CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
SEVENTH SESSION, HELD APRIL 20TH, 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.
SESSIONS VII. TO XII.
STEVENS AND SONS, LIMITED, 119, CHANCERY LANE,
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On the Queen's Commission of
OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
The City of London,
AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY, WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
Held on Monday, April 20th 1896, and following days.
BEFORE the RIGHT HON. SIR WALTER WILKIN , Knt., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir GAINSFORD BRUCE, Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court; Sir JAMES CLARKE LAWRENCE , Bart., 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; GEORGE FAUDEL PHILLIPS, Esq., Lieu-Col. HORATIO DAVID DAVIES , M.P., ALFRED JAMES NEWTON , Esq., Sir JOSEPH COCKFIELD DIMSDALE, Knt., JAMES THOMSON RITCHIE , Esq., WALTER VAUGHAN MORGAN , Esq., WILLIAM PURDIE TRELOAR, Esq., JOHN CHARLES BELL , Esq., GEORGE WYATT TRUSCOTT , Esq., and FREDERICK PRATT ALLISTON, Esq., other of the Aldermen of the said City; and Sir FORREST FULTON, Knt., Q.C., Common Serjeant of the said City; Her, Majesty's Justices of Oyer and Terminer and General Gaol Delivery holden for the said City, and Judges of the Central Criminal Court.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
WILKIN, MAYOR. SEVENTH 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 April 20th, 1896.
Before Mr. Recorder.
334. HARRY LESTER (29) PLEADED GUILTY to feloniously forging and uttering orders for payment of £8 10s., £12 10s., £10 10s., and £4 10s.; also to unlawfully obtaining by false pretences the sum of £7 8s. from Thomas Woolley, and other sums from other persons; also to a conviction in January, 1895.— Three Years' Penal Servitude. And
MR. SMITH. for the Prosecution, offered no evidence, the Prosecutor not appearing.—
NOT GUILTY .
MR. CORSER Prosecuted.
JAMES CHADNEY . I am butler to Howard John Kennard, of 20, Hyde Park Terrace—about 11.30 p.m. on March 24th I locked up the house and the house then being secure, I went to bed—at 1.45 a.m. I was aroused by the scraping of the key, in the lock of the door of my bedroom—I waited a little while, thinking it was the cat scratching; then the door opened, and a light and a man appeared—I halloaed out, "Who are you?"and got out of bed—I saw the back part of a man going down along passage, at the bottom of which he had to scale the wall, and get out of a window ten or twelve feet high—the light had been lies in the kitchen, into which they got—the man had run out of the house—I came back, and gave an alarm—I missed a pair of boots, belonging to Mr. Kennard; I found a pair of my own boots in the kitchen, taken off the hoot trees I found two pairs of strange boots down by the kitchen—
someone had got in from the upper part of the kitchen window, which looks into the garden—they must have got over four or five walls to get there—I concluded one man that got away had no boots on, because he left his own behind, and did not take mine, though he was preparing to do so.
JOHN NEPHAM (179 F). I was on duty on the night of the 24th in the Bayswater Road—about 2 a.m. on the 25th I heard a police whistle, and going in the direction of it, I met the prisoner and another man—the prisoner had no boots or socks on—I crossed the road, and when I got within a few yards they ran away—I chased them for about half a mile, and lost sight of the prisoner—I circulated a description among several officers who assembled at 6 a.m.—that morning I saw the prisoner at the Police-station, and I said I recognised him as the man I had chased that morning—he said, "There is no use denying it; I am the man that broke into No. 20, Hyde Park Terrace."
WEST BROOKS (347 F). On the early morning of March 25th I was on duty in Leinster Square, Paddington—I heard a whistle, and I ran into Gal way Road, where I saw the prisoner running without his boots—I chased him for half a mile, through Gal way Road, Westbourne Grove, Monmouth Road, and Newton Road, without losing sight of him—I came up to him at the corner of Newton Road, where he was stopped by a private individual—I took hold of the prisoner—he said, "Don't hold me so tight; you have copped me fair; I will go quiet with you"—with the assistance of another constable I took him to Paddington Police-station—I had charge of him while inquiry was made and the premises examined, and during that time in the cell passage the prisoner made a statement—before he did so I cautioned him that what he said I should take down and make use of—he said, "You have got me here, and I am about sick of this job, but I shall not turn copper on my pal; I may as well make a clean breast of it"—Wheeler was there at the time.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You said you were sick of it, and you would sooner be in steer (goal), and so would your pal—I wrote it down at the time, and have it in my memorandum book.
HENRY WHEELER (369 F). On March 25th I was on duty in Moscow Road—my attention was attracted to the prisoner, who, I thought, answered the description of one or two men who were wanted for a burglary earlier in the morning—I was going to arrest him, but when he saw me he ran away—I gave chase, and raised an alarm by blowing my I whistle, and Brooks took up the chase, and the prisoner was captured—he had no boots or socks on.
JAMES DOTLE (Sergeant F). At 7 a.m. on March 25th I went to 20, Hyde Park Terrace, and examined the premises—I found entry had been effected in Hyde Park Street, at the rear of No. 15, by clambering over railings and breaking wire netting at the top, crossing the garden at the rear of No. 15, and then getting over the walls of the adjoining premises to the back of 20, and then by pushing open a swinging window that had been left unfastened, and dropping into the kitchen—I saw some boots there—I saw the prisoner at the station at nine o'clock—I said, "These
two pairs of boots have been found in the basement of 20, Hyde Park Terrace"—he said, "Yes, the button ones are mine"—I told him I would fit them on him, and that he would be charged with breaking and entering the premises—one pair of boots was button, and the other lace.
Cross-examined. When I brought the boots I did not say, "Which pair will you have of the two?"
The Prisoner in his defence asserted hit innocence.
GUILTY .**— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. GODWIN Prosecuted, MR. CHARLES MATHEWS Defended Ingledew, and MR. C. F. GILL Defended Sheen.
NOT GUILTY .
339. GEORGE BROWN (64) , PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling-house of Richard Thomas, and stealing boots and other articles; also to a conviction of felony at this Court in April, 1890.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
340. HARRY NEWTON (44) , to forging and uttering an authority for the delivery of thirty-one barrels; also to forging and uttering an authority for the delivery of thirty-three spirit casks; also to two indictments for unlawfully obtaining from the Canon Company thirty-one barrels and thirty-three casks by means of forged authorities.— Three Years' Penal Servitude. The COURT commended the conduct of the police officers in the case. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
NEW COURT.—Monday, April 20th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. PARTRIDGE Prosecuted.
CLARA MAYNER . I am a servant at Mandeville Places—the prisoner was employed at the same hotel; we occupied the same bedroom—I had a box on a chest of drawers, containing coins, some of which were foreign—these are some of them (produced); these were all in the box; there were six medals—one morning, about three months ago, she said that she had taken one of my coins, and passed it for a sovereign—I said that she would get into trouble—I looked in my box on the day she left, and the six medals were miming; she had no authority to take them.
Cross-examined. You did not ask me to lend them to you to have a lark.
THEODORA ATHERLEY . My husband keeps the Mandeville Hotel, Man-deville Place—we entered into possession on February 13th—the prisoner was then in the employment, and we took her on—I had to discharge her on March 18th; she came next day for her money—I gave her a week's money, and she would not take her boxes away; I said that I would pack them myself—she got the box corded, and said that she had six sovereigns in it—I said that I could not uncord it again, and she left with Mr. Boon.
ELLEN BOON . I am the wife of Samuel Boon, of Devonshire Place, Lisson Grove—on the night of March 19th I met the prisoner; I had never seen her before—she walked a little way with me, and I met my husband—on the next day I went with the prisoner to the Mandeville Hotel to fetch her box—she gave my husband a sovereign, but I did not look at it; she said that she had four.
SAMUEL BOON . I am the husband of the last witness—the prisoner slept at my house on the night of March 18th, and on the 19th she asked me if I would let my wife go with her to the Mandeville Hotel and help her pack her things, and she would give her a sovereign—when the box came she took a purse out of it and gave me a sovereign, and asked for a receipt for it—I gave her this receipt. (For £1 for lodging and food). I put the coin in my pocket, went to Mr. Pocock's shop, and bought two pairs of boots, and paid for them with the sovereign the prisoner had given me; he said that it was bad—I went out, saw the prisoner outside, and told her she would have to come to Pocock's shop, because it was a bad coin—the went, and the manager asked her where she got it—she said, "From the Mandeville Hotel"—I asked her to give me a good one; she said she had left them on my mantelpiece—I gave her in charge.
EDWARD MAXWELL . I am manager to Mr. Pocock, a bootmaker, of Edgware Road—On March 19th Booth came in and gave me a coin, and later in the evening the prisoner came and said, "This man says he has given you a coin, and it is not gold"—I said, "Certainly it is not gold," and gave her in charge.
WILLIAM FLITNER (Policeman D.) I was called to Mr. Pocock's shop and Mr. Boon said, in her presence, that she had given him a sovereign; I asked her where she got it—she said, "Clara gave it to me, and at the same time I tried to pass a sovereign which I knew was bad"—she said that voluntarily, when we were standing still in the street, and Mr. and Mrs. Boon and a good many people were round me.
The Prisoner. I never said so.
JONATHAN THOMAS (Police Sergeant). I was on duty in the charge-room, but did not hear the prisoner charged—she sat down on a chair in the charge-room, and then got up, and went to the fire-place with her hand closed—I said, "What have you in your hand?"—she said, "Only a few pence"—I said, "Put them down"—she said, "No; I will see you d—d first," and dropped three Hanoverian medals.
WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . I am inspector of coin to Her Majesty's Mint—these Hanoverian medals were struck at the commencement of Her Majesty's reign—their value is nil—the resemblance to a sovereign is very slight; it represents the separation of Hanover from England, as by the Slavic Law Her Majesty could not reign there—the words on them are "To Hanover"—they are sold as card-counters still in some shops.
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
344. JOHN HARRIS (23) , to stealing a purse and £1 2s. 5d. from the person of Emma Marks, having been convicted in the name of Jack Lewis on April 4th, 1893. Five other convictions were proved against him.— Three Years' Penal Servitude. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
345. WILLIAM CASEY *† (25), to robbery, with violence, with others on Thomas Young, and stealing a watch and chain, his property, Having been convicted on July 22nd, 1895.— Nine Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
346. JOHN DONOVAN (18) , to forging and uttering a notice of withdrawal of 12s. from the Post Office Savings Bank, also to forging and uttering a receipt for 12s., with intent to defraud.— [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] Judgment respited.
347. CHARLES WILLIAM EDWARD BOYD (21) , to stealing a post-letter containing an order for the payment of money, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General.— Nine Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
348. WILLIAM ERNEST MYERS (29) , to stealing, while employed in the Post Office, a letter containing two orders for the payment of money, also a letter containing postal orders, for 7s. 6d. and 2s., the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General He received a good character.— [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] Judgment respited.
349. HORACE ALBERT EDWARD GOODING (21) , to stealing, while employed, in the Post-Office, a letter containing six postage stamps, also a letter containing two orders for the payment of money, the property of Her Majesty's Post-master-General.— Six Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
350. ALFRED JAMES MOLE (23) , to two indictments for stealing, while employed in the Post Office, two post-letters, containing orders for the payment of money, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General,— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
351. ALFRED WILLIAM ROBINSON (24) , to stealing two letters containing orders for money, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster General.— Eight Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
352. JOHN WILLIAM GETTINGS (28) , to two indictments for stealing, while employed in the Post Office, two letters containing postal orders, the property of Her Majesty's Postmaster-General.— Nine Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I am sure you are the person; I picked you out at the Police-court.
EMILY LEWIS . I am the wife of Charles Lewis—on February 8th the prisoner came and asked if I could lend Mrs. Ward, who lives next door but one, sixpence—I said that I had not a sixpence, but I could lend her a half-crown—she said, "I won't take it; I will go and ask first"—I watched her in at Mrs. Ward's gate; and she came back and said Mrs. Ward would be glad of the half-crown if I could spare it—I gave it to
her—I am sure she is the same person—I picked her out from others in the yard at the Police-court.
ALICE TURNSTILL . I live with my sister, Mrs. Ward—on February 28th I answered the door to the prisoner—she wanted to know if Mrs. Ward could give Mrs. Hall next door change for a sovereign—I said, "No;" but I lent her sixpence—my sister did not see her—she came back, and said that the old lady was very much obliged—I did not ask her to obtain the half-crown.
EMMA MARY HALL . I live at 6, Earlswood Road—Mrs. Ward lives on one side of me and Mrs. Lewis on the other—I did not send the prisoner to Mrs. Turnstill to obtain change for a sovereign—she came to me, and wanted me to give change for a sovereign for Mrs. Ward—I did not know her before—she did not bring me a sixpence from Mrs. Ward—I had not got change for a sovereign, or I should hare given it—I am sure she is the same girl.
EMMA POTTER . I am the wife of Charles Potter, a clerk, of 107, Richmond Road, South Tottenham—on February 26th the prisoner came and asked me to change a sovereign for Mrs. Wale, next door—I had not got it, and gave her sixpence—I did not know her.
IDA WALE . I live at 105, Richmond Road, South Tottenham—I did not send the prisoner to Mrs. Potter on February 26th for change for a sovereign—she did not bring me sixpence, but she asked me for sixpence for Mrs. Potter—it is not true that I said that I had not got change; I never saw her.
AGNES FOREMAN . I am the wife of Andrew Foreman, of Upper Clapton, a bank clerk—on February the 28th the prisoner called on me and said she Wanted change for a sovereign, but sixpence would do—I went for Mrs. Bennett, my next-door neighbour, to the back, and sent her into the house—the prisoner said she should be very much obliged if I gave her a shilling, and I did so.
LIZZIE BENNETT . I live next door to the last witness, at 28, Sash Road, Upper Clapton—I did not send the prisoner to her on February 25th for change for a sovereign, nor did I say that a shilling would do; I did not see her at all.
Prisoner's Defence. I was out all that week from nine to six o'clock.
GUILTY .— Her mother stated that the was not right in her head at times, and offered to take charge of her.—One Day's Imprisonment.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, April 21th, 1896.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. DRAKE Prosecuted.
Hounds public-house with Ernest Young—I saw the prisoner and some friends there—the prisoner pinned me behind, and another man took my watch and chain—I called out "Ern, I have lost my watch; I know the man"—I was about to follow him, when I was dragged back and kept there till the man got away—I stated my case to the sergeant, and the prisoner was arrested inside the bar—he said to me, "Did I take your watch?"—I said, "No, but you held me while another man did"—I have no doubt the prisoner is the man that held me.
ERNEST YOUNG . I live at Cranbourn Road, Leyton—on Good Friday evening I went with Highman into the Hare and Hounds—I saw the prisoner there—I did not see him do anything to Highman—High-man called out to me, "Ern, I have lost my watch; come on; I know the man who has got it"—I went towards him; the prisoner and seven others got hold of me and stopped me from going to his help.
WALTER GOODING (Police Sergeant 59 J). On Good Friday I was called to the Hare and Hounds—I saw the prisoner there—he said to the prosecutor, "Do you say I stole your watch?"—he said, "No, but you held me while another man did"—he asked me to arrest the prisoner, which I did, and took him to the station, when he was again charged; and he again said to the prosecutor, "Do you say I stole your watch?" and the prosecutor made the same reply—there were a number of people in the public-house.
Prisoner's Defence. There was such a hustle and bustle there, I did not hold him. I was in the house at the time.
Three Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. COHEN Prosecuted, and MR. ROOTH Defended Bayliss.
ROLAND THORNELL (Detective J). On April 3rd, about half-past ten at night, I was with Detective Tritton in Mare Street, Hackney, and saw the two prisoners, with three others, standing with their backs to an iron railing, seven or eight feet high, flush with the shop, 371, Mare Street—they were rattling at the gate; from the appearance they were trying to force the gate with their backs—they could not see us; we were concealed—there were a number of persons in Mare Street—the five men were all standing in a heap—we heard the gate go open, and then missed the two prisoners; the place was very dark; the other three moved a little way down the street—a few seconds after I heard a bursting noise, like the bursting open of a door—we crossed the road, and as we got on the kerb I saw Bayliss run out from the passage into the street, and he was arrested by Tritton; he was followed very closely by the witness, Money, in his stockings, and as he was dosing the gate he said, "You have burst open my door," and Lewinski then pushed himself behind Money into the street, where I arrested him—Lewinski had on only one India-rubber shoe—I asked what he had done with his boots—he said someone had pinched them at Lee Bridge—one of
his feet was bare—I afterwards examined the iron gate—I found that the lock had been forced open—the lock of the inner door had also been burst open by a jemmy; that door led into the passage of the dwelling-house—we had been watching the men for three-quarters of an hour.
Cross-examined by Lewinski. I saw you come out of the passage; you ran down the passage.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. Mare Street is a busy thoroughfare—there is a public-house right opposite the prosecutor's shop, and a good light from it—I had never seen either of the prisoners before, to my know-ledge—I have made inquiries about Bayliss; he bears a very respectable character—I think I should have been able to identify Bayliss's face even if I had not seen him come out of the passage; there was a good light—my attention was directed to the men, to see what they were going to do—I am positive that I saw Bayliss among the men, and that I saw him come out of the passage—my colleague took him into custody as he came out—he was dressed much rougher than now, and dirty and untidy—he bad boots on and a hat.
RICHARD MONEY . I am a conductor, and live at 371, Mare Street—I occupy the top part of the house—on the night of April 3rd I went to bed at 10.30—about two minutes after I had gone to bed I heard a noise at the street door—I got out of bed, put on my trousers, and looked out of the front-room window, and saw from six to eight men standing round the door—I went downstairs without boots or socks—I opened the street door, and saw someone go out from the street door to the wicket gate, about lour feet—the street door was shut; I pulled the bolt back and opened it, as I thought, but I found it had been broken open—I went to the iron gate, and said to the men standing there, "Has anyone been knocking at the door?"—I was between the street door and the iron gate—I saw Lewinski go out at the gate; he had no business there—he said he had come over for his hat, that someone bad thrown it over—I said be could not have come over a gate seven feet high.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. This (produced) is a photograph of the premises—it is about four feet from the gate to the street door—the street door bad been broken open as well as the gate—I saw Lewinski come oat of the house.
Cross-examined by Lewinski. When you came out of the house you stood there, and I was talking to you when the officer came up and arrested me—I did not say at the station that it was Bayliss that came out of the passage; I said it was you.
ARTHUR TRITTON (Detective J). On April 3rd I was in Mare Street with Thornell—I saw the two prisoners, in company with three others, against the gate of 371, standing with their backs against the gate—suddenly it was forced open, and the two prisoners went in; the other three remained outside—I then heard a bursting sound inside, as though a lock had been forced—I rushed across the road, and Bayliss ran out of the passage into my arms—I arrested him—shortly afterwards, when Money came down, Lewinski ran out from behind him out of the passage—I afterwards examined the door, and found it had been violently forced open—there were marks of a blunt instrument.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. When I first crossed the road the two prisoners had entered the gate—Bayliss was just inside the passage of
the house; he was just on the mat; no further than that—I found nothing on him.
Baylies received a good characters.
MR. COHEN Prosecuted.
HUGH KENNEDY MUIR . I am a clerk, and live in Womersley Road, Crouch End—on March 23rd I was in Artillery Fields; I was met by a youth, who snatched my gold watch chain and ran away—I started in pursuit; I was tripped up from behind by someone, and my elbow was torn; when I got up I saw no one—my chain was worth £2—I could not recognise the person who stole it.
SOLOMON JACOBS . I am a blacksmith, and live at Palmer's Street, Spitalfields—oh March 25th I was in the Fields; I saw the prisoner go up to Mr. Muir and snatch his chain; Mr. Muir was just going to run after him when someone tripped him up from behind, and the prisoner made off with the chain—on April 11th I saw and recognised him at the Police-court—he was then dressed as he is now.
NOT GUILTY .
Lewinski then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction on July 16th 1895, at Worship Street Police-court; several other convictions were proved against him in different names.
LEWINSKI— Fifteen Months' Hard labour. BAYLISS— Discharged on Recognizances.
MESSRS. STEPHEN LYNCH and DRAKE Prosecuted; MR. NOBLE Defended Roche; and MR. SANDS Defended Smith.
FREDERICK KITCHEN (Inspector London and India Docks Joint Police). On April 4th, between two and three, I was in warehouse G at the docks—warehouse F adjoins G, and there is connection between the two—they are near Cuber Street gate, of which Roche was in charge—he had to take passes for all goods leaving the dock, and to search vans leaving the dock—no van is allowed to leave the dock unless the person in charge has a pass for whatever goods are in the van—it is Roche's duty to look in the van, and see if the things in the van correspond with the pass—I saw a four-wheeled covered van coming into the dock through Cuber Street Gate—Sullivan and two other men whom I do not know were in the van—the van stopped opposite F warehouse—one of the men got out, and, after standing in the road for a few moments, he went into the ground-floor of F, and about that time the prisoner Smith came on to the floor where I was in G, and commenced examining some old bark that stood in the corner—he had no business there at that time of day—I left the warehouse and went put of the dock, and waited about the dock gate till about 3.45, when I saw the van coming from Cuber Street gate—the bags were above the van-rail, and anyone could see them as the van approached—I allowed it to proceed some way, and reach the West-end gate, when I took hold of the horse's head—Sullivan immediately threw the reins over the hone's head, and jumped out, and ran away—I pursued and caught him—no
one else was in the van then—I handed him over to a constable and came back to the van, which I took into the dock—I saw in it five pepper bags, marked "X. Y. Z.," in a triangle—I said to Sullivan, "flow do you account for these?"—he said, "I don't know anything about it. I did not drive it out; the other man drove it out I was asked to drive the van by a man I do not know"—I asked him where he was going to take it; he said he did not know—I handed him over to a constable, and went back to Cuber Street gate, where Roche was on duty—I found Smith in Roche's box; he had no business there whatever—I told him I should arrest him for being concerned in stealing five bags of pepper, the property of the Dock Committee—he said, "I know nothing about it; I never stole any pepper"—I said to Roche, "A van has passed out of this gate with five bags of pepper. I have stopped it. Have you a pass for it?"—he said, "No"—I said, "What have you got to say about it?"—he said, "I know nothing about it"—with assistance, they were taken to the police-office—I was relating the circumstance of the case to Superintendent Kale at the Police-station, when Smith said, "There has been a lot of it going on, sir"—Roche was not present; he was in the outer office then—the superintendent said to Smith, "I consider it my duty to caution you that anything you may say will be taken down in writing, and may be used in evidence against you"—Smith said, "I went and delivered the bags of pepper to-day to Garwood's van; Sullivan was one of three men in charge of the van; one of the carman saw me this morning, and asked me about the pepper; I delivered it to the van; I knew it would pass out of the dock, as Roche was in the swim, I spoke to Roche about it this morning; he said it would be all right"—Kale wrote that down; it was read over to and signed by Smith—it was read over to all three prisoners after Smith had signed it; they made no reply—they were then handed over to Police Sergeant Lambert and charged—when the charge was read over to them; they made no reply—I examined Roche's box at the gate, and took possession of all the passes there; I could not find any pass for five bags of pepper.
Cross-examined by MR. NOBLE. The top rail of the van in front where the bags were was five feet nine inches from the roadway—it was a covered van, with curtains at the back flying loose—I saw the bags before the van reached me—I should say a man sitting down in his box could see into the front of the van—the van was loaded 92 yards from Roche's box; it was not his direct duty to notice vans being loaded—if an empty van passed his box, it would be his duty to satisfy himself that it was empty—I don't know what he would do if he thought it was empty—when the van passed out I was over 100 yards from the box—if someone had shouted out "empty"; I should not have heard it—I have been an inspector for several years—some months past we received certain information about Roche and Smith, and in consequence they have since been under observation—there is an off-license beer-house opposite Roche's box—it would be contrary to the rules of the Bock Committee for a foreman to leave the docks while on duty—it was not necessary for Smith to come towards Roche's box if he wanted to get a drink; there is another gate at the other end of the dock; it was just after four when I stopped him, and about 4.30 he would leave off work—Roche has been in the employ about nineteen years—I have heard that previously he was in the Metropolitan
police—I do not know that he was in the Dublin police before that—I noticed the van passing Roche's gate about 3.45—I could not say whether just previously three or four seamen stopped near there waiting to see Roche—it is seven or eight years ago since tolls were taken at that gate;, I do not think that Roche ever did duty there when the toll was taken there—when Roche and Smith were together in the box another dock constable was hard by; a man patrols from that gate to the full length of the road—I can hardly say whether a man, sitting in the box, would have to raise his head at once, to see what was in the van as the front of it passed him; the outside road is about six feet below the road in the dock; the gate is really in a cutting from the main road in the dock to the outside road; therefore, the van would have to come down a hill, and I should say the man sitting in the box would see, as I saw, the bags in the van, because they were above the van rail; the van is only two feet deep—it is five feet nine inches above the ground.
Cross-examined by MR. SANDS. I have said, to the best of my knowledge, everything that was said when I took Smith to Kale—Smith was then in custody—I told Kale that I had arrested him—Kale said nothing to that—nothing was said while Smith was speaking—I asked Smith whether he knew a certain name—that was after I took him to Kale—I did not say a word to him on the way to the office—after I said I should take him, neither I nor he spoke on the way—when I told Kale what he had done Smith said nothing—he made the statement voluntarily—neither I nor Kale asked him to make one—he was told if he made one it would be taken down.
Re-examined. It was no part of the other constable's duty to attend to the Cuber Street gate.
(MR. SANDS stated that Smith would withdraw his plea and PLEAD GUILTY.)
THOMAS SAMUEL NICHOLS . I am a first-class assistant warehouse keeper, employed at the South-West India Bock—it is part of my duty to supervise the work there—I saw these five bags of pepper, marked "X. Y. Z.," in a triangle, at the Police-station—they are the property of the Joint Committee, and had been at the docks since September, 1895—if they had been delivered to any customer I should know in the ordinary course of my duty to whom they had been delivered—they have not been delivered to any person having authority to take them away—about five bags are missing from this particular parcel.
Cross-examined by MR. NOBLE. I supervise the South-West Dock—the gate is open from about 7.30 a.m. to 5.30 p.m.—I was not noticing this gate on the afternoon of April 4th; there were many less vans than usual that day, because it was the day between Good Friday and Easter Monday, and the work was less—we were delivering tea, out not much—I cannot say if the tea was being carted off in vans between three and four—there is a public-house just close by the box—I have not seen beer or liquor brought out from the public-house to the box—if it were done, it would not be a proper thing, but it would not be part of my province to interfere—I do not know that Roche has been nineteen years in the dock service.
handed over to my custody by Inspector Kitchen, at Limehouse Station, and charged—they made no reply—while taking descriptions and marks on their persons in the cell, Smith said (no one else was present then but he and I), "Roche and the likes of him are the cause of this. He led me into this, as he says his money is so little he cannot do on it. He gets the most out of it, and was the first to get me to do it. It has been going on for a long time; a lot is in it besides us; Hancock and Mr. Only, and several others have had any amount of stuff at the docks."
Sullivan's statement before the Magistrate: "I was employed by a man to drive the van; I know nothing about the pepper or how it got into the van."
Sullivan, in his defence, stated that he was employed to drive the stuff; that he did not know where it came from, and that when the van was stopped he ran to the other side of the road to see if lie could see the man who employed him.
ROCHE— NOT GUILTY .
SMITH and SULLIVAN— GUILTY .
359. HARRY SIDNEY HAILE (30) , Sending to Thomas Badcock a letter demanding an outfit with menaces, and without any reasonable or probable cause. Second Count—Uttering the same letter, well knowing its contents.
THOMAS BADCOCK . I am the Master of St. George's Workhouse, Fulham Road—the prisoner became an inmate of that workhouse about three years ago for the first time, and since then he has been in and out of the workhouse—he left on March 31st this year—on April 8th I received this letter—(This was headed Salvation Army, Horseferry Road, Westminster, April 7th, and stated that Badcock had promised, in return for work done for him, to provide Haile with an outfit; that lie had not kept his promise, and that if he did not receive what was promised it would be the worse for Badcock; that he was not trying to blackmail him, but to compel him to keep his part of contract; that if he could not gain his ends in one way lie could in another; that the Fulham Road was a wide place, and the police could not always be about to protect; and that if Badcock did not comply with the request he must expect something to drop in the Fullam Road one evening). During the three years that he was an inmate of my workhouse I had frequent opportunities of observing the prisoner's writing; I believe this letter is in his writing; I have no doubt about it—he was employed in the workhouse in various ways, oakum picking, french polishing, and so on, for the guardians entirely—I never promised him any outfit—I did not owe him anything.
Cross-examined. I have not seen the prisoner write, but he has brought me a paper with his signature—persons in the workhouse have to sign this book for their letters; the prisoner signed that book—the prisoner did no private work for me; I have no furniture in the house; I live in furnished apartments—the prisoner polished six chairs and my dining-table, but they are the guardians' property, and are entered in the book—the prisoner did polishing on my order as the guardians' officer—I can order work to
be done without a special order from the guardians—I did not promise to give the prisoner anything; I made no contract with him about the table and chairs—when the prisoner has wanted certain materials for his work he has brought me vouchers in his writing—I know his writing.
HENRY MCKENNON . I am Labour Master at the Fulham Workhouse—it is part of my duty to deliver letters to paupers in the morning, and before delivering them I have them signed for in this book—I saw the prisoner write these three signatures in this book—I should say that the initials "H. S. H." to this letter are in the prisoner's writing.
Cross-examined. I am not sure as to the body of the letter; I have no doubt as to the signature—I never saw him write anything but his signature.
HENRY PREGNALL . I am Superintendent of Labour at the Fulham Work-house—the prisoner has brought me, on several occasions, vouchers for things he wanted for polishing; it was his duty to write them out—in my opinion this letter is in his writing.
Cross-examined. He would write out the lists and hand them to me—if he could not write, I should write for him—those writings are sent to the shop, and have since been destroyed, I expect.
EDWIN TARREND (Detective B). On April 10th I arrested the prisoner at St. Peter's Chambers, Westminster—I told him he would be charged, on a warrant, with sending a threatening letter, and demanding money, by menaces, to Mr. Badcock, Master of the St. George's Workhouse, on the 8th inst.—he replied, "Yes, that is right"—I took him to the station; he made no reply to the charge.
GUILTY .—The, prisoner had been sentenced in May, 1895, to Six Months' Hard Labour for an assault on the prosecutor,— Three Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, April 21th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MESSRS. THOMPSON and JOHNSON Prosecuted, and MR. GILL Defended.
After the case had commenced the COMMON SERJEANT considered that the libel was a privileged communication, unless malice was proved, which would get rid of the privilege; and the JURY, stating that they thought there was no malice, MR. GILL withdrew the plea of justification.
NOT GUILTY .
HERBERT COLEMAN . I live at Notting Hill—on Good Friday, about four o'clock, I went to the Crystal Palace and returned at one a.m. on Saturday, and missed 17s. 6d. and a suit of clothes, which I found on the landing under a wash hand-stand—I had left them in my box locked, and found it broken—I left my step-father and mother in the house; we only occupy two rooms.
Good Friday, about seven o'clock, I was sitting on the steps and saw the prisoners run out at the door with their coats over their heads—I had not seen them go in—I went upstairs about 9.30, and found the room door open—my step-father and mother were out—I knew the prisoners as men hanging about the court—I did not find them till Easter Monday, and then Yule was drunk.
CHARLES FRYER (Policeman). I took Wilkins; he made no answer to the charge of burglary—the window on the side landing had been forced up; there was no glass in the bottom sash—there were marks on the side work—this piece of a file was afterwards handed to me as found on the landing inside the window, which might have been used to prize it open—this cap (produced) was left in the house—I was afterwards shown the prosecutor's box, which was forced open—this instrument was found beside it, which had, no doubt, been used to force it open.
Cross-examined by Walton. The son of the step father of the other prisoners recognised you by your voice.
FREDERICK CANNON . I live in this house with my wife; these boys are her children—other people live at the top of the house—I went out with my wife about seven o'clock, and shut the door, but did not lock it; we left no one in our rooms—people get in at the front door with a latchkey—when I came home I saw three men rush out; I recognise Wilkins, and I have a strong suspicion of the other two—they had got into the house by getting over a wall at the back, and on to one w.c., and then on to a higher w.c.
MARK YEATMAN (389 X). On April 4th Inspector Price handed Wilkins over to me, who said, "I don't know what you want Yule for; he was not with us; we did not see him for a long time afterwards, when he met us at the cow-shed."
The Prisoners, in their statement before the Magistrate and in their defences, denied knowing anything about the robbery, and stated that they were elsewhere at the time.
Witnesses for the Defence.
By the COURT. That is two or three minutes' walk from Shepperton Street; he was there when I went in; I left at ten o'clock, or a little after, and left him there—I was also with Walton about 2.30, and remained with him till evening—I was there all the afternoon, and went to the Admiral Blake I was playing at pitch and toss till seven, and then went to the Pavilion and back to the Admiral Blake—I was with Walton all the time.
Cross-examined. I have been a friend of the prisoners for four years—I was convicted of larceny in November, 1893.
WILLIAM HOOPER . I am a gas-worker, of Raven Street—on Good Friday I was with Walton from two o'clock till 1.20—we went to a public-house—I was in Marylebone Infirmary—when I left the Admiral Blake I left Walton there; he stayed in all the time.
Cross-examined. I am a companion of the prisoners.
WILKINS** and YULE**— GUILTY .
They then PLEADED GUILTY to previous convictions, WILKINS on October 4th, 1895, and YULE on November 16th, 1893— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour each.
WALTON— NOT GUILTY .
362. GEORGE THOMAS MILLERSHIP (42) PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully obtaining sulphate of quinine, nitrate of silver, and other drugs, by false pretences, from Arnold Baiss and Thomas Farries.— Nine Months' "Hard Labour. And
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, April 22nd, 1896.
Before Mr. Justice Bruce.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
(For other eases tried this day, see Surrey Cases.)
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, April 22nd, 1896.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. ROBINSON Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
ELIZA MITCHELL . On April 1st, at a little after seven o'clock, I was in an omnibus, going to Ludgate Circus—the prisoner was there when I got in, and sat close to me on my right—I pulled my pocket from under me, and my purse was in it then—when I rose to get out at Ludgate Circus, he rose, too—as someone was coming down the steps, I sat down, and he sat down, too—I missed my purse; he was then on my right tide, where my pocket was—I said, "My purse is gone"—he passed me and ran—I followed, and called, "Stop thief!"—he went up Fleet Street, where I lost sight of him—he was brought back two or three minutes afterwards by a constable, and I recognised him and charged him—it was a black purse, and there was a button-hook in it, and some postage stamps and 9s.
Cross-examined. I sat on the right side when I entered—the man was further in than I was; he made room for me between him and a woman in the corner—there were other people in the omnibus—no one but the prisoner and I got out at Ludgate Hill—he was then behind me—when he was brought to me in custody, I said, "You have got the right man," loud enough for him to hear, but he said nothing—I have not the slightest doubt that he is the man who sat next me.
ROBERT BUNYARD . On April 1st, about 7.15, I was' at Ludgate Circus; a King's Cross omnibus pulled up—I was waiting to get in, and stood on one side while the passengers got out—some people got out in front of Mrs. Mitchell, and the prisoner followed just behind her, and hustled her; she said, "There, in that moment he has taken my purse"—I ran after him, and when he had got a hundred yards up Fleet Street, he got behind a 'bus—I was within a yard of him; I never lost sight of him—he started to walk, but was arrested before he had taken three steps—I said in his presence, "There is the man; he has taken a lady's purse"—on the way to the station we met the prosecutrix, who said, "That is the man"—the prisoner turned to the constable, and said that he should make me responsible, and make me pay for it.
Cross-examined. That was not whispered; anyone standing near could hear it—it was said before and after the prosecutrix came up-more than one passenger followed her out; I believe the outside passengers had all alighted—it would not be correct to say that the only person behind her was the man who ran—I am under the impresssion that I did not lose sight of him for an instant from the time he left the omnibus—at the moment he left the omnibus I could see everything that he did—by saying that he hustled her, I mean that he like fell on her—when I started to run, there was a cry of "Stop thief!"—if other persons ran besides me and the prisoner, they must have been behind me.
CHARLES CROSSINGHAM (387 City). On April 1st, about 7.20, I heard a cry of "Stop thief!"and saw the prisoner run across the Circus from the other side of New Bridge Street into Fleet Street—I followed him; he darted behind a bus, on to the footway, and turned back; I put my hand on his shoulder, and said, "Halloa, what is the matter?"—Bunyard said, "That is the man"—we met the prosecutrix, who exclaimed, "You have got the right man"—he was taken to the station—I did not find the purse, only five shillings in silver.
Cross-examined. He did not say to Bunyard that it was a mistake; he said he should hold him responsible—no one called "Stop thief!"when they were running up Fleet Street, but I blew my whistle—I was a little in front of Bunyard—I did not see him, because my attention was attracted to the prisoner, but I take it he was behind me.
Re-examined. A minute or a minute and a-half elapsed from the time I heard the cry of "Stop thief!" till I took him—he could get rid of the purse—the street was full of people leaving business.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction on September 29th, 1887, of a like offence in the name of Alfred Crane; and eight ether convictions were proved against him.— Three Years' Penal Servitude ,
SCHNEIDER and RASSLAGER PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. ABINGER Prosecuted.
19th I went to bed about 10.50, and put two suits of clothes on a chair outside my bedroom door to be brushed—I missed them next morning, also a mackintosh from the sitting-room, and a scarf, latch-key, and umbrella, value altogether about £20—the sitting-room windows were shut when I went to bed.
THOMAS ALBON CREATON . I am landlord of 20, Langham Street—Mr. Anderson is my tenant—on coming down that morning I missed a coat which I had put in the hall the night before, and which I am now wearing—one of the officers gave it to me—I went into the sitting-room, and found one shutter closed and another partly so, and the window un-latched.
CHARLES HARROW (Police-Inspector V). On March 19th I went to Whitfield Street, and in a room on the ground floor I found Bowling and Schneider lying on a bed, dressed and their boots on, covered with this mackintosh coat—Sergeant Barton asked him if he occupied those rooms—he said, "Yes"—on the top of a cupboard we found two suits of clothes tied together in a coat—Schneider awoke, and Dowling was asked who that man was—he said, "I don't know; I brought him in from the club last night"—that is the Whitfield Club, called "The Fleece"—I found this jemmy on a shelf in the cupboard, and said to Dowling, "Where does this come from t"—he said, "I don't know; I have never seen it before"—a woman in the room said, "I found it in the room this morning, and put it in the cupboard"—the front window at 20, Langham Street has an area, is surrounded by a railing, upon which were marks—I went inside, and found indentations at the bottom of the window, and a corresponding mark underneath, and the marks correspond with the jemmy, upon which there was white paint.
Cross-examined by Dowling. I have made inquiries, and find you were at work that night, and you spent a great deal of the night at the club.
By the COURT. I believe bowling was at the club when the burglary was committed—he is the door-porter, and would be there in the night.
GEORGE BUSH (Police Sergeant G). On March 19th, at twelve o'clock, I was watching in Whitfield Street, and saw Rasslager come opposite the house, cross over, knock at the door, and go away again—I took him in custody.
AUGUST ANGERER (Interpreted). I live at 35, Whitfield Street—on March 19th, at 7.30, I was opening my shutters, and saw three men standing by a public-house, conversing together—Rasslager and Dowling are two of them—I do not recognise the other—Dowling is a lodger of mine—at nine o'clock there was a knock at the door—I opened it, and saw a man who asked to see Mr. Dowling—he is one of the prisoners.
Cross-examined by Dowling. You lived in my house six weeks.
JOSEPH SIMMONS (Police Sergeant D). On March 19th I went with Harrow to 35, Whitfield Street, and took Schneider; I did mot take Dowling, but I took him in a cab to Marl borough Street—he said, "This is doing a man a good turn; about a quarter to four, this morning, Schneider came and said he had been turned out of his lodging, and could I give him a doss for the night; I said when my wife turned out he could turn in with me."
Cross-examined by Dowling. I searched the place, but found nothing connected with this job.
Witnesses for Dowling's defence.
JOHN ALLEN . I am a porter, but have been out of employment since last Friday—I acted as porter, with Dowling, at this club, two of us—I have been there five months—on this night Dowling came in about eleven, and stayed till 3.45, when Schneider and another man came—Schneider said he had had a disturbance with his landlord, and did not know where to go—he had a parcel with him, rolled up—he laid it down, and his coat and umbrella—they stayed there till about six o'clock, and went and had a drink, and it was 7.20 when I left him—h was never out of my sight.
Cross-examined. Schneider is a member of the club, I believe—I have let him in—members sometimes bring bundles of clothes in—the club remains open all night—no one took charge of the clothes—my fellow-porter did not in my hearing say, "What are those things?"—I had never seen, Dowling and Schneider together before, only in the bar of the club—they came in about ten minutes to four, and all went out together—the secretary puts down the members' names as they come in—he did not have more than one drink—he ran back, because it is a large wicket, one man cannot handle it—they all three left together, and went across to the public-house, about ten of them.
Cross-examined. I have carried the club on for a few months—the secretary pays the rent—it is not a burglars' club—they do not put a jemmy down on the bar when they drink—it is not a common thing for members of the club to be convicted and sent to prison—it is sometimes called the Fleabit Club—that is a person who has been convicted by the Excise.
Cross-examined. I had the jemmy; I put it under the clothes, on the table—I moved the clothes to the top of the cupboard, and put the jemmy under them—when I asked him if he would give me a night's lodging no one, else was present—I know that my brother burglar called at Whitfield Street to inquire if I was there—I told him to do so—he pasted the night at home; I did not pass the night with him, because he lives with his sister.
By the COURT. I went to the club after the burglary for ten minutes—I did not go with Schneider—I did not take any of the stolen property with me—Schneider told me he was going to take it, and see if he could get anybody to do anything with it—I do not know where he lives—Dowling asked me to come to his place—I knew that his house was the place I was to take the property to—I was there till about 5.45, and then went to a public-house, where I met the other prisoner.
Cross-examined. I did not go to 35, Whitfield Street that night—I did not take charge of the stolen property, because I was living with my sister—I do not know whether Schneider had a lodging.
Dowling's statement before the Magistrate:" What I said to Sergeant Simmons was quite right. I was on the door of the club all night, where I have been two years. I have known Schneider as a member two years. It was my duty to let the members in and out. Schneider said he had been turned out of his lodging, and I said when my wife got up to get the breakfast he could lie down with me. Schneider came again afterwards."
Dowling's Defence. I was at work from nine to six and could not have committed the robbery; as to receiving the goods I did not.
DOWLING— NOT GUILTY .
SCHNEIDER and RAFSLAGER— Three Years each in Penal Servitude. The JURY highly commended the conduct of the police, in which the COURT concurred.
REV. ENBULL THELWALL . I am a clerk in holy orders at Hatcham—on the night of April 2nd I was returning home and went into an urinal—as I came out I was seized by seven or eight men and pulled backwards and robbed of my watch and other articles—they pulled a ring off my finger, which the constable found afterwards—I ran after them but did not catch them—I saw their faces clearly, cod identified the prisoner a week afterwards.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not see you on that night to my knowledge—I, did not see you in a coffee shop—I did not see you between the robbery and seeing you at the station.
By the COURT. He was placed with other men, and one man was very much like him—I have no doubt he was present when I was robbed—they were not all elderly men, except one, who he was placed with.
BERNARD FINNICANE (Police Sergeant T). I had charge of the prisoner; I told him he would be put up for identification, and if he was identified he would be charged with robbing the Rev. Mr. Thelwali—he began to cry, and said he did not do it.
Cross-examined. I did not see you or your companions till I came to the station—you were with four others—I did not see you on Easter Sunday, or in the evening, outside at the back.
By the COURT. The prosecutor gave a description of the men, in con-sequence of which I gave orders for the prisoner to be taken to the station.
Witness for the Defence.
SARAH MOORE . I am the prisoner's mother, and am a laundress—he was helping me and turning my mangle till eleven o'clock that night—he sleeps in the next room to me; he can get out if he chooses—we do not live a great distance from where this happened.
Cross-examined. I first heard of the charge against my son on the 9th; I did not give evidence on the 10th—I was not called, or else I should.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction at the North London Police-court on April 11th, 1892.— Judgment Respited.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday and Thursday, April 22nd and 23rd, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. MUIR Prosecuted, and MR. TURNER Defended.
(The evidence of each witness was read by the shorthand writer to the interpreter, and interpreted in Spanish to the prisoner.)
FREDERICK THOMAS PREDDLE . I am chief clerk in the Direct Spanish Tele-graph Company, Limited, at their office, Winchester House, Old Broad Street—this telegram, C, was handed in at London for transmission to Madrid, on March 26th, at 4.29 p.m. (This was addressed to Maria Sean, Hotel de Roma, Madrid. The translation of it was as follows: "I have arrived safely. To-morrow I shall carry through the business Manuel.") This telegram, K, addressed to Manuel Gomez de Tejada, Hotel Dieudonne, 11, Ryder Street, St. James's, London, came from Madrid, where it was handed in at 3.58. (This consisted of the word "congratulations" only.) This telegram, L, addressed from Messrs. Hambro to Maria Saenz Tejada, Hotel de Roma, Madrid, we received at Old Broad Street, 1.17., on the 26th, and it was forwarded at 1.22 p.m.—the average time taken by a telegram to go from London to Madrid is from twenty to thirty minutes, if the lines are working well—there is a fresh transmission at Bilbao—K was handed in at 8.50., and reached us at 5—our time is fifteen minutes in advance of theirs—this telegram, M, was handed in at Madrid, at 3.50 p.m., on March 26th, and we received it in London at 4.24 p.m. (This, signed "Saenz de Tejada" was translated: "I confirm my letter 21st, as in order. Pay Mr. Gomez what I ask.")
Cross-examined. The telegram, "Congratulations," was handed in at Madrid at the same time as the other telegram from Madrid, replying to Messrs. Hambro—C was handed in by Messrs. Hambro's clerk.
PETER ROENTGKZ . I am hall porter at the Hotel Dieudonne, 11, Ryder Street, St. James'—at 6.10 a.m. on March 26th the prisoner arrived there with a brown hand-bag—I showed him to a bedroom—he went out in the afternoon, and came back after seven—on the afternoon of the day he came he gave me this visiting-card with the name on it, "Manuel Gomez de Tejada"—about six the same evening I handed him a foreign telegram in a brown envelope, longer than an English telegram envelope, but the same colour, addressed to Manuel Gomez de Tejada—I signed this receipt for it—I only delivered that one telegram to him—he stopped at the hotel on the Thursday night, 26th—next morning, after breakfast, he went out between nine and ten—he came back after eleven, and asked me if another telegram had come—I do not understand Spanish; I could not understand him—that was the last time I saw him—he left his bag behind, and I afterwards pointed it out to Inspector Egan.
Cross-examined. A number of foreigners come to our hotel when it is in working order; now it is undergoing repairs—the majority of our customers are foreigners—when the prisoner arrived I asked his name, but he could not understand me—I showed him to the bedroom, and he did not come down till the afternoon; so I watched him to get his name to put in the book, and he then gave me this card—I am perfectly sure he did not give me the name of Delgado when he came—I cannot remember if
he gave me the card the same day or the next morning—he gave me no name when he came; I could not speak with him—I am A Belgian, and speak Belgian, French, and English, but do not understand Spanish—at soon as I received his name I put it down in the book myself, under the dace of the day on which I received it; I wrote it in the book immediately after I received the card from him; I cannot exactly remember when I received the card—any letter or telegram I receive I put in the letter-box—when the prisoner came in after seven, he asked for a telegram or letter; I could understand that, and gave him a telegram; I had his name—I had a telegram addressed to a foreign name, and the prisoner was the only foreigner in the house on that day.
Re-examined. While I was writing the prisoner's name in the visitor's book, he went out, and did not see me write it—he opened the telegram I gave him, and went out—he read it on the doorstep—I did not notise what he did with it afterwards—he did not hand it back to me, as if it were not for him.
GEORGE BROAD . I am A cashier in the employ of Messrs. O. J. Hambro and Son, of 70, Old Broad Street, foreign bankers and merchants—on March 26th the prisoner came in and presented this card, D' (This bors the name Manuel Gomez de Tejada which I read—I held the card out to him, and said in English, "Are you Mr. de Tejada?"—he replied in Spanish, "I do not understand you"—I said in Spanish, "Are you Signor Manuel Gomez de Tejada?"—he said, "Yes"—with the card he handed me an unfastened envelope, containing this letter, B, in Spanish—I looked at the signature, and said, "You come from Signora de Tejada?"—he said, "Yes"—I read the letter. (This was headed, "Cadiz, March 21st, 1896," and was an authority from Maria de lot Angelos Saenz de Tejada to Messrs. Hambro to sell £6,328 Russian Four Per Cento. 1890, which they held for far account' and to deliver the proceeds to the bearer, Manuel Gomez de Tejada.) I said to the prisoner, in Spanish, "You have come for some money on account of Russian bonds sold for Signora de Tajada?"—he said, "Yes"—I took him upstairs, saying, "If you will come upstairs I will introduce you to Mr. Hambro"—I left him upstairs with Mr. Harry Hambro, and the letter and card.
Cross-examined. When I asked him who he was, he did not say he came from Manuel Gomez, I am positive—he simply replied, "Yes, sir"—I did not say, "You come from Manuel Gomez"—I said, "Are you Manuel Gomez?"
HENRY CHARLES THOMAS HAMBRO . I am employed in my uncle's firm, Messrs. C. J. Hambro and Son—on March 26th Mr. Broad brought the prisoner into my private room, and handed me this card, D', and letter., B, which I read—Mr. Heriot, one of the partners, came in soon after-wards—I asked the prisoner, in Spanish, if he spoke English or French—he replied, in Spanish, "No"—I said, in Spanish, "We have heard from Madame de Tejada, and we have sold the bonds this morning; the money is to be at your disposal; how will you take it?"—he said he wanted the bulk in a cheque on Paris, and a little money for his pocket as he had none here—I told Mr. Heriot, who had come into the room, in English (as he does not understand Spanish), what the prisoner said, and showed the prisoner into an inner private room—I then had a conversation with Mr. Heriot, and sent for some of Madame de Tejada's previous
letters, and we compared the signatures with the letter B that the prisoner had brought—we saw that the previous letters were confirmed, and were in order—I then went into the inner room, and said to the prisoner, "You have seen the letter that we wrote to Madame de Tejada on March 16th; I am sorry we have not been able to realize such a good price as we quoted for the Russian bonds; do you remember what the price was?"—the prisoner said, "Yes, 104 to 104 1/2"—I left him, and told Mr. Heriot what had happened—I then brought back the prisoner from the inner private room into the other one, and asked him if he knew anybody in London—he said, "No"—I asked him what he wanted the money for in Paris—he said he believed it was wanted for the purchase of some other bonds—he mentioned the name of the French Rothschild—I suggested that we should pay the money over to somebody in Paris against bonds to be purchased—he said, "That will not suit; I have to take the money to Paris, and there await the lady's instructions"—he said also, "I do not know anybody in Paris; could you give me a letter of introduction to a correspondent of yours there?"—he said, towards the close of the conversation, that the lady was his first cousin—he talked of her as "Maria" nearly the whole time; that is the Spanish way of talking of a lady—he said, "Maria is my first cousin"—I told him that as it was irregular to pay so large a sum of money over the counter, and as he did not know anyone in London, if he did not mind, I would telegraph out to Mad rid, where the lady said she was going, to find out if everything was in order—he replied, "Yes, do telegraph; the lady will answer"—I wished him good-day, and told him to come back the next day, between two and three—the lady lived at Cadiz, but in a letter of March 21st she said she was going to Madrid—I asked him for his London address, and wrote it down from his dictation on the back of this card D, "Hotel Dieu Donne, 11, Ryder Street, St. James's"—he said, "May I send a telegram?"—I got him a form, and he wrote this telegram C, which he left at the office, and asked me to send for him—we paid for it; I think he said he would pay for it the next day—we sent it off about 4.30; we kept it waiting about three hours—before sending that we sent off three telegrams ourselves; this one, L, to Madrid, at 1.22, to Maria Saenz de Tejada, "Received your letter 21; Manuel Gomez de Tejada presented himself here, asking proceeds sale 6,328 Russian; telegraph immediately if in order, to avoid mistakes"—we also sent two telegrams to Cadiz, one to Madame de Tejada, and the other to our banker correspondents—we received replies to those two, from Cadiz, the next day—we received this reply, M, to our telegram to Madrid on the same day, "I confirm my letter 21 as in order; pay Mr. Gomez what I ask.—SAENZ DE TEJADA"—about one o'clock on the 27th, the prisoner called—I said to him, "Good-morning; we have received a telegram from Madrid, and it is all right; if you will come and sit down in the inner room I will attend to your business"—I sent for Mr. Heriot, who shortly afterwards arrived with a detective, and we and Mr. Negrotto, our Spanish correspondent, went to the prisoner—Mr. Heriot said, in English, holding up this letter B, "This is the letter which you brought to our office yesterday"—Negrotto translated that into Spanish, and the prisoner said, "Yes"—Mr. Heriot said, "And it was on the strength of this letter that you demanded the money?"—that was translated, and the prisoner said, "Yes"—Mr. Heriot said, "I have
reason to believe it is a forged document, and I hand you over to the police"—the prisoner said, "I know nothing about it"—he was then taken away by the policeman.
Cross-examined. He asked to be introduced to friends of ours in Paris, as he knew no bankers there—the draft on Paris he asked for would have been dated the same day, the 26th; that is the practice.
ROBERT HERIOT . I am one of the firm of C. J. Hambro and Son, of 70, Old Broad Street—we have a correspondent, Madame de Tejada, in Cadiz, with whom we have had correspondence for some years—I am familiar with her writing, and that of the clerk who writes her letters—she has considerable means—we have funds of hers in our custody—we wrote her this letter of March 2nd; I produce a press copy of it on folio 11 of letter-book 83S96—I received this letter, dated March 10th, purporting to be a reply to our letter of the 2nd, and to be signed by Madame de Tejada—I believed it to be genuine—I have since then examined it more carefully, and I now say that, to the best of my belief, it is a forgery—my firm wrote a letter to Madame de Tejada on March 16th; this is the press copy. (This letter was objected to, as the original, which toot not produced, was not shown to have come to the defendant knowledge.) I re ceived this document Q, dated March 21st, containing the document H, by ordinary course of post—I did not examine them critically, but acted on them in the belief that they were genuine. (G was a letter from Maria de Tejada, stating that the desired the £6,328 Russian 4 per cent. bonds to be realised, and the proceeds handed to Manuel Gomez de Tejada, who would call with her authority; and that she was starting that night for Madrid, where she should stay at the Hotel de Roma. He was an authority to tell the £6,328 Russian bonds, and deliver the proceeds to Manuel Gomez de Tejada.) I have since critically and carefully examined G, and, to the best of my belief, it is a forgery—the letter of March 21st was received by post on the morning of March 26th—these four letters, N1, N2, N3, ana E, bear, to the best of my belief, genuine signatures of Madame de Tejada; we have received them in the ordinary course of business from her—they are dated February 5th, January 4th, January 17th, and March 7th, 1896, respectively—they were acknowledged in due course—I came into the room where the prisoner was on March 26th, and directed Mr. Harry Hambro to put certain questions to him—after he had left, I examined and compared the signatures of letters, and directed what telegrams should be sent to Cadiz and Madrid—in consequence of the replies, I communicated with the police on the morning of the 27th—on the 27th, after I had shown B to the prisoner, and heard what reply he made, I gave him into custody, and then went to Moor Lane Police-station and charged him—the bonds were sold for £6,450 11s. 2d. on the morning of the 26th, in consequence of the letter that we thought to be genuine.
Cross-examined. They were sold at £102—I saw the prisoner write at Moor Lane—I never saw Madame de Tejada write, nor her clerk—I believe this authority is forged—the reason I thought it was wrong was the foolish account the prisoner gave of what he was going to do with the money when he got it; I doubted the reasonableness or probability of any lady having entrusted him to carry out such a mission—I considered what he was going to do with
the money very foolish; that we, who are competent to do financial business should not be trusted to do it, and that a man who could not speak French should be sent to do the business in Paris—I then examined these signatures very carefully, and thought they were forgeries—I do not profess to be an expert in writing, but there is a stiffness in the one writing as compared with the freedom of the other—my business knowledge told me it was an improbable transaction, and directly I heard his account of what he was going to do with the money, the writing attracted my attention.
JOSEPH HECTOR NEGROTTO . I was present at the Moor Lane Police-station when the prisoner was charged—I acted as interpreter between the prisoner and the police, at the request of the police—the inspector told me to put certain questions to the prisoner—I translated them into Spanish, and translated his answers into English—I asked him to give me his name; he told me Manuel Gomez de Tejada was not his name, that his name was Jose Delgado—I asked his age; he said forty—I asked his occupation; he said commission agent—I asked his place of origin; he said Madrid, and gave his address there as 42, Cade de Legenase, and his present address as Hotel Dieudonne, 11, Ryder Street—he said he was a bachelor—I told him he was charged with uttering to us a forged authority, and attempting to obtain £6,400 upon that authority, and I asked him if he had anything to say—he said, "While in Paris I met a Spaniard who, by his accent, I concluded was an Andalusian; I became friendly with him, and he asked me would I do him a favour, to which I consented; he then gave me a card and the authority, of presentation of which, be told me, a certain sum of money would be paid to. me, which sum of money I was to take back to him to Paris, where he would meet me at the Gard du Nord, the northern railway station of Paris"—I understood him to say that when in Paris be stayed at the Hotel Santa Maria; he mentioned the name of the street, but I forget it—it may have been the Rue de Rivoli, I am not certain—he told me the man ought to be arrested in Paris, and I asked him to write (down A description of the man—he did so on this piece of paper, "A." This was translated as follows:—"Manuel Gomez de Tejada—tall, this, black moustache and hair; Spaniard, about thirty-four years old; dressed in a suit of American blue, tall hat, and black overcoat with fur.") My native language is Spanish; I was born in Gibraltar, and am a British subject—the prisoner said he had first met this man at a cafe.
Cross-examined. I distinctly understood the prisoner to say that he had been living at the Hotel Santa Maria, in Paris; he did not mention having come from Madrid—I do not think he said he had come with this man—both the police and the prisoner were speaking to me; there might have been a little confusion—the quickness with which he spoke Spanish would not matter to me—I heard, and distinctly remember, all the prisoner said—I am certain he said he was living at the Hotel Santa Maria, in Paris—he did not say to me that he was with this man Gomez in Paris.
JOHN EGAN (Detective Inspector, City). On March 27th I was present at Moor Lane Station when the prisoner was charged—I found on him a pocket-book containing three Spanish bank-notes for 150 pisettas altogether, less than £5 in English money; a ten-franc piece, about eleven shillings in English money, a second-class return ticket to Paris, dated
25/3/86, and these scraps of paper, I and J—on one of them is written in pencil, "Brichton," and "Le Havre," and on the back in pencil, "Folkestone"—on the other is written in pencil, "70, Old Broad Street"—I afterwards examined the clothes he wore when he was arrested—I could not find on them any document or mark by which his identity or name could be ascertained—Roentgez pointed out to me his room at the Hotel Dieudonne, and his bag—I could not find any document or clothes that would help me to identify him—the bag contained a change of clothing and two shirts—I did not find any telegram or card at the hotel, or in his possession—I saw him write A.
WALTER DEGRAY BIRCH . I have been employed in the Manuscript Department of the British Museum for upwards of thirty-one years—I have made a special study of comparison of handwriting; it is necessary for the discharge of my duties—I have been frequently consulted, and have given evidence in courts of justice on questions of disputed hand-writing—I have examined the letters N1, N2, N3, and E, and the documents F, G, H, and B—the bodies of N1, 2, 3, and E are not in the same writing as the bodies of F, G, H, and B; I think F, G, H, and B are imitations of the others to some extent—N1, 2, 3, and E are all written by the same person, and the signatures are in the same writing; they Were shown to me as genuine—the body was written apparently by a clerk, and the signature is in another hand—the signatures to F, G, H, and B are not in the same hand as the signatures to N1, 2, 3, and E—A, C, and the signature to the receipt on H, are in the same writing, and I say that the A and C are in the same writing as the bodies of F.U.H, and B; I express no opinion as to the writing of the signatures to F, G, and B, as compared with A and C—I think that G is written in the natural hand of the writer. (The witness pointed out similarities in the handwriting of the various documents.)
Cross-examined. I was told that certain documents were genuine, and I was asked to compare and see whether the others were in the same writing—documents had never been put before me like that before—I have often given evidence in these cases before—my evidence has been disputed before—at the Museum I examine more ancient than modern documents, but we have a good deal of modern writing—I have to determine sometimes whether a manuscript is original or not—forgeries are brought in from time to time.
Re-examined. There was the case of Shapira, who forged the Ten Commandments—I did not see Piggott's letters—I have examined with a microscope the ink with which the documents are written—the ink of F, G, B, and H is the same, and the ink of N1, 2, 3 and E is another ink; it is of a browner and greyer tone.
ANGEL GARCIA DE PARADAS . I am a lieutenant in the Spanish Navy—I live at 20, San Miguel, Cadiz—my wife is the daughter of Maria Saenz de Tejada, who lives in No. 18—there is internal communication between 18 and 20—from the 7th or 10th March until 21st March I was seeing Madame de Tejada daily—she is about forty-three—she is rather delicate in health; she has suffered with an internal complaint for ten or twelve years past—she has two country houses; the nearest is one and a-half hour by rail from Cadiz—it is more than a year since she has been at that house—she does not go to it because she does not like it—the other
one is three hours by rail—she has not been there since September last year—she only goes when the doctor advises her to go—she bought that country house because of her state of health—Madrid is twenty-four hours from Cadiz by the mail, and about nineteen hours by the express, which goes on alternate days—there is no train at night from Cadiz to Madrid till 5.45 a.m.—I know the writing and signature of Madame de Tejada, and the writing of her clerk, Don Eduardo Cavaliero Ardit—the bodies of N1, 2, 3 and E are in his writing, and the signatures are those of Madame de Tejada—the bodies of F, G, H and B are not in his writing; the signatures are not in Madame de Tejada's writing—I do not know the writing of this receipt—the clerk generally writes all business letters for Madame de Tejada, and she signs them—they are copied in this letter book which I have brought with me—this is the only business press letter book she kept at this period of time—I find copies in it of N1, 2, 3 and E, on the dates February 4th, 5th and 17th, and March 7th—I cannot find copies of F, G, H or B—I lived at the house with Madame de Tejada all through March; she never went to Madrid during that time—she is known in her family sometimes as Angelos, generally as Maria Angelos—she is never known as Maria Seen, or Saenz—her surname is Saenz de Tejada, never Saenz without de Tejada—I do not know any cousin or relative of hers called Manuel Gomez de Tejada; there is no such person—I do not know the prisoner—Madame de Tejada has a first cousin; he is in the navy—his name is not Manuel Gomez.
PETER ROENTGEZ (Re-examined). I produce the visitors' book of the Hotel Dieudonne—there is an entry in it in my writing, under the date March 26th, of the name the prisoner gave me on the card M. Gomez de Tejada.
Inspector Egan stated that this was one of a series of similar Spanish forgeries uttered in London during the last two years, by which sums of £2,000, £2,200, £1,000, and £400 had been obtained, and attempts made to obtain two other sums; that these crimes had been committed by Spaniards having their head-quarters in Madrid, and by the same plan as that adopted in this case, a foreign agent generally arriving with the letter; and that he was of opinion that there was in existence a conspiracy of foreigners, who obtained large sums of money by means of forgeries.— Ten Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. COHEN Prosecuted.
WILLIAM LONSDALK . I am a bricklayer, living at 39, Smith's Buildings, Spitalfields—about 12.30 on the morning of April 5th I was in Flower and Dean Street, carrying a bag—I met the two prisoners, whom I have known for some time by sight—Oakes, I believe, said, "Have you got your corn in for to-morrow?"—he meant, had I got my food for that day's dinner in a bag—I said, "No, my son; I have something in it better than that"—I had some imitation jewellery in it belonging to my son—Oakes, who had been facing me before that, and whom I saw clearly and distinctly, put his arm round my neck and threw me on my back, and Smith started to rifle my pockets, two of which were torn out—I missed a new Jubilee
florin, which I was saving for my son—when I saw them coming I took it from other money and put it by itself in this pocket—I caught Oakley, and held him tight, and he bit me through the thumb, and he went to Thrale Street, where he was dancing with a crowd round an organ—I have been treated at St. Bartholomew's Hospital for blood-poisoning in conesquence of the bite—not more than five minutes after they committed the assault on me they were in the hands of the police; I picked them out and identified them—from where the assault was committed to the nearest point of Chicksand Street, I should say was 200 yards—I used to go home from there and come back in five minutes.
Cross-examined by Smith. I should say you were coming in a direct line from the Lord Collingwood to where you met me.
JOHN SHAPLAND (460 H). About 12.30 on Sunday morning, April 5th, I was on duty in Brick Lane, near Flower and Dean Street—I heard a shout of "Police!"and went in the direction of Flower and Dean Street, and met Lonsdale, who spoke to me—I went with him to Thrale Street, close by, where he pointed out the prisoners—I took them into custody—they did not say anything when charged—I should say it was 200 yards from the Lord Collingwood to where the prosecutor said he was assaulted—the prisoners said nothing at the station in reply to the charge.
The Prisoners' statements before the Magistrate. Oakes says: "I did not touch the man; I have witnesses to prove where I was." Smith says: "I never saw the man until he charged us."
The Prisoners called
WILLIAM GEARY . I am a carman, of 56, Pennion Street, Brick Lane—on the early morning of April 5th I was conducting a friendly lead at the Lord Collingwood for a man out of employment—I saw the prisoners there—we left at twelve o'clock—I stood speaking to the prisoners for twenty minutes outside, and then bade them "Good-night," and they turned as if they were going to walk in the road—it would not take them more than two or three minutes to walk from there to Flower and Dean Street—I know nothing of them after 12.20 at the latest; I left them with another witness.
HENRY KENRICK . I am a labourer, living at 125, Back Church Lane—the prisoners and I sell papers—I was with them at this friendly lead— we came out of the house at twelve, and stood outside till 12.25, and then crossed the road and went down Finch Road, and Brick Lane, and Thrale Street, and then the prosecutor ran up and charged them—I never left them—I did not go anywhere near Flower and Dean Street; I know nothing about that—I was standing at the corner, and heard the prosecutor say he would charge them—I saw the policeman come and take them away, and then I went home—I went to Worship Street.
Cross-examined. I did not say before the Magistrate that I said good-night to the prisoners at the corner of Thrale Street at 12.30—this is my signature—I and the prisoners were sober—I saw the constable take them—I never lost sight of the prisoners from the time we left the public-house till they were charged—the man ran up, but did not say what he charged the prisoners with—just as I was going to part with them, the man ran up—I had not been to Flower and Dean Street at all.
JOHN SHAPLAND (Re-examined). The prosecutor told me what the prisoners had done, and I said to the prisoners that I should take them for robbing the prosecutor—that was before they were taken to the station—I should not take a man into custody in the street without telling him what it was for—I did not notice Kendrick there when I arrested them—about twenty people were there—I found about fifteenpence on them at the station; no Jubilee coin—about twenty minutes had elapsed between the time of the alleged robbery and their arrest.
GEORGE CRISPIN . I live at 48, Finch Street, Brick Lane—I am a fireman—at 12.25 I saw the prisoners at my gateway, and bade them good-night—I did not see anybody with them—I told them to make haste home—they both said good-night to me as they passed—it would not take very long to go from my place to Flower and Dean Street.
Oakes, in his defence, stated that he stood looking at some girls, when the prosecutor charged him. Smith said he stopped to look at some girls singing, when the prosecutor and the constable came up.
NOT GUILTY .
371. ABRAHAM REMER (28) and ELEANOR FINKELSTEIN (24) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing eighty yards of satin, the goods of John Henry Joseph; Remer also PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony in November, 1895. The Police expressed the belief that Finkelstein had been led into this crime by Remer.
FINKELSTEIN— Judgement Respited.
REMER— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
MR. SANDS, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WHITE Prosecuted.
THOMAS FLAWN (23 K R). About 8.45 p.m. on March 23rd, I took a woman into custody for being drunk, disorderly, and using obscene lan-guage—she went quietly for a little while, and then threw herself down opposite Gale Street, and called out, "Come along, Jack"—I was struck once on the head with a belt, and immediately after I received a wound between two fingers of my left hand, with which I held the woman—I released the woman, and turned to the prisoner, and I was stabbed in the palm of the hand, and three times in the head, through my helmet; three blows penetrated my helmet—I was exhausted from loss of blood—I was attended by the divisional surgeon, and have not since been on duty—the prisoner was not drunk—I knocked him down with my truncheon, but he got up and ran away like a deer—I am sure he is the man; you will see a mark on his left temple where I struck him—he surrendered himself to the police at Arbour Square—I could not say how often he struck at me with the knife; I guarded off a lot of blows—I only remember being struck once with the belt—I came to the conclusion that he was sober from the way he ran away.
hand—as soon as they got to Gale Street the woman threw herself down, and bit Flawn through the trousers, and my little finger—as soon as she called "Come on, Jack," the prisoner came behind, and struck us with his belt—I have no doubt it was the prisoner—the woman got away—Flawn turned to arrest the prisoner; I saw a knife in the prisoner's hand, and at the same time Flawn's hand was bleeding—the prisoner made two stabs at Flawn's head with the knife—Flawn hit the prisoner on the head with his truncheon, and the prisoner ran down Gale street, and I lost sight of him and the woman—when I had given my evidence before the Magistrate, the prisoner said he must have been drunk at the time; that is all I recollect.
PETER LOFTUS . I am a master dairyman, living at 71, Bow Common Lane—on March 23rd, between five and six p.m., I was going through Bow Common Lane, and noticed a crowd—I saw the prisoner run down Furze Street, and then he came back through a lane, and ran after Flawn, who had a woman in custody—I followed—the prisoner began to beat Flawn with a belt—Flawn let the woman go, and the other constable took her, and then Flawn secured the belt—I saw the prisoner lower his head three times, and he had a bright article in his hand—he struck Flawn first with his hand, and then with what looked like a knife—Flawn struck him with his truncheon, and then the prisoner got off the ground and ran away, and the woman got away, too—I lent Flawn my handkerchief to bind no his wounds, and got him some brandy—I saw no indications of drink about the prisoner—I knew him before.
GEORGE CARPENTER (586 K). About 11.45 p.m. on March 31st the prisoner came to Arbour Square Police-station to give himself up—I said I had a warrant for his arrest, and read it to him—he said, "Yes, but I should not have done it had I been sober; I music have been drunk"—I conveyed the prisoner to the Police-court, where he was charged—he said, "I should not think of doing such a thing if I had been sober"—Loftfis was sent for—he knew him.
EDWARD LIGHTBURN (L.R.C.S. and L.R.C.P. Edin.). lam a divisional surgeon at 109, Bow Street?—on March 23rd I examined Flawn, and found him suffering from four punctured wounds, two on the left side of his head and two on the left hand—he lost a great deal of blood—he has been under my care since; I think in about a month he will be quite well, and able to go on duty—the wound on the hand penetrated about two-thirds through the palm—the wounds on the head went through his helmet to the bone—I should think they were caused by a very sharp knife—I have no fear of danger to his life, nor do I think he Kill lose the use of his hand; there was no severance of any great muscles.
GUILTY on the First Count. Warder Cooks stated that the prisoner had" been convicted of wounding and of assault. Flown stated that the prisoner was a rough public-house loafer, who rarely worked, and ill-trader hit wife.— Twenty Months' Hard Labour.
MR. HUGHES Prosecuted and MR. HARBISON Defended Clarke.
of Her Majesty's Indian subjects—I have no particular occupation—on Saturday night, March 21st, I was in a public-house in the City Road, near Hoxton—I had only had a glass of beer—I was just coming out of the private bar, and the prisoners and two or three others were as if barring my exit, and they followed me when I got into the street—I was knocked and thrown to the ground, I think by Clarke, and Tully kicked me, I believe—the prisoners were among the men who surrounded me and threw me down and kicked me—the other men stripped off my coat—they kicked me on the left shoulder, causing considerable pain; it even now pains me; I am not as strong as an Englishman, and the slightest kick will hurt me for a longer time—the other men took my watch-chain, card-case, and between 30s. and 40s.—then they all cleared off—I was unconscious for the time being, and when I came to I was at the Police-station—I next saw the prisoners at the Police-court, and I picked them out.
Cross-examined by Tully. I next saw you at the Police-court, when the police authorities brought you forward.
Cross-examined by MR. HARRISON. I was in the public-house about ten—I had not been in any other public-house—I did not go in that one to drink, but to keep an appointment—I was charged by the police with being drunk and disorderly, because I was smelling of beer—I was not drunk; I was unconscious; I had been knocked against the wall—I cannot say how I got to the station; I believe the police took me there—the knock against the wall and the kick made me unconscious—I complained to someone about my head, I cannot say to whom—I think the doctor must have attended to my head—I had between £3 and £4 when I went out that evening; I paid some money out of that—I don't think the prisoners had more than from £1 to £2—I only paid twopence for drink that evening—no one else paid anything for me—I only had one glass of beer—I charged the prisoners on the Monday—I saw them as they were being brought into the dock, and recognised them—I never appeared before a Court before.
JAMES GRANT (197 G). About 10.30 p.m. on March 21st I was coming up Britannia Street, and I looked round a corner and saw the prosecutor in the centre of four men—Clarke knocked the prosecutor down, and he fell against the wall, and when he was down Tully kicked him—the prisoners held him down while the other two men rifled his pockets—I was about twenty yards off, looking round the corner, at the other side of the street—the prisoners then walked sharply away down Britannia Street, leaving Boy on the pavement—I followed after them sharply, and told 183 G what had occurred—we ran after the prisoners, who, when they saw un running after them, separated—I caught Clarke in a urinal; I had not lost sight of him from the time of the assault till I caught him by the shoulder—he said, "What is the matter? I have just come in here"—I said, "You are quite right, you are the man I want"—I took him back to the prosecutor, who was lying on his back, drunk, at the corner of Kingsland Street—183 G was there with Tully in custody—the prisoners were taken to the station and charged; they made no reply—the prosecutor was charged with being drunk—I told the inspector, who charged him, what had happened to Roy—he was taken before the Magistrate next morning and discharged—I believe he had been drinking
heavily; his breath smelt, and there was the doctor's evidence—I am quite sure Tully kicked Roy—I never lost sight of Clarke.
Cross-examined by MR. HARRISON. I am quite clear Boy was drunk—I was about twenty yards off when I first saw him—there were a few people about, not many; it is a quiet street, as a rule—I have not asked any of those people to come as witnesses; I did not take any of them to identify the prisoners—there was a light about seven yards from where Roy was lying; there were no other lamps near—I was about a yard from Clarke when he entered the urinal; I gained on him every step—I saw the other two pass into a passage, and then turned and arrested him—I did not ask Roy anything; he seemed insensible, and I had enough to do with Clarke—Roy was lying insensible on the pavement—I cautioned Clarke in the usual way, and then he made no reply.
By the COURT. It occurred to me at the moment that Roy's insensibility might have been caused by the violent assault—he recovered in a minute or two—he did not say he was drunk—no one else was in the urinal but Clarke.
ALFRED MOXAM (183 G). On March 21st, between ten and eleven, I met Grant in Britannia Street, nearly at the comer—he pointed out the prisoners, with two other men, crossing the City Road—I ran after them—when they saw we were approaching they separated—Clarke, with the two other men, ran down the City Road, and Tully ran up the City Road—I ran after Tully, and stopped him after going about two hundred yards; I never lost sight of him—I said he would have to come back with me—he said, "All right, I will come, as I know what you want me for"—I took him back to Britannia Street, where I met Grant with Clarke in his custody—we went back to where the prosecutor was lying drunk, with his trousers all open—he complained that he. had been knocked down and robbed—he could not stand very well—I knew he had been assaulted by four men, knocked to the ground and kicked—he smelt of drink—when I stopped Tully he was running away from, me very fast; had I not been a good runner I should not have stopped him.
Cross-examined by Tully. You did not stand aside to let me pass as I came towards you.
Cross-examined by MR. HARRISON. I did not ask the prosecutor whether he had lost anything; he complained before we had time to ask—he said, "I've been knocked down and robbed of my watch and chain and money, and I have also been kicked"—then Grant came up—I could not swear Roy was sober—I have been knocked down and kicked while on the ground.
HEWETT OLIVER . I am a surgeon at 2, Kingsland Road—on the night of March 21st I was called by the police to examine Roy—he was drunk, and suffering from a contusion of the left upper arm and left shoulder—those injuries might have been, caused by a tumble or a kick, or perhaps by a combination of the two—he smelt strongly of drink; any person would do so if they had been drinking just before—he admitted having had a glass or two of beer—he was thick in his speech, talking more or less incoherently, and had an ejected eye, which would be indicative of alcohol—an assault and. kicking when, on the ground might have produced the condition he was in in a native of India, but I do not think that would have caused the thickness of his speech, and, in addition, he said he had.
had a glass or two of beer—I was asked if he was drunk—I was told that he had been thrown against a wall, kicked and robbed—I think he was in such a condition that men would be ready to take advantage of it.
Tully, in his defence, stated that he was walking along, and seeing the constable coming, he stepped aside to let him pass and was arrested.
JAMES GRANT (Re-examined by the COURT). No one else was in the urinal where I arrested Clarke; if there had been I must have seen him—nothing was found on Clarke at the station; but I think 1s. 4d. and a watch-chain were found on Tully; that was not Roy's property—Roy was charged with being drunk, not disorderly.
Tully then PLEADED GUILTY **† to a conviction of felony at this Court in February, 1894, and Clarke* to a conviction of felony in August, 1895, in the name of James Allen. Tully was stated to be a bad fellow, who did no work, and a worse character than Clarke.
TULLY— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. CLARKE— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Thursday, April 23rd, 1896.
Before Mr. Justice Bruce.
MR. FARALLY Prosecuted, and MR. KEMP, Q.C., with MR. ROWSELL Defended.
There was another indictment for gross indecency, upon which no evidence was offered.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HARDY Prosecuted.
FLORENCE ABLEY , I lived with my mother at 8, Travina Street, Gamden Town; I do not live there now; I did live there at the time of this occurrence—I know the prisoner—I was engaged to be married to him; our banns had been published, and we were to be married the next day after this—on March 26th I went to the prisoner's house and stayed there all night; that was in Carnaby Street, at a restaurant—I slept on a couch in the shop—the next morning the prisoner and I went to my mother's' house; I was living there with my mother at that time—we got there about twelve—mother only bad two rooms—we were in the front room, a sitting-room; there are folding-doors between the two rooms—the prisoner went into the room with me—my mother was in the same room for a abort time, then she went down to wash; it was her washing-day—the prisoner and I were left alone—he asked me if he should go and arrange things—I said, "No; we should never be happy together, if we got married, after what he had done to me two months before"—that was the reason I said we should never be happy—my mother pressed me to marry him, and I thought I would sacrifice myself for my family—I had changed my mind long before, and he kept away from me for three weeks, till the night before this—I had never seen him for that three weeks—
on this night I was beginning to wash my hair, and the prisoner attacked me; he pulled me down from behind on to the floor, and tried to cut my throat; I thought it was a razor, but I did not see—I screamed for help; my mother came up and wrenched the knife from his hand—the prisoner went downstairs, I went into a neighbour's kitchen.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I ran away from home; father drove me from home, being so cross with me—you kept me for some months—you did not buy me everything I wanted; you bought me one dress, and after that you asked me if I would go out for you—after that I hated you from that very moment, that was the reason we parted; you asked me to do this wicked thing—you asked me to marry you, but I went; from you, and you followed me wherever I went, and you threatened my life—you were a waiter—I don't want to repeat in front of the Court what I have been doing for a living—I had run away from home about three months before you met me—I got my living then as an actress at the Alhambra, but I was not clever—I lived with a married man for a fortnight; that was when you asked me to do that dreadful thing; I did not meet him till after that—I saw the gentleman at the Oxford, and told him everything, and he said sooner than I should go back to a villain like that, he would keep me himself; and he did for some time—I did not leave him—after he had gone away to Paris you sought my residence, and haunted me wherever I went, and said if you did not have me, no one else should; you would shoot me—you starved me for a fortnight, and sooner than go home I would be starved—I wanted to live a respectable life—on the evening of this occurrence I asked you to come with me to the Princess's Theatre; that was simply because I was in danger of my life, and my family was pressing me—I did not live with another man who went to Australia—on the evening before this I went with you to a public-house—I was having a talk with a couple of my friends—you asked me to come to the restaurant—I stayed there all night, and after breakfast in the morning I came home to my mother—while there I got a letter from my friend; it had nothing to do with the case; he merely said that we should never be anything but friends, as he was about to be married—I told you I did not want to marry you—you tried to get the letter from me; it was on the table, and I pushed you away—I did not fall down with you; you pulled me to the ground viciously; I could not do anything; and the next moment I was having my throat cut—you were cutting away at my throat as hard as you could—if the knife had not been blunt you would have cut my head off—I did not go to a hospital; a doctor attended me—I did not go out in the afternoon to see this man—I did not go out on that Friday, nor to the theatre that night.
EMMA ABLEY . I live at 8, Pretend Street, Camden Town—the lard witness is my daughter—on March 27th, about twelve, she and the prisoner came to my loom upstairs—shortly after I was going down to wash, rejoicing to think they were going to be man and wife that day, when I heard a shriek from my daughter—I rushed upstairs, and the prisoner had got her down on the floor—he seized up a table knife—ho knelt down, threatening her about a letter—he took up the knife and commenced to out her throat—I did not see exactly what he was doing—I did not see where he got the knife from—he said he meant to take his own life, too—he went
to the cupboard to get a knife to cut his own throat—I took the knife from him—it is one of my knives—I flung it under the table—there was only one knife—I was present when the constable cane—I saw him pick up the knife.
Cross-examined. You were talking about making arrangements for the marriage—you asked her to read the whole contents of the letter—I was present when the letter came—you wanted to see it—she objected, and ran to the bedroom, and you ran after her to get the letter—the letter stated that the writer wanted to see her at three o'clock—she said she was going to see him—I said she must not—she said she would not marry you—you were going away; I called you back, because I saw you fretting—I thought your intention was right to the girl—you told me many times that you wished to make a respectable girl of her—I thought it was well for them to be married—I did not hear you say if the knife had been sharp you would have cut her head off—after this had happened she went out, with her throat cut—she was not at home after that for a fortnight—we inquired for her—I tried to find her, but could not—she said she was going to meet her lover, and should not come home again.
FRANCIS JOHN HANNEN, M.D . On March 27th I was sent for to 8, Probed Street—I got there at 1.15 p.m.—I saw the girl Florence there, in a room upstairs, sitting on the side of the bed—I examined her—she had six or seven wounds on her throat—the longest was three inches and a-quarter from point to point, and a sixteenth of an inch in depth in the deepest part—the other wounds were superficial—I was shown this knife; it is blunt—a portion of the blade was bent, as it is now—the wounds might have been caused by this knife—judging from the position of the wounds, I take it that the girl had struggled to free herself—the wounds were on the right side of the neck; they were not all in the same direction—they would not require considerable force—they were of a sawing motion—he could have killed her if he had intended—the wounds were not dangerous.
WALTER SLAY (345 Y) On March 27th I went to 8, Prebend Street, about 1.15—I went to the first floor, and found the prosecutrix there, the mother, and the landlady—I then went upstairs, and found the prisoner—I told him I should take him into custody—I found this knife under the table—he said, "That is the knife I done it with; if it had been sharper I would have cut her head off"—I saw blood on his bands—I was there when the doctor came; the girl was then downstairs.
Prisoner's Defence. I have always been honest and respectable, and worked hard for my living; I spent all my money on this girl. I never intended to hurt her; it was an accident; in the struggle she got hurt; as I was cutting a toothpick she pushed me away, and we got on the ground.
GUILTY of unlawfully toounding, — Six Months' Hard Labour.
MR. O'CONNOR Prosecuted.
prisoner since last July—on the evening of the 2nd of this month, about eight, he came to me, and asked me to go for a walk—as we were going along I said I did not wish to see him so often; he used to come every evening—he asked me if I had been speaking to anybody else—I said "No," but I had, I had been drinking with two other young men—we walked on till we came to Mitford Bridge—I then asked him to tarn back—as we were turning back he showed me a revolver—I took it from him—just then two men were coming past—he told me not to be frightened; it was harmless—I gave it him back—when the people had passed I asked him to give it to me, that I might throw it into the canal—he said he would on one condition, that I should be all night with him—I understood what he meant by that, and I said I would not—we walked on, and he asked me what I intended to do—I said I would not keep company with him, and then he fired—we were standing side by side; I was on his left; he was taller than I—as he raised the revolver it hit any face—I put up my left hand in front of my face, and a bullet went through my hand; I caught it—another shot was fired quickly—three more shots were fired—I ran away—one of the shots grazed my shoulder—then I went home—father bathed my hand, and the bullet dropped from my hand—I was taken to the station, and when the doctor examined me another bullet dropped from my sleeve—that was picked up next morning; and while mother was doing my hair another bullet dropped from my back hair—I don't wish the charge pressed against the prisoner, because it was entirely my fault; I don't with the sentence to be bad; I want to keep company with him now—I told him I did not want to because I thought I should not see him so often.
ARTHUR GOODRAM (245 J). About nine, on April 2nd, I went to 17, Old Windsor Road, and saw the prosecutrix—her left hand was bleeding—she made a complaint, and handed me a bullet—Detective Lee 'has it—I afterwards went to 40, Osborn Road, and saw the prisoner; he was just about leaving the house—I asked him if his name was Peter Preston—he said, "Yes, I have done it"—I told him I should arrest him for shooting his sweetheart—on the way to the station he said his aunt had got the revolver—he went quietly with me—he said he showed it to the prosecutrix at the Mitford, and she cried out, that he told her to take it; she would not, and he put it in his pocket—he was quite sober he said nothing to the charge.
FREDERICK WRIGHT . I am a grocer, of 56, Prince Edward Road, Hackney Wick—about nine o'clock on the 2nd the prisoner came into my shop in a very excited condition—he said, "Mr. Wright, go down and see Sarah, for I have shot her"—he seemed very dazed; I spoke to him; he did not answer; I had known*him before; he had never been in my shop before—I knew Sarah—he was keeping company with the young woman—the place where he shot her is near my place—I heard the reports, but took no heed; I thought they were fireworks.
HANNAH CHILDS . I am the wife of Peter childs, a bootmaker, 40, Of born Road, Hackney Wick—on April 2nd, a few minutes past nine, the prisoner came into my shop in a very excited condition—he lives in my house; he went out again before I could get into the shop; he came back in about five minutes, and went upstairs to his bedroom—in a few minutes
the police came and asked for him; I called him down; he came down, and said he would go quietly—when I afterwards went into the shop I saw this revolver lying on the counter; I had not seen it before I sent for the inspector, and gave it to him; there was also a box of cartridges there, but I did not see that till the inspector came in—the prisoner has been living with me since February.
SAMUEL LEE (Detective J). About half-past nine on the night of the 2nd I went with last witness, and saw Mrs. Childs there—I saw this revolver lying on the counter, and a box of 33 cartridges—the revolver contained four empty cartridges, having the appearance of having been recently discharged—it is a six-chamber pin-fire—I went to the station where the prisoner was detained, and told him I had been to 40, Osborn Road, and found the revolver—he said, "I don't know what made me do it; I pawned my jacket, and bought it in New North Road."
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You were first going to buy a little one, but the cartridges would not fit it—this is the one you took away.
JAMES HENRY TURTLE . I am a medical practitioner, and am a divisional Surgeon of Police—on April 2nd I was called to Victoria Park Station, about 9.40, and found prosecutrix there, suffering from a bullet wound through the side of the left hand; the bullet entered at the palm, and passed through the hand—in the fold of the upper left sleeve there was a hole, and a corresponding hole in the jacket and dress; that wound was high up near the shoulder—there were two wounds just over the muscle covering the shoulder, they were both superficial—on examining the jacket another bullet fell to the floor—this bullet, she told me, was found in her back hair—the bullets are small; if they had struck any vital part they might have been fatal.
Prisoner's Defence: I had no intention of killing her, or doing any harm, I only wished to frighten her.
GUILTY on the Second Count. — Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Thursday, April 23rd, 1896.
Before Mr. Recorder.
378. REGINALD AYLMER PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully publishing a false and defamatory libel of and concerning Henry Hess.—After hearing MR. MATHEWS for the Prosecution, and MR. COCK for the Defendant, the COURT was of opinion that the Defendant had received gross provocation.— Discharged on Recognizances.
379. JAMES CLARK (21) , Feloniously forging and uttering the endorsement to a cheque for £50 14s. 7d., with intent to defraud.— The Prisoner stated in the hearing of the JURY that he was Guilty, upon which they found that verdict. (See next case.)
MR. MUIR Prosecuted, and MR. NOBLE Defended Clark.
CHARLES SMITH (293 City). On March 24th, about 9.45, I was on duty in Farringdon Avenue, and saw the two prisoners enter from Farringdon Street for about ten yards, and return to Farringdon Street again, and stand at the bottom of take Avenue till No. 363 came round his beat, trying the doors—he then returned to Farringdon Street—as he left the Avenue the two prisoners entered and walked up the Avenue forty yards, nearly to where I was standing in the doorway of No. 11—they turned sharp, and went to the warehouse of the Marine Tile Company, No. 23—I distinctly heard the jingling of keys—they then went to No. 21, nearer to me, and again I heard the jingling of keys—they then went to No. 17, where they stopped three, or four minutes—a uniform officer entered the Avenue by Stonecutter Street, and the prisoners put their hands in their pockets and walked towards him, and so to the door where I was standing—I jumped out and seized them, and said, "I am a police constable"—I secured Baxter, handed him over, and chased Clark, who was running—he turned down Ludgate Circus, and came walking back—I caught hold of him, and said, "I want you"—he said, "You have made a mistake"—I took him back to where Pullen was holding Baxter—I found this life-preserver in his trousers pocket, and this piece of wire rolled up in his coat pocket—I searched for a bunch of keys, but could not find one—I saw the officer take this life-preserver from Baxter's pocket—I found no marks on the doorway—they both said, "You have made a mistake"—I said, "lam going to charge you with loitering, with intent to commit felony, and to enter the house by means of false keys"—I took them to the station, and found this key (produced) on Clark; it fits No. 15 and No. 23—the key of No. 23 will not open No. 15, but the false key opens both—I found a key on Baxter, which opened No. 12, and these cards between his shirt and trousers—I asked what he had got them for—he said they were for small theatrical cases—I saw them sign the property-book—Clark refused his address—Baxter said he had no fixed home.
Cross-examined by MR. NOBLE. I charged them with attempting to break and enter the warehouse—I had not seen them enter any house—it is uncommon for one key to fit the two locks, because one is a common lock and the other a patent lever—I did not notice a bruise on Clark's head; he did not complain of his shoulder being in pain, or of having been attacked two or three days before—I never found a life-preserver on a housebreaker before.
By the COURT. I lost sight of Clark for about a second, while I was handing Baxter over to the constable—I am positive he is the man.
JOHN PULLEN (City Policeman). On the night of March 24th I was on the beat in Farringdon Avenue, and saw Smith arrest the prisoners—I was fifteen or sixteen yards off—I searched Baxter, and found this life-preserver in his coat pocket.
THOMAS DOWSE (City Police Sergeant). I was with Smith on April 9th, and in the presence of the prosecutor's mother we examined the locks of No. 15 and 23, Farringdon Avenue, and found that the keys fitted—I took the locks off two days afterwards, and produce them and the original keys—the key found on Clark fits both of them—the genuine key of No. 23 will not fit No. 15, nor will the key of 15 unlock 23 (Trying it,)
it will not go in—the key found on Baxter fits No. 12—this is the lock (produced)—the mother and another woman went with me at the prisoner's request.
Cross-examined. I assumed her to be the mother; I do not know.
JOHN BURN (City Policeman). On Sunday, March 22nd, I was on duty in Oat Lane, which is very quiet on Sunday—at 8.40 a.m. I found this cardboard, to intercept letters in the street door letter-box of No. 3. (This was bent into the form of a, and covered with net-work, so as to be drawn out with the hooked wire if it dropped.) I left it there, and reported to my superior officer—I was present on the Monday morning, and saw letters taken out of the box—they were all caught by the card, and it would be quite easy to put your band in and take them out.
WILLIAM PALMER (City Detective). On Sunday, March 22nd, about 8.15 p.m., I was in Oat Lane, with other officers, and this card was shown me in the letter-box of No. 3—I received instructions and kept watch oh it—I saw the two prisoners enter from the Wood Street end of Oat Lane, and go to No. 3—Baxter stood looking right and left—Clark went to the door of No. 3—Baxter suddenly turned round and spoke to Clark, and they both ran away; I think they must have seen me—I have no doubt about them.
GUILTY .—They then PLEADED GUILTY to previous convictions—Clark at this Court, on September 9th, 1894; and Baxter, on April 8th, 1895, at Marlborough Street. Other convictions were proved against Clark; and when he was arrested in 1894, an officer was so much injured by a blunt instrument, that he had to have an operation performed on his head, and Baxter had severely kicked an officer on a former occasion. CLARK— Seven Years' Penal Servitude. BAXTER— Three Years' Penal Servitude. The COURT and JURY commended the conduct of the police.
OLD COURT.—Friday, Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday, April 24th, 25th, 27th, and 29th, 1896.
(For the case of John Par slow, tried before Mr. Justice Bruce on these days, see Surrey Cases.)
NEW COURT.—Friday, April 24th, 1896.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MESSRS. GRAIN and HUTTON Prosecuted, and MR. GEOGHEGAN Defended.
CHARLES L'ENFANT . I am a clerk in the Bankruptcy Court—I produce the file in the bankruptcy of Thomas Oscar Warren—the petition is dated November 8th, 1887; the adjudication March 15th, 1888—he has never been discharged—I also produce the file in the prisoner's second bankruptcy
—the petition was on August 12th, 1895, and the adjudication October 17th.
Cross-examined. There were only three creditors in the petition of 1895—Mr. Dakin, the prosecutor, is the chief creditor; the other two are for £9 13s. 4d., and one for £155 for rent—the £9 13s. 4d. represents the deficiency in the former bankruptcy.
JOHN RILEY DAKIN . I am of no occupation—I live at Finborough Road, South Kensington—I was in the Board of Trade, and retired on compensation—on December 11th, 1890, I saw an advertisement in the Daily Telegraph, in consequence of which I went to 26, Coventry Street, Piccadilly Circus, and saw written on the window, "Bureau de Change. Thomas Morgan and Co."—I went in and saw the prisoner, to whom I had written previously, and I had received a letter from him to call and see him, which I cannot find—I said, "I am prepared to go into this business with you if you will tell me all about it"—he said it was a very safe and promising genuine business for anyone to invest in, and that it was his own, and no one else was connected with it—he explained the nature of the business to me, and said, "Now here is an excellent opportunity lord you to invest your money while you can do it; I will produce the books to show you the business I am doing, and you will see for yourself while you are here, customers coming in and out, and transacting business"—he first of all said that he wanted £250 to begin with, and if I was in a poison to finance his business up to about £750, or, at the outside, £1,000, that would be ample to secure a successful business—he proposed that I should act as clerk, and have £130 a year, and if I was satisfied with the business, I might become a partner—I was to have interest on the £250—nothing was arranged that day; I went away to consider the matter—I then received this letter: "26, Coventry Street. Dear Sir,—Referring to our conversation, trust you have decided to accept the proposal made by me; the business is a sound and true one, and capable of further improvement with further capital"—I went and saw him next day, I think—he wanted me to advance £250 as soon as possible, which I said I would do, and I drafted an agreement, after which I gave him £250; the receipt is on it—I obtained judgment for the £250 three years afterwards, and it was, paid—about January 12th I advanced him £190 on the security of two Russian bonds; they were in my possession once, but he took them to Rothschild's and left them there; I never had them again—on February 12th I made him a further advance of £200, and on the same day £28; on April 16th, 1891, £25; and on May 11th I gave him a Brighton debenture, value £100; on June 19th, £100, and on the same day £50—the various sums make £300, and there were other sums; I have not received any of them back—I believed the business belonged to him, or I would not have made the advances—I obtained judgment in March for £1,634, including interest and other sums not mentioned—in 1884 I presented a bankruptcy petition, but allowed it to be dismissed because he said he would pay the amount and the costs—I presented another petition, and he was adjudicated bankrupt upon it—after the receiving order in October, 1895, and after he had been examined in bankruptcy, there was a motion before Mr. Justice V. Williams to inquire to whom the business belonged, and after hearing evidence on both sides it was discovered that it belonged to Miss Fostick
—in October, 1895, I discovered that he was an undischarged bankrupt—he never told me so, but it came out in the proceedings.
Cross-examined. I retired from the Civil Service eight years ago, and have had no occupation since—this was the first time I advanced money to a stranger in answer to an advertisement—I never lent money before and charged interest for the loan—I have said, "I have been living partly on the interest of loans I. have made"—I meant to convey that those loans were investments secured by documents—I have bought shares, and I have one or two mortgages—I have no bills of sale—I have some of the prisoner's bills of exchange; no others—T have one I O U—after I advanced the £250 he often alluded to the business being his own, and said that he was offered £200 for the goodwill of it—I got a guarantee from Miss Fostick for £300—I sued her, but did not go on with the suit—I dropped the proceedings, but they are still pending—that was last November—the prisoner had two tape machines on his premises in Coventry Street for speculating on the Stock Exchange for the rise and fall—in these sums I have included sums I paid him for cover; I have included everything—the cover does not amount to £80—I have found out that the guarantee was worth nothing; that was in consequence of the dispute as to whose business it was—he deposited with me a policy for £100 and another for £500 after I had advanced him £400—they were policies on his life—while these proceedings were pending at the Police-court I had an interview with Mies Fostick, as she wanted to see me—I did not say that I would settle the guarantee for £500—I had two interviews with her; my solicitor was present at one—I met them accidentally at his office at the first interview, and the general matter was discussed—the object of the meeting was that I should accept a sum to settle the matter, but the meeting was accidental as far as I was concerned—I found them at the office, and money was discussed—I had another interview later on with Miss Fostick—there was a gentleman there, but I did not understand that he was a solicitor—if I had got possession of the business I should not have brought the present proceedings; the business was the only thing I had to look to; my money was all gone—the fact of my bankruptcy was mentioned; the prisoner did not say, "I am an undischarged bankrupt," nor did I say, "That does not matter; I am an undischarged bankrupt, too"—it is nearly thirty years since I was bankrupt, and I was discharged—I made all the subsequent advances to the £250 on securities, but at the present moment they are next to worthless.
Re-examined. I received a letter of July, 1891, from the prisoner—that was just before July 2nd, when the £400 was advanced. (This stated," I am in a position to state that the result of a half year's trading shows the business to be a healthy and sound one, that the profits are equal to the expectations, and promises success in the future.—WARREN.") The total amount of indebtedness was settled by counsel, by consent, on March 8th, 1894, at £1,634 17s.—I was continually endeavouring to get whatever I possibly could from him, till my patience was exhausted—I got about £80 from him, but not till I took proceedings—that was not for salary—I said one day in the office, "If you won't give me satisfaction I shall make you a bankrupt"—he said he did not care whether I did or not he did not care about bankruptcy; he could take care of himself—I said, "You seem to
treat bankruptcy as a very light matter, but I can tell you bankruptcy is very different now to what it was in the old days; I was once obliged to go through the Bankruptcy Court for liabilities incurred by a former partner of mine, but I got my discharge through the assistance of my friends, who, when they knew the circumstances of the case, sympathised with me, and made no opposition, and I got my discharge without asking for it"—I have never recovered one penny from Miss Fostick—that is the reason I consented to this matter being suspended.
LAURENCE HASLOK . I am a chartered accountant—I was appointed trustee in this bankruptcy—a motion was launched by me to have the business vested in me, which Miss Fostick opposed, and it was heard before Justice V. Williams.
Cross-examined. I have said, "I look to the petitioning creditor for payment of my charges"—I always take care to get a guarantee.
C. L'ENFANT (Re-examined). The prisoner made an affidavit that the business was not his, and he also swore it in his evidence.
GUILTY.— Judgment respited.
MR. BUTTON Prosecuted.
BENJAMIN FOSTER MOORE . I live at 48, Stephen Street, Camden Town—on February 3rd I saw an advertisement in the Daily Chronicle: "A man wanted to take charge of auction sales, 30s. a week and commission on sales. Cash security. Dalmeny House, Classed Park"—I replied, and received this letter, which is in the prisoner's writing. (Appoint-ing to see the witness town after two o'clock on Saturday.) I went and saw the prisoner; he said that he wanted a man, as his man was always getting intoxicated; that it was a very good business and a lot to be made out of it, and I should have to go with men with adistringas; that he had five or six a day, and sometimes had a difficulty in getting men to go—he asked me for £50 security—I said that I was not in a position to do that, but would consider it—I then received this letter: "Dear Sir, I have not decided on anyone up to eight this evening. Have to call on my solicitors. I can see you at eight o'clock"—I said that I could not give £50, as I had not got it—he asked for £35 and a bill for £15—I then received this: "Please be not later than eleven o'clock with the deposit"—I went on the 12th to 79, Newington Green, the address of the first letter, and he took me to Mr. Croker—on February 15th I received this letter, in consequence of which I called at Dalmeny House on February 17th, and read this agreement for me to go into his service as general workman and shopman, bat the one he read said manager—I gave him £20 and this bill of exchange (produced)—I then went into his employment, and remained till March 21st—there were only two distresses while I was there, and the average takings of the second-hand furniture shop were 17s. or 18s. a week—Elijah Smith was there the whole time—I gave the prisoner notice to terminate the agreement, because he had not enough business to employ the men he paid my wages at 30s. to March—30s. is owing, and I got 6s.—I asked him for my money, and he gave me a fearful black eye, for which he was fined 20s. and costs—on March 17th tie brokers came into the
shop, and the furniture was taken away on the 18th—I have not received a penny back.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I sat in the parlour, and held one agreement in my hand, but did not read it, because you told me to listen to you—I did not become quarrelsome; I asked you for my money—you said that you had not got it, and could not pay it—I said, "I cannot starve, and if you do not give me my money I shall lay the matter before Mr. Curtis Bennett in the morning"—I accused you of writing to my wife—you opened one of my private letters; that is where you got your information from—I have not deserted my wife and children—I have never asked you for the £30; I thought it was useless, because I could not get my wages—Mr. Edmunds lives over the shop; I told him I was willing to take even part of my money, as I was left penniless—I did not say so to you, because you have been in prison ever since—I gave you a month's notice, and left in a week, on account of this note, which you sent me. (This stated: "I am compelled to wait here till a friend of mine comes. It will be useless wasting your time here next week. Your agreement will not be broken.") A man, whom he will call as a witness, must have been his confederate.
ELIJAH SMITH . I live at 48A, Stevenson Street, Old Canning Town—on February 10th I went to see the prisoner, in consequence of an advertisement in the Chronicle on the 8th. (The same advertisement.) He told me he wanted a clerk and manager, with security; that he had a very good second-hand furniture business, and was a bailiff, and sometimes had five or six distraints a week, and had to go elsewhere to get men—he asked £50 deposit—I offered £30 and a bill of exchange, and gave him £10 first at his house—this is his receipt. (Dated February 12th.) I signed an agreement—I paid him £25 on the 15th, and let him have a horse for £7—I went into his employment; I was there before Moore, but I saw him afterwards—I continued till March 31st—he only paid me 12s. the last week, and I gave Moore half of it—I then left, as there was no business going on, and nothing to sell—he only had two distresses—there was not enough business for one man to do.
Cross-examined. I did not pay you £10 at the shop—I paid the rest of the money at Mr. Croker's office; I saw you pay £1 for the agreement, and I paid 10s. 6d., and that was the last money I had in the world—I neither got my money nor my wages; you told us to go and look for employment elsewhere—you took a horse of me for £7, which was worth £10; I took the horse and cart to the Caledonian Market to sell, and I could have sold it at a price. (The agreement was here put in at the prisoners request; also his receipt for £35, in cash, which, with Smith's acceptance, made £32.) I gave you this notice on March 14th, but we left the next week, because you started knocking us about—I did not follow you into the parlour, and say that I would have you or your money; we only asked for the 24s. remaining of our week's wages.
DAVID WILLIAM BBADDICK . I live at Oakfteld Road, Ashford—I was the prisoner's manager from November 14th to February 14th, this year—he had about four sales—he owes me £8 10s., the balance of a deposit I left with him—I left because I was not satisfied; there was not enough to do, and there were two men as well as myself.
Cross-examined. I did not like standing there doing no-thing
—I have said, "I wished the business was mine, and I could make it pay, but not by working on the men's money; "I meant to say, on the poor men's money"—I have never offered to pay you out—I did not present my bill to you; you agreed to meet me at Mr. Croker's office in a month's time—I have only been paid 30s.
Cross-examined. I had one man at the door, and one with me—you did not say, "What, two of you."
Witness for the Defence.
WILLIAM HARDING . I am a broker, of 79, Newington Green Road—I have no shop; I only occupy a parlour, I do not carry on any business there—I was in the prisoner's employ up to the time he was arrested, mending the furniture—I was sometimes paid 10s., sometimes 12s., and sometimes 5s., because I had nothing to do elsewhere—I am not a relative of his—I have known him thirty years, but it is twenty-two years since I saw him—the place was full when I went there eleven weeks ago; but, the brokers came and took it out, it was redeemed; he made some arrangement, but only two or three chairs came back—two easy chairs and two tables had to be repaired; they were to be taken home on Saturday night; I took one home—we received £2 11s. 6d., but I did not take the money—Moore was with me; he was the manager of the outside, work.
Cross-examined. Moore mended the furniture; he went about when he was sent—I never was out of work in my life; I came up from 'Liverpool on the Sunday, and met him on the Tuesday—I was carrying pictures' about in Liverpool—I do not remember the furniture being put in the yard to prevent the bailiffs taking it—there were some thing in the stable when the bailiff came, for the purpose of being mended, a few chairs'; he did not take them, but he went and looked at them—I did not go with him.
Prisoner's Defence: There were no false pretences, and the Magistrate said that it was a case for the County Court.
GUILTY .—Several previous convictions were proved against him.— Four Years' Penal Servituds.
THIRD COURT.—Friday, April 24th, 1896.
Before Mr. Common Sergeant.
MR. CALTEROP Prosecuted.
THOMAS CARON . I live at 38, Dean Street, Commercial Road—on March 18th I was going to Twine Court, St. George's, to find my little sister, between 12.30 and 12.45. p.m.—the female prisoner said "what are you looking at?"—I said, "I am not looking at you"—she put her finger in my face, and I said, "I'll knock you down—I knocked her down—then the male prisoner came up and knocked me down, and the me down and the female threw the weight of her body on me—I was stabbed in the leg in four places—she seemed drunk—I was drunk—I am a labourer—I knew no
more till Wednesday, when the constable came to my house and asked me to come with him—I said, "I cannot"—I was disabled; I could not walk—I had lost consciousness in consequence of my wounds—I cannot say how many people were there.
Cross-examined by Julia Flanagan. I did not rob your husband and rattle the money in the station—you are wicked enough to say anything.
Cross-examined by John Flanagan. I had been in the Jolly Sailors, drinking—I was not with Garratt, but with a stevedore—I did not knock up against you—I never saw you—I did not say to Garratt, "Let's put him through it."
ROBERT TUCK . I am sixteen years old—I am a labourer—I live at 11, Twine Court, St. George's—I went to bed at 12.45—I heard screams—I ran up the court, and saw the prosecutor and the prisoners struggling on the ground—a young man, a stranger to me, was there—I dragged the prosecutor from one end of the court to the other, and helped to pick him up—he undid his trousers, and was covered with blood—when they were on the ground I heard the woman say, "Hold the knife," and I saw the male prisoner with a knife in his hand—I took it away from him, and put it in my pocket—the woman ran after me to take it away, but I would not give it up—the man was drunk—I could not tell whether the prosecutor was drunk, or was suffering from loss of blood—this is the knife—I could not say whether the female was drunk.
Cross-examined by Julia Flanagan. I did not see Mrs. Shaw and her daughter—I did not see you pull the prosecutor off—there were no other women there that I know of.
Cross-examined by John Flanagan. I took the knife from your hand—I did not say the right hand—the policeman was not there to take it—I did not know you were locked up till the policeman came and asked if I had the knife, and I said "Yes," and gave it him—I did not say I heard a woman scream; I heard a scream—I did not know you—I have only been in the neighbourhood since Christmas—I do not know how the policeman knew I had the knife. (The prisoner here stated that the knife was his.)
Re-examined. I was not called till the second hearing at the Police-court.
HENRY THOMAS HAMILTON . I am the divisional surgeon—I was called on March 18th to the Police-station, and saw the prosecutor in the charge-room—he had lost a great quantity of blood—on examination I found on the right thigh three punctured wounds an inch and a half in depth, and one on the leg about a quarter of an inch in depth—on his trousers were four punctures corresponding with the four wounds—I afterwards compared this knife with the holes in the trousers, and found they corresponded—the wounds in the thigh, although severe, were not actually dangerous, owing to their position on the outer part of the thigh—he was treated at home, and then at the hospital as an out-patient—I examined the prisoners in the dock, and found blood on them—the male prisoner had two cuts and a bruise on the back of his head—he had been drinking, but was not drunk—the prosecutor was not drunk; he answered every question, and assisted me in dressing him—the loss of blood would account for his lack of memory.
Cross-examined by Julia Flanagan. You had blood on your hands and a small scratch.
Cross-examined by John Flanagan. The bruise on your head might have been caused by a blow, or when struggling on the ground—you had a small cut on the eye.
WILLIAM COLLINS (253 H). On March 18th I was at Shadwell Police-station, when the female prisoner made a complaint about her husband being assaulted in Twine Court—I accompanied her to Twine Court—on the way she showed me her hands, which were covered with blood—there was a trace of blood on her dress body—I asked her where she had been assaulted—she said, "Here," showing her finger—I did not see the wound, only a quantity of blood—I saw the prosecutor lying on the ground in Twine Court, bleeding from his right leg—I asked him what was the matter—he pointed to the female prisoner, and said, "That woman stabbed me"—she said, "Oh, my God! Let's go to the Police-station, and make a complaint. What about my husband?"—I had the prosecutor carried to the station, and then accompanied her to No. 4, Newton's Rents, where I saw her husband lying on the floor, apparently helplessly drunk—another constable came to my assistance, and I had an ambulance sent for—the prisoners were brought to the station and charged.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD (363 H). I was with the last witness, who had the female prisoner in custody, and the prosecutor was lying on the ground, bleeding from the leg—we directed him to be taken to the station; he was carried—the last witness took the woman to the station—I went to Newton's Rents, and found the male prisoner lying on the floor drunk—I told him I should take him into custody, as the man had charged him with stabbing him—he did not say anything at the time—when the ambulance arrived he would not go on it, but walked to the station.
Cross-examined. I did not say, "All, right, Jack," because I did not know you—your coat was torn, smothered with mud, and wringing wet, as if you had been struggling on the ground—you went with me to the station.
Julia Flanagan produced a written defence to the effect that she and her husband were going home, when a lot of roughs knocked her husband down, kicked him, and robbed him, then followed them to their door and beat them; but she knew nothing of the assault on the prosecutor, and was not there; that the charge was made out of spite; that her husband was drunk, and all his things were torn off him; and that she was innocent of the charge.
John Flanagan repeated this defence, and added that the prosecutor was a confederate of Thomas Garratt and others, who had said, "Let us put him through it" and knocked him about; that the affair was got up by a League, and that he never used his knife, which he required as a dock labourer, or if he did, it was in self-defence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HUNT Prosecuted.
other men stopped me—they asked me for some money for drink—I said I had none, and tried to avoid them—the prisoner got hold of me by my throat, and said, "Let's go through him"—they pinioned me from behind, and rifled my pockets—the prisoner put his right hand in my pocket, and took my purse—it contained 6d. silver and 5d. coppers—they then let me go—I saw a constable—I took hold of the prisoner by the throat and holloaed out, "Police!" when the men began to knock me about—they punched me in the mouth and on the side of the face, and they got the prisoner from me; they went across the road—the constable came up and a crowd—I told the constable the nature of the case; he closed with the prisoner; and, while I was further telling him, the prisoner slipped out of his hands and went down a back street—the constable ran after him, blew his whistle, and the prisoner was stopped—I did not lose sight of him.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not notice the men's caps; I noticed you—I told the inspector at the station what had happened—I read my evidence, because my memory was bad in consequence of the injuries I received—I wrote an account of the assault the same night—the swelling on my face has not gone down—it is the jaw-bone; my mouth was cut—my house is half a mile from the Police-station.
ALFRED LOWES (456 H). I was on duty in Commercial Street, and saw a crowd assemble on my beat—the prosecutor said he had been robbed of his purse and assaulted—I saw the prisoner cross the road, and went to him—the prosecutor charged him—I took hold of him—he said, "I will be searched"—he slipped and ran away—I followed, and saw him arrested—I never lost sight of him.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You were on the pavement when charged—you said the man had made a mistake—the prosecutor did not say, "He looks like the one"; he said he was sure you were the man who did it.
Re-examined. At the station the prosecutor was bleeding from the mouth.
THOMAS NEWINS (331 H). I was on duty in Dorset Street, Spitalfields, and saw the prisoner running, followed by the prosecutor, who was shouting, "Stop thief!"—I chased the prisoner—a civilian and I stopped him—I took him into custody in Artillery Lane—the prosecutor came up and charged him with robbing him of his purse—the prisoner said, "I will volunteer to be searched"—the prosecutor also accused the prisoner and several others of striking him in the mouth and about the body—on searching him at the station I found a pack of plain cards, and three revolver cartridges to correspond with this revolver, which was subsequently handed to me by Constable 307 H—it is nearly new—in answer to the charge of assault and robbery, the prisoner said, "Not assault"—before the Magistrate I heard the prisoner say, "I can explain how I became possessed of the revolver; I am minding it for an American for a loan, as a sort of security"—the revolver was found in the basement, near where the prisoner was arrested—I do not know the prisoner.
Prisoner's Defence. This is the first time I have been in prison. I have aged parents to support. I hope you will give me your verdict. I am not the man. I am innocent; God is my judge. I want to be struck down dead here if I am guilty.
GUILTY.— Judgment Respited.
MR. CALTHROP Prosecuted.
CHARLES CRESSWELL . I am a tobacconist, of 1, Cloudesley Road, Islington—on April 14th I shut up and properly secured my shop—I was called up by the police about 12.40 or 12.45—I found the glass in the window broken, and a box of cigars missing—the prisoner was in custody outside—the cigars found scattered in the road I recognise as mine.
FRANK MARTIN (478 N). I was on duty in Cloudesley Road in the early morning of April 15th—I heard a smashing of glass and went in that direction—I saw the prisoner with two others walking away—I followed him across the road and brought him back—he said, "I knew nothing about it"—I had him by his arm and left wrist—I let go his wrist to feel what was on him—he plunged both hands into his pockets and threw out these cigars—I called up the occupier, and showed him the window of the shop, and the cigars found on the prisoner, which he identified—the prisoner was about fifteen yards from the window—when charged he said, "I know nothing about it. I ask you to search me. I never smoke myself"—the cigars were in his overcoat pockets—there were about thirty or forty.
Prisoner's Defence. I asked the policeman to search me when he caught me. I am innocent, I never had them in my pocket.
GUILTY .—He was stated to have had employment till Easter.— Six Weeks' Hard Labour.
HARRY BUTT . I am a potman and barman at the Earl of Aberdeen public-house, Whitechapel Road—Mr. Faulkner is the proprietor—I have known the defendant eight months as Albert Ward, not as Barnes—he was employed at the King's Head, Scrutton Street, Finsbury, as barman—on April 9th, I got by pose this letter—I destroyed the envelope—I know the writing—it is the prisoner's—I showed it to my master. Read: "April 4th, 1896.—Harry,—I have come to the determination not to come to your place any more, but your governor is going to have a letter from me on Monday morning, first thing, unless you like to come to my terms; that is, that I want half-a-crowd a day from to-day. I know you are making a tidy bit; to show that you are no class, you would not have treated me if you had not seen that chap; but it is no use saying more, if I do not have an answer by six o'clock to-night, I will know what to do. This is a copy of what I shall send: 'Sir,—You have in your employment a lad of the name of Harry Butt, and he has come with a false reference, that is to say, he used to work at the Horns, in Shoreditch, and he got the sack
for thieving, and the King's Head, Scrutton Street, Finsbury, for the same, having been in the house for about four years.' N.B.—This is only a little of it. M.B. Be sensible, and come to my terms. You can send a postal order, if you like, addressed 'B. Ward, Jolly Brewers, Filburg Street, Camberwell'"—I had seen him last on the Good Friday—I did not owe him anything—this other letter is his writing (a similar letter which was found on the prisoner).
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I did not owe you 30s.
CHARLES SMITH (Detective H). On April 13th I took the prisoner in the Cambridge Road—I told him he was charged on a warrant with sending a letter to Harry Butt, demanding money, with menaces, without reasonable excuse—he said, "I sent the letter to Butt; I paid his lodgings, and he owes me about 30s."—at the station he was searched, and this letter was found on him.
Prisoner's Defence. He owed me 30s. I asked him for it; he would not pay me, and I sent a letter.
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BURROW Prosecuted, and MR. BURNEY Defended.
JOHN STUART . I live at 20, De Behavior Square, Kingsland—I am a manufacturing milliner—on April 21st I was in the Harford Road, about 11.30 a.m., with a large parcel—turning from Inglefield Road into Harford Road I was struck in the chest—I was bewildered and dazed, but heard a voice from behind, "You are being robbed, sir; they have got your watch"—I saw my chain dangling from the prisoner's hand"—I said, "Stop thief!"—he ran away; I chased him fifty or sixty yards—a man ran by my side, and when I increased my speed put his leg between mine, took hold of my collar, and threw me heavily to the ground—I have seen him since at the Police-court—I could not identify him because he had a different hat; but I believe the prisoner to be the man.
ELIZABETH JAMES . I live at 118, Downham Road, Kingsland—I saw Mr. Stuart coming along with a parcel in his hand about 11.25 a.m.—when turning—the corner of Harford Road he went in front, and hit him in the chest, and felt for his watch—he had the watch in his hand, but not quite clear of the waistcoat—when he got it, I ran and told Mr. Stuart—we gave chase—I called "Stop thief!"—a little way down Harford Road three or four of the prisoner's companions knocked Stuart down—he called out, "My work, my work"—I identified the prisoner on the Sunday.
Cross-examined. On Saturday I touched a man as the thief at the station, who was a passer by—he resembled the prisoner—he was very much flushed—the prisoner is pale.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was not there when Miss James partly identified a man on the previous day.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. C. MATHEWS, for the prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. BRUCE Prosecuted, and MR. AUSTIN METCALFE Defended.
MINNIE BRIDLE . I live at 30, Glen House, Brentford—I work at the Ealing District Steam Laundry, North Field Lane—on the afternoon of March 27th I was looking out of the laundry window—I saw a man get over a gateway or a fence—he looked round; he then went round the corner of a rick and stooped, he had something in his hand—in about three seconds he came back, and it was all smoke—he got over the gateway and stopped there till it was all ablaze, then walked towards Ealing Dean—I did not see his face; I saw his back—the man was dressed in corduroy like the prisoner, only he had a cap on—after a bit. I walked towards Ealing Dean with a young girl—I spoke to Mr. Steel's foreman about what I had seen; and he knew the man.
Cross-examined. The rick is about 150 yards from the laundry—the man climbed over the fence—Martha Welsh is employed at the laundry—she was looking out at the same time—the man might have jumped over the fence—he got over somehow—I should say the rick was set fire to at the south corner—I have not had it pointed out to me—it was the furthest point of the rick from me—I do not know the Lammas Fields, nor the Recreation Ground; there are fields; I am a stranger—I have been at the laundry four months—I had been looking out of the window three or four minutes—I did not see a single boy about there, nor running away—I picked the prisoner out at the station by his height and his clothes.
MARTHA WELSH . I work at the laundry—I was with the last witness—I saw the man jump over the fence, look all round, then stoop down near the rick—he got over the gate again, and stopped there till it blazed, up, then walked on very slowly—the prisoner is the man—I did not see his face near the rick—I saw his back—he was dressed like the prisoner—I ran and told the foreman—I did not lose sight of the man till he reached the top of the lane, and got away.
Cross-examined. I am not sure how the man got over the gate—the part of the rick ablaze was away from me round the corner; we could just see the corner—it might have been smouldering before I saw it.
JAMES HARDING SUCH . I am assistant engineer of the Ealing Fire Brigade—on March 27th I received a call at 5.15 p.m. at Ealing, North Field End—I went with the engine—I found a hay-staek belonging to Mr. Steel well alight—about fifteen to twenty loads of hay were destroyed.
JOHN COLEGATE . I am a labourer, of 16, North Field, Ealing—on Friday, March 27th, I was in North Field Lane, taking a quiet walk towards Little Ealing—I stayed near the hay-stack about five minutes, when all at once I saw smoke, and instantly flames coming from the stack—I hurried towards the stack—I saw a man come out of the gate that goes into the meadow—he was dressed in drab clothes with a cap on—he walked slowly towards me and stood still suddenly—I said, "Have you seen anyone go away from the hay-stack; have you seen any boys?"—he made no reply—I said, "Did you do it?"—he said, "I saw two boys go across the fields"—he left me—I saw no one else near—I think it was the prisoner by his clothes—I could not speak to his face; he was so quick.
prisoner was in the tap-room about 2.45—I heard him say he would do something before he got home—he had been drinking—he talked sensibly.
WILLIAM DAVIS . I live at North Field Road, Ealing—I was standing at a shop-door, and saw flames coming from the rick—I walked towards it—I met the prisoner about half way—he said, "What a damn shame someone should set that rick on fire"—I said, "Yes, it is"—he said, "I see two boys run away across the Lammas Fields"—I saw no boys.
FRANCIS MOORE (66 X). From my measurements, the distance from the rick to the gate is fifteen yards, from the rick to the laundry window 160 yards, from where Colgate met the prisoner about 100 yards from the rick, from where Davis met him about 200 yards—that is according to the spots pointed out to me—my measurements are correct.
Cross-examined. Anyone going from the rick to the Lam mas Fields would be going from the direction of the laundry and from the North Field Road, where the witnesses met the prisoner.
GEORGE FELTON (Sergeant X). On March 28th I arrested the prisoner at 40, North Field Road, Baling Dean—I said, "I am told you were in the lane last night when the rick was set on fire"—he said, "Yes, I was coming down the lane, and I saw two boys run across the Lammas Fields between nine and eleven; after they had gone, I saw smoke coming from the rick; I then met Davis, the landlord of the off-licensed beer-house, and I said, 'It is a shame, whoever done that job,' and I told him I saw two boys running across the field"—I asked him what clothes they had—he said one wore a knicker suit, and the other wore trousers, and both had caps—I subsequently had an interview with the females, and again saw him—I said I was informed they saw a man get over the gate, and the rick was on fire, and said, "You will have to go to the station"—he said, "How could they see me at that distance, a quarter of a mile?"—I said, "You told some people you would do something before you got home that day"—I took him to the Police-station, and he was placed with others and identified by his back—one of the witnesses said, "Looking at his back, that looks like the man; I cannot recognise the face"—Minnie Bridle said he looked like the man by his clothes, and by his height—he was then charged, and in answer he said, addressing the female witnesses who had made a statement to the inspector, "It is false what you say; I never went into the field"—five men were dressed like him who worked on the farm.
Cross-examined. The others were dressed up—I found the witness, who said he saw two boys running—I have endeavoured to find all the witnesses I could for the prisoner—I tried to find another witness to-day—I took out a subpoena.
WILLIAM HOLLINGTON . I am foreman to Mr. Steel, a market gardener—about five p.m., on March 27th, I was in a field not far from the hay-stack—my attention was called to the fire by one of the men working in the field—I immediately walked down the field towards North Field Lane—I saw the prisoner walking along the lane—when going across the wide meadow, another field, the two young women came down the road and pointed out the prisoner as the man who had set fire to the rick—the prisoner has worked for me—I do not know the value of the rick; it is insured.
Witnesses for the Defence.
ERNEST CARTER . I live at Alleycross Villas, Baling, about 500 to 600 yards from the rick that was on fire—on March 27th, about five p.m., I was at my window—I could see the rick distinctly—I saw fire coming from it—I saw two boys running away from it, of about ten and twelve years of age—one had knickerbockers—they ran after getting into the lane towards Baling Dean, not in the direction of the Lammas Fields, but you could get there by retracing your steps without being noticed; that was about eight or nine minutes after I saw the fire—they were running together—the fire was about a yard, or half a yard, of square apace—it was possible for the girls to have seen the boys running.
LILLIE MARGARET AMY MARSHALL . I am the daughter of the Police-court Missionary at Ealing—when the rick was on fire, I was in the next field playing about—I saw two boys near the rick about a quarter of an hour before the fire—they were playing with fireworks, letting flames off, something that let go a Maze—you strike like on a match-box, then it flares up a minute or two—as they crawled underneath the gate the rick flamed up—I did not see any man about.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Recorder.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. WOODCOCK Prosecuted, and MR. ELLIOT, Defended.
KATE HARDHE . I am the wife of George Hardee, of Creek House, Dept-ford—on January 30th I went to bed between eleven and twelve o'clock—the house was properly shut up; it was entered in the night, and in the morning I missed a sealskin jacket and a coat—an entrance had been made through the kitchen window.
GEORGE HARDEE . On January 30th I went out early, and about three doors from the corner of the street I saw a man standing, whom I knew—I saw someone else, and did not like his appearance, and the house having been broken into two or three times, I turned back, and saw a man pushing a costermonger's barrow, whom I should not like to swear to—I went in-doors—they had a little conversation and parted—I could see them through the Venetian blinds—the house was properly fastened up when I went to bed.
pushing a barrow in High Street, Deptford—I said, "What have you got in your barrow?"—he said, "I have a bassinette, which I bought four months ago in Smithfield Market"—there was a clock on the barrow—I said, "Where did you get the clock?"—he said, "I bought it at the same time"—I found a bag on the barrow, and said, "How did you come by this?"—he said, "I know nothing about it"—this sealskin was found in it, which was identified—I took him to the station, and told him the jacket had been identified as the proceeds of a burglary—he said, "I did not steal the things; I bought them in Smithfield Market three months ago"—the things in the barrow were covered with a bag—before going before the Magistrate I said, "A jersey has been found at your lodging, part of the proceeds of the robbery"—he said, "Yes, I bought it with the other things"
Cross-examined. I made inquiries about him; he works at the Surrey Commercial Docks—the clock is the proceeds of a larceny—he said that he got it from Murphy, who is a convicted thief, well known to him—there is no charge against Murphy; the Magistrate discharged him—I have not traced the bassinette to any burglary—there was also a plated tea-pot—Mr. Hardee's coat has not been traced to the prisoner—the prisoner was released on bail on the second remand; he told me he would try and find out from whom he got the clock—he gave Murphy in custody—he told me he had seen one of the men who gave him the articles, and tried to track him, but failed—he was out on bail three weeks—he said on Good Friday, "I may as well tell you the truth; I bought the sealskin jacket and the two other jackets of two men, who brought them to my house; I don't know their names, or I would give them in custody"—he did not tell me that the men were not prepared to take the price he offered, but left them—it was a very wet day.
ALBERT BLYTHE (Policeman). On April 4th I was with the prisoner in New Cross Road—he pointed out Murphy, and said he wanted to give him in custody for stealing the clock—he did not tell me he had obtained the clock from Murphy.
Cross-examined. In consequence of that I took Murphy in custody—he was brought before a Magistrate and discharged—there was no evidence against him except the prisoner, but he admitted that he had sold the clock to the prisoner.
WILLIAM MOORE . I went with Fulham to the prisoner's house and found this guernsey—he told me he bought the whole of the things in Smithfield, and gave 6s. for the perambulator, and was going to give it to his daughter for a present.
J. FULHAM (Re-examined). This is the clock I found on the barrow.
The prisoner received an excellent character.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WOODCOCK offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
393. GEORGE MOORE , PLEADED GUILTY to wilfully falsi-fying certain accounts of the Operative Bricklayers' Society, his masters, and to forging the signatures of Arthur Upfold and others to the said accounts, with intent to defraud.— Judgment respited.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
EDWIN JOHN CLIFT . I am a turner—on April 8th I went to bed at ten o'clock; all the doors and windows were secure—at one a.m. my mistress awoke me with a scream, and I saw a man's legs going out at the window—we sleep on the ground floor—I put on my clothes and went to the yard, but saw no one—the prisoner lives next door—I missed a coat, waistcoat, and shawl, and went to the police—the policeman put his lantern over the wall, and I saw the prisoner in his yard, in a box where they keep fowls, and my coat in his hands—he had his shirt, trousers, and stockings on, but no boots—the catch of my lock was broken off.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. It did not take me more than a quarter of an hour to fetch a policeman.
JOHN AKERS (227 M). On April 9th, at two a.m., I was called and found Mr. Cliffs door open; I went into his yard, but could find nobody; I looked over the wall, and saw the prisoner standing in his yard, in his shirt and trousers, without any boots; I asked what he was doing there—he said, "I heard a noise upstairs, and came down to see what it was"—his hands and knees were white, as if he had got over the wall, which was white—this coat was on a shed, and he was going to put it or, but the prosecutor said, "That is mine."
Cross-examined. You went into your house, and I went after you, and told the prosecutor to go round to the front and stop your going out at the front door.
Re-examined. The prisoner's outside door was locked—there is a small fowl-shed where he could sleep, but not comfortably—he gets into his house by the door, but he did not do that on this occasion.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I was in my room, heard a noise, looked out, and saw someone in our yard with a lamp. I went down. This coat was hanging in the yard; I picked it up, and Clift recognised it as his. I went upstairs to put on my boots, and the police-man took me to the station."
E. J. CLIFT (Re-examined). I have not found the waistcoat and scarf—there is a fence at the bottom of the yard, and other houses back on to it—a quarter of an hour elapsed before the coat was found—there was plenty of time for another man to get away with the waistcoat and scarf.
NOT GUILTY .
CHARLES HARRIS . I am a wheelwright, of 52, Commercial Street, Camberwell—on March 25th I had gone to bed; I heard two noises; got up, went to the window, and saw the prisoner going through the gate; I threw two bottles of medicine at him, and he smelt of peppermint when he was taken—he was going away; I said, "What are you doing here?" he said, "I have only come for the night"—I dressed and went downstairs, and found the shop door broken open by wrenching out the top bolts—I found the drawer of the gas-meter on the floor, and no money in it—I do not know how much had been in it—it is a four-roomed house, and the shop is part of it—I saw the prisoner's face when the moon shone on it, and picked him out at the station.
ALFED REED (216 F). On March 25th, about 12.30 at night, I was in Waterloo Street, and heard a cry of "Stop thief?"and saw the prisoner walking from the direction of the prosecutor's house—I gave chase, he ran, I shouted "Stop thief!"and saw Carter stop him.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. When you came up I was on the opposite side of the road, about fifteen yards away; the other policeman was round the corner, but I saw you turn the corner.
HENUY CARTER (346 P). I examined the prosecutor's premises half an hour after the robbery, and found marks on the door inside the shop—the gas-meter had been forced—I produce the lock of the meter, and the money drawer—I searched the prisoner at the station, and found a box of matches, seven pennies, and a metal ticket belonging to a lodging-house—the back of the prisoner's coat was wet with fluid, and there were parts of two bottles which smelt of peppermint.
SAMUEL MAUNDER . I am foreman of the Meter Department of the South Metropolitan Gas Company—I examined the prosecutor's meter; it showed 10,080—the value of that would be 5s. 7d., and there ought to have been 5s. 7d. in the drawer—the damage done to the meter was 3s.—it is possible that it may have been opened, and some of the money taken out—there had been an intermediate collection—the collector could not have come round and taken out 5s., and the other 7d. have been put in afterwards—I do not know when the last collection was; the whole 5s. 7d. should have been there—that would be a large quantity.
Cross-examined. The meter had not been collected on Saturday.
Prisoner's Defence. I could not have thrown 5s. 7d. of coppers away.
GUILTY .— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
396. FREDERICK WILLIAM TRIPP and HARRY DAVISON PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully uttering counterfeit coin. They received hood characters, and Tripp's master promised to take him back.—One Day's Imprisonment each.
397. JOHN WICKENS (17) and EDWARD VARNEY (17) , to burglary in the dwelling-house of Thomas William Maine, and stealing a pair of boots and other articles, his property; having both been convicted at the South-Western Police-court on December 24th, 1895. Otter convictions were proved against them.—
Seven Months' Hard Labour each. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
398. HARRY DAVIES (35) , to burglary in the dwelling-house of Harriett Tippett, with intent to steal, having been convicted at this Court on May 25th, 1891. Several other convictions were proved against him, and he had still eighteen months of a former sentence to serve.—Five Years' Penal Servitude.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
GUILTY on the Second Count .— Judgment respited.
THOMAS HAWKINS (Detective-Sergeant P). On January 20th, 1894, I received this warrant at the Sessions Court, Richmond, and on the 7th inst. I arrested the prisoner—I said, "I think your name is John Martin, otherwise Woolley; I am a police-sergeant; the £5 5s. in this warrant refers to a worthless cheque you gave to Mr. Gosling at his house, and I must take you to the station"—he said, "All right; I should hardly believe it"—I showed him some property which the Magistrate ordered to be given up—I produce' three pass-books and two cheque-books of the Lon-don and South-Western and the London and County Banks—he gave his address 18, Caledonian Street, N., which was correct.
ELI PRITCHETT (Detective V). I had some conversation at the Police-court with a lady, who is alleged to be the prisoner's wife, and went with her to 18-Caledonian Street, King's Cross—she unlocked a box and handed me the counterfoils of eleven cheque-books, many of which were not filled is—I have also the counterfoils of cheques on the London and South-Western and. the London and County—I went to the Langham Hotel on the 10th, and obtained a cheque for £10, drawn on the London and County Bank on March 2nd, 1894—I afterwards went to the George Canning, at Brixton, where a cheque for £2 was handed to me on the London anile South-western Bank, Acton.
GEORGE ALEX GOSLING . I live at the Mason's Arms, Clapham—I was formerly licensee of the Crown public-house, Richmond—I knew the prisoner there as a customer—he came on January 12th, 1894, and asked if I would cash a cheque for five guineas for him; I said, "Yes, if it is all right"—he said that it was perfectly good, and I need not be afraid of cashing it, as he wanted some small change to pay a deposit on some cheeses he had bought in London—I paid it into my bank at Richmond—they returned if to me a few day after, marked "No account, sad I have lost it—the prisoner lived in a at the back of my house, but I never saw him there after I cashed the cheque—I applied for a warrant.
Cross-examined. I think the cheque was crossed—I have had to make it good to the bank.
and County Bank, Holloway Branch—I believe I have seen the prisoner there; I am not positive—we had an account in 1894 in the name of John Martin Woolley—this cheque, dated January 12th, 1894, was presented on the 20th, drawn by John Martin for Samuel Woolley—we had an account In the name of John Martin—we once had a customer named J. M. Woolley—the prisoner opened the account on February 7th, 1891, and it was closed in January, 1892—the cheque for £5 5s. is dated January 17th, 1894—I produce the bank manager's certificate; the last payment into the account was £41, on May 16th, 1892, and the account was overdrawn on May 25th, 1892, of which we gave him notice—this book of counterfoils was issued from the Holloway Branch—I cannot say whether the cheque for £5 5s. came from it—since the closing of the account we have received cheques corresponding with these counterfoils; the signatures are in Mr. Woolley's writing, I cannot say as to the body—they were not signed in the way authorised, sometimes they were signed "Woolley and Co."
Cross-examined. I have brought a copy of your account—it was opened at the Holloway Branch, on January 20th, 1891—this (produced) is a returned cheque of yours on the Harrow Branch; it is marked "No effects"—we gave you notice to close the account.
Re-examined. This £10 cheque was drawn on our office subsequently to the cheque for £5 5s., and returned, marked "No account"—several other cheques have been returned by our bank.
By the Prisoner. There is a parcel of securities of yours at the Hollo-way Branch, but I do not know what it is; and on the 29th you offered a policy to the bank, which we still have—you did not hand us any valuable securities—we have had a letter from a solicitor, giving the bank notice not to deal with the property without giving him notice.
MARY ANN GILBERT . I am the wife of Henry Gilbert, of the George, Canning Town, who kept the Welsh Harp, Chandos Street, in 1893—the prisoner was a customer there, and in December, 1893, he wrote a cheque, which he took out of his cheque-boot in my presence and asked me to-cash it; I did so, and paid it in, and it was returned dishonoured.
EDWARD HENRY GILBERT . I endorsed this cheque for £3, paid it into my bank, and it was returned—I had known the prisoner twelve months—I did not see him after cashing it; I did not know where he lived.
JOHN NORTON . I am manager of the London and South-Western Bank, Acton Branch—this cheque is drawn on that branch, signed "J. E. Martin Woolley," and returned, marked "Account closed"—the prisoner had no account there then; he closed it at the end of. June. 1893—these are two books of counterfoils—after the account was closed we received other cheques in the prisoner's writing, which were returned—one was signed "J. E. Martin," another "H. Lethe"—they are all in Woolley's writing, and the numbers correspond with cheques issued to him—the account ceased in March, 1893, and I wrote to him on Match 23rd, as several cheques had been drawn since the account was closed.
Cross-examined. I wrote to your address, and the letter was returned, marked to try Rome other place, and I called at the house, but they knew nothing of you—I do not remember your paying in a Mr. Flower's acceptance for £36 in November, 1892; here is an entry in your pass-book on November 2nd, of £12, to your credit—on October 26th there is
a debt of £12; it is A cheque, and here is an entry, "Wire unpaid"—you had your pass-book, showing your balance—on March 23rd I wrote to you, saying that we had no funds, that I had returned several cheques, and that the account was closed—we have received nothing since March 7th, 1893; surely you would look at your pass-book between October and March—you never came to the bank after March 7th.
ALFRED DAVENPORT . I live at 477, Caledonian Road—about March, 1894, I was in the employ of the Langham Hotel Company—the prisoner was staying there at that time—he asked me to cash this cheque, for £10, for him, and received the money for it—it was drawn on the London and County Bank, Holloway Branch (Drawn by John Woolley to bearer); it was returned to me, marked "No account"
Cross-examined. You paid the bill two or three days after I changed the cheque.
Re-examined. He left before the cheque came back.
Evidence for the Defend.
WILLIAM THOMAS MITCHELL . In March, 1892, I was book-keeper to Messrs. John Allen—I obtained that situation through the prisoner's and a gentleman's recommendation:—Mr. Alien kept his account at the Union Bank, Tottenham Court Road, I believe—I know nothing about the state of the account between the prisoner and Mr. Allen—I do not remember any money coming for him from the Worcester County Court, but I have heard Worcester County Court mentioned regarding him—in April, 1893, I was probably instructed to write to him from Liverpool for some money—Allen is a sail-maker—I considered that the prisoner had an interest in the business, and then I found that he had not—Mr. Allen asked me in March, 1893, to make up an account for the prisoner, and I made it up; it amounted to £250—I know nothing about it; it was made up entirely by his direction; my employer asked me to do it—I do not know, of my own knowledge, that it was £380—there had been a petition in bankruptcy against the prisoner, and Allen was made receiver—I do not think the account which I made up for £250 was in the books—I believe this bill for a machine for £16 is in my writing; it was a machine the prisoner ordered.
CHARLES HOLCOCK . I am a solicitor, of Plymouth—I was solicitor for the prisoner from 1891 to 1894—I prepared a power of attorney for him early in 1892—I have acted as agent, manager and collector of the estate during his absence—we were mortgagees, and there was a foreclosure—I do not know whether he left for America in March, 1893; I was only served with this subpoena at seven o'clock last night, and have not looked up the case—I know that he went to America—I believe I was served with a copy of the receiving order—I wrote to him in America.
By the COURT. As far as I am concerned, he has no money coming to him now; I don't know what he had at that time; we got tired of it, and foreclosed the proceedings.
The Prisoner, in his defence, stated that if he had not bellowed he had money at the bank, he would not have drawn the cheques, and that the securities he had there were sufficient to pay them, and that money ought also to have been paid in.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of obtaining money
by false pretences at Marlborough in 1881, after other previous convictions.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
401. JOSEPH THOMAS ALFRED HAZELL (31) , PLEADED GUILTY to feloniously marrying Ann Caroline Storr, his wife being then alive. Sergeant Leonard stated that the prisoner had brutally assaulted his first wife, who had obtained an order of separation, but he left her, and paid no-thing.— Three Years' Penal Servitude. And
402. GEORGE RICHARDS (29) , to unlawfully attempting to commit burglary in the dwelling-house of Edward Alexanders, and assaulting a constable in the execution of his duty. Two previous convictions were proved against him. (See vol. CXVIIL, p. 922.)— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
Before Mr. Justice Bruce.
403. JOHN PARSLOW (A police officer) was indicted for wilful and corrupt perjury, before George Somes, Esq., at the South London Sessions, on the trial of George Cheeseman and Robert Warner for a van robbery.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS, with MESSRS. STEVENSON, HEWITT, and BLAIKLOOK, Prosecuted; and MESSRS. C. F. GILL and BODKIN Defended.
GEORGE SOMES , Esq. I am one of Her Majesty's Justices of the Peace for the County of London—on January 16th I presided at the South London Sessions, when George Cheeseman and Robert Warrier were arraigned on a charge of committing a robbery, on December 24th, of a van, horse, and harness, and five bags of flour—in the course of the trial, the defendant, John Parslow, a police-constable, 257 M., was called as a witness for the prosecution—I had before me the deposition containing his evidence before the Magistrate, Mr. Blade, and whilst he was examined before me I followed with my eye a copy of his deposition, which was in front of me—I had not the original; we never hare; we always have a copy; the original is often in Court in the hands of the Counsel for the prosecution—it would now be in the custody of the Clerk of the Peace, at Newington—I follow the evidence with the deposition very carefully, and if there is a variance I take a note of it, not otherwise—I take it for granted that the defendant said what appears on the deposition; at this distance of time I cannot recollect the exact words he uttered—I followed my usual course on this occasion. The Defendant's deposition was then put in, and read as follows:—John Parslow—On the 24th inst. I saw the prisoners at 7.45—Cheese-man driving this van in George Row, and Warrier, walking by the side—Cheeseman jumped out and ran away—from inquiries, I went to Kitchen's Wharf, Shad-Thames, and Cheeseman was called—he said, 'I know what you want me for'—I arrested him, and when charged he made no reply—Warrier was afterwards arrested, and I picked him out of several others—Cheeseman said at the station, 'I was at work at eight o'clock'—Kitchen's Wharf is 500 or 600 yards from George Row—I took the time from my watch.
Cross-examined for Cheeseman. I looked at my watch just before I saw the van; I was twenty or thirty yards away—I saw the foreman at Kitchen's Wharf—Cheeseman was fetched—the foreman was not present at the interview, only Cheeseman, Police Constable 182 M, and I—he said, 'I know what you want me for '—he did not ask on the way to the
station what he was wanted for—Cheeseman did ask what he was wanted for—I meant that 182 M did not ask—it was 10.45 when we got Cheeseman to the station; he was not then charged—he made no statement to me—he did not say he never left work till arrested—I am sure I saw him at a quarter to eight. "All that is stated in that deposition was repeated—Mr. Swann represented Cheeseman and cross-examined—this is the note I took of his cross-examination: "I saw the van 200 yards from the coffee-shop; I have known both the prisoners nine years"—the prosecution having been completed, eight witnesses were called on behalf of the prisoner—the defendant was then recalled; I took down what he said: "I returned to the station with the van between 8.36 and 8.40; the station is a mile and a half from George Row; I saw it (i.e., the van) at 8.17; the prisoners ran away at 7.45"—then there were more witnesses for the defence, and, in the result, both the prisoners were acquitted.
Cross-examined by MR. GILL. I have no independent recollection of this matter; I followed my usual course of checking the evidence by the deposition; I could not positively swear to the words, of course; I should adopt the same course with regard to each witness—I think this was what is called a Court prosecution, where the depositions were handed to some learned Counsel—the prosecuting Counsel generally has the ori-ginal—William Cotter was the first witness, then Charles Lindsell, the carman—I followed his deposition in the same way, and I have one or two notes in addition—a way-note was produced; this is it; it gives the time of the carman's arrival, seven minutes past seven—if he produced a document, I should probably not take a note of it, because it would be before me; I have no note of its production—I have no note of the cross-examination of Lindsell—with regard to George Bartlett, I followed his deposition in the same way; I have no note to the contrary—the same applies to the evidence of Otway, who arrested Warner; I have no note of it—the defence was an alibi in both cases—several witnesses were called for Cheeseman, and two, I think, for Warner—Mr. Sills appeared as Counsel for Cheeseman, and Mr. Swann, I think, took his brief—the case was taken the first in the morning—I have on my note in Parelow's evidence, "I saw it at seventeen minutes past eight"; I think that must refer to the van—I asked him at what time the van got to the Police-station, and he said, "8.45 or 8.40."
Re-examined. I have no note of Lindsell's cross-examination—he was cross-examined; I do not think both the prisoners were represented by Counsel; Warrier was not, or I should have taken a note of it—Mr. Geoghegan did not appear at the trial; Mr. Sills, or Mr. Swann, acted for him; I think an application was made on account of Mr. Geoghegan's absence; I can't recollect whether it was refused or not; I think it was.
JOHN BARNARD . I am housekeeper at the Southwark Police-court—on December 26th last, as an officer of the Court, I administered the oath in the ordinary form to the prisoner, and saw him kiss the Gospels.
and Warrier was called on—I administered the oath in the ordinary form to the prisoner, and he kissed the Gospels.
HENRY NAIRN . I am chief clerk at the Southwark Police-court—on December 26th I acted as clerk when Cheeseman and Warrier were charged—I heard the prisoner give evidence, which I took down—this is his original deposition in my writing; I took it down from what he said—on January 2nd, the day of committal, I read it over to him, and he signed it—I cannot remember whether the prisoners were represented on December 26th—on the second occasion questions were asked in cross-examination by a solicitor representing Cheeseman—Cheeseman, on that occasion, called Patrick Riley and Henry Woolridge—the case was then committed for trial to the South London Sessions, and the witnesses were bound over in the usual way—this charge-sheet was before me when Cheeseman and Warrier were committed; it was practically before the Magistrate; I marked it off on his behalf.
Cross-examined. The business at Southwark Police-court is very heavy indeed—a very large number of cases, and other business has to be got through in one day very often—on Mondays we often have from sixty to eighty cases—the charge-sheet comes to the Police-court from the inspector on duty at the Police-station; he brings it, and takes it back—all the charge-sheets are placed before me at the commencement of the business by the inspector—the inspector, or sergeant acting as inspector, takes the charge, I believe, and puts in the charge-sheet the nature of the charge, the person making it, and signing the sheet, and the witnesses—I have no experience of charges being taken at the station—Warren is an inspector of that division, and I believe Marsh is also, I do not recollect his name—Bank Holidays are very heavy days with us; December 26th would be a heavy day—when the prosecution is not represented by Solicitor or Counsel, sometimes a Magistrate will conduct the case, and sometimes the clerk—the Magistrate has before him a register, which informs his mind of what is on the charge-sheet—sometimes, when a prisoner is charged on summons, the constable is asked if he wishes to ask questions of a witness; but in indictable offences a constable has nothing to do with asking questions, the Magistrate or his clerk would do so—these cases have to be disposed of with the greatest expedition; we must get the goal delivery every day—William Cotter, who signed the charge-sheet and complained of the loss, was the first witness called in this case, and Lindsell, the carman, was the second—the document he produced as to his time at Addis's Wharf is annexed to the depositions—Lindsell does not seem to refer to it in his evidence, but I have no doubt it was produced on the first day; I could not say absolutely—I see no exhibit mark on it; it may be that in the hurry of business the Magistrate did not mark it as he generally does—I do not think the witnesses were ordered out of Court in this case—I believe the prisoner was in Court when Lindsell was examined; I cannot say positively—in a case of larceny, the first question usually asked is the time at which it was committed—Lindsell made a statement as to the time; he was asked questions as to the time, and cross-examined upon it, and probably, in making his last answer in cross-examination, he produced the note from Addis's Wharf—Bartlett and Otway were also called on that day—I believe the depositions were so hastily taken that the caption only deals
with one date, and the cross-examination seems to follow as though it occurred on the same day—I or the Magistrate would have to decide how much detail of a statement would go on the depositions—we must exercise discretion as to that—a man might say a good deal more than appears on the depositions—the sentence in the depositions in Bartlett's evidence, "On 24th, in Bermondsey Street, I went with Parslow to Reed's Wharf," should be, "On 24th I was in Bermondsey Street"—the two witnesses called for the prisoners might have made statements to a certain extent—they would have been questioned by the Magistrate or me, as they appear to have been cross-examined, and no one appeared then for the prisoners—there are a great number of warehouses in the district of Shad-Thames and Bermondsey Wall, and a great many persons are engaged there in carting—I remember the prisoner as an officer in cases at our Court for several years—we have a good many cases from that district against carmen for working horses in an unfit state—the prisoner has had cases of that kind at our Police-court—I know nothing of the Carmen's Union; I never heard of it before this case—I believe Warner was not represented at the Police-court—he would be asked whether he wanted to cross-examine the witnesses—he does not appear, according to the depositions to have asked any question.
Re-examined. We were under considerable pressure on the 26th, and probably on January 2nd, as there would be an overflow of business on remand from the 26th—questions asked by the Magistrate or me would not be under the head of cross-examination, being "By the Magistrate" or "By the Court."; but I think in this case the word cross-examination should be "By the Court"—I do not think this was a cross-examination by the Magistrate; I really cannot say.
CHARLES SMITH . I am a clerk in the office of Sir Richard Wyatt, Clerk of the Peace at Newington Sessions—I produce the original depositions taken at the Police-court in the case of the Queen v. Cheese-man and Warrier from the custody of the Clerk of the Peace.
GEORGE CHEESEMAN . I live at 20, Parker's Buildings, Spa Road, Bermondsey—up to December 24th I had been from time to time employed as a day labourer at Kitchen's Wharf, where I was paid every night—day labourers get to the wharf about 7.55 a.m., to see if they can get work for the day—on December 24th I left home about 7.45 to go to Kitchen's Wharf—I went up Parker's Buildings and the Neckinger, through Dealing Street, Rose Court, across Dockhead, into Shad-Thames, and got to the wharf about 7.55—on my way I spoke to a greengrocer, Perry, in Parker's Buildings; and in Dockhead, opposite the Feathers public-house, I met Jacques, who walked with me to the wharf, and remained there with me—outside the wharf were Jordan, Doughty, the engineer, and others—I stood there among them until we were called in at eight o'clock by Mr. Willoughby, the foreman at the wharf—we worked at unloading a barge of emery stones—I continued at that till 10.30—Jaques, Jordan, Doughty, and I were in one gang; Doughty was my mate with the truck—we loaded the emery atones into a truck, and then Doughty took the handles of the truck, and I shoved him up—about 10.30 Mr. Willoughby called me out; I was working in Al, just inside the door—Willoughby stood in the middle of the narrow road; it is only wide enough for two vans to pass—I went out and saw the
prisoner and another policeman, both in uniform—the prisoner said to me, "I want you, Cheeseman," and I said, "What for?"—he said, "You will know all about it when you get to the station"—I said, "Let me go and get my hat"—he said, "Oh, you will have plenty of time to get that"—he laid hold of me, and then a policeman in plain clothes came and laid hold of me on the other side, and they took me to the station—Willoughby was present during my conversation with the prisoner, and he could hear what occurred—I did not say to the prisoner, "I know what you want me for"—on the way to the station I asked the prisoner to tell me what he wanted me for; and on two or three occasions I asked him to let me walk, without showing me up along the street, as it made me look like a thief—I did not think he was going to charge me with being a thief—the prisoner did leave go of me, but the plain-clothes officer would not—I said, "Will you tell me what you want me for?"—he said, "Come along; you will know when you get to the station"—up to the time of getting to the station I did not know what I was charged with—when I got to the station, at about 10.45, I was put in the first room on the left—I again asked the prisoner what I was there for—he made no answer, only told me I was to wait there—I asked the inspector on two or three different occasions what I was there for—he did not tell me at first—twice I went to him, and he did not tell me—the prisoner was not there at that time—the prisoner left me at the station—I remained in the same room—about 2.30, I believe, the inspector sent for the prisoner to have me brought before the Magistrate—the inspector told me, the third time I asked him, about 2.30, what I was charged with—the moment I was told I sent for Willoughby—he came to the station a little after two, before I saw the prisoner again—I spoke to Willoughby, and he went in with the inspector—that was before the prisoner came back—when the prisoner came at 2.30 he brought Sweetman with him—I did not know his name then—I was still in the room on the left—the prisoner opened the door of the room about half-way, and pointed me out—I holloaed out, "It is not fair, Parslow"—Constable Griffin was in the room with me at the time—a constable, sitting near the door, got up and shut it, and shoved the prisoner and Sweetman out—I cannot swear if that was Griffin, or what constable it was—I was sitting on a fixed seat against the wall, near the fire, because I was wet through; I was taken in the pouring rain—there was a table in the room under the window; I was on the opposite side of the room to the table—I remained in the room till about five o'clock, when I was placed with a lot of men who were brought into that room—as I got off my chair, Otway said, "Cheeseman, you can place yourself where you like"—I said, "I don't want to move," because I knew I had been pointed out already—the prisoner was there then, and a short stout inspector, and about a dozen men—Sweetman was brought in and told to pick out the thief, or words to that effect—he failed to pick anybody out—he was asked three times to see, and he said, "No, he is not here"—the inspector said, "Have another good look round"—and he had another good look and said, "No, he is not here"—the inspector said to the prisoner, "Are you satisfied?"—I don't know what the prisoner said, bat he went out some little time after—the other man and Sweetman went out—I remained in the room for another half-hour or more, and
then the prisoner took me into the next, room and charged me in the presence of the same inspector—Mr. Cotter was there, and Lindsell, the carman, was brought in while the inspector was writing down the charge—I did not know who Lindsell was till I was tried at Surrey Sessions—when Lindsell came in I asked him if he knew me—he said, "No"—I said, "Have you ever seen me before?"—he said, "No"—I could not say exactly if he remained in the room; I was too much upset when I heard the charge—the inspector went on writing, and then asked Mr. Cotter to sign it; he refused at first; then he and the inspector had some conversation, which I did not hear, and Mr. Cotter said he would sign it on those conditions, and he did so—I don't think the charge was read out to me from the sheet; but I heard that the prisoner charged me with thieving a horse and van and five sacks of flour—I believe the time first mentioned at the station was 7.40—I heard the time mentioned at Southwark Police-court as 7.45—I was then taken to the cells—it was about six o'clock—I was detained in custody that night, and the next day, Christmas Day, and night, and on Boxing Day morning, December 26th, I was brought before Mr. Slade at South wark Police-court; and then Warrier was placed beside and charged with me—I heard the evidence given by Mr. Cotter, the prisoner, and others on that day—I was not professionally represented—the case was remanded for a week—I asked for bail, and the Magistrate granted it—on January 2nd I surrendered upon the remand—I was then represented by a solicitor—in the meantime the London Carmen's Union had taken charge of the case for me, and at their expense I was represented—the witnesses for the prosecution were, recalled and cross-examined, and then Riley and Woolridge were called for me—they are here—I and Warrier were committed for trial to the Sessions, which began on January 15th—I surrendered to take my trial on the 16th—the prisoner gave evidence against me, and he and Bartlett, the plain-clothes officer, swore the same against me as they did at the Police-court—a number of witnesses were called for me—Mr. Geoghegan was to have defended me, but he was not there, and Mr. Swann defended me—I asked to have the case postponed, as Mr. Geoghegan was not there—both Warrier and I were acquitted—it is not true that at 7.45 a.m. on December 24th I was driving a van in George Row, or that Warrior was walking by the side, or that I jumped out of the van and ran away; or that I stole a van standing outside Reed's Wharf on that morning—I have known the prisoner for about six years, and he has known me for that time by sight and to speak to.
Cross-examined. I have known him as a constable in this district—I have spoken to him at times—I never had the slightest quarrel or difference or dispute with him—neither he nor anyone else ever had a case of any kind against me—I don't think I had seen the prisoner for two months before the day I was locked up; I would not be positive when I had last seen him—if a man wants work as a dock labourer he goes to one of the wharf gates on the chance of getting a day's work—the employment there is by the day; it is not regular employment—there are plenty of constant men there regularly; extra men, who are paid every night, go and get taken on when they are wanted for extra work—I was not a constant man—extra hands go or not, just as it suits them—I have
been getting work in this way at the docks as an extra hand for about ten months—bad luck drove me to the water-side—I have been principally to Kitchen's Wharf—I don't think I have done two days' work at any other wharf—I think it was about the middle of last year when I first went to the water-side to work; it took me a little time before I could get a job—a man does not get a job the first time he shows his face—I first got a job at the docks as a dock-labourer twenty-three or twenty four years ago; I commenced working there again last year, after eleven years in business—I have worked at Kitchen's Wharf now for about six months; I went there first three or four months before Christmas, as far as I recollect—I worked there as often as they wanted me; I don't think I have lost a day's work this month, only for the holidays—I don't know how many days a month I worked in October, November, and December; if there was work I worked six days a week—I am in pretty fair regular work now—for three months before Christmas I was in pretty fair regular work—a day or two, now and then, I might not have been on, through slackness, but, as a rule, I got a pretty fair turn of work there—before working at the docks I had been a master carman up to January, 1895; I lost about seven horses in five months—for some little time after I ceased to be a master carman I did a little dealing in horses and vans, and anything I could buy—that lasted three or four months, and then I took to the water-side—as a master carman I drove vans—I had also been a greengrocer and fishmonger—I had been a master carman, a man that took work, about eight or nine years, I should think; and I have had greengrocer's and fishmonger's shops, and horses and carts—at the time I was a fishmonger I drove my own horse and cart, and got a job when I could—I did regular work for a big man in Mark Lane when I was a master carman—I have done dealing for nearly twenty years, not in any particular place—I have heard about robberies of vans and flour, at the end of October, November and December; I don't know how it was done—I have heard vans have been stolen in Shad Thames—Horsley down is close by where I work, and Bermondsey Wall—I only heard of the one being stolen from Shad Thames—I did not hear of one being stolen from Bermondsey Wall, or from East Lane, or George Row, or from Artillery Street—I had been at work on the Monday before the 24th—I cannot say how many days I had worked the week before; I was at work the week before—on December 23rd I got to Shad Thames about 7.55, and went to work at eight—when Willoughby comes to the wharf he first opens the door at the bottom, and goes to his office and opens the door on the first floor—there might be twenty or more men outside, waiting for employment—a man might look about to see which is the busiest place; but a man who has got a turn of work stands by one place—the foreman knows the men he wants—he comes to the door and calls in those he wants; the other men are not allowed to come in, and they would move away to some other place—I cannot say whom I met going to work on the Monday, or on the days of the week before that I went to work—Hickman's Folly is a turning out of George Row; you can come through there into Dock head—I spoke to Jacques right opposite the Feathers, and right opposite the top of Rose Court—the Feathers would be within a few minutes' walk from Kitchen's Wharf—between seven and nine in the morning there is much traffic in the streets about
these wharves; it is a pretty busy neighbourhood about Dockhead and round there, at eight and before—I don't say it is difficult to get along then for vans, it is for people—I don't think it is very difficult to get along with vans in the morning along Dockhead—the water-side is a very busy place in the morning with traffic; Bermondsey Wall is a busy place—a decent horse would walk from Reed's wharf to the Bermondsey Police-station in about ten minutes—I should not think they are more than three-quarters of a mile apart—a man would want a good deal of knocking along if it took him twenty minutes—there is a way to come out of Reed's Wharf where you would not have much traffic—I don't think I ever saw Bartlett, the plain-clothes man, before he came to the wharf, but I think he had a lot of ill-will towards me, or else he would not have said what he did—I did not see him go up to, or be with, Willoughby—I do not know that he told Willoughby what he wanted me for—I never heard that—I heard he went up to Willoughby's office—Willoughby was in the middle of the road when he said, "Cheeseman, you are wanted"—it was raining pretty sharp, enough for me to get very near wet through before I got to the station, and it was not very long before that that we had to go and put our coats on—Willoughby came into the road and called me out, and he stayed there till the police took me away—I left him standing there—there was another uniform constable besides the prisoner—I did not see Bartlett there till the prisoner seized me, and he came on the other side very quick—I do not know where he came from—the prisoner took me in custody at once, after I had asked him what he wanted me for, and he had said I should know when I got to the station, and I had asked to get my hat—he did not let me get it—I was looking the prisoner foil in the face at this time—I don't think I addressed him by name when I said, "What do you want me fort"—I was wearing a cap at the time—on my way in the morning I had worn this hard felt hat—I was dressed as I am now, except that my trousers were tied up—the other uniform officer was with the prisoner just outside the office door—I had seen that other officer before—I don't know his name—I don't think he had any grudge against me; he never spoke a word, and took no part in it—he followed me—it rained all the way to the station—when I got to the station I was not taken to the inspector's room, but to the room where I stayed—I don't know that anything was said to the inspector about my being brought there—I went and asked him two or three times—I asked the prisoner several times in the room to tell me what they wanted me for—I was never told the charge till the inspector told me at 1.30—the prisoner and the plainclothes man told me I should know when I got to the station—the inspector did not, in my presence, ask anything about the case, or tell the prisoner to go and fetch the prosecutor—the inspector did not tell me to wait until the prosecutor was sent for—I was taken to the room, and the prisoner went through to the inspector—the inspector did not tell me that the prosecutor could not attend till 2.30—I saw Mr. Cotter, the prosecutor, there at one o'clock, and I did not know who he was—the inspector did not tell me that—Constable Griffin sat by the door of the room; I have known him for a number of years, and could speak to him—we should address each other by name—I don't know if he was looking after me; I did not want any looking after—I saw another constable in the
room; the inspector sent him out to find the prisoner, to get me before the Magistrate—when the prisoner came to the door and pointed me out to Sweetman, Griffin was sitting on the table, on the other side of the room to me—he had no grudge against me—I holloaed out to the prisoner that it was not fair—I had some conversation with Griffin afterwards about it, and he said, "Don't upset yourself, you will be let go directly; there is no one can identify you"—I won't be sure whether I said anything to Griffin about having been pointed out—immediately behind me was the inspector's room, in which was the inspector—after I had been put between twelve men, a man I was locked up with in the cell said, "They have not served you fair, shoving a great big fellow like you among a lot of little men; if you were in the City of London they would serve you better than that"—I did not complain to the inspector, because I could not get him to answer a question—I said to Griffin, "Won't the inspector answer me a question if I go and ask him?"and he said, "Yes, go," and I went, and on that third occasion he told me, and then he remarked that he ought not to tell me till Parslow came back with his witnesses—they kept the whole thing a secret from me till 1.30—I saw two different inspectors—the first one told me the charge, and the second one took the charge—when the identification was going on, Sergeant Otway, the dark inspector, and the prisoner were there—I cannot say whether Bartlett was there—I think Otway was the first to ask Sweetman whether he could identify me; then he was asked again by someone, and the third time the inspector asked him to have a good look round—I don't think the prisoner asked him—I might have said, "This is all nonsense; that is the man that looked and saw me a few minutes ago," but I had my little children and other things to think of, and I was full right up—the prisoner first asked Sweetman to point out the man, and then Otway asked him, and then the inspector asked him to be sure—I don't remember saying at the Police-court, "The only man who spoke to Sweetman was the inspector"—I had a conversation with Willoughby at the station; I only said to him, "Mr. Willoughby, I have been here all this time, and only just know what I am here for"—the inspector then walked out, and said to Griffin, "See these men have no conversation with each other"—they were starting writing the charge when Lindsell came in; he came in while I was being charged by the prisoner—he had never seen me before, so far as I know—he had no feeling against me—I don't believe he said anything at the station concerning the charge; he only answered when I asked him if he knew me, "No; I don't believe you have anything to do with the charge"—I did not hear him say what time the van was stolen—I was given to understand by the prisoner, when he was charging me at the station, that the van had been stolen at 7.40—the inspector told me at 1.30, when he first told me the charge, that it was between eight and ten—the carman would be the man to know what time he lost his van—I don't think he had anything to do with making out the charge; he said nothing about the time he lost the van—at the Police-court Lindsell said he lost his van at 7.45, I believe, till my solicitor made him bring it to very nigh eight a.m.—Addis's Wharf is not far from Reed's; if the road were blocked it would be difficult to get along—Lindsell may have got his time at Addis's Wharf marked on his note—I don't recollect his producing
any note at the Police-court—on December 24th, after ten o'clock, the prisoner went to the wharf where my brother works, to make inquiries as to where I was working—they spoke to the foreman there; my brother knew where I was working—I know nothing about Warrior's arrest—I think he was arrested by Otway and Bartlett, and not by the prisoner; I am not certain; I was not there—I did not bring Warner to the Police-court in this case—the solicitor brought him there—neither he nor Lampshell gave evidence at the Police-court.
Re-examined. Mr. Cotter was at the Police-station about one o'clock, about half an hour before I was told by the inspector what I was charged with—the inspector told me the robbery was between eight and ten—the prisoner and Sweetman came a little after two—I did not know Warner till we were tried together; but I had seen him, and I may have nodded to him going to work, but I never had any conversation with him, and he was a stranger to me—Mr. Cotter was sitting at the station when Willoughby was brought some little time after two o'clock—Mr. Cotter had been there then for some little time—when Mr. Cotter, came, the inspector sent a policeman to find the prisoner, to take me before the Magistrate—I cannot say how long Mr. Cotter had been at the Police-station before Willoughby came.
PATRICK RILEY . I live at 20, Parker's Buildings, Spa Road, Bermondsey, where Cheeseman lives—I am agent to the landlord—on December 24th I saw Cheeseman, at or about 7.45 a.m., passing from the back yard out through the front door, on his way to work, as I was coming out from my bedroom—he turned to the left after leaving the front door, in the direction of the Neckinger—I first heard of his arrest towards the night of the 24th, and made inquiries whether he could be bailed out, and was told it was impossible—on the 26th I went to bail him out, and on the remand I was called as a witness, and again at the Sessions.
Cross-examined. I said before that it was at or about 7.45 I saw him; I did not say, "As near as I can guess"—I signed that deposition, but the word "guess" is wrong—I saw the prisoner from my shop-door, leading from my bedroom—I was at my shop-door; I was passing into my kitchen as Cheeseman passed out through the front door to go to his work—I was walking from my bedroom to go to my back yard to prepare material for my workmen as Cheeseman was passing out from the back to go to his work—it was a mistake to say, "I went into the yard and saw Cheese-man leave"; I was going into the yard when I saw him leave—he has lived in the same house with me afterwards—it was not exactly 7.45 by the clock when I left my bedroom, it was very near it—it is another misstatement to say, "I left my bedroom exactly At 7.45—I left my bedroom at 7.45; I could not fix the time exactly—when I left my bedroom I looked at the clock, and saw it was 7.45—I told the Magistrate it was exactly 7.45; from then to the time I saw Cheeseman some time must have been lost, and it would have been nearer eight o'clock—I took the time from the clock on my table—I corrected the statement, "And saw Cheeseman leave, it might be, twenty minutes to eight"; it is a mistake—there are a good many mistakes in my short deposition—I took it for granted as it was read over to me.
Re-examined. I am perfectly certain it was two or three minutes after 7.45.
SARAH RILKY . I am the wife of the last witness—on December 24th I saw the prisoner leave the house about 7.45 or so; I was in the shop, and he passed just by it; I saw him go past the window—I heard of his arrest the same day between twelve and one, at dinner time.
Cross-examined. I keep a shop there—Cheeseman generally leaves the house at about the same hour in the morning, about 7.40 or 7.45; he is very regular in his time—I could not say what time he left on the 23rd; it might be the same time—I was in the shop when he went out, and saw him pass the window; it was 7.45—my husband came up into the shop a a Cheeseman was going out—I had just come out of my bedroom, which I left at 7.45—I did not notice his son go out that day—only I and my husband live in that house besides the Cheeseman; Cheeseman has two little sons and a grown-up one living there.
Re-examined. We go from our bedroom into our shop; they are all on one floor.
WILLIAM CHARLES PARRY . I am a greengrocer, of 5, Parker's Buildings—on the early morning of December 24th I went to market, and came back between 6 and 6.30—at 7.45 I had just come to my door, and I saw Cheeseman go past. I said, "Good morning, George"—he said, "Good morning, Bill"—he passed me to go to work, and I went to put my board on my barrow, ready to go off selling—I would not be certain to a minute; it might have been 7.46—I had previously been asked the time by another person at 7.42, and two or three minutes afterwards Cheese-man passed—I am troubled very much with telling people the time there—I did not hear of Cheeseman's arrest for two or three days afterwards.
Cross-examined. I am an authority in the district as to the time—a great many people come and ask me about it; it happens every day—I usually see Cheeseman—there is nothing remarkable in seeing him passing—he usually passed about the same time—he asked me to come and speak for him, as I had seen him pass that morning—he asked me to say I had seen him at 7.45; he gave me the time—I was not called before the Magistrate—I went to the Sessions, but was not called—I was ready to give evidence—two or three days afterwards it was the general talk of the place.
Re-examined. Cheeseman first spoke to me about giving evidence on December 26th or 27th, and I then remembered the incidents on the early morning of December 24th, about his passing my shop, and the time, and I said so.
WILLIAM JAQUES . I live at F Block, Peabody Buildings, and work at Kitchen's Wharf—on the morning of December 24th, at 7.45, I left home, and on my way to Kitchen's Wharf I met Cheeseman at about 7.48, opposite the Feathers—he had come up from Rose Court towards work—I walked with him to Kitchen's Wharf; we got there about 7.52 or 7.53—we remained outside till eight, when Willoughby came out to choose his men—I and Cheeseman were among those chosen, and we went in at eight o'clock—we worked in the same gang till 10.30, when Cheese-man was called out—he had not left the gang on the wharf from 8 till 10.30.
Cross-examined. I was spoken to about giving evidence when the solicitor's clerk came to the wharf two or three weeks afterwards—I was
asked about this particular day—I used to go early in the morning to Kitchen's Wharf to try to get work; I got work there pretty regularly—I did not try other wharves if I did not get work there—I got work there on this morning—I was not at the Police-court—I go to the wharf by Abbey Street, Parker's Row, and Dockhead—I walk on the left-hand side to the post-office, just before you get to the Feathers, and then I cross—I was not in a hurry that morning—it was muzzling with wet—I had walked with Cheeseman on other occasions to Kitchen's Wharf—it would take three or four minutes to get from where I met him to the wharf, and it would take about the same time to get to George Row—the week before this I had worked every day at Kitchen's Wharf—I had been working there for six years; I was not a regular man, but I got a job pretty well every day—men who have been there a long time can get it—I had seen Cheeseman working there for three or four months, as a day labourer, I should think—men who come there do not get taken on every day at first; the old hands work their way up—about fourteen of us have worked there for a considerable time—sometimes there are more than twenty men outside the gate in the morning; on ordinary mornings there are about sixteen—they are all taken on sometimes, sometimes none are—sometimes they only want a few people, and then the old hands would be sure to get the turn.
Re-examined. On December 24th I was at the wharf when they took Cheeseman into custody, and I knew it then—after he had left I heard that he had been arrested and taken to the station—I am sure the day he joined me at the Feathers was the day he was arrested—I was called and gave evidence at the trial, when Cheeseman was acquitted; and I gave evidence before the Magistrate in this case.
GEORGE GROVE WILLOUGHBY . I live at 158, Waller Grove, New Cross—I am foreman at Kitchen's Wharf, and have been engaged there ten years—I get to work at eight in the morning—I arrive at the premises at four or five minutes to eight; work commences at eight—I remember the morning of December 24th last—I got to the wharf at three or four minutes to eight that morning—I saw several men standing outside; they were Kirk, She a, Harding, Cheeseman, and several others whom I didn't notice at the time—I am able to say that Cheeseman was there—he had been employed as a day labourer at the wharf for some months past—at eight o'clock I went to the door and opened it for the purpose of calling in the labourers whom I was to select for the day—I did that at eight o'clock—I nodded to those I selected; sometimes I call them by name—I can give you the names of half-a-dozen or more'; they were She a, Emmett, Jaques, Doughty, Jordan, Cheeseman, Gerard, and some others; I believe eighteen in all—Cheeseman came in and went to work—he remained at work there up till about 10.30 that morning—he did not leave the wharf or his work up till that time—about 10.30 a plain-clothes man and two uniformed constables came to the wharf; they were Bartlett, who was in plain clothes, and Parslow, and 150 M, I don't know his name; they were in uniform—Bartlett came to the office on the first floor just as I opened the door; the other two were not within hearing—after Bartlett had spoken to me I went down and saw the other two constables, and called Cheeseman—Parslow said, "I want you, Cheese-man"—Cheeseman said, "What do you want me for?"—Parslow said,
"You will know all about that when you get to the station"—Cheeseman said again, "Can't you tell me now, what have I done?"—Parslow repeated his remark—Cheeseman was wearing a cap all over his face; Parslow walked him up the street away from the wharf, and Bartlett walked up behind; I think he was on the other side of the road when they passed these remarks—the other constable in uniform walked away from the wharf, I believe in the same direction as the others, but I did not take that notice—I don't think he was sufficiently near to hear what passed—he was about a dozen or fifteen feet, I should think, from us—I was present all the time—it is not true that Cheese-man said to Parslow, "I know what you want me for"—it is not true that I was not present during the interview between Parslow and Cheeseman; later on the same day I went to Bermondsey Street Police-station—I got there just after two—I saw a constable first in the waiting-room; I spoke to him—I next saw an inspector as he passed through the waiting-room—he spoke to me—Parslow was not there at that time—I saw Cheeseman on that occasion; I spoke to him, and he spoke to me—Griffin, the policeman in charge, was there—he sat on a chair at the side—I merely said to Cheeseman, "You will be all right presently"—I was told to wait there till I saw another inspector—I then went into the inspector's office—I got there about a quarter of an hour afterwards—I then left the station—during the time I was there I did not see the defendant—I did not go back again that day—I was a witness at the Sessions on Cheeseman's trial, and was also a witness before the Magistrate in this ace.
Cross-examined. I was not before the Magistrate on the 26th, when Cheeseman was charged at the Police-court—I believe I first made a statement in this case to the solicitor of the Carmen's Union just after Christmas, I can't remember exactly—I must have made a statement before I went to the Police-court—I think it was two or three days after Christmas; it was made at the wharf—I do not know why I did not go to the Police-court; I was suspended to the Sessions—I was not asked to go to the Police-court—I saw the solicitor to the Carmen's Union two or three times, at the wharf—I don't know where the Carmen's Union meet—I knew Cheeseman as a carman—he had a horse and van of his own at one time; that was about twelve months ago, I should think—I have known him several years in Bermondsey; I had no business with him—I first gave him employment as a dock labourer somewhere about August—I was only in Court here on Saturday for about a minute—when I go to the office of a morning I go to the foot of the iron gate to see whether any barges had arrived in the night—afterwards I go to the office—if there were any men there connected with the office I should see them, but they were not there; in the ordinary way, I should see the men belonging to the barges; then I go to the office, open the doors, take the letters out of the box, and put them on the desk—I have to determine each morning how many men I have to take on—I have only been late at the office three times in ten years, and that only a minute, or perhaps two minutes—Mr. Kitchen is my employer—I gave Cheeseman work in August or September—I cannot say how many days he worked in September; I should say three weeks; I have not the particulars; I suppose they are available—they are entered in a book; that
would show each day and each name—I looked at the book yesterday; I cannot say from memory how many days he worked in September—an inspector asked me to look at the list; I called it out to him, and he put it on paper—it might have been only eleven days that he worked in September; I have a lot of things to look after—on this morning, when the plain-clothes man and the two policemen came, the two policemen were in the street, standing together—the plain-clothes man did not tell me that Cheeseman was wanted for being concerned in a van robbery; I did not know he was a policeman; he told me so afterwards—he came up the stain to the office, and said, "Do you know a man named Cheeseman?"—I said, "Yes"—he said, "Do you know anything about him?"—I said, "No, only that he has worked here," and I said to him, "Do you? What do you want to know for?"—he said, "I am an officer from Bermondsey Street"—I said, "Anyone might say that"—he said, "I will prove it to you, if you will look out of that window; there are two officers in the street"; I looked out of the loop-hole; it is not a window, and there were two officers there—he said, "Have you any idea where he was this morning; when he was at work?"—I said, "He is at work"—he said, "Oh, is he?"and he looked surprised—he said, "I will tell my mate," and he went down into the street; that was all that was said; I don't think I spoke to him afterwards; I don't believe I did that morning—up to that time I did not know that any robbery had been committed—Parslow asked me to call Cheeseman out—I can't remember whether I have ever said that before to-day; perhaps I was not asked the question—Bartlett said, "I will go down and tell my mate"—he did not tell me what he went down for—if that is in the deposition it is a mistake—I said to him, "Who an you I"—I spoke to him in a gentlemanly manner—he said, "I am an officer"; I said, "How am I to know that? Anybody might tell me that"—I said that in a genial manner—I don't think I knew what Cheeseman was wanted for till later in the day; I was wondering what he was wanted for all the morning—Bartlett might have told me that he was wanted for a van robbery, but I can't remember exactly; I can't recollect every word he said; I won't say he did not tell me; I think he must have done it—I spoke to Parslow when I came down; I remember asking him if he had got the right man, if he was sure he had got the right man—he had not got anybody at that time, but he had already asked me to call Cheeseman out, so that I must have been told by Bartlett; I did not have any conversation with Parslow, not above half a dozen words; I asked him if he was sure he had got the right man, because I thought this man would not do such a thing—I had not been told what part he had taken in it; I had not been told any particulars then—the time I told you was a quarter to eight when this occurred—I knew that Cheeseman had been at work that morning, I don't think I asked when—as far as I know, my memory is good—I should not think the plain-clothes man could hear what I said to Parslow; he may have heard; I don't think he could—the uniform man did not say anything; he was standing beside Parslow, about a couple of feet apart, when I came down—Parslow was in the road, the other man was on the pavement—they were two or three feet apart the whole time—I did not hear Trinder's evidence before the Magistrate—when I looked
out of the loop-hole I saw him—I mentioned the van before the Magistrate—the truck was about six yards away—the plain-clothes man was six yards away, but may have heard; it was only a narrow road—I cannot recollect exactly whether I said before the Magistrate about the plain-clothes man going or being behind the van—I cannot remember if I mentioned the van at the Police-court—I had heard a good deal of van robberies that had taken place about that time; vans driven away, the flour disposed of in some way, and then the vans turned loose—that has been going on for some eighteen months or two years—I cannot remember if there were five between September and December—there has not been any flour robbery since December, to my knowledge—a van of tea was stolen last week—it was not raining hard; I do not believe it was raining at all; I cannot remember that exactly—I went just outside the office door—I don't think it was raining fast, or I should have remembered it—I should not trouble about sheltering if it were raining; I should do my work just the same—when the men are unloading a barge in the rain they wear mackintoshes—I don't remember if they had their coats or mackintoshes on before this happened—they generally work without coats if it is not raining—Cheeseman was working under cover—I heard what passed between Parslow and Cheeseman; the other uniform man stood beside them—I walked just inside the door and called Cheeseman, and then walked back—the prisoner said, "Cheeseman, I want you," and Cheeseman said, "Want me! What do you want me for?"—Parslow said, "You will know all about that when we get to the station"—Cheeseman said, "Cannot you tell me what I have done?"—I did not like to interfere and tell him; it did not matter to me; I did not know anything about it, and I was not asked the question—I did not say at the Police-court that Cheeseman said, "Cannot you tell me what I have done?"—the prisoner and Bartlett walked Cheeseman off—I did not notice whether Bartlett caught hold of Cheeseman's arm—I don't know what became of the third, uniform, man—I went about my business upstairs to the office in the wharf—later in the day I heard full particulars of the case from half-a-dozen men in the street about Shad Thames—I did not see Cheeseman's son; his younger son came to me at two o'clock, and I went to the station—I heard he was brought up on the 26th—I saw him during the remand employed at the wharf—I knew when he had to go to the Police-court on the remand—after the committal I saw him—I only made a note in the time-book on the morning of the 24th of the time the men came on—I know Warrier by sight as a man about Shad Thames—I have seen him about there for some time—some times men are taken on at the wharf later in the day if a barge comes in, but very seldom.
Re-examined. I have no doubt as to the hour at which Cheeseman came on that morning—I have looked at the book, which tells the hour at which the men come on—the prisoner was employed at the wharf between his arrest and his discharge at the Sessions—after his committal I had a subpart, and I went and gave evidence—on December 24th, when I first spoke to the plain-clothes man, I was on the first-floor, outside the office-door—the office is in the corner of one of the warehouse floors—I talked to him for a few minutes—I cannot remember if Bartlett said anything then about the charge—he went downstairs before me—I followed him
almost immediately—I don't think I spoke to him after I got down—I only spoke to the prisoner after I got down; a minute after I spoke to him Cheeseman was called out—I must have been told the charge against Cheeseman at the wharf, before he was called out; I think Bartlett most have told me upstairs—I cannot be quite certain about it, but that is the best of my memory—I remember 7.45 being mentioned as the time of the robbery; I cannot remember for certain when it was mentioned, or by whom.
By the COURT. I saw Warner in the waiting-room here this morning—I saw him about the Police-court, but not in the witness-box.
By the JURY. I will fetch the time-book, showing the men employed that day, and the hours they worked.
EDWIN JORDAN . I live at 29, Bell Place, Bermondsey, and am a water-side labourer—on December 24th I worked at Kitchen's Wharf from 8 a.m.—I saw outside the wharf Bellamy and Cheeseman about 7.55—Jaques, Cheeseman, Doughty, and several others worked in my gang that morn-ing—between 10 and 10.30 Cheeseman was arrested—he worked in my gang from the time he was taken on till his arrest.
Cross-examined. I have worked at that wharf for several times a week for some months past—I am not a constant hand—it is my habit to be at the wharf somewhere about eight a.m. to see whether they want me—I had seen Cheeseman working there as a fellow-labourer for some months before; not always in my gang—I was at the Police-court when he and Warrior were committed—when Cheeseman was locked up he sent for two men to come from the wharf to prove he was at work on this morning, and Mr. Willoughby sent up me and Doughty—I did not see Cheeseman at the Police-court that morning—Mr. Willoughby told us what we were to go for—we waited outside the Court, where the witnesses are—I went up again after that, and was called as a witness—I first went to the Police-court a week after Christmas—when I gave evidence the prisoner was charged, and I gave evidence against him—I did not give evidence till he was charged—I was asked about the case by a solicitor a few days before the hearing at the Sessions (which was about the middle of January) of the ease against Cheeseman and Warrier, and I gave evidence then—I think I was spoken to about the matter before the solicitor spoke to me—I was at the Police-court when Cheeseman and Warrier were charged, but I did not give evidence—I first gave evidence when they were tried at the Sessions—I was first asked about the case by the solicitor a few days before I gave evidence—on December 24th I went to work in the ordinary way, and found a number of men waiting outside the gate in the ordinary way—until Cheeseman was taken into custody nothing unusual happened—there was not much to call my attention to anything on that morning up to his arrest—I remember the time, because it was the day before Christmas Day—on the Monday, 23rd, I was down there about 7.52—on Saturday, 21st, I got there about the same time—I get to the wharf at 7.52 as a general rule—I go in to work at eight—I think Cheeseman was working there on the 23rd—I could not exactly say what time he got there that morning—I am not certain whether he was at work there that morning.
Re-examined. Mr. Willoughby told me and Doughty to go to the
Police-court, and we went into the witnesses' room there, but were not called—afterwards we attended at the Sessions House, and I gave evidence—it was just before that I saw the solicitor for the prosecution—afterwards I attended at the Police-court, and gave evidence against the prisoner.
THOMAS DOUGHTY . I live at 10, Salisbury Place, Jamaica Road, Bermondsey, and am a waterside labourer—on December 24th I worked at Kitchen's Wharf—I got there about 7.57—I saw outside Jaques, Jordon, and Cheeseman, and others—Jaques, Jordon and Cheeseman worked in my gang that morning from the time he was taken on until his arrest.
Cross-examined. I have been working at that wharf for some time; I am a pretty regular hand there—I got to know Cheeseman by working there; we used to work in the same gang—we used to be waiting outside to be taken on—I gave evidence against the prisoner at the Police-court—the first time I was asked to give evidence about this case was about a week or fortnight before the hearing at the Sessions, when a solicitor gave me a subpart—I believe Cheeseman had been committed then—I went to the Sessions and gave evidence—until a week or a fortnight before the Sessions I had not been asked to recall any of the incidents of December 24th—Cheeseman was my mate on December 24th, and I missed him when he was taken away—up to then nothing had happened to point out the morning as different to other mornings.
By the COURT. I saw the policeman take him away on the 24th; it made an impression on my mind; I did not know what they had taken him for—it would make me recollect the date and time, and being Christmas Eve would make me recollect it more.
DANIEL CATCHPOLE . I live at 10, C Block, Peabody Buildings, Bermondsey—on December 24th I left home to go to work at Kitchen's Wharf—I went from East Lane towards Parker's Row, along Abbey Street, and I met the prisoner in Abbey Street, a few yards from George Row—I was going towards Parker's Row, he was going towards George Row—I was on the right-hand side of the street, and he was on the same side—we met between George Row and Oxley Street—I said, "Good-morning, how is the time?"—he said, "About the quarter"—I turned the corner into Oxley Street; before doing so I looked round—the prisoner was still in sight at the corner of Flockton Street—I then turned down Oxley Street—from the time of my meeting the prisoner till I turned down Oxley Street no van was in sight—I then went along Parker's Row into Dockhead, and along Shad Thames to the wharf, which I reached at 7.53 or 7.54—I am a constant workman there, and am always taken on when I am there—eight o'clock is my hour; I was there before my time; it is my usual practice, if possible.
Cross-examined. He was on his beat, and I was on my way—he was within a few yards of the top of George Row when I saw him.
JOHN SILVERSIDE . I live at 57, Marborough Road, Old Kent Road—I am foreman at Reed's Wharf, where I have been employed for thirty-three years and three months—on the morning of December 24th, one of Simmond's and Cotter's vans, driven by Lindsell, arrived at the wharf at 7.52—it had already in it five bags of flour—Lindsell brought with him this delivery order, which entitled him to receive twenty bags of flour
from the wharf—after showing me the order, he took it into the office to have marked upon it the time of his arrival, and left it there—after he had been to the office I saw and spoke to him—the breakfast hour at Reed's Wharf is from eight to 8.30—there was not time to load twenty sacks between 7.52 and eight, so I made a statement to Lindsell, and he went away from the wharf, leaving his van, containing five sacks of flour, outside the wharf in Mill Street—I saw it there—I was there between eight and 8.30 that morning—I last saw the van in front of the wharf in Mill Street about 8.15—I did not see it taken away—Sweetman, a watch-man, was on duty at this time—it was his duty to look after this wharf and the lower one between eight and 8.30—after 8.15 I was still on the premises—I speak most positively to the van being there up to about 8.15—I next saw it at 8.33, where it was just backed in ready for loading at the Mill Street wharf—Lindsell was there then—the prisoner came up alone, I believe; it was the first time I had seen him that morning—he said to Lindsell, "Bring your van to the station"—Lindsell drove the van away—he came back with it at 9.15, and then it was loaded with the twenty bags and driven away—it would be the carman's duty to have marked on the delivery order the hour at which he came back from the station to load the flour, and the time at which he left the wharf.
Cross-examined. I presume the time is put on the orders at every wharf—if the van were at Addis's Wharf that morning the order would show what time the van left—I think the Addis's Wharf order shows 7.30—that wharf is also on Bermondsey Wall, lower down—7.52 it the time this order was deposited with us; it would be the time the order gets to the clerk in the office—I heard of several flour robberies outside this wharf shortly before this one; vans were driven away, the flour taken out, and then the vans abandoned—that was during September, October, November and December—no flour robberies have come under my notice in that district since December—I do not rely on documents for the times I speak of—I rely on the times I saw the carman—two or three days before January 16th I was asked to recall what had taken place on that morning—I said before, "I take my minute recollection from the time entered in the books; without that help I should be unable to fix the time so definitely"—that is true—I get the time 8.33 because the men were five minutes late going to breakfast, and I took the time when they should be back; and just as the van was going to load the constable came—it was 8.33 or 8.35, I could not answer for two minutes—I was waiting to call the men in from breakfast when I saw the constable—I remember the time was exactly 8.33—I looked at my watch just at the time, and then saw the van being: backed in—the watchman had nothing to do but walk between the two wharves—six vans were loaded at the wharf that morning previous to Lindsell's—to my knowledge, at breakfast-time only, this particular van was outside the wharf, and at 8.30 there were others, but not at eight—no other orders were passed then—it is the watchman's duty to look after the wharf, not after the outside vans; the carmen must look after their own vans—the watchman is outside, between the upper and lower wharves, in Bermondsey Wall—the van must have been got from the upper wharf, down Bermondsey Wall, and to the end of George Row, and have come back over the same ground—George Hammond, one of the weekly men,
first told me the van had been stolen, and after that the watchman told me he had seen it taken away—he told me that about 8.28; I cannot say to a minute, but I came from my breakfast about five minutes before the half-hour—the van was in such a position that it could be easily led away in a moment—Sweetman told me he had seen a man get up into the van and drive it away—he said he was stationed in the narrow way of Bermondsey Wall, and a strange man drove the van away, and another man ran alongside of it, and they passed him, and from there he (Sweetman) went to a coffee-shop in the corner to see if the carman was there—he said the van was taken along too quick for him to stop it, and he well knew the carman—he said it was going at a trotting pace; it happened to be a clear thoroughfare—the lower wharf is 200 or 300 yards from the upper wharf; there are two or three wharves in between; I have not measured the distance—it is a straight line between the upper and lower; you can stand and see from one to the other—he said he knew both the men by sight—he never told me their names; I made no inquiry—I do not know if a boy was supposed to have been left in charge of this van; I think not—I heard that Lindsell asked a boy to look after the van, when he went to his breakfast, and I said to the boy, "How is it the van went?"—the boy was with another van there—my master is Mr. Reed—he came to the wharf that morning at nine o'clock—when he heard about this he saw Sweetman—Sweetman said he went to one coffee-shop, and could not find the man, and then went to another, and found him there—the nearest coffee-shop would be the one at the corner of the lane—the carman was at the one in George Row—I saw Sweetman there at 8.15 and 8.30; he went to his breakfast at 8.30, and was back by nine—he had gone to his breakfast when the prisoner came—the prisoner said to me, "I know the two men, and I will have them"—I don't know if he made inquiries of Lindsell as to whose van it was; he did not do so in my presence—I did not tell the prisoner there was someone else who knew the men—the prisoner came there about 8.33—at times there is a good deal of traffic about these streets in the morning—the carman drew the van out; I don't know if he got on it after it got out of my sight—I did not see him get on it—I should say it would take about twenty minutes to walk a horse and van from the upper wharf to the Bermondsey Police-station at that hour, with the ordinary traffic about—the shortest way would be through Artillery Street, I should fancy—instantly the prisoner came up he said to Lindsell, "Bring your van to the station," and he went—the prisoner told me who the men were, and that he would arrest them—as far as I know now, I said nothing—the van got back at 9.15—when Sweetman came back from breakfast he did not give me further particulars about the robbery; he went about his work—he said he did not follow the van—the van had not come back at that time—I asked no further particulars of him when he came back from breakfast, and he gave me none—Sweetman came back and had the conversation with me, and went away to his breakfast before the van returned, so that he did not wait to give the carman any information—I do not know if Mr. Reed saw Sweetman again a few days afterwards—shortly afterwards Sweetman left the employment of his own accord, without notice—I saw the prisoner when he came to the wharf, between one and two—he made no inquiry about the boy who was supposed to
look after the van; I did not tell him anything about that boy—he asked me if I would allow Sweetman to go to the station, and I said "Certainly"—I saw the boy about there—I have heard of van robberies taking place between the lower and upper wharves, and elsewhere in Bermondsey Wall—I did not go to the Police-court in this matter—the men came back from breakfast at 8.35, and some at 8.30.
Re-examined. I gave evidence at the Sessions—I understood the boy mentioned was quite a small boy with a carman in charge of one of Chambers's vans—I first saw the boy there at 8.25—I did not mention him to the prisoner—Sweetman's duty would be confined to watching the upper and lower wharves between eight and 8.30, and he would be en-titled to go to his breakfast after the men returned from theirs at 8.30.
By the JURY. There was one van outside Reed's wharf when the men went to breakfast—when I saw the boy at 8.25 no one was in the office then to pass an order.
GEORGE GROVE WILLOUGHBY (Re-examined). This book enables me to say that Cheeseman was paid for three hours at sixpence an hour on December 24th; it was first written two and a half hours, and then altered to three hours—I wrote this, "Cheeseman arrested 10.30 a.m."—it would not be possible for a man to leave his work without it being known.
ARTHUR CHARLES SMITH Re-examined). I now produce the depositions in the case against Cheeseman, the copy used at the trial—it contains, in part, Mr. Some's writing, with slight additions made to the evidence, and portions of it interlined.
JOHN ALFRED HUTCHINGS . I live at Thorpe Road, Bermondsey—I was a clerk at Reed's Wharf—Lindsell, Simmonds and Cotter's carman came there early on the morning of December 24th—refreshing my memory by the book, he came into the office at 7.52—it is the practice to drive to the wharf and bring the order to me immediately on their arrival.
Cross-examined. The carman always leaves the order with me.
Re-examined. I see that the order is right, and tell the carman so, and then make the entry—I do not give him any note to say that it is right till he has loaded, and that note states the time he arrived—this note is in the writing of Farmer, the clerk, who came after me—I enter 7.52 in the book a second after the carman has gone, and this is copied from the book—I have got the books here—I cannot say when the next van arrived, because I go to breakfast at eight o'clock, and come back at 8.30—I do not enter the arrivals after 8.30; I am in the warehouse then; I am there from six to eight as clerk—there is no entry of his name before this that morning—that is the only entry made by me that morn-ing before 8.30.
GEORGE EDWARD FARMER . I live at Bermondsey—I was employed as clerk at Reed's Wharf—on December 24th I came on duty between 8.30 and nine—my first entry that day is "Cheeseman, thirty bags of flour, 8.30"—I know Lindsell, the carman; he came at 9.15, ready to load, and I signed 9.15, and when he left, 9.25—it appears that he arrived at 7.52; I copied 7.52 from the delivery-book, which was there when I came on duty at 8.30—the breakfast hour is from eight to 8.30, and goods are not entered during that time; everybody knocks off work.
Cross-examined. The only object of the entry is to set whose van will
take precedence in loading—I had several entries to make when I came on—the carman arrived at 8.30, and I took the time from him.
GEORGE HAMMOND . I am a wharf labourer, of 57, Mansfield Road, Walthamstow—on December 24th I was working at Mr. Reed's, Dock-head—the usual breakfast hour is eight o'clock—after breakfast I came outside to have a smoke; that was a quarter or twenty minutes past eight—Simmonds and Cotter's half-covered van was outside by the gate of Reed's Wharf.
Cross-examined. There were two or three vans against the wall, but this one stood right against the gate—I only saw one van of Simmonds and Cotter there—I know it was theirs, because I saw their name on it—I did not see Sweetman, he was at the lower wharf; I saw him at 8 30, when he came up to breakfast, and he said that the horse and van had been stolen—he did not say who had stolen it—he had been watching at breakfast time.
Re-examined. He said that Simmonds and Cotter's one-horse van, which was standing in front of the gate, had been stolen.
JENNY EVANS . I live at 280, Devonshire Road, Forest Hill—I am now in Messrs. Brown's service—in December, 1895, I was a waitress at Mitchell's coffee-house, 4, George Row—on December 24th, about 8.10 a.m., I saw Lindsell, the carman, there, whom I knew by sight, but I did not see him come in; he was sitting down when I first saw him—I do not know what time he came in—he gave me his order for a haddock, and some tea and bread and butter—it took ten minutes to cook the haddock; I took it to him when it was cooked, but he had not time to eat it, he was called out of the shop, and away he went—I do not know who called him out, or at what time it was—there is a clock there; but it was five or six minutes after I first saw him—I think it was a haddock he ordered, but I am not quite sure; I know I took him something.
Cross-examined. It would be very difficult to recollect, as we have a great many people there of a morning, which kept me very busy; there might be twenty there, the shop was full, and it holds more than twenty—I was first asked if I remembered this, a little while before I went to Newington Sessions—between eight and nine is our busiest time—I do not remember Sweetman coming to breakfast that morning—the carman often comes to breakfast when he is up that way—I was not in the shop when the carman went out; I was in the kitchen—I was not in the shop when he came back and paid for his breakfast, but I was told that he did—I was in the shop all the morning, but I have no recollection of seeing Sweetman there.
Re-examined. That was not the first time I had seen Lindsell there; he had been in the habit of breakfasting there—our busiest hour is between eight and nine a.m.
HENRY WOOLRIDGE . My address is now 76A, Penndel Road—on December 24th, at eight o'clock, I was on Bermondsey Wharf, the Seaborne Coal Wharf, waiting for my load—I left there at 8.20 or 8.27—I relieved my lad near seven o'clock that morning—I do not know when, I began to load, there were so many before me, and there were no clocks—I was the last that loaded, and pulled off directly—I only guess the time—I went round East Lane, and branched off into George Road towards the river, and saw a horse and van coming from the river, with the reins hanging
down and dragging in the road; three men were running on the pavement level with it, head to head; if they wished to stop the horse they could; I did not notice that they tried to do so—I cannot say whether Cheeseman was one of the men—Lindsell, the carman, was running after the van behind, calling, "Stop it!"—I was just in time to prevent the van colliding with mine; I called out to my horse, but he did not notice the first time—the van was on its near side; I stopped it just where you turn to Abbey Street, the entrance of Marine Street—I do not know what became of the men—this was almost at the corner, where George Row joins Abbey Street—I went on with my van to the Waterman's Arms, Dockhead, and simply stopped and put in two hundredweight of coal, which took me about two and a-half minutes—the Waterman's Arms and the Feathers are very near together; it is further than Hickman's Folly, just past Parker's Row, near the Catholic Chapel—I then went to Mill Street Road, which may be ten yards past the Feathers' clock; it was then a quarter to nine—that was from seven to ten minutes after I stopped the van—it was not an hour—there were five sacks of flour on the van—I saw the prisoner that morning right over against Mr. Connor's premises in conversation with Mr. Connor—his premises are over Channel Road, East Lane, just by the Bermondsey Vestry; he is a carman and contractor—his premises are in East Lane, close to the water-side and the Vestry Wharf—I passed them and said, "Good morning"—that was four or five minutes before I stopped the van, as far as I can judge, and while I was going up East Lane—I saw no policeman running after the ran—when I saw the van running away, and people running after it, there was no policeman in sight—I do not think I saw the prisoner again till I saw him at the Police-court; but I cannot remember it all—I saw Basil and Brown going from Abbey Street—they stopped and asked me what was the matter; that was instantly after I stopped the van.
Cross-examined. I am a coal dealer—I am open to do carman's work, moving, or any odd jobs that are put in my way—I hive got a horse and van—I have known Cheeseman two or three years as a man who moves or does odd jobs—the first I saw of thin van was on my entering George Row; the horse was running away; I ran after it; of course I had to let my van pass it and prevent a collision, and then I stopped it at the risk of my life—what between looking after my own van and risking my life, my attention was pretty well occupied; I took it to be my duty—I saw Cheeseman on Wednesday nigh*, before the Police-court hearing came on; he came round to my place, and there might have been a few words exchanged—I measured the distances just to show that I was an independent witness—I have said, "I stopped the van; I am an independent witness"—I cannot say whether I had done the measuring before or after that; I only say I did it; it was only just walking along the road—I told the Magistrate that I saw Parslow that morning; that was after he was charged, but I asked about it before—I told them so at the Police-court—I went before the Magistrate on January 2nd, on the trial of Cheese-man and Warrior; I never mentioned it, but I did so when Parslow was charged—Connor is a carman—I only know Sweetman by being on this case—I did not see him that morning.
Re-examined. I measured with a tape.
By the COURT. I went along George Row because they were very busy at Flower Wharf, and I was anxious to get on with my work, and it meant five or ten minutes' delay if I went there, and I went up George Row into London Street—it saved me seven or eight minutes, as the road was blocked up.
GEORGE BASIL . I live at 76, Abbey Street, Bermondsey, and am a carman in the employ of the Bermondsey Vestry—on December 24th, at 8.32, as near as I can guess, I was in George Row—I fix the time because when I left our foreman said, "Joho," which means blow up to go to breakfast, and we go to breakfast from 8.30 to nine—our wharf is in George Row, at the bottom of East Lane—we shoot our dust there—I had been at the wharf that morning, and when the foreman gave the signal for breakfast I went into George Row, and I saw Woolridge stop a horse and van in the middle of the four cross roads—I know the prisoner well—he was not there, or near there, at the time—I saw Lindsell come up—I do not know Sweetman.
Cross-examined. I did not see Sweetman—I went to the Sessions—I did not see Cheeseman till the night before I had to go to the Sessions, when he brought me a subpart.
HENRY CHARLES BROWN . I live at 13, Stork's Road, Bermondsey—I am employed by the Bermondsey Vestry as a dustman—on the morning of December 24th I started my first load in Oxley Street, and took it to the Vestry Wharf to deliver into the barge; my carman is Basil—I got to the wharf a few minutes after eight—we finished shooting the refuse about 8.25, and by the time I had got ray ticket for the foreman in the office, he had just sung out, "Joho," which meant we were to go to breakfast; that was 8.30—I then went down East Lane towards home, and I saw a coal merchant or hawker, Woolridge, stopping a horse connected with a van, which had flour in it, at the bottom of George Row—I saw no policeman there; I am quite sure.
Cross-examined. The van, before it was stopped, was half-way across the road, between George Row and Marine Street; it had not got into Marine Street, but was heading towards Marine Street—Woolridge's van was behind—he ran to stop the van, which had no attendant—he stopped it nearer to Marine Street than George Row, a little more than the middle of the road—I gave evidence at the Police-court the day after I received a subpoena—I was not spoken to at all about it until I received a subpoena—I remember all that took place on December 24th; the first time I was asked about it afterwards was on March 9th, when I got the subpoena—I did not see the carman, Lindsell, there—I should decidedly have seen him if he had been there—I did not see the van turned round.
Re-examined. I was at work between December 24th and March 9th; I was not away at all, to my knowledge.
By the COURT. My mate said he had a subpoena, and asked me if I remembered anything about it; I said, "Certainly I did," because I said to him, "As usual, there is no constable here"—I remember all the occurrence.
ALFRED PINK . I am a carman, living at 77, Jamaica Road—on December 24th I was out of employment—I was with one of Simmonds and Cotter's vans at Reed's Wharf, working for the carman, John Coles, helping
him to load; it was a two-horse van—I knew Lindsell—I did not see him at Reed's Wharf—just as we had drawn up I saw a one-horse Simmonds and Cotter's van there at 8.10; I do not know who was in charge of it—those were the only two Simmonds and Cotter's vans there that morning—the other van was drawn up before we were—I put the horses' bags on and went to the office, but was too late to get the order in till after break-fast, and I went into the next wharf—it had just turned 8.20 when I came back to Reed's Wharf; the one-horse van was not there then; it was just after 8.30 when it came back—I had seen the prisoner before, but I did not know him—I saw him on December 24th, as near as I know, about 8.40; there was no clock there—it was after the men had come back from breakfast, about 8.30—he came to Reed's Wharf from the direction of the Vestry Wharf, in Bermondsey Wall—he asked two or three of us there where the van was that was stolen—I said, "There it is"—it was then backed in to load—he asked where the carman was—I said, "At the tail-board"—he was just getting ready to load; it was Lindsell.
Cross-examined. I am in the carman's employment; it is a rule, when you get a hard job, to give half your pitch money away for a man to do half your labour—I had been in Simmonds and Cotter's employ, and had been discharged for having a man in my van who was not in their employ; that is one of their rules—I was not in their employ, and was riding on this van on December 24th; but the carman had employed me to do half his work—I have heard that Coles, the man who employed me, has been discharged—I did not see this van taken away, because I went to the urinal at the next wharf, Seth Taylor's; and just during that time the whole thing happened—when I came back the van we a gone—I did not run after it; it was not my van, and had nothing to do with me—I was making my way for breakfast then—I was told when I came out that it had been stolen, and I missed it—when the prisoner came he was there for about a quarter of an hour—when I went to the next wharf I left the van and two horses at Reed's Wharf, with nobody in charge—Coles went to his breakfast; I was in charge, but I was to go to breakfast—the van was empty; the thieves chose the one that was loaded—I had not the curiosity to see where the van had gone—I did not see Sweetman, or any watchman—I heard the prisoner say "We had better stop this," meaning the steal-ing of the vans—I did not hear him ask where the boy was, who was sup-posed to have been taking care of the van—I did not give him any in-formation as to how or when the van was stolen.
GEORGE SWEETMAN . I live at Sedan Street, Walworth—on December 24th I was employed at Reed's Wharf to load vans—I went on duty at eight o'clock—from 8 to 8.30, the breakfast hour, I had to watch the lower wharf—I walked up and down; I could see what happened outside the upper wharf—I first saw Simmonds and Cotter's one-horse van at eight o'clock outside A warehouse in the upper wharf—at 8.15, as near as I can say, I saw that van driven away by one man, while another walked by the side—I should know the men again if I saw them—Cheeseman was not one of them, nor was Warrier (whom I know by sight) the other—they went up George Row, passing me within about three feet—I went to Waitman's coffee-shop, but not finding there anyone who knew anything of the van I went to Mitchell's coffee-shop, where I saw Lindsell
-having his breakfast—I spoke to him, and he ran out after the van—I ran behind him—when I saw the van again it was about the middle of George Row—I saw Woolridge, a coalman, stop it—I went up—Woolridge, two dustmen, Lindsell, and other people were there—I stopped there about five minutes, and then Lindsell took the van back to the wharf, and I went to the coffee-shop and had breakfast—up to that time I had not seen the prisoner—no policeman was among the people when the van was stopped—it was about 8.30 when it was stopped; I should think it was about 8.25; it could not have been earlier than that, and it could not have been later than 8.30—after having breakfast I went back to the wharf—I got there about 8.40—I then saw the prisoner, Silverside, Pink, and Lindsell—the prisoner said he wanted my name and address—on the same day, about 1.45, I saw the prisoner outside the lower wharf—he said he wanted me to go to the station with him to identify a man—I walked with him there—on the way he said the man I had to identify was a big, stout man, with dark clothes, no whiskers, legs tied up, and a cap, and that his name was Cheeseman; and he said, "Now, don't be frightened to identify him; I have seen Mr. Cotter; there is £50 reward for the man who catches these thieves"—I said, after hearing the description, that Cheeseman could not be the man—when we got to the station the prisoner opened a door just at the top of the steps, and said, "There is Cheeseman; there is the man I want you to identify"—when he opened the door I could see Cheeseman—a policeman inside the door shoved it to, and said, "You ought to know better, Parslow, than to fetch a witness in like that"—I got to the station about 1.55, and stopped there till 5.45 in a room on the other side of the station to that where Cheeseman was—at 5.45 I was called into the inspector's office, where I found a number of men, among whom was Cheeseman, and I was asked by the sergeant to identify the thief—he said, "Have a look round; don't be frightened; have a good look round"—he was the only person who spoke to me; three times he told me to look round—I said the man was not there whom I had seen driving the van—the man I was asked to identify was supposed to be the man who had been driving the van, but he was not—at 10.10 that evening I got a telegram, asking me to go again to the Police-station, and I went—the prisoner was there—Warrier was placed with a number of other men, and I was asked to identify him, but I did not do so—the man whom I saw driving the van was a man of about my own height and stamp, with a full face, slight moustache, long overcoat, bowler hat, a bird's-eye handkerchief; the man walking by the side was a tall, thin man, with a cap, a cloth coat and waistcoat, cord trousers, and a plaid scarf round his neck—in my judgmenta, neither of those men resembled Cheeseman in appearance.
Cross-examined. The gates of the wharves were shut—I was alongside the lower wharf, standing on the path outside, in Bermondsey Wall—there have been recent robberies in this neighourhood—I had heard that people had driven away flour-vans, got rid of the flour, and then turned the vans loose—they had occurred shortly before this, and just in this neighbourhood—I saw three vans outside the upper wharf at eight o'clock—Simmonds and Cotter's van had five sacks of flour in it, the other two were empty—Simmonds and Cotter's van was nearest the upper wharf—I have no doubt that van
was stolen that morning by two men; one who drove, and knew how to drive, and one who walked alongside—that van was in front of the other two, and the nearest to me, and the one I had the best view of—one man was standing on the shaft; I had never seen him before that morning—I knew he was a thief stealing the van—he and the other man who walked came right by me—I could not very well stop them; they might have done something to me if I had; that was why I did not stop them—I was there to watch the wharf—I went and called the carman—I do not know that he says I never spoke to him—I called out when the van got to George How—there were not plenty of people about then; it was breakfast-time—Silverside was up at the other wharf—if I had been helping the men I could not have done better for them than I did—that was the first day I was watchman; the proper watchman was away—I stood where the lower wharf door is; that is the narrows part of the street—when the men drove past me I did not say anything to them—the horse was trotting—the man who walked by the side was on the other side to me—I could have caught hold of the reins if I had put my hand out; but it was going too quick for me to stop it—I did not say before the Magistrate, "The man who was walking came between me and the van"—my deposition was read to me, and this is my signature—that was my description—no one came out of the first coffee-shop I went to with me—I told two of our chaps in the coffee-shop that a van was being stolen; there were only two men in that coffee-shop; I shouted it out—one of the men was Upchurch, and the other Dawson; they did not come out; they were having their breakfast—I just told them the van had been stolen, and asked where the carman was, and whether he had been in there—Lindsell was at the second coffee-shop, Mitchell's, and Kemp-ton, Reed's under-foreman, was coming out as I went in, and he saw me there—he wanted to know what I was going in there for, and I only said, I wanted Lindsell, because his van was being driven away—Kempton stood there outside the coffee-shop in the street—I did not speak to any one in Mitchell's coffee-shop, except to tell Lindsell that his van was being driven away; and he ran out, and I with him—Lindsell was sitting on the right-hand side going in, at the second table—I said, "Lindsell, your van is being driven away"—there were about six people in the coffee-shop; the place was not crammed—I spoke so that the people there could hear—I don't know whether they came out into the street—I ran out into George Row with Lindsell—I did not speak to any of the people who stopped the van—I did not see the man who had driven the van away or the man who had walked, when I got to the top of George Row—Hickman's Folly, which leads into Dockhead, would be a convenient place to turn out of George Row—I went back with the van—the man who drove the van had a full face, no hair on his face, and was dressed in dark clothes and a long overcoat, and a hard felt hat—I have not seen Warrier about since—Mill Street is wider than Bermondsey Wall—if the men who stole the van did not wish to pass me, there was a wider road for them to take, with no watchman—I told Mr. Silverside after the van came back, and after I had had my breakfast at Mitchell's coffee-shop—I was not away long—Mrs. Mitchell served me—I did not notice the girl there—I sat at a table by myself—Lindsell did not stop on the way back with the van and go into the coffee-shop; be went past without going in—I did not see him
pay for his breakfast—I had about ten minutes for my breakfast—I could not eat anything; I only had a cup of tea, which was all ready—I had no bread and butter—I might have been ten minutes having the tea—when I got back to the wharf the prisoner was there—he told me he had chased the men who had gone off with the van, and had lost them—he said he knew who they were—he did not ask me about the boy who was supposed to look after the van—he wanted my name and address—when Mr. Reed came he did not send for me; I did not see him on the Tuesday—I saw him on the Friday—I told him I had seen the men who went off with the van, and that their names were Cheeseman mid Warrier—that was after I had been to the station—Mr. Reed did not ask me anything about the robbery till the Friday; I told him then that I had seen Chaeseman and Warrier at the Bermondsey Police-station—I said they were not the men who had stolen the van; I could not identify them—I said the names of the two man who were locked up were Cheeseman and Warrier, but they were not the men—I did not tell him I had picked out the men at the station—I told him there were a dozen men at the station—after the Sessions, Mr. Reed sent for me, and asked me what I meant by telling such abominable lies—I told him I could not have told him any lies—I told him Cheeseman and Warrier were not the men—on the Friday after the van was stolen, Mr. Reed told me that my conduct was good, and commended me, and said the firm would not forget how well I had behaved—shortly after that I left without notice—I then went to Mr. Cotter, and asked for employment—he told me I was such a liar I must clear out of the place—I was there about half an hour—the prisoner told me there was a £50 reward; he gave me a full description of Cheeseman, and opened the door, and pointed him out—I was very shocked; it was a scandalous thing to show me the man—I said he was not the man—from the description I had, I knew he was not the man before I got to the station—when the door was opened I did not hear Cheeseman say anything—I did not talk the matter over with Cheeseman at the Sessions; that was the first, time I saw him afterwards—I did not mention a word to Cheeseman at the Sessions about the pointing out.
Re-examined. Before the Sessions my proof was taken by the solicitors; at the Sessions, Cheeseman was in the dock and I in the witness-box.
By the JURY. I did not know Cheeseman before this; I had seen him; I did not know his name, and I had never spoken to him before I got to the Sessions—he was no friend of mine—I did not know Warrier—I have seen him, but not spoken to him—he is not a friend of mine.
Witnesses for the Defence.
JONATHAN PICKER (Police Constable). I produce this plan, which I have prepared for this case—the distance from Addis's Wharf to Reed's upper wharf is 393 yards; from Reed's upper wharf to the coffee-shop at the corner of George Row, 233 yards; and from Reed's Wharf to the George Row end of Hickman's Folly, 311 yards—from Reed's Wharf to the court below Hickman's Folly, is 393 yards—Reed's Wharf, to the end of George Row, is
493 yards; and Hickman's Folly to the Feathers is 286 yards—Hick-man's Folly to the wharf is 673 yards.
Cross-examined. From Reed's lower wharf to Mitchell's coffee-shop would be 150 yards, I should say.
SAMUEL BURBAGE (43 G, Sergeant). On December 24th I was on duty at Bermondsey Street Police-station from six till ten am.—the prisoner came with Lindsell into the inspector's office, where I was sitting, about 8.40, as near as I can recollect—the prisoner said, "There has been a van and some flour stolen"—I asked him if he could describe the van—he said, "Oh, we have the van back; we have lost the thieves"—I said, "Can you describe them?"—he said, "Oh I know one of them very well; his name is Cheeseman"—I said, "Young Cheeseman?"—he said, "No, a man about forty"—he said he was dressed in dark clothes, hard felt hat, and lace shoes—he said he had seen Cheeseman on the van driving, and he jumped down and ran away, and he lost him at one of the turnings in George Row; and if he could go back at once he thought he could arrest him—I told him he was to go back and arrest Cheeseman if he could, and get the names and addresses of the witnesses—shortly after he had left, Bartlett came in, and I told him to follow the prisoner, and assist him.
Cross-examined. I have no book or memorandum to assist me as to the time—these matters are not entered in a book till we get something definite—I had no description of the man that would assist in apprehending him—the prisoner gave such a description of the man at would have enabled me to know who he was, but it was not such a description as I should telegraph round to all the stations, because I knew a better description could be obtained within a very short time, as Cheeseman was a man well-known in the neighbourhood—I did not ask when the robbery had taken place—from the way they spoke, I understood it was a continued affair; there had been no break in the matter.
FREDERICK CROSS (246 M). On December 24th, from six to ten a.m., I was on duty at Bermondsey station—the prisoner came there with Lind-sell and the van, with some sacks of flour, at 8.40 a.m.—I was on reserve duty in the afternoon, from two to six p.m. in the office and the waiting-room, and the cells—at no time that afternoon did I shut the door—the prisoner did not come and point anybody out—the other officer there was Griffin.
Cross-examined. The room Cheeseman was kept in is called the reserve room; it would be used as a waiting-room by anyone waiting to see the inspector—there is always someone in the waiting-room; it adjoins the inspector's office, and the inspector could see anyone in there, if I was not there—we should not put persons under arrest in the waiting-room and leave no one to look after them.
GEORGE BARTLETT (187 M). I have been in the Police force for twenty years—on December 24th I came to Bermondsey Police-station at 8.55; the prisoner was then leaving it—I reported myself to Burbage, and from instructions he gave me, I followed the prisoner—I was in plain clothes—the prisoner gave me information about the robbery, and I went with him to look for Cheeseman—I first went to a place in Prince's Road about ten minutes' walk away, where Laxton, a carman, was—the prisoner made inquiries there—from there we went, five or
seven minutes' walk, to Talbot's, where Cheeseman's brother was work-ing, and the prisoner made inquiries there—I did not see Cheeseman's brother there—the prisoner then made some inquiry from a man who was loafing about there, and we subsequently went to Kitchen's wharf—there I went up alone into the office, and saw Willoughby, and explained what we came about—after some conversation he called Cheeseman—the men were working on the opposite side of Shad Thames—when Cheese-man came out he walked straight to the prisoner, who was some distance up the road, and said, "I know what you want me for"—I did not see any other officer there in uniform—when Willoughby had called Cheeseman out he walked straight up the road towards the office—it was raining very hard at this time—I heard the prisoner tell Cheeseman that he would be charged with being concerned with two other men not in custody in stealing a horse, van and harness, and five sacks of flour—Cheeseman said, "Allow me to go back and get my hat"—I said, "We will send for it when we get to the station"—he had on a grey cap at that time—he was told again on the way to the station what he would be charged with.
Cross-examined. We only called at the place where Cheeseman's brother worked to make inquiries; we were not thinking of arresting the brother—I did not know who the prisoner wanted to arrest—he said he had known the man for nine and a-half years, and was positive of him, and I was sent to help him arrest him—the prisoner went in to where the brother worked; he did not know whether it was that Cheeseman or the other, I suppose—when he came out he did not tell me the result of his inquiries—when I went to Kitchen's wharf I told Willoughby that the offence was committed between 7.40 and 7.45; that was what the prisoner told me—I believe Willoughby asked me what time it was committed—I said before the Magistrate, "I told him (Willoughby) I wanted Cheese-man on a charge of stealing a horse and van; Willoughby did not ask me what time the offence was said to have been committed; I did not say between eight and nine; in reply, Willoughby did not say that Cheese-man was there at work at eight"—I asked what time he booked on—I was not surprised to hear it was eight o'clock; that was the time Willoughby told me—I told Willoughby the offence was committed about 7.45, I am sure, and he said he had booked on at eight—I cannot recollect whether I told him the time—I did not have time to go and tell the prisoner what Willoughby said about his booking on at eight—I told the prisoner that Willoughby had told me that Cheeseman was at work at eight—he did not express surprise—I did not know whether Cheese-man was the right man or not—when Cheeseman was called out, Willoughby, without waiting to hear what was said, walked straight back into his office; I swear that; and Cheeseman came straight over to the prisoner—on the way to the station Cheeseman twice asked the prisoner what he wanted him for; and he told him the charge again on both of those two occasions—Cheeseman was quite sober; I can give no explanation of why he asked a second time—it took about twelve minutes to go from Kitchen's wharf to the station—he asked the question in Artillery Street, about 500 or 600 yards on the way—he never asked the question a second time; he was told the charge a second time in Artillery Street; the first time he was told was in Shad Thames,
where he was arrested; when he was arrested in Shad Thames he said, "I know what you want me for" and then the prisoner told him the charge—I did not see Trinder at all.
Re-examined. I did not know Cheeseman at all, and I did not know what Cheeseman the prisoner was looking for—when Cheeseman was told the first time with what he was charged, he made no reply; he only asked to go back for his hat—when he was told the charge a second time he made no reply.
GEORGE TRINDER (150 M). On December 24th I was on duty in Shad Thames—I saw Bartlett and the prisoner there with a man in custody, or a man they were talking to—I was about twenty-five yards away when I first saw them—I was never standing beside the prisoner, or talking to him, or taking part in any way—I was on the beat, and there being heavy traffic, I had to regulate it—I never spoke to them.
Cross-examined. When I went past Kitchen's wharf I did not see the prisoner or Bartlett; I saw them first when I turned back—when they passed me for the first time they were twenty-five yards off, going away from the wharf, with Cheeseman in custody—Willoughby was then going away towards the office—his office adjoins Shad Thames—they had got twenty yards away when Willoughby went to enter his office.
CORNELIUS GARNER (22 K). On December 24th I was on reserve duty at Bermondsey Street Station from ten to two with another man—I remember the prisoner and Cheeseman coming into the waiting-room, and going straight through into the inspector's office—after Cheeseman had been detained a short time he came into the waiting-room, where I was—he said he did not know what he was there for, and that he wished to see the inspector, to ask him what he was charged with; that was after he had been sitting there about five minutes—I said he had been told what he was charged with—about five minutes after he went into the inspector's office, and I followed him in—Inspector Nash was on duty—the inspector said, "I have told you you are charged with stealing a horse, van, and flour"—Cheeseman made no answer—when he was with me in the room alone he again asked me two or three times what he was charged with, and I told him.
Cross-examined. He was not charged; he was told what the charge was—the prosecutor was not there to charge him—it is not usual for a policeman, even if he has seen the robbery, to charge the man—I could not swear off-hand if he was told where the robbery was said to have been committed—I did not hear what was said when he went to the inspector in the first instance—he was not told in my presence the particulars of the robbery—he wanted to know the particulars of the charge—I told him, "You know what you are charged with; the inspector has told you"—I did not hear the inspector tell him; I only concluded that was what he was told.
GEORGE GRIFFIN (249 M). I was on duty from two to six p.m., at Bermondsey Street Police-station, in the waiting-room—I found Cheese-man there when I went, and took charge of him; I had nothing else to do—Inspector Marsh came on duty at two—I was sitting in the room all the time, from two to 5.30, about three paces from Cheeseman—the prisoner did not come to the door to point out Cheeseman to anyone during that time—Cheeseman did not say to any person at the door, "That is not
fair"—nothing of that kind was said—it could not have taken place without my hearing or seeing it—I have known Cheeseman about ten or twelve years—I had and have no feeling against him in the least—he remained in my custody from two till he was charged at 5.30.
Cross-examined. I have always found Cheeseman to be quite a reupectable man—I did not tell him that if he was not guilty he would be discharged—he did not ask me what he had better do, and if he should send for witnesses—I do not think I remember Willoughby coming—I was not called out; I was told to look after Cheeseman, and I did so between two and six—there is more than one way to the inspector's office—no conversation passed between Willoughby and Cheeseman while he was in my charge—Willoughby might have come while I was off duty, from ten to two—the waiting-room has one door leading into the passage and one into the inspector's office—when nothing is going on in the inspector's office, the door leading into it is open—Cheeseman's son came nearly at 5.30 to bring him some refreshment—Cheeseman was then in the dock, being charged, I believe—I told him he would have to wait.
By the COURT. Willoughby might have seen me in the room; I don't remember seeing him—the inspector, a short, stout man, said something to me about not letting any conversation take place; that was about 2.10—anyone coming to see the inspector is conducted right through, and the door is shut, so that no one can hear what is said—I do not remember Willoughby coming that afternoon.
HARRY LUSH (Inspector M). On December 24th I was at Bermondsey Police-station from ten a.m. to two p.m., when Marsh came on duty—I relieved Burbage—at 10.45 the prisoner came with Cheeseman to the station, and straight to the inspector's office—I said to the prisoner, "So this is the man you saw jump out of the van?"—the prisoner said, "Yes"—Cheeseman was standing close to me—I said, "The prosecutor is not here; you will have to remain until he arrives; sit down in the other room"—it is the ordinary practice to wait till the owner of stolen property comes to prefer the charge and sign the charge-sheet—Cheese-man said, "I don't know why I am detained here, or why I am brought here"—I said, "On a charge of stealing a horse and van and flour; sit down in the other room"—I directed the prisoner to go and fetch a member of the firm to come and prefer the charge and sign the charge-sheet—in the course of the morning Cheeseman came to the door of the inspector's office, and asked why he was kept there—I said, "You have been told why you are detained; on a charge of stealing a horse and van"—he said, when he was first brought into the inspector's office, "I know nothing about a horse and van"—in the room in which I was there is a window, which gives me a full view of the reserve-room—the door between that room and mine is shut when anyone is with me, but, standing at my desk, I can see the whole of the reserve-room—about 1.45 the constable returned, and said that no one could come and sign the charge-sheet till 2.30—I went into the waiting-room and told that to Cheeseman, and asked him if he would like to send for anyone—he said, "Willoughby, my foreman, can prove that I was at work at eight o'clock this morning"—I asked Cheeseman's son, who came to the station, to go and see Willoughby, and ask him to
come at 2.30, and he said he would do so—I went away at 2.15 or 2.20; Griffin was then in charge of the reserve-room.
Cross-examined. As I left the station I saw Willoughby sitting in the waiting-room, near the door—Griffin was not more than a yard from him—I did not hear them speak; I simply passed through the room—Cheeseman was also in the room—I cannot say if anyone else was—there may have been another reserve man there, but I do not remember seeing him—I cannot say what his name is, or if he is here—Sergeant Burbage made a statement to me about the robbery when I relieved him at ten o'clock—I did not know whose horse and van it was, or where or when it was stolen, and so I could not tell the prisoner about it—the matter only became ripe for taking the charge when the prosecutor arrived—I told Cheeseman, if he had anyone to prove where he was, he could send for them, and he said he could bring Willoughby—from the statement made to me at ten o'clock, I knew the robbery had been committed that morning—the sergeant had simply said it was committed that morning—all I had was a rough statement written by the sergeant; on the piece of paper I had, it said 8.40 or 8.45 that the van was brought to the station—I was not told at what time the robbery was committed, and I did not tell the prisoner.
ADAM MARSH (Inspector M). On December 24th I was on duty from two to ten p.m.—when I came on duty I received a communication from Lush with regard to Cheeseman, and I asked him, a few minutes after two, if he wanted anything, and he asked me what he was detained for, and I said he was detained on the charge of stealing a horse and van—I first saw the prisoner about 3.30; I did not speak to him then—it was five o'clock before Lindsell came to the station—Cheeseman made no complaint to me about having been pointed out, and I saw nothing of it—the identification was done in the ordinary way—I afterwards took the charge—the prisoner stated the charge, and said he saw Cheeseman driving a horse and van, and another man walking alongside, and that, when they noticed him, Cheeseman got off the van, and both men ran away into a turning, pursued by the prisoner, who then lost sight of them—the charge was read over, and Cheeseman said he was innocent—the prisoner was not responsible for the charge not being brought before the Magistrate on that day; I was responsible for detaining him for Lindsell's evidence—I did it to the best of my judgment—I think Otway brought in the other man later on; I was not on duty then.
Cross-examined. Lindsell arrived at five o'clock—Mr. Cotter told me what time Lindsell was expected, and he seemed reluctant to go on with the charge until Lindsell arrived—I believe he was satisfied after Lind-sell had arrived—he asked if it was necessary for him to sign the charge-sheet, and I said it was usual—I said the constable would sign the sheet if he did not, and that he would have to attend as a witness—when I first told the prisoner the charge I may have told him the van was stolen between eight and ten; I cannot swear to it—the first time I had any conversation with the prisoner was when the man was charged; that was the first time he told me definitely about the time—I was at the station when Willoughby arrived; I believe he spoke to me first; he war not there more than a minute, I should say—he came to my office between
two and 2.30; I did not see him in the waiting-room—I could not see what happened in the waiting-room.
Re-examined. I was not there when Cheeseman was brought to the station.
JOHN OTWAY (Detective Sergeant). I heard at the station, shortly before nine, of the stealing of this horse and van—I had to go to North London Police-court at ten—I got back to the Bermondsey Station about three o'clock—I then got a description of Warrier from the prisoner—I made inquiries, and about 7.30 I arrested Warrier—he was dressed in accordance with the description I had of him—he was brought to the station and picked out by the prisoner from nine others—when I told him the charge he said, "You have made a mistake; I am innocent enough; I am not the only Warrier; but if you say it is me I must put up with it."
Cross-examined. I had known Warrier and his brother for some years—I had no difficulty in going and arresting him, from the description given to me—I only wanted a description to distinguish between the two brothers.
Before MR. GILL addressed the JURY, the prisoner, by permission of the COURT, read a written statement to the effect that on this morning, shortly after 7.45, he saw the van in George Row being driven by Cheeseman, with Warrier walking by the side; that he walked towards the van, when Cheeseman jumped down and, with Warrier, ran down Hickman's Folly; that he chased them, but lost sight of them; that he returned to George Row, and found the horse and van opposite a coffee-shop, to which it had apparently been led back; that he found Lindsell in charge of the van then, and was told it had been stolen from Heed's wharf, where it had been left in charge of a boy; that he went to the wharf and spoke to Sweetman, who said he saw three men, whom he could identify, loafing outside one of the wharves that morn-ing; that Sweetman did not say he knew the men who had stolen the van, or that he had seen it driven away; that he went with Lindsell to the station, arriving there about 8.40, and gave Burbage particulars of the case, and a description of Cheeseman; that he went with Bartlett and made some inquiries as to where Cheeseman worked, and then went to Kitchen's wharf; that Cheeseman, when called out, said, "I know what you want me for"; that he told Cheeseman the charge then, and again on the way to the station; that he did not see Trinder there; that, after taking Cheeseman to the station, he went and saw Mr. Cotter, who promised to come to the station at two o'clock; he denied that he had given a description of Cheeseman to Sweetman, or that he had pointed him out to him, and affirmed that what he had sworn in the course of the case he honestly believed to be true.—
NOT GUILTY . The JURY added that they believed the prisoner might have been honestly mistaken.
MESSRS. C. F. GILL and BIRON Prosecuted, and MR. BEAUFOY MOORE Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. JOSEPH Prosecuted.
ROBERT RIPLEY . I am a greengrocer, of 131, Arlbrook Road, Balham—about 10.45 p.m. on April 6th, I fastened the back door of my house—next morning, about 4.55, my wife woke me, and I saw the prisoner in my bedroom—he ran out as fast as he could—I jumped out of bed and ran after the prisoner, who had my watch, and trousers, and waistcoat—he clambered over a fence, and I ran through the passage and out at the front door—I caught him, and hit him under the ear, and knocked him down and jumped on him—he said, "You b——! let me get my knife"—I held him till assistance came—he had dropped the trousers and waistcoat, getting over the fence—he had my watch in his hand when I caught him, and he struck at me with it—I took it out of his hand—he had no boots on.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I saw you in my bedroom—you had something under your arm—the policeman took you, and then I went back and put on my trousers.
SIMPSON JOHNSON (188 W). On the morning of April 7th I was in or near Arlbrook Road; I heard cries, and ran in the direction of them, and found the prosecutor in his night-shirt, holding down the prisoner with one hand; he had the watch in the other hand—he handed over the prisoner to me—the prisoner said, "We have been drinking together; the man is mad"—at the station there was found on the prisoner this table-knife, ground to a point, in this case—the prosecutor and the prisoner were about fifty or sixty yards from the prosecutor's house when I came up; there were three business premises in between.
FREDERICK WILLIAMS (62 V). On the morning of April 7th I was at Balham Hill—I heard shouts, and ran and found the prisoner in Johnson's custody—I went and examined the prosecutor's premises—I found a boot and this waistcoat at the rear of the premises—I brought the boot to the prisoner, who said, "That is mine; let me put it on"—the prisoner was arrested thirty or forty yards from where I found the boot, just outside the prosecutor's yard—this piece of leather in the boot corresponded with a footprint in the yard.
Cross-examined. I sent the prosecutor back to bring his trousers—his money was in his trousers.
The prisoner, in his statement before the Magistrate end in his defence, stated that he was walking along when the prosecutor suddenly sprang upon him.
GUILTY — Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, MAY 18TH, 1896.