CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
THIRD SESSION, HELD JANUARY 10TH, 1898.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND BY
JAMES DROVER BARNETT
Short-hand writers to the Court,
ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
THE POINTS OF LAW AND PRACTICE
REVISED AND EDITED BY
EDWARD T. E. BESLEY, ESQ., Q.C.,
OF THE MIDDLE TEMPLE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW.
STEVENS AND SONS, LIMITED, 119, CHANCERY LANE,
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On the Queen's Commission of
OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
The City of London,
AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
INCLUDING CASES COMMITTED TO THIS COURT UNDER ORDER IN
COUNCIL PURSUANT TO THE WINTER ASSIZE ACTS OF 1879.
Held on Monday, January 10th, 1898, and following days,
BEFORE the RIGHT HON. HORATIO DAVID DAVIES, M.P., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir ARTHUR MOSELEY CHANNELL, Knt., one of the Justices of Her Majesty's High Court; Sir HENRY EDMUND KNIGHT , Knt., Sir REGINALD HANSON , Bart., M.P., Sir STUART KNILL , Bart., Aldermen of the said City; Sir CHARLES HALL , K.C.M.G., QC., M.P., Recorder of the said City; Sir JOHN VOCE MOORE, Knt., JAMES THOMPSON RITCHIE , Esq., JOHN POUND , Esq., WILLIAM PURDIE TRELOAR, Esq., other Aldermen of the said City; and Sir FORREST FULTON, Knt., Q.C., Common Serjeant of the said City; Her Majesty's Justices of Oyer and Terminer and General Gaol Delivery, holden for the said City, and Judges of the Central Criminal Court.
RICHARD CLARENCE HALSE, Esq.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
DAVIES, MAYOR. THIRD SESSION,
A star (*) denotes that prisoners have been previously in custody—two start (**) 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, January 10th, 1898.
Before Mr. Recorder.
92. ARTHUR EDWARD WHITE (27) (a deaf mute,) PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully obtaining money by false pretences, with intent to defraud, also to a previous conviction at Birmingham on October 8th, 1895. Other convictions were proved against him.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
94. GREGORY GEORGE WATT (53) , to feloniously forging and uttering an endorsement to a cheque for £20 2s. 6d., also to uttering endorsements to other cheques, also to embezzling other cheques of Messrs. Haig & Haig, his employers, to a previous conviction on September 11th, 1893.— [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
95. JESSE ERNEST FRASER (24) , to forging and uttering an endorsement to a cheque for £15 14s. 0d., the property of Herbert Isaac Lionel Crawcour, his master, and to a previous conviction on December 12th, 1892.— [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.]Judgment Respited.
(98) HENRY STONE (30) , to feloniously breaking and entering the warehouse of George Beaumont, with intent to commit felony. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Three convictions were proved against him.— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Monday, January 10th, 1898.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
100. TOM SULLIVAN (34) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing an epergne, the property of Isaac Jacobs, having been convicted at Maidstone on December 10th, 1872. Several other convictions were proved against him.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. And
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, January 11th, 1898.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MESSRS. C. F. GILL and BODKIN Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
JOSEPH COWELL . I live at 19, Alfred Mews, Tottenham Court Road—I have lived there for about eight years past—I am by business a carman—I have got some vans of my own—I keep some in the coach-house and one outside—I had up to Christmas last in my employ a man named Barnes—on Saturday night, October 30th, I had to pay Barnes—on the evening of that day I was in the Apollo public-house from a little after nine till ten with Barnes—I remained there up till nearly ten o'clock—I left there alone—we came outside and we parted there—Barnes went home, and I went home—I walked towards Alfred Mews on my way home—we had a few words, or rather spoke to one another, and then separated, and each went home—I know a Mrs. Lear—I do not remember seeing her on that night—on my way up to the Mews I did not speak to anybody—when I got to the corner of the Mews I turned in—as far as I know there was nobody else in the Mews except a constable—he was the first person I saw, and the last one—up to the time I saw the constable I had not had any disturbance with anybody at all—when I first saw the constable he was standing with his back to the premises of He witsons and Milner's—his face would be towards me—he was about three or four feet away from me when I first saw him and just at the entrance of the Mews—I spoke to him, I asked him if he had been his round and done his duty, and turned the lodgers and roughs and lay-abouts out of the Mews—the lay-abouts come down the Mews—he asked me who I was talking to, and I said, "To my superior, I suppose"—he was in uniform, and he had his lantern in front of him, and as soon as I said "I suppose, my superior," I was down on the floor—I was about two yards from the kerb at the side of the Mews, about nine or ten yards from the entrance to the Mews—that is all I recollect—his lantern was in front of him, but I do not know if it was fastened to-his belt or in his hands—there was no light coming from it then—the lamp was just by his belt—it was not alight then—there was a little light in it when I first saw him, only a little glimmer—I cannot tell if at that time it was fastened in his belt or in his. hand—the blow was struck in the face, on the left side—I fell then—I do not know if I was struck more than once, but I fancy there was one in the jaw—the next thing I remember was being at the hospital—I think that was on Tuesday—I am not able to recognize the constable who struck me on that night, I did not take any notice—as far as I can tell I had never seen him before, he was a stranger to me—I do not recollect my wife coming to see me on the Sunday morning. (Inspector Boothman and Sergeant Brown are here called in.) I see those two men—I do not remember them coming to me on the Sunday morning—I do not recollect
any persons putting questions to me, and my giving answers to them, on the Sunday morning—Inspector Shannon was the first officer I remember seeing after this occurred to me—I cannot say if that was on the Tuesday, he was the first officer I saw at the hospital—I remember a Magistrate coming to me at the hospital, and taking my statement—that was on November 12th—I do not know if it was December 8th that I attended at Bow Street police-court, and was examined, it was the first day I left the hospital.
Cross-examined. When I went into the Mews I saw the constable with his back to Hewetson's premises—their warehouse is at the entrance of the Mews—he was standing with his back to the wall as I passed in front of him—the warehouses at the corner are Hewitson's—when I met the policeman he was at the block of buildings just at the Corner of the Mews—it was not at that spot where we exchanged the words which I have said—he walked further up towards me—I was walking down towards my house—I passed by him and spoke to him, and then he followed me down the Mews—the conversation and the blow was the work of a moment—when I was struck the one blow, on the side of the face, I fell and became unconscious—from the injuries I received I supposed that there had been other blows as well—I do not remember before being put on the ambulance speaking to my wife—it would not be correct to say that I partially recovered, sat up, and spoke to my wife—I remember making a statement to Inspector Shannon when he saw me at the hospital—I saw him there more than once—there were other persons with him—I do not know the prisoner—I cannot say if he was there with the Inspector—I do not know if I saw Shannon at the hospital on another occasion besides that time when there were other people with him—I do not remember saying to Shannon, "about nine or ten o'clock on Saturday night last, I was in Alfred Mews, near my house, I saw a constable, who I could not recognize—I said to him, "Have you done your duty, have you cleared the roughs out"—he said, who are you talking to—I said, to my superior—shortly after that he landed me with two or three—I then fell and remember no more—I do not remember saying that to. Inspector Shannon when there were other people with him—on the night that I was taken to the hospital I did not tell the doctor that I had been assaulted at 9.30—I do not remember Dr. Wills asking me how I had got my injuries—I do not remember saying that a policeman did it—I am not aware that my wife came up to me and asked who did it—I cannot say if I told her a policeman did it—I do not remember her saying that she saw him speaking to me—I do not remember baying anything to the police officers or answering any questions—I do not remember them coming—I did not see anybody on Sunday morning or know anybody—the swelling on my cheeks prevented me from seeing out of my eyes—I did not answer questions, and an officer did not read anything over to me or ask me if it was right. I do not recollect hearing this read in the hospital, "I do not know who it was assaulted me but there were several of them. The row began in Tottenham Court Road and finished up in the mews. I do not know how the injuries were caused but expect it was by the boot—I suppose they kicked me when I was down, I am sure there was more than due who assiuted me, it occured between Frances
Street and the hospital"—I did not say a policeman had done it—I do not remember saying about a policemen till I was brought here—I do not remember the paper bang read over to me and being asked to say whether it was right and putting my name to it—I knew that there was a patient in the next bed named Arnold—I did not speak to him during the night or during Sunday morning or evening. I do not recollect hearing my wife speaking to me, I do not remember seeing her on the Sunday evening—I cannot say if I saw her to speak to in the hospital before I saw Inspector Shannon and the other people—the only person who was there was the nurse—I remember making a statement to the Magistrate in addition to the statement to the Inspector—I said to the Magistrate at Bow Street that his lantern was in his belt or in his hand—I also said I saw a glimmer in the lantern—I said that to Inspector Shannon at the hospital, not at Bow Street—I said before the Magistrate, "to-day is the first time I have said I saw the lamp alight"—I had said it to Inspector Shanon—I remember being a witness at Bow Street—I did not then say, "to-day is the first time I have said I saw the lamp alight"—I did not say at the court," when I first saw the constable I believe he had his light in his hand. To-day is the first time I have seen the lamp alight"—I was not asked anything at the hospital about his lamp being alight—I have been charged at Bow Street for assault—the prosecutor was Harris—I had applied to Mr. Harris for payment—we had a war—the war took the shape of my striking him a swinging blow in the eye in the presence of a constable, who Mr. Harris had fetched in—he fetched the constable in, but we had an "up and downer" in the yard first—Harris got me on the floor—when I was charged at Bow Street I was fined £4—That was the occasion on which Sir James Vaughan cautioned me—at the bottom of the Mews there is a company called the French Wreath Company—Mr. Harris is a French Polisher—he calls himself so—his men would have to carry loads of furniture down the Mews—I have never drawn my van across the road so that they had to wait till I let them go by—Harris has not complained of my doing that—I have thrown sand at Mr. Harris's men once—they threw broken bottles and brushes at me a good many times, that was over a lad who was working in the Mews—I have also been charged with assault, and with having hit the prosecutor a swinging blow in the eye, in the presence of a constable—I have sometimes been threatened by men in the Mews, I cannot say a good many times—that is not the occasion I am answering here—I said at Bow Street, "I have never struck men or boys with a strap in the face, I have not thrown flower-pots at their heads, I dropped one near their heads by mistake"—I do not know if I am liked down the neighbourhood—there are very likely a good many men in the neighbourhood who don't like me—some police don't like me—I don't know, I like the police very well—I said, "The police don't like me and I don't like them."
Re-examined. I was convicted and fined on August 13th—I shall be 67 years of age the last day of this month—Mrs. Lear is my lodger, also an old gentleman I have with me—I have had no quarrel with anybody who lives and sleeps in the Mews—the wars are with persons who come in the day to the Mews—the men don't come there after two o'clock on. Saturday—I have complained to the police at night about not clearing
the roughs, but not to the station—I have had much trouble with these lay-abouts in my van—I have had to get up in the night and turn them out—both men and women are there—they make lodging house of it—on one occasion I had to turn a policeman out of ray van, drunk—the policeman came to the end of the Mews, but not down the Mews—after ten o'clock they came down the Mews—that is their last call before they go off duty—that is their last duty, after ten o'clock another man comes on—it is their practice to go down at 10.10 regularly.
ANNIE COWELL . I am the wife of Joseph Co well—on Saturday night, October 30th, my husband went out about 7.30 or 8.15—after nine I was at home in the sitting-room, leading into the bed-room—we lived over the stables—the window was open—about 10.10 I heard my husband's voice—I went to the window, and saw him standing in front of a policeman about nine yards from the window, as far as I could guess—I heard the policeman say, "Who are you talking to?"—my husband replied, "To my superior"—I then went downstairs—I went into the Mews, to the back of some cases that lie about there, they stand in front of the premises where we live—I found my husband lying on his back in the Mews—a policeman bending over him with a light—I could not at that time see his face or his number—I had not seen his face at that time—the policeman said, "I found a man lying here"—I said, "Yes, where you landed him"—I only noticed that my husband was bleeding from the face as he lay—I said to the constable, "You are the ten o'clock man"—his light was out—I said, "Where is your light?"—he replied, "It is gone out"—I said, "Light it," and he said he had no matches—I went into the house and got some matches, and lighted his lantern for him—I then saw his face—I next saw him when he came back, after fetching the ambulance—after I saw his face I said to him, "You are the ten o'clock man"—he took out his watch, and turned the face to me, and I saw that it was exactly 10.15—I then said, "You had better get an ambulance, and take him to the hospital, and see what his injuries are"—he went—my husband did not move till after the policeman went for the ambulance—while the policeman was away my husband sat up against the cases—he spoke to me when I spoke to him—alter a little while the constable came back with another one and the ambulance—my husband was still sitting against the cases—they assisted to put him in the ambulance—he stood up, and staggered, and the ten o'clock man said, "Why, he is drunk"—they carried him away in the ambulance to the hospital—I afterwards went to the police-station, and made some inquiries there—I next saw my husband on the Sunday morning, about ten o'clock—I went in with Inspector Boothman and Sergeant Brown—I waited while they went in, and I went in afterwards—I saw my husband—he did not recognize me when I spoke to him—that was about ten o'clock—I went in immediately after the two constables—neither of them were present—I next saw my husband on the Sunday morning about 3.40—he was then in about the same condition—he did not recognize me then—I did not see him again till after I had left the police-court on Tuesday, the 2nd—that was after giving ray evidence—on that Tuesday evening he recognized me, and I spoke to him—I cannot say definitely whether the constable I found bending over my husband was the same as I saw speaking to him, I only recognize him as the man bending over him—it
took only about one moment to get into the yard—I went down directly, as fast as I could.
Cross-examined. In the yard that evening there were several piano-forte cases, and besides that my husband's van was drawn up in front of them—I should not have to see over them—when I saw my husband talking to the constable he was on the right—the stable door is on the left—the van was in front of the stable door, the cases were on the right, one is about four feet two, or three, inches—when I came downstairs and spoke to the prisoner, and said, Where you have landed him, "I had not seen him struck by anybody—when the prisoner had gone for the ambulance, my husband partially recovered, but did not speak to me till I spoke to him—when the prisoner came back with the other constable, I did not make and complaint to the other constable of what I had seen—it was before my husband staggered, and the constable said he was drunk, that the bottle of whisky was taken from his pocket—after that I went to the police-station—I went to the hospital, where my husband was, immediately—I spoke to my husband, that evening, in the hearing of Dr. Wills—that was on the Saturday evening—he replied—then the doctor told me to sit down—on the Sunday morning Inspector Boothman came to me in the Mews, about 7.30—I made a complaint about a policeman—I complained that my husband had been assaulted by a policeman—I ca not say whether I pointed out the window to the inspector through which I had seen the occurrence on the Sunday morning; I might have pointed out the window, I looked, and said, "The window is now in the same condition as it then was"—I do not remember being asked the question whether the window was found open when the inspector was there—I simply pointed out to the inspector the window which I had looked out of, when the inspector came at 7.30 a.m; the window was not then shut, it was open—the window was open on the Saturday evening and the Sunday morning—it was shut when Inspector Boothman came the first time—I do not remember saying before the Magistrate that the window was open—I may have said, "That is the window, just as it is now; it was open"—when I looked out the window was open—I could not have seen or heard anything if it had been shut—the window was open after I went downstairs again—I did not close the window till I came up again—when I was before the Magistrate I may have insisted that the window was open—when I pointed the window out to the inspector at 7.30 the window was shut—when I pointed it out to the inspector the window was shut, when I pointed it out to the Magistrate it was open—when I went to the hospital, on the Sunday morning, I said to my husband, "How are you?" he replied, "Who is it?" he could not see then—he was cot recognizable, for his face was so swollen—I did not remain two minutes then—he could scarcely speak, and only said, "Who are you?"—I went away then, he could not see me coming or going—I saw him again on the evening of the same day—I cannot say whether he recognized me or not then—I did say, "I next saw my husband on the evening of the same day, he then recognized me, he had no recollection then about the accident"—I first saw Inspector Shannon at six o'clock on the Monday night—Inspector Sutherland was there and others—I did not go near any police-station till I was sent for—it was suggested that if my husband was quarrelsome he would have to leave the Mews—there
has been a great deal of quarrelling in the Mews, and my husband would sometimes have to defend himself—I defended myself with a flower-pot—the boys threw things at my husband, and I threw a flower-pot at them—it did not fall, I threw it—my husband was being struck by some missiles—he had not been cleaning the flower-pot—I have not sent flower-pots about on any other occasion, that is the only occasion I ever threw a flower-pot; I do not remember any other occasion—I did not throw it at a boy's head, I threw it at a trolly.
Re-examined There was nobody working in the Mews on Saturday after two o'clock.
WILLIAM BARNES . I am a carman—I was in the prosecutor's employ until Christmas Eve—on Saturday night, October 30th, I left home about ten—I was for some time in the Apollo public-house—I knew the landlord by using the house—on coming out of the Apollo I spoke to Cowell in the road—I live next door to him—at that tune he was sober and good-tempered—I took a 'bus to Kentish Town—I left Cowell to walk home.
Cross-examined. I went with him into the Apollo at 8.30, and remained with him till 9.45—I looked at the clock at 9.45 to notice the time going home—I then left without looking at the clock again—that was about 10 or 12 minutes after looking at the clock.
ALBERT JAMES BROMLEY . I am landlord of the Apollo—I knew Barnes by sight as a customer, and also Cowell—on Saturday evening, October 30th, I saw them in my house—I left the bar to go to bed at ten o'clock—I have a clock in the bar—it was about three minutes fast—Barnes and Cowell left the bar about two or three minutes before me—my attention was call to the matter on the following Monday.
Cross-examined. I go to my supper as near ten as possible—I said good-night to the two men—they were both strangers to me—I had only been in the house about a fortnight.
ALICE LEAR . I live at 18, Alfred Mews, Tottenham Court Road—I lodged at Co well's place—on Saturday evening, October 30th, I went out at ten—I have a clock in the room—I usually look at the clock when I go out—I went into Tottenham Court Road, turned to the right, and went towards Francis Street—when I got near the Apollo I saw Cowell, he was in the act of bidding Barnes good-night—they were close to the Apollo public-house—I did not stop, I was going on business—I came back to the Mews about 10.30—I did not see Cowell then.
Cross-examined. I had lodged with Mr. and Mrs. Cowell two years and three months—my clock was right as far as I knew—it took me four or five minutes to get to the Apollo.
GEORGE STEWART . I am a police inspector of the d division, attached to the Tottenham Court Road. Station—the prisoner was one of the men in that division—I paraded the men for night duty on October 30th at ten o'clock—they would go from the station with the acting sergeant—he posts them on their beats—the prisoner's beat was No. 9—that would include Alfred Mews—the prisoner came back to the station at 10.25—he asked for the ambulance—I asked him what for—he said a man drunk had fallen down in Alfred Mews—I told him to take the ambulance—he went with, it and Constable King—at 10.45 Mrs. Cowell came to make some inquiry—I saw her—I did not then know her as Mrs.
Cowell—I ascertained it since—a man going out at ten would get to Alfred Mews I should say about 10.10—policemen going out on night duty would have their lanterns lighted.
Cross-examined. The prisoner had come to us from the V division, Putney—this was the second time or his night duty—when Mrs. Cowell came she made no complaint of the prisoner or any person—all she asked me was where her husband had been taken—she said she had been to the University Hospital—I told her she had better go to another hospital—in going from the station the prisoner would have to go down Chenies Street—he had to try two doors there, and turn up Tottenham Court Road—on a Saturday night there is sometimes some obstruction, and I might have to clear the pavement—I came off duty at six in the morning—at that time I saw King—he did not make any report to me—I did not see any written report from the prisoner before I went off duty—the prisoner said nothing to me about a woman having accused him of knocking a man down.
JAMES EWAN (Acting Sergeant.) On October 30th I had to take charge of the men on duty, and post them on their beats, the prisoner being No. 9—he would leave the other constables at the corner of Goodge Street—he would cross the corner of Chenies Street—he would meet the man I to relieve him about there—he would have to try two doors in Chenies Street, and one on the other side of the Crescent—I have measured the distance from the police-station to where this happened—it took me about 10 minutes—I saw the prisoner that night about 12.15 in Gower Street—he first handed me a report, stating, "as soon as I got on my beat I found a man lying down in Alfred Mews, bleeding from the head; I went with him to the hospital"—this is the report he gave me (read)—"Found Joseph Cowell, aged 56, with his face bleeding—a police constable conveyed him on an ambulance to the Middlesex Hospital, where he was seen by Dr. Mudd, who said he was suffering from fractured bone on the left side, and compound fracture—the patient said it was done by a police-constable at 9.30—no description could be given"—it was with reference to that that the matter would have to be inquired into—I asked him if he thought the man was seriously hurt—he said, "No; he was rather more drunk than hurt"—I asked him if his friends knew about it—he said, "Oh, yes; his wife has been to the hospital."
Cross-examined. I received that statement at 12.15—I handed it to Sergeant Lee, the officer in charge of the station, at three in the morning—I have been eight years in the force.
WILLIAM KING (251 DR.) I was in the Tottenham Court Road Station on Saturday night, October 30th—I assisted the prisoner in taking the man to the hospital—I saw Mrs. Cowell in the prisoner's presence—she said, "Are you the policeman on duty before ten," or "are you the ten o'clock man?"—I made no answer—I then walked up the road and saw Cowell lying on the ground—I did not report that to my superintendent—the man in the case generally does that—that would be the prisoner;, he ought to have reported it—Cowell was not able to speak to me—I saw him placed on the ambulance, and I and the prisoner carried him to the Middlesex hospital—I then heard the doctor speak to Cowell—he asked him how he got his injuries—he said, "A policeman did it"—he asked
him, "At what time?"—he said, "About 9.30"—I left the prisoner there and went back with the ambulance.
Cross-examined. I did not hear Mrs. Co well say to her husband, "Who did it"—I did not hear from Mrs. Cowell that a charge had been made against a policeman—I heard it twice from Mr. Cowell—I made no report—I have been 21 years in the force—I was next spoken to about the matter three or four days afterwards, before the next hearing at Bow Street—Shannon spoke to me about it, while I was at the hospital.
WILLIAM LEE (23 d), I was acting inspector on the night of October 30th at the Tottenham Court Road police-station from two a.m.—about 3.30 a.m. I received a report from Sergeant Ewan of which this is a copy [produced,] and in consequence of which I sent for the prisoner off his beat—I said, "Tell me about this man that you have taken to. the hospital. Where did you find him?"—he said, "He was lying down where I found him"—I said, "Where?"—he said, "In Alfred Mews. He was partly unconscious. I brought an ambulance, and took him to the hospital, and when at the hospital he said that the policeman had done it"—I said, "Did you make any further inquiry about it?"—He said, "No, I went back on my beat"—I said, "Did it not strike you that it was a very serious allegation to make against the police?"—he said, "No, it did not seem so to me. He made the statement mumbling it out not indistinctly, and I did not take much notice of it"—I said, "Did the man say anything to you when you found him ing he Mews?"—he said, "No, not till he got to the hospital"—I told him he should have come to the station immediately and reported to the officer on duty—he said he did not take much notice of it, he kept mumbling something out and" he said nothing to me, he spoke to the doctor"—I asked him if he had informed his friends, and he said yes, that he had informed his relatives—he said nothing about Cowells wife—I sent him back to his beat after I had questioned him at the station—I told him it would be a matter of further inquiry.
Cross-examined. Inspector Stewart was in charge of the station when King came back with the ambulance—I reported the matter to Stewart, on his return to the station at six o'clock—he had been on patrol from two till six—the matter was transferred to Inspector Boothman.
AMOS PARKER (58 d.) I was on duty on October 30th near the police-station, on my beat, which includes Alfred Mews—I reported myself at ten p.m.—I passed Alfred Mews at 9.50—I looked down the Mews—I did not see anybody—everything was apparently quiet—I went through Chenies Street—the other constables had come out of the station before that—I went off duty just after ten till the next day—the constables do. not go down the Mews in the day-time unless there is occasion for it, but. after ten p.m. the constable's duty is to go down the Mews.
JAMES TREMLETT WILLS . I am house surgeon at the Middlesex Hospital I was there when Joseph Cowell was brought in at 10.30 p.m. on October 30th on an ambulance by two constables—I made a superficial examination at first, and afterwards examined him more carefully—he was conscious, sitting up in a chair, and bleeding slightly from the nose—
I found his left cheek bone and the frontal bone broken, as well as the nose—the wounds were not likely to have been caused by the fist—great violence must have been used—the lens of the lantern produced might have caused them—there must have been two blows, possibly three—the blows might have produced concussion of the brain—not necessarily at once—or there might have been a slight concussion which might disappear and return later—he appeared fully to understand what I said—I asked him, in the presence of the constables, "How did you come by those injuries?"—he said, "A policeman did it," but he could not identify the policeman—I asked him if he knew him, and he said "No"—his wife came in and asked him who did it—he said, "The policeman did it" She said, "Yes, I know he did, because I saw him speaking to you"—then I stopped the conversation, and asked her to step back while I examined him more carefully—the wounds required to come from something curved—had the blows come from something quite flat, the skin would probably have been broken, and there would have been a mark on the edges—in my opinion, the wounds were caused by a fall—they are on different sides—I asked him when the policeman did it, and he said 9.30—he did not seem quite sure, but something after nine, he mentioned—the case was handed over to Dr. Mudd.
Cross-examined. I think the prisoner was present with the other officers when the conversation was going on—I left Co well at eleven that night—the conversation was between ten and eleven—I saw him again at 11.45 a short time—I was told his nose was bleeding, and went to see what it was—I do not think a policeman's truncheon could have done the injury—it is too sharp—the injury to the nose could have been occasioned by a kick—the injury on the nose and the right side of the face struck me as being from one blow given with force on the face, breaking the nose and cutting the forehead—I saw Shannon at the hospital, but was not present when he saw Cowell.
Re-examined. There was nothing to suggest Cowell was drunk.
FRANK BURNARD MUDD . I am house surgeon at the Middlesex Hospital—I saw Cowell about 10.45 p.m. on October 30th, about a quarter of an hour after he had been admitted—his left cheek bone was broken up, the frontal bone was injured, the nasal bones were broken—the injury to the cheek bone required considerable violence—the lens of the lamp might very well cause it—I am of that opinion because with most blows like that the skin is stiff and a surface blow would very likely cause a bleeding of the skin, although of a force to break the bone—the injuries were not like likely to have been caused by a fall—I have had a lantern brought to me—I have tried it and find it would go out as the result of a blow—I saw him again at twelve, and at four o'clock, and at ten the next day—I saw him shortly after Inspector Boothman had seen him—I do not think he was in a condition to make any sworn statement—he appeared dazed, and required a great deal of rousing to make him speak intelligibly—concussion would produce that condition, or there might be a good deal of bleeding inside the skull—I do not think I would have consented to his making a statement—there was no evidence to show he was drunk.
Cross-examined. I was present on every occasion when Inspector Shannon saw Cowell—Cowell spoke directly I went into the ward on my speaking
to him, after a little pressing—I put no questions to him after that—my attention was not specially called to him—I had 60 or 70 patients.—I spoke to him at ten the next morning—he answered me a few words, after a little pressing—I should not have allowed any special statement. because the man was quiet and doing very well, but he was in a dazed condition, and it was a great thing to keep him quiet, unless it was. absolutely necessary to rouse him.
ALFRED BOOTHMAN (Inspector D.) I went on duty at the Tottenham Court Road police-station at six a.m. on Sunday, October 31st—I received a statement from Inspector Stewart, who mentioned the injury to Co well—about 7.30 a.m. I went to Alfred Mews and had a conversation with Mrs. Cowell—at 9.30 a.m. I went to the Middlesex Hospital with Serjeant Brown and Mrs. Cowell—at the Inquiry Office I was referred to the Broadrip Ward, and there saw the sister in charge of the ward—with her consent Brown and I saw Cowell in the ward, in bed—no one except Brown remained with me at the bed—I west to ascertain how Cowell was injured—I remained some 10 minutes—I put questions to Cowell—he answered and I took them down, not from his lips but in the ward—I went back and read the statement to him—Brown was present, and there was a patient in the adjoining bed—Cowell's eyes were swollen, he could not see—the patient heard the statement, and he read it over and he and Brown signed it [The statement was that of Joseph Cowell, age 66, of 20, Alfred Mews, Tottenham Court Road, Van Proprietor.] "I do not know who it was assaulted me, but there were several of them. The row began in Tottenham Court Road and finished up in the Mews. I do not know how the injuries were caused, but expect it was by the boot. I suppose they kicked me while I was down. I am sure-more than one man was concerned in assaulting me. It occurred between Francis Street and our yard. If I said, last night, that a policeman did it that is wrong. I do not remember seeing any policeman until I was brought here."
Cross-examined. I asked Mrs. Cowell to point out the window from which she was looking—she told me she had seen something from the window—she said "That is the window just as you see it now"—it was closed—I told her to come to the police-court and give evidence as to that—I saw sister Eleanor at the hospital—I said I wanted to see the man Cowell if he was fit to be seen, and pointed to Mrs. Cowell and said "This is Mrs. Cowell the wife of the man"—she said "Wait a minute, I will look into the ward"—she went into the ward, and returned and said "Yes, you can come in," and turning to me "I suppose you would like to go in first" (that is before Mrs. Cowell)—I said "Thank you, I should"—I then followed the sister in with Serjeant Brown, and the sister was in and about the ward while I was there—no one told me to go to the hospital, I did it in the ordinary course of my duty—the matter was in my hands, and the other Inspector asked me to inquire into it—I said to Co well, "I am a police officer, how are you this morning?"—Cowell replied, I believe, "Oh rough, rough"—I said, "Can you tell me how this happened, and who it was assaulted you?"—Cowell replied, "Oh I was set upon by two or three" (referring to statement:) "I do not know who it was assaulted me, several of them—the row began in the Tottenham, Court Road and finished up in the Mews"—I then asked him hew the
injuries were caused—he said, "I do not know how the injuries were caused, except it was by the boot—I suppose they booted me while I was down"—then I asked him if there were more than one concerned—he replied, "I am sure there was more than one man concerned in assaulting me. It occurred between Francis Street and our yard"—I wrote the statement at the ward table from my memory of his answers—when I read it and asked him to sign it, he said, "I cannot see"—Brown was then close to me—Arnold, a patient, was paying attention to what was going on, and I turned to him as an independent party who had heard Cowell's answers, he being close enough, and listened, and I handed him the Statement, then read it for Cowell—Arnold and Brown signed it—I asked for the doctor before I left the hospital, but was told he was not available—I heard no caution from any nurse against questioning Cowell—I returned to the station where I was in charge till two p.m., when I informed Inspector Sutherland of the case—he was my superior, the sub-divisional inspector—when I came on duty at six a.m. I had seen the prisoner's written report in the book—I had nothing else when I went to the Mews—I gave that paper to Sutherland and acquainted him verbally with the whole of the circumstances—on the Sunday afternoon I went to the hospital to see Dr. Mudd, and was then told he was out—I went again on the Monday morning, being told that was the best time, and saw Dr. Mudd—I also reported on Monday, November 1st, to Chief Inspector Shannon—I asked Cowell if he knew that he had said the night before that the police had done it—he said, "No, I do not"—I said, "Well, you said last night that the policeman did it"—he replied, "Oh, if I did, that must be wrong"—I put his words down as near as I could remember a few minutes after he had spoken them—he appeared to be paying attention when I read them over—I did not then know his wife had accused any person—I knew that on the Sunday, because she had told me—I reported that to Sutherland when I gave up the written statement—she said she came downstairs immediately and found him on the ground—she showed me the window where she saw the policeman, but it was at an angle, and we concluded, having this statement, that she must have been mistaken—he surprised me the next morning when he said the policeman had nothing to do with it—he appeared fit to make a statement, to know what he was talking about, or I should not have taken it—I put the questions to him, but I had no knowledge it would develop into so serious a matter, I was simply endeavouring to find out the truth—I knew the injuries were severe because he was in the hospital—I knew the charge was that a policeman had done it, and that the wife practically suggested it must have been the policeman on the beat—I knew no other policeman who could have done it—after his wife had said it was a policeman and that she had actually seen a policeman before the man was knocked down I was astonished he should state that no policeman was there—she did not know the nature of the injuries, and I thought she was speaking to the best of her judgment—before I went to the hospital Mrs. Cowell had accused the man who went for the ambulance—I had had that in the report from the constable—I had heard from King on the Sunday morning what Mrs. Cowell had said to him that it was the man on the beat, but he said Cowell had said at the hospital it was at
9.30—I knew before I took the statement that both the injured man and the wife charged the policeman on the beat—I believe I acquainted Sutherland with everything.
JAMES BROWN (13 d.) I went with Boothman to the Middlesex Hospital on October 31st and saw the sister of the ward—we did not ask as to Cowell's condition—we went to his bedside—Boothman put questions to him and got his answers—then he went to a table on the other side of the ward and wrote the answers—then he came back and the answers were read to Cowell—the statement was then signed by Arnold, a patient in the next bed, and by myself.
Cross-examined. I gave the questions correctly before the Magistrate—Cowell said he was a bit better—I heard the statement read and Cowell say, "That is right"—the Inspector Raid, "Will you sign it?" and Cowell paid, "I cannot see"—his eyes seemed to be swollen over—I have been 12 years in the force—Cowell appeared to understand the questions—neither of the sisters cautioned us as to Cowells condition—if either of them had I should have remembered it.
Re-examined. I knew nothing of the nature of Cowell's injuries nor the condition of his mind—we did not tell the hospital people we were going to take Cowell's statement till afterwards.
ELEANOR VERNET . I was the sister-in-charge of the Broadrip Ward of the Middlesex Hospital on October 30th at 10.30 p.m.—I came on duty again at 8.40 on October 31st, not having seen the injured man during the night—I understood his injuries to be serious—the police officers came about 9.30 a.m. and asked to enter the ward and ask him questions—I allowed them to enter cautioning them not to excite the patient, who had answered questions as to how he felt—he said he was a little better and made short answers of that kind—I was not at the bedside when the police questioned him, but went on with my duties in that and another ward—they were there about 20 minutes—the doctor saw him shortly afterwards.
Cross-examined. I considered I had no power to prevent the constables asking the patient questions—I told the Magistrate he was dazed but I thought he might be able to answer a few questions—I thought he was dazed at the time.
Cross-examined. Cowell answered my questions intelligently when he was being put to bed shortly after his admission—I was on duty till nine a.m.—It was a new case and he wanted a little more attention—there was nothing in his condition to require me to send for the doctor—the doctor came of his own accord at his ordinary time.
ALEXANDER SUTHERLAND (Inspector D.) On October 31st, about eleven a.m., at my request, the prisoner showed me his truncheon—I examined and found no marks upon it—I examined his clothing and found no blood-stains—I was on leave, but called at the station at eleven that day—I saw Inspector Boothman, who told me that Constable 345 had taken Cowell to the Middlesex Hospital, and reported that he said he had been injured by a policeman; that he had seen him and taken his statement; and that the injured man had said that if he had said a policeman had
done it, it was a mistake, and that the row began in the Tottenham Court. Road—he also said that Cow ell's wife had told him the policeman had struck her husband—he did not tell me that she charged King, nor that they came with an ambulance, nor that she said the man on the beat had done it, nor that she had seen the policeman talking to her husband just before the blow—I spoke to King about it afterwards, the same day.
Cross-examined. Boothman handed me the statement taken at the hospital—the practice is for the inspector to enter in a book the particulars, but not the exact statement—a written report was made subsequently to the chief inspector with the statement in it—King's report was handed to me on the Monday morning—I think Boothman showed me the prisoner's report, and I handed it back to him—Boothman told me he had already taken all the steps he could to follow the matter up, and I went with him at 1.30 to the hospital to see the doctor, who was out—I also spoke to Superintendent Warner about the matter on that Monday, and the documents were handed to him, and I told him what the injured man and his wife had said—we sent for Mrs. Cowell on the Monday evening, and for the prisoner to come to the station, and made inquiries, when Chief Inspector Shannon asked Mrs. Cowell if she had seen the policeman—the prisoner did not speak to Shannon, nor did Shannon say to the prisoner, "The less you say about the matter the better," nor "You had better say nothing about the matter now"—I do not remember that—Mrs. Cowell said there was nobody in the Mews except the constable—the prisoner said, "That is quite right"—a policeman's lantern will go out sometimes through his stooping and upsetting the oil, but not often—we did see the doctor, and Inspector Boothman did all he could to clear the matter up.
ROBERT SHANNON (Chief Inspector D.) I first heard of this matter on Monday, November 1st—about six p.m. I saw the prisoner at the station—I asked him about it—he was in the act of making a report that evening I got this report, which I read over to him:—"Tottenham Court Road Police Station, d Division, October 31st, 1897. I beg to report that I was on duty in Alfred Mews at 10.15 p.m. on October 30th, when I found Joseph Cowell lying on his back, with his face bleeding. On my arrival there a woman came down the Mews and said, 'That is my husband, turn your light on, and do not stand there looking.' I had not got my lamp alight. Mrs. Cowell went into the house to get some matches, as I could not find mine. When she returned she said, 'Go and fetch the ambulance, someone will have to answer for this,' I went for the ambulance, and with the assistance of Police-constable King (351), took him to the Middlesex Hospital. As we were getting him on the ambulance Mrs. Cowell took a bottle from him, which appeared to be a bottle of whisky. On arrival at the hospital he was examined by Dr. Mudd, house surgeon, who stated that he was suffering from a fractured malar bone on left side, and a compound fracture of frontal bone, forehead, on right side of head. Detained at 10.30 Brodrip Ward, No. 2 bed. Patient stated, when questioned by Dr. Mudd, that he had had an altercation with a police-constable, and further stated that he received his injuries at 9.30 p.m., that they were done by a policeman, of whom no description can be given. Police-constable King and the night porter heard him say that he received his injuries at
9.30. Also the nurse on duty. When asked by the doctor what the altercation was about he refused to answer. (Signed) WM. LEWIS, P.C. 345, R. R. SHANNON, Inspector J. WARNER, Superintendent"—in consequence of that report and other information, I went the next day, November 2nd, to the Middlesex Hospital with the prisoner to Cowell at about 1.45—Cowell said: "At about nine or ten o'clock on Saturday night last I was in Alfred Mews. I saw a constable whom I do not recognize. I said to him 'Have you done your duty. Have you cleared the roughs out?' He said 'Who are you talking to.' I said 'To my superiors.' Shortly after that he landed me two or three with something. I then fell and remember no more." As he uttered those words I put them down as they are written here—Dr. Mudd and Inspector Sutherland were present—the prisoner made no reply—I accompanied the prisoner to Tottenham Court Road police-station—I said to him there "In consequence of what the man Cowell has said, and the statement of Mrs. Cowell, I must charge you"—he said "I am innocent, and an innocent man has nothing to fear"—I had had a statement from Mrs. Cowell, and had made full inquiry into it—about 6.30 or seven p.m. I said, "You had better get the lantern you carried on the Saturday night"—he brought One from the lantern room and said, "That is mine"—and that is the lantern on the register allotted to that beat—the practice is to go to the Mews in the day and look, but not examine it unless there is anything to Call the attention of the constable on duty—from ten p.m. the constable on duty is supposed to examine every inch of it.
Cross-examined. There is nothing en the lantern to indicate that it has been used for an unlawful purpose only the marks of ordinary usage—I got Cowell's statement to Boothman about six p.m. on Monday when I saw Mrs. Cowell at the station—I sent for the prisoner and Mrs. Cowell—Boothman was present not Brown—Mrs. Cowell said she looked out at the window and there was nobody in the Mews except her husband and the policeman in uniform—the prisoner admitted that—she said she saw her husband standing facing the policeman—I did not interrogate her that night—she made the statement and I wrote it down—I did not suggest anything to her no more than to tell me all she saw—I did not caution the prisoner nor say "The less you say the batter—at that time I did not consider the nature of the charge against the prisoner—after the charge was taken the prisoner commenced questioning the prosecutrix and I said "The charge has been taken against you, you had better ask those questions before the Magistrate in the usual course"—the inquiry was going on from about eight till 10.30 p.m.—I saw Doctor Mudd at the hospital about twelve p.m. and he told me Cowell was not in a condition to be seen; that he was wandering—I went the next day about two, and again on Tuesday afternoon when I saw the doctor—Sutherland was with me—I did not see Cowell then nor before he made a statement in the prisoner's presence—Boothman was not then with me.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. — Sixteen Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, January 11th, 1898.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
104. HARRIS MARKS (24) and JOSEPH ROSE (23) , to stealing six choppers and other articles, the goods of William Beecher Skinner. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Three, convictions were proved against Marks, and one against Rose.— Five Years' Penal Servitude each.
105. ISAAC WOOLF (18), JUDAH ABRAHAMS (20) and BERNARD FREDENTHAL (18) to robbery on Davis Levy, and stealing a handbag his property, Abrahams having been convicted on May 22nd, 1895. Five other convictions mere proved against Abrahams, and the police stated that all three prisoners belonged to a gang of convicted thieves. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] ABRAHAMS— Three Years' Penal Servitude. WOOLF— Nine Months' Hard Labour FREDENTHAL— Twelve Months Hard Labour. And
106. JOHN LAWRENCE (34) , to stealing nine watches, the goods of Joseph Lazard, having been convicted at Newington in 1895. Nine other convictions were proved against him.— [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Five Years' Penal servitude.
MR. BLACK Prosecuted, and MR. BURNEY Defended.
THOMAS HENRY LEWIS . I am a decorator, of 106, High Holborn—on December 21st, about 1.20 a.m., I met the prisoner in Holborn and six others behind him—the prisoner seized me by my throat, knocked me down, cut my watch chain, took my watch, and said to another man. "Take it, I am all right"—I caught him, and did not lose sight of him for a second—as we fell he kicked me on my stomach with his knee—my watch was worth 50s.—I had only had two glasses of ale that night.
Cross-examined. The man ran very quickly round the corner; as he got up I got up—I was so close to him that I did not lose sight of him as he turned the corner, I put out my hand but could not catch him, he was about a yard in advance—I saw a man with one eye at the police-court and was asked if he was one of them, I said that I thought he was, and he left the court very quickly—I did not want to give him in custody—the prisoner did not tell me that he was the prisoner's brother—I also had a blow on the ribs, I was so bad that I could not attend the Court—I am waiting till this case is over to resume work.
JOHN HARDING (255 E). On December 21st about 1.15, I was on duty in Featherstone Buildings, I saw the prisoner running and the prosecutor after him—when I got up he had caught the prisoner and was struggling with him—he told me he had been assaulted, and robbed by the prisoner—I saw his chain hanging to his breast—the prisoner, said, "I am taken for what I have not done"—I said before the Magistrate, "The prosecutor was evidently excited, but was not very drunk because he could run."
GEORGE PEARCE (275 E.) On the morning of December 21st, I was on duty with Mathews and saw seven men and a minute afterwards the prosecutor came up, and said, "Policeman one of these men have stolen my watch," the prisoner said, "I do not know anything about any watch, policeman, I have come from the City Road, and am going to Walham Green"—the seven men were not running—he said at the station, "My God, I am innocent, I am blamed for what others have done."
Cross-examined. I cannot say whether the prisoner was one of the group of seven—I was just separated by the rails from the other policeman—when I first saw the prosecutor he was running after some one, and when I came up to him he had the prisoner in custody—the seven men scattered in different directions, and got away.
GUILTY .—He was further charged with a conviction at Clerkenwell, on August 24th, 1891, to which he
PLEADED GUILTY—and six other convictions were proved against him.— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
108. EDWARD SMITH, WALTER HARLAND and WILLIAM LEE , Breaking and entering the shop of the Abyssinian Gold Jewellery Company and stealing 282 rings, watches and other articles value £500, their property—Smith pleaded
GUILTY to receiving goods to the value of £350.
MR. C. MATHEWS Prosecuted, and MR. SYMMONS Defended Lee.
HERBERT HINE (531 City.) On December 3rd, I was outside the premises of the Abyssinian Gold Jewellery Company, Cheapside—I saw Smith walk across Cheapside and join another man—They walked backwards and forwards past the premises several times and then went into Newgate Street and into the King's Head public-house, they came back into Cheapside and went into St. Paul's Churchyard and then returned to Cheapside—Smith knocked at the door of No. 153, Harland remaining on the other side of the street—Lee came out with a parcel in his hand, which he gave to Smith—Lee walked away in front along Newgate Street—Smith followed about five or six yards behind him—Lee as he came out pulled the door to with his right hand and they all walked along Newgate Street to Holborn Viaduct and stood on the other side of the way—I pursued Smith and P.C, Padgham pursued the other prisoners—I arrested Smith with the parcel in his possession—I met Sergeant Steward and he went to 153, Cheapside—I went to the station, with Smith, opened the parcel and found it contained 240 brooches and 238 rings—I searched Smith at the time and found on him this centre bit (produced) and some keys, they relate, I believe, to the premises where he resides—I had Harland under my observation about 30 minutes, he passed me about eight times—I have no doubt he was Smith's companion on that morning—I have no doubt that Lee is the man who came out and handed the parcel to Smith, I had him under observation all along Newgate Street.
Cross-examined by MR. SYMMONS. Lee was a stranger to me till that morning I saw him on the 9th inst, in Little Newport Street, Soho—Detective Bryan arrested him—I was at the arrest, I pointed him out to the Inspector—Harland was in the public-house at the same time Lee came out of the public-house and looked round—it was in consequence of my pointing him out that he was arrested—Lee was not put among other men—while these men were walking up and down the street the third man was inside—directly Lee came out Smith took the parcel and walked away, with Lee following—directly the parcel was handed to the man outside he let Lee go in front, and then followed—directly I saw the third man come out at the door he handed the parcel to Smith, and went off at once—they separated when we got up to the Old Bailey—I was walking behind Smith, and arrested him four or five minutes after he left the house—it was about 6.55 a.m., and quite dark.
Re-examined. I saw the two of them in Little Newport Street on the evening of the 9th—I saw Lee come out of the Fox and Grapes—he returned to the others, and I looked into the house and saw Harland there—I recognized them both.
Cross-examined by Harland. Before I went into the public-house Inspector Gregory looked into the house—Inspector Bryan called Lee out—he looked into the public-house before I did, there was a third man in the public-house at the time
GEORGE PADGHAM (590 City.) I was with Hine in Newgate Street on December 3rd—I saw Smith there, and Lee just in front of him in Newgate Street—in consequence of Hine speaking to me I followed Lee and another man in the direction of Fleet Lane—I lost sight of him there—lean speak to Lee positively—I followed him from just beyond the Post Office round the Old Bailey into Fleet Lane for about five or six minutes—I have no doubt that he is the man I followed—he got away—a week afterwards I saw him in custody among nine other men.
Cross-examined by MR. SYMMONS. The other officer called my attention to these men when they were going away—20 yards away—they were going towards Holborn Viaduct—I followed them—I followed them about five or six minutes—I lost sight of them in Fleet Lane—No fault was found with me for that—the traffic had not commenced then, but people were going to work—while I was following them they had their backs to me most of the time—I came up to Lee, but could not arrest him—I saw them a week afterwards and picked Lee out—I have been in the force four years and eight months—I am certain Lee is the man—I have never made a mistake as to the identity of any man; I picked him out easily—some of the other men were shorter and some taller—some were younger I should think; I do not say that there was not one of the same height and age—I have said that I recognized him by his back as well as his front—I still say so.
EBENEZER BENJAMIN URRY . I am manager of the Cheapside branch of the Abyssinian Jewellery Company—on the evening of December 2nd I left the premises quite secure at 7.45—the doors shut and the wainscoting in good condition—these rings and brooches are the company's property—they were all safely locked up when I left—when I arrived next morning eleven trays of rings and one large box of brooches containing 300 were gone—the articles are real gold, set with imitation diamonds—the rings and brooches were removed from the front window and some ring pads also—this rug was spread under part of the ceiling which had been broken—some steps were found on the table—the total value of the stolen property is about £500—the side door had been forced open—the police had been there before me—about £150 worth is still missing.
Cross-examined by MR. SYMMONS. None of the other property has been recovered.
HERBERT STEWART (67 City.) On December 3rd, about seven a.m., Hine told me to go to 153, Cheapside—I went there, the door was closed but not fastened, there were no marks on the door—it was a common boxlock, which could be opened by a false key—the door had been secured inside by a gimlet screwed into the door-post—on the first floor landing I found a number of ring pads loose, where the mortice had been cut away—I found a pair of steps there—I found 30 rings on a table in the rear of the shop, and on the floor some brooches and hairpins.
Cross-examined by MR. SYMMONS. I did not try the door as I went by, the constable on the beat would do that—there were no marks on the door or the lock, but the catch was forced off—I think the lock was forced rather than opened by a key.
By the COURT. I think the entrance was effected by forcing off the catch into which the lock went, and it would be necessary to fasten it by a gimlet—it was an old lock—I could not find any marks of its being forced by a chisel.
CHARLES COLBORNR (City Policeman.) I went to the premises about seven o'clock on the morning of the 3rd—I found Stewart in the back office—an opening had been made in the wainscoting—I have a portion of it—the opening was large enough to pass through, which I did, into the back office—I saw the sergeant pick up a number of rings and ring pads—I examined the door leading from the back office into the shop, a spring lock had been taken off and these two screws were lying on the floor; the door-post had been cut away by the mortice lock, the show case had been forced open by a small screwdriver—I found a large rug placed on the stairs, no doubt to prevent noise—the mortar was knocked down to effect an entrance into the shop—they could gain access to the office through the opening made on the staircase, and from there there is a door leading to the basement—when they found they could not succeed they removed the lock from the door—the wall had been prodded and some wainscoting taken off, but there was an iron lining in the wall so that they could not get in—the outer door had been opened by pushing the lock off—a hole had been made in the door-post and something inserted to prevent it being opened—I also found two pieces of indiarubber on the stairs which no doubt were used to prevent noise—I was with Brown on December 14th and found a gimlet which corresponded exactly with the hole in the door—after trying it it would not move at all, and I think that was the way it was secured.
Cross-examined. This was an easy place to break into from the outside and when you got inside it would be very easy—a gimlet is part of a carpenter's stock—I do not know how many sizes of gimlets there are, there are various sizes, and perhaps there are hundreds of thousands in the country which would fit this hole.
CHARLES BRYAN (City Police Inspector.) At about seven o'clock on December 9th, I went to Little Newport Street and saw Harland and Lee outside a public-house—afterwards, in consequence of information given me by Hine, we arrested them—I said, "We are police officers, we are going to arrest you on a charge with being concerned with a man named Smith in breaking into 153, Cheapside, and stealing a large quantity of jewellery, the property of the Abyssinian Gold Company, do you understand, the charge?" They said, "Yes"—they made no answer to the charge at the station—I went to Lee's address on the 10th with P.C. Gillard—we went into two rooms on the second floor at the back—he occupied them both with his wife—in one room there was a drawer, Gillard looked into it and took from it this gimlet—I did not see where he got it but he handed it to me and he came from the direction of the drawer—the address is No. 5, Milton Road, Euston Road—I was present when Colborne tried it in the hole in the post and it fitted—that would have been a very secure way on fastening the door.
Cross-examined. I had had information besides that derived from my brother officers—I had it from the other prisoner—it was in consequence of that information that these two men were followed and arrested—I was not there when another officer looked into the public-house first, I was afterwards—I was told that the two men I wanted were there, and some minutes afterwards they both came to the door together, and Hine said they were the men.
GILLARD (Detective Officer.) I went with Brown to No. 5 Milton Street, Euston Road, to a front room—I looked into a drawer and found this gimlet—I was not present when it was tried by Colborne.
GILLARD re-examined. After the prisoners were arrested I overheard some conversation between the two prisoners in the cells. Lee spoke to Harland—he said, "Walter, they have got us, for the Cheap-side job, they have not got us straight. Old 'Swankey' ain't got us, if they put me away I shall not see my old mother any more." Harland said, "Put up with it." Lee said, "It is no use pleading for me, I knows where I was that night; I did not leave my uncle's till ten o'clock." Harland said, "What night was that." Lee said, "I don't know, they as have put us up to it gave us a chance as they always do." Lee spoke about his mother, but he has a wife.
Cross-examined. This conversation was after they were charged, and before they were committed—they were brought before the Magistrate the next day—I made this note the same night—I have not given evidence before now—I was in a cell adjoining theirs whilst this was going on—it was part of my duty to do this—I do as I am instructed—I wrote, "Lee said, 'If they put me away, I shall not see mother any more"—this was written in the next cell.
EDWARD SMITH (The prisoner.) I have pleaded guilty to receiving this property—I was in Cheapside on the morning of December 3rd—I remember walking down from 153—Harland was in my company at that time—I do not know him much—he was drinking with me—we went back to Cheapside, and a parcel was handed to me from the door—I was boozey—a hand came out at the door, and I took the parcel and walked straight away with it—I did not see anybody walking in front of me or behind me—I was taken in custody, and that sobered me—I did not make a statement to the officer or before the Magistrate—I never made any statement—I said to Bryan, "I am innocent of this affair, and if you can get me off I may be able to let you know something"—I did not mention any names to him—I do not know much of Lee, I was first acquainted with him three years ago, and I have been out of London for two years since then—I have been back from Dover 12 weeks, and I have been locked up five weeks—I saw him perhaps a month before I was locked up in the public-house I used to use—I saw him at different public-houses before December 3rd—I did not see him on the 3rd—I saw him on the 2nd—I met him in Oxford Street or Tottenham Court Road—nothing was arranged about the Abyssinian Gold Company. (The witness declined to say how he came to be there and take the parcel.)
Harland's Defence: I had too much to drink. I saw Smith with a parcel under his arm, and a constable took hold of him. He passed me, and did not take bold of me.
—HARLAND and LEE then PLEADED GUILTY to previous convictions at Clerkenwell, HARLAND on November 20th, 1893, and LEE on August 21st, 1893, and several after convictions were proved against each. SMITH was stated to be the dupe of the other prisoners. SMITH— Six Months' Hard Labour. HARLAND— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. LEE— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, January 12th, 1898.
Before Mr. Justice Channell.
MESSRS. C. MATHEWS and BODKIN Prosecuted, and MR. H. C. RICHARDS Defended.
GEORGE HARRIS . I live at 22, Venables Street, Lisson Grove—I am a labourer—the prisoner is my brother—for some months before September 10th I was a lodger in my brother's house at 30, Palmerston Road, Kilburn—on August Bank Holiday my brother and I had a quarrel—we were both the worse for drink—he told me to leave the lodging and clear out of the house—he afterwards asked me to return, and I did so—I was not in the house on the night of September 10th—before I left that day I saw my brother and his wife—I had some ordinary talk with them—I wished them good morning—I did not go back that night—speaking generally I was on very good terms with my brother—he has never accused me of improper intimacy with his wife—that has never taken place between us.
Cross-examined. I have been in the Army, I left about twelve months before this—I went home first—I do not know the date when I came to live with my brother—I had been working on the Midland Railway for about two months before—I went out on this Bank Holiday with my brother—that would be about June my brother had been a teetotaler for a long time—I do not know when he first gave up abstinence—he had some drink on Bank Holiday—he was always good tempered before the Bank Holiday—we did not have any dispute on that day—we had a quarrel at night timer—he said he was an abstainer then—as far as I know he was a teetotaler—I did not have any disturbance with him before September 10th—the deceased never said a word to me about her husband's jealousy—he was fond of his home, and kind to his children and his wife.
By the COURT I do not know what we quarrelled about on the Bank Holiday, he started it with me but he never said why—I never heard from anybody about this idea of myself and his wife.
THOMAS HARRIS . I am a ganger on the Midland Railway—I live at 5, Mill Cottages, Mill Lane—I know the prisoner—he worked for nearly five years as a platelayer under me—he was a steady workman, a teetotaler—a few days before the August Bank Holiday I remember his saying something to me—he said, "They are too b—thick," that was with his wife—he did not say anything more about them—I said I would
book his two days' holiday then, which was due, that was all—I did not. notice any change in his behaviour before September 10th as to drinking:—he was at work as usual on September 9th—I saw him next at about 7.15 in the morning on September 10th—he came to me on the line—he asked me to buy the produce of his garden—I told him I would rather not, as perhaps the officials would think I had something to do with his going away—he said he was going away—I said, if under the conditions of the company I would buy his garden stuff if he would sign an agreement, as things were not very straightforward at home—he agreed to give me a paper, I drew it up and he signed it—he did not say why things were not comfortable at home—he seemed very much upset—very much excited and in a trembling condition—I did not see anything to make me believe he was not sober—he asked me to give him a certain amount for the garden stuff—he did not say anything about wanting money—he said he wanted to go away.
Cross-examined. I am no relation to the prisoner—he worked under me—he has been working on the line since about June—his brother was not working with me till about five or six weeks before this—before the woman died he was working with me, but not at the time—I first knew that the prisoner had the idea that his brother was too thick with his wife, on the Thursday after Bank Holiday—that was the first and last time—I did not attribute his statement that there was trouble at home to what I had heard before—I found he wanted to go away—his garden is on the border of the railway—he has been with me since he has been on the railway—he was as good, straightforward and hardworking a man as anyone else ever had—he was a teetotaler the whole time for anything: I knew—he seemed to go straight home or to his garden after work—he never said anything to me about his home.
JOHN WADE . I am a signalman on the Midland Railway—I live at 4, Mill Cottages, Mill Lane—I knew the prisoner as a platelayer on the line—On the morning of September 10th at seven o'clock, I saw him at my signal box—I asked him what he was doing, as he was not going to work—he said he was "off" that "what with George and the old woman I must clear out of it"—I asked him what he meant—he said, "I am going right away"—he said they had been up to something—I told him I should stop—I did not ask him what it was—I said, "If you go away and she finds you she might want you to support her, unless he could prove any connections with the brother, but if they went away of course she could not make him support her"—he offered to sell me some birds of his—I said I would have them if he intended to go—he said he would get someone to buy his garden stuff—he was very excited and had got tears in his eyes when he was talking—I had known him as a teetotaler—I noticed a change in his habits—he broke out about three weeks before this—I spoke to him about it and he left it off again—it bad lasted two or three days—I think he was having his holidays—when I had spoken to him things went on all right—he seemed downhearted before September 10th—ever since he broke out he did not seem to be exactly right—I did not notice any appearance of drink about him on September 10th in the morning—he sent the birds to me about ten o'clock—I saw him about three o'clock—I went to his house—he was not. in, and I went out and met him in the road—he had had
a little beer, I could smell it—he was very excited, and I told him not to. have any more beer—he gave me his club cards and asked me to keep his. clubs paid up till he came back again—he also gave me the authority to. draw his wages which were due to him—he asked me to send the money to 6, Gauntlet Road, Buckingham—he said his mother lived there—he said he would stop there till after he had got the money, and would square up the rent, as if not his mother would be sold out—he did not say how he was going to get his living—he gave me a tin case with three razors in it—he said I could keep them till he came back, and if he wanted one I could let him have it—he did not say when he would come back, but not until they had settled down—he was alluding to his brother and his wife—he did not say what was to be done with 30, Palmerstom Road, where they were living—he said he was going by the the seven o'clock train from Willesden Junction—he signed the paper, there was no. other conversation—he cried when I shook hands with him—I think they, had had two quarts of beer between three of them.
Cross-examined. When we had that conversation on the 10th he only said that he must go away on account of his wife, he said "If I don't go. I shall be locked up," that was when I was trying to persuade him to stop.—his wages were 21s. or 22s. a week—he asked me to keep the club, money up, but he did not say where I was to get the money from—it was not the railway club—it was near Bank Holiday that I heard that he had broken out—it was when I went up for my money—I think he had been a teetotaler nearly five years—we were members of the club together—he was not under the influence of drink on the 10th but very excited—he had spoken to me before then of his suspicion of his wife—he spoke to. me about it at the time he had broken out—he told me that was the cause of it—during the five years he had been a temperate man—I think he was fond of his home and his children—for some time he lived about ten minutes' walk from me, and the rest of the time about five minutes—I saw him almost every day—he worked close to me—the garden land is not near my box—he generally worked at his garden in the evenings—he shook hands with me on that evening, he did not seem to be drunk, but. very much upset—when he was crying he did not say anything as to the cause of his grief—I assumed that it was the trouble he had spoken of; in the morning.
MARY ANN SNOWDEN . I am the wife of Thomas Snowden, a cutler, of 22, Netherwood Street, I remember the prisoner coming to my shop and bringing that knife with him—it was very rusty—he asked me to get it. ground for him. He called attention to the handle, as it had wire round, it.
Cross-examined. I only knew him by sight.
THOMAS SNOWDEN . I am a cutler of Netherwood Street, Kilburn—on. the morning of September 10th last, the prisoner left a knife to be ground—in the evening he called again—I told him the knife was done, and I handed it to him—he asked what was the value of it in my opinion,—I said 1s. 3d.—he paid 3d. for the grinding—he put the knife in, his pocket in a piece of paper—I think this is the piece of paper (produced.)
Cross-examined. It was between eight and nine when he came for the knife—nothing attracted ray attention, he looked perfectly sober—I had never spoken to him before, I knew him by sight.
GEORGE BROWNE . I am a carman, and I used to live at 30, Palmerston Road, Kilburn—I occupied a room on the first floor in front—the prisoner lived at the same house with his wife, occupying the second floor back—they had been in occupation for about six weeks prior to September last—I remember in the evening of September 10th, about eight o'clock, the prisoner's wife coming to me and speaking to me—at that time the prisoner was not at home. At about 10.15 that night the prisoner looked into my room—he spoke to me but I did not notice anything strange in his appearance at that time—he asked me how I was, he went up to his room then—I noticed nothing strange about him—he seemed as if he had had a little drink but not much—after he had been gone about five minutes he came down again to where I was—he asked me if I would go up to his room—I said no, I did not care about it then I wanted to get to bed—he said, "Come up for a few minutes, I want to speak to you"—I then went up to his room with him—on going in I saw the little boy Willie—there was no one else there—the prisoner told the little boy to go and get a pint of porter and a pint of ale—the boy went—the prisoner said, "This is all right, nothing to eat, nothing to drink, and no one to speak to"—by that time the little boy had returned with some porter, some ale, and some fish was on the table—I said, "It is all right, Jim; here is some ale and some fish"—he got up and gave me some ale—he drank some himself—outside the room, down some steps, there is a water-closet—the little boy went towards the water-closet—after a short time the prisoner went down to the water-closet himself—he said, "Annie, come out"—his wife replied, "After you go up into your own room I will come out"—he came back into the room and took a chopper and went down to the water-closet again—he hit the door three times with the chopper, splitting one of the panels—after which he returned to the room—the wife then came into the room—she sat down between the table and bed, which was in the room—the children were in the room at the time—the prisoner asked me to pour out some ale—I said, "No, it is your place to pour it out"—he poured out some ale then, he handed me a glass and I drank, and he drank too—he then said, "This is all right after being married for fifteen years, and not having had connection with your wife for a month—he then exposed himself to me, and I told him I did not understand it, and asked him to be quiet—he said that his b—dirty brother had given her the dirt, and she had given it to him—I asked him to be quiet—his wife did not say anything—he got up from his chair and punched her in the face with his fist, and pulled her hair—I don't remember him saying anything at the time—I interfered, and pulled him away from his wife, back to the chair which he had left—he then took a chopper out of the fender and said he would chop her b—head off, it was the same chopper he had taken down to the water-closet—he then went towards his wife—he raised it as if he would strike her, I went towards him and again interfered, and took the chopper from him—he then took a wooden mallet from the coal-box behind the door, and said he would knock her b—brains out—he went towards her, and I again interfered, and took it away from him and put it with the chopper in the fender—I do not remember if he drank anything more—I asked him to be quiet and he said he would—the room was lighted by a lamp, and he said, "George, the lights are now growing
dim, now is the time the deed must be committed"—I did not notice any change in the lighting of the room when he said that—having said that he went to the cupboard door where his coat was hanging up—he took from it a large knife, wrapped in paper—that is the knife and the paper—he tore the paper off the knife and rushed towards his wife—I jumped up, put my arms round his neck and took it away from him—I put the knife in the fender with the mallet and the chopper—I don't remember what he said to his wife next—I remember he said, "Annie, between this and five o'clock to-morrow morning I will kill you stone dead"—his wife said nothing—when I was interfering with the prisoner, she said, "George, if he wants to do it, let him do it"—I cannot remember when she said that—after that he was quiet for some time—he was seeming to be getting sleepy—he laid his head down on his wife's lap and went to sleep—while he was asleep, or dropping off to sleep, I assisted his wife to lift him and lay his head upon the bed—she gave me a razor which I put in my pocket—I put the knife, mallet and chopper out of sight, on the top of the cupboard—I left the room when he was asleep, leaving behind me the prisoner, his wife and the two children—the children were asleep on the bed—they had been asleep ever since the boy had brought in the food—the wife was asleep on the chair—I had to use force when preventing the prisoner attacking his wife with the knife—that was when he said the lights were growing dim, and when I put my arms round his neck—I did not use so much force with the chopper or the mallet—he let me have them easily enough when I got hold of them, with the exception of the knife—I thought it prudent to wait outside the room for about half an hour—I heard nothing in the way of a sound coming from the room, and I went to bed and to sleep—at about 4.45 in the morning the prisoner's two children came and knocked at my door—I got up and half dressed myself and let them in—the little girl's face was cut, and the blood was streaming down her face—I did not see any injury to the little boy—the little girl told me something—I went and called a neighbour, Mr. King, and then went for a policeman—he and I went to the door—the door was locked on the inside, and the officer broke it open with an iron bar which I gave him—when we went into the room Mrs. Harris was lying on the floor dead—there was a quantity of blood about—the room was in great disorder, the bedstead having been overturned partly on the woman—the prisoner was lying across the dead woman with his throat bleeding considerably from a severe wound in his throat—he was still alive, but unconscious—he remained so till Dr. Anderson came—when the doctor came he became conscious, and beckoned to me with his hand—he was on the floor at this time—I went to him as he lay on the floor—he put up his two fingers—I asked him if he meant his two children—he nodded his head—I said they were all right—they were in the next room—he then lost consciousness again—I remained in the house, but left the room—on the night before he threw a glass of porter over the lamp glass, and some went over his wife—it was thrown over his wife, and caught the glass—there was one table-knife on the table—that is the knife.
Cross-examined. I was lodging in the same house downstairs on the ground floor—I am a married man, and was living there with my wife—I had been there about six weeks—I knew the deceased, but only since
lived in the house—I had not known her before as a friend—they had two rooms, and the w.c. was common to the upstairs lodgers—the bed was in the room where we were sitting that night—the other room was where the brother slept upstairs—when I first went into the room on that night the prisoner said, "There is nothing to eat, nothing to drink, and no one to speak to"—the fish was on the table, and the cloth was laid, and every appearance of a meal being spread—the little boy did not say anything—he left the room and I heard him go down to the w.c.—I knew the wife was there because the prisoner had sent the little boy to ask her what she would have to drink and she said she would have a drop of porter—I knew the prisoner had been a teetotaler—on this occasion I saw the beer on the table—before he went down with the chopper he knocked two or three times at the door—I did not hear very distinctly how he told that, she was to come up, or when she said she would have some porter—the little boy went into the w.c. with his mother—he did not seem frightened—when she came out she seemed perfectly culm—she said, "If he is going to do it, let him do it"—she said that in a perfectly calm tone—the light was just the same as it was before; it was not growing dim—he had been drinking—I think he was rather excited—I do not allude to the porter we had drunk, he had been drinking on that day; I knew he had not been to work that morning—I did not have any conversation with him then—the little girl was in the w.c. with the others—she came up with her mother when she came nip with the boy—they went to bed before the prisoner began to doze off—they were not undressed; they lay down on the bed when he began to drop asleep—he had the appearance of a man perfectly tired out—he did not say anything before he went to sleep—he put his head in his wife's lap—he was sitting on one chair and his wife was sitting on another—he leaned right over—I moved him and put him on the bed—I went out about an hour after he bad gone to sleep—the wife was asleep—they were all asleep—I stopped on the stairs, because I was rather anxious, for about half an hour—I heard nothing more till the children came into my room; they said, "Oh, Mr. Brown, do come up, father is killing mother and cutting his own throat"—that was about 4.45—I went downstairs and found Mr. King—I met a constable in the High Road—it was about seven or eight yards, from the house—when I returned with the constable and King we all went up to the room—we had to break the door in—the bedstead was an ordinary bedstead, made of iron—it was up against the wall in the room; the children were lying upon it—the husband was upon the bed—I found it turned over when T came into the room and part of it rested on the woman's legs—the prisoner was lying across the wife—he did not move, he was unconscious—it was not long before the doctor came—he became conscious again and made a sign to me—the children were in the next room—when the prisoner threw the porter over the lamp glass and his wife I do not know if he said anything—I cannot remember—it was about the last thing he did before he went to sleep—I think he meant to throw it over his wife and not to get rid of the porter—I never heard from him of the disease of which he complained—I knew his brother—I had known his wife as a fellow lodger, she was very quiet—I had not noticed anything strange about the prisoner's
conduct before this, but he seemed strange on the night—he told me on the Friday that he was going away—his wife was in the room when he told me so—the conversation took place at the same time that he got up for the chopper—he said he was going away for a week by the five o'clock train, bird catching—I do not remember where he said he was going—he did not speak about coming back—his wife did not say anything about his going away—she seemed very quiet—she did not say anything about his conduct on that night—he never threatened me with any violence for interfering.
By the COURT. He said he was going away when he sat down talking to me about bird catching—he took the chopper first, then the mallet and then the knife—and ultimately went to sleep—the conversation about his going away was when I took the mallet away and before he said the lights were getting dim.
WILLIAM YOUNG . I am a stableman—on September 10th, I was living at 30, Palmerston Road, in a room next to that occupied by the prisoner and his wife—on the night of September 10th I went to bed, and about 12.30 in the early morning I heard a noise as of some scuffling in the prisoner's room—I knocked at the wall—the prisoner came out of his room—I went out and saw him, and asked him to leave off—he said he would go and keep quiet, and leave off; he did not know he was disturbing me—there had been some noise coming from the room before, but not the same—there was quiet for half an hour, and then the noise recommenced and continued for a considerable time, up to three o'clock, then there was quiet again till 4.45 a.m., when I was awakened by Mrs. Harris's voice calling out, "Mr. Young, Mr. Young, murder! murder!"—I jumped out of bed, and went to the door of the prisoner's room—it was unfastened—I went into the room, and as I did so the prisoner's two little children ran out of the room—the little girl was bleeding from the side of the head—when I got into the room I saw Mrs. Harris on the side of the bed, which was in its usual position—the prisoner was behind the door kneeling, and he seemed to be feeling for something near the coal-box—I said, "I will soon stop this"—I went to my own room, put on my clothes, went down stairs to Mr. King, who lived two doors off, and as I was ringing him up, my fellow-lodger came to Mr. King's door—together we fetched a policeman, and went back with him to the house—on arriving at the door of the prisoner's room it was locked from the inside—I went to fetch more assistance, and when I got back the door had been broken open—I stood at the door—the woman was lying on the ground, and the prisoner was lying straight across her—the bedstead had been overturned—the woman was dead and the prisoner very severely injured.
Cross-examined. When I went into the bedroom I saw the child bleeding from the head, and the woman sitting on the bed, I saw nothing the matter with the woman.
HERBERT LEWIS FRENCH . I am Superintendent of the Westminster Union Schools, St. James's Road, Tooting—William Harris is a lad in those schools, and under my charge—he is in the infirmary there now, suffering from an inflamed foot—I produce this certificate of our medical officer attending him—I saw him this morning—he is unable to travel.
prisoner's presence—he gave his evidence, and was cross-examined by a solicitor representing the prisoner—after he had given his evidence it was read over to him—he signed the deposition.
The deposition of William Harris was read as follows:—"I am 10 years old. I am the son of the prisoner. I am now in the Hampstead Workhouse Schools. On September 10th I lived at 30, Palmerston Road, on that morning the prisoner did not go to work—he went out at eight, returning about ten o'clock. I do not remember his bringing anything home. He washed up the things and I wiped them. He said he should be home to dinner at twelve o'clock. He returned at one o'clock to dinner; we had then finished dinner. I remember getting home at five p.m. to tea; the prisoner was then at home. He went out, and came back about ten o'clock. When he returned mother and sister were in the lavatory; I was up in the room. The prisoner sent me for a pint of porter and a pint of ale; the ale was to be in a can, and the porter in a bottle. He then sent me out for some fish and potatoes, the prisoner had had, some beer and fish; my mother called to me and I went downstairs to the w.c.; my sister and mother were there; the door was locked. The prisoner then came down with a chopper and burst open the door. We all went up to our room. Mr. Brown then came up. The prisoner said he would kill my mother; he took up a chopper. Mr. Brown stopped him. I and my sister went to sleep. I was aroused at five o'clock in the morning by the prisoner striking me on the head, Sack, and shoulder with the chopper; I was bruised. He then hit my sister on the head, cutting it open. I took my sister out, and called Mr. Brown, and I saw no more. I have heard father and mother quarrel, both when he was drunk and sober; when he quarrelled he used to swear. I was not fond of him when he quarrelled. I had seen the chopper before; he never struck me before with it."
SAMUEL BROWN (Sergeant 38 s). I went about six a.m. on September 11th to 30, Palmerston Road—I saw the two bodies lying—I attended to the prisoner, who was unconscious; he regained consciousness and gave me a purse—shortly after he went into unconsciousness again, and then he recovered and undid his trousers, and pushed them down and pointed to his private parts—he was not able to speak—then he pulled his trousers up and endeavoured to fasten them up—I fastened them up—he seemed to go off again—shortly after he opened his eyes and saw his wife lying at his feet and he kicked her as she lay there—he went off again—when he came to he turned his head and saw Brown at the door, and he beckoned him in and held up his two fingers, and pointed to the door—I told Brown to come in—he said he was not coming in—I said "Come in, the man cannot hit you," and the prisoner held up his two fingers as much as to ask about his children—I found this knife lying there near the prisoner covered with blood—a piece of whetstone was on the table—the knife had the appearance of being recently sharpened—this chopper was lying covered with blood—I assisted in taking the prisoner to the hospital—I did not see the mallet or the other chopper there.
JAMES COX (re-called.) I went to 30, Palmerston Road about six a.m. on September 11th with Dr. Anderson—I received this small knife from Sergeant Brown, a billhook chopper, and a piece of whetstone—they were
blood-stained—I found this large butcher's knife, mallet and chopper on the top of the cupboard in the room—they were not blood-stained—on October 16th I arrested the prisoner at the University College Hospital—I learnt that he was able to leave on that day—I told him I should arrest him for feloniously killing his wife at Palmerston Road on September 10th, and further with attempting to murder his daughter on the same date, and with attempting to commit suicide by cutting his own throat at the same time and place; he made no reply because he was unable to speak.
JOHN WILLIAM ANDERSON , M.D.—I live at St. James's Mansions, West Hampstead—on September 11th I was acting as divisional surgeon for West Hampstead—about six a.m. on that day I was called to 30, Palmerston Road—in the back room on the first floor I found a woman lying dead; her head was towards the fireplace, and quite close to it—the floor near where her neck lay was covered with blood—an iron bedstead in the room had been turned on its side, and a portion of it was resting on her leg; she was pinned by the bedstead to the floor—I subsequently made an examination of the woman—I found a superficial incised wound through the skin and over the left side of the chest, above the breast—there was a wound in her neck extending vertically from the middle of the neck upwards and backwards to the base of the skull, cutting through all the larger structures of the neck—it was a very large and deep wound, and one that must have been given with very great force—the cause of death was hæmorrhage from that wound, and death must have been very rapid—this small knife might have caused the cut on the chest and the wound on the neck; 'one single movement of the knife beginning at the chest andrunning upwards to the neck would cause the two wounds—assuming the wounds to have been inflicted after the bedstead was overturned the effect of the overturning would have been to have pinned the woman under the bedstead, and she could not have offered any resistance; she was lying face downwards on the ground, and the bedstead was on one of her legs, and she could not move possibly—my attention was also turned to the prisoner, who was in the room when I arrived there—he was being supported by Sergeant Brown, who was trying to staunch the blood coming from a wound in his throat—it turned out to be a very deep wound, and the effect was to completely divide the windpipe—if the bleeding had not been stopped the effect of it would have been fatal in a short time—the prisoner was insensible from the hæmorrhage—I attended to the wound and got a tracheometry tube and inserted it into the windpipe, and the prisoner was able to breathe through it, the hæmorrhage having been arrested—I got some brandy and brought him back to consciousness—I noticed the front of his trousers was unbuttoned—he made a motion as if he wished to produce his person—I made no examination, but directed his removal to the infirmary—I did not see him again—my attention was directed at the same time to the children—there was a slight injury to the boy's shoulder such as would have been occasioned by the flat side of this chopper—the girl lay on the bed in a dazed condition—I found an incised wound on the scalp at the top of the head, penetrating to the bone, and two inches long; a considerable amount of blood had flowed from it—I dressed that wound—in my opinion her dazed condition was due to concussion of the brain—I caused both children to be removed to the workhouse infirmary—no doubt the prisoner's injury was self-inflicted.
WILFRED TROTTER , M.B. I was house surgeon at University College hospital on September 11th, when the prisoner was brought there about eight a.m.—I attended him and found him suffering from the injury to his throat—he remained under my charge until within a few days of October 16th, when he was sufficiently recovered to leave—I did not notice whether he was suffering from any venereal disease; I did not see anything to lead me to suppose that he was
Cross-examined. I ceased to have personal charge of him about a week before he left the hospital—when he was sent oft and went to Holloway on October 16th, he was under the charge of my successor, Dr. Leicester, who is not here—when I parted company with the prisoner he was nearly well enough to leave the hospital, I thought—I know he was not well enough to come down here last month—the house surgeon and the visiting surgeon have discretion whether a patient is discharged or not—I am told by the house surgeon that the visiting surgeon was consulted as to whether the prisoner should be taken to Holloway—the Magistrate made some remarks about it.
JOHN WILLIAM ANDERSON (re-examined.) When I made a post-mortem examination of the deceased I found she was suffering from an ulcerated condition of the neck of the uterus, accompanied by a discharge which was capable of causing irritation and discharge in her husband—it was contagious, but it was not gonorrhoea, nor of that character—it was produced by a natural disease to which any pure woman would be subject.
Cross-examined. It would be communicated to her husband—if there was any discharge from the husband's person it might last any length of time.
JAMES SCOTT . I am medical officer of Holloway Prison where the prisoner has been under my care since October 16th—my attention having been called to the condition of his person, I examined it and found some discharge; it was not of necessity a gonorrhoeal discharge; it may have been brought about by connection with a woman whose uterus was diseased in the sense described by the last witness—by an unskilled person it might have been mistaken for a gonorrhoeal discharge; the discomfort occasioned by it would be very similar in its character to the patient.
Cross-examined. When he came under my charge on October 16th he was in a weak condition, suffering from the wound in his throat and great debility, and with slight bronchitis—owing to a temporary relapse he was not brought here last Sessions; he was brought the previous Session—it was necessary to put him into the hospital on October 16th; he was confined to his bed for a few days—he was first sent before the Magistrate on November 5th—the wound in his throat makes him liable to bronchitis.
GUILTY.—The JURY found that he was responsible for his actions up to the time he committed the crime, and added a strong recommendation to mercy. — DEATH .
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, January 12th, 1898.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted and MR. ROUTH Defended.
ROBERT WYNNE ROUND . I am a dental surgeon, of 7, Wimpole Street—on December 20th Captain Meilvane owed me £22 1s.—I did not receive a cheque—this is not my endorsement, nor did I authorize anybody to endorse it—the prisoner was employed at Mrs. Hawkins'. where I was; I never authorized him to change the cheque—there are five female servants.
Cross-examined. I have seen the prisoner in my room making up my fire—a few days before the date of this cheque, a cheque which had been sent by post was found in my appointment book—the letter was found open; I do not know who opened it—I have been there about seven years—I receive a good many letters and circulars—I remember the prisoner being brought there the following week with a clergyman, Mr. Langthorne—he did not tell the prisoner that the matter would be dropped if he told the truth, nor did the prisoner say that he was innocent; I am not certain of his words—about a fortnight afterwards I found out that the cheque had not come in my hands—this matter was sifted pretty well three weeks afterwards.
Re-examined. It was in mid-afternoon that I saw the prisoner in my room—the letters were on the table and the door was open—the second cheque was taken out of a letter addressed to me before any communication came from Captain Meilvane, it was for £5 5s.
FLORENCE HAWKINS . I am landlady of 7, Wimpole Street—I employed the prisoner on December 5th, 6th and 7th, and he remained till the 15th; he had to run errands, fetch up coal, and clean windows—there are three medical gentlemen in the house, the letters were sorted and placed in their rooms—the prisoner may have taken some coal into Mr. Mcllvane's room, the door was not locked—I have ordered him to change my private cheques at a grocer's—I know his writing and should say these two papers (produced) are his writing.
Cross-examined. He has been in my employment since September 27th—I took him straight from his mother's house, they are very respectable people—the cheques I sent him with were not in envelopes, I sent them to all my tradesmen—I have seen the prisoner since, his habits were just the same, and he was not better dressed—he deqied this before the Magistrate—no other boy was employed in the house then.
THOMAS COLE . I am assistant to E. French, a grocer, of 1, High Street, Marylebone—the prisoner came to me with this cheque at a little after twelve o'clock—I cannot say whether it was endorsed as it is now—he said "Will you kindly change it for a gentleman staying there"—I took it to my governor who gave me £21—the cheque is for £22 1s.—I took it to the house—my master afterwards gave me £1 Is which I took to the house and gave it to the prisoner—I am certain of him, I had seen him before.
Cross-examined. My attention was called to the fact about three weeks afterwards—it is my master's habit to cash cheques for people who deal with him, they come there constantly—I gave the prisoner the £21 in gold in a piece of paper—I am quite sure I gave the second sum to the
same boy—I went in to see Mr. Rown when there was a clergyman present, and was asked some questions—I did not say first that I gave the £21 to the prisoner, and afterwards contradict myself and say that I gave it to another boy, who took it, and that the prisoner returned and said that it was all right—I swear that that is not true—we cash cheques for people we do not know—I know the prisoner as being Hawkins' boy.
ANNIE NEWTON . I am parlour maid to Mrs. Hawkins, of Wimpole Street—I was there when the prisoner was there, and after he left I received this letter from him—I go by the name of Frances. (The letter commenced "Dear Frances.")
THOMAS HENRY GUERIN . I am a professional expert in handwriting of 59, Holborn Viaduct—I have examined these three documents. and compared them with the endorsement on the cheque, and to the best of my belief they are in the same writing.
Cross-examined. I have eight letters to compare it with—I stake my opinion on the whole of the writing—I submitted a report to the police and a tracing—there is no hand-shaking in the tracing—it is bold writing, with the up and down strokes; no shaking or trembling—it is not a matured hand, such as I should expect from you or your learned friend—it is writing which you might attribute to a person of 16 or 17—all people do not exercise the same care—all these letters are traced from one page of the larger letter—I admit that the initial stroke of the "R" is longer—the prisoner's writing is much larger than the initial stroke on the cheque—if you take away this flourish to the "W" in "Work-house" in the prisoner's writing it represents that on the endorsement—that is the only "W" I find on that page—I observed in the prisoner's writing that there is an initial stroke to the "y," and there is no initial up stroke in the endorsement—I take the double "n's" from the word "innocence"—I do not think they are different to the endorsement (The witness pointed out other similarities in different letters.)
By the COURT. In some cases of forgery the forged signature actually fits another signature, evidencing that it could not be written by the same hand, there is no hand living which can sign a signature so exactly alike—it is impossible for a man to write his signature exactly the same if it is held up to the light.
By MR. ROUTH. I describe this as vertical writing—mistakes have been made by experts.
Re-examined. There would be more discrepancies in the writing of a boy who has not acquired the habit of writing the same words than in the case of a man, he would be more versatile—I am not conscious of having expressed an opinion which has proved to be wrong.
HENRY BROOKS (Detective Sergeant B.) One of these letters were handed to me at the police-court—I handed it to Mr. Guerin—I was present when the prisoner was arrested, he said that he knew nothing about it, he had never seen it.
Evidence for the Defence.
REV. ALEXANDER REGINALD LANGTHORNE . I am curate at St. Brightside, Poplar—I have known the prisoner for four years and his parents; his mother is a hard-working woman at the mangle—he bears a very good character, I never knew anything against him—I knew him in school this was the first place he had been at—I accompanied him to Mr.
Rown, nothing was said about his being forgiven if he would make a confession—I was present when Cole was there—Mr. Rown asked the boy to whom he gave the £1 1s.—Cole said to this boy, and almost immediately corrected it and said, "No, it was to another boy, and Fish came back and said that it was all right"—Mr. Rown said that there was nothing left but to put it in the hands of the police, and we left—I said that if the prisoner would only own up, no proceedings would be taken—he said, "I have not done it, and I can't say I have."
REV. WILLIAM ALEXANDER CARROLL . I am Vicar of St. Brightside, Poplar—I have known the prisoner five years, ever since I have been there; he bears a very high character indeed—his father was killed in the Tilbury Docks—I have seen the prisoner several times since this matter, and attended at the police-court to give him a character—Mr. Bennet, the Magistrate there, said that I was to accompany the prisoner into his cell—he was asked which was his signature and selected the lower one.
GUILTY of the uttering.—Recommended to mercy by the JURY.
MR. HATTON Prosecuted.
DR. R. W. ROWN. This is not my signature to this cheque—I did not authorize anybody to sign it, nor did I send anybody to get the money.
GUILTY .— Three days' imprisonment and 12 strokes with the birch ,
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, January 12th, 1898.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. SCHULTESS YOUNG Prosecuted and MESSRS. C. F. GILL and
GEORGE HILLMAN . I am a wheelwright, of 121, Trafalgar Street, Walworth Road—on October 16th I was living at 3, Temple Street, St. George's Road—on that day, about eleven p.m., I was with Mr. Finch in the Lord Nelson, Trafalgar Street—I had met him about nine pan.—the Lord Nelson is about 12 or 13 minutes' walk from the Elephant and Castle—I had two ponies of bitter in the Lord Nelson—that is about half a pint—I left the Lord Nelson about 11.30, quite sober, with Finch—I said "Good night" to Finch at his door in Trafalgar Street, and went towards home—I had nothing more to drink—I lived with Carrie Jones, in Temple Street—since this case commenced I have been charged with her abduction—as I was going down the Walworth Road, towards the Elephant and Castle, I saw three young women going round Short Street, leading from Walworth Road—Carrie Jones, Louisa Jones, and Rosa Cook—I knew them—Carrie was first, Louisa next, and then Rosa Cook—they went towards the elephant, and crossed the road—I went and spoke to Carrie Jones—I was immediately arrested, from behind me—
there was no more disturbance than there is now—Cook pulled Carrie away from me—she may have talked rather loud, but there was no screaming—I could not see who arrested me, two constables I suppose—I heard a heavy voice, from a constable, say, "We want you"—I was pulled, and received a kick on the right ankle—I fell in the constables' arms—I felt faint, I could not stand—I said, "What have I done?"—the constables said, "Come on," pulling me up again—I was dragged towards the station—I heard Carrie say, "Let him go, he has not done nothing"—there were a few people round and a bit of a noise, and I was picked up by the ankles by two more constables—one constable had one hand on my collar and another on my wrist—I was carried face downwards, with my head first—two constables held me by my ankles and two by my wrists—both wrists were being held—the constable removed his hand from the collar to the wrist—I was carried a good distance—I said, "I should like to walk"—I heard two or three people say, "Put the man down"—I was put down to walk, but I could not, I was knocked about too much—they proceeded with me in the same style—I was again taken face downwards—I was put down to walk two or three yards, then turned on my back—a large crowd gathered—a constable put his knee into my groin, causing me pain—I could tell he was a constable by his clothes—that caused me to faint—I recollect coming to when I was held up in the dock at the station by two constables—I was in a fainting condition, having no recollection—I asked for a drop of water—I felt myself going off again, a nasty feeling—then I found myself on the floor—I felt a hand lift my eyelid up—I was lifted and taken into a small room—two constables sat me near a table—I saw a gentleman come in with a box with two handles and place it in front of me, and put tubes to my neck—I was very weak, but I jumped up and said, "Oh, do not do it any more"—I felt worse—it hurt me—I was taken into a cell and sat on a seat—the doctor came, and I said a few words to him—five or six years ago I was in trouble with the police.
Cross-examined. I do not know the constables—the kick on my ankle was with too much force to be an accident, even if the constable was pushed by the crowd—at twelve o'clock at night the Borough is a rough place—I was not rough—I have been forced to fight as a boxing man at an exhibition 25 rounds—I am married—I was not brought to Rodney Street police-station for assaults and violence to my wife—I was summoned and bound over to keep the peace at Kennington Lane, and charged with not supporting her—I have been charged with attempting to rescue a man in custody named Fenn, and throwing a policeman on his head by getting between his legs—I got away, but they knew where to find me, and I was arrested from the house where they took Fenn—three policemen took me to the station—I got 21 days—I was charged with having a costermonger's barrow in my possession which was not my property—for that I got a month—that is five or six years back—I am 25 years of age—the cause of this trouble, Carrie Jones, had been living with me at different addresses—at 3, and at 41, Temple Street—we were not turned out of No. 41—there were no complaints of rows—we left because she saw someone she liked better—this is the first I have heard of her complaining that I assaulted her—I did not leave her with her face bruised
and a black eye—I left her on October 16th—she had not been home all night—I only asked her a few questions—why she had not been home—we had no words—I did not know she was not coming back—she told me she was 19—I believe she is 16 now—I went to her mother—she did not treat me like she had treated me before—we had a few words—the police came and asked me where I lived—I went there a little later than 7.30 p.m.—I was not told Carrie Jones had a bruised face and a black eye—I did not see any—at twelve p.m. I put my hand on her shoulder—as I came up a girl called out, "Here comes Ginger"—the girls with her did not shout and scream, they had nothing to shout and scream about—all Carrie said was, "You look upset, don't get excited, George"—I said, "I am not excited"—she did not try to get away—Rosa Cook caught hold of Carrie, and I told her to mind her own business and not interfere—I wanted to ask her what she was going to do—as I walked by the Elephant and Castle a policeman said "Move on"—he did not allude to me, I took no notice, and we stopped on the refuge—he did not say "Move away from these girls"—he did not say he would arrest me if I did not move away—I did not say I would give him a b—g doing if he did—I caught Carrie Jones up—I did not see the two constables come up till I was taken—Cook said, "She is not coming with you"—Carrie was not struggling with me—she did not fall to the ground—she lived with me till October 25th—there was no disturbance, nothing out of the way—she did not get out of her jacket to get away—I was not told to go away—I was taken away—I had no chance to struggle—I had no power—when I was being carried I wriggled—the police never asked me at the beginning if I would walk—I could not walk, my ankle was too bad—I heard nothing about an ambulance being sent for—my feet dragged along the ground, I could not hold up—no one spoke to me during the night—only the doctor spoke to me.
Re-examined. My boxing match was five years back—I only had one set to—I have been in bad health since—I have been in the hospital through boils and stricture—I have' not been charged with any offence since 1893—I had been working for Mr. Collins at Clapham, and before that in Northampton Place as a wheelwright, eight or nine months, and for J. Connor, of 2, Old Kent Road—Mr. Connor gave me a good character before the Magistrate—I had met Carrie Jones of a night in the Walworth Road, and at Mills' public-house, between 10.30 and twelve p.m.—she asked me to have a drink—I afterwards went to live with her for several months, till October 16th—she went away and left a note on the table—I was charged with abduction—previous to October 16th I had been to the mother's house—I was talking to these girls on the refuge when I was taken—the girls did not go away before I was arrested.
By the COURT. I was taken into custody on October 16th, locked up all night, bailed on the Sunday morning, brought before the Magistrate on Monday on a charge of being drunk and disorderly—the charge was postponed till this case was dealt with (a juryman was here taken ill, another juryman sworn, and the evidence read over and confirmed by Hittman, who added)—I lived at Temple Street till October 25th—I was living there on 16th.
Cross-examined.—I met him in the Lord Nelson—we were there about three-quarters of an hour—I have nothing to fix the hour—my house is four doors from the Lord Nelson.
JAMES TIMEWELL . I am a tailor—I live at 12, Alpha Road, New Cross—I carry on business in Gower Street—on October 16th I was returning home near the Elephant and Castle, and saw a small crowd in the middle of the Causeway, near the rest, about 10 to 15 yards from the London Road corner, and heard the pitiful screams of a young man—I went up and saw Hillman being partly carried and partly dragged by two policemen by his arms, which being twisted outward caused him pain, and brought him almost on his knees—when they had dragged him 10 or 15 yards other constables came and took his legs above the ankles and twisted them, causing him to wriggle—his face was downwards—I had heard him ask to be allowed to walk—I did not hear any reply—I was close enough—he screamed as though he was in agony—he could not do anything except wriggle—people shouted, "Why don't you give the man a chance, "Why don't you let him walk," and "You are murdering the man"—a fifth policeman took him by the collar and almost strangled him—he made a noise as though he was being choked—there was a crowd of about 40 or 50—I said to the constable on his right carrying him, "I think such treatment is altogether unnecessary to the prisoner, to say the least of it"—they raised his, arms slightly and said, "Now walk," in a sneering way—his legs seemed useless—he said, "How can I walk now that you have nearly twisted my legs out"—one policeman asked another if he had a tract in his pocket—they proceeded in the same way—I saw a constable kick him on his knee between the legs—I had seen him knocked about the head, face and neck—there was seven or eight policeman—his wriggling diminished and his screams grew weaker, more like a moan—my son and daughter, aged 16 and 13, were with me—I went into the station to protest, leaving my name and address—Hillman had been, put in the dock and had fallen in a heap on the floor—utterly collapsed—I was 20 minutes or half-an-hour before I could see the Inspector, when I lodged a complaint—I do not know the prisoner—I have no interest in these proceedings.
Cross-examined. I had come from Waterloo Junction—I do not think Hillman was trying to get away—I did not make up my mind hastily, I had a good look first—I have not complained of the police inefficiency—I appealed for subscriptions and have seen witnesses—I am not bound to say whether I keep a spring gun in my place—I saw no opposition to the police in this crowd—I walked crowd to the police, not shoulder to shoulder—I heard nothing about an ambulance being sent for—I did not suggest it—he was carried face downwards 20 or 30 yards—since being before the Magistrate I have come to the conclusion 20 yards was too low an estimate.
Re-examined. Hillman was not exhibiting any violence towards the police; he was held too tightly—he was not offering resistance—I have called the attention of the police to my place, but do not remember having complained of them.
By the JURY. I have not been prompted to come here—I was told not to come, and one man said outside the station, "If you go in there you won't come out."
EMILY TIMEWELL . I am 16 years old, and live with my father—I was coming down the London Road with him and my brother when I heard the screams—when we got up to the crowd we saw two policemen dragging Hillman along by the arms—one hand was on his wrist, and the other higher up his arm—Hillman was crying out as if he was being hurt—two more policemen took hold of his ankles—they carried him along face downwards—after two or three people had protested father stopped the constables, and told them the treatment they were giving the prisoner was absolutely unnecessary—they let go of his feet and held him up by his arms, and told him to walk—Hillman said, "I cannot walk now, you have twisted my legs out"—his legs seemed helpless; he had no control over them—there were five constables—one had hold of his collar and jerked his head forward, and dug his knuckles into the man's neck—I went with my father to the station when he made a complaint.
Cross-examined. We have talked it over, but father has not coached me—the night was dark—I first saw 20 or 30 people—when we got up they were starting to the station—his legs dragged—when they put him down a constable said, "You see that he won't walk—they were civil—they told father to take care or he might be run over"—Hillman was struggling.
Re-examined. He seemed exhausted—he did not struggle when released—three constables were at his back—we had lost our train.
JOHN TIMEWELL . I am the son of James Timewell—I live with him—I was with him and my sister when I was attracted by this small crowd—we went up, and I saw the prisoner being carried face downwards—first I saw him dragged along by the arms by two policemen—later on two policemen took his legs—a policeman took each limb—father asked them to put him down—they let go his legs, and said, "Now walk"—he could not walk—his legs doubled up under his body—he said he could not walk, because his legs were twisted out—I heard him cry several times as if in pain when he was being carried—he struggled from pain—when released he remained quiet—I went into the station with my father—he made a complaint.
HARRY WHITFIELD COATES . I am Magistrates' clerk at Southwark—Hillman was charged with being drunk and disorderly on October 18th—the defendants gave evidence then, and on the Tuesday, at the adjourned hearing, of their removal of Hillman to the station, after which the Magistrate adjourned the hearing—I took these notes in the course of my duty. [The witness read his notes of the evidence before the Magistrate of the prisoners Frederick Corps 331 M, Charles Woodridge 322 M, John Ferris 18 Mr. and Richard Sands 32 LR, which stated that the prisoner struggled to get free, and used bad language after creating a disturbance, and being drunk and disorderly, and that no more violence was used than necessary to carry out their duty in a rough neighbourhood].
Cross-examined. The neighbourhood is very rough—we take a number of charges on Mondays—our Court is exactly opposite the police-station and almost facing the Sessions House.
Queen's Buildings, Scovell Road, Borough—on October 16th I was near the Elephant and Castle about 12.30 a.m.—my attention was attracted by holloaing and shouting—I saw Hillman on the ground and constables at each shoulder, one with his knees in his back and others tugging at his. collar, taking him from the crowd—Carry Jones came up and said "Let him go, he has done nothing"—the police told her to go away—they dragged Hillman a considerable distance, then they frog-marched him; a policeman holding with his hands, each foot or each arm; they carried him face downwards—one constable twisted Hillman's arm inwards, which made him scream—I heard from the crowd "Give him a fair chance" "Don't kill the man" "Don't strangle him"—three more came behind—they carried him face downwards four or five yards—then he was released and partially dragged and partially walked a considerable distance to the station—I heard him groaning—I went with Timewell into the station to protest—I left my name and address—Timewell was a stranger to me—I remained 10 minutes or a quarter of an hour before saw the inspector—one constable was present when I complained—I saw what happened about three parts of the distance.
Cross-examined. I have been to Timewelts house twice about this case—once was Sunday, 17th—I did not say before the Magistrate I had seen Timewell five or six times—Mr. Wontner asked me that and I said three or four times.
HENRY ERNEST TURNEY . I am a bricklayer of 32, Clement Street, Bermondsey—on October 16th I was in the Artichoke public-house, which is between the station and the Elephant and Castle, about 12.35 on my way home—I was going to the station with a friend who was going to offer bail for his friend Smith, whom I knew—just before the police arrived with the prisoner at the station—I saw six or seven constables and a crowd—four constables held Hillman, one by each arm and one hold of each leg—his face was downwards—that was about 20 yards from the station—they were dragging him along in a very rough manner and the man was moaning—the crowd seemed very indignant at the way he was treated—I looked on a few minutes—they were bumping him by his hands and legs—he did not appear to be offering any resistance—five constables brought him into the station—a fifth constable was behind knocking his head—he was brought along in a bumping sort of way—in the station his legs were thrown violently to the ground by the two constables who supported his legs—he was placed in the dock, where he was placed in a crouching attitude, as though he had no life in him—I thought he was dead, he was deathly white—he was taken out of the dock and laid on the floor at the back of the inspector, who was setting at his desk, and three or four feet away—one constable was "into his side" with his boot, and said, "Now come, what, is your name"—he did not speak—the doctor was sent for.
Cross-examined. Eight or nine charges were being taken—I complained of the man being dragged.
WALTER ALFRED MARSH . I am a registered medical practitioner of Kennington Park, where I have been in practice about 21 years—Hillman was brought to me on Monday evening, October 19th—I found on the left side of his neck three or four transverse discolorations or contusions, an abrasion 1 1/2 inches long, extending downwards, a tenderness
and swelling of the glands of the neck on the left aide—they were recent bruises—on each arm, just below the armlet, there were recent contusions. extending to about a third of the arm—in front of the left ear was a recent abrasion, on the right wrist a wound, and on the outer side of it a redness, and on the right ankle a slight contusion, a tenderness in the ribs on the left side, and at the lower part of the back on the left side—he was suffering from nausea and drowsiness and general shock—that is. consistent with a blow on the temple—on the left side of the head, in the temple region, was a contusion consistent with a blow—I have heard; Hillman's evidence—his condition was consistent with it—his tongue was clean—he complained of having vomited—if suffering from gastric-disorder the tongue would have been furred—frog-marching would strain the ligaments of the shoulder joints and the hips and knee joints would? be affected—his condition was consistent with that of being tightly gripped—blows on the stomach and soft tissues would probably leave no mark—he is not a strong or robust man.
Cross-examined. Time well brought him—I had an interview with him in the surgery—he related the circumstances—the injuries were not serious, only indication of force having been used in the arrest—he complained of his shin—I found tenderness, but no mark—I meant what I said at the police-court that he had more marks of violence than if he had been led in the ordinary way as regards the neck and head.
By the COURT. I know the neighbourhood is very rough.
CARRIE JONES (cross-examined). I was examined at the police-court by Mr. Young—my deposition is correct—[This being read detailed the disturbance and arrest]—I had a black eye on the Saturday—Hillman gave it me on the Friday—I went home to my mother on October 16th in consequence of his violence—he was with me and two other young-women about 10 minutes when the police requested him to go away—I heard one of them say, "Here is Ginger," and he caught me round the neck—he asked me to come with him and I said, "No, I am going home to my mother," and my sister said, "No, she is not going with you, I want her"—there was a great noise—the girls screamed—this was near the fountain in the road where Hillman was taken—he was excited, and from the way he carried on I think he had been drinking—he was twice asked to go away, once outside the Elephant. The JURY without hearing the evidence for the defence, found the prisoners.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Thursday, January 13th, 1898.
Before Mr. Justice Channell.
MESSRS. C. P. GILL and HORACE AVORY Prosecuted and MESSRS. SANDS and KYD Defended.
THOMAS LEWIN . I live at Bedford Park, and am an actor by profession—the deceased was my father—his professional name was William Terriss—I last saw him alive on the evening of December 15th—on the following; night, December 16th, I saw him lying dead at the Adelphi Theatre a little before eleven o'clock at night—I did not know the prisoner at all—The
Prisoner: I saw you once in the dressing-room. Witness; I have no recollection of having seen him—this letter and envelope is in my father's hand-writing—it is dated November 9th, last year.
RALPH CROYDON . I am a theatrical manager—in October last I was with a company at Newcastle—on Saturday, October 23rd, the prisoner came there and saw me in answer to an advertisement—he applied to me to engage him in my company—I engaged him at a salary of 25s. a week to play small parts—I asked him among other questions what experience he had had—he told me that the experience he had had justified him in taking very much better parts than the one he had come to take with me, he said he had played big parts at the Adelphi in the Union Jack, and that he would have been there now if it had not been for one man—I saw him the next day, October 24th, it was a Sunday—he had tea with Some of the company that evening—during tea he repeated his statement that he would be at the Adelphi then if it had not been for one person—he said he should have starved bad it not been for the Actors' Benevolent Fund—on the next day, the 25th, we went by train to a place called Heddon—on our arrival there we went to the theatre to rehearse—at the rehearsal I found Prince absolutely incapable of playing any part—he did not know any of the words, and he was ridiculously dramatic—he said his brain was gone, and that I had better close the theatre till the Tuesday—I then left him with the stage manager, to see if he would improve; and upon my coming back, the manager had stopped the rehearsal, as it was impossible to do anything with him—I then told him it was impossible for him to take any engagement at all, and sent him away—he came next morning to my lodgings and asked for payment, which I refused—when I told him so he did not make any direct remark to that—I told him he should never have left the Adelphi, and he said he would have been there then if it had not been for one man, Mr. Terriss—he mentioned the name then for the first time when I refused to pay him—I asked him who the man was of whom he had been speaking, and he said Mr. Terriss—he said he was a dirty dog—when he made that observation I said, "You must be mad to talk like that"—he said the world would ring with his madness before long—he told me he had come from Shields to join my company—he said he had been playing in a provincial company, the Union Jack, I think the play was.
Cross-examined. He was peculiarly eccentric and dramatic in his manner—when he came in he said his foot was on his native heath, and his name was Macgregor—he said it in a dramatic manner as he entered the room—he did not say anything else like that—he talked in the same dramatic manner, but not to the same extent—he talked as if he had been wronged in some way, and about being revenged—those remarks were all volunteered by him, except the name, that was said only once—on Sunday he had tea with the company—there was nothing said about the tea—I did not hear anything—I heard that there was another remark—my wife told me, it was this: there was a tin of sardines on the table which was being opened, and the prisoner asked them to put the knife away as he did not like the look of it—there was nothing said about what was in the sardines, or in the tin—the part he had to play was a very small one—there was no reason why a man of ordinary experience should not have learned it—I have had it played in a few hours—he did
not give any reason why he could not play the part except that his brain was wrong—he seemed rather to resent the idea that he did not know the words—I gathered from his conversation that he was a Scotchman.
CHARLES ISMAY COLSTON . I am the Secretary of the Actor's Benevolent Fund, in Adam Street, Adelphi—I know the prisoner very well—he had received money from the fund in 1890—I am not certain of the date, but the receipts will show—in the November of last year he made an application for relief from the fund—we require a form to be filled up by an applicant—this is the form tilled up by the prisoner, which I supplied him with—I also received his letter of recommendation from Mr. William Terriss—the application form was enclosed with Mr. Terriss' letter: "I have known the bearer, Mr. Richard Archer Prince, as a hardworking actor for many years. William Terriss."—I also received with the application form this letter:" Care of Mrs. Darby, 16, Eaton Court, Eaton Lane, Buckingham Palace Road, S.W. To the Gentlemen of the Committee: Gentlemen, the reason I have to ask for help is that I was out of an engagement for 12 months before I left the last one, and lost it through no fault of my own. During the time I was in my last one I spent all my money, when I left on that Monday night I had not a shilling to call my own, my box is at the docks for my fare and passage, I have nowhere else to go, I thought I could get something to do in town. For the last six or seven months it has taken me all my time to live without being able to save, if you will only help me to live for a week or two, I think I shall be able to get an engagement. I am, gentlemen, yours truly, Richard Arthur Prince"—after that the Emergency Committee sanctioned the advance of £1 to the prisoner on the following day—I subsequently received other letters from him asking for assistance—these (produced) are all the letters I received from him.—"16, Eaton Court, Eaton Square, S.W. To C. I. Colston, Esq. Dear Sir,—Last week I was too ill to go home, besides I thought I could get an engagement for South Africa, and I thought I saw a chance of another engagement. I was Prince Richard last Friday night, and saw the manager, but it is not settled yet. I missed the 'bus and had to walk home on Saturday—eight miles; I was quite done up. I did not know I had a home to go to till last Tuesday. I enclose a letter from my little sister. You will see I am not a liar. If the fund does not help another once I shall have to starve or die. I have done all I can to get an engagement, and have tried all the gentlemen in London to get me one, but have not got one yet, Thanking you for your very great kindness, I am, yours faithfully, R. A. Prince."—"To C. I. Colston, Esq. Dear Sir,—I shall not get another engagement in London now. The ship goes to-day; and as they have been so kind to me they might pay my fare if you will ask them.—Yours faithfully, R. A. Prince. The fare is 15s., and I will go to-day if I can get the money.—(there were also several other letters)—I think he received on November 10th, £1; on November 27th, 10s.; on December 2nd, £1; and on December 9th, 10s.—I obtained from him receipts for those different amounts—I saw him myself from time to time—on every occasion I handed him the money myself—I had no knowledge of him except seeing him personally at the office—he told me he had played at the Adelphi—I saw him at the door on December 16th, but did not speak to him—my clerk spoke to him.
Cross-examined. A Mr. Bannerage wrote to me at the same time as Mr. Terriss, the letter favourably recommending him.
ARCHIBALD KING HOLLANDS . I am a clerk in the office of the Actor's Benevolent Fund—I saw the prisoner at the office about four o'clock in the afternoon on December 16th last—I told him that the committee were unable to entertain his application for further relief—he made no reply.
Cross-examined. He turned round and went away immediately.
CHARLOTTE DARBY . I am the wife of George Darby, and live at 16, Eaton Court, Eaton Lane, Buckingham Palace Road—I let lodgings—I remember the prisoner in October last taking a bedroom in my house, which I let him for 4s. a week—he gave me the name of Richard Arthur Prince—he described himself as an actor—he said he came from Newcastle—he had only a brown paper parcel with him—he said he had left some of his luggage on the boat—he offered me two shillings, in the first place, as rent—I said I could not take two-shillings, as I wanted a week's rent in advance—he then produced another shilling, saying that he would give me the other shilling on the Saturday—he showed me a book—I think it was a bank book—I let him take-possession of the room—I supplied him with what was necessary in the room, so that he could have a little food—a plate, knife and fork, and coffee-cup—the knife was an ordinary small table-knife—on the following Saturday he paid me the other shilling—he remained at my house up to the time of his arrest—after he had been occupying the room some days,. I saw another knife in the room—he got up very late in the day, and was then in and out several times—he was engaged in writing—that (produced) is the knife I saw in his room—I saw it there on more than one occasion—I saw it about a week before his arrest—I saw it on the dressing-table when I was tidying the room—he was not there, then—he paid his rent regularly up to the last fortnight—when he got in arrears., with his rent I asked him about it, and he asked me to wait for a few days—I did wait for a few days, and it came to the Sunday, he spoke to-me about it himself—he said, "Mrs. Darby, can you wait till Thursday?" I said, "Yes;" he said, "I will give you the two weeks, together, on Thursday"—he said he expected a letter from his sister, and it would be one way or the other—I did not understand what he meant; I said, "Mr. Prince, what do you mean?"—he said, "That is best known, to God and man"—that conversation was on the Sunday before his-arrest—until he was owing me this rent he seemed to be pretty cheerful—he conducted himself like a gentleman—he received a great many letters—I did not know he was pawning his clothes, I noticed that they were gradually disappearing—on Thursday, the 16th, he went out about two o'clock—I saw him again at 3.45—he came and spoke to me—it was between 3.45 and 4.15—he knocked at the door and said, "Can I speak to you," I said, "Yes," he said, "I am sorry I have not got any money for you, what shall I do," I said, "I don't know, Mr. Prince, I am very sorry for you," I saw him no more then—he asked me for some hot water, and I said I had not got any—that was the last I saw of him till he was in custody—he told me he was looking for employment—he had some meals in his room—he made tea there—he spoke to me about having gone to church on Sunday.
Cross-examined. I did not supply him with food—he had his meals there—he had mostly bread, and milk, about twice a day, according to what time he got home—he used to lie in bed very often—he used to have one meal when he got up, and the other in the evening before he went out—as far as I know those two meals were all he had in my, house—I saw that knife more than once—I first saw it about a week, or a week and a half after he took the room—I saw it lying about in his room for anybody to see—quite open—I never saw him use it—I saw some marks on it as if it had been used for cutting bread—I attached no importance to the knife—his manner did not change at all while with me, except when he could not pay me the last two weeks; he seemed depressed and worried about it—his appearance did not change in particular—he looked like a man troubled at the last—I did not know what was in the brown paper parcel—he had some clothes when he first came—his clothes began to disappear about a fortnight after he came—at the end of the time I cannot say if he had any clothes left at all—within the last fortnight he had no clothes left—I cannot say whether he had any meals in my house on the last morning—I cannot remember anything about his meals the last few days—he said he was trying to get some theatrical engagement.
GEORGE LOKBERO . I am a cutler, at 46, Brompton Road—my name is on this knife—it was sold from my shop at the end of last October—I have knives like that for sale from 9d. to 2s. 6d.—this is one of the 9d. ones—I sold one like this about the end of October, in the evening, to a man who was a rather tall, shabbily-dressed man—I so described him at the police-court in the prisoner's presence—when I was giving that description the prisoner said that I wanted to sell him a shilling one, and that this was large enough for cutting bread—when I was asked if I could identify him he said there was a lady in the shop with him—that was true.
Cross-examined. I do not remember whether he said the knife was large enough to cut bread with—he may have done so.
HENRY SPRATT . I live at Thurlow Terrace, Hampstead—I am stage-doorkeeper at the Adelphi theatre—I know the prisoner by sight—I remember at the end of October or the beginning of November his coming to the stage-door and speaking to me, and bringing a letter—he asked me to convey it to Mr. Terriss, and get an answer—I got an answer after about half-an-hour—I conveyed that answer to the prisoner—I said, "The answer to the letter is All right"—after that I noticed him about the stage-door on several occasions—he was round the stage-door about six times altogether—he was there for about half an hour—Mr. Terriss was not in the habit of using the stage-door himself—he went in at a private door in Maiden Lane, of which he had a key—I remember on Wednesday, December 15th, the prisoner coming and speaking to me—it was about 6.50, or it might have been later. He said, "Mr. Terriss comes up this way, doesn't he," meaning the stage-door—I said, "Yes"—that was the last I saw of him.
Cross-examined. I should think it would be before November 9th that he came to the stage-door with the letter—I have been doorkeeper there about 16 months—it is not an uncommon thing to wait about the stage-door, they walk up and down—it would be a very common thing for
him to go and see his friends—it is not an uncommon thing for people to make inquiries about the leading actors and actresses who did not know them—as a matter of fact, what I told him about Mr. Terriss was not the case—Mr. Terriss did not use the stage-door.
HENRY GRAVES . I am a Surveyor and live at 44, Talbot Road, Bays-water—I knew the late Mr. William Terries all his life—on the afternoon of December 16th I was with him at his residence in Prince's Street, Hanover Square—about seven in the evening we went from there in a cab to the corner of Maiden Lane; we there got out of the cab and walked to the door of the Adelphi Theatre in Maiden Lane—I did not notice anyone near the door—Mr. Terriss said to me "Wait a minute Harry till I get my keys"—he then took his keys from his pocket and stooped slightly to put his key in the door, and while he was doing that somebody rushed from across the road and struck him two blows most rapidly on the back—I thought at first they were given in good fellowship and it occurred to me how exceedingly rough the act of friendship was—Terriss turned round instantly, and the man then struck a third blow in Mr. Terriss' chest—Mr. Terriss said "My God, I am stabbed"—the man then backed into the road, I followed—I did not at that moment know what had been done—there were cries of "murder" and "police"—I followed the man and never lost sight of him for a moment—a constable came up and I said "I charge this man with stabbing Mr. Terriss"—I cannot say exactly how far he had got from the door of the theatre when the constable came up, it was some little distance—I and the constable went with the prisoner to the police-station; the prisoner walked very quiety, he was in the middle and the constable and I were on either side of him—he said nothing when I gave him in charge—on the way to the station I said to the prisoner "What could have induced you to do such a cruel deed"—he said "Mr. Terriss would not allow me to have any employment, and I did it," either "in revenge," or "by way of revenge," I am not quite certain which—when the prisoner was charged at the station I returned to the theatre, and found Mr. Terriss lying at the foot of the stairs, he was dying then, and he died in my presence shortly afterwards—the prisoner was speaking to the constable on the way to the station, and I heard him use the word "blackmailing," but it was in a disjointed way.
Cross-examined. The door in Maiden Lane is very close to the passage leading to the stage door of the Adelphi, it is a passage leading down to the Strand—the stage door, I should say, is nearer the Maiden Lane end than the passage—there were two or three persons about when the man was backing into the road, the thing was done instantaneously—the persons did not come up immediately, they backed away—they were on the spot—the prisoner made not the slightest attempt to get away—I did not hear the word "blackmailing" used more than once to my knowledge, I was very much excited—I should say it would be quite incorrect to say that there were 10 or 20 persons about at the time—I did not see two commissionaires there.
WILLIAM ALGER . I live at Camberwell—I was employed as a dresser to Mr. Terriss—on Wednesday night, December 15th, my attention was attracted to a man outside the street door, it was the prisoner, he was watching the people coming out of the door, I was coming
out at the time and just passed him, I did not know him—on the next night, the 16th, I was in Mr. Terriss' dressing-room waiting for him—it is a room on the first floor, with windows looking into Maiden Lane—the window I was at is I think directly over the private entrance at which Mr. Terriss was in the habit of coming in—my attention was. attracted by a shout, "Oh my God, I am stabbed"—I did not recognize the voice at the time—I looked out of the window at once, it was open, and I saw the prisoner strike Mr. Terriss a violent blow in the chest Mr. Terriss was facing the prisoner, his back was towards the door—the blow was a downward blow, the force of it simply bore him down—he shouted a second time, "Oh my God, I am stabbed, arrest that man"—the prisoner stepped back into the road, just off the kerb—I saw an old commissionaire in the street—the prisoner seemed to want to get at Mr. Terriss again—he then stepped on the other side of the road—a policeman came from Bedford Street—at the time I looked out I should say there were about a dozen people in Maiden Lane.
JOHN BRAGG (272 E). On December 16th, about 7.30 in the evening, I heard cries of murder and police in Maiden Lane—I went there and found Mr. Graves and the prisoner about 100 yards from the private door of the theatre, towards Southampton street—Mr. Graves said, "I give this man into custody for stabbing Mr. Terriss"—I took hold of the prisoner—he said, "What is the matter"—I said, "You know what is the matter"—on the way to the station, Mr. Graves said, "What made you do such a dreadful, bloody thing as that"—he said, "In revenge, he blackmailed me for 10 years"—he used the word "black-mailing," two or three times—on the road to the station he also said, "I have given him due warning plenty of times"—he also said, "I should either have to die in the street, or have my revenge"—Inspector Wood took the charge at the station.
Cross-examined. We had walked a few yards towards the station before Mr. Graves asked the question—the prisoner used the word "blackmailing" of his own accord—Mr. Graves put no question to him about that—all his remarks were made of his own accord—he used the word "blackmailing" of his own accord three or four times on the road to the station—there was no particular reason for using it—it was not in regard to any previous expression, it was quite a disconnected statement—I know the locality of Maiden Lane very well, the commissionaires barracks are quite close, and have been there for many years, close by the door—I did not see two commissionaires there on this occasion—there is a large restaurant nearly opposite, and a large public-house very much used.
GEORGE WOOD (Inspector E). I was at Bow Street station when the prisoner was brought in at 7.45—he was brought in by the last witness and Mr. Graves—Mr. Graves said, "This man has stabbed Mr. William Terriss at Maiden Lane, as he was about to enter the stage door of the Adelphi Theatre"—I said, "Where is the knife"—the prisoner produced this knife from his coat pocket—he had an Inverness cape on, and he threw it back and drew the knife out—there were blood stains on it—I took the knife—he said, "That is what I stabbed him with, he had due warning, and if he is dead he knows what he had to expect from me; he prevented me from getting assistance
from the Actor's Benevolent Fund to-day, and I have stopped him"—I wrote that down at the time he was at the station—shortly after wards I heard that Mr. Terries was dead, and the prisoner was charged with the wilful murder of Mr. Terriss—the charge was read over to him in the usual way—he said, "All right"—he gave me his name and his address, at Eaton Court, and it was found to be correct—on searching him I found a number of letters and five pawn-tickets for articles of clothing, pledged between November 9th and December 14th, altogether amounting to seven or eight shillings—at the station the prisoner appeared to be perfectly calm and collected.
Cross-examined. He was perfectly calm and quiet the whole time—he was under my observation from 7.45 to 10.15—he was in a room which we call the sergeant's room, attached to the charge room—I was there the whole time—I saw nothing extraordinary at all in his demeanour—he was more calm than I should have expected under the circumstances.
WILLIAM FRENCH (Inspector). On Thursday, December 16th, I went to the Adelphi Theatre, in Maiden Lane—I found Mr. Teniss there, with the doctors attending him—I was there till he died, about eight o'clock—I went back to the Bow Street police-station and saw the prisoner at 9.45—I said, "Mr. Terriss is dead, I shall charge you with murdering him;" the prisoner made no reply.
WILLIAM CROSTON (Inspector at Bow Street). I took charge of the station on the 16th at ten o'clock—in the course of my duty I visited the cells at 10.50—the prisoner spoke to me, and asked me to acquaint his sister with his condition—I asked him if it would be necessary to break it to her gently, and if she was teamed—he replied, "No, there is no occasion to break it to her gently"; he met her in the street about an hour before this occurred; she was accompanied by her husband; "I asked her for assistance, and she said she would rather see me dead in the gutter than give me a farthing; had she given me ten shillings this would never have happened, it is all through her"—I took this communication to her at her address which he gave me—I subsequently saw the prisoner again, and I told him that Mrs. Archer declined to have any more to do with him—he replied, "I did not think she would; it is now clear to me that she is in league with Terriss in blackmailing me"—at this time he appeared very calm, and spoke very quiedy.
Cross-examined. When I first saw him he was calm, I should say extraordinarily calm considering the circumstances—his hands were not clenched, his face was pale, he looked very determined and quite calm—I had said he was in a state of extreme tension—I made a note at the police-court of what he said—he interrupted me and said it was at her house, not in the Strand.
ALFRED LEACH (Inspector E). On the night of 16th I went to the room at 16, Eaton Court, after the prisoner's arrest—I there found this envelope in the handwriting of Mr. Terriss, also this printed list of subscribers to the Actors' Benevolent Fund and some manuscript which appeared to be theatrical plays—I looked through the list of subscribers, and amongst them found Mr. William Terriss' name.
Cross-examined. I have been making inquiries in this case—I have received from Mr. Frederick Terry two post-cards and this letter—I have not seen the prisoner write.—I have seen a lot of his handwriting
and I say this is his writing. "68, Hill Street, Dundee." Sir, please return play, Countess Otto, at once—if you are hard up for the money I will send it—Terriss, the Pope, and Scotland Yard—I will answer in a week.—Richard A. Prince." The other documents were read as follows:—"68, Hill Street, Dundee." Sir, favour to hand this morning at ten o'clock—the old story about King Charles and the £200,000—they sold him for a king—I'm only a Prince, not a woman, mon Dieu, a woman.—Richard A. Prince." "51, William Street, Vic. Road, Dundee—late Union Jack tours—to Mrs. Fred. Terry. "Madam, I thank you as 'a Highlander and a gentleman,' and in the name of the Almighty God, our Queen, and my rights for play Countess of Otto.'—I am, Madam, yours faithfully, Richard A. Prince." "If Lord Salisbury will only stand by his God, his Church, and his Queen now, with the forces of our motherly Queen, and for the honour of Great Britain, by the side of the godly King of Greece, we shall have 'peace with honour' and God's blessing."—I have also received in the course of my enquiries these letters, which appear to be written from Hollo way Prison, and to be in the prisoner's writing, addressed to Mr. G. Astley, at 51, Burlington Arcade. "Dear Sir, Many thanks for letter. It was no fault of yours or anyone's that night, but Mr. Terriss himself. Had he only spoken to me he should have been alive now, and the poor Prince would have been in Scotland; 'he ask for it and he got it.' That's why I killed the cur who could only fight a gay woman and a starving man sent on tour to ruin my character. Had been there. I would have given them the same. The only one I am sorry for is my sister. But she must stand her ground now with the things that call themselves men I have named in this note. You may call any day and see me from ten to twelve daytime, afternoon two o'clock till four. If you know any gentleman, or your own doctor might do that, knew my sister or myself in the passive, tell him to send his doctor to see me here once. I must see a doctor. I should like one of the best in London. If you can do this for me God will reward you. My soul is all right.—Yours faithfully, R. A. Prince. N.B.—Send a doctor, Astley, if you can."—" H.M. Prison, 1—1, '98. To G. Astley, Esq. Dear Astley,—I am more than sorry you came and they did not let you see me. It was my fault. I did not ask, and one must go by H.M. Rules' here. The Governor of Holloway Prison has just told me you can come and see me any day you like, any day but Sunday. Hours ten till twelve o'clock., two till four o'clock. If you could only come once more I shall deem it an honour. I have never seen anyone but the lawyer since I've been here. I will give you all the news when you come and see me. One thing you might do, bring or send a white shirt and collars 15 1/2 or 16, a tie and handkerchief, and one stud. I would ask my sister again, she sent the last, but I don't think she is in London. Maggie sent me a lot of underthings last week and 10s. Please come and see me. N.B.—I don't want a doctor now; come by yourself.—Yours faithfully, RICHARD ARTHUR PRINCE."
WILLIAM CURLING HAYWARD . I am Senior House Physician at Charing Cross Hospital—on December 16th, at 7.30, I was called to the private entrance of the Adelphi—I there saw Mr. Terriss lying on his back in the passage, with a piece of ice on his chest—on removing that I saw a wound in his chest—he was sinking very fast—his death took place at two or three minutes to eight—during that time he was semiconscious—he
never spoke—on Friday, the 17th, I made a post-mortem examination—I found four wounds—two on the back, one of them over the spine, about four inches in depth, inwards and downwards, such a wound as would be made by striking a man from behind; the second wound was over the left shoulder, and there was a slight superficial wound on the right wrist—the fourth wound was in the chest, downwards and backwards, penetrating the heart—that wound was the immediate cause of death—it must have been inflicted with very great force—such wounds would be caused by this knife.
MARY WALLER . I am a servant, and have been in Mrs. Archer's employment, living in London for some years past—the prisoner has been in the habit of calling at Mrs. Archer's house—I heard from him that he was her step-brother—I lost sight of him for a number of years until about two months ago, when he called and saw Mrs. Archer—he came to the house about six times after that—I never heard from him what he came for—I last saw him at the house about a fortnight before the murder—I let him in then, and he saw Mrs. Archer—I was at the house all day on the 16th—I did not see him come; nobody came that day—Mrs. Archer was at home on that day—she left the house on the 18th, and has only been once there since; she did not stay then—she is out of London now; I do not know where she is.
CHARLES JOHN DEXTON . I am a theatrical agent at 34, Maiden Lane—I first knew the prisoner during the run of the Harbour Lights at the Adelphi, 11 or 12 years ago—we were then both play ing in the same company—Mr. Terriss played in that piece—I never saw the prisoner outside the theatre—I lost sight of him after that until about two or three months ago—in October or November last he came to me for employment—I endeavoured to obtain employment for him—he called at my place nearly every day—I made him an offer for one week's engagement, which he did not accept—he called on December 16th about five p.m.—he asked me if I had anything, and I said, "nothing"—nothing about him attracted my attention—my office is nearly opposite the stage door.
Cross-examined. I believe the prisoner had been at the Adelphi some time before I went there—he was taking small parts, just over walking-on, line parts—Mr. Terriss went there in the Harbour Lights, after some Irish piece—to the best of my knowledge it was about that time that he became identified with the Adelphi—I dressed in the same room with the prisoner—I think he had an opinion about his own acting powers, saying he ought to have an opportunity of showing what he could do—I could not say if he was understudy to some more prominent actor—to the best of my recollection he thought he ought to have larger parts than those given him—I believe he had an animosity to everybody above him he thought he ought to be in a better position, that was the impression I and the other actors had—he had no special animosity to Mr. Terriss to my knowledge at that time—the prisoner could always be made in a temper by chaffing, or anything of that sort, he was eccentric, I should say—I should not say he flew into a very bad temper when he was excited, I never saw him violent—he was more easily roused to bad temper than most men—when he came to my office at the end of last year he looked as if he was in low water—a good many actors in low water come to, me for engagements—he gave as a reason for not taking
the engagement I offered him, that he had not got a wardrobe for it—I tried to get him an engagement for pantomime—I had made up my mind to put him into one of my pantomimes; I run pantomimes as well as being an agent—I do not think I told the prisoner that—I said I would do my very best to get him something to do—I knew Mr. Terriss very well—I should say he was decidedly not the sort of man who would have tried to keep another actor oil of work, but, on the contrary, would have been willing to help those of his brethren who were in low water.
Re-examined. I have an idea that the prisoner used to express jealousy with regard to everybody above him when I was at the Adelphi with him—when he called on me, and I was trying to get him employment, there was nothing in his manner or mode of speech that attracted my attention, he told me he was very hard, up—I see such a lot of people that I cannot say.
Witnesses for the Defence.
MARGARET ARCHER . I am the prisoner's mother—he was born on May 11th, 1858—I was then living at a farm called Balmedown—in the harvest time of that year I was shearing in the harvest field, the baby was with me, it was very hot, and he was sun struck—after I had finished my work I went to the field where he was—he was blue in the face, and his eyes were very bad—I took him to a doctor—after that he squinted—he was always a little bad tempered—as a boy he sometimes got very angry—he did not play very much—he stopped at school till he was 14, and then went to work at Borr and Ireland's, and Gourley's shipyards—while he was at Gourley's he went in the evening to the Theatre Royal, Dundee, and played as a supernumerary—about 1875 I came up to London with my husband—we left the prisoner in Dundee; he afterwards joined us in London, and got employment at the Adelphi Theatre—we went back to Dundee, leaving him at the Adelphi, and for seven years I did not see. the prisoner much—about eight years ago he came to us at Dundee—he was on a theatrical tour, and from Dundee he went on to Aberdeen—after that he lived with us for some time, going away to get engagements and coming back to us—while he lived with us he worked at Gourley's ship-yard and Robertson and Archer's engineering works—sometimes he was not very well pleased; he thought I doctored his food when he was in a bad temper—he often said that—he also said other people did it; he could not say who they were—he did not say much against Robert Arthur to me—sometimes when he was out of work he said Mr. Arthur prevented him from getting work; I did not believe him—Mr. Arthur was a theatre manager in Dundee; the prisoner blamed him for keeping him out of the Dundee theatre—I cannot remember if he said anyone else had tried to keep him from getting work—he did not say anything about his fellow workmen—he said Mr. Arthur had blackmailed him or something—I do not remember his using the word blackmail as to anybody else—the prisoner said he himself was the son of a gentleman, and that he was Lord Jesus Christ, and that I was the Virgin Mary—he did not say that very often; I do not remember when he began to say it—he got angry with me when his tea was not right to please him—he said his tea was adulterated; it was poisoned—he did not say that often, just when he had his turns, by which I mean when he got in a bad temper—he was never violent to me; he did not touch me—he did not hurt me in
any way—he never attacked me—Mrs. Moffatt, my neighbour, is here; she will tell you about my going into her house—the prisoner's brother Henry was and is still living with me—I do not mind a quarrel between the prisoner and his brother—when the prisoner had not his turns he was quiet—he wrote a great deal; he wrote plays and that, and letters to people, and dressed and went to the theatre, and so on—when he had his turns he swore sometimes; he was not always the same—in his turns he sang hymns and songs; his eyes would stare out of his head for ten minutes, and never wink—he had turns more often the last few years than when he first came back to Dundee, and they got worse—he last left Dundee five years ago; he went away with a company—the prisoner's father was married before he married me—he had a son, David, who was never right in his head; he was born wrong altogether as far as I know; he was mad when he was born—my eldest son was James—he died about eight years ago—he was a cabman and coachman in London—in his turns the prisoner was sometimes very noisy; he looked wild-like—sometimes he said I had poisoned his food, not always.
Cross-examined. The prisoner used to learn at school; he did not learn very quickly—he was dour, and bad at taking up the things—he was always very vain; he had very high self-esteem all his life—as a boy he was very easily put in a passion, and when anyone interfered with him he was very cross with them—I do not think I was in when he threatened to stab his brother; Mrs. Moffat will tell you that; she was there and I was not—when he grew up he got employment at several different places, working as a labouring man as a plater at the works—I don't know if he dressed very smartly—he very often complained of people trying to keep him out of work—he thought he was a grand actor—when I say he had turns I mean violent fits of passion, when he would be wrong in his mind—at other times he was quite calm—he told me he left the Adelphi theatre to get more money, to go with a travelling company—I have heard him say he ought to have had leading parts—when he was out of the atrical employment he worked as a labourer in Dundee—when he could not get employment at the theatres he was very depressed, low—I knew he had not much money when he was in London this last time—he wrote to me a few days before this occurrence about going back to Dundee—my grandchild answered the letter for me—I knew he was talking nonsense when he said I was the Virgin Mary and he was Jesus Christ—he never drank spirits, he used to drink beer—when he took a little beer it excited him very much; he never drank much—I never saw him much the worse for drink—he said the tea was adulterated; it was no good—my son James was thrown off a cab on to his head near Lords—my husband was a ploughman—he had four children by his first wife, and five by me—David was one of the first family—he was never locked up; he was silly—a farmer keeps him in the country.
HARKY GRAHAM ARCHER . I am the prisoner's brother—I have been living for the last eight years or longer with my mother in Dundee—when my brother came home from time to time he slept in the same room with me—he talked about what people had been doing to him—he said that Robert Arthur, the manager of the Dundee theatre, had blackmailed him for the last ten years—he spoke about different men blackmailing him;
but did not mention names—he said the actors generally were all black-mailing him—he said the men in the places where he worked in Dundee had been sent by Robert Arthur to blackmail him in London—a soldier in Wallace factory for one, and Mr. Husband for another, and other persons whom I cannot remember now—his temper was very passionate indeed; there was not the slightest cause for it—when the prisoner was in a temper he was very outrageous—he said I was in league with Mr. Robert Arthur to blackmail him, and was working against him to prevent his making a living—I have seen Mr. Arthur in the theatre, but I never spoke to him—the prisoner attacked me three or four times—one day, a week after the new year, three years ago I think, when we were living at Rosebank, something had vexed him, I cannot say what, and he had some words with me—I was in bed I think at the time, no, I was not in bed; I cannot remember just now, I am a kind of excited; he used a knife and a poker to me at that time and nearly took my life, and I think he was nearly out of his mind at that time—I had done nothing to make him angry—he put my mother outside the door at that time, ill-used her, and he was very bad to her that day, in fact, we had to go into a neighbour's, Mrs. Moffatt's, house—I went for the police, but they would not take any proceedings in the matter; they came up to see the prisoner, and he got quiet two or three hours afterwards, before they came—he used to come in from his-work with me, perhaps, sometimes before me, and he would pick up the-tea pot, and fill up the cup, and take a small drop of the tea, and would say, "Good God! what have you done? You have poisoned my te.," and go and empty the tea into the sink, and he used to say that I wan league with my mother to poison him—he has said, "I am the second Jesus Christ, my mother is the Virgin Mary, and you shall go to Hell," meaning-me—he was not so bad when he began to stop at Dundee about eight years ago—he got worse afterwards—I remember something of his going to the Alone in London troupe, and coming back in April, 1895, I think—he has often been away on an engagement since then; his last engagement was the Friday before the July holidays; I went to the station and saw him off—we got a letter that he had arrived and was doing well—he was very peculiar in his dress—he used to say, "They don't know the way to dress in Dundee and London"—he used to have a great big standup collar sometimes, and a felt hat, and a great big long coat, with a great big collar and a black tie; the collar was a double collar, and his cuffs were always tied up with string or black ribbon, he would not have studs.
Cross-examined. When he was not in theatrical employment he worked as a labouring man—I think a doctor at Dundee saw him on account of these fits of passion, but I don't know his name—it was about two years ago; he got a line from his foreman to go there, I believe—from the time he was a baby he has always been very peculiar in his ways, I believe, and very passionate at times if he was interfered with—we had a great struggle with a knife and poker; I had to hold him down for two or three hours at that time—after the fit of passion he would calm down and be quiet sometimes—he went to his work every day and attended to it, a very good workman he was—he had a very good opinion of himself as long as I remember—he thought he was a very fine actor, a much better actor then the men who were playing leading parts—he was second manager to Mr. Alliston, as far as I believe, seven or eight years
backwards and forwards, I have seen the papers of the engagement—he never spoke of looking after the baggage sometimes—I know of nothing that annoyed him when he threatened me with the knife at the New Year—he was very easily affected by a little drink; a small drop of 2d. ale would do him a great harm, and make him very excited—about the New Year there is a good deal of drinking in Scotland—he did not calm down at the time when the police came, but a number of hours afterwards he calmed down greatly, and he never spoke to me—they warned him to behave himself and that calmed him; of course I went out afterwards—I did not see the police officer come in and warn him about the postcards he was writing; I know through my mother he came—I did not understand what he meant by blackmailing; I think he meant black-balling him in some way, or persecuting him, and preventing him having his proper position, I think; I never understood what he meant by it.
Re-examined. He had not been drinking, that I know, when we had the quarrel—he said to me at times that Alliston was a very nice (or grand) gentleman, and at other times he said he had been blackmailing him.
MARGARET MANNING ARCHER . Mrs. Archer is my grandmother—I live with her at 51, William Street, Dundee—the prisoner is my uncle—I have a friend Jessie—I remember about New Year's time, two years ago, sitting in a room at home with her when the prisoner came in and said to her, "Are you the last spy they have sent here? and he ordered her to go—she did not go; she waited till I was ready to go with her—he looked very wild when he came in and spoke—he has complained to my grandmother about the tea—she made it for him—he always used to say it was adulterated—he would not drink it, but poured it out and made more for himself—he said at different times he was a second Jesus Christ—I heard him say it long ago; I cannot say when he began to say it—he has always been the same; occasionally he would appear wild.
Cross-examined. When he bad employment there he used to go and do his work in the daytime and come back in the evening—when he was away he wrote to his mother—he did so the last time he came to London—I answered some of the letters—I could not tell exactly when the last letter came from' him—he wrote about coming back to Dundee—I answered it for his mother; that was the week before Christmas.
ANN FRASER DARGAY . I live in the same building as Mrs. Archer, next door to her—I have known the prisoner nearly two years—I have seen him not in his right mind; that is what I think, because I have heard him tell his mother there was poison put in his tea, and I have seen him empty the teapot and make fresh tea for himself—in June last he came home to breakfast, and I was washing his mother's blankets, and he got quite excited and said there was poison in his tea—I did not notice if he tasted the tea before saying that—he emptied out the teapot and made fresh tea for himself—I did not interfere—I don't remember what I said—I remember his mother saying never to mind, that he took these turns often—on those occasions when he was out of his mind his appearance was very excitable and wild.
Cross-examined. I only saw this occur with regard to the tea once—I could not remember that he said it was adulterated; he said there was
poison in it; he was in a great passion at the time—I have more than once seen him in a passion; I could not say how often—he was an excitable man, and passionate, and wild looking—I have seen him very nice—I know he went about his work when he had got employment, and attended to it for weeks at a time—I have heard him talk about himself—he talked principally about himself—I have heard him say he thought he was a great actor, and he was very angry because he did not get proper parts, and thought he had not been properly appreciated.
DAVID SIMPSON . I live at 84, Ferry Road, Dundee—I am the foreman at Gourley's Iron Works at Dundee—I have known the prisoner for the last 23 years—he worked for me before he went to London—he came to work with me again about three years ago, in May, 1895—he was a very steady, attentive and obliging workman when he worked for me—from time to time he went away on theatrical engagements—he had a very eccentric strange way with him; he was very strange in his ways; he was very jealous minded—he was looked upon as a little soft—the workmen gave him the name of "Tripe"—he was a passionate man—when in a passion you would think he was a man not in his senses; he did not know what he was doing—his passions were not those of an ordinary man—on one occasion on a steam-boat trip of one of the masonic lodges between Edinburgh and Dundee, he had to be locked down in the fore compartment, he would give a song of his own accord, and someone interfered with or interrupted him, and he would not have that, and nothing would please him but to sing, and, people interrupting him, he lost his temper altogether and would not be quietened down, and the white foam was at his mouth and we had to lock him down—that was about two years ago, in September—when he worked under me I had occasion to go, when his shopmates were interrupting him, and quieten him; take him away on one side—he passed the remark sometimes when I had occasion to chastise him that he thought his fellow workmen were trying to put him out of the shop—he complained of that—there was no foundation for the statement—he did not say anything particular regarding other people, only that he had different ones always to complain about when I would chastise him—sometimes he was very kind speaking, and at other times he was very angry speaking—it was always his, idea to be an actor—I think he stopped working with me in the middle of March last year—I never saw him drinking—the scene on board the steamer was not the effect of drink, but people tormenting him—the workmen tormented him more than other men, because he always had a way of reciting to them, and he was always considered a sort of butt and soft by them—I never heard the prisoner mention Mr. Fife's name; I don't know him.
Cross-examined. The prisoner would not have been fit for very hard work; he was not physically very strong when he was under me, but apart from that he was a good workman, attending to his work and intelligent at the jobs he professed to do—he was connected with the theatre before 1875, so far as I can remember—he was not connected with it while he was working at our place—I knew him well—I should describe him as a very vain and jealous man, but not an exceedingly bad tempered man—it was an exceptional thing when he was interfered with and got in a passion—it was pretty well known in the place that he vas a very vain
man—he believed himself to be a very fine actor—the men amused themselves by chaffing him about this, so as to get him to talk about it—on the occasion when he got into a rage on the boat they had laughed at his singing, and that was what made him very furious.
Re-examined. His rages were very exceptional rages when he did, burst out.
ANDREW MOFFATT I live at 22, Carmichael Street, Dundee—I used to live next door to the prisoner's mother when the prisoner was living there—I have known him about seven years, and I have known him pretty well—I did not see much of him through the day as I was at work; but when I was done with my work at six p.m. I have come home, and I have scarcely had my supper when I have seen and heard through the wall a performance by the prisoner; he was in a very excited condition, with his arms flying about and his eyes rolling in his head; sometimes we would get a bit of a recitation from him; at other times he would change the thing altogether and we might get a little bit of an act; and that might go on a little time and then singing would start; I have known him sing from seven p.m. till one a.m., and to the best of my ability I always considered that the man who would do that was not of sound mind—I don't believe there is a man in the whole of the part of the country we come from that is of any other opinion—I have heard people say as he passed, "That is mad Archer, the actor"—he was dressed like a mad-man, too; I have noticed him with a collar six or seven inches; no other man would have worn it in Dundee but himself—I never knew him to drink at all; I never saw him under the influence of drink.
Cross-examined. I heard the things I speak of going on in the next house, through the wall—he was reciting and going through parts of plays—when I met the prisoner we talked a little—he always talked about acting—he thought he was one of the best actors in the whole of the country, I would suppose—I thought he was mad because he sang from seven till one; I don't think he stopped an hour during that time—I have been to a theatre: I have seen an opera once—he scarcely ever stopped singing; if he was not singing he was reciting; sometimes till two.
Mrs. MOFFATT. I am the wife of the last witness—on a Saturday afternoon, about three years ago, I heard a noise next door, and I was called in—I went next door to Mrs. Archer's house and saw the prisoner and his brother—the prisoner had a knife in one hand and a poker in the other—I did not see him strike his brother—when I went in his brother went out—the prisoner was not speaking at all; he just ran about the house—he seemed like to strike his brother, but his brother went out—the prisoner was walking about the house like a madman—I cannot remember what he was saying—he looked just like a madman—his eyes were rolling in his head—I said if he did not let his brother out I would go for the police—Mrs. Archer was not there; I think she had been there before, but she went away like Harry did because of the noise—I did not see him strike his brother.
Cross-examined. I said I would go for the police, if he did not let his brother out, and he let his brother out, and there the matter ended.
ROBERT BEVERIDGE . I am a theatre attendant at the Dundee Theatre—I have known the prisoner between 24 and 25 years—I remember him. when he was a super at that theatre, before he came to London—he went
about then in a very peculiar sort of way—he was not the same as any other lad, I would think—he spoke very little at that time—he seemed to be stage-struck at that time, so far as I could see—he became quite professional in his way at the theatre altogether before he left for London; he was not like other professionals; he seemed to think himself above everybody who was connected with the theatre, though he was only a super—he was quite a lad at that time—in March, 1883, I was in London and I met him in the Strand, and spoke to him—he said he was at the Adelphi—I took him to be a little off his head—he still thought he was a great actor; but I had very little confidence in him at that time—I next, saw him at the Dundee Theatre, about nine years ago, in the Union Jack company—I saw a good deal of him then—he had a quarrel with the supers at that time because they called him "Tripe"—he did not behave like an ordinary person then; he cursed and swore more than most people would do, and carried on a bit—I had to turn him out of the Star dressing-room one night; he got into it from the upper circle, or somewhere, and he was not engaged in the company—I travelled with him, in 1895, in Rob Roy—I had to carry him out from the dress circle, at that time, because he was standing hurrahing at the actors when they were on the stage, and was creating a disturbance—he looked then about something similar to what he looks like now—12 months last April, when For the Crown was being played, the prisoner wanted to go for Arthur Stewart, an actor, and was turned out—he then pulled a revolver from his pocket, and threatened to go for me and Fife, the acting manager of a theatre.
Cross-examined. He behaved badly in the theatre and gave us trouble, and he was peculiar in his manner in different ways—I had to turn him out about five or six times, as far as I can remember—I saw the revolver when he threatened me with it—he put it up, and told me he would shoot me—he did not afterwards fire the revolver, to my knowledge—I am certain he had a revolver—I never knew him to take drink; I never saw him in a public-house but once—I did not know him to be under the influence of drink.
ALEXANDER HUSBAND . I am a foreman at the Wallace Foundry,. Dundee—the prisoner was working there in the summer of 1896—he had not worked there before—he performed his work to my satisfaction, and was always steady at it—lie never talked to me about his acting—he talked about Mr. Terriss, and said Mr. Terriss blackmailed him—he showed me a letter from Mr. Terrias which I read; he had asked Mr. Terriss for a character and Mr. Terriss wrote in answer, that he would be glad to hear of him receiving an engagement, and he would be quite at liberty to use his name; but the prisoner was not satisfied with that, and he thought it was blackmailing—I have also heard him mention Mr. Allison, he said just about the same about him; he thought they were in conjunction and united to blackmail him, and he intended to bring an action in the court of law about it against Mr. Terriss and Mr. Allison; because Mr. Terriss gave him this letter and no more—that was the reason he showed me the letter and asked my advice in the matter—he only used the word "blackmail" on that occasion when he consulted me about this letter.
Cross-examined. I understood that by "blackmail" he meant that Mr. Terriss and Mr. Allison had injured him and prevented him accepting engagements;
what he wanted from them was a character stating he had been employed by them, and the acts he had taken part in, so that he could use them in applying for a situation independently of these gentlemen—he complained that the letters they had given him were not satisfactory, and would not enable him to get a situation; he wanted to act independently of these gentlemen—he wanted to get a leading part on his own merits—he left the works of his own accord in order to take up one of these theatrical engagements—I had no complaint whatever against him when he left—he was quite competent to do his work—he left on July 22, 1897—I gave him a certificate of character which I very often do—it was written on one of the firm's memorandum forms, and merely stated, "This is to certify that Richard Archer has been employed under me for a considerable time past, and he has conducted himself to my entire satisfaction; he has also proved himself steady and obliging, Yours truly, Alexander Husband."
Re-examined. He worked for me from March 26th, 1896, to July 27th, 1897—he was not, to my knowledge, chaffed by the men.
MR. ALLISTON, I am a theatrical manager, living at Southport—I take about a large number of touring companies—in June, 1889, the prisoner came to me and took a part in the "Union Jack" company—from June, 1889, he was engaged with me to play two small parts; and up to 1893, off and on, with very brief intervals, he would be in my employment—he only took the smallest possible parts—in 1895, from January to April, he was with me as a baggage man in "Alone in London" on a little tour in Scotland—those were the only two companies he was in with me that I can remember—they extended nearly five years—if I am not mistaken I discharged him—I have received a great many letters from him at different times since he left; practically all found their way into the waste-paper basket, with the exception of three—I think I sent three post-cards to the Dundee police—these cards are addressed to me, and are in the prisoner's writing—this is a correct copy of a letter I received from him. (The post-cards were addressed to J. F. Alliston, Esq., Theatre Royal, Bolton, from 7, Rosebank Road, Dundee, and there as follows:—"Sir,—What am I to understand by your silence? I demand my reference. No more blackmailing for me. If you do not send it at once, I will fight again for it in London.—Richard A. Prince" "Sir,—Another thing I will tell you, you cannot fight an actor with money, or he would have horsewhipped you for blackmailing him for seven years, I am not a woman, a Highlander is Richard A. Prince." Sir, you are not pleased by taking away my living; you want my character as well. You cannot, you cur, you hound. Out with what you have got against me, and let the world know.—Richard A. Prince. "The letter was dated September 25th, 1895, from 51, William Street, Victoria Street, and was ns follows:" You hell hound, you Judas, you told me in a note you would give me a manager's or an actor's reference. A gentleman has written for a reference, and I know now why I have not obtained an engagement, you cur. This is my thanks for saving you pounds in "Alone in London," and saving it from being disgraced; I have suffered worse than death. I know now why I did not get engagements. When I left the "Union Jack" tours you never spoke the truth about me to any manager, black-mailing me to get yourself on. The next time I shall ask for a reference
will be at Bow Street police-station, where my lawyers will make you tell the world in Court why you have dared to blackmail a Highlander. I am not a woman, you hound. I shall expose you and others; they have no mercy on me, and if I die at Newgate, after you have not given me a reference, the world shall judge between us. I would advise you to take this note to Scotland Yard this time, and find if they cannot find anything against me. I shall write to every paper in London; we shall see who will come off best in the end, I, poor Prince, or a cad with a bank at his back and Pope's Bulls. Victory or Death is my motto, and the fear of God.—R. A. Prince."—it is not true that I have ever blackmailed him or tried to prevent him getting employment—I had many disputes with the prisoner while he was in the company, through his eccentric behaviour and refusing to do the work allotted to him—his last engagement with me was the worst he had, inasmuch as his position was a lower one—I would not have him back to play parts, I only had him as a baggage man, but I had complaints that he refused to handle bags and said his position ought to be better and he ought to have parts—his behaviour was not exceptionally eccentric all the time he was with me—at the end of his engagement the prisoner was very eccentric—his memory was not at all bad, and I think it got better while he was with me—he would have been able to master a small part in a day, and on one occasion he was put on to play a rather difficult part through the illness of an actor—in the "Union Jack," which was one of our pieces, there was a murder scene, a man is stabbed with a knife—the prisoner played the servant, who led the supers on in the snow scene, and one of the sergeants in the barrack yard—on the occasion when I thought his memory was so good the prisoner took the part of the assassin.
Cross-examined. Actors in his position usually have exaggerated notions of their own importance—I did not think it anything extraordinary in him—he kept bothering me for a reference, and then he wrote for a reference for a part in the "World's Verdict," and I refused to give it as he was totally unfit to play it—I only kept these three post-cards which I sent to the police—I got a reply from them that they had had an interview with him and he had apologized—the communication stopped then until the receipt of this long letter, the post-mark of which was October 26th, 1897.
RICHARD TANNER FINCH, M.B ., Cambridge. I am the senior medical officer at the Fisherton Asylum, Salisbury—James Archer was admitted there in a state of acute excitement—it was stated on his certificate that he had been a cabman—he was admitted in August, 1890, and died in the following October—the cause of his death was general paralysis—such an accident as falling on his head might produce the state in which he was just before his death if he inherited a tendency to insanity—before the accident he was to a certain extent, I think, liable on very slight provocation to become insane.
Cross-examined. Being thrown from the box of a vehicle, if his head came violently in contact with the ground, might affect his mind; but if he had not a tendency towards insanity I do not think he would display the symptoms of general paralysis—there was no cause stated for his going to the hospital on the certificate.
the Hospital for Paralysis and Epilepsy—I have had something like 30 years' experience in insanity cases—I have been in Court during the whole of the proceedings to-day, and have twice visited the prisoner in Holloway, on December 31st and January 6th—I saw him for about three-quarters of an hour on each occasion—Dr. Scott, the medical officer of Holloway, was present—I read there also letters written by the prisoner, and shown to me by Dr. Scott, others than those put in—I think the man is of unsound mind, and probably has been so for some time—there are many people of unsound mind about who are not confined as insane; he would certainly be much safer in an asylum than out, and for the public safety he ought to be there—he was excitable, incoherent in his conversation, and it seemed evident to me that his. mind was really saturated with a number of delusions, what are termed delusions of suspicion of persecution—he seemed to think a number of people had been acting against him, as he called it, blackmailing him for a series of years, but that these actions emanated especially from Mr. Terriss, and that the things that were done to him were either done directly or indirectly through him, and also through Mr. Alliston—for instance he believed that he had had poison (he spoke of it sometimes. as a drug, but at other times as poison) put in his tea wherever he went all about the country, and attempts were made to poison him—I said, "What has that to do with Mr. Terriss?"—he said it was through Terriss' directions and instructions that all about the country, where he went promiscuously, landladies acted on a hint emanating from Terriss—he seemed firmly convinced of that; you could not shake him—he referred to a particular occasion on which Mr. Terriss had sent sums of money to the managers of the Dundee theatre for the purpose of sending up a number of low men, disguised, from Dundee to London, to consort with the prisoner's sister, and by ruining her character, his character by reflection, as it were, was to be damaged and ruined also—then the delusions were of very much the same character with regard to Mr. Alliston, that Mr. Alliston had sent people away to act with him knowing that his consorting with them would be the means of ruining his character—he spoke with what I may call a most off-hand manner, and an air of levity about the act; them was no sign whatever of remorse for the act he had committed; indeed, he seemed to think it was an act of justice that Mr. Terriss should have been killed, and, as far as I could make out, that act of justice was brought about in some way through an intervention of the Almighty, and I think that notion I gathered then is really borne out by his demeanour and actions in Court to-day; he does not seem to be overladen with any feeling of remorse—I do not attach much importance to the evidence of his having had a sunstroke; he had an attack of some kind, whether of sunstroke or not I don't know, and apparently it may have caused some slight damage to his brain at that tune, which may have weakened his brain power—I have no doubt it would be a contributory influence to his mind becoming unhinged—it is said that the cast in his eye followed the attack, whatever it was, which means that he received some injury to his brain at that time—with all the cares and worries incidental to his career he would very likely have gone to the wall more quickly—I think his inability to get employment for some
time would tend to aggravate his condition—all the distress and anxiety he suffered for the last two months in London would be likely to have made him worse—the letters and postcards of the end of 1895 and 1896 that have been read afford the same sort of notions with which I find him now thoroughly imbued; he was evidently under the influence of those same notions some years ago, and they would be strengthened by what took place afterwards—I believe them to be distinct delusions—there are many other things; I have only mentioned two or three of the most prominent; he was really full of delusions of all kinds—I connect the act of killing Mr. Terriss with the delusions—I think the act he diet was to a certain extent the outcome of the delusions themselves; he believed he was persecuted by Mr. Terriss for eight or ten years, and undoubtedly there was a connection between the act and the delusions—I do not think he was capable of exercising self-control at the time; taking the state of his mind as it had existed for some years, and then taking the privations and troubles he had had, I have no doubt he had no proper control.
Cross-examined. I have heard the account of the prisoner's life given to-day, that as a youth he was extremely passionate, that all his life he has been very vain and of very jealous disposition—I know the prisoner says he bought the knife a month before the crime, when he went into lodgings, for the purpose of cutting bread; I believe that to be true from my conversation with him; so far as I have heard that was the only knife he used to cut bread with in his apartments—I did not know his landlady supplied him with a table-knife—I imagined that was a use to which he had put the knife; I don't for a moment believe the man contemplated any act of this kind a month before—I know he had spoken of being even with Mr. Terriss, and of Newgate as a possible consequence of some conduct of his, and that he had said the country would ring with, his madness—I think it was a sort of crazy talk—I cannot say I attach any importance to the fact of his purchasing this butcher's knife at the end of October—I understood that he was leaving his lodgings at the time he went out with this knife in his possession; he did not tell me that, I gathered it—the fact of his going out with such a knife concealed about him would look like premeditation of a serious crime—it is not a knife a man would carry for any other purpose—in a matter of this kind I should attach importance, from the point of view of premeditation, to a man waiting about the stage door, if I had to do with a man of sound mind; but if I had to do with a man whose mind was saturated with delusions, I should attach less importance to it, because my experience of insanity leads me to know that persons with insane minds will premeditate acts of violence—there is evidence of a certain amount of premeditation in this case—the waiting about the neighbourhood of the stage door bears the aspect of premeditation—his making enquiries as to which door Terriss came out of was because he wanted to see Mr. Terriss; I don't know what his object was—I think he had been in this condition for a year or two, but I have no doubt his condition was made much worse of late by his continued privation and disappointments, and those would act very differently on a man of his condition to what they would in ordinary cages, and make him less capable of controlling himself—a man of evenly balanced mind does not commit a murder from any motive—it would not make a difference in my
opinion of his insanity whether he had premeditated the killing of Mr. Terriss or not, because insane persons do premeditate acts, and are capable of doing it—a man insane, in the ordinary acceptation of the word, may premeditate acts of violence, think them out, plan them and wait his opportunity, and probably be under no delusion as to what he intends to do—there may be no evidence here to show that the prisoner did not intend to murder Mr. Terriss at the time he stabbed him; I know nothing about that—I should not go so far as to say that at the time he stabbed Mr. Terriss he knew he was inflicting or intended to inflict on him a mortal wound, and that his object was to kill him; he knew he was making an assault undoubtedly, but I do not think he knew the quality of the act, and in a sense his mind was too disordered—I think he had sufficient capacity to realize that he had a knife in his hand; every person's acts are the outcome of their knowledge and belief; the prisoner's knowledge and belief were in my opinion entirely perverted, and therefore one could not expect from him that these would be rational and sane acts—Q. Is not this the conditon of things, that he may have and did have delusions with regard to Mr. Terriss' conduct and the wrongs he suffered from, but was perfectly conscious of how he was going to avenge those supposed wrongs.—A. I don't know how far he may have acted on the spur of the moment at that time—from my conversation with him I rather believe he did not go there with the actual intention—I have heard him say that if Mr. Terriss. had only spoken to him it would not have occurred, showing that he did yield to some impulse—immediately afterwards he produced the knife with the blood on it, and said that was the knife he had stabbed him with—that is quite common after acts of violence of this sort by insane people—they often calm down almost at once, and there is no particular indication afterwards—he was in no paroxysm of rage if he came across the road and stabbed him—I understood from what he told me that he wanted to speak to Mr. Terriss and that Mr. Terriss would not speak to him, and then he stabbed him immediately, happening to have the knife in his hand—I have heard Mr. Graves' evidence—I do not think the prisoner knew the moral or legal quality of the act—in all probability he knew he had a knife in his hand—his mind was saturated with all sorts of delusions, and under the influence of those he acted—he acted with premeditation, undoubtedly—I know he stabbed Mr. Terriss twice in the back, and then in the heart, after Mr. Terriss had called out that he was stabbed—the prisoner never used the word "revenged" to me—I know he used it immediately after he was arrested—Q. You have no doubt, have you, that he did this act in order to be revenged for supposed injuries—A. Yes, I have no doubt the things were connected in his mind.
Re-examined. I heard Mrs. Carby's evidence that she had seen traces of the knife being used to cut bread—his committing this act in a public place, and not attempting to get away, is further evidence of his insanity—it is quite possible that in insanity there may be delusions which overcome the moral sense and self-control, and that yet some of the functions of the mind may perform their ordinary operations; a man's power of judging of the quality of his actions would be altogether altered by his beliefs, and this belief of persecution which had been going on for some time would influence him—I consider an act of this sorts
the climax of his mental disease; I think the act was directly connected with the delusions—a man with that amount of mental aberration, under trying circumstances, and I should say with his habit of body which has existed all through, and been explained here, would, under such circumstances, have very little power of control by habit of body I mean his eccentricity and odd behaviour and vanity—the fact that his father's two children were affected mentally, that one was an imbecile from birth, and that the other died in a lunatic asylum, are very important elements in the case—the prisoner's brain was damaged by an attack in infancy; he came from a stock evidently wrong in some way, because three children of that father are affected—he was always weak mentally, and under the strain of life he acquired these delusions—he has harboured the delusions for years, and under the influence of them he acts, no doubt with a great deal of premeditation—he was in a weak condition of mind and body, too, I should say.
By the COURT. I think his power of judging as to right and wrong generally, and as to the right and wrong of this particular act, would have been much interfered with by reason of those mental delusions that interfere with his mind to such an extent, that at the time he would have had no adequate control over his actions, and therefore would not have known properly the quality of the act—"control" is a contested Phrase—we know quite well that in these cases where a man has weak brain power, he has a weak power of controlling his actions, and there are certain forms of insanity that are distinguished by uncontrollable impulses coining over a man-generally his power as to forming a conclusion as to whether an act was right or wrong might be fairly good, but under the influence under which he acted I chink he would for a time have lost his power of judging, that is in anything connected with Mr. Terriss, as to whom he had got these delusions, he would not have the power of judging as to right and wrong.
THEOPHILUS BUBBLY HISLOP , M.D. I am lecturer on mental diseases at St. Mary's Hospital, demonstrator of psychology at, St. George's Hospital, and senior assistant physician at Bethlehem Hospital for the Insane—I have had an opportunity of seeing the prisoner at Holloway—I came to the conclusion that he is now of unsound mind, and, so far as I could understand, the beginning of the trouble was in infancy to the best of my belief he was of unsound mind at the time he committed this act—I found the prisoner to be suffering from delusions of persecution, which, have arisen in various ways through the senses; he had the idea that he was poisoned; he also had perversions of smell, of the significance of which he was unaware; he also on various occasions heard voice, calling out to him the word "Rats!" the significance of which was that rat-poison had been put into his food—he imagined that he could actually taste poison in his food—he has been in Holloway Prison on four separate occasions he has stated that he has tasted poison in his food, and it had a very serious effect on his physical condition-a sunstroke in infancy is sometimes followed by various sequelae of this kind; there may be some uncontrollable impulse, or homocidai tendencies which may be carried through life: or there may be various other mental manifestations some eight years ago I collected a number of cases of sunstroke in infancy which had
been followed by similar perversions—I should say that when he committed this act he was not conscious that it was one he ought not to commit, from his own statement that he believed at the time he was carrying out God's will—the delusions from which he suffered had dominated the whole of the individual—I cannot say whether when he committed the act he would be likely to know the consequences to himself, beyond this, that I put the question to the prisoner and he said that before God he did not know the consequences at the time he committed the act, so that he did not calculate the consequences—I believe the act was the outcome of those delusions—I agree with Dr. Bastian that the fact of two of his brothers by the same father having been insane would induce me to come to the conclusion that the prisoner is of an unsound, nervous disposition—I do not think his mind was in such a condition that he could judge between right and wrong; I think he regarded himself as being infallible and simply carrying out the will of God—privation and hunger is the most productive means of loss of control—I should think the fact of his violence having increased of late years would point to the growth of his condition of delusional insanity; cases of delusional insanity do tend to become more demonstrative—owing to his suffering from hunger and privation the control over his will was weakened.
Cross-examined. The chief delusion under which I considered the prisoner was acting was that Mr. Terriss had done him some injury by preventing him from getting better employment; and that he was persecuted directly and indirectly by Mr. Terriss—I believe what he did was done in revenge for this supposed injury—starvation would increase the absence of control over himself—if under the influence of that starvation he had stolen food I should not suggest he was not responsible for that act, if that was the only feature in the case—some of his delusions had reference to food—it was because of his delusions I think he had not control over his actions—if he had merely inflicted some injury on Mr. Terriss with a view to preventing him performing at the theatre that night I should say he would have had more control, he would have manifested more control than he did—I take into account the fact that after he had stabbed him twice in the back, he stabbed him a third time to the heart—I have no doubt that when he inflicted that third blow he intended to kill him—the prisoner has demonstrated on myself exactly how he did it, and he has stated that he did it in the usual stage manner—my statement of my belief that he did it under the belief that he was doing it under the will of the Almighty is based on the prisoner's statement to me in the prison, after his committal for trial—I had not seen him, or heard such a statement, before he was committed for trial—I do not think it likely he would tell that to the policeman immediately after it happened—there was no statement of the kind fill I came to examine him.
Re-examined. I have heard the evidence that he said he was Jesus Christ; that type of insanity is very common, to have hallucination of tastes and delusions, associated with the idea that the person is Christ, and very possibly the belief that he was carrying out the will of the Almighty—I never heard any delusions from him as to the rights of property—the post-cards and letters written in 1895 and 1896 indicate that the prisoner was suffering mentally, and show that the disease was
growing stronger, and point, I should say, to acts of violence—probably want of food and dissappointmcnt would increase the mental stress and strain, and dimmish the want of self-control.
By the COURT. I had it in my mind with regard to the prisoner's statements to me that he might be making out that he was mad—when I questioned the prisoner as to his hallucination of taste he fell in with one's usual experience in Bethlehem—he was most indignant that there should be any question as to his mental condition.
JAMES SCOTT . I am the doctor to Holloway Prison—the prisoner has been under my observation since December 17th—I have examined him as a public official, not at the instance of his friends—I agree almost entirely with the previous witnesses that he is suffering from insane delusions, and that at present he is of unsound mind—generally I agree with what Dr. Bastian and Mr. Hislop have said—I simply approached the prisoner in the ordinary way as I do with all prisoners to test his mental capacity; unless insanity is forced on me I don't believe it—I assume in the first place that a criminal is sane until I find evidence to the contrary.
Cross-examined. Dr. Bastian was instructed to examine the prisoner at the instance of the Treasury authorities—I do not believe the prisoner knew the quality of the act he was doing—I think he knew the difference between right and wrong to a very limited extent, if at all—I question whether if a policeman had been there it would have made very much difference, judging from the prisoner's conduct afterwards—I have had him under very close personal observation in my capacity as an officer of the prison, and not in any way as a partisan on either side—I did not suspect that he was shamming, or that his conversations were not genuine—his demeanour has not excited my suspicions at all—I watched him very carefully—I was not instructed to keep him under very close observation—I should have done so under any circumstances from the nature of the crime.
GUILTY.—The JURY added that they found the prisoner knew what he was doing and to whom he was doing it; but that upon the medical evidence he was insane so as not to be responsible for his actions according to law at the time he committed the act.—To be detained until Her Majesty's pleasure be known.
NEW COURT.—Thursday, January 13th, 1898.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. ORMSBY Prosecuted and MR. KEITH FRITH Defended.
ANNIE CRANE . I am married, and keep a general shop at Plaistow—on December 9th the prisoner came in with another man, and asked me if I knew a tall dark gentleman living in New Street Road, and said that he had travelled 6,000 miles—I told him of a gentleman who I thought might be the man—he said "I have given the postman half-a-crown, but he did not know of any such man" and that he wanted to take the parcel back to South Africa—he opened it, and produced some horns, saying that he had the animals killed, and the horns polished; that they were very valuable, and as it was time he got back he would take £5 for them—
I shook my head, and he said, "You shall have them for £4, are these your little children?"—I said, "Yes"—he said, "You give £1 to the children and I will give you the horns for £3"—I said, "Are you acting straight-forward?—he said, "Yes," and crossed himself, and took his solemn oath—I gave him £3—he said, "I have been offered £14 for the horns by a Jew round the corner, but when I came to this country before, I bought a watch of a Jew, who sold me a brass one for a gold one, and I will never let a Jew have anything again of mine"—I believed his story.
Cross-examined. I thought they were good bargains—he said that he was making me a present of them—I do not get 25 per cent, in my shop; very little.
ALFRED ASKEW . I am a taxidermist, of 11, Great College Street—these are Cape ox horns, worth 12s., for the three pairs—they would cost a day's work to polish—if anybody offered £3 for them it would be giving away money—I have seen the horns that Mrs. Sheekey bought; they are worth 12s.
EMILY SHEEKEY . My husband keeps an oyster bar in Queen Street—the prisoner came in in October, with a porter carrying a parcel—he asked for Captain somebody, who had been so good to him on a voyage, and he was going to make him a present, and had had the animals, father, mother, and baby, shot at the Cape, and a Jew round the corner had offered him a lot of money and two suits of clothes; I think he said £15, but rather than let a Jew have them he would smash them up, because he had been done by a Jew; that he could pawn them for £20, and that he got them from Euston station—he said, "I wish I could get the duty money for them," and the man said, "What is the duty money?"—he said, "£5"—the man said, "I will give you that"—the other man then went out—I said, "Where are you going to?"—he said, "I am going to fetch the man"—the prisoner said, "No, I won't let a Jew have them, as this lady is a Christian, I hear; I will let her have them for £2 10s., and make her a present of £2 if she gives me £5"—I gave him the money, and saw no more of him—I believed his story.
Cross-examined. I thought it a good bargain.
FREDERICK ABBOTT (314 E). On December 20th in the afternoon I was off duty, 'but the prisoner was given into my custody, he said nothing about the charge, he was charged at the station, but made no reply—he gave an address, but he did not live there, the sergeant sent a telegram there but it came back—I cannot say if it was a lodging-house—5d. in bronze was found on him—and this document was found on him (A receipt for polishing a pair of horns and a smaller pair).
Evidence for the Defence.
JAMES GORK . I was called for the prosecution at Bow Street—I am a horn polisher and naturalist, of 208, New Street, Bermondsey—these are Cape horns from the Cape of Good Hope, and the fur on them is Cape sheep fur—I should charge 10s. to polish one pair—they are far superior to buffalo horns in value.
Cross-examined. I dealt with the prisoner in July, and the last time was in December last year—these horns are fastened together with a piece
of wood, and the fur folded outside it is bought as Cape sheep—I am not a naturalist, my brother is—it would take six or seven hours to polish one set of three pairs of horns.
Re-examined. I help my brother—there is a good 10s. worth of work.
By the COURT. I swear that it would cost 10s. to polish one pair—I should charge 30s. for my work—I do not believe anybody ever gave £15 for them.
DANIEL CLARK . I am a horn polisher and mounter—2s. would not be a fair price for polishing these horns, I should charge 10s. 6d., I have been paid that—I was sent for by the police to give an estimate, and they called me as a witness—I should charge £1 for polishing the large pair—I regulate my price according to my customer—these horns are better than buffalo, they are Cape.
—He then PLEADED GUILTY to having been convicted at Clerkenwell in 1896, and the police stated that he had been carrying on similar frauds for 30 years.— Three Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. HEDDON Prosecuted
JAMES FOSTER . I am manager to Mr. Hyde, a pawnbroker, of 143, Portland Road, Notting Hill, he does not live on the premises—on December 11th I went to bed about 1.40 a.m.—I had walked all over the premises at twelve o'clock, and everything was safe then—I was aroused by the housekeeper at about 4.30 or five o'clock; I got the other two assistants up, and one of them went with me and searched the premises—we found that a window had been cut out of a room over the shop, and this cap (Produced) was there—we missed certain property—these pawn-tickets are of property which has been pledged—they are Mr. Hyde's, and so are these two gowns.
JOHN MOORE (6ft X). On December 12th, about 3.20 a.m., I was with Nice in Princes Road, Notting Hill, and saw the two prisoners cross from Princes Road to Princes Place; I followed them and said, "What are you doing here?"—I knew them both before—they said, "We have not got our kip money"—I said, "Why don't you go in the casual ward?"—Jones said, "What are we to do if we can't get money for our kip?"—I said, "You are liable to the charge of vagrancy"—this was about 200 yards from the prosecutor's premises—Jones was wearing a cap like this and had a handkerchief like this round his neck, not tied but hanging down.
Cross-examined by Jones. I know you by seeing you in the neighbours hood of Notting Hill, and have heard your name mentioned—you had committed no offence, but I thought it my duty to caution you.
Cross-examined by Bennett. I have known you for the last two years.
FREDERICK NICE (219 X). On December 12th, about 3.20 a.m., I was with Moore and saw the two prisoners in Princes Road, when they saw us they moved towards Princes Place, towards a fence; Sergeant Moore asked them what they were doing—they said, "We have not got our kip money"—he said, "Why don't you go into the casual ward?" we lost sight of them—I knew both of them before.
JAMES BROWN (Police Serjeant 7X). On December 12th, about six a.m., I went with Inspector King to a common lodging-house and saw a light in the kitchen—I knocked at the front door, and the light was immediately extinguished—we went into the top back room, and saw Bennett in bed—King told him that he should arrest him—I saw these two pawn-tickets under the bed (These bore the prosecutor's name), I also found this straw hat which the prisoner is wearing now—I asked the deputy at the lodging-house to give me a ladder, and went into a room and saw Jones under a bed, I had looked previously and he was not there—he was fully dressed, but had no boots or hat—I told him the charge, he said, "Let me go downstairs and put my boots on, I have a straw hat down-stairs"—I took him to the station and gave him the straw hat—they were then charged—I saw Jones before the robbery wearing this cap and wrapper, and smoking a short pipe which was found in the house.
Cross-examined by Jones. I went to your sister's house and you were not there—she did not tell me where you were—you always wore the cap in this way showing your hair.
Cross-examined by Bennett. I took other men up on this charge, they were convicted last Session two of them were in your bed, they said that they had paid Mr. New for their lodgings but he denies it—there is no doubt that they paid the deputy, the master goes away at twelve o'clock.
By the COURT. These men went in about 1.30 they were all three found in the bed which Bennett occupied.
GEORGE KING (Police Inspector, X) On December 12th, about 5.30, I went with other officers to this lodging-house and in the top floor back I saw Bennett in bed with another man I told him to get up; he said "What is up this time, Stenway always fixes on me," that is Brown;. "thank God I am innocent of anything of this kind I was in bed before eleven o'clock"—I went to the same house with Sergeant Brown and found Jones in bed, a silk handkerchief fell from him, he denied that it belonged to him—I examined the premises and found that an entry had been made by sliding on to a wall and on to a window ledge, and a pane of glass had been removed—I read the charge to the prisoner at the station he said, "I deny it"—I believe Brown picked up a pawnticket.
NEWMAN BOASLEY . I keep a lodging-house at 110, Baker Street—on Sunday, December 12th, at 1.15 I went to close the house and saw Bennett in the passage—I said to my deputy, "How is it the house is not closed; he said, "I am waiting for Bennett"—I said, "Has he paid for his lodging"—he said, "Yes, and I told him to go up"—he said that he wanted to go out and see if his young woman had got a lodging—he had a basket in his hand which he took into a bed room, he did not go out with it—Jones was not a lodger there and had no right to be there.
Cross-examined by Jones. You have been in my house, there were foot-marks over the mortar and at the window.
Cross-examined by Bennett. You offered to pay me for your lodging and I would not take it and told you to give it to the deputy and you did so in the passage.
MARY GREEX . lam housekeeper at 143, Portland Road, Netting Hill—No. 141, is part of the premises—I heard a noise at something past three a.m. I did not get up then but I did afterwards and saw a man's leg
getting through the skirting—I gave an alarm.
Witness for Bennett.
MR. WILSON. I am the deputy of this lodging-house—Bennett gave one 6d. for his lodging—the master was present—Bennett went to bed about 12.45 a.m.—he was fully dressed and I told him if he went down he would be fastened out.
Cross-examined. He went out—I saw him go.
Jones' Defence. It is not unusual in a lodging-house to lie down with your clothes on; it is strange that these clothes should be found in the kitchen, how did they come into the house?
Bennett's Defence. When I asked the deputy if I paid for my lodging he said, "Yes." I was there at 10.30 and he told the police that it was about 10.30 when I went to bed, but he denies it now.
—They then PLEADED GUILTY to previous convictions, Jones at Clerkenwell on June 9th, 1894, and Bennett at Morttake on January 1st, 1896, and other convictions were proved against them. JONES — Five Years' Penal Servitude. BENNETT— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
(The Recorder commended the conduct of King and Brown.)
MR. ROACH Prosecuted.
WILLIAM GEORGE VALENTINE MCNIEL . I am a clerk—on December 31st I was in Hoxton Market about 3.30—I saw the prisoner coming towards me—I asked him for a light—he said nothing but tripped me up and struck me on my right eye and cheek—my nose was dislocated—it made me insensible for a moment, and when I recovered, my coat was undone and my chain hanging down—I had seen my watch safe about two hours previously—my coat was buttoned up—I went to the station and picked out the prisoner from six men—I have not the slightest doubt of him.
ROBERT JOHN HAVER . I am eleven years old and live at 5, Boot Street, Hoxton—I have known the prisoner ever since I was born—I was in Hoxton Market on the evening of New Year's day and saw the prosecutor—he asked the prisoner for a light—the prisoner asked him for a fag—he said that he had not got one and put his leg behind him and threw him and undid his coat and took his watch from his pocket and kicked him on his side and showed the watch to somebody—a boy went for a constable, he came—the prosecutor's chain was hanging down.
THOMAS ASHWORTH (55 GR.) On New Year's night, about 8.40 p.m., I was on duty in Hoxton Market, and the prosecutor complained of being assaulted and losing his watch—I sent him to the station—Haver made a statement to me and I went to the prisoner's house and found him on the third floor back, sitting on a chair in front of a fire—I told him I should take him for assaulting Mr. McNiel and stealing his watch—he said that he had not—I took him to the station—he was identified by the boy and by McNeil—he had been drinking.
Cross-examined. I have made enquiries—you have never been convicted of felony, your last employer says that you are addicted to drink and he was forced to discharge you.
The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate, and in his defence,. stated that he was drunk and knew nothing about it.
GUILTY .— Six Months' Hard Labour. THE RECORDER directed £1 reward to be given to Haver.
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, January 13th, 1898.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
117. JAMES BAILEY (32) PLEADED GUILTY to obtaining £3 from Charles John Oliver, and other sums from other persons by false pretences with intent to defraud; also to forging and uttering a certain writing.— Fourteen Months' Hard Labour. And
118. ADELE DITTRACH (32) , to feloniously throwing at and upon Adolph Schlinger sulphuric acid with intent to go him grievous bodily harm.— [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
BETT PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. ROACH Prosecuted.
HENRY BURGE (899 City). On December 31st I was on Ludgate Hill with three other officers—my attention was attracted to the prisoners about 11.50 p.m.—Bett was in front, Baker next, and Clark following—they were pushing amongst the crowd—knowing two of them I spoke to the other officers and we watched them—we saw Bett put his hand up a gentleman's overcoat—I spoke to the gentleman, but he had not lost his watch—they went into the Daniel Lambert public-house—we followed into the same bar—after they had drunk they went out on to Ludgate Hill—about 12.3 Bett beckoned to the others and they hustled the prosecutor, who was standing with a lady—I saw Bett's right arm come back and drop the watch—the other two were against the prosecutor and sticking him up, as it is called, which means that Bett stood in front and a little to the right of the gentleman, another covering Bett and the other the gentleman, keeping him up—I shouted, "They have got it," and seized Baker and Clark—I handed over Clark to police-constable Humphreys—police-constable Thompson arrested Bett, and police-constable Fluister picked up the watch—after pushing through the crowd we got them to the station where they were charged—Baker said, "We don't know this man," alluding to Bett—the bowl of the watch was broken off.
Cross-examined by Baker. I saw you drinking and talking together—I cannot say who paid for the drink.
Cross-examined by Clark. I saw you first about 11.40 p.m., about 20 yards from Ave Maria Lane—I did not see you call for the drink—I asked the prosecutor if he had lost his watch—he said, "Yes"—you were close behind Bett when I apprehended you and Baker in the road—several uniform officers assisted—I was in plain clothes—I did not speak to the uniform officers—we arrived at the station about 12.15—Bett was standing in the muster room—you were all three together charged with stealing the watch—five or ten minutes may have elapsed before the charge was taken—not 20 minutes—the Inspector took the charge as. soon as he was disengaged—there was no hesitation in charging you.
JOHN FLUISTER (945 City). I was with Barge and two other officers—our attention was attracted to the prisoners—we followed them into the Daniel Lambert, where they had refreshments and came out—we took them in turn—two officers asked a gentleman if he bad lost anything—he said he had not—Bett got at the prosecutor's watch while the crowd was pushing—Bett placed his right hand up the prosecutor's coat while the other two covered him—Thompson seized Bett, and I saw Bett drop the watch from his right hand—I picked it up—the other prisoners were apprehended by Burge and Humphreys.
Cross-examined by Baker. You were nearest the houses.
Cross-examined by Clark. I picked the watch up in the gutter as Bett dropped it—Bett was in the station two minutes before you got there—we got you to the station through the unusual crowd on New Year's Eve in about four minutes, with the assistance of uniform constables.
HENRY CHARLES LEFEVER . I am a cabinet manufacturer of 340, Old Street—I was on Ludgate Hill about midnight on December 31st, when the three prisoners hustled me—they followed me from the Daniel Lambert—I had seen them have refreshments there—my chat was buttoned—my watch, value about £12, was got away—I was hustled by Baker.
Cross-examined by Baker. I lost my watch about 11.50 p.m.—you were on my right when I changed a sovereign in the public-house—I was not asked that before the Lord Mayor—my watch was picked up on the kerb—you then all ran and left me—it was done directly I got out of the Daniel Lambert.
Cross-examined by Clark. I was on Ludgate Hill going to St. Paul's—I felt somebody's hands up my coat and when pulled I shouted and looked at the man who had his back to me till he was apprehended—no one spoke to me before I missed my watch—I followed the man to the station—I should say it was after twelve.
The Prisoners statements before the Magistrate, Baker says: " There were two more officers who took me and this man down the same night."
Clark says: "It is a very curious thing that the two men who assisted are not here. I am innocent of the charge."
Baker, in his defence, said he went to see the crowd and the New Year in, when he was pushed about and arrested with Clark, that at the station the prosecutor said he saw Bett but not Clarke and they had to wait 20 minutes in the station before the charge was taken, while a conversation went on between prosecutor and the Inspector.
Clark said that he knew nothing of the robbery, no more of Bett than of Dr. Livingstone, neither did he know Ave Maria Lane, nor the Daniel Lambert, and he was innocent.
—BAKER*— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour. CLARK— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
BETT then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell in July, 1893, in the name of George Batchelor— Eighteen Mouths' Hard Labour.
MR. B. A. SMITH Prosecuted and MR. PURCELL Defended.
underground Central Railway at Museum Street—on October 11th I went to 37, Kinley Street, Netting Hill, at 11.30 a.m. to have a lie down—I went upstairs alone—I lay on the boards—I was there about a quarter of an hour—I had paid Is to a woman—I came down to leave the house—I met four men in the passage—the prisoner is one—I was knocked down and had 14s. taken out of my pocket—the other three robbed me—Bidler gave me one punch on the head—they ran away—I walked about till I met White who knocked me down—I complained to a constable—I gave a description of the three men who were tried here, convicted, and sentenced to seven years' a-piece—I next saw the prisoner at Hammersmith police-court—I identified him from about a dozen—I had known the prisoner by sight about three months' before October 11th.
Cross-examined. I did not tell the police that I knew the prisoner—Kinley Street is about 1 1/2 miles from Warrington Road—I had never been there before—I went in the house about eleven—it was about 11.30 I was coming out—I had left the Electric Railway about six a.m.—I had been in a coffee shop—I was sober—I was not then lodging at 180, Warrington Road, but at a lodging house in the Kensal Road—I sometimes pay 4d. a night—I paid 1s. for a lie down—there were no women in the room—there was a bed, but I preferred the floor, because the bed was dirty—I said before the Magistrate "I paid 1s. to a woman to have a lie down," she did not go up to the room; she shewed me the room from the stairs—I did not stop more than a quarter of an hour because I thought it was a rough place—nobody had come to the room—White knocked me down again—he was one of the convicted men—I did not meet White near the George public-house—he was caught—there is a public-house at the bottom of Kinley Street, I do not know its name—I did not know Ridler was standing there—I did not see him after he got away—I looked round two public-houses to see if I could see him.
Re-examined. The passage in the house was light—I knew Ridler, who hit me on the head, was the fourth man.
ARTHUR CREAVATM . I am a barman at the Earl of Zetland, Notting Hill, opposite Kinley Street—on October 11th I was outside a little after eleven a.m.—I saw the prisoner with Handley and two other men since convicted here.
Cross-examined. I was a witness at the last trial—I had seen these men in the Earl of Zetland on other days—I had seen Johnson in the public-house that morning—I did not see Johnson looking for anyone—I had seen White and two women there between eight and nine p.m.—at eleven I saw Ridler, Handley and Walsh, but not White.
Re-examined. I was before the Magistrate shortly after October 11th—I was called on behalf of White—I was bound over to appear here.
JAMES STEPHENS (133 X). On October 11th I saw the prisoner at the corner of Kinley Street about 12.30 p.m. with White, Handley and Walsh—the three men who were committed here in October—I had not heard of the robbery—they separated on my approaching them—I know Ridler to be their associate—I was called at the police-court on October 13th and gave the evidence I have given to-day.
Cross-examined. I had seen them together on other days.
ROBERT ALEXANDER JACKSON . I am Surgeon of the X Division—I saw police-constable Bowman this morning—he is suffering from pneumonia—it would be dangerous for him to be here—he is progressing favourably—he is in bed.
JOHN PALFREY (Police Sergeant). I was present at the West London police-court and heard police-constable Tom Bowman give his evidence—it was read over to him—I saw him sign it—the prisoner was present and had full opportunity of cross-examining him. (Read) "Tom Bowman, (414 X) on oath, said as follows: on October 12th at 1.45 a.m. I arrested a man named Edward Walsh at Sodan Road—on the way to the police-station I saw this prisoner sitting on a door step—I told him I should take him into custody for being concerned with three other men in assaulting and robbing a man at 37, Kinley Street—he made no reply—after proceeding, 20 or 30 yards, with the two men in custody, Walsh felled me into the road, the prisoner pulled round behind me, and the handkerchief round his neck, which I was holding, gave way, and he ran away."
EDWARD PILLAWAY (Detective X.) I went to Walton Street police-station, on December 15th, where the prisoner was detained—I told him I should take him into custody for being concerned, with three others now doing penal servitude, in a robbery with violence in Kinley Street, North Kensington—he replied "I was there but took no part in the assault or the robbery"—I took him to the station where he was charged—he made no reply to the charge—on the way to the station he said "I know nothing about it."
Cross-examined. When I repeated at the station what the prisoner had said, he said, "It is a lie"—I took a note of what he said—it is here—I used it before the Magistrate—I wrote it as soon as I got to the station—before the prisoner had said, "It is a lie"—(read) "Walton Street police-station, October 11th, 1897. On December 15tb, 1897, I arrested Frank Ridler. I told him I should take him into custody for being concerned with Walsh and Hanley in assault and robbery. He replied, he was there, but took no part in the robbery or assault. He afterwards said I know nothing about it. I took him to Notting Dale station. When charged at the station he said, 'All right, Ridler, I know you, and know where to find you'"—I was speaking of Bowman, the other officer there, who arrested Walsh—I did not put down "the prisoner said, It is a lie"—I took him to Notting Dale—he was in the dock about half-an-hour—part of the note was made before the last trial.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I know nothing at all about it."
GUILTY **†.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
FREDERICK JAMES WELLER . I am a packer, of 41, Johnston Street, Somers Town—on January 2nd I was going home, in St. Martin's Lane, about eleven, when four men came behind me and threw me down—North said, "Rifle his pockets"—I got released and threw Collims to the ground, and held him till a policeman came and took him—I asked a
gentleman, not one of the prisoners, the direction of Euston Road—I identified North next morning at the police-station—he tried to hold me on the ground—he helped to take the money out of my pockets—he hit me behind the ear—two men who got away struck me—Collins knocked me down—I lost 17s. 9d. from my pockets—Collins said, "Let me get up off the ground;" I said, "No, never, I have you and you don't go away"—I heard one say, "You don't go away till I have got all you have got"—I think that was North—I gave a description of the three men at the police-station—a young lady was there, who will give evidence.
Cross-examined. I was stunned—I had been at Red Hill with some friends I had gone to see that morning—I had visited no refreshment bar—I was sober.
ETHEL FRANCES FAULKNER . I am in service with Mr. Plumstead, a draper, of St. Andrew Street—I was returning home on January 2nd, just after eleven p.m.—I saw three men and the prosecutor—Collins was standing holding the prosecutor—they said, "You shan't go till we have got it"—I walked on—I heard the police called—I saw the prosecutor fall and Collins on the top of him.
Cross-examined. Weller said, "Let me go"—I saw them run away—they crossed the road from Castle Street with their hands in their pockets, except Collins.
ARNOLD RIBBOMS (26 ER). On January 2nd, about eleven p.m., I was on duty and heard cries of "police," and went towards the corner of Castle Street and St. Andrew Street—I saw the prosecutor lying on his back in the roadway, and Collins on the top of him—the prosecutor said, "I have been robbed by this man"—he was holding Collins—three others ran off—Collins was given into my custody—he said, "I think he has made a mistake, I was passing up St. Martin's Lane, and he claimed me for this job"—the prosecutor said he had lost 17s. 9d. out of his left-hand trousers pocket, and that Collins had struck him on the back of his neck, and remarked, "You shan't go away till we have had all you have got"—I took Collins to the station—the prosecutor followed and gave a description of North and the two others—at the station Collins repeated that the prosecutor had made a mistake.
Cross-examined. Castle Street is at the end of Little St. Andrew Street—I was 40 or 50, or it may be 200 yards off when I heard the cries for police—Collins has something the matter with his knee—he said, "I could not run, I have got a bad leg, I am a cripple"—he did not say, "I only came round Castle Street and found him on the ground"—the prosecutor had no hat on till he went to the station.
Re-examined. I do not think Collins could have got away if he had not been lame.
JAMES STOCKLEY (Detective Sergeant E). The prosecutor and Collins were at the station when I went in about 11.30 p.m. on Sunday, January 2nd—the prosecutor made a statement to me and gave a description of North and two others—in consequence of that description I arrested North in Seven Dials the next day about 12.45 a.m.—he was standing with two other men—I said, "I am going to take you to Bow Street, as I believe you to have been concerned with three others in assaulting and robbing a gentleman in St. Martin's Lane just after eleven last night, for which a man named Collins is in custody"—he said,
I do not know a man named Collins, I have not been down the lane. I live in Tottenham Court Road, I have only just come down"—I took him to the station—I drew his attention to the knees of his trousers and to his hat and hands, which were muddy—he said nothing in reply to that—a little after ten a.m. he was identified from eight other men by the prosecutor—I had gone to look for Collins but found him at the station—when charged he said, "You have made a mistake."
Cross-examined. I made no note, I can only give the description from memory—I did not arrest North entirely from the description—from the description I recognized the man I believed to be wanted.
EDMOND HARRISON (374 E). I was on duty on January 2nd in Seven Dials about 10.40 p.m., and saw the prisoners with two others go from the direction of Little St. Andrew Street towards St. Martin's Lane—about 20 minutes after I received information that a man had been robbed—I went in that direction and saw police-constable 26 ER arrest Collins—I assisted to take him to the station—I had seen North a few times previously about Seven Dials, but not with Collins before that day.
Cross-examined. I said before the Magistrate, 10.40 or 10.45 about—I watched them for about five minutes, till they were out of sight—I went to the station and saw Stockley—I heard the prosecutor's description, with Stockley—I spoke to Stockley who went out and brought in North.
COLLINS.— GUILTY .— Four Months hard Labour.
NORTH.— GUILTY **†—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell in June, 1896.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Friday, January 14th, 1898.
Before Mr. Justice Channell.
122. GEORGE BROOKS (19) was indicted for, and charged on the Coroner's Inquisition with, the wilful murder of Caroline Adela Wingrove. MESSRS. J. C. MATHEWS, BODKIN and GUY STEPHENSON Prosecuted, and' MESSRS. GEOGHEGAN and PERCIVAL HUGHES Defended.
The evidence is unfit for publication.
GUILTY of Manslaughter — Five Years' Penal Servitude
(For the Case of J. H. Utting tried that day see Surrey Cases.)
OLD COURT—Monday, January 17th, 1898.
Before Mr. Justice Channett.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS and BODKIN Prosecuted, and
MESSRS. THOMAS, Q.C., and WILLIAMS Defended.
GUILTY .— Seven Years' Penal Servitude.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, January 18th, 1898.
Before Mr. Justice Channell.
MESSRS. CHARLES MATHEWS and BODKIN Prosecuted, and
MR. GRAIN Defended.
GUILTY — Seven Years' Penal Servitudes.
Mr. CHARLES MAIHEWS Prosecuted.
CHARLES TANNER . I live at 119, Wood Green Place, Hammersmith-on November 8th I was outside the house and the prisoner's wife was inside in a very drunken condition—the prisoner came up and went into the public house, and after a short time he and his wife came out together and had a few words about pawning some clothes—he said "If you don't find those clothes I shall bum you alive," he gave her a punch she fell and got up and took hold of his arm and they went towards home.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. It was about 7.30 when you went in—you did strike her, but she could hardly stand.
ANNIE SULLIVAN . I am a step-daughter of the prisoner and am 10 years old—in November last I was living at 14, Wood Green Place, with my step-father and my mother Annie Thurston—the prisoner came home one evening about 8.30 and went out and came back with my mother who was under the influence of drink, and the prisoner was worse—they were bad friends—they went into the front room—a lamp was alight in the room—the prisoner asked me for the paraffin oil bottle—I told him that I would not give it to him and he went to the cupboard and took it out, there was a good deal of oil in it—my mother was sitting on a chair and he poured all the oil over her—she stood up and he lit a match and set light to her hair, and she cried out for water—I saw no blaze or light, I ran downstairs crying and asked Mr. White to go up and see what had happened, and he went to the room.
Cross-examined. You asked me whether I was going out, and I said, "No"—I said that I did not know whether my mother had not gone, because she had not got her hat, she came back first and you afterwards—you did not put 2d. on the table and ask me to go for a pint of beer—my mother did not get hold of the lamp at all—the fire was in the front room where my mother was sitting—the beds were in the back room.
By the COURT. We have two rooms, one with a bed and one without—all this was in the sitting-room, there was no fire in the bedroom.
WILLIAM WHITE . About nine p.m., on November 8th, I was standing near Wood Green Place where the prisoner lived at that time—I heard a cry of "Fire"—I went up to the prisoner's house, and went into a room there—I saw a woman there rolling about on the floor, covered with flames—the prisoner was there, standing by her side—he had a paraffin oil bottle in his hand—I said, "What are you doing," and he said, "If you don't get out of this room I will smash your brains on"—I said, "I will try and save the woman's life, you can do your worst"—I got a sack and put it over her—he said, "Let her burn"—I hallowed out for water—a young fellow brought some water and left me there—the flames were put out, and I opened the window and let the smoke out—she was lying on the floor unconscious—Mr. Stratton came in and I said, "You had better go for a doctor"—they supported her into the next room—the lamp was all right—she said, "You wicked man, you know you meant to burn me alive"—the prisoner said nothing.
Cross-examined. When I first came up into the room your wife
was not in your arms; she was on the floor—I cannot say if you had your coat on or off, I was so excited—you stood by her with the oil-can in your hand, and she was near the door with her head under the table—she was lying, not standing—she was unconscious then—I only saw one lamp—I took that down from the fireplace to see whether she was dead or alive—I am speaking the truth—I did not see your wife on your right arm when I went in—there was plenty of food on the table, but nothing else but this piece of crockery with sugar in it—your little daughter said that was what you were going to strike her with—you took the sugar out of it—you were sober, and so was I—I found the sack on the stairs as I came up, I tumbled against it on the staircase—I fetched it off the stairs—I did not want you to throw any water over your wife—I put my hand down and took a saucepan, and found it contained soup.—I threw it over your wife—I think it was soup—she was lying down—she was rolling about on the ground—my evidence is the same now as it was before—I don't know whether your coat was on or off, you did not have it round your wife—you and your wife were the-only persons in the room, and your little daughter, who followed me up—the lamp was hanging over the fireplace near the window—it was nearer the window than it was the door—there was only one lamp there, and that was alight—the oil bottle was in your hand—when I came into your room I did not see your wife in your arms, nor in a chair—you said, "Let her burn"—I was holding the lamp when Mr. Stratton came in—there was no water on the sack—I never left the room till Mrs. Smith took her into the next room to dress her.
AMOS STRATTON I live at Brook Green, Hammersmith—on November 8th the prisoner and his wife were my tenants—I was sent for that evening and went to their room—I found the prisoner and his wife and White there—the woman was lying on the floor—her clothes were still smoking; I helped to put them out.—I asked the prisoner to fetch a doctor—he made no reply—I asked him a second time, and he said, "She's all right"—I went for a doctor myself, and brought Dr. Andrews with me—I said to the woman, "How did this happen?"—she said, "He poured oil on me, and set light to it"—the prisoner could hear that—she turned to him and said, "You did; you know you did"—he made no reply.
Cross-examined. Whan I first came up you were standing in the room-White was there and a man named Phillips, who lives downstairs—I put out the fire and then asked you to get a doctor—your wife was on the floor, not in your arms—I asked you to fetch a doctor, you made no reply—I went for the doctor—I came up twice—I asked your wife what was the matter, I did not ask you—you did not say anything to me the first time, only "She is all right"—when I sent Annie to your shop for a loaf of bread, I told you to get out, and that you would have to leave; I gave you verbal notice to leave; that was through your wife's drunken habits.
By the COURT. I had known the wife before, she was drunken and quarrelsome; I did not like her, and gave her husband notice to go—I had no objection to him—he was sober on this night.
CHARLES ANDREWS . I am a registered medical practitioner, of 92,. Hammersmith Road—on November 8th I was called to the prisoner's house, at 8.30, and there saw the woman and the prisoner standing by her
taking off the clothes from the upper part of her body—she was extensively burnt, down to her waist and arms to the top of her head—she said that he had done it—I had some clothes put round her, and had her taken to the hospital—her hair was singed—there was a smell of paraffin in the room.
Cross-examined. You did not say anything to me when I came up—you were helping to pull the clothes off the upper part of your wife—White was there—Mr. Stratton came up with me, and there was a woman at the door—I told you to wrap your wife up, and take her to the hospital—I believe you did so—I do not remember your showing me any sweet oil, which you had sent for—I do not remember you saying that you had sent for some wadding and some sweet oil.
JOHN MASON HABELLE . I am house surgeon at the West London Hospital—on November 8th, between 8.30 and nine p.m., this woman was brought to the hospital—I saw her about thirty minutes after she was brought in—she was collapsed, and suffering from shock from burning—she was very much burnt on her side, and back, and left ear—she was detained in the hospital till January 15th—she was seriously injured, we had some doubts as to whether she would recover—her life was in danger.
HORACE STONE (115 T). At about 8.30 on November 8th I went to the West London Hospital, and saw the prisoner outside—I arrested him on the charge of attempting to murder his wife, by pouring a quantity of oil on her, and setting fire to her—he said, "I did not do it, she threw the lamp at me, and instead of setting fire to me she set fire to herself, she was drunk"—I went into the hospital and saw the woman, and in the prisoner's hearing I asked her if her husband had poured oil over her and set fire to it—she said, "No"—Stratton was there, and he said, "That is not the same as you told me"—she shook her head, and made no answer—I took the prisoner to the station, and then went back to the room where they lived, and found a lamp hanging on the wall burning—it was the only burning lamp I found there—there was no broken lamp or glass—this is it just the same as I found it—I found also this oil-can—it contained a very small quantity of oil.
Cross-examined. When you went into the hospital with me your wife did not say anything. Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Knight were there—I cannot say whether you spoke to your wife—you did not ask her whether she had done it or you, I asked her that myself.
ANNIE THURSTON . I am the prisoner's wife—I have been given to drink—on the evening of November 8th I was in the Albion public-house—I was drunk there—I remember going outside with my husband—I do not remember his doing anything to me, he only asked me to go home, but he did not strike me—I went home with him—I remember my little girl being in the room—I do not remember what happened when we got into the room—I don't remember what he did—he is a very good husband to me, it is entirely my own fault—I was taken to the hospital, and remained there nearly five weeks—I have got over the burns—I remember being burnt, that is all I know about it.
Cross-examined. There was only one lamp hanging in the room—the one I pulled off the wall is in the cupboard—I suppose I handled a lamp—I might have done so in my drink—it is very likely I said I would chuck
it at you—I do not know if you threatened to pour oil on me—I saw Mr. Stratton come up into the room—I was standing up—I don't know if I was in your arms or by your side—I suppose I was by your side, I don't know—I don't know if White came up into the room—I was taken to the hospital—Mr. White stopped to put me out—he was in the room while we were there—Mrs. Smith came into the room, but I don't think anybody else did—you did not take me to the Albion, I was there before you came—you did not take me in a second time—when I came in the second time you were there—you did not leave me there either time—I went out with you and went, home—I don't know who smashed the lamp.
By the COURT. We have got two lamps, we don't use both at once.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that both the lamps mere burning, and his wife took one down and was going to throw it at him, when White came up and accused him of throwing water on his wife; that he afterwards went to the doctor and told him that his wife had set herself on fire, that he sent a man for sweet oil and wadding, and gave her brandy, that he asked her at the hospital whether he had done it and she said, "No, it is all my own fault" and that they shook hands, and he put the lamp in the cupboard away from the children.
GUILTY on the Second Count, under great provocation. — Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. SANDS Prosecuted.
ANNIE SIMPSON . I am the wife of Frederick Simpson, of 97, Colbeck Road, Shepherd's Bush—the prisoner is my brother—I saw him on December 29th, at 3.45—somebody came to speak to me—I was in my bedroom—I went down to the door, and saw the prisoner—he said, "I have come to have my own"—I said, "Don't make a bother here"—he was half way in the passage, and I said, "What do you want to come here making a bother for, what have you got to say?"—before I could get down to the kitchen he said, "You b—, I will murder you"—he got me down, and I felt something at my throat—I called out, "Murder, murder!"—I felt something like a knife near my face—I put up my hand to protect myself, and got wounded on my wrist—the neighbours came up and pulled him off—I think he had been drinking—I had had no quarrel with him—his son lives with me, I am his guardian.
Cross-examined by the prisoner: I did not say, "Get out, you scoundrel," nor did we quarrel on the door mat—we did not both fall over the parlour door mat—the wounds were not self inflicted by my catching hold of the knife—I did not get up and walk into the back kitchen—a lady next door picked me up.
Re-examined. I said nothing to provoke him.
THOMAS GEORGE ROBINBON . I live at 99, Falgrave Road, Shepherd's Bush—on December 29th I heard screams from 97, next door—I got over the wall, and went into the house, and saw the prisoner struggling with the woman on the ground—she was underneath—they were about five yards from the front door—I could not see what he was being, it
was very dark—he was in a stooping position, and his right hand was up—I seized his hand and the collar of his coat, and held him tight, and hearing a loud knocking at the door I shouted, "Open the street door" and the milkman came in, and we got him up off the woman—we conducted him towards the passage—I did not see anything in his hand till he said, "Here, old fellow, will give you the knife"—I saw a knife in his right hand—I did not take it from him, he handed it to a lady next door, and said, "Here, mother, I will give you the knife"
Cross-examined. You were in a kneeling position on the ground—I have spoken the truth.
Re-examined. The constable sent me for the knife, and I went next door and got it from Mrs. Atkins; it was closed when I got it back; I do not know if it had been wiped.
ELIZA AYLING . I live at 95, Falgrave Road—on December 29th I heard screaming, and ran into No. 97—I saw the prisoner and Mrs. Simpson on the floor—I helped her up; her face was covered with blood from her hand and neck; I washed it off.
HENRY HAM . I am a sailor on board the "Impregnable"—I live now at 97, Falgrave Road—the prisoner is my father—I remember seeing him on the morning of December 29th—I talked to him—when he left he said, "Arthur, I will have my own on her"—I had not said anything about my aunt—I saw him again, at twelve o'clock, going down the Grove, about two minutes' walk away—I did not see him come in, in the afternoon.
Cross-examined. You did not say that you would have your own furniture.
WILLIAM ROBERT HALL HAINS . I am a surgeon, of Ashchurch Terrace,. Shepherd's Bush—I was called in to see Mrs. Simpson, a little after four o'clock—she had three wounds on her neck, and a deeply incised wound on the palm of her left hand—those on her face and hand could be caused by this knife (produced)—they were not dangerous—the wound in the hand was deep, but not dangerous; it will be another fortnight or three weeks before she will be able to use her hand again properly.
WALTER BRAND (698 T). I was called into 97, Falgrave Road—I saw the prisoner detained outside the house by Robinson—he said, "All right, my hearty, I have only stabbed the woman"—I saw the woman bleeding, and I received the knife from Robinson, it was covered with blood—I took the prisoner to the station—he was perfectly sober.
Cross-examined. You did not come and fetch me, you were being detained by Robinson—you did not give yourself up to me—you did not say, "There has been a bit of a row between me and my sister."
Prisoner's defence: I am very sorry that this has occurred, nothing would have happened if my sister had let me alone, but as soon as I got inside the passage she took me by the throat and tried to throw me outside; the door was three parts open. We had a bit of a struggle in the passage, and there is no doubt I had a knife in my left hand, but I did not use it, she drew the blade of the knife across her hand. I picked it up and gave it to the next door neighbour.
GUILTY on the Second Count. — Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, January 19th, 1898.
(For Cases tried this day see Essex and Surrey Cases).
NEW COURT.—Friday, January 14th, 1898.
Before Mr. Recorder.
127. FREDERICK ROBERT HOWELL, THOMAS CORY and HENRY ELLIS COLLINS, Unlawfully appropriating to their own use the sum of £30,000, they being directors of a public company. Second Count—Omitting or causing to be omitted an entry of £30,000 in the books of the said company.
HOWELL and CORY PLEADED GUILTY to the First and Second Counts.
MR. C. MATHEWS and MR. H. AVORY Prosecuted, and LORD COLERIDGE and MR. ERASER appeared for Collins.
During the progress of the Case Lord Coleridge stated that Collins would also
PLEAD GUILTY, and Collins having stated, in the hearing of the Jury, that he was
GUILTY, they found that verdict.— Judgment respited.
Before Mr. Justice Channell.
MR. GRAIN, Jun., Prosecuted, and MR. JOHNSON, Defended.
GUILTY .— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
131. HENRY RICHARDS (32) and WILLIAM JOHNSON (18) , Unlawfully having counterfeit coin in their possession with intent to utter it. Second Count.—Uttering counterfeit coin to Mary Palmer. Third Count.— To Frederick Wright.
JOHNSON PLEADED GUILTY to the First and Third Counts.
MR. PARTRIDGE Prosecuted.
ADELINE EVANS . I am single, and manage one of the Victoria Wine Company's shops in Upper Baker Street—on November 1st I served the prisoner with 1/4 lb. of tea, price 8 1/2d., he gave me a 5s. piece, I gave him 4s. 3 1/2d. change and put the coin in the till, and within half an hour, wanting some small change, I took it out and sent Henry Hobbs to get it changed—it came back with a black spot on it, I put it on one side—I have never taken bad money before—I noticed that the edge was not perfect—I destroyed it—I picked the prisoner out from others last Saturday.
HENRY HOBBS . I am errand boy to Miss Evans—on November 1st I took a crown piece to the Globe public-house and gave it to Parks, the barman, who gave it back to me, I did not get the change, I took it back to my mistress.
WILLIAM THOMAS PARKS . I am barman at the Globe public-house, York Place, Baker Street—on November 1st Hobbs brought me a 5s. piece, I saw it was bad and took it to the proprietor's son who tried it with acid, which blackened it—I gave it back to the boy.
MARY PALMER . I am the wife of Arthur Ernest Palmer, of 51, Commercial Road, Lambeth—on October 30th the prisoners took a furnished room there at 3s. 6d. a week—they paid their rent regularly, and on November 16th Richards paid me with a half-crown and 3s.—Johnson was not present—I put the half-crown in the centre compartment of my purse, where there was no other half-crown, and gave it on Saturday to my servant, Elizabeth Jane Beard, to pay a laundress—she brought back one-half of it; this is it—the prisoners had a key of the room—they returned after paying the rent—I pointed out the room to the officers—I did not tell the prisoners that the coin was bad, I preferred to put up with the loss, they had been with me some time.
Cross-examined by Richards. It was not a florin and a 6d. that you gave me—my servant is not here; she is very ill.
FREDERICK WRIGHT . I am a tobacconist, of 136, Waterloo Road, Lambeth—on December 5th, about 8.40 a.m., Johnson came in for a packet of cigarettes—he gave me a half-crown, and I gave him 2s. 3d—after he had gone I found the half-crown was bad—Sergeant Mew came in, seven or eight minutes afterwards, and I gave him the coin.
WILLIAM MEW (Detective Sergeant). On Sunday, December 6th, about 8.15, I saw the prisoners leave 8, Gray Street, Waterloo Road—I walked down to the Railway Arch—Richards stood reading the advertisements, and Johnson went on and came back, and they walked on to Mr. Palmer's shop—I saw Johnson in the shop—he took a coin from the counter and came out—I went in, and Mr. Wright gave me this bad half-crown—on December 9th I was with Sergeant Kane, and saw the prisoners—they met a third man, and Johnson walked on to the railway station with him—I jumped into an omnibus and overtook them at the corner of Oakley Street—I jumped out, and said to Johnson, "Come back here, young man, I want you," and handed him over, while Sergeant Kane and I went to the top floor back of 208, and found Richards sitting on a bed—he said, "What am I going to be charged with"—I said, "With another man, who is outside this house in custody, for uttering counterfeit coin last Sunday night"—he said nothing—we brought him down and took him to Kennington Road police-station, where I told him to sit in the corner, and said to Johnson, "You come here, and all you have got in your possession put out on that table"—he brought several pieces of paper out, and three counterfeit crowns and five counterfeit half-crowns—I said, "How did you become possessed of these"—he said nothing—they were all wrapped up separately—this key was found on Richards, and this other key on Johnson's watch chain—I Vent to 51, Commercial Road—the door was closed but not locked—I found a counterfeit half-crown there in the bottom of this tax, which was on a sideboard in the bedroom—there was a double bed in the room—I was off duty when I watched them.
WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . I am Inspector of Coin to Her Majesty's Mint—the effect of pouring acid on a bad half-crown would be to make a black mark—these coins are all bad, including these two halves—they are in tissue paper be keep them separate, they have been rubbed over with black stuff—the two half-crowns are from the same mould.
Richard's defence: I did not give the landlady a half-crown. I remember giving her three shillings and a sixpence. I have given her money as I have taken it. I cannot make head or tail of it. I have no memory of it, and I am not guilty of it.
—RICHARDS then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction, of a like offence on July 27th, 1891, when he was sentenced to Seven Years' Penal Servitude. Other convictions were proved against him and he was then on ticket-of-leave.— Seven Years' Penal Servitude. JOHNSON— Twenty Months' Hard Labour.
NOT GUILTY .
133. PETER LANNI (31) , Unlawfully taking and causing to be taken Nellie Annie Wilson out of the possession of Joseph Wilson who was her guardian at the time, she being under the age of 16 years. The evidence was interpreted to the prisoner.
NELLIE ANNIE WILSON . Prior to October 22nd I resided with my grandfather at 14, Merton Road, Button, Surrey—I have known the prisoner since October 22nd—I became acquainted with him by his organ—on October 22nd I met him by appointment. (The interpreter here explained that the, prisoner was a Neapolitian.)—I understood what he said, he speaks English—I was in the London Road when he spoke to me—he asked me on October 22nd to go with him to Scotland, but when we got to the station at Euston he had not got enough money, that was twelve o'clock in the day, and as we could not go to Scotland, we went to London Bridge and went to Paris, where I lived with him as his wife—but he had not enough money—we had been in Paris three weeks before the money ran out, but when we got there we had not enough, and he went to a Catholic Priest, who provided him with some—I wrote to my grandmother—I am not a Roman Catholic—she wrote to a lady who paid my passage across.
By the COURT. I said before the Magistrate that as I was coming out of a restaurant he took away my things because he had not any money.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I did not go to your place very early in the morning and urge you to take me away, otherwise you would not go alone.
By the COURT. I was living with my grandfather—he is a signalman—my mother is dead—I do not know anything about my father—I had known the prisoner a few weeks, he had not often come to our place, but he came to the bottom of the road—I used to go about with him before he left this country, but had no connection with him before he left England.
JOSEPH WILSOX . I am a signalman, and live at 14, Merton Road Sutton—Nellie Annie Wilson lives with me—she is my grand-daughter—she was two months' old when she was brought to me by my daughter—the father left the mother directly she was born, and we never heard anything of him since, and I kept the child—I lost the mother two months ago—a better girl than my grand-daughter could not be till she met this man—she was 16 years old last June—this is the certificate of her birth (Producing it) she is the same person referred to in this certificate—she disappeared from my house in October, and we received a letter from her in November asking me to forgive her, but I said no—she did not go away with my consent—I do not know this Italian, and never heard of him—I have taken my grand-daughter home again, and I have forgiven, her.
JOHN FARNES (Detective, W). On December 8th I received a warrant for the arrest of the prisoner—I went next evening and arrested him at Foot's Cray, Kent, with an organ—I told him that I was a police officer—I knew him well—he had a woman with him, and she interpreted to him—he said, "Me no take her away, she would come"—I took him to the station, and he was charged.
The prisoner I did not say that, I said she was my first wife before coming away with me. (The Interpreter stated that the prisoner desired to be examined on oath).
Evidence for the Defence.
PETER LANNI (The prisoner, through the Interpreter). This girl came at first to every place where I was playing the organ—she said, "Oh, you have a wife"—I said, "I have no wife, but as regards going with you, I like you so much that I will"—she then wrote a letter to a friend of mine, which my master got hold of, and it was eventually given to my mother—she said, "I have nothing else to do but to go with you and play the organ with you, and she accompanied me on Saturday to Brighton—I told her, "Go home, it is too late for you to be out"—she replied, "I don't want to go home, T want to go with you to your house"—all the people round about knew perfectly well that it was she that wished to go with me, to post herself on me—it was perfectly well known at three o'clock in the afternoon, and she said to me, "T have misled my father," meaning her grandfather," and the woman who takes the place of my mother"—as she came across the market-place to follow me, the grand-father came frequently to urge her to go home, but she replied, "No, I don't want to go home, I want to follow him, this evening I shall be in the market-place opposite to where you have your barrow"—upon that Sunday she met me in the lane, where I accidentally came up, with my barrow, and she stayed with me from four to nine o'clock—I told her, "It appears that your grandfather and grandmother have noticed this, you had better go back to them"—she said no, her grandfather knew nothing about it, and the grandmother did know something about it, but at the same time she wished to stay with me—she said "When my grandfather told me to go to work I said to him, no, you come home and speak to my grandmother who wants to speak to you"—she was really the cause I left my master—she was with me a month and that is how I lost my lodging, and then when she found me she said "I like you too much, I will not go home again"—I noticed that the grandfather was
certainly against anything of the kind though he did not say anything, and I advised her to go home—she said "No, I will not go home any more, even when I was in bed my grandfather used to come and beat me with a stick across my thighs, and I am absolutely determined not to go home any more"—I said "I do not see what I can do for you, the beat thing for you is to go home, if you speak kindly to your grandfather I am willing to go and speak to him as well"—when I went on the Sunday she would insist on following me, and as she was crying and insisting on going away I agreed and paid the fare from where she lived at Sutton, that, is her home—I was staying at Gravesend and she at Sutton, she said, on Friday, "Come about three o'clock, and play the organ, and I shall come out and help you play it, I like it"—she then repeated that her grandfather was very severe with her, and punished her very severely, and then we went to have a glass of beer—I was not inclined to induce her to go away, I took no steps to induce her to go, it was all done with the help of another woman—I do not know anything else about the other woman, except that she is called "Alice"—the people at Sutton were perfectly well aware that this girl came to the market place to see me—I was only just trying to earn a living for myself by playing—one afternoon she came out of her house with a cup in her pocket, and induced me to go to her house because her grandfather was out—she said that he was at work—she said, "You can now come home with me"—I said, "What for should I go home with you? it is late, go home yourself"—when I got hold of the barrow to go away, she said, "Turn it round the corner, and have a talk for a little while," I said "No, I cannot, I have to go home and replenish my cream, or else I shall be too late;" but she would insiso on taking me home to her place—she ran away in the night-time, I was then asleep; she joined me at two o'clock in the morning, at Mitcham—I said, "What are you about? what is your business here?"—having joined her in that way, we went together to Paris—before the occasion that she joined me at Mitcham, I had had criminal connection with her one night in England.
GUILTY .— Six Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Justice Channell.
MR. BYRON Prosecuted, and MESSRS. DRAKE and HARRISON Defended.
FREDERICK PASCALL . I am manager to James Pascall, Confectioner, of Valentine Place, Blackfriars—this is the architect's plan of the premises which I had prepared—it is as near correct to scale as I can give it—the premises were destroyed by fire on October 1st, and the matter was afterwards put into the hands of Sergeant Cox-Peters has been in our employment about two years—I have noticed his strange manner since the fire—he did painting and odd jobs—on the Monday of the fire he had cut his left thumb, so we had sent him out on the vans to rest his hand—his work was not satisfactory—on November 19th I went to the box shop with a view of giving him notice—I asked him to give me any information he could about the fire—he said, "I did not cause the fire," or
"make the fire"—I said, "I did not charge you with the fire, I merely want you to give me any information about the fire from the time you arrived on the van up to the first fire, since I heard that you intended staying on the premises that night, which you know is strictly against the rules; therefore you must give me every particular"—he hung down his head and gave me no answer—I asked him a second and a third time: still no answer, but he buried his head in his arms and laid across the bench crying bitterly—after he had done crying I said, "Peters, there is something lying very heavily on your heart, I must know something about, this matter"—he said, "I want to go and see my sister at Twickenham, and then I will go straight to Mr. Pascall's private residence and tell him, all about the cause of the fire"—I said, "Does your sister know anything about this fire, that you are so anxious to go and see her?" "Oh no," he; said, "she does not"—I said "Then I must know all about it"—he said, "I suppose I must have caused it."
Cross-examined. I sent for Mr. Pascall—the conversation took place in the carpenter's shop after the dinner-hour with him alone—everybody else was at work—I said, "Peters, you profess to be a Christian, and you knowing the position of others, and the anxiety there is about the charges, you are implicated too, being drunk that night, and you afterwards said, 'It is not true,' and that you only did it for fun"—I questioned him a week or fortnight before the other conversation—I said, "With the profession you make, it is only right for you to clear the innocent ones," and "You ought, in the sight of God, to answer me for the sake of the innocent ones"—I do not know anything about saying anything like "Why don't you unburden yourself and tell it out to God and man," nor exactly the words "If you have done the fire it will be better for you to confess it in answer to my questions"—insubstance I told him if he had caused the fire it would be better for him to confess it—I did not mention his drunken father, nor his family, nor the conduct of his sister in a religious way—I knew he was religious or I should not have spoken in the way I did—I do not know which place of worship he attended—I live at Wimbledon—my brother, the proprietor of the premises, lives at Croydon—I did not, before he began to cry, tell him he would have to look after another job, nor that I was going to dismiss him—I went to him with that view—I did not give him notice (Mr. Drake submitted the prisoner's statement was not admissible on the ground that it had been extracted from him under pressure (see Reg. v. Thompson, 2 Q.B. Reports, 1893). On this MR. JUSTICE CHANNELL held the evidence was admissible, as the inducement to the prisoner to make his statement was not of a temporal character, such as "You will not be punished or prosecuted if you confess") Further examined—he said, "I did that, but I do not know why I did it"—I offered him no inducement to confess.
Cross-examination (continued). I have had difficulties with him—he has not always worked properly—we kept him seven weeks after the fire—I know nothing of his being chaffed by the workpeople about his religion—I might have questioned him, but not about the fire till the 19th—I know nothing about sending him with a letter to the police-station—nor about sending a letter to James Pascall asking him to dismiss the prisones—I did not suspect him till a few days after the fire, when I began making inquiries and to think about circumstances that had transpired—Straney's
name came up in conversation—I gave Cox the names of witnesses, but not of persons who might have caused the fire—I gave the police information and told them of the people on the premises, so far as I knew, and that sort of thing—I am not mistaken in the words the prisoner used—I am a little hard of hearing—the words I have given to-day are the words I used at the police-court, as near as I can tell you—I said "I spoke to him yesterday and he said I suppose I have caused the fire, but I do not know why I did it"—I sent for my brother and the prisoner then said the same thing in his presence, I then gave him into custody—we employ about 300 workmen—he asked about his wages—he had not been paid on the Friday night—the loss from the fire has been great—the insurance is Mr. James Pascall's matter—we had complained of the want of police supervision in the district—recently it is not quite so rough as it was four or five years ago—I know nothing of more deputations to the police than usual—there was one in November.
Re-examined. The place being rough is why we keep a watchman—I have found that the prisoner was absent from his work, and have complained to him about it and to other men.
JAMES PASCALL . I am the proprietor of the business—my brother, the last witness, is the manager—this is a plan of the premises—the workmen leave between six and seven p.m.—after that hour no one is allowed to remain anywhere bat in the club room, except the watchman—in consequence of its being a rough neighbourhood we employ Taylor as a watchman—after the place is locked the only access would be the goods entrance, except when the stable was open [pointing out where the fires were]—Taylor kept the keys—the damage done, roughly speaking, was about £20,000—on November 19th I was sent for by my brother—when I came down I saw him and Peters—my brother Lold me, in Peters' presence, that Peters had confessed lighting the fires—I said, "Peters, what about this. Did you cause the fire?"—he said he did not know, then "I suppose I did" (I do not recollect the exact words)—I said, "Surely you know whether you did or not?"—he did not answer—I left the room and sent for the police—on the premises were George and Stephen Chum, and Ellis and Straney—I got to the scene of the fire about three a.m.—Stephen Chum has been employed there about 17 or 18 years, his brother about two years, a man Ellis about 18 years, Straney 15 or 16, and Hall and Taylor and the watchman about eight or nine years.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner about four years—he is about 21—he has been in our employment about two years—he lived at Croydon—I knew him in connection with a mission hall, where he was a teacher—he was well behaved up to within six months of the fire—I should say he is emotional—when I saw him on the 19th he was crying bitterly—I do not think the other men chaffed him—they would not be allowed if I knew it—I complained of his work, and other things—he had full control of the place, and worked where required—he was a painter, and looked after the water—his duties took him all over the place—he had two superintendents, not four, and could appeal to those above them—he had to attend to them in detail—about a week after the fire I sent him to the police-station with a letter to Sergeant Cox—he was away an hour or two hours—my brother did not send him to me with a view to dismiss him, he went to dismiss him by my instructions—I do not remember him
telling me Mr. Fred wished to dismiss him—Mr. Alfred and Mr. Fred Pascall complained about him, but I made a good deal of allowance, and tried him again several times, and put him under the supervision of different men—now you speak of it there was a letter from Mr. Alfred, but I am not clear.
Re-examined. I put him to work under my brother and others—my desire was to continue to employ him—I reprimanded him, called his attention to the seriousness of his position, and wanted to know what he would do for a living—his father, who was intemperate, had behaved badly to him, and turned him out of the house.
HENHY TAYLOR . I live at 88, Collinson Street, Southwark Bridge Road—on Friday, October 1st, I was night watchman to Mr. Pascall—I have been in his service seven years—on October 1st the workmen went out in two batches, one at 6.30 p.m., the other after seven—a man, Clarke, was left—I shut up the premises, except the stables and the loading dock entrances—I had the key—in the club room were Stephen and George Chum, Ellis, a traveller, and Clarke, a salesman—Clarke went about nine p.m.—Straney was in the cottage at the other end—no one else was on the premises—I visited every department—workmen are not allowed to stay—a van came in with the carman and Peters upon it—I undid the doors to enable them to be backed into the loading dock—I went through the packing floor to do so—I they locked up—I pulled the shutter down of the dock—this is the screw (produced)—when the horse was put in the stable I left Peters in the stable-yard—I let out Wetherwisk about 10.20 pm.—about 10.30 Peters came to me and said, "Taylor, did you hear the dog bark in the stable?"—I was sweeping the office—I said, "No, did you?"—he said, "Yes, barking furiously"—I said, "Go to the iron doors "(they cut off the yard from the main building)," and hear what you can hear," and he went there, and came back and said, "Taylor, there's a fire"—I told him not to open the iron doors, but he disobeyed me—I went to the two Chums, in the club room; they came and found the fire in a wicker-basket, standing near the dust heap—we put the fire out quickly—Constable Morphy came—we locked the place up again—Morphy was still on the premises when I heard the cry of a second fire in the loading dock, and I opened the door to enable water to be brought—I got to the loading dock through the shutter, but who opened it I cannot say—someone rung up the fire brigade, by telephone—Straney came out of his cottage after the first fire—someone suggested strangers were in the yard, and I asked Peters to stand by the iron doors to see that no one went in or out who had no business there—the gas is usually turned out, but we lit it and searched the floors—I went outside—Peters was in the yard, but not at the iron doors where I had posted him and told him not to leave it—Inspector Howe and some firemen came on the premises—an earnest search was then made—then a fire was announced in the boiling-room—there were then two police sergeants, George Chum, and, I think, a constable there—Peters came from outside and said, "Did you hear me call?"—I said, "No"—he said, "The packing floor is atire"—at the time he came from the inner building; no one else was there to my knowledge—I ran through the fire to open the door, which was locked, as the fire was gaining upon them, and let them out.
Cross-examined. The prisoner had stayed on the premises on two
occasions to my knowledge—he may have stayed with my knowledge—on the Friday he came back after everybody was paid—he did not say he had no money—he knew I made cocoa, and asked me to put the kettle on—I had no cocoa or coffee that night—we make it in the club room—I was sweeping the office and about the place from about 9.30 to eleven—Peters came to me there—the gate in Valentine Place was about eight feet high—other property was destroyed, over which Mr. Pascall had no control—the fires are marked red on the plan—I had heard that night a noise like a signal; a whistle—bricks were thrown on the premises—I saw no stones—I suppose I included bricks and stones at the police-court—I sent three men to discover the cause—that was before the fire—I sent Peters out, and he came back and told me the yard was on fire—I had let the Chums in again before that, and they had gone back into the club room—the gate of the back premises is about 50 yards from the office—the extent of the yard is about 30 yards—Straney came over the low wall by means of some steps placed there to the fire in the yard—he has a little yard at the back of his cottage—the three burnt cottages had windows overlooking the premises—Peters did not call my attention to the iron doors the next day—I have known Peters two years—I knew he was of a religious turn of mind—I had a very good opinion of him—Peters told me he had the shutter screws in his pocket, and showed it to me—I did not tell him to keep it as a relic of the fire—he never used such words to me—no one was present at that conversation—I had no suspicion of him—I thought he assisted to put out the fires—I have said, "I saw nothing suspicious in-his conduct, I missed him at short intervals"—all five of us were present at the first fire—the fire brigade was called in at the third fire—I have said, "I made an earnest search of the premises with the fire brigade"—I took them all over the premises accompanied by the police—I was at the second fire with the two Chums, Ellis, Staney, Peters, Morphy and a policeman—at the fourth fire, Howae, three sergeants and two or three policemen were present—Peters was on the premises—I cannot say if he had his arm in a sling—I said at the police-court, "I did not tell Peters to walk to and fro," and "I found him a dozen yards from where I placed him"—it was about that.
Re-examined. The fires broke out at short intervals—in those intervals I missed Peters—a number of boys live near—I never was bothered with stone-throwing before—when I let the men out to see about the stone-throwing no one could have come in without my seeing them—I had charge of the door—no one could have got in any other way—the windows were in the upper story and there was a glass roof.
EDWIN FRANK ELLIS . I have been 16 years in the prosecutor's employ—on the night of the fire I was in the club-room with Stephen and George Chum when the alarm of the first fire was given—I went to the scene—Maltby came in—Straney did not get to the scene till the first fire was extinguished—he could get there by getting over a low wall at the back of his cottage—I saw three fires in all—when the second fire broke out I was near where the first fire broke out, examining the cinders—I do not know whether Peters was there—I did not unscrew the shutter that evening—I left after the third fire.
Cross-examined. Straney's cottage is here (Pointing to the plan) I do
not know whether there is a cottage next door—I am not particularly acquainted with the locality—I did not see Straney come—the premises were locked up as far as I know—there had been no talk to my knowledge about a stranger being on the premises, but we certainly did say that someone must have been there—nothing was said to my knowledge about someone hanging about the place—we were all excited—there were a few words between George Chum and Straney—Straney was not more excited than the others—to the best of my recollection I said, at the police-court, that a few words occurred between George and Straney, and I possibly said that Straney was dazed as if he had had a little drink—I believe I said at the police-court that I did not see Peters do anything suspicious—but he was not there—I was there part of the night after the first fire—I do not mean to suggest that I can tell what all these people did.
Re-examined I did not notice that he assisted in putting out the fire, but he seemed to be the first to give the alarm—I helped him to search for this imaginary trespasser—I went out and could not find anyone.
STEPHEN CHUM —I have been in the prosecutor's employment 17 years—on the night of the fire I was in the club room with my brother George—I saw Straney come into the yard from his house—I was looking at the first fire when the second fire broke out—I did not see who it was—I heard the alarm given—I did not unscrew the shutter—I remember the third fire breaking out—I was then assisting to put out the second fire—the fourth fire broke out when I was in the hop store—when I heard the call, I went up the steps into the packing room and met Peters coming from the packing floor—there was nobody else on the packing floor then—he came from the inside where the shutter is—the fire was on ths packing floor—he was not coining from the other side of the fire, he came from here—we were running in and Duet—when I went into the packing floor I went up the steps and through the iron door.
Cross-examined. When I saw Peters coming from the packing floor there was a large number of people there all in a small space—he came from the rolling shutter—I said at the police-court that I saw him coming from the packing floor—I do not remember say ing the words "rolling shutter" at the police-court—I saw all the men there that night—the firemen were there and policemen—when the fourth fire was announced Inspector Howes was in the bottling store with me, Mr. Ellis had gone—my brother was then in the boiling room adjoining the bottling store—Peters was away a great deal that night—I said at the police court, when this was much fresher in my memory, "I did not see him do anything that evening"—I was not asked at the police-court through what door I saw him come.
GEORGE CHUM . I am the brother of the last witness and have been about one year in Mr. Pascall's employ—I was in the club room when the first fire broke out—I saw Peters there—there were some words about a fire and he pooh-poohed about it—I did not unscrew the iron shutter that night.
Cross-examined. I saw Peters at the shutter and helped him to raise it—the fire was inside the shutter and he was trying to raise it but could not—that was after the second fire was burning in the van room—the fire was inside—I cannot say whether he has only the use of one arm—I know that his left hand had been injured that week—he had raised the
shutter about nine inches when I got there—this is correct, "The fire was the other side of the shutter, Peters was trying to get it up, I helped him to lift the revolving shutter"—I do not remember whether he had his left arm in a sling or tied up—I do not recollect that Straney and I had a few words—he was the worse for drink.
Re-examined. I did not see Peters give the alarm of the second fire, but I saw him running, and I followed him, and when I got to the shutter it was raised about nine inches and I helped him to raise it higher.
By the COURT. When I helped him to raise it he and I would be the first to get from the packing-floor to the loading-floor—Mr. Ellis came at the same time—I found a heap of shavings between the van wheel and the loading box—the glass door was fastened—the shavings were about a yard and half from the rolling shutter—there is a loading dock there about a yard off.
THOMAS MALTBY (362 l.). I was called to these premises after the first fire had broken out and was let in by the watchman, he and the two Chums, Straney, Harris, and the prisoner were there, I started from the main door and while I was in the stable yard I missed the prisoner—the other people were with me in the stable yard—the next thing I saw was the prisoner shouting out "Fire," I blew my whistle, a policeman came, and I sent him to bring the fire brigade, and remained there till it came to the workpeople's entrance—it came immediately after the third fire—while we were putting out the second fire, a third fire broke out in the bottle store—they were both very slight fires—I posted a constable in the yard and another here, and told them to prevent anyone escaping over the wall—the firemen went away after the third fire was extinguished—I then sent for Inspector Howe, and explained to him all that occurred, he said, "We will thoroughly examine the premises," we did so—he told them to lock the workpeople's door—I examined with him, the two Chums, and the prisoner, we found nobody on the premises, nobody could have been there unless they were burnt in the fire—it would be impossible for them to escape—when the last fire broke out we were still searching—we had got as far as the yard door—we had been to the boiling-room—while we were in the yard I heard another shout of "Fire," and saw Peters on the steps leading down to the glass door shouting out "Fire," and I went round to the workpeople's entrance where I had been before—that door was locked and barred as I had left it—two or three workmen were with me and two policemen—the fire was burning. fiercely on the packing floor, and the glass was falling on us and we had great difficulty in getting out, but the watchman came and let us out—he must have come through the flames.
Cross-examined. The first fire had been extinguished when I was called—the second fire occurred about ten minutes after I got on to the premises—when I first saw the prisoner he had his left arm in a sling—he did everything to assist in putting out the fire except the last one—I saw nothing suspicious about him, only that he absented himself from us—Inspector Taylor, I think it was, showed me two bricks—Inspector Howe came on the scene after the third fire, and three sergeants and ten or a dozen firemen and six of Mr. Carpenter's employe's first, and afterwards four—the three sergeants, Inspector Howe and myself went to
search the premises, and the constables I had posted in the yard remained there—there were four or five policemen and Inspector Howe and myself there when the fourth fire broke out.
JOHN STRANEY . I have been assistant-watchman to Mr. Pascall 14 years last June—I live at the cottage at the corner—there is no way to my cottage except through the door shown on the plan—at the back of my cottage there is a narrow wall, over which you can get into the yard—there is a cottage next door to me, no one lives there, it is used as a salt store, and the bottom part as a sugar store—on the night of the fire I was in my cottage until the first fire had broken out—my street-door lock was in good condition—it was locked—it is a spring lock, and only opens from the inside—no one can come in through my cottage without my knowing it, and no one did come in till the whole tiling was over—I went into the yard after the first fire—I went to the telephone after the second fire—I did nothing to the roller shutter that evening.
Cross-examined. I left work at eight o'clock and went straight home—I went out afterwards for about half an hour—I was not indoors the whole of the evening, but my wife was there—I went in as near as I can guess about 9.30—I had been to one or two places in the meantime—I had a few words with Chum, but I did not pick any quarrel with him—I had not gone to bed, nor had my wife, we never went to bed that night—I saw Peters that night, there was nothing suspicious in his conduct—I saw him next morning, and said, "Good morning"—he did not tell me he had a coat in a bag in the workshop, nor did I tell him to get over the wall and get them—I never heard anyone ridicule Peters about his religion or anything else.
JOHN HOWE (Police Inspector, L). On October 3rd I went to these premises after the third fire, and with others made a search to see if we could find anyone on the premises—we found no strangers—I remember searching the boiling-room; the two Chums were there, and Taylor and Peters—I was in the boiling-room for about 10 minutes; certainly not under—I was in the stable when the big fire broke out—when I left the boiling-room I did not see Peters, not till a couple of hours after the last fire—I saw where the straw had been burned in the stable and under the bottle-shed, and while standing in the yard I smelt a strong smell of gun-powder, I believe, and I passed that remark to the employe's, and had the stable opened, and the flames broke out in an instant—I got out over the little ladder, and through the house into the street.
Cross-examined. Peters was in the boiling-room with me, and in the packing-room—I searched the packing-room carefully—I have no doubt that Peters went through the packing-room with me and the two Chums—I met Straney and he told me he was one of the employe's—he showed me the way out—there is a short ladder on each side of the wall—I saw nothing suspicious in Peter's conduct—no one went out over the ladder to Straney's house but Straney and myself—I cannot say which way Peters went—he was not with the other men.
STEPHEN JEANES .—I am in the fire brigade—I came on to the premises after the third fire, and we accompanied the police to see if we could find any trespasser—I came back with the second engine from Southwark.
Cross-examined. When I saw Peters after the fire he had the screw of the iron shutter in his hand, he showed it to me and said, "It is a relic of the great fire," and that he was going to take it to Croydon—the door was never fastened.
JOHN HOUSE (17 R). I took the prisoner in custody at Mr. Pascall's—on the way to the station he said, "I am willing to go with you. This afternoon Mr. Pascall's brother, the gentleman who has given me in charge, came to me and spoke about Christianity and the fire, I broke down, and cried, 'If I did do it I don't know what made me do it'—that is all he said.
Cross-examined. He afterwards said, "I did not do it"—these are my notes—he said, "Mr. Pascall's brother, the gentleman who gave me in custody, spoke about Christianity which touched me, as I am that way inclined, I broke down and cried"—that was immediately after Mr. Pascall had given him in charge just outside.
WALTER MANUEL (Police Inspector L). I took the charge when the prisoner was brought in—he did not seem to understand it—I asked him if he understood it—he said, "Yes," and a minute afterwards he burst out crying—he was charged with setting fire to the premises.
DAVID COX (Detective Sergeant). This matter was put into my hands to investigate—I kept the prisoner under observation—I noticed that he acted very strangely—I followed him several times to Croydon and other places—I had taken statements from several persons on the premises, including the prisoner—on November 19th I was at the station when he was brought there—he was sitting in the charge-room, and I said, "Peters, I suppose you know what you are brought here for?"—he began to cry and was very excited—I noticed that he was upset, and left him for probably half an hour—I then returned into the room and found him more quiet, and told him he would be charged with wilfully and maliciously setting fire to Mr. Pascall's premises, in Blackfriars Road—I did not caution him first—I simply told him the charge—it was not my duty to caution him. [Mr. Drake contended that this should exclude the statement, but Mr. Justice Channell declined to exclude it.] He said, "I perfectly well remember setting fire to the first fire in the dust-hole, in the yard; the dog was barking; he told me to go and see if anyone was on the premises; we went round to the yard and heard a scuffle in the bottle shed; I looked back, and Taylor fetched me back to the iron door; the second fire broke out in that shed, but I don't remember setting a light to it or the other fires; I have had a great deal of trouble lately; I am sure I don't know what made me do it, as Mr. Pascall has been very good to me"—after the inspector had taken the charge, I searched a bag taken from the prisoner, and found a quantity of broken food and a cartridge—I gave it to the prisoner, and asked him what it was—he said, "It is a firework, throw it away," and commenced to cry—they are a penny each, this is a slow match, it burns gradually till it bursts, and throws out a flame—it is gunpowder.
Cross-examined. It makes a very large flash and a loud report—it is used on Guy Fawkes' day—they can be lit with a match—the prisoner told me that he does not smoke—I had another man under observation—I had the prisoner under suspicion for four weeks—I followed him for
three weeks to several places—I do not think that he knew that—the first confession I got from him was on November 19th—Maltby and Halse were present—he was hysterical and emotional, and I left him for thirty minutes—I was not in Court when he said, "I did not do it"—I and another officer put him through an inquisition two" or three days after the fire—he made no confession—on that day he brought a letter from Mr. Partridge—he was two hours, or it may have been more, talking to me, and made no confession at all—I took his statement in writing—I did not say, "You are the man"—I simply took down what he had to say about where he was on the night of the occurrence—I said, "Why don't you tell us where you were en the night of the fire?" I did not say, "You can confide in us"—he does not drink or smoke—I did not discover that he had no matches on the day of the fire—he said something in the cells about not being left alone.
By the COURT. He did not appear to be willing to give me information—I had difficulty in getting it from him.
EDWARD WETHERWICE . I am called George—I was with the prisoner on this evening—he had been working with me several days—he had not his arm in a sling that day, but he had a rag round his thumb—he was able to use both hands—I believe he lives at Croydon—he would not pass London Bridge going home: he would go near it, and I offered to drop him down to get his tram—he said he was going to the firm to have a clean up, and I went with him through the iron door.
Cross-examined. We arrived at Blackfriars at 9.50 on Friday night, he asked for the loan of some money which I was not able to lend him—he did not say he had not got money to get home with, or that the money was to get his ticket—I said that he had a workman's ticket—I said, "Come back, perhaps Mr. Taylor will lend you some money as he will be paying to-night"—I do not know whether Peters is a non-smoker, I was out with him four days, and he did not smoke—I believe I lit my lamp that night at Merton—I had not to go and ask a customer to light it, I believe I had matches—I did not find that I had no matches and ask Peters, nor did he say that he had none—I did not go to a customer at Merton or anywhere to get a light because neither of us had a match.
GUILTY, but the JURY stated that he was not responsible for his actions at the time. MR. JUSTICE CHANNELL declined to take this verdict, no evidence as to insanity having been called, and the JURY, having reconsidered, found a verdict of
GUILTY . Sentence was postponed for enquiries, and on Monday, January 17th, the following evidence was given:—
JAMES SCOTT (Surgeon to Holloway Gaol). The prisoner has been in the hospital since November 20th, I have formed the opinion that he is not actually insane, his mind is not very strong or well balanced, but I can-not say that there, is any mental disease, he is nervous and hysterical as it is called in women, but beyond that I can scarcely go.
Three Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. LAWLESS Prosecuted, and MR. GROGHEGAN Defended.
asleep—I was awoke by a loud noise of banging, and I felt something on my head—I did not see my father then—I found that I was bleeding—my brother came into the room, and my father also—my father said, "I wish I had not done it"; mother came in subsequently, and I was taken to a hospital—my hand was injured.
Cross-examined. I have always lived at home till three or four years ago—my father is a publican, and kept the White Bear at Hampstead—he has been out of work for the last six months, and he had no business—he has always been kind and affectionate to me—at times there were words between father and mother, but not on this day—my father had left Walthamatow to come to this house—he said he had been greatly disappointed with the business for the last three days; and said "we should have to go to the workhouse, as he was a ruined man"—he had been a little upset about one of my brothers going to sea.
ARTHUR BENJAMIN UTTING . I am a brother of the last witness—about 8.15 on the morning of December 9th I heard a loud banging noise, one quickly after the other—I heard mother screaming, and I found her running along the passage, and my father also—he had a revolver in his hand, and held it to his head—I went into my sister's room, my father came in, and I took the revolver from his hand—I said "You shall not do any more damage with this"—he said "I shall get five years for this"—I saw my sister was bleeding in bed.
Cross-examined. We had removed from Walthamstow—my father had this revolver for about 12 months, he had it to protect the house—he seemed very much upset after he had done this—I had not seen him before—he went and fetched the doctor himself—when I took the revolver from him I took it into my bedroom and threw it on the hearth—he did not seem to hold it very tight as I took it from him.
HENRY MILLS (Inspector W). About 9.15 on December 9th, the prisoner came to the South Norwood police-station and said "Please send an ambulance to 49, Portland Road"—I said "What for?"—he said "There is a doctor there who will tell you all about it, it is to take a girl to the hospital"—I said "What has occurred?"—He said "I shot her"—I said "What do you mean?"—he said "What I say, I shot her"—I said "Deliberately"—he said "Yes, I must have been mad"—I told him I should detain him for inquiries, and placed him in charge of a constable—I then went to the house—Constable Parlett came afterwards—I helped, to search the bed-room and I saw the constable pick up a small spent bullet—he handed it to me—I went to the prisoner's bedroom, and in a email box I found eleven small cartridges similar to this—I then went back to the prisoner—he said, "I suffer from these paroxysms, I'm not responsible for what I do"—to the formal charge he made no reply—next day I took him to the police-court—on the way there he said, "I intended to do her no harm, I put the revolver in my mouth next, but it would not go off."
Cross-examined. He was a stranger to me—he was undoubtedly greatly upset when he came to the station—I have made inquiries, and I have found that he has been a respectable quiet man—I found that he had paid too much for the stock of the house he had taken at Norwood—he said he had nothing for his children and himself—he asked me how the girl was going on and if he could see her.
12.30, on the morning of December 21st, I saw the prisoner; I said to him, "I have just been to the Croydon Hospital, and found your daughter, Honora, detained there, suffering from a wound in the head and a wound in the hand; and from what I have been told I shall charge you with shooting at her twice with this revolver"—he made no reply—I examined the revolver, two chambers had been recently discharged—I examined the bed, there was blood on it.
Cross-examined. He asked me how his daughter was going on—I told him she was going on—after that he calmed down greatly; at first he was greatly upset.
GEORGE L. BOTHWELL . I am house surgeon at Croydon General Hospital—the little girl was brought there—I examined her—I found a wound on the left side of her forehead, also a compound fracture on the left hand; the wound on the forehead was not serious, it was a distinct incision—I could not say what it was caused by it could be caused by a bullet—the left hand had a fracture of one of the fingers—I removed the bullet—the girl is going on satisfactorily.
Cross-examined. There were signs of powder-marks on the hand, not on the head.
ALEXANDER ROSE BONE . I am a registered medical practitioner at South Norwood, on December 9th the prisoner came to me—he said his daughter had met with an accident, that her head was seriously injured and was bleeding profusely, that she had been shot—after seeing the daughter I told him to go to the police-station—he went there at once—he was in a very excited condition indeed—he looked like a man who had run down.
MR. GEOGHEGAN called
DR. JAMES SCOTT . I am medical officer of H.M. prison at Holloway—the prisoner came there on September 11th—I have had him under close observation—his mind is not a very strong one, but he is very rational in his mind and conversation—at the time he came in he was unhinged, run down, there was great loss of power.
By the COURT. I know the circumstances of the case indirectly—he was in a state of nervous breakdown by trying circumstances and great worry—he was very much upset—I cannot call him insane.
GUILTY of unlawful wounding. To be imprisoned for a fortnight, wider medical supervision.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
Joseph Barron, a boy of eight years of age, not understanding the nature of an oath, although he went to school, was sent for instruction to St. Giles' Christian Mission; and the JURY were discharged from giving any verdict.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, FEBRUARY 7TH, 1898.