewellery, which he had given her; that he would give me £5 a week to begin with, to be increased to £10 if everything went on satisfactorily; that he had estates in Lincolnshire, and he would be having some grapes sent him next day, and would forward me some—I was to give up my apartments—he wanted to go away in his yacht to the South of France before Parliament sat, and was anxious to get me settled before he went—his umbrella bad a rather massive silver top, with some monogram or initials on it—I thought he was quite a gentleman; he was dressed as such—he said he would make out a list of dresses I should get, because I must leave off my mourning—he said he would give me some jewellery—I gave him my writing case, and he wrote out this list of dresses and other things. (This list was marked Q.) I did not suggest the items to him—he made out a list of jewellery I was to have, rings, brooches, bracelets and a watch; he took that list away with him—he specified the various shops, at which I was to get the things—he gave me a cheque for 15 guineas, with which I was to pay a deposit of £10 at Redfera's—he had two cheques, one for £10 10s., and the other for £15 15s. in his pocket, already written. (The one produced was on a promissory note form.) He put it into an envelope, and addressed it in my presence to the Union Bank, Belgrave Mansions—I did not see him write anything on the cheque—I said, Could not I get it changed without going to Belgrave Mansions, as it was such a long way off?—he said, No, it would not do for a gentleman in his position to have a cheque changed anywhere"—I said, "I cannot get there to-day"—he said, "The bank keeps open to six o'clock at Christmas time"—he asked me what jewellery I had—I told him not much; I was wearing my rings—
he said he must have a ring for the size of my finger; he wanted one to take away for my size, and he would buy me a more massive wedding ring—he took my wedding ring for the size, and another one; I was wearing two of my husband's rings at the time on my little finger—he put the two rings into an envelope and put them in his pocket—he said he would return them about five o'clock by a commissionaire, with one arm, from the Grand Hotel—the value of the two rings would be about £5 or £6—he said he would call again the following Thursday to make final arrangements—he took a brooch, worth about £1, from my dressing-table without my knowing it—I missed it after he had gone—later in the day I saw my brother, and showed him the cheque; and, in consequence of what he said, I never presented it—I did not communicate with the police; my brother said it would be no good—in January my brother showed me a newspaper report, in consequence of which I went to Westminster Police-court on January 19th, without previously communicating with the police—I went straight into the Court, and found the prisoner standing in the dock; I saw his back—I should know him among a thousand—I recognised him at once—I am quite sure he is the man.
Cross-examined. The newspaper I saw was the Evening Standard when the man was first charged, two or three weeks before I went to the Police-court—there was a full account of what he was charged with—I read two or three accounts before I went to the Police-court, and knew a man was in custody charged with doing what I complain of to someone—I only read accounts in the People, which is not illustrated, and the Standard—I am very angry with the man who took my wedding ring; it was a most heartless thing to do—I was dressed in widow's weeds when I met the man in Bond Street—I talked to him for ten or fifteen minutes, standing in the street—I was looking at some pictures in a window, I think—he had never seen me before, to my knowledge—I never knew his name; he was to come on the following Thursday—at the interview on the following day no one else was present—I was not excited at all; I listened to what he had to say—I was perfectly calm and collected then, and the day before—he was very well dressed; his clothes were very good—he was a middle-aged man, with slightly grey hair—he looks ten years older now—I could not say if he faced me when he spoke to me in the street—he had light hair tinged with grey—he had no rings—he had a watch and chain, apparently gold—he took out the watch, and looked at it—it was rather a massive chain—I let him out, and shut the door—I identified him by his back at once at the Police-court—I was quite sure of him, and always have been—I never identified anyone before—I have not seen my property since—one of the rings had "Love and Friendship" engraved on it—the brooch was made out of a five-shilling piece enamelled, with the date, 1822—with the exception of the wedding ring, the property could be easily identified—I heard one lady give evidence at the Police-court—I was there four times altogether—there was nothing peculiar about his dress except the watch and chain—I saw him write the whole of this list—he wrote quite freely—he said the lady who was retiring from the position had £8,000 worth of jewellery
Re-examined. On this list bonnets is spelt bonets; I was sitting at the table when he wrote it; I was not looking at him all the time—when he
spoke to me in Bond Street, he had on a blue overcoat with a velvet collar—when he called the next day and took off his overcoat I saw he had a black frock-coat underneath—I did not notice if he had patent boots; he wore fawn-coloured spats—the picture-shop I was outside in Bond Street was well lighted—I saw his face well—when he called he was with me from one to one and a-half hours—he does not look older now than when I first saw him at the Police-court; I do not think he looks quite so old; I think he looks better this morning—he does not look quite so worried—since he has been in custody I have only heard him say, "No," or "Leave it to Mr. Dutton"—when I met him in Bond Street, and when he called, I thought he was English; he might have had a slight foreign accent—I have not heard him speak since he has been in custody, so as to say one way or the other.
FRANK COOPER . I am smoking-room waiter at the Grand Hotel, Charing Cross—I have been there nine years—I have known the prisoner by the name of Mr. Beck for the last six years as a visitor to the Grand Hotel, using the smoking-room—in that room there are writing-tables and materials—printed note-paper and envelopes are supplied to visitors without charge—anyone in the room can sit down and write—I have not seen the prisoner write, but he may have done so—he came, perhaps, twice in a week, and then he would not come for perhaps two months, during six years—I last saw him there in September or October, 1895—I went for a holiday at the latter part of August and beginning of September—I saw him on my return—this was the note-paper and envelope in use at the Grand Hotel close on the beginning of 1895—the Victoria Hotel, which is given among the list of hotels at the head of the note-paper, was taken over by our company on January 1st, 1895—I did not notice that the post-mark on the envelope is December 3rd, 1894—for some time before the company proposed to take over the Victoria, and I believe they were carrying it on before 1895.
Cross-examined. I never saw the prisoner writing.
MARIAN TAYLOR . In the early part of January, 1895, I was living at Morton Place, Pimlico—on the first or second Saturday in January, about 4 p.m., the prisoner addressed me in the usual way, and asked me if he might call and, I gave him my address on a dirty envelope—he said he would call the next afternoon—he did not tell me his name—the same evening I received a telegram, signed "Wilton, Carlton dub," "Shall call upon you at four o'clock"—next day, Sunday, he came punctually at four, and stayed about two hours, I should think—I gave him tea—he told me he had a very nice house in St. John's Wood; that he had quarrelled with his mistress, and should like me to be at the head of his establishment—he said, "You are nicely dressed, but certainly not well enough for my establishment—he said he had an estate, near Horncastle, in Lincolnshire—he asked me what jewels I possessed; I had not many—he made, in my presence, a most elaborate list of dresses, and everything—I was to get them at Redfern's—he said, "Now, I will write you a cheque for £25; you pay so much at Redfern's, and keep the balance for yourself, and I will pay Streeter's and send the diamonds down"—he said, "Of course, you must have some rings"—he took from me an ordinary old buckle ring for the. size; it was not mine—he said the jewellery would be brought by a commissionaire, and my ring would be sent back—he wrote out in my.
presence a cheque for £25 on a form like this promissory note form—the cheque and list are lost—he signed the cheque, but I could not read the name; it was all scribble—he never told me his name was Wilton—I said to him, "You are not English"—he said, "No, I am a German"—there was on my mantelpiece a little statuette of Goethe—he said, "What do you know about Goethe?"—I said, "Well, I am educated," and we got into conversation—the cheque was on the Union Bank—he told me I should find the branch of the bank opposite Marlborough House—I did not find it—I went to the nearest branch of the Union Bank I could find, and got nothing by it—this list (Q) is like the one he gave me, and the writing is the same—as he was leaving he said, "Have you any silver?"—he wanted it for his cab; it was Sunday night—I gave him 9s.—he said he should come at one o'clock next day with the commissionaire, with the diamonds—I afterwards went to the Carlton Club, and inquired for Wilton, but got no satisfactory answer—I did not see him again till, on January 2nd, 1896, I went to Rochester Row Police-court, inconsequence of seeing his case in the paper, and picked the prisoner out of eleven or twelve men without the slightest difficulty—I am quite sure about him.
Cross-examined. There was no one there a bit like him—they were all respectably dressed—I saw one man, whom I had seen driving a coach—I cannot say if the prisoner was the only man of the eleven or twelve respectably dressed—I was looking into a jeweller's window when the prisoner spoke to me—I did not keep this matter to myself—I was only about five minutes with him in the street—when he came the next day I thought he was very nicely dressed—he had on a black coat and a covert coat—he had on a waistcoat with a white lining that showed beyond the waistcoat—he had patent boots, white spats, and grey trousers—I cannot say if he had a watch and chain—I did not give information to the police—I afterwards read the prisoner's case in the Daily Chronicle—I went to the Police-court for revenge—I had read no description of the man in custody—the prisoner is the living picture of the man I saw—he was a middle-aged man, with grey hair, as the prisoner's is, I am sure—there was no mixture of any other colour in his hair—he looks very much older now—the man I saw was not perceptibly younger than the prisoner—the ring I gave him I borrowed from my landlady; it was not a very valuable one—I gave her the documents to hold, for safety; I cannot keep anything—the prisoner wrote with rather a cramped hand—I watched him write the list; I took an interest in it—I was greatly excited.
Re-examined. In writing the cheque, when he came to the signature he wrote back-handed—I did not notice how he held the pen—I have not had an opportunity of hearing him speak since he has been in custody, except a word or two on the last hearing.
EVELYN EMILY MILLER . I live at 17, Park Village East, Regent's Park—about 5 p.m., on January 28th, 1895, I was in Bond Street, when the prisoner said, "Did not I meet you at a ball last night?"—I said he might have done so, but that I did not remember him—he said he was sure he had met me, and that he would be delighted if I would allow him to lunch with me at my house, next day—I said he might—he said he was not quite sure whether it would be the next day or the day after, but that he would send me a telegram in the evening, signed "Wilton,
Carl ton" Club—I gave him my address, and we separated—the same evening I had a telegram, signed "Wilton, Carlton Club," stating that he would be with me at two to-morrow—he came at two next day, and had lunch with me—he said he had a house in St. John's Wood, and the lady who had been acting as his housekeeper had just left—I asked who he was, and lie said he was the Earl of Wilton—I said I would consider whether I would go to his house in St. John's Wood; be offered me the position—he said he would come a day or two after, and arrange details; that after the sitting of Parliament he was going on a trip to Italy, and would like me to go with him, and that I should want a new outfit—he asked for a piece of paper, in order to give me a list of dresses—I gave him the paper and he wrote out a list, which has been destroyed—he composed it himself—it was like this, and in writing like this (Q)—the tailor made dresses I was to get from Redfern and the other gowns from Russell and Allen—he said I should have to pay something on account, and he would give me a cheque—he took a cheque-book, in which there were not many cheques, from his pocket, and filled up this cheque for £30. (This was on the Balham Branch of the London and South Western Sank.) He said I could cash it at the South Belgravia Branch—I gave him an envelope to put it in, and he sealed it up and addressed it—he said also that he would give me some jewellery, and asked me to let him have one of my rings to get the size of my finger—I asked him to take the size in cardboard—he said he preferred having the ring—I was wearing some rings, but I did not care to part with them, so I borrowed a diamond horseshoe ring, worth £7 or £8, which I gave him—he was with me about one and a quarter hours—before he left he said he had a pensioned-off coachman who lived near me, and he wanted to take him some money, and he had not any change; could I lend him £2?—I believed about the pensioned coachman, and lent him £2—he said I could deduct it out of the £30 cheque—he said a commissionaire would bring the ring back that evening—the ring did not come—I did not see the prisoner again until lately—I took the cheque to Sloane Square, and was referred there to the Balham Branch of the London and South Western Bank—I presented the cheque there, and it was dishonoured and returned—I then went to Albany Street Police-station, and reported what had happened and described the man who had robbed me—at the beginning of February, this year, the police came to me—I went to Westminster Police-court and saw the prisoner with a number of other men in the court yard, and identified him at once without difficulty—he wrote both the body and the signature of this cheque in my presence—he spoke with a slight foreign accent.
Cross-examined. The description I gave at the Police-station was of a man aged about sixty, 5 ft. 4, hair and moustache cut short almost white, dressed well, speaks with rather abroad accent, and evidently a gentleman by education—when I went to identify the prisoner I knew a man was in custody of whom it was said he had committed similar offences; I had read the case in the newspapers—I have a good memory—I did not take a very great interest in the case—I took an interest in it because I wanted to get the ring back—I had attended the Police-court to identify the prisoner before I gave evidence—there was one man in the yard like the prisoner, but a stouter, bigger man—I could not give a description of
him, or of how he was dressed—the case was being heard that day; I did not go into Court—I saw the case in the Daily Telegraph, not in the Sunday papers, or the Daily Graphic—I read the whole case—the man wrote freely, without difficulty—the ring I gave him could be easily identified—the man who spoke to me in Bond Street was an utter stranger to me; he would answer to the description of an oldish man with grey hair, and well-dressed, he was about five minutes with me in the street—he might have met me at the ball; I thought he might have danced with me.
Re-examined. It was a Covent Garden fancy-dress ball, with masks and dominoes—some of the men wear masks and dominoes—the prisoner had on a black waistcoat with a white lining showing, it might have been a double waistcoat, and a frock-coat—I saw him at the Police-court when I gave evidence, and here to-day—I have no doubt about his being the man.
ALICE SINCLAIR . In February last I lived in Upper Baker Street—on Saturday, February 16th, about one p.m., I was passing with my sister, through Ludgate Hill, when a man, who, to the best of my belief, is the prisoner, came up and asked me if I was waiting for an omnibus—after a little conversation he asked for my address, and I gave it to him—he asked permission to call on the next day—he called the next day about two—he was announced as Mr. Wilton—he came into the room, and said he was the Earl of Wilton—he sat talking tome for three-quarters of an hour—he wrote me out a list of dresses and asked if I should like to dine with him—he said he had a house in Abbey Road, St. John's Wood, and asked me if I should like to go and stay there with him, and if I should like to go and dine with him on the Tuesday—he said it was a very nice house, with good conservatories, and plenty of servants, and the best of wine—he proposed that I should dine with him there, to see how I liked it, on the Tuesday—the list of dresses he wrote out is at home. (The witness was directed to fetch it at the conclusion of her examination.) The handwriting was the same as this (Q)—I was to get the dresses at Redfern's. the riding habit at Cobb's, in Baker Street, a well-known shop; I believe I was to go to Norman's, in Victoria Street, for boots—he gave me a cheque for £40—I was to pay a deposit for some of the things and keep £5 for myself—I was to give his name, the Earl of Wilton, at the shops—he tore the cheque from a cheque book, and wrote out the whole of it and signed it; he kept his hand in front that I should not see. (This was a cheque on the Balham Branch of the London and South Western Bank.) He said I wanted some rings, and that he would buy me a half hoop diamond ring and a marquise ring, and asked me to give him rings for the sizes—I asked if he could not do it with a piece of cardboard—he said no, surely I could trust him with my rings, and I gave him a wedding ring and a plain foreign gold ring—he said they would be sent back to me by a commissionaire from Streeter's—he talked about taking me away in his yacht to the Riviera—next morning I took the cheque, which he had put in an envelope and directed to the bank at Belgravia Mansions—I saw no London and South Western Bank there, and I opened the envelope and went back home—I afterwards sent the cheque to the London and South Western Bank; they refused payment and kept it—on January 2nd the police fetched me to Westminster Police-court, where
I picked out the prisoner from about a dozen men—I thought at the time of our conversation that he was not an Englishman.
Cross-examined by MR. GILL. I made no complaint to the police—I believe they came to me from seeing my name and address on the cheque—the only woman who has given evidence that I knew before this case was Miss Taylor; I saw her about five or six years ago—the first day I met the prisoner I was with him about two minutes—my sister saw him—she does not live with me—I saw this case in the papers about the day after I was subpoenaed—I knew there was a man in custody, and if he was at all like the man I had seen he must have been an elderly man with grey hair—the prisoner looks slightly thinner now; he looks altered since I saw him at the Police-court—I am pretty well sure he is the man—to the best of my belief he is the man—I recognised him among the other men; they were not the least like him, I am quite sure—there was one other man, oldish, with grey hair, and well dressed—I think I gave the detective a description of the prisoner when he brought a subpoena to me—I did not think the Earl of Wilton was a foreign title, he told me he had travelled a good bit—I thought he was a gentleman, and I took his word who he was—I was not excited during the interview—I believed his statements—I should have no difficulty in identifying the rings I parted with—he was remarkably well dressed, with spats, a black frock coat; I think he had no overcoat—it was a very fine day when I was waiting for the omnibus—I could not say if the next day was fine, he had no overcoat—he had a black satin tie, with a large pearl pin, and something white inside his waistcoat—my sister has not seen him since the Saturday—he wore white spats, I cannot say if he had patent boot a—I don't know if he had a watch and chain.
Re-examined. He looks slightly thinner now, and his moustache is not waxed as it was before—he looks about the same age—he looks thinner than when he was at the Police-court; his moustache is the same as it was there—apart from that, he looks the same now as he did in February—I had no communication with Miss Taylor before I went to the Police-station and identified the prisoner; I was the first to identify him, and she was the last, and I was very surprised to see her—I did not help her, and she did not help me, to point him out.
By MR. GILL. The man held his pen backwards—when he wrote the list of dresses he wrote very freely and without difficulty, but very indistinctly—there were five or six women at the Police-court to identify the prisoner when I did so—we went in one by one, I first, and then I saw the others come out—the detective asked me if I would go and identify the man—I touched him with my umbrella—I only hesitated because I did not cam about doing so—I did not touch anyone else, only the one man, who was the prisoner.
ETMEL ANNIE TOWNSEND . I am a widow—in March, 1895, I was living in a flat in Shaftesbury Avenue—on March 6th I was walking with my little daughter in Piccadilly about 1.15 p.m., when the prisoner asked me if I was Lady somebody (I do not remember the name he used)—I said I was not, unfortunately—he asked me then where I. was living, and if I knew Lord Aberdeen—I said I did, but I knew his brother, better—I thought by that that I knew the prisoner, and had met him at
dinner somewhere—he said he had just come back from Canada, that he had been staying with the Earl of Aberdeen, and should like to talk to me about him, and he asked if he might call—I said "Yes," and gave him my card—he did not say who he was—he kept his handkerchief to the left-hand side of his face the whole time he was speaking to me, about three minutes, as if he was trying to conceal his face; and when he came to my flat he did the same thing—he said he would call at four the next afternoon—he came about 3.40—my sister let him in, and he came into the drawing-room—he did not keep his handkerchief to his face the whole time, only while my sister was letting him in, and part of the time he was with me—he stayed about twenty minutes—he said he was Lord Winton de Willoughby—he asked why I lived alone in a flat—I said I had an income, and wished to do so—he asked me if I would prefer to live in St. John's Wood—I said I should very much like it, but I should want to know something about him first—he said he had a little house there, with, I think, twelve servants; it was standing empty at the time, with the exception of the servants; that he had a carriage and pair, and a wine cellar, and everything requisite, but no lady in possession, and that he would call and take me to see it—he said he did not think I was dressed sufficiently well, and he wished to buy me some new clothes and diamonds, and he wished me to write a list of what I wanted—I wrote the list, which he dictated to me—he said I was to get some of the things at Redfern's—I destroyed the list about two days after, finding he did not return—he said he would give me £150 to go on with—I saw him write out this cheque for £120; he put it in an envelope and sealed it—he said he would send me some jewellery from Streeter's, and asked me for a ring for the size of my finger—he promised me a few diamond rings—I gave him the only ring I had on at the time, my wedding ring, for the size—he said the ring would come back by a commissionaire with one arm—he said he would make an appointment with me as to the house in St. John's Wood in two or three days' time—he looked at a thick gold curb bracelet I had on, and said he thought it ought to be set with a diamond in the padlock—I gave it to him—he also took my sister's bracelet from the table to have some dents knocked out—he took an ostrich feather fan, that had cost fourteen guineas, to have it mounted with turquoise, and a pair of elephant tusks (I have seen a similar pair worth fifty guineas), to have mounted as an ink-stand, and a hand-painted porcelain photograph of myself—I left the room to get him some tea—two or three hours after he had gone I missed some tigers' claws, and the teeth of an animal mounted in silver with my monogram—they had all been in the room in which he had been sitting—I valued the property he got from me at £180, but it was worth more—next day I took his cheque to the bank at Balham—I was asked to put my name and address on it——the bank kept it, and it was dishonoured—two days afterwards I communicated with the police at Vine Street, and gave a description of the prisoner and the name he had given me—I did not see the prisoner again till I saw him at the Police-court on December 23rd—the police came for me, and I went and saw thirteen men in the yard of Westminster Police-court, and I at once recognised the prisoner—immediately I heard him speak I was doubtful, as he spoke in my flat in a Yankee twang, and in the Police-court with a foreign accent, I thought it
was Swiss—his hands, hair, and feet are the same as I noticed before—he is the same man.
Cross-examined. I thought I might have met him in India, where I had been for eleven years; I did not recognise him—I heard him say at the Police-station that he had never seen me or any of the women, except one, who gave evidence against him—when I heard his voice I said I did not think he was the man—the man I saw was oldish, with grey hair—I have seen some oldish men with grey hair, and well dressed, in, Piccadilly—I believe the man who spoke to me to be an Englishman—he made up the things he took away into a parcel; they were not very large—not one of the articles was found in his possession; I could identify them—of the men I saw him among afterwards no one was like him—he seemed to write freely; I did not watch him; his back was towards me—my sister let him in when he called; but it was very dark, and he had his handkerchief to his face—the man who spoke to me in Piccadilly had a black overcoat with a velvet collar, and spats—I am not quite sure whether he had a little white lining to his waistcoat—I read this case in. the paper—I had not heard that four or five people had given evidence before me, describing the same sort of frauds; I thought I was the first one that went to Vine Street—I had spoken to the police before I read the case in the papers—I don't remember reading the case; I may have done so—he gave the name of Winton de Willoughby—I described him as. about fifty-three—I did not. say he wore a yellow and black striped muffler—he had no whiskers—his moustache is the same now as then—he looks just the same now as then—he had what appeared to be a gold watch and chain—I did not notice any ring on his finger—I gave the police a full list of my property, and described it.
Re-examined. When I first saw him at the Police-court he was wearing an overcoat, the same, I believe, as the man had worn—when he came to see me he had fawn-coloured spats on—at the station I heard him speak in a foreign language to the interpreter; it was not French; it might have been Norwegian; I did not understand it—when he called on me he only talked on the one subject—I felt he wanted to get away as quickly as possible; he fidgetted, and he did not drink the tea that was prepared for him—I made the things up into a parcel for him.
MINNIE LEWIS . In April, 1895, I was living at 3, Charlwood Street, Pimlico—Miss Allen lived in the same house—before April 3rd I had seen, the prisoner coming to the house to see Miss Allen; I knew him by sight—on April 3rd he called to see her; I answered the door, and told him she was not at home—I recognised him as the man who had called before—he asked to be allowed to write a note to her—I took him into my room for that purpose, and fetched him note-paper and envelopes—he asked me to sit down and talk to him—he told me he wanted to do some good for Miss Allen; he considered for a few minutes, and then said he would not write to her—he told me he would like me to be his housekeeper at St. John's Wood; the one he had had before was always intoxicated, and he had had to send her away; and that he was Lord Wilton—I had not known him by any such name before—he told me I should have to have a lot of dresses, and that he would have me
taught riding—he wrote out and gave me a list of things I wanted; I have destroyed that list—it was the same as this (Q), and the writing was the same—some of the things I was to get at Redfern's—a riding habit, which I was to get at Cobb's, I think, was on the list—I heard of Cobb's, in Baker Street, as a great riding-habit maker—Miss Allen is not still living with me—he spoke about jewellery, and asked for a ring, for the size of my finger, and said he would send me several rings by a one-Armed man—I gave him a gentleman's signet ring, which I was wearing—he wrote out this cheque for £30 on a sheet of note-paper in my presence, enclosing it in an envelope, sealing it and addressing it to the Union Bank, St. James's Street, and gave it to me to pay for the things—he left, saying he would write and make an appointment for going into the house at St. John's Wood—the same day I went to St. James's Street, but could not find the Union Bank; I found a branch at Charing Cross, and presented the cheque there, and one of the clerks took me to Scotland Yard, that I might give information about the cheque, and I gave information of what had happened, and a description of the man who had visited me—in January or February the police came to me, and I went to Westminster Police-court, where from about fourteen men I picked out the prisoner—I have not a shadow of a doubt he is the man—in writing the cheque, when he came to the signature he altered his hand, and wrote backwards.
Cross-examined. The man who called had no marked peculiarity that I can mention—he had a gold watch and chain, and patent leather boots—I had not the least difficulty in picking out the prisoner—I described him to the police as fifty-five or fifty-six, five feet high or a little more, with a tall hat, a black coat and vest, bluish striped trousers, patent boots and spats—I cannot remember if I said he was five feet eight inches—the constable asked me if he was about as tall as the man from the bank, and I said yes—I could easily identify my ring again—the man's chain had a seal with a crest attached—he wrote freely—I read the case in the newspaper before I went to the Police-court, and I knew a man was in custody charged with having done this sort of thing—among the fourteen men, no one else answered my description except the prisoner—Miss Allen left the following week, and I don't know where she is—I do not know where she came from, or anything about her—she had lived in the house about five weeks.
Re-examined. The prisoner bad visited her for about three weeks before April 3rd; I had seen him about three times during the three weeks—I saw him coming in and going out; I had not opened the door to him, or spoken to him before April 3rd—the cheque and the list are the only things I saw him write—he seemed to write freely—he wore brown spats—when I saw thirteen or fourteen men in the yard, I went up to the prisoner without hesitation, and said, "This is the man."
JULIETTE KLUTH . I live at 5, Harwood Road, Walham Green—in March, 1895, I was at Olympia with my little sister—between 3 and 4 p.m., after the performance, the prisoner came up and spoke to me—I gave him my address at his request—next day, March 1st, he called—he said he kept a large place in St. John's Wood, and asked me if I would come and see him one day; he said that he had some more friends there, and would I give them some music—I said I did not mind, as I had nothing to do
during the afternoon—I am a professional artist—I think he told me he was the proprietor of a mine somewhere, and had plenty of money—I noticed by his speech that he was not an Englishman—I am a Belgian by birth—when I said I would come and see him he told me I was not dressed well enough, and he wrote me out a list of clothes—I burnt the list, which was like this (Q), and in the same handwriting—I was to go to Redfera's for some of the things, and to Regent Street for the boots and shoes—i said I had not enough money to get the things—he said, "Very well, little woman, I will give you a cheque," and he wrote out this cheque for £20. (This was on a promissory note form, and addressed to the Union Bank.) He signed it, and put it in an envelope which he sealed with wax—he told me I was not to open it, but to take it to the Union Bank, Belgrave Mansions, just as it was—he said he would give me some jewellery, and asked for one of my rings, to take the size of my finger—I gave him a ring with three little diamonds——he said he would return it with three other rings by a one-armed messenger, in about an hour's time—he was with me for about an hour—he said he would write to me when I was to come to his place—I never heard of or saw him again—I went to Belgrave Mansions next day, but could find no bank there—I saw this case reported in a newspaper, and I wrote to Scotland Yard, enclosing the cheque—I gave a description of the man—on January 2nd I was asked to go to the Westminster Police-court—I there saw about eighteen men, and among them I recognised the prisoner at once, as soon as I put my foot in the yard.
Cross-examined. I saw the case in the Weekly Times and Echo before I went to the Police-station, that a man giving the name of Lord Wilton was charged with committing this sort of fraud in connection with women—I think the signature on the cheque looks very much like Wilton—I read in the paper that the man charged was the proprietor of a mine—I described the man to the police as about fifty, short, broad shoulders, no beard, and a long moustache—the only peculiarity I noticed about him was his foreign accent—I mentioned that to the police at the time—about ten other women were at the Police-court to identify him when I went there—I went in about third, I think—when I came out I said I had identified him at once—I looked at the other men before identifying the prisoner—there was no other oldish, short man with grey hair there, no one like it—I knew there was a man in custody who answered the description of an oldish man, with grey hair, and well-dressed—the man I met at Olympia had patent-leather button boots, and a large gold watch and chain—I did not notice if it was a hunting watch—I did not say it was at the Police-court—I have no idea what a hunting watch is—someone from Scotland Yard came to see me after I wrote, and took a statement from me—I do not know whether I could identify my ring—the man wrote quickly—three of the other witnesses were at the Police-court the day I identified the prisoner—we talked about the case a little—I was a bit angry.
Re-examined. When he called upon me his moustache was longer, and waxed at the ends—when I first saw him at the Police-court it was not waxed—when he first spoke to me at Olympia, he spoke in French—I speak French very well—afterwards he said I spoke English very well; I
said I was not an Englishwoman; he said I spoke English as well as any English people do, pretty near—he did not tell me his nationality—I know the difference between German and French accents; his was more French than German when he spoke English—I could not say whether he spoke French as if he were a Frenchman, or had acquired it—I have never, to my knowledge, been in conversation with a Norwegian—he only spoke a few words to me in French.
KATE BRAKEFIELD . I am married—I am a music-hall artist—in June, 1895, I lived in a flat at Upcerne Road, Chelsea—on Saturday, June 22nd, I was walking down Sloane Street in the afternoon—the prisoner followed me, and, after a while, came up and said he followed me because I had small feet—it led to conversation, and ultimately he asked me where I lived—I told him my profession—he asked what instrument I played; I said, "The mandoline"—he said he would like to come and hear me play—I arranged for him to call the next day, and hear me play—next day, Sunday, he called—he asked me where I had been—I said. to Wilton Crescent—he said he was Lord Wilton, and that all that property round there be Jonged to him—after a little conversation he asked me for a sheet of paper to write out a list of costumes which he was going to buy me; he said he had so much money he did not know what to do with it—I got some note-paper and an envelope for him—he wrote out this list (F) of dresses and other things I was to get—he put the name Redfern at the top, and told me to get the dresses there—he gave me a cheque for £30 to pay for the costumes, and one for £20 for myself to spend till he came to see me again—he arranged to come the following, day—he put both cheques into one envelope, and addressed it "Union Bank, St. James's Street"—I asked him why he did not endorse the cheques across the back? and he said, "Oh, I am known so well, you have only to hand them in, and you will get the money"—I did not notice that the cheques were drawn on bill of exchange forms—he said I was not to look at the cheques, and he. sealed them down and put them under a large book—he asked me to take some of my rings off for the size, as he would get me some fresh ones, and I gave him for that purpose a diamond and turquoise ring, and a ruby ring worth about £10—they were presents—he said he would return them by a commissionaire with one aim, and I was to be in to take them—he said he would send them back the next day—he just tried the mandoline, but it was out of tune—he stayed nearly two hours—I was talking to him all that time—he asked me to take down large Indian medallions, with paintings of India on ivory, mounted in silver, and with plush frames, that hung on the wall, that he might look at them—they were laid on a chair—he looked at a silver belt and bangles, and said they were no good; I was to give them to my poor relations—about 3.45 I went up to see about some tea, which I was going; to give him—when I came down to ask him a question he was gone, and I missed my mandoline and case, seven silver bangles, a silver brooch, a silver belt, two of the medallions; the brooch he asked me to lend him, as it was a good design—I have seen none of those things since; I have inquired at every pawnshop, and cannot find them—within an hour I gave information at the Police-station, and gave a description of the man—I did not take these cheques to the bank; I made up my mind that I
had been robbed—on December 23rd I went to the Police-station, having seen this case in the paper, and picked out the prisoner from seven other men—I am satisfied he is the same man—he is a little thinner in the face, and his moustache is not so military, it was then long and waxed.
Cross-examined. There is no doubt that this is the same man I saw at the Police-court and in the yard—I saw in the paper a man was in custody for defrauding women—I saw a very good picture of him in the paper, but not before I picked him out—the man I had seen was oldish, with grey hair and moustache, and well-dressed—none of the other men in the yard answered to that description—as soon as I saw him I knew him; I took no notice of the other men—I was not the least excited on the Sunday when he called—I don't know why he was going to give me all these things—my husband was in a situation—you could put the medallions under your arm, not in your pocket—I could easily identify them—I did not show him out, and there was no one else to do so—my parlour is along-side the front door—he seemed to turn his hand a little round in writing—he had on a kind of grey check trousers and white spats, a white lining to a black waistcoat, a gold chain, a tall silk hat, and a blue thin overcoat—when I met him on the Saturday he had a grey dust coat—he had patent leather button boots—he had a little scar by the right side of his neck, under the ear—I spoke to him about it, and he said, "Oh, don't speak to me about that, talk about the costumes, because I want to get' away"; it is a little scar something like a mole—I said, "It is a singular thing; it is rather like this on my face"—I have a mole there—I did not mention that to the police, nor in my evidence before the magistrate; I have spoken of it a good many times to the detective—my attention was attracted to something said in the Evening New about a man having such a scar, and that was why I went to the station—I and three or four women were there on the same day, we went in one by one to pick him out—that was December 23rd, the day I gave evidence.
Re-examined. I told Constable Jeffreys about the mark on the prisoner's face—I noticed he spoke with a little foreign accent, and I asked him if he was foreign—he said he had been abroad a good deal. (At MR. GILL'S request the witness went to the dock, and pointed to the angle of the prisoner's jaw, as the place where she said the mark was; she said, "I do not see it now.")
DAISY GRANT . I live at 44, Circus Road, St. John's Wood—on July 4th I was in St. James's Street, about five p.m., with a lady and a little boy, when the prisoner came up and spoke to me, and said he would like to call on me—he asked me if I did not remember him—I said no—he said, "My name is Wilton" and he told me to ask my young man whether he knew him—I had no young man with me, the prisoner must have followed me about and seen some one with me, as the prisoner lived in Victoria Street, and I lived then just round the corner, in York Street—I did not know the prisoner by sight—I gave him my address, he took out a pocket-book and wrote it down, and said he would call the next afternoon—the next afternoon, July 5th, he called about four o'clock, and remained with me about three-quarters of an hour—I told him I did not know his name, nor did any one I knew know him—he said it was only an excuse to speak to me—he said he was Lord Wilton—he said he had a house at St. John's Wood, which was empty,
and suggested that I should go to it—I said I was very happy where I was—he said he should like to buy me some better dresses and jewellery, and asked for a piece of paper on which he could write out a list—he wrote out this list—he arranged to call the following Monday to arrange matters—he said I had better pay a deposit, and he wrote out this cheque for £35, which he put in an envelope, and addressed it to a bank in St. James's Street—he said I should want a ring, and asked me for a ring to measure the size of my finger—I gave him a small diamond ring, and also a gold bracelet which was dented, and which he offered to get repaired at Streeter's—he said a commissionaire with one arm in a sling would bring them back in an hour—I fetched from another room, and showed him, a marquise ring in a case; I left that in the room in which he was—I went out of the room twice, once for matches to light a cigarette, and once for a photograph—after he had gone I missed my ring out of its case; the ring is worth about £15, it was given to me—I valued all he took at £15, but the marquise ring I find is worth a good deal more than I said—I went to St. James's Street, but could not find any Union Bank there—on July 9th I went to the Police-station and gave a description of the man—on December 16th I was sent for, and went to the Police-station, and there, among seven or eight men, I recognised the prisoner after he took off his hat—he had his hat on; I asked that he might take it off, and when he took it off I knew it was him—I say now he is the man—he was in my apartments three-quarters of an hour.
Cross-examined. I was influenced by his taking off his hat in identifying him—I could tell him better with his hat off—there is nothing remarkable about his hair; he is slightly inclined to be bald on the top of his head; but I was influenced by his whole appearance—there is a peculiarity in the shape of his face—I did not mention that in the description I gave—when I met him in St. James's Street, he spoke to me first, and then to the little boy with me, "What a nice little boy"—I had never seen him before—I think he must have known me, because he lived in Victoria Street—I found out at the Police-station where he lived—I don't know how long he had lived then at Victoria Street—I saw him write in his pocket-book my address at York Street, Westminster—I know now that my name and address were not found in anything belonging to the prisoner—the lady with me in St. James's Street did not glance at the man when he spoke to me; she walked straight on; she was not with me when he called—she did not go to the Police-court—when he called he had on a frock-coat, with white lining to his waistcoat, and white spats, a heavy gold chain, and apparently a gold watch—I think he had a pearl pin; I do not remember—I described the man as between fifty and sixty, rather short, about five feet two, rather fat, with a dark complexion (I have not a good memory) moustache cut short, brown, turning grey; it was a tawny sort of moustache, with a lot of grey in it—I remembered more then than I do now—I law his watch—he wrote everything but his name in the ordinary way; he wrote his signature to the cheque with the pen between two fingers—I did not notice him write the list so much—I was sent for an hour or two after the prisoner was arrested, and had not time to read any description of him—Miss Meissonier was at the Police-court when I got there—I had not seen her before—she spoke to me of him, asked me
what I had lost and that sort of thing—none of the men among whom the prisoner was placed was like the prisoner so far as I saw—my attention was attracted to him at once—I looked round and saw him, and said I should not like to swear till he took his hat off; I did not notice any other man—I should not like to swear that there was another well-dressed man there—there was another man with a grey moustache, but he was too tall and had a ruddy face—afterwards at the Police-court I heard his address and came to the conclusion that he must have followed me as he lived round the corner—when he spoke to me in the street he had on a low round hat—I cannot remember if he had on a light or dark suit of clothes; I think it was a brown sort of coat—he was dressed quite differently when he called upon me—the things I lost I could easily identify.
Cross-examined. I noticed when he talked to me that he was not English, and I said, "You are not English"—he said he was, but he had travelled a lot—when he laughed his eyes nearly shut, and there was a certain expression which I cannot explain, but which I should know again—I noticed that when he called, and I saw it afterwards at Westminster Police-court, after he had been identified—the pocket-book in which he wrote my name and address in St. James's Street was of dark coloured leather, mounted; I did not see what he wrote in it.
OTTALIE MEISSONIER . I live at Fulham, and teach music—I am German—on November 26th I was passing through Victoria Street, going to a flower show—I met the prisoner who passed, turned back, and lifted his hat, and said, "Oh, pardon; are you Lady Everton?" or "Illington"—then he asked my. pardon, as he said he had made a mistake, and asked me where I went; I said I went to a flower show—he said it was not worth while going there, because the flowers were very poor; and as he kept ten gardeners in Lincolnshire, his flowers were much better—I said I had that very morning received a box with some chrysanthemums, and as they were very beautiful he asked permission to come and see them—I gave him my address—he spoke in English; I remarked that he was a foreigner, and he said no, he was an Englishman—the following day he called—my servant, Harvey, opened the door—he said his cousin was Lord Salisbury; that he had a very great estate in London, nearly all the property round West Brompton belonging to him; and that he had £180,000 a year—he proposed that I should join him and six other people in a trip to the Riviera, because I was musical and spoke several languages, I should be very useful—I speak three languages very well, English, German and French, and Italian and Portuguese a little—at first I declined, and then I thought I ought not to throw away such a good occasion, and I told him I might manage to go for a fortnight, but not longer—he thought my toilette was not good enough, and he wrote out this long list I had to stop him, he wanted to make it so long—he told me to go to Redfern's—he wanted me to order a riding habit at Cobb's, of Baker. Street; as it was a yachting trip I asked him what I wanted it for, and he said when we landed he had always his own horses there; to pay for the things he gave me this cheque for £40, to open an account—he wrote out the body in my presence, I think the signature was already written—he held the pen between the second and
middle fingers and under his hand—he thought my jewels were not good enough, and asked me to give him my bracelet to put two black pearls in—he did not like a diamond ring I had—I gave him a small ring of not much value, for the size of my finger—I let him have my watch to get the glass mended—he told me the South Kensington Exhibition of Antique Watches partly belonged to him—I showed him an antique watch I had, about the size of 1s.—he had it in his hand, and said he would like to exchange it for a diamond bracelet, and that he would do so later in the Riviera—I left it on the table and as soon as he had gone I missed it, and I sent my servant after him, but she followed him to the next corner, and then lost sight of him—he left, promising to come again on the following Wednesday—as he went out he took out a pocket-book and put in it a list of articles he wanted to buy himself; opera-glass, umbrella, dressing case, hats, and other things—it was a very good pocket-book of morocco, I think with initials, but he opened it so quickly I could not see the initials—he had a very good watch, and a chain—he had a silver matchbox, and a cigarette case, heather, I think—altogether, the property he took of mine was worth over £30—immediately after he had gone I took a cab, and tried to find the Union Bank, St. James's Street, but could not—the cabman took me to a bank in Trafalgar Square, and I found the cheque was no good—I then went to Vine Street and gave a description of the man who had defrauded me—I noticed when he sat in my room he had some mark just below the right jaw, whether it was from a drawn tooth or not I cannot say—I described it at the station—I next saw him on December 16th; I was coming along Victoria Street from the Army and Navy Stores, and I saw the prisoner standing in the doorway of 135 or 139, Victoria Street—as soon as I passed I recognised him, and I stepped up to him and he smiled—I touched his coat and said, "Sir, I know you"—as soon as he heard my voice he tried to push past me into the street, and said, "What do you want from me?"—I said, "I want my two watches and my rings"—he used bad language to me and ran across Victoria Street through omnibuses and cabs to the other side—it was about 4.40, and dark, the gas had just been lighted—I followed him, and said I would not leave him till I found a constable—he went down Victoria Street, and I followed—I saw a policeman, nearly opposite the new clock, close to Victoria Station; I stepped up to the policeman, but before I could speak he again called me very bad names, and said I was in the habit of accosting men, and had accosted him—I said, "Never mind, I give this gentleman in charge for stealing two watches and a ring, and forging a cheque for £40"—he said, "Well, I never saw her in my life," or "I have never seen her before"—the policeman said, as I charged him, he must take him to the station—when I saw him on that day he had on the same overcoat as when he called on me, but he had a different coat underneath—he had a frock-coat the first time, and the next time he had a short jacket—he had light spats when he called on me—when I saw him in Victoria Street he had no spats, or dark ones, and an umbrella with a silver top like this—this is the overcoat he wore (produced,) it is blue cloth with a black velvet collar; as he sat in my place he put it on my coach, and I saw the lining—he wore tight brown gloves; the seams left marks on his hands.
Cross-examined. The first time I met him we spoke for four or five
minutes; the second time for about three-quarters of an hour, or it might be a little more—he was a perfect stranger to me—his moustache was waxed then; it is altered now—I am sure about the scar or something I spoke of on the right side; it might be from a drawn tooth—it was something I could notice; I could not see it quite plainly—I see the mark on the prisoner now. (Some of the JURY stated that they saw the mark described.) I gave a description of the mark as I lodged the charge—when I charged him I think he was dressed as he is now—at my place he wore a necktie with a pearl pin—I cannot say whether he had patent leather boots when he came to my place; I could not see if they were button boots, because he had light spats, nearly white—his frock-coat had new silk facings, not worn in the least—he had a watch and chain, apparently gold—when I said to him in the street, "I know you," he said, "Pardon, what do you want from me?" and then he said, "Oh, you mean the dentist"—I did not speak rudely to him, but quite calmly—I said I would follow him wherever he went—he told the policeman I was a common prostitute who accosted men—just as I was stepping up to the constable, the prisoner walked more quickly and said it, and then he said, "I never did see this woman before; I don't know why she follows me"—he did not say, "What am I to do with this woman, who keeps following and annoying me?"—I went straight to the station—I could not tell what boots he had on then, or whether he had a watch and chain; I was so much upset and excited at the Police-station that I did not notice small details—it was 4.40 when I charged him in Victoria Street; I left the. Army and Navy Stores at 4.30; it was not dark, but getting dark.
Re-examined. When he followed me the first day in Victoria Street he was a little shorter than me, and I saw the waxed point of his moustaches sticking out below my eyes when he raised his head; his moustaches were waxed when I gave him into custody—I was differently dressed, and he did not recognise me at first, but when he heard my voice he recognised me and changed entirely, and tried to pass me—when I first spoke to him in the doorway he did not appear angry or annoyed with me for speaking to him; quite the reverse, he smiled very sweetly—he did not think I was accosting him improperly.
MARY HARVEY . I am the last witness's servant, and was so in November—on Wednesday, November 27th, I let in the prisoner at 1 or 1.30—heaskea for Madame Meissonier, and I showed him upstairs—about an hour afterwards Madame Meissonier came and told me to follow him, and I went to the door, but could not see him any where—he had an umbrella and high hat and overcoat—I next saw him on the evening he was locked up, with a lot more gentlemen, at the Police-station, and I picked him out.
Cross-examined. No other gentleman called during the time I was with Madame Meissonier—I knew the prisoner's face when I saw him at the Police-station—I only saw him for about a minute in the house; I offered to take his hat and umbrella, but he took them into the dining-room.
Re-examined. I had lived with Madame Meissonier for a fortnight at that time.
Victoria Station, when the prisoner and Madame Meissonier came up to me—the prisoner wanted to know what he could do with the woman, as she kept following him about and annoying him, he said—I told him I must hear what she had to say—she said she wished to give him into custody for stealing two watches and a gold ring from her house a fortnight before—I asked her if she would take the responsibility of charging him herself—she said she would—the prisoner said he did not know her, and had never seen her before in his life—I told him he would have to go to the station; he said he was quite willing to do so, and he at once went with me—the charge was read over to him there; he said he did not know the woman—Harvey came to the station, and picked him out from others.
Cross-examined. I did not ask him for his name and address in the street—at the station he was asked for it, and he gave it as Adolf Beck, 139, Victoria Street—he was living there at the time—he had on an over-coat and high hat—I did not search him—I did not notice his boots—the inspector on duty arranged the identification; I was there at the time—about eight or nine men were got from the street, and some from the adjoining shops—most of them were well dressed, I think—their ages ranged from thirty upwards, I should say—two, in addition to the prisoner, had grey hair—I think they were about the prisoner's height—one came from the shop opposite—he was not much like the prisoner in appearance; except that his hair was grey, I do not think there was any similarity in appearance—the other, who was about the prisoner's height and with grey hair, happened to be walking past.
GODFREY CHETWYND . I am a financial broker, at 13A, Cockspur Street—in June, 1894, the prisoner called with reference to some company in connection with a copper mine he owns in Norway—after that I wrote to and received letters from him upon that and other business matters—these are three I received from him—he was then living at the Buckingham Hotel, Buckingham Street, Strand—I had business relations and communications with him up to about December 22nd or 23rd, 1894, they were renewed afterwards—the final date I saw him was April or May, 1895—I cannot say where he was living then without referring to my books—while he was visiting my office I believe my clerk wrote some letters for him; I only know that by hearsay—that clerk is not in my employment now, and is not here.
Cross-examined. I believe my clerk did some correspondence for him, but I cannot say what—I saw the prisoner on and off from June, 1894, to the end of the year, and again once or twice in 1895—I never saw him with a gold watch and chain—I have heard him speak of having owned one; if he carried a watch it never attracted my attention—I don't remember peeing any jewellery about him—in December, 1894, and the beginning of January, 1895, he generally wore an overcoat that I gave him; one I had worn myself—he returned it soon after the new year, 1895, or about Christmas, 1894—the beginning of 1895 was exceedingly cold, and he wore a fur coat then—I knew he had a fur coat before I gave him mine; I gave him mine because he said he had no coat suitable for the season; the fur coat was too warm—I did not see him wearing a fur coat; I did not see him for some time after that—he sometimes wore a double-breassed black jacket when he came to see me—I never saw him
wear a white waistcoat or a waistcoat with a white lining—I never noticed him wearing patent button boots, or white or black spats—I remember his saying his frock-coat had been turned at a tailor's—the overcoat I lent him was dark grey; it might have been taken for black—it had no velvet collar; it was perfectly plain—I should not think it could be mistaken for blue—I have no recollection of seeing him wear any other overcoat than the one I lent him and the fur coat—he never wore a covert coat, to my knowledge.
Re-examined. Some time this year I was asked whether I could say if the prisoner was shabbily dressed at the time he came to my office—I have no distinct recollection of the way he used to dress from day to day—I don't remember having ever seen him wear spats—I think the frock coat he wore had silk facings, I don't remember; but one would be apt to notice a frock-coat that had not; I should gather he meant the coat had been turned inside out—in 1894 I had a good many interviews with him—he borrowed a good deal of money in small amounts for daily expenses, 10s. and 5s.—I also paid his weekly hotel bill occasionally.
JOHN WATTS (Constable A.) On December 16th I was at Rochester Row Police-station shortly after the prisoner was brought in—I told him he answered the description of a man giving the name of Earl Wilton, who was wanted for stealing jewellery—he said, "It is a great mistake"—I sent for Miss Grant, who had given a description—she came—the prisoner was placed, with six other men, in the charge-room—she looked at the men and pointed to the prisoner, and said, "I believe that is the man; if he will take his hat off I shall know"—all the men took their hats off, and then she said, "That is the man"—I charged him with stealing the property of Daisy Grant—he said, "It is a great mistake; I have never seen the ladies before in my life," referring to Madame Meissonier and Daisy Grant; he was charged with stealing from both of them—I searched him, and found on him this brown leather pocket-book, with silver mounting, and the initials "A. B.," a £10 note, a £5 note, an Army and Navy Stores ticket, 30s. in gold, 2s. 6d, silver, a knife, a tobacco box, and some visiting cards with the name of "A. Beck, 139, Victoria Street"—he gave his name and address before I found the cards—I went to 139, Victoria Street, about twenty minutes after he was charged—I found he had been in occupation of three rooms which were sublet to him—there was a porter in charge of the whole building, but no one in charge of this suite of rooms—I had the keys—I found in the rooms about six or seven suits of clothes, a black frock-coat, two ordinary overcoats, besides the one produced, which he was wearing when arrested—I did not take very particular notice of them—I did not bring any of the clothing away—I noticed a new pair of patent boots in paper, they had never been worn—on December 18th I made a further search with another constable—I found this indexed address-book—he had a bedroom, sitting-room, and a small ante-room—a friend of the prisoner had previously occupied them, and had sublet them to prisoner, who was the only occupant at that time—I found these documents, one of which is a letter addressed to a lady, but apparently not sent, the others are memoranda of addresses of ladies apparently—the lettered address-book contains the names of business people apparently, mostly foreigners; I cannot find the names and addresses of any women in it—I
also found eight or nine pawntickets relating to jewellery; I left them behind; they were dated 1890 and 1891—I also saw printed papers apparently relating to a mine or mines, in Norwegian or some foreign language, I could read the title at the top—I don't know what has since become of the things I left behind in the rooms; the clothes were removed two or three days afterwards, I believe, after the prisoner was in custody—I called again, and found they were gone.
Cross-examined. When I got to the station I found the prisoner detained on Madame Meissonier's charge; he was not charged—he had given his address—I searched him after he was charged, sometime after he was at the station—Miss Grant had to be fetched from St. John's Wood—he was wearing a small link-pattern gold watch-chain and a dark gun-metal watch; he also had a small silver match-box; no other articles of jewellery—he wore an overcoat and a high silk hat; his other clothes were as they are now—he had this umbrella with a silver top; I am not sure about his boots—I found no promissory note or bill of exchange form—I found no entry in the pocket-book of the name and address of any of these women, or of any particulars of clothing—I should say about fifteen or sixteen women have seen him between the time of his arrest and his committal—I should say there had been about twenty complaints from different parts of the Metropolis of the same kind of thing complained of in the present case—the dates would be kept; I do not know them; Sergeants Briggs and Cracknell would have the dates when the complaints were made; they were here this morning—I arranged the identification in the first case, when the prisoner was detained at Rochester Row Police-station; on the next occasion Inspector Walduck arranged it—I looked through all the papers at the prisoner's address; I made very careful search to try and find some cheques—I found no paper with the name and address of any woman, no cheque, and no bill form—I have been in this case throughout—no single article of property belonging to any of the ten different women has been traced to the prisoner's possession—whenever a complaint of such a thing as this is made, we take the date of when it is alleged to have occurred, and a description; we are always very careful about the date—it was a pair of new patent shoes I found at his address—they had never been worn—there was a dress suit there.
Re-examined. The fifteen or sixteen women, who saw him at the Police-station, include the ten who have sworn to him here—the other five or six did not identify him; one women was not sure, she would not swear to him—the five or six women who are not here saw him under the same circumstances as the others; three failed to identify him; they said they could not see the man there—another of them came into the charge-room while he was in the dock being charged, and she said she did not think he was the man—another of them afterwards said she thought he was the man—all of them but one had lodged complaints, I believe—I believe I can get the dates on which the five or six women complained—I ascertained that the prisoner had been living at Victoria Street for about three months; he went there about September 6th.
JAMES NORRIS SUTTON . I am cashier at the Union Bank of London, 66, Charing Cross—we have no branch in St. James's Street or Belgrave Mansions—we have no customer named A. Wilton, Lord Wilton or Lord Willoughly de Winton, or any name of that kind—during the year 1895,
a number of cheques, most of them drawn on bills of exchange forms, were presented by different ladies, and with this signature, which I cannot decipher—I knew nothing of the drawer, and had no funds to meet the cheques, and I dishonoured and returned them—these exhibits were so presented for payment at our bank and dishonoured.
Cross-examined. All of them were on promissory note forms—there were fifteen or twenty altogether, and I should think during between eighteen months and two years—we kept no record, because they were not drawn on our bank—they were all the same kind of document; as soon as I saw one I recognised it—I don't remember keeping any.
WILLIAM JOHN WEY . I am cashier in the Balham Branch of the London and South Western Bank—on November 10th, 1894, Mrs. Gardiner opened an account with our branch—I issued to her a book of twenty-five cheques, Nos. A. 482776 to 800—on January 4th, 1895, I received notice from her to stop cheques in that book, Nos. from 482791 to 800—she gave a reason for that—subsequently seven of those cheques were presented—Exhibits J, L, and V, were three of them—they were all signed like those produced, with the signature "Wilton," that is the name they were put down to—in some cases I got the ladies who presented them to endorse them—that was on the instruction of the police—I gave them up to the police—I have not seen Mrs. Gardiner since.
Cross-examined. I could not give you the dates the cheques were presented—we do not keep dates unless the cheque comes into the accounts—we detained the cheques in every case—I produced seven to the police—I had received notice from our customer they had been stolen (the cheques produced.)
Re-examined. The dates run from January 28th, to March 7th, 1895.
MARCUS BBOWNE . I am the proprietor of the Covent Garden Hotel—the prisoner lived there for some years down to within the last two years—I could not tell you the date without referring to my books, and I do not carry them in my pocket—you should have given me notice to look—it might be September, 1894—I have so many people to see I cannot recollect every individual who comes to the hotel, the time he leaves, and so on—I cannot tell whether it was September or January—I am in a criminal court, and I have nothing to do with a criminal case; you can apply to my solicitors in the City and they will tell you, may be—the prisoner lived at my house about six years; he left because he had not paid his bill, and I said I could not keep him any longer—apply to my solicitor, the bill is my business, not yours—that has nothing to do with a criminal court whether he owes me money, or whether he does not; go to my solicitor, you have my solicitor to go to—am I obliged to answer what was owing to met—he owed me £300 as far as the hotel bill went, and he owed me hundreds in money lent to him—I could not tell you the amount; you must apply to my solicitors, they have got all the information; they have got all my papers. (The witness was here cautioned not to withhold information.) I am quite aware you have power to commit me—the amount is between £1,300 and £1,400—a lot of the prisoner's boxes are at the hotel—he left them—Inspector Froest has searched them—I believe he had a watch; I do not recollect the kind of watch—he gave me a pawnticket for a gold watch, which I gave to Inspector Froest—he always dressed very nicely, and behaved
very gentlemanly, and never brought any persons into the house—I should not notice with twenty or thirty in the house whether any individual wore spats—I have not said at the Police-court I did notice the prisoner wore white spats—I cannot recollect whether he did.
Cross-examined. Who is the prisoner's solicitor?—I do not recollect seeing him; I saw Mr. Froest—I do not recollect a gentleman calling at the hotel to see the prisoner's things—I did refuse to allow the prisoner's solicitor to see anything in the place; you have got the letter no doubt; because I did not know whether I was doing right or wrong—I have heard nothing from him since—as to an action against the prisoner, that has to do with a civil court and with my solicitor—I was not winking at the prisoner; he is no friend of mine—I brought an action against him—I believe my solicitors have the judgment—I am satisfied if my solicitors are.
FRANK FROEST (Detective Inspector.) I searched the prisoner's box at the Covent Garden Hotel—I found a pair of white spats, a pair of brown spats, half a dozen white waistcoats, a quantity of underclothing, an opera hat, a wedding ring, a few photographs of ladies, and views of Norway and Sweden, and a large quantity of correspondence relating to business.
Cross-examined. I understood Beck had been staying at the hotel up to September two years ago—that his things were detained—I have seen Mr. Browne calmer than he was here—afterwards he was living at the Buckingham Hotel, Strand—I went there—I did not go to Victoria Street—I did not take charge of the case till after May 3rd. (A white waist-coat was Here produced.) That is a specimen of the waistcoats; they were all of this class—there was some silk underclothing; old things—I have made inquiries about Mrs. Gardiner—she has been convicted of uttering bad cheques, and passing herself off as a person of distinction—a warrant was out against her for assault—I have not seen her—she led a loose and fraudulent life—she lived once at Balham—she was charged, with others, at Westminster, and after several remands discharged.
Re examined. The charge of assault was withdrawn by her landlady—I have made every effort to find her whereabouts to subpoena her as a witness here—I was not in charge of this case until the third remand—I did not sanction the prisoner's clothes being left at his lodgings—I would not have left them.
THOMAS HENRY GURRIN . I am an expert in handwriting, at 59, Holborn Viaduct—I have had many years' experience—I have examined the cheques and promissory note forms produced—also this manuscript book. (MR. FROEST identified the book as the one he found at the Covent Garden Hotel, and which purported to be a report of the Galapagos Mine.) I have also examined the three letters which Chetwynd has sworn to be the prisoner's writing—they are written to Chetwynd—they are all in the same writing—there are two handwritings in the book—I do not include all the handwritings there—I include the writing in the address book produced—the prisoner's writing is in different hands—I prepared the report produced, giving my reasons, and with fac-similes showing similarities—the cheques and lists are not written in the prisoner's ordinary hand—two forms of disguise have been adopted—one is a back-handed or vertical scribble—that occurs in the signatures, the list of
addresses, and on the envelopes—the other disguise is an ordinary hand, more resembling his writing in the books, but written large and more Distorted.
Cross-examined. The lists of dresses are written with freedom—the control of the fingers is not exercised; it is written from the arm—a man who habituated his hand to it would acquire facility—list "A" is a medium writing between the two disguises—the photographs are very much reduced—part of "A" was dashed off—I mean "Redfern's" at the top and "Cobb, Baker Street," and one or two other instances, as to which little control was exercised—I do not suggest he held his pen differently. (The witness pointed out the similarities in the documents.)
MR. GILL was proceeding to cross-examine as to the handwriting of certain other documents—exhibits in the case of a man named Smith, tried in July, 1877. MR. AVORY objected to the witness being cross-examined with a view of raising the question whether the prisoner was the person convicted in 1877 of an offence similar to that charged in the indictment; that was a collateral issue, and should not be inquired into until after the JURY had returned their verdict, lest it should afterwards he said that the prisoner had been improperly convicted. MR. GILL urged tliat the question was directly in issue, and that he was entitled to raise it, as his case on behalf of the prisoner was that the man who was convicted in 1877 was the man who has been committing these frauds, and that the prisoner had been mistaken for that man. He desired to show, by cross-examination, that the writing of the man convicted in 1877 was the same as that of the exhibits in the present case. MR. GURRIN stated that the exhibits in the case of Smith were examined by him some time after he had made his report; there was a reference in his report, produced at the Police-court, to the, exhibits in that case. MR. AVORY objected to the witness being asked whether those exhibits were in the same writing as the lists in the presents case. MR. GILL further contended that upon the question of the value of the witness's opinion he was entitled to have all the documents produced which had been submitted to him. The COMMON-SERJEANT ruled that the question, whether the prisoner was or was not the man convicted in 1877 was not admissible, upon the ground that it related to another and distinct issue, and one calculated to mislead the JURY. If witnesses were called to character. MR. AVORY might cross-examine them as to the prisoner's previous character; or he might choose not to have the issue confused by the introduction of that matter.
Re-examined. The writing is that of a foreigner—it is the Scandinavian type, which would include Norway, as distinguished from the German or the French type, but not far from the German type; it is distinct from the English type, which, as a rule, is after the Italian. (The witness further pointed out the similarities in the documents.)
WILLIAM PARSONS . I am a warder of Her Majesty's Prison, Holloway—I made a special examination of the prisoner about three weeks after he was received in custody—I found a mark on the right side of his throat—I could not describe it as a scar—I also found a mole on the right side of it.
Cross-examined. It is not the mark from a double chin—the examination of prisoners is usual, as a record for future use, so that a man can be afterwards identified—photographs are also taken—I have not photographed
him as my prisoner—I was told to make the special examination seven or eight weeks ago—I did not know I was to come as a witness till a warder spoke to me this morning—I have not been shown a record of a man sentenced to five years' penal servitude, named Smith.
ALBERT ERNEST LAMB . I am a clerk in the Solicitors' Department of the Treasury—I was present when the exhibits in this case were produced at the Treasury for inspection by Mr. Inglis, an expert in handwriting—he attended on behalf of the defendant—on January 8th.
Cross-examined. I was partly cognisant of the conduct of this case—I cannot speak personally of Mr. Button's application for the dates of offences, or of all that went on in the office.
JOHN WATTS (Detective A., Re-examined.) I produce dates of complaints in two cases—one of May 9th, reported on May 10th, 1895, at New Scotland Yard—the other is of April 16th—the offence complained of was on April 13th, 1895—the officer took the report, and referred to another complaint by Miss Minnie Lewis, but it does not give a description of the prisoner—two others complained, but gave no information—they came to the Police-court amongst other witnesses, but failed to identify.
Cross-examined. In two cases the witnesses were sent for in consequence of information the police had possession of, to identify the prisoner—they both gave descriptions.
Evidence for the Defence.
HENRY HERMAN ELLIS . I am one of the firm of J. and H. Ellis, tailors, of Farringdon Street—I have known the prisoner since the end of February or the beginning of March, 1895—he came on a matter of business with a lady—he had a fur coat, and under it a serge suit—his first order for clothes was in March—he told me he would take the suit away as soon as he could pay for it—I had said, "Our terms are cash"—when he took them away he was wearing the same serge suit, a double-breasted reefer—the price of the suit was £3 10s.—he then gave orders for a lot of goods—his serge suit was rather shabby—he bought some white waist-coats the 14th or 15th of last September—then he sent all his wardrobe for me to clean, as he said he was going to survey some mining property in Norway—there were four suits and an extra pair of trousers—there were no white waistcoats—the clothes were very shabby—I have never seen the prisoner wear a white waistcoat, only those I made in September.
Cross-examined. I saw him in November, and we made him several other things—I saw him the end of September—he told me when he returned that he went to Norway in October—I returned him his clothes in September to take with him—I pressed them up—he paid me—the cleaners sent two or three back as not worth cleaning—I saw him again about the end of November, when he gave me a further order—they were four dress vests that he ordered on September 14th—there was no frock-coat sent to be done up—we made him a frock-coat about June or July—it had silk facings—I cannot recollect where I sent it without referring; to my books—in February or March he lived at Buckingham Hotel, Strand.
Re-examined. I had made him a dress suit, and for that I made the
waistcoats—I never made him a white lining to wear inside a black waistcoat.
ANNIE SMITH . I am chambermaid at the Buckingham Hotel, Strand—Beck was there when I went there in, I think, February, 1894—Beck stayed there till last September—I saw his clothes—he had his things washed there—I never saw him with a gold watch—I saw him with a black one, like that produced, and a gold chain—I never saw jewellery in his rooms—up to May or June, 1895, he was rather shabby, when he began to brighten up—after that he had good clothes—I never saw him wear a white waistcoat—I never sent any to the wash—I never saw him wear white spats—he had a black overcoat lined with fur; he wore it a good deal—I looked after his room—I was in it every day—I have never seen elephants' tusks or a mandoline there—I have seen him writing; letters I believe—he wrote very badly and slowly.
Cross-examined. I have been at the hotel two years. (MR. FROEST explained he had not been allowed to see the hotel books to get the dates.) Beck had a bedroom, and the use of the coffee-room and drawing-room—he had no sitting-room of his own—he wrote in his bedroom in the evening as a rule—he was generally out during the day—he never wrote to me—he sent me a note—it was a letter of half-a-dozen words—I had forgotten that—I have not got the letter—it was last August—in the letter he hoped I was enjoying my holiday, and he would be pleased to see me back—he did not go till September—I think he went to Victoria Street—he did not tell me the number—he took a large portmanteau, and a black box—I did not help him pack—I could not help noticing his clothes; they were hanging in the room—there were a good many of them—he had the portmanteau when I went there; the box came later, about June, I think—he had a dark blue overcoat with a velvet collar, and an old frock-coat with silk facings, but he very seldom wore it—he had it all the time he was there—his watch used to lie on his dressing-table in the morning—I believe he had a pearl pin, but I did not much notice—he had a little pin of some kind—it looked like pearl—he wore spats, but they were dark blue or black always—only one pair that I saw—he wore them last winter; I don't know about "always;" he was wearing them when I went there.
Re-examined. I brushed his clothes—I do not know whether his coat had been turned—I heard of his being in custody—several officers have been to see me—about four, I think; two wrote down what I said, one I know did—I think Mr. Froest.
CHARLES GEORGE KISTNER . I am a clerk to Messrs. Jenkins, Baker and Co., solicitors, St. Michael's House, Cornhill—about the middle of January, 1895, Beck came to the office practically every day, sometimes before I got there at ten—he was there sometimes all day—he was introducing a mine, the Hannen's reef—then he went to Ward and Chandler's—he was paid considerable sums of money in respect of the mine—one cheque in September, 1895, was for £282, one in October for £100, and he had 3,500 shares allotted him—his dress was "medium" the early part of the year, but afterwards he was better dressed—I never saw him with a massive gold chain, gold watch, nor pearl pin—he had an oxidised watch—I should say this is the one he was wearing—I did not see a chain, he used to take it out of his ticket pocket—I have seen him
writing—his writing was laboured—the longest time he has been at the office has been from 9.45 a.m., till 7 or 8 p.m.—this was about March—I drafted him a letter which he took away.
Cross-examined. I was told he was a Norwegian—he spoke Spanish—he spoke with a foreign accent—his dress improved towards June or July—he wore a high hat—he had a fur-lined overcoat; I never saw him in any other overcoat—I could not see what he wrote; I never looked at what he wrote—we allowed him to use the office to write his private correspondence—he held the pen in a peculiar way—he wrote slowly—I do not recognise his writing in these letters to Chetwind—he has not written to me—he has never signed documents in my presence—the writing in these documents does not remind me of his—nor does the writing in the book of the Galapagos Report—I could not swear to his writing—I never saw him write back-handed—I saw him about October 3rd—I believe he went to Norway after that—I believe he returned in November—I do not recollect his conversation in November, but I believe he said he had gone from Liverpool—I have not the cheques the prisoner last paid to him.
Re-examined. His business at our office was connected with mines and other business—I remember the September cheque for £282 being cashed across the counter—I went to the bank with him.
SAMUEL ARCHER JONES . I keep the Buckingham Hotel—the prisoner came there in September, 1893—he stayed till September, 1895—the end of 1894, and the beginning of 1895 he was shabbily dressed—he left to go to Victoria Street—his clothes were better the last month or two; I never saw him with any jewellery nor wearing white spats—no jewellery, elephants' tusks, mandolines, ostrich feathers, or anything of the kind were ever brought there.
Cross-examined. I do not know if he had a watch—we have about forty guests at the hotel—I noticed the prisoner's dress because I lent him a sovereign or two—I got it back—he was rather shabby up to April or May, 1895—after that he seemed to be in better circumstances—he dressed better, but nothing out of the way—he had a good coat with fur on it—I saw him wear that I do not recollect seeing a pearl pin.
MAJOR HANS RADOLPH SOFAS LINDHOLM . I have arrived today from Copenhagen, which I left two days ago—I live at Bred Garland—I am a Gentleman of the Chamber of the King of Denmark—I knew Beck several years at Lima in 1880—I left Denmark for Valparaiso about May, 1880 (This evidence was objected to as not relevant.) I first knew Beck in June or July, 1880, and from then to 1883 or 1884—he was a good friend and ah honourable man.
COLONEL HARRIS. Beck is no friend or acquaintance of mine—I have been brought here on subpoena—I knew him in Peru from 1875 up to 1882—I have seen him with the very best class of people.
Cross-examined. I do not think he could write two lines in English—he may have learned since—I knew he was a Norwegian—I do not think he could understand what English he did write—he spoke English very well, and Spanish remarkably well—I last saw him about five months ago in Bread Street—I had seen him twice previously; I had no business with him—I met him casually in the streets.
Re-examined. From 1875 to 1882 I used to see him in the carriers and
in the streets of Lima sometimes, and used to say "Good-day"—as one has to be careful with whom they converse in a country like that—I do not think he can write a line in English now.
Cross-examined. I knew him in London in 1894—I did not know his residence—I have seen him in the street on several occasions.
GUILTY .—MR. GILL applied that other indictments against the prisoner upon the file of the COURT should now be tried, or that a verdict of Not Guilty should be taken upon them; as there was no authority for leaving indictments untried upon the files of the COURT against the will of the person who was prepared to answer them. MR. AVORY asked the COURT to sentence the prisoner upon the indictment on which he had been convicted and to let the others be adjourned to next Session, in order that the Attorney-General might be applied to to enter a nolle prosequi upon them. The COMMON SERJEANT stated that he should not depart from a well-established practice, and that the other indictments should stand over till next Session, in order that the Public Prosecutor might consider what steps should be taken.
Four Years on the Fifth Count (charging the obtaining from Mrs. Townsend); Three Years on the Tenth Count (charging the obtaining from Madame Meissonier); these sentences to run consecutively. On each of the other Counts Three Years' Penal Servitude; to run concurrently with the previous sentence of Three Years.
Before Mr. Justice Wills.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS and BODKIN Prosecuted. and MR. WARBURTON Defended.
ETHEL PHELPS . I was living at 2, Jedbro' Road, Plaistow, with my father and mother, and six other children; the youngest, Arthur William, was about six months old at the time of his death—I and my two sisters used to live in the back room, and in the other room my mother and three other sisters slept besides me—on the night of February 4th we all went to bed in that way—on the morning of the 5th I got up about half-past seven to get father's breakfast ready—I went down to breakfast, and father came in with my sisters, and had breakfast; mother remained upstairs with Arthur—during breakfast, a little before eight, I went upstairs to ask mother if she would like some tea—I met her dressed, just by her bedroom door—she said, "I am going down into the back garden"—she looked very white, her face was drawn, and her eyes glaring—she went downstairs, and after a minute or two came into the
kitchen, where breakfast was going on—father noticed her condition, and suggested that she should bathe her head, and she did so—after that she came into the kitchen again, and continued holding her head, as if in pain—she took her hair down in a very hurried, excited way—I then heard my little sister Florrie call out from upstairs, and on hearing that mother jumped up and cried out, "The baby, the baby!"—I started to go upstairs to see what was the matter, and mother called out, "No, let Daddie go," and he went, and came down again, and said, "You have done for us all; you have killed our darling baby"—mother then tried to get out of her chair, but I held her—a doctor was sent for, and a police-inspector afterwards came.
Cross-examined. Mother had always been very kind to us—on this morning she looked very wild and excited—she was very fond of the baby; he was continually with her.
LILLIAN PHELPS . I am eleven years old, and live with my father—on the morning of February 5th, about a quarter to eight, I went to my mother's bedroom, and saw my little brother in bed with mother; he was crying—I asked my mother how she felt—she said she felt a little better that morning—after a little while I went down to breakfast.
SARAH PRITCHARD . I am a widow, and live at 124, Plashet Lane, Plaistow—I know the prisoner—on February 3rd I went to a mothers' meeting at the Green Gate National Schoolroom—the prisoner was there—she looked very ill indeed—I asked her what was the matter with her—she said she had not been well for a long time, not really well since baby was born; that would be about August—on the previous Monday evening a Mrs. Banner presided at the meeting at the schoolroom—I was there and also the prisoner, and Mrs. Banner had a paralytic fit in the room; she was taken out in a cab, and died at six that evening—I saw the prisoner on the Monday after—she said, "That was a sad affair, was it not? I really have not been myself since; I have not had her out of my eyes since."
HORACE BENTINCK (Inspector.) At a quarter past nine on the morning of February 5th I went to 2, Jedboro Road, and saw the prisoner in the back kitchen, and then went upstairs to a back room, where I saw a child lying crossways on the bed; it was dressed in a flannel nightgown and napkin, lying open at the back of the neck—I noticed a red mark on the neck—I then returned to the kitchen, and said to the prisoner, "I am going to take you into custody for the death of your little boy by strangling him with a napkin"—she looked at me as if not quite understanding, and then said, "Yes, my brain is gone"—I took her to the station in a cab and sent for the divisional surgeon—I was present before the Magistrate; she there said, "I did it; I did it in a moment of madness."
ALFRED KENNEDY . I am divisional surgeon at Plaistow—on February 5th, about ten, I went to the prisoner's house, and on a bed upstairs I saw the dead body of a baby about six months old—I examined it—I found two distinct bruises in front of the neck, and other bruises, pointing to strangulation.
JOHN JOSEPH GRIFFIN (Surgeon) On February 5th, about half-past eight, I was sent for to Phelps' house, and saw the child lying on the bed—I afterwards made a post-mortem—the cause of death was asphyxia, acute strangulation; this napkin was under the neck, and red marks round
it, as well as some marks of fingers round the throat—it was a very well nourished child, well cared for—I came downstairs and saw the prisoner—she was very excited, walking up and down—I said, "Do you realise what you have done; that you have murdered your child?"—she said, "I want to go upstairs to feed my child"—I put some questions to her; to every one she answered, "I don't know"—I went with the husband and gave information to the police—I have known the prisoner for nearly three years—she came to me on Sunday, February 2nd, and complained of sleeplessness and great depression—I advised her that she was suffering from over-suckling the child, and that she had better have it weaned—she came again on the 4th, still complaining of the same depressed condition, and I repeated my advice to her—I believe she was suffering from insanity at the time she did this.
Cross-examined. I have since ascertained that she had been twice before in an asylum.
GEORGE ORMSDEN . I am medical superintendent at the Essex County Asylum at Brentwood—the prisoner was under my care there from September, 1887, to February, 1888, suffering from acute melancholia, which is a disease of the mind—I learned that she had previously been in an asylum at Stoneleigh, Dartford; Stoneleigh Asylum, I believe, suffering from the tame kind of mental disease, eight or ten years earlier—under my treatment she improved, and was discharged as cured—it is a disease which, under unfavourable circumstances, is likely to recur, such as overtaxing the strength, by nursing a child too long, and from a shock as described.
JOHN JAMES PITCAIRN . I am assistant surgeon at Holloway Prison—the prisoner was admitted there on February 5th, and has been under my observation since—I have formed the opinion that she is insane, suffering from acute melancholia, and not responsible for her actions.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I did it in a moment of madness—I have been ill some time—I felt my head gone, I felt my nerves going."
GUILTY of the act, but being insane at the time.— To be detained during Her Majesty's Pleasure.
Before Mr. Justice Wills.
MR. SUTTOH Prosecuted.
JAMES WILLIAM EVANS . I am a jeweller, and live at 97, High Street, Lewisham—I live there with my mother—I have an assistant during the daytime—on the 31st of June, about a quarter to nine, I shut up my house; my assistant had gone about ten minutes, and I and my mother were alone in the house—I heard a knock at the door; my mother went to the door, and asked who was there—a voice said, "Wanting to speak to Mr. Evans; would not detain him a moment"; upon that I got up and immediately opened the door—three men entered, one, two and three—the
first man was a tall man, taller than the prisoner, the prisoner was the second one, the third was a short man—I could see the faces of all three I had three lights, one incandescent and one ordinary light—I saw their faces distinctly—when all the three had entered they pulled their masks down; before that the short one, the last that entered, pulled the door towards him and bolted it; the tall one, the first that entered, demanded my money and my keys—they pulled the masks down first, they covered their faces entirely; he put a revolver to my head, and demanded 'my keys and my money that intimidated me, of course; I told them that I had not the keys, and I had very little money—the tall man said, "Oh, never mind the keys; we can do without keys"—they pushed me from the shop into the room—directly they did that the same man said to the short one, "Where is the rope?"—when he presented the revolver at my head he said, "I am a Scotchman, and I am a desperate man; I don't wish to be a murderer, but if you make any resistance or the slight alarm, I will shoot you at once"—I did not reply to that—they pushed me into the parlour, and he asked the short man, the third man, for the rope, and the short man produced a rope out of his pocket, out of a piece of paper, and they started to tie me up, the prisoner and the short one; the tall man still kept the revolver at my head—they started tying it round my legs first—while this was going on I made a remark about my mother; they heard her, and one of them said, "Where is the old bitch gone?"—I heard her undoing the back door, and trying to make the people next door hear; I heard her scream "Murder!" and "Police!"—one of the prisoners said, "Go and murder the old bitch if she makes that noise, or makes an alarm"—the short one, who was kneeling down tying my legs, rushed out towards my mother in the back garden; I endeavoured to get to the kitchen and yard; I succeeded in getting to the kitchen; I found the back door open, and they were dragging my mother into the kitchen; I shouted "Murder!" and "Police!" the short man was dragging my mother into the kitchen; he did so, and he knelt upon her, and held a revolver at her head, either the tall man had it or one of the others, I can't say which—I said, "Don't murder my mother"—one of the two said, "Down him, down him"—then they struck me with an instrument, a crowbar, or something; the first blow caught me down the face and nose, the next two caught me on the side of the head—I believe it was the prisoner that struck me, I have every reason to believe it was him—the instrument was not mine, I had never seen it in my house before the men arrived—this instrument (produced) is undoubtedly the one that was used—it was wrapped up as it is now, in a sort of woollen cloth—it stunned me—I managed to struggle into the garden, and I knew no more till the police arrived—during the struggle they took my chain and sovereign purse, containing £3 10s. in gold; the watch remained in my pocket, the swivel broke—I had two watches attached to the chain, which broke and left the watches in my pocket—I should not like to say positively which took it; it was taken in the parlour while they were tying me up; it was either the prisoner or the tall man; the small one was kneeling down at the time, tying my legs—the effect of the struggle and blows was such that I could not speak at all for four days; I was five days in bed—my head is not quite well yet; I suffered a deal of pain.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. The tall man did not present the revolver at me as soon as he entered the shop; he had a stick; I can't say that he struck me with it; I felt it on the legs—it might have been half or three-quarters of an hour after the men left the shop that I heard that one had been arrested; the doctor was then attending to my head; I could hardly tell what time elapsed; I don't know at all; he was quite a stranger; I had never seen him before or since—I saw the two constables; they came in over the back garden; they did not tell me that one man had been arrested—I drove to the station with a policeman; he did not tell me that they had one man at the station; he could not have known; it was a constable that got in over the back wall—at the station I was in the charge-room probably three-quarters of an hour before I saw you—they told me there that someone was arrested, not in my case; they did not tell me what sort of a man it was; they never described him—I did not hear a description given of two other men; they never spoke to me—I did not see the other two witnesses taken to the Police-station—you were not placed among other men; I did not pick you out from others—you did not ask me if you were the man that entered the shop; directly I entered the room I said, "That is one of the men that entered my shop to-night," and you were charged—I did not ask the sergeant to allow you to remain there to-see if you had a mark on you, to make sure that you were the man; nothing of the kind—I did not search my place when I went home that night—the three masks were found by my mother, and the stick that the tall man had; the sergeant found a portion of it and the £2 piece in the garden—the purse had three sovereigns and a half-sovereign in it—ten shillings was picked up by a witness—I have an electric bell at my shop door; it is out of order, and does not ring—I was struck three times—to the best of my belief, it was you who struck me, but I would not absolutely swear to you—I did not say at the station that night that the tall man struck me.
ELIZA EVANS . The prosecutor is my son; I live with him—on January 21st, about a quarter-past nine, a knock came to the door—I went and called my son; he opened the door, and three men entered the house. (Being asked if she saw one of them in Court, she looked round the Court.) I have not my glasses—I went to the Police-court the following day; I saw one of the men there, and identified him (pointing to the prisoner)—that is one of the men; I never looked that way before—the men demanded money and keys, and seized my son; I escaped into the garden and called out, "Murder! thieves!"—one of the men came to me and pulled me off the fence—he held a pistol at my head and said, "Dare you speak one word!"—he pulled me into the kitchen, where I found my son with a rope round him—all the three men wore masks, and next morning I found them behind some things; these are them; I burnt one, and I was going to burn these, when I saw the holes in them—the man only held me tightly; no other blows—the prisoner is one of the three, but not the one that held me.
Cross-examined. When my son opened the door the tall man entered first—he presented a revolver at my son—they made a very bad remark; I escaped; I did not stop when I saw three ruffians come in—I did not see the revolver presented; they pulled down the masks as they were coming in; they came in one behind the other, and the last one stooped
and pulled the door to; the tall man had a stick—I did not see him strike my son with it; I saw him bleeding; I escaped, to save my life—it was a short, broad-built man that fetched me back; he did not strike me, but he held me, and held a pistol at my head—I heard that a man had been arrested very shortly afterwards, and my son went to identify him; I believe I heard it from the police; they did not say what kind of man he was—I did not go to the station that night, I was too ill, being upset; I did not find anything the next day; the officers found all that there was to find—I found these three pieces of rag called masks behind the clock in the back kitchen, where your jemmy lay; the puppy was playing with them, and pulled them from behind the table—I next saw you at the Greenwich Police-station, in the dock—I did not hear the statements of the other witnesses before I swore to you; I was outside the Court, and was called in alone after the others had been heard, and I identified you momently—we have electric bells all over the place; they have got a little out of order, but we have a patent spring.
JOHN FLETCHER . I live at Vulcan Terrace, Brockley—on the night in question, about 9.15, I was in High Street, Lewisham; I heard cries of distress from 97—I was in 99, next door, at the time, in the parlour at the back of the shop; I ran to the back and looked over the fence, and I saw three men standing in the kitchen; the kitchen door was open, I did not stay long enough to notice them; I ran into 99, and told them what I had seen, and I and Mr. Farran ran out at the front door; the back door was shut again, and we went round and tried to get in at the front in High Street; we could not; I then went to fetch police aid—I saw three men come round a few inches from Mr. Evans's door, and turn to the right, towards the High Road, Lee—they were walking; the prisoner started running; I pursued him, as he turned to the left, round the Mews—I saw something in his right hand; I could not say what it was; it was something small in a rag, I think—I cannot describe it; it seemed something in a cloth, that extended from both ends—I could not swear that it was a jemmy; I saw both ends, as he ran—I followed him for about half a mile, calling out, "Stop thief, stop him!"—he could hear me; he did not stop, he ran faster—we were running very fast indeed, as hard as we could go; he was ultimately stopped where the Granville Road adjoins Belmont Road—when I came up he was lying on the ground—very shortly a policeman came up, in about a minute, and he was taken to the station—he had nothing in his hand when I came up to him—I did not see him throw it away; I am quite positive that he is the same man I saw in company with the other two that went in the direction of Lee—I never lost sight of him, only just as he turned the corner—I was one or two yards behind him, close on his heels.
Cross-examined. I could not identify you as being one of the three men I saw in the kitchen—I ran out and rang the bell of the shop-door, and tried the handle of the door—I did not hear the bell ring—then I went to find a policeman, and saw you and the other two—you were about as far from me then as you are now—I saw their faces, as they turned round and looked towards me, slightly when they separated—you went up Belmont Road, round the Mews, up the road; it is a dark road, there is a lamp there; I lost sight of you for half a second as you turned the corner—you were lying in the middle of Belmont Road when I came up
to you—I don't think you were insensible—I did not see another man against the wall at the cornet of the road; that man offered to blow a whistle: he was in a crowd when he blew the whistle—I picked you up, and tried to stand you up—Crisp was there, and others followed very shortly—I followed you to the station—I did not hear anybody say that you fell and stunned yourself; I did not hear the policeman tell any other policeman to go and tell Mr. Evans that he had caught one of the men.
WILLIAM SMITH . I am a greengrocer, of 20, Lewis Grove, Lewisham—on the night of January 21st, about half-past nine, I heard cries of "Murder!"; I ran out of my shop—the back part of 97, High Street is in Lewis Grove—when I ran out I saw a crowd running from the front of the shop round to the back—I heard cries, "There he goes!" as I was trying to help a policeman over the back way, and saw the prisoner and Fletcher, the prisoner was first, and Fletcher after, running towards Belmont Road—I am quite sure the prisoner is the man—I gave chase, too—the prisoner turned to the left by the Mews; I followed him through the Mews into Granville Road; I did not see him stopped—I lost sight of him at the corner of the Mews—I saw him as he was passing a lamp-post—I did not see him stopped by Crisp and Fletcher; I saw him being held by them—after that I went towards where I thought I heard a sound go as I was running, and I found this jemmy in the gutter in Belmont Road—the prisoner had not passed by that place—I should say he was between eight and ten yards away from it when he was held by Crisp and Fletcher; they dragged him on to the pavement by the iron railings; that would be further away.
By the COURT. I was running after him when I heard the sound of something falling, and I went back towards the sound; at that time the prisoner was lying on the pavement in the Granville Road—while he was lying there on his face he was fumbling, as if he was hiding something in the garden, trying to get his hand inside the railings to hide something—I afterwards went to look for the house, and went to the wrong house.
Cross-examined. I was inside my shop when I first heard the cries—I then went the back way, and saw you and Fletcher—I ran towards Belmont Road; I could see the side faces of the men who were running; I could see you by your coat and hat; you were shorter than Fletcher—when I came up you were lying on the pavement in Granville Road, about two yards from the corner of Belmont Road, the length of one house—I asked them to hold you tight while I went to see what you had thrown away, and when I came back they were still holding you—you were not insensible; I saw no blood—you had not gone so far as where I found the jemmy; it was in the same road that you were caught in, about seven or eight yards off—I did not see anything in your hand—I did not hear anyone say that you had fallen and stunned yourself—I went back and shut up my shop, and saw nothing else till I found the jemmy—I told the constable I had found it, as soon as he came up; a lot of people saw me pick it up; they came up with the policeman.
DANIEL CRISP . I am a hay-binder, of 60, Cold Bath Street, Greenwich—about half-past nine on the evening of January 21st, I was coming down Belmont Road; I heard a cry of "Murder!"—I ran to the corner of Granville Road to see what was the matter—I saw the prisoner running up Granville Road: I ran across, caught hold of his legs and tripped him
up over my back—Smith came up shortly afterwards, and then a constable took him to the station—I held him against some rails—I cannot tell the number of the house, but it was the third house going down Granville Road.
Cross-examined. When I first heard the cry I was standing at the top of Granville Road, and I caught hold of you as you turned out of Granville Road into Belmont Road—I did not see another man standing against the wall; a man blew a whistle after we held you—that man did not say that you fell and stunned yourself—you did not say, "I can't get up"—others came up in about a minute—it is a dark place, I could see, because there are two lamps opposite each other—I know Granville Mews; there is only one turning in it—I never lost sight of you—the constable came up in three or four minutes—I and Fletcher had hold of you—you had run very sharply—Fletcher and I dragged you into Belmont Road.
JOHN WARMAN (13 R). I was on duty at 9.30 in Belmont Road; I saw a man pursued—I afterwards heard a whistle from Granville Road—I went there, and found two men holding the prisoner down—I took him to the station; he was afterwards identified by Mr. Evans, and by Mrs. Evans at the Police-court—at the station I found on him this table knife and candle—he was charged with breaking into the house, and violently assaulting Mr. Evans, and stealing certain articles—he made no answer.
Cross-examined. You were about twelve yards from the top of Granville Road when I came up—you were not insensible; I raised your head; your hand was slightly grazed—on the way to the station we met some officers, and sent them to Mr. Evans' shop—I did not hear anyone say that you had fallen and stunned yourself—when you were lying on the ground somebody said you were pretending to be drunk.
GEORGE SMITH . I live at 24, Lewis Grove, Lewisham—on Saturday, the day after this robbery, I was in Granville Road, and found this sovereign-purse and chain under a bush in the gardens on the left-hand side going up, past the second and third gardens; they were both in the same place, under a bush—the gardens are not divided by a fence, only a bush, where I found this—there was nothing in the purse; I found a half-sovereign by the side of the purse—I put them in a toy box; they remained there a week—I then showed them to my aunt, and she took them to the Police-station—these are them.
ROBERT WRIGHT (Police Serjeant R). About 9.30 on January 31st, I went to the prisoner's house and examined the back garden and kitchen—I found this £2 piece in the back kitchen, and this piece of chain in the garden—the little boy Smith gave me this half-sovereign, and this little piece of chain with the sovereign-purse attached.
Cross-examined. Mr. Evans did not ask to be allowed to remain at the station till you were searched, to see if you had a mask—an officer asked the question, and I said it was not necessary for him to wait—I made these rough notes of Mr. Evans's statement—Crisp at the station said he saw you running, and threw you out into the roadway on to your head; and that stunned you.
GEORGE PERCY HALBUTT . I am a registered medical practitioner at Brecon House, Catford—on January 31st, I was passing the prosecutor's house in the evening, and went in, and found him suffering from a lacerated wound, about two and a half inches in extent on the upper
right side of the scalp, extending to the bone—it was bleeding profusely—he had also a wound on the bridge of the nose—the wound on the head might have been caused by this jemmy in its case—there was a lot of bleeding; he had about a pint of blood on his clothes—it was a dangerous wound—I attended him afterwards—he lost his voice for about lour days; there was no suppuration locally; if there had been he might have had erysipelas—the loss of speech was probably due to the loss of one of the nerve centres—he is apparently well now, but some other trouble might form later on; there is no knowing.
Cross-examined. The wound was caused by something heavy and blunt; either the jemmy or the oak stick might have caused it—a sufficiently violent blow on the head with this jemmy would kill a man; you could kill a man with a stick just as easily as with that—I could not say which caused this wound—I did not see a stick produced at the station.
MR. EVANS (Re-examined). My assistant found a stick in the house; the tall man had had it; it was an ordinary, very thick, oak stick.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that on this evening he was trying to get into a stable in Granville Mews when some people ran into the Mews, and thinking they were after him he ran up Granville Road, and then, in turning the corner too sharp, he fell and stunned himself, and was held down by the two witnesses who came up; and that he cut his hand, trying to get through a broken window.
MR. WARBURTOK Prosecuted.
MARIE HARRIS . I am the prisoner's wife, and am a teacher of music, living at Langdale Road, Woolwich—I am organist of the Cathedral Church there—the prisoner left me in 1894, and was confined in Banstead Asylum—he came to see me at times—he had not lived with me for nine years previous to his being in the Asylum—he was there in September and October, last year; all these letters and postcards are in his writing, and all contain threats to murder me—I had them all on the 13th of this month, but they were written on different dates—they were delivered to me by the sacristan of St. Peter's Catholic Church—they had been posted at different dates—they frightened me very much; so much that I was afraid to go home in the ordinary way—I went in fear of my life, and shall be if he is to be at large.
JOSEPH REEOE . I am sacristan of St. Peter's Church, of which the last witness is the organist—on February 14th the prisoner called on me—I took him into my sitting-room, and he gave me this envelope, containing these letters, to give to his wife—he said, "You remember La Farge, that will be her fate; I'm going to kill her"—he said that twenty times, and over and over again kept repeating like threats—I told him it was a great sin, and that he was doing his best to make himself out a lunatic—he seemed to be sober.
MR. J. J. PITCAIBH (Assistant Medical Officer of Hottoway Prison) was
of opinion that the prisoner was suffering from an attack of recurrent mania, and was decidedly of unsound mind.
The JURY found the prisoner
GUILTY of sending the letter, but being of unsound mind at the time.
Ordered to be detained in a criminal lunatic asylum, till Her Majesty' pleasure be known.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. BIROW Prosecuted, and MR. CAMPBELL Defended, at the request of the COURT.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Recorder.
282. WILLIAM TAPPENDEN PENNALL , Unlawfully obtaining 396 boxes of cheese on credit within four months of his bankruptcy. Thirty other Counts, for obtaining lard, and for obtaining goods on credit by false pretences.
MR. C. MATHEWS Prosecuted, and MR. KENNA Defended.
MR. DONOVAN. I am a clerk in the Bankruptcy Department of the High Court—I produce the file of proceedings—the receiving order was made on September 18th, 1884, on the petitioner's own application, the same day—the statement of affairs was on September 9th, 1894; assets, £3,449 18s. 3d.; liabilities, £22,406 9s. 2d.—on September 29th he was adjudged bankrupt, and Mr. Oscar Bennett was appointed trustee—the public examinations were on November 9th and December 7th, and the private examination on November 26th, at which Mr. John William Dotteridge and others were examined—there was a motion in bankruptcy before Mr. Justice V. Williams, on July 9th and 16th, 1895, with the result that the sale to Dotteridge was set aside—there was an appeal to the Court of Appeal, and Mr. Justice V. Williams' decision was upheld—I have here the defendant's answers on his public examination, as well as an affidavit.
CHARLES HOLLAND . I am manager of the cheese department of Sinclair and Co., provision merchants, John Street, Liverpool—on August 7th, 1894, I ordered from Mr. Travers 396 boxes of cheese, part of which consisted of 86 boxes at 46s. per cwt., value £143 9s. 8d. They were sent to Mr. Pennall on credit the same day, and have not been paid for except by a composition of 1s. 6d. in the pound, after the bankruptcy.
WILLIAM JAMES GRIBDALE . I am salesman to Castle and Lorimer,. provision merchants, of Liverpool—on August 28th I received an order through Pennall for 221 boxes of Canadian cheese at 48s. per cwt.—Pennall owed us some money, and a condition was made that the contract to bind the sale was not to be sent that day—they were sent that day.
GEORGE FREDERICK DURANDER . I am one of the firm of Durander and Worthington, provision merchants, of Liverpool—the prisoner carried on business in Tooley Street as a provision merchant, and was a customer of ours—we received an order from Mr. Travers for 690 buckets of lard
value £378 18s. 9d., on credit—they were not paid for, except 1s. 6d. in the pound composition, after the bankruptcy—I have been in business eleven years next August—it is not in the course of the trade that goods not paid for should be pledged for an advance of money.
Cross-examined. Goods obtained on credit can be sold before they are paid for, either by himself or by an agent—there is no necessity to get rid of surplus stock on arise, but for a fall there is—I have never placed any goods in a provision merchant's hands for sale; it is not customary, but it is sometimes done—I am not aware that the prisoner has done so over a course of years—it is not usual to place goods in the hands of another provision merchant on commission if there is likely to be a fall, because that is done by brokers—I have heard of one instance of it being done between provision merchants.
Re-examined. The order was on December 4th, and the goods were disposed of on December 6th; this was lard, which will not perish for six months—we should not have parted with our goods if we had known what was going to be done with them.
JAMES SMITH GRAHAM . I am salesman to W. P. Sinclair and Co., of Liverpool—on February 4th Mr. Travers ordered five buckets of lard on behalf of the prisoner, who at that time owed us about £1,000, and £249 on another account—we refused Mr. Travers on that day, but he said that a cheque should be sent the next day, and we sent them on that understanding—the cheque was sent, and paid into Messrs. Sinclair's account, and was returned dishonoured—the lard was sold at 45s. per cwt., and aggregated £275—we have received nothing but 1s. 6d. on the estate.
Cross-examined. This is the cheque (produced)—it was paid in at the Bank of Liverpool oil the 6th—it was not presented at the prisoner's bank after the 7th, the day he suspended payment.
ARTHUR TIVERTON ROWSON . I am salesman to Mr. Whitworth, of Liverpool—on September 4th, 1894, I received from Mr. Tracer an order for 500 buckets of lard, value £271 17s. 6d., which were sent by the Great Northern Railway, to different addresses—on September 6th he gave me a further order for 500 buckets, value £281 5s.—they have not been paid for, save by 1s. in the pound dividend.
ALBERT WALTER SYKES . I am salesman to Cohen and Co., provision merchants, Tooley Street—in September, 1894, I bought and sold to the prisoner—the last date I sold to him was April 9th, 1894—on September 3rd, 1894, I received sixty-six boxes of cheese, and on the 6th more boxes—before receiving them I advanced £260 on them, and eventually sold them for £333 0s. lid.—our charges amounted to £13 10s. 4d. at 6d. commission, and there was discount on this item—they have not been paid for.
Cross-examined. I am in the habit of receiving goods to sell from provision merchants on commission—provision merchants sometimes use the services of other persona to dispose of goods—I have had dealings with Pennall for ten years, and have sold a lot of goods for him on commission; the first time was seven, eight, or ten years ago—I sold these, goods on September 10th, after Pennall had suspended payment—when he sent them in he put a limit on them—we were obliged to sell them without going to him for instructions—we did not sell the goods till we knew he was insolvent; as long as we got his limit we could sell—we do
not know whether that limit would show a profit; we had not the slightest idea what he gave for them—I think the limit was 46-47.
Re-examined. We cannot tell whether the goods we sell on commission have been paid for; we expect that they have been paid for, or we should refuse them—we had paid the prisoner in advance, and we paid the balance into the estate.
JOHN CAREY LOVELL . I am a provision merchant, of the firm of Lovell and Christie—on September 5th I spoke to Mr. Clark through the telephone; he was in Pennall's office. (Mr. Clark here stated that he was in Pennall's office, and spoke to the witness through the telephone.) He made me an offer of 49s. for 1,000 boxes of cheese; a price I was not willing to take—I asked what credit Pennall would give; he said, "Two months"; I said, "No"—he said he would refer to Mr. Pennall, which he did, and then said that Mr. Pennall would take the cheese at 60s.—that was keeping cheese; it would not require immediate sale—I said, "I cannot send the delivery orders to-day, I am very busy"—the reply was that it was of no consequence—I gave instructions to Mr. Clark—I was not at business on Thursday, but I learned on Friday that the delivery orders were sent for on Thursday morning—the cheeses were at the railway station—I have beard that the consignment of those cheeses went to Messrs. Dotteridge—I have been in business over forty years—it is not the custom of the trade to deposit unpaid for goods for an advance; if a merchant was known to do such a thing, we should not trust him, and it would destroy his credit entirely—profits are cut very close in the provision trade, it will not stand two profits—the carriage from Liverpool is 25s. per ton on the gross weight; the purchaser has to pay the carriage, the commission, and the discount, but he would get discount allowed if he paid cash.
Cross-examined. I am a member of the Committee of Inspection—I assisted in examining the books—I think, if the prisoner had been depositing goods with provision merchants over a course of years, it would have been known—I have been through the cash account and the bill books—my examination was directed more particularly to the goods purchased by my, firm, and they have been disposed of without profit—I traced the sale of the goods the prisoner had purchased of me, and found that they had been sold without profit—I do not mean that they had gone to Dotteridge; some of them were sold on September 6th, the day after the purchase—I import cheese—I do not know cases where merchants have exported goods which have been purchased on credit; and if they then borrowed money on bills of lading, that would be outside the course of business; these goods were not exported, they were dealt with immediately, to get cash—if he borrowed money on them of his banker, that would be a different case altogether—I am not accustomed to export business, but it is impossible for a man to buy goods and send them abroad at a profit.
Re-examined. These goods were not exported—I do not know the prisoner as an exporter; he buys goods at the wholesale price to sell to retailers at his price—the invoices for the cheese were over £1,500—some of them went to Dotteridge's, without going to the prisoner's place at all, and some were sold on September 6th, and the others immediately after, against acceptances which the prisoner immediately discounted—
the goods were removed by a carman hired by the prisoner—the sale was including delivery free by railway.
SAMUKL GIBSON SINCLAIR . "I am one of the firm of W. C. Sinclair and Co., of Liverpool—I know the Liverpool trade thoroughly—it certainly is not in the ordinary course of the provision trade for the merchant to buy goods without paying for them, and then deposit them for an advance.
Cross-examined. I have never employed another provision merchant to sell goods—I do not think it is frequently done, but I have heard that the prisoner has been in the habit of doing it for years—he might employ a broker and pay a small sum, but not employ a commission agent and pay a commission.
Cross-examined. I know the firm of Cohen, provision merchants and agents—I do nut know that they are in the habit of getting goods from London merchants for sale in this way; I should say it is very exceptional—there is nothing out of the ordinary course of business in depositing goods obtained on credit with a provision agent for sale, but it may be done for financial reasons—I should make a distinction between the custom of the trade and whether the goods have been pail for—assuming that the goods have been obtained on credit, and the period of payment has not expired, and the dealer deposits them with an agent or broker, I should say that it was decidedly irregular; if such a transaction were to transpire it would injure the credit of the person selling the goods.
By the COURT. I would not supply a provision dealer in London with cheese on credit if I knew he was going to deposit it the next day.
ROBERT S. BROWN . I am one of the firm of Brown and Co., of London Bridge, and have been in the trade thirty-nine years—it is not the practice of the trade for a merchant to purchase goods and not pay for them, and deposit them for an advance.
Cross-examined. I daresay the prisoner is a member of the Provision Exchange; members are entitled to sell to persons on the Exchange List, and a great many of them are retailers.
ALEXANDER WARWICK . I am one of the firm of Clark and Sons, of Victoria Street, Bristol—I have been connected with the trade thirteen years—it is not the custom to purchase goods on credit and deposit them against an advance.
Cross-examined. A provision dealer does employ an agent to sell his goods, that is, when he has paid for them.
PEROT CARTER . I was the prisoner's head clerk for some years prior to his bankruptey—Mr. Mostyn dissolved partnership with him in January, 1893, and took out of the business £2,000, which he had brought into it—no balance-sheet was made up when he retired—in August, 1894, trade was very bad, and, of curse, money was; slow in coming in—I had charge of the hooks during the last year—this contract note (Produced) shows chooses bought of Travers and Sinclair, of Liverpool, on August 17th, 1894—I find in this bought journal, entries which) correspond with the entries on this contact note—although the entry appears in the book the prisoner did not pay for them—this contract note of August 28th shows the purchase of cheese from Castle and Lori
man, and turning to the bought book I find entries corresponding to the entries on the contract note—I know nothing of the disposal of those cheeses to Cohen and Co., Limited—I find in the cash book on September 1st that an advance of £250 on those cheeses was made by Cohen and Co.—the account shows a loss, to the prisoner when the cheeses were sold of £25 13s. 1d.—about September 1st the prisoner asked me how we stood at the dissolution of Mr. Martin, and asked me to get out a balance-sheet; I Was engaged on it late every night, and finished it on the evening of the failure, September 6th, about ten p.m.—on September 3rd, 1894, the prisoner went down to Liverpool—I saw him at the office next morning, and asked if he had bought anything in Liverpool; he said, "No; I did not see anything I could make a profit of, so I did not buy anything"; I said, "Since you have been away there has been nothing sold and nothing bought, and I am afraid we shan't be able to go on"—I had told him about a fortnight before the failure that the National Provincial Bank manager would like to see him; he went there, and afterwards told me that he had arranged with the manager to leave a reserve of £1,000 against Drills discounted with them, instead of £800, which had been the arrangement up to that time—on September 4th this telegram was sent: "Handed in at 5 p.m. To Mr. Travers: Buy on best terms spot lard up to 3,000"—that was sent in the prisoner's telegraphic name—spot lard is lard ready for delivery—Travers sent a telegram in reply, and on September 5th, I received these three contract notes—they comprised the 1,610 pails of lard with which you are now concerned—those goods were not paid for—on September 5th or 6th Mr. J. W. Dotteridge came to the prisoner's office and asked if he had any lard to offer—the prisoner said, "What is the quantity? I have 1,500 pails come from Liverpool"—he said, "What do you want for them?"—the prisoner turned to me and said, "Get me the particulars"—I went into the office, and got this very contract—the prisoner gave Mr. Dotteridge the marks and he said, "Why, this is the very lot of lard I have been trying to buy through Travers," and they walked out together—the lard is entered to Mr. Dotteridge on the 6th, but not in my hand—it had not arrived; it was not forwarded for two or three days—I cannot say whether the contract notes arrived on the 5th or the 6th—later on in the afternoon the prisoner said, "I think I shall sell that lard to Dotteridge, the 1,610 pails"—I said, "I don't think I should sell it to Dotteridge if I were you"—he asked why, I said, "If you sell it to Dotteridge he will very like put it contra account"—the prisoner owed Dotteridge £4,000; he said, no I am going to make other arrangements with Mr. Dotteridge—on September 7th the prisoner came to the office and said, "Have you got the balance-sheet made out?" I said, "Yes, I have." he said, "How do I stand?" I said, "You can pay 12s. in the pound"—he expressed surprise, and asked for the balance-sheet—we could only pay 10s. in the pound after we had paid off Dotteridge—he did not look at it in my presence—I told him we had £1,600 to meet that day, and he told me to look in the ledger and see what accounts were due, where we could get any money from—I did so and went to Smithfield, and tried to collect one or two accounts, but did not succeed—I went back between twelve and one, and told him I had not got any money—we were holding a cheque for £700 of Mr. Wears, next door, in the prisoner's
favour—he told me to draw two bills on Dutteridge, one for £400, and one for £360 on account of the lard; I did so and placed them on his desk for his signature, about one o'clock, after I came back from Smithfield—he was not there—I called his attention to them about three o'clock, and he said, "We are going to pull up; he won't be able to meet the cheque that he has given me, and I shall have to pull up, too and picked up the bills and walked out—I saw nothing more of them; they were not signed when I last saw them—on September 6th, 1894, I entered up a sale to Dotteridge £1,510, and to Dotteridge £876 12s. 6d.; and in the sold ledger it is entered up by a clerk named Barrett, who was under my instructions, after the failure, as having been sold to Dotteridge for £876 12s. 6d.; that sum does not, in our books, go in the reduction of the contra account—it is not so entered—I cannot say when the entry was made; I first saw it in the Office—I went to Lovell and Christmas and got the delivery order for the cheese on the 5th or 6th, I cannot swear which; if Mr. Lovell says the 6th, I will accept it—the cheeses were then at the Commercial Road depot—I handed the delivery-order to Harrison, our carman, and endorsed it to Oakley, Son and Co. and pay rebate; the effect of that would be to have the delivery by Oakley and Sons' van, to the prisoner, and they were delivered on September 6th and 7th—they were not all delivered, we gave instructions to the carman to take about 100 boxes to Mr. Dotteridge—Mr. Lovell would have to pay the cartage, because it was included in the freight—that happened because Mr. John Dotteridge, jun., came to the warehouse on September 7th, between twelve and 12.30, and saw our salesman Hawkins, and bought of him 200 boxes of cheese, and asked how many there were in the place—I gave Ransom the full particulars and said, "We have only a few in our place, the others are on the road;" and arranged that when they came we would send them straight to Dotteridge's place—the value of them was £304 9s. 5d.—our books do not prove that that was put down in reduction of the contra account, but at the trial before Mr. Justice Williams I found that Dotteridge had put it to the contra account—he only keeps one ledger; and on one side he puts our price, and on the other what he sells at—the effect of that was to reduce Dotteridge's balance by something over £1,190 18s. 11d.
Cross-examined. At the trial before Mr. Justice Williams the prisoner contended that he was not to place the goods per contra account, but was to pay for them—he said something to the effect that he had taken the bills to get Mr. Dotteridge's acceptance to them—those goods have actually been paid for by Dotteridge—the prisoner was not present when I sold the goods on the 7th—young Dotteridge came in to buy for his father, and the salesman would sell without asking the prisoner; he would simply come to me and ask if he could sell—the prisoner had nothing to do with it, he was not in the place—I have been with him seven years—when he was in partnership with Martin the firm used to deposit goods with provision agents, and get advances—during the twelve years I was with the prisoner, after Martin left, I did nearly all the work, as I did during the partnership; but I did not know all that was going on, yet I knew that goods were being deposited with other persons—goods were deposited with Pelling Stanley for sale—I cannot say with what result on the whole transaction; the goods were left in their hands, and advances obtained on them—goods purchased on credit
were deposited with Baraford Brothers, and the books show a profit in some cases, and a loss in others; it depends on the condition of the market—the prisoner always placed a limit in his own writing—I was the book-keeper, but I was assisted by another clerk—all the prisoner's transactions are properly entered, so as to disclose the true state of every transaction—taking Cohen and Co. a transaction, the books show the way the goods were dealt with and the price at which they were sold—the stock was properly accounted for—the money obtained by way of advance by Cohen and Co. went into the business account, and was applied to the purposes of the business—entries have been made since September 7th in the book—I was in the employ of the trustee—all the original entries by me are in black ink, but about a week after the failure we started using red ink—the prisoner left the business on September 7th, but after that he made an entry, or caused an entry to be made, in the books—in the case which has been referred to the loss is shown by the books—the entry was made by me in green ink a considerab e—time after the failure—the average date when those goods were sold was September 15th, after they were out of our hands altogether—when the prisoner came back from Liverpool on September 3rd he did not purchase anything he told me he had not seen anything on which he could make a profit—I paid in Mr. Weir's cheque on September 7th, in the morning, expecting it to be paid, and when it was dishonoured it came upon the prisoner like a surprise, and he told me he was going to pull up—it was in consequence of Weir that he could not meet his engagements that day—this lard was purchased by the prisoner, and sold to Dotteridge at an increased price—if Dotteridge had paid for them it would have given a profit to the prisoner—the prisoner told me he would make an arrangement with Dotteridge—he told me to get the bills and draw them, and that was the arrangement, that was at 4.15 or 4.30—he said nothing when he went out—the prisoner had been in the habit of owing Dotteridge much larger sums—£5,000, £6,000, and £7,000, as you will find by the books—the prisoner's purchases were very large indeed, right up to the date of the failure; very large amounts were made for goods which had been purchased prior—his turnover was £200,000 a year—he had some goods in a coal store in the West India Docks in keeping, I can only estimate the amount, but I should say about £3,000 worth—they were paid for—they were placed with Boyd on August 20th—they were goods which the prisoner had paid for and was not able to sell, we gave them to Cohen to sell, and they made advances on them.
Re-examined. The New Zealand butter never came into the bands of the trustees; it is a very heavy loss—Boyd's have a place in Tooley Street, and another in Liverpool—the large payments that were made in relation to goods held by the prisoner were under cost, freight, and insurance, the payment for which would be about half and half—there were large purchases in Liverpool—we did a very heavy business during the last six months, including Liverpool—we had at one time bought and sold to Cohey—I do not know that Cohey was asked for credit—I was not managing clerk, I was confidential clerk—I should say that Cohey would not have a very good opinion of the prisoner—the purchases were very large; I cannot say they were larger than usual, but they were very large indeed—he was not successful in his contention, whatever it was—
I was called to give evidence in support of it, and after the learned Judge bad heard me he gave his decision—the prisoner asked me to make out a balance-sheet up to the date when Martin left—I thought things were very bad in August, but never said anything to the prisoner about it, I left him to guess it—I was under the impression that we were going to make a good bit out of the New Zealand butter—if we made a profit it was all right, if we made a loss, so much the worse for my principal—Weir's cheque was £700, we wanted another £900; £1,600 was our liability on that day—we were relying upon two or three odd cheques—we paid the £700 into the bank, and they debited us on the same day, September 7th—if we had got the £700 we should have been able to go on, it was about three o'clock that the prisoner told me he thought the cheque would not be honoured—I know his handwriting, this is it, dated August 25th—I have the letter-book here of August 25th, but this letter was not taken off in the press letter-book; I did not know of its being written. (Letter read: "Mr. Francis, August 25th,—Enclosed is a cheque, value £100, which will keep you together till further arrangement. I cannot understand this credit scare. When October comes I will wash my hands of the whole crew, etc. Don't make too much fuss about the money question. I will send you a wire on Monday, which you can use for advertising purposes. I am keeping level with Weir, he has been hit hard; if put through I shall be all right.—Tours, Pennall."
WALTER BERNARD TRAVERS . I am a broker in the wholesale provision trade of Liverpool—I have acted for the prisoner many years—I have taken orders for him on August 17th and 28th and September 4th—I received the letter just read—I made no inquiry about what was meant by "don't make too much fuss about the money; I will send you a wire on Monday"—I saw the prisoner when he came about September 7th—I received a telegram from him, and bought 1,510 pails.
Cross-examined. I sometimes bought goods for him without stated instructions, and I have deposited them for him with provision dealers for sale, and had them sold, and realised a profit—I have done, that for some years; those were goods that had not been paid for—I placed them in the hands of provision merchants for sale, to realise a profit for him—I recognised this letter when shown it at the 'Police-court—by "When October comes," etc. I understood that he had £4,000 worth of butter, and it would be in the market in September or October; and owing to the fact of the money being looked up he would realise, and be able to pay, and have more money at his disposal—his letter commences: "I enclose cheque for £100"—he owed me a little more, and that was on account—he says: "I am keeping level with Weir, he has been hit hard"—the prisoner was not contemplating bankruptcy then to my knowledge.
Re-examined. I did not know that there was a large consignment of butter all pledged—I have more than once put goods unpaid for into the hands of provision merchants, to sell on the prisoner's account in Liverpool; some of them would not go to him at all; I should deliver them immediately to people in Liverpool, and they would sell them, or I might sell them; it would. depend upon the market; I should do that on a rising market; that would apply only to perishable goods—I don't buy anything else—keeping cheeses, are not perishable goods for six or nine
months, nor is lard—my practice would not apply solely to perishable goods; where a man has over bought they might be in a condition in which he might be justified in doing it—I have frequently invoiced to merchants in London, and placed their goods in the hands of the provision dealers to sell—it is not the custom of the merchant to agree to a sacrifice—you put that question to me at the Police-court; you asked me if it was customary to place foods, which had not been paid for, in the merchant's hands, and I said it did not come within my experience; I know the fact; but I say, if it is customary, it would not interest the man who was advancing the money—it is commonly done by the original seller who has parted with his goods on credit, passing through the medium of another merchant in the same trade; I don't say it is done every day, but it is frequently done; the prisoner has done it largely; I think I could name firms in London and Liverpool who have done it; I will not say on a large scale—there have been a good many failures in Tooley Street in the provision trade, and I know of one case of a pledger; I do not know that the failures are all of pledgers.
By the COURT. If a man has no available, balance at his bankers, it is customary to buy goods on credit and get money on them—if he is the seller, of course he would not give credit—if a man has no balance at his bankers and buys, it is rather a case of "Heads, I win; tails, you lose."
WALTER JAMES WHEELER . I am a clerk in the National Provincial Bank, City office—the prisoner had an account there—I produce an extract from it, between August 28th and November 16th, certified by the manager—on August 30th the balance was £599 20. 3d.—after a conversation between the manager and the defendant, the reserve was increased on September 4th from £800 to £1,000; it was not kept at £1,000, but it should have been—the account was closed by a cheque for Mr. Berry for £63 1s. 5d. on November 9th—on September 7th, the credit balance was £828 11s.; it should have been £1,000—I included a cheque for £697 3s. 5d. on the evening of the 7th; it was paid in in the morning, but we had our doubts about it, and sent it out to be cashed; otherwise it would not have gone out till next day—our balance of £828 was after crediting and debiting him with that cheque.
Cross-examined. So the balance was the same in the evening as in the morning—we have a credit of £800 without Weir's cheque—there is no statement in the certified copy when that cheque was presented; but it must be in the books—we received notice not to pay in cheques—if it was presented on the 6th, it would be paid on the 7th; there would have been sufficient money to pay it, but I do not know whether we should have paid it out of the £800 reserve—we received orders not to pay it, and probably we had not the money there—we should put N.S. or "Orders not to pay"—we might put both—there are three bills which we did not debit the account with, because they went towards the £1,000.
OSCAR BERRY (Re-examined by Mr. Kenna). The books disclose the true state of the affairs, and all the stock is shown, the price it was bought at, and what price has been received—the prisoner's personal
drawings were quite reasonable—there is no reason to suppose anything was drawn out for any other purpose.
GUILTY .— Six Months', without Hoard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
283. WILLIAM BURGESS (29), and JOSEPH HOPE (22), PLEADED GUILTY to stealing two pairs of boxing-gloves of John Johnson Field, also, seventeen screw-top bottles and a sack of Henry Woodpayne; also, twenty-seven curtain hooks and other articles, of James Daly Burgess, having been convicted on November 14th, 1893, in the name of William Curtis . Six other convictions were proved against BURGESS— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
HOPE— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
MR. WALLACE Prosecuted.
WILLIAM BROODEN (Detective L). I took the prisoner in Waterloo Road, on February 11th, about 8.30; and told him it was for robbing a gentleman at a coffee-stall, he said, "I know nothing about it, but I will go with you"—he was placed with seven or eight others, and identified by the coffee-stall keeper, who knew him well.
ALFRED STANLEY MARRIOTT . I am a musical composer of the New Kent Road—about 1.15 a.m., on February 11th, I was at a coffee-stall in the London Road, having a cup of coffee—I was alone—a man asked me to stand him a cup of coffee, which I did—three or four men who were standing round, seized me by my throat, and one of them said "Down him"—was not thrown down, but I was throttled, and £3 in gold, 5s. in, silver, a cuff, a bunch of keys, and some studs, were taken from my pockets—my throat was painful for a week—I went to the station and picked out one man, but I was not certain of him.
HENRY SPICKNELL . I keep a coffee-stall in the London Road—I was there on the morning of February 11th, and the prisoner and three others came up—Marriott was there, he treated one man, who I should know again—the prisoner seized Marriott by the throat, he crushed his throat and threw back his head—I shouted out, and they let go, and all walked away, including the man to whom Marriott had stood a cup of coffee—I have known the prisoner twelve months as a customer—I am quite sure he is the man who seized Marriott—I went to the station and picked him out at once, without any hesitation.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You did not have a cup of coffee when you were standing at my stall—you did not ask me for a light—I did not say, "You should not do that, that is a regular customer of mine"—I shouted, "Police!"
Prisoner's Defence. I am not guilty. I being the only man there who he knew, he says it was me. These men are trying to get it up for me.
—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at this Court on November 14th, 1892, of highway robbery with violence, in the name of Frederick Day , and four other convictions were proved against him.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
The prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, MARCH 23RD, 1896.