CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
ELEVENTH SESSION, HELD SEPTEMBER 10TH, 1901.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND BY
JAMES DROVER BARNETT
Short-hand Writers to the Court,
ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
STEVENS AND SONS, LIMITED. 119, CHANCERY LANE,
Law Booksellers and Publishers.
On the King's Commission of
OYER AND TERMINER AND GAOL DELIVERY
The City of London,
AND GAOL DELIVERY FOR THE
COUNTY OF MIDDLESEX AND THE PARTS OF THE COUNTIES OF ESSEX, KENT, AND SURREY WITHIN THE JURISDICTION
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT,
Held on Tuesday, September 10th, 1901, and following days,
Before the Eight Hon. FRANK GREEN, LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir WALTER PHILLIMORE, and the Hon. Sir THOMAS BUCKNILL, two of the Justices of His Majesty's High Court; Sir HENRY EDMUND KNIGHT , Knt.; Sir JOSEPH RENALS, Bart; and Sir JOHN VOCE MOORE, Knt., Aldermen of the said City; Sir FORREST FULTON, K.C., Recorder of. the said City; JOHN POUND, Esq., FREDERICK PRAT ALLISTON, Esq., and HENRY GEORGE SMALLMAN, Esq., other of the Aldermen of the said City; and ALBERT FREDERICK BOSANQUET, K.C., Common Serjeant of the said City; His Majesty's Justices of Oyer and Terminer, and General Gaol Delivery, holden for the said City, and Judges of the Central Criminal Court.
WALTER VAUGHAN MORGAN, Esq., Alderman
JOSEPH DAVID LANGTON, Esq.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
GREEN, MAYOR. ELEVENTH SESSION.
A star (*) denotes that prisoners have been previously in custody—two stars (**) that they have been more than once in custody—a dagger † that they are known to be the associates of bad characters—the figures after the name in the indictment, denote the prisoner's age.
LONDON AND MIDDLESEX CASES.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, September 10th, 1901.
Before Mr. Recorder.
582. JOHN STOCKLEY (43) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a pair of boots and £2 8s. from Henry Koop; also £4 14s. from William Horsell; also £23 7s. 6d. from Harry Fortye, with intent to defraud. Four previous convictions were proved against him.— Three years penal servitude. And
(583) WILLIAM SAVILLE (25) and JOHN SWIFT (25) , to breaking and entering the dwelling-house of David Baird; also to stealing a quantity of lead and brass fittings, the property of the London Suburban Development Company, Limited; Swift having been convicted of felony on January 25th, 1900, at the West Ham Police-court. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] SWIFT— Nine months' hard labour. SAVILLE— Discharged on recognizances.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
LADY ANNETTE CARSON . I am the wife of Sir Edward Carson, and live at 39, Rutland Gate—between 1 and 2 p.m. on August 14th I was walking by Rutland Gate—it was raining—I had an umbrella in one hand and my dress and purse in the other—the puree was attached to my wrist by a steel chain—four or five boys came along—the prisoners were three of them—Snell stopped and seized my purse—I tried to hold it for some time, and tried to push him off with my umbrella—the others stood by—they did not molest me so far as violence was concerned—the chain broke away, and Snell ran away—one of my fingers was hurt; it is not quite right now—the other prisoners ran away before Snell did—a man came from a house opposite and caught Glanfield—some days after I went to the station and recognised the other prisoners.
ALEXANDRE DURET . I am a valet at 24, Rutland Gate—on August 14th, between 1 and 2 p.m., my master pointed out something to me—I saw four boys running along Rutland Gate—I ran after them; I caught Glanfield down some mews—I caught hold of him—he said, "I have not got the purse"—I had not said anything about a puree to him—I took
him back to the lady who was robbed, who identified him and he was given into custody—I do not remember if the other prisoners were there.
HARRY BARNARD (488 B). About 1.45 p.m. on August 14th I went to Rutland Gate—I saw Glanfield there—I said to him, "Where is the purse?"—he said, "I have not got the purse; the others have got the purse"—I took him up to Lady Carson, who identified him—Glanfield said, "Peter Platt and Snell was with us"—he said that he was round there for begging purposes, and was not with the others when they stole the purse—he was taken to the station, and made a statement.
MICHAEL MORGAN (Detective, B). I first saw Glanfield when he was brought to the station on August 14th—he was charged with stealing a purse in conjunction with three others, from Lady Carson—he said "I was there with the others, looking for a crust of bread; Peter Platt was there too, and two other lads"—Peter Platt was arrested, but was liberated—the other prisoners were brought in on August 17th, and were charged with being concerned with Glanfield—Snell said, "It is quite right; we was both there with Glanney, and another one; Platt was not there; he had nothing at all to do with it"—Sines said, "It is quite right; we were there with Glanney.
WALTER SMITH (Brighton Railway Detective). About 6.10 p.m. on August 17th I was in Arlington Street—I saw Sines and Snell there together—they went into Victoria Street, and then into Buckingham Palace Road—I spoke to a constable; he got on to an omnibus, and then went to the other side of the road—I got behind the prisoners to prevent them escaping; the constable arrested them—Snell said, "My name is Williamson"—Sines said, "My name is Jones"—they were taken to the station and charged.
JOHN LAVING (428 B). I got some information from Detective Smith—I saw Sines and Snell in Buckingham Palace Road—I said to them, "What is your names?"—Sines said, "My name is Jones;" Snell said, "My name is Williamson"—I charged them at the station—they said, "We never expected to be caught by a uniform constable, so we may as well admit that we done it.
JOHN PICHERING (Detective, B).I saw Snell and Sines in the cells on the day they were arrested—after he had been charged Snell said, "Platt was not in it; there were only four of us, and you know who the other was; I took the purse and gave it to Sines"—Sines said, "Yes, that is right; there was £2 17s. 6d. in it"—Snell said, "Yes, there was £6 10s. in it, but some of it fell out as wa were running away; I threw the purse into the Thames afterwards."
The prisoners' statements before the Magistrate: Glanfield says:"On Wednesday morning, May 14th, Sines and Platt and another fellow, not in custody, met outside the Daisy at 10 a.m. A yeoman or soldier asked us to show him the urinal. I showed it to him, and after he came out he asked us to have drinks. I said, 'There are some more out here dry.' He said, 'Call them in.' He paid for beer and whisky. We went to the Packman and had more drinks. He said, 'I must go now.' Snell said, 'Let us go to Rutland Gate and get some pieces.' We saw a lady coming along. Snell said, 'If she has got a purse I am going to have it.' He
made a snatch and got the purse. A gentleman came running up; I ran down the mews, and the gentleman caught hold of me." Sines says: "It was a great temptation." Snell says: "We agreed to get the purse if the lady had one; there was no intention of using any force whatever. That is all."
Glanfield, in his defence, said that they went up Rutland Gate; that when Lady Carson came along, Snell said he would have her purse if she had one; that he make a snatch at it and ran away.
Sines' defence: It was a great temptation, and I was very hungry.
Snell's defence: We were all hungry, a and we agreed to take the purse.
GUILTY of simple robbery. GLANFIELD then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Westminster Police-court on December 11 th, 1900, and five other convictions were proved against him; and SINES to a conviction of felony at Westminster Police-court on February 22nd, 1901, five other convictions were proved against him. Snell† had been convicted as a suspected person. GLANFIELD— Twenty months' hard labour; SINES— Eighteen months' hard labour; SNELL— Twelve months' hard labour.
MR. RODERICK Prosecuted.
HERBERT SYMONDS (55, City). On August 3rd, about 8.30 p.m., I was on Snow Hill—at No. 36 I saw a window on the first floor open—I obtained a ladder—I saw the prisoner in a room—I asked him what he was doing there—he said, "I came in to sleep, and they have locked me in"—I said, "Do you work for the firm?"—he said, "No"—he threw away this small screw-driver—a glass panel had been removed—I think he had been locked in the premises—I found a cap at the end of the staircase that had been removed from the office of the Sunbeam Cycle Company, next door.
ALFRED KNOCK . I am a salesman to James Cartland & Co.—on August 3rd I left the premises at 1.30 safe and locked up—the following Wednesday I saw a broken panel; that was all right when I left—the Sunbeam Cycle Company occupy part of the premises—I have never seen this screw-driver—there is no caretaker there—the building is a public thoroughfare till 8 p.m. when the gates are closed.
GEORGE BOTTEN (261, City). I was present, while the prisoner was waiting to be charged at the station—he was sitting on a chair, and he threw something into the cell, which I picked up and found to be a small screw-driver—I said, "Why, did you throw that away?"—he replied, "What would you have done if you had been me?"
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "How I came to get into that place, the door was open. Being the worse for drink, I went in; I could not get out, and I broke the window to try and get out. I had no bad intention whatever."
HERBERT SYMONDS (Re-examined).About half an hour elapsed from the time I received information till I found the window open—nothing was disturbed in the building except the broken window—the prisoner was standing in the warehouse when I first saw him—we were outside for
about 45 minutes—if he had had any intention of showing himself he could have done so.
The prisoner, in his defence, said that he had had too much to drink, and walked into the place to sleep; that he could not get out, and that he broke the window to try and get out.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, September 10th, 1901.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
586. CHRISTOPHER WILLIAM FORSHAW (21) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing, whilst employed in the Post Office, a post letter containing postal orders belonging to the Postmaster-General. Nine months' hard labour. —
587. JOHN WILLIAM STILL (49) , to stealing while employed by the Post Office, two post letters containing 24 stamps, the property of the Postmaster-General. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Twelve months' hard labour. —
589. CHARLES GREGORY (20) , to stealing, while employed in the Post Office, a post letter containing postal orders and 10s., the property of the Postmaster-General. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Nine months' hard labour. —
590. SAMUEL DAVIS (68) , to obtaining 6d. from Emma Thorpe, and attempting to obtain from other persons sums of 1s. by false pretences, with intent to defraud, and to a conviction of felony in October, 1897, at Newington. Ten other convictions were proved aainst him. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Twelve months' hard labour. —
591. BERTRAM HUNTER (25) , to obtaining from Joseph William Walton and others 10s. and other sums by false pretences, with intent to defraud, and to a conviction of felony at the Mansion House on April 15th, 1894, in the name of Bertram Butler. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Eighteen months' hard labour. —And
(592) THOMAS WALLACE (22) and ARTHUR ROBERTS (20) , to three indictments for burglary in the dwelleing-houses of Charles Arthur Ryder and others, and to stealing therein, Wallace having been convicted of felony at Guildhall on September 13th, 1900, in the name of Thomas William Allen. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Seven years' penal servitude each.
MR. PASMORE Prosecuted.
CHARLES HUTCHINS (938, City). About 3 a.m. on August 3rd I was on duty near Pea Hen Court and Helmet Court, Bishopsgate Street Within—I heard the sound of a chain falling—looking round, I saw the prisoner leaving the door of the premises of Young's Paraffin Oil Ware-house—I chased him to Houndsditch and arrested him—I asked what he was doing there—he said he must do something to get something to eat—I took him to Bishopsgate Street Police-station, where he was charged—I did not lose sight of him—the warehouse doors are square, and open in the centre.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I heard the chain drop; I did not stop to look after it, I ran after you—I called on you to stop when you were at the corner of Wormwood Street.
Inspector Atkins—an entry had been effected, and an attempt made to force an inner door—the outer doors had been secured with one bolt at the bottom, so that by putting something through, the bolt could be raised—the inner door led into the corridor leading to the office—I found this hammer, the property of the occupier, behind the inner door, and there were marks on the door.
Cross-examined. The marks were about 2in. on the stain of the wood, which had been split.
PERCY GALIEGUE . I am an assistant clerk to Measrs. Young at 70, Bishopsgate Street—on August 3rd I locked up the premises, and made all secure about 2 p.m.—the outer door I fastened with the bolt which runs into the floor—this hammer belongs to the firm—it was kept in the ware room.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate:"I mistook the premises for a restaurant, and I thought I might be able to get something to eat." He repeated this in his defence, and said he had been looking for work, but had been drinking with an acquaintance.
GUILTY .— Six months' hard labour.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday and Thursday, September 11th and 12th,
Before Mr. Justice Bucknill.
MR. GRANTHAM, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence. NOT GUILTY .
No evidence was offered.
NOT GUILTY .
596. JOHN HARRISON (42) PLEADED GUILTY to breaking and entering the shop of Isidore Summerfield, and stealing 53 watches and other articles, his goods; also to assaulting Thomas Goy, with intent to resist his lawful apprehension. ( See next case.)
ALFRED BALL (Detective, E). I know the prisoner—towards the end of 1897 he was under liability to report himself to the police—on December 23rd, 1897, this warrant (Produced) was granted by a metropolitan Magistrate for his arrest for failing to report himself.
EVELYN POTTER . I now live at 123, Park Lane, Clissold Park—on November 7th, 1898, I lived at 43, Sigdon Road, Dalston, with my father—about six weeks before that the prisoner came to lodge there with his wife—they occupied the front and back rooms upstairs—the prisoner did not carry on any business there; we understood he was a bicycle traveller
—I was in the house when the police came on November 7th, 1898; I saw Goy there—the prisoner was at home that evening—after that evening I did not see him till about a month ago, when I identified him at the station from among a number of other men—on November 7th Mrs. Harrison went away too.
THOMAS GOY (48 JR). On November 7 th, 1898, I went with Detective Tritton and another officer to 43, Sigdon Road—I knew that the prisoner was living there then, and that a warrant had been granted—I did not know the date of it—I went to the area door—I saw Sir. Potter, the landlord—I went round into the back garden—the prisoner was in the adjoining garden—I got over into the garden and went towards him—I was in plain clothes—I said to him, "I am a police-constable, and shall arrest you for failing to report yourself"—he was four or five yards from me then—he replied, "Will you?"—he made a running kick, and kicked me on my left knee, and again several times on both legs—he caught hold of my privates with his right hand, and of my throat with his left hand—we both fell—we struggled together, and he kicked me again—we struggled for several minutes—he got away from me, and when he was four or five yards off he pointed a revolver at my head—I saw the shine of it, and also a flash—after he had fired it he got over a wall into a garden in Amhurst Road—I followed him—he fired another shot—I was about nine or ten yards away from him, and in the same garden as he was—before he fired the second shot he was running away, and he turned round and faced me, and then fired—he then escaped into the backs of the Amhurst Road houses—while the struggle was going on I called out several times, "Hurry up, men!" or some expression like it—I did not see the prisoner again after that night till August 1st last, at the Police-station—I was off duty for over a week in consequence of the kick on my knee.
Cross-examined. There were four officers with me; three were in plain clothes and one in uniform—I do not think any of us were armed—Amhurst Road backs on to Sigdon Road—the gardens in Sigdon Road may be small; those in Amhurst Road are not so small—when I went into the garden I left the other officers in front of the house—I saw them in the Amhurst Road gardens—I was exhausted, and could not get any further—this occurred at 10 p.m.—the gardens had no grass in them; they were very muddy; there had been some rain—it was not so very dark—when the first shot was fired I was just getting up—in the centre of the garden there was a low wall on each side of the garden—the house was behind me—I did not hear anything besides the report—I never had hold of a firearm in my life—when I got over the wall into the Amhurst Road garden the prisoner had not got to the other wall—there were no lights in the house—I do not think any bullet has been found.
Re-examined. I saw the prisoner's face when be was over me on the ground—the wall I got over is about 3ft. 6in.—the wall which the prisoner got over into the Amhurst Road garden was about 5ft. high—I think I heard the first bullet whizzing over my head when I was getting up.
By MR. SANDS. I do not think I said anything before the Magistrate about hearing the bullet—I did not hear a bullet the second time.
went with Goy and Roberts to 43, Sigdon Road—I went to the front door—I saw Charlotte Lucas coming downstairs with a lamp in her hand—she could gee me through the glass panels of the door—she looked in my direction, and then called out something—she put the lamp out, and shot the top bolt of the street door and ran upstairs—I ran round to a side passage, three or four doors away—I heard Goy call out, "He is at the back; come on, come on;" then shortly afterwards, "He has kicked me"—then there was a flash and a report of fire arms—I saw a figure of a man getting into the garden in Amhurst Road, then there was another report and a flash.
Cross-examined. I saw the flash soon after I got into the garden—I had to climb over some walls—I think the whole thing took about three minutes—I did not hear any bullet wiz—I searched all over the gardens as soon as it got light for a bullet, but could find none.
HENRY FOSTER (413 J). I went with Tritton on November 7th to 43, Sigdon Road—I went to the back—after climbing over several walls I saw the flash of a revolver—I heard Goy shout out before that, "Come on, come on; he has kicked me"—I found Goy on the ground in the next garden—I did not see the prisoner; I saw a shadow of someone.
Cross-examined. When I found Goy I think he was in the garden of 43, Sigdon Road—I heard two shots; there were two or three minutes between them—I did not hear any difference between the shots—I did not hear any bullet.
JOHN MCCARTHEY (Detective Sergeant, E). On July 23rd last I went with Birch and other officers to 86, New Road, Battersea—I saw the prisoner in a room at the back of the shop—I said, "Mr. Warner," and be replied, "Yes"—I said, "Not Warner; your name is Jack Harrison"—I said I was going to arrest him for shooting at a police officer—he said, "I do not know anything about it; my name is Warner"—I attempted to search him; he began to struggle—we struggled with him for some minutes, then he said, "It is all right; I am Harrison; get it over as soon as possible," and ceased to struggle—I took him to Clapham Police-station—I went back and searched 86, New Road—I was there when Birch found this revolver (Produced) on a shelf behind the door—the prisoner had at once made for that way when we first went in—it was loaded in seven chambers with ball cartridge—I returned to the station, and told the prisoner he would be charged with shooting at Goy, with intent to murder him, at Dalston—he said, "I did not shoot at Goy; I never fired a shot at all that night"—I showed him the revolver found in the house, and told him where it was found—he said, "Yes; liberty is sweet; if I could have got it I would have used it"—there were also some loose cartridges found on the shelf.
Cross-examined. As we went in I shouted out, "Mr. Warner!" because I had a reason to—he went towards the shelf as we went in—he was exceedingly cool all through—the revolver was in this old leather case (Produced).
GUILTY of shooting, with intent to disable. He then PLEADED GUILTY†
to a conviction of felony at Leicester on January 7th, 1891i.— Twelve years penal servitude. GOY was highly commended by the COURT.
MR. MUIR and MR. GILL Prosecuted, and MR. STEWART Defended.
MARY COLLINS . I am married, and am 39 years old—I work as a market garden hand—on August 2nd I was living at Hendon in a cottage at the side of Bates' cottage, with Mrs. Thompson and her husband—she used to do odd jobs—she kept the key of the cottage—on the night of August 2nd I was in the White Bear public-house—I saw the prisoner there—I had seen him before, but had not spoken to him—I knew his father; he lives next door to the White Bear—he is a greengrocer—he was in the White Bear at the same time as the prisoner—I left just before 11 p.m.—I did not notice whether the prisoner had left—I took two pints of mild beer in two bottles, wrapped in newspaper—I went down the footpath which goes to Hendon; it goes through Bates' paddock—I passed the greengrocer's shop—there was somebody in there, but I did not see who it was—I did not hear anything said—I went home by way of the paddock, because Mrs. Thompson had not come home, and I had to wait for her—I sat down on the grass—I had the two bottles of beer beside me—the prisoner came up to me after I had been there five or ten minutes—he wanted to have to do with me—he asked me for one of them—I said, "No"—he said, "It is all right if you come home with me to Willesden; my wife has gone away for a fortnight; I have got some money there"—I refused again, and said, "No; you have made a mistake"—he was stooping in front of me then—I was sitting on the grass—he then cut my throat with his left hand; he did not say anything—I saw something glitter in his left hand—there was a light in the footpath—it was a moonlight night—I had never heard his voice before—I am positive he is the man—I cannot say which way he went after he had cut my throat—I fell down from loss of blood—when I came to I went straight to his father's shop, and made a complaint there—Dr. Andrew came and attended to me, and I was conveyed on an ambulance to the infirmary—the prisoner had on some light striped trousers, and a black jacket and waistcoat, and a dark cap—next morning the prisoner was brought to the infirmary—I identified him, and said, "That is the man who cut my throat"—he was right against the bed; he did not say anything—I made a statement, which was taken down in writing—the prisoner was there, and heard what I said.
Cross-examined. I work in a farm—I have been ill lately—my brother has been helping me—he gave me 1s. 6d. or 2s. a day; he is an agricultural labourer—he gets 3s. 6d. a day; he is single—I did not constantly frequent the White Bear—I had been there four times that night after 6 p.m.—I did not spend the evening there—I went over to Mill Hill to see if I could get any more money from my brother—I could not get any—I got back about 8 p.m.; then I went
down to Hendon—nobody gave me money that night—my brother gave me 3s. 6d. the night before—I do not earn my living by prostitution—I had four half-pints of beer on August 2nd; I paid for the beer myself—I was not the worse fur drink that night—I knew the prisoner was the son of the greengrocer because I heard them talking together that evening when I was in the bar—I could not get into the cottage—after I left the public-house I sat on the ground, with my face to the fence—it was a moonlight night; I do not Know where the moon was—I was not in a dark corner underneath some trees—I was waiting to see the people go along—I had seen the prisoner about a month before in the same public-house—I had not spoken to him—when he came to the infirmary he was between two policemen—I do not know the prisoner's wife.
Re-examined. I had named the prisoner as the man who had assaulted me before he was brought to the infirmary, and said that he lived at Willesden—I did not know he lived there before that night—from where I was sitting I should be able to see and hear Mrs. Thompson when she came home—that was my motive for sitting there.
JOSEPH WETHERDON . I am barman at the White Bear, and live at 9, Trelawn Terrace, Hendon—on the evening August 2nd I was attending to the bar—I saw the prisoner and the prosecutrix there—the last time the prosecutrix came in was about 10.30—I think she left about 10.45—she took away with her two bottles of beer (Produced) wrapped in a Star newspaper—they have our label on them—I saw the prisoner's father there also—the prisoner left a few minutes before the prosecutrix—I saw no conversation between them.
Cross-examined. I have two bars to look after—I did not see the prosecutrix come in four times—the shops were all shut at 11 o'clock—the prisoner's father's shop was only partly open—the prosecutrix is not a regular customer—I know nothing of her manner of earning her living.
SARAH BONNICH . I am the prisoner's mother, and live at the Burroughs, Hendon—I keep a greengrocer's shop, which is next door to the White Bear—I said good night to my son on August 2nd at 10.40 in my shop; he was going home—the prosecutrix came to the shop at 11.15 or 11.30—her throat was bleeding—I called my husband, and sent for a doctor—Dr. Andrews came—the wound was not a very long one—I did not see what the doctor did to it, I was sent out of the room—she asked me if my son was at home when she came—I said, "No"—she said that he did it—I said, "It cannot be my son, as he has been gone home a long time"—she was taken to the infirmary.
Cross-examined. My son was going home to Neasden—he lives there with his wife—his house is four or five miles from where I live—his wife was at home at night—they live very comfortably together—they have a little boy.
Re-examined. My son lived at 17, Neasden Road—I think he used to live at 55, Gresham Road.
at 10.30 I saw through the open door the prisoner and the prosecutrix inside in the same bar—the prisoner's father was there too—I saw the prisoner and his father leave about 10.40—I was standing opposite—I did not see the prosecutrix leave—the prisoner and his father went into the shop next door—the prisoner stayed there a few minutes—I heard him wish his father good night—he went off about 10.45—he went along by Furlong's Laundry, on the left side of the Green—I lost sight of him about opposite the District Council's office—to go to Neasden I should go down the Station Road, leaving the Green on my left, and then take the footpath which brings you out near the Welsh Harp—I should say by the fields it is two and a-half or three miles, and by the road two miles further—shortly after 11 p.m. I noticed the prosecutrix coming from the direction of the Burroughs fields and enter the prisoner's father's shop—she was holding something white up to her throat—I was about 36 paces away—I passed the shop after she went in; that was about 11.10, about half an hour after I had lost sight of the prisoner—the prisoner's father came running out of the shop—he told me something—Dr. Andrews came on the scene on his bicycle—he is ill in bed now—I went into the shop with Dr. Andrews—I saw the prosecutrix there—she was bleeding from a wound in her throat, about 4 1/2 in. long—the windpipe was exposed—I assisted the doctor to treat her—he sewed it up, and I took her to the infirmary—she made a statement to me.
Cross-examined. If a person was going from the Burroughs to Hendon, and crossed the Green and left the pond on his right, he would be going out of his way—the distance from Bonnich's shop to the place where the alleged outrage was committed is about 330 paces—I saw the prosecutrix three times in July—it is a simple hedge where I saw the blood; I cannot say if there is a black-painted fence.
ALEXANDER FINDLATER . I am Medical Officer at Redhill Workhouse, Hendon—between 2 and 3 o'clock on Saturday, August 3rd, I saw the prosecutrix there—she had a wound in her throat; it had been dressed—I took the dressing off and re-dressed it—I did not take the stitches out—it was about 4in. long—she was discharged from the infirmary about 10 days ago—I was shown a pair of trousers and a coat some days later—they had brown dirty stains on them; I thought they were blood-stains with some dirt about them, but I refused to swear to them till they had been chemically examined—I cannot say if they were fresh or old stains—I did not take any close notice of them till they were-Examined by an expert—the stains on the coat, in ray opinion, were blood—I cannot say if they were recent or old.
Cross-examined. These garments were not produced to me before the Magistrate—the woman was not drunk when I saw her first—she had been drinking; I could smell the liquor—if she had been drunk at 11 I think the cut throat would sober her—I would not say if she had had a good deal of drink or not.
EDWARD KITCHEN (Detective, S). On the night of August 2nd Field gave me some information—I went to the field at the back of Bates' cottage—close to the hedge, at back of the cottage, I found these two bottles lying in a pool of blood on the grass—there is a hedge there—it is very gappy; you can see through it into the garden—I then went with
Sergeant Davy to 17, Bridge Road, Neasden, where the prisoner lives—there was a light on the ground floor—it was then 3 or 3.30 a.m.—I knocked at the door—the prisoner opened it; he was in his shirt—he went back into the room—I followed him, and said, "Bonnich, we are police officers; I want you to be careful; you are going to be charged with having cut a woman's throat in Bates' field last night, and attempting to murder her"—he said, "Me cut a woman's throat; I. know nothing about any woman"—Sergeant Davy asked him where the clothes were which he wore—he said, "Those are the ones," and pointed to some hanging on the bed—I examined them—there were damp stains on the leg of the trousers, which looked as if they were freshly made, and as if there had been an attempt to wipe them out—the prisoner's boots were handed to Sergeant Davy by his wife—they were damp, and the blacking was rubbed off—there were some other clothes, working clothes—it was a fairly light night—there was a heavy dew on the grass—I took him to the infirmary, where the prosecutrix was lying on a bed—as we entered the ward, without anything being said to her, she pointed to the prisoner and said, "That is the man who cut my throat last night"—we were in plain clothes—she made a statement to Sergeant Davy, which he took down in writing—the prisoner did not say anything—at the station he made this statement, which was taken down in writing—(Read: "I deny the charge. I had some beer; I saw the woman at the White Bear. Those blood-stains on the trousers were done by a man named 'Basil,' who punched me, about a fortnight ago, at the Lower Welsh Harp, Hendon, and my wife washed my trousers last Thursday. The bloodstains on the coat were done about three weeks ago, when a piece of steel' ran into my left wrist when at work.")
Cross-examined. The only wet stain was the one on the trousers—there was a stain just inside the front of the trousers—I cannot say if the stains were recent or old—the shortest way from the Burroughs to Neasden is across the fields—the polish on the prisoner's boots might have been taken off by the dew on the fields—he would have over four miles to walk—the hedge in the field near Bates' cottage is composed of yew stuff—a person looking through the hedge could not see the back of Bates' cottage, only the side of it—you could see into the Queen's Road—you could not see the front of the Thompsons' cottage, but you could see anybody going along the road to it—the prosecutrix could have waited at the cottage itself; there is a reason why she did not—when I called on the prisoner he was dazed, as if he had just got out of bed.
ALFRED DAVY (85 S). I went with Kitchen to the prisoner's house at Neasden on the early morning of August 3rd—he made a statement—he showed us the clothes he had been wearing—I examined the trousers, and found several stains on them; they looked like blood stains—there was a damp stain below the left knee—it looked as if it had been washed, the colour was taken out—I conveyed him to Hendon Workhouse Infirmary, where Mary Collins was—as soon as we entered the ward, and before a word was spoken, Collins pointed to the prisoner and said, "That is the man who cut my throat"—she then made a statement, which I took down in writing in the prisoner's presence—he made no remark—(Read: "I, Mary Collins, hereby declare that a few minutes before eleven on Friday
night, August 2nd, I saw Charles Bonnich, now present, whom I identify, in the White Bear public-house, the Burroughs, Hendon. I was afterwards sitting on the Green, near the pond, in the Burroughs, Hendon, when Bonnich came up to me and asked me to allow him to have sexual intercourse. I said, 'No.' He (Bonnich) said, 'I live at Willesden; my wife is away; will you let me go with you?' I again said, 'No.' He then drew a knife across my throat and ran away. I am quite positive the man I now see before me, Charles Bonnich, is the man who cut my throat.")—I examined his coat at the station—I noticed stains on the left sleeve and left front—in the inside pocket I found a paper cigarette case, which had a stain on it which looked like blood.
Cross-examined. I was in uniform when we took the prisoner into the ward—the prosecutrix would pass Kitchen's house every day—I will not say if this smudge on this cigarette case is blood—the words of the prosecutrix's statement were not her words, but were adopted by her—I wrote it—she has not seen any of the prisoner's clothes—they were produced before the Magistrate—she was present then; she saw them as a witness—I cannot call to mind that she said at the Police-court about the prisoner's clothes—the stains on part of the coat have been analysed—there is a fence at the spot of the outrage—Bates' cottage would obstruct the line of sight between this gate on the plan in Queen's Road and the spot where the blood was found—I cannot say if there was a light in the District Council's office that night or not.
Re-examined. You can hear people going along the Queen's Road from the spot where the blood was found, but not see them—Dr. Findlater handed me the report of the society who made the chemical examination I went to the society's office to try and find the gentleman who made the examination, but failed to find him.
JAMES HENRY RAVEN . I am a labourer—I have known the prisoner for a year or two—I am known as "Basil"—I never had a fight or a quarrel with the prisoner—I last saw him to speak to about three weeks before this occurred at the Lower "Welsh Harp on a Sunday evening—he said, "You don't recognise me now"—I said, "I have some idea of you"—he said, "How are you getting on?"—I said, "Oh, middling."
Cross-examined. I did not notice what coat he had on—I do not know if we had a drink—I have been convicted of being drunk and disorderly—I have been a little drunk, but not quarrelsome—I have not had my lip cut—there is a place on my lip now, but it is caused by a cold—I know Roland Wiltshire—I have never been in his company—I did not hear him say at Willesden that the prisoner had had a fight at the Lower Welsh Harp.
ROLAND WILTSHIRE . I am a railway waggon lifter, and am employed by the Great Central Railway at their works at Neasdon—the prisoner was employed there—I have worked with him as a pair mate since October 11th—I have not seen him working in this coat and waistcoat, but I have in these trousers—sometimes we wear our coats when we are working, sometimes we do not—as a rule, in July and August we do not wear them—the prisoner has had two accidents at his work, to my knowledge—on one occasion I was holding a hand hammer for him, and he was hitting it with a sledge hammer, and a piece of burr flew off, and
entered his arm—I cannot say if he had his coat on then—it made a wound in his arm—if he had his coat on then it would have gone through the sleeve—it is about four months ago—I did not see any blood—on the other occasion a piece of burr flew off a hammer and entered just by his moustache—he bled then—that was about two months ago—I cannot say if he had a coat on then—the clothes he is wearing now are the ones he used to wear.
Cross-examined. His work is to lift waggons to see if they run all right—you are liable to get marks on your clothes at the work—when we take our coats off we generally have a certain place to hang them up, but if we are near our work we hang them up where we are working—I did not see the prisoner bind up the wound on his arm—when we finish work we put our coats on—I cannot say which arm he hurt—he might have had a slight abrasion to his wrist when working by himself—I might not have known of it—sometimes he was on one side of a waggon, and I on the other—I do not know of anything that happened at the Lower Welsh Harp.
Cross-examined. That was because it was a small house.
By the JURY. It would take me three or four minutes to walk from the White Bear to Bates' cottage.
By the COURT. After I was injured I dropped down faint—when I came to I made my way to the shop.
The prisoner, in his defence, on oath, said that he did not see the prosecutrix that night; that he did not pass the spot where she was injured; that the blood on his coat was caused when he injured his arm at work; that the damp on his trousers was caused when he wished his hands after he got home; and that he had pawned his coat, and the blood was on it then.
Evidence in Reply.
THOMAS JONES . I am an assistant to Mr. Prettyman, pawnbroker, of 151, Church Road, Willesden—this ticket relates to a black coat and vest, pawned on July 22nd for 5s. and redeemed on August 2nd—I could not identify the coat before the Magistrate—if I saw a blood-stain on a garment which is to be pawned I should speak to the party about it—there were no stains on this coat when it was pawned, to my knowledge—I examined it—I should not make any remark if the stains were not blood-stains—I did not see any stains at all, to my knowledge.
Cross-examined. I cannot say what condition the piece which has now been cut out was in on July 22nd—I should not hesitate to accept that coat if the piece was put back—if that stain had been there I should have noticed it in the ordinary course of business—it might have been there—I do not identify the coat.
NOT GUILTY .
JANE MATTHEWS . I am the prisoner's wife—we have been married eight years—on the night of July 17th I was in bed with him and two children at 22, Dissal Street, Dalston—I was lying near the wall—the baby was between the wall and me, and my husband on my other side, and the biggest girl at the bottom of the bed—about midnight I felt my husband's arm come round me, and then I felt a sharp pain—I jumped up and said, "Oh, my God, Joe, what have you done?"—we had had no quarrel or words—I felt something, and I knocked something out of his hand, or tried to—I think he tried to do it again, as I felt something on my left bosom—I cannot say what it was in his hand—when I tried to get the thing out of his hand he cut me on the right side of the neck; there is a scar now—he did not say anything at all—my cousin, Mrs. Vandyke, came to my assistance—she shouted out, "Open the door, Joe"—I opened it—I did not notice what my husband did then, I rushed past him; I fainted, and when I came to I found myself on the ground in the street outside my door—I was taken to the hospital and attended to—my husband used to use this razor (Produced)—I had noticed that he was strange in his manner—he said he would go to a doctor—he said there were some men following him—he said that first about a month before this happened—he had been drinking heavily for a week—he was kind to roe, and very fond of the children—the night this occurred he thought people were coming into the house—from the Sunday night he never touched a drop of drink—on the Tuesday I was up all night with him—he said he had a headache, and then he jumped up, and said someone was coming through the window—I did not see anybody, and I pulled the blind aside for him to see, but he still thought someone was coming in—he was all right next day, and went to work as if nothing had happened—he was quite sober when this occurred, and when he thought people were coming after him.
FLORENCE VANDYKE . I am the wife of Alfred Vandyke, and live at 15, Dissal Road, Dalston—on the night of July 17th I heard cries of "Murder!" coming from the Matthews' room—I went across to the outer door, which was ajar—I went upstairs—I found their room door closed—I said, "Joe! Joe! open the door, and let us see what you have done"—something like iron or wood fell—the door opened, and Mrs. Matthews flew out and passed me—she was bleeding—I went into the room and saw the prisoner near the bed with his throat cut—I took the little girl Jane in my arms and came out—he did not say anything—the woman is my cousin—I have known the prisoner 12 or 13 years—they have been married eight years—I have not heard if he has been suffering from delusions or not.
HERMANN FELS . I am the House Surgeon at the German Hospital, Dalston—about midnight on July 17th this woman was brought in, and also the prisoner—the woman had a deep and large wound on the left side of her breast, going to the ribs, 4in. or 5in. in length, and about 3in. deep—the instrument with which it was inflicted must have been sharp; the bone had been touched, and the instrument had been stopped by it—she also had a very deep wound on the right side of her neck, going through the muscles and to the arteries of the throat—the arteries were not cut—they were serious wounds, and without prompt attention would
have proved fatal—the prisoner had a large wound, 5in. or 6in. long, just over his throat, going to the larynx—it seemed to begin on the right side, and went to the left—it could be self-inflicted—for the first few days he never spoke to anybody; then afterwards he told me he thought he must be deranged in his mind—I did not see any sign of madness in him in the hospital—his wife made a statement to me about him—I thought he must be of deranged intellect by his manner—he declined to speak; the wound in his throat made it difficult for him to speak, but not impossible—it might have been painful for him to speak—I asked him what was the reason of his action, and he told me to go and ask the Missus—I think he thought his wife was the cause of it—he did not say anything about a man following him and coming through the window—there were no symptoms of heavy drinking.
By the COURT. I said before the Magistrate: "From his general demeanour and conversation I formed the opinion that he was out of his mind."
HENRY FOSTER (413 J). About midnight on July 17th I went to 22, Dissal Street—I found Mrs. Matthews lying outside on the footway, with her throat bleeding, and also her bosom—I went upstairs, and found the prisoner lying near the foot of the bed, with a cut in his throat—he was raking at it with his fingers—I took him to the hospital on an ambulance—he said, "It is all right; I did it; leave me alone"—at the hospital he said, "She knows all about it; ask her"—I said, "What was it done with?"—he said, "My razor"—I found the handle on the bed—he was very excited, and seemed to be strange in his manner.
CHARLES GROVE (Police Inspector, J). Shortly after midnight on July 17th I was called to Dissal Street—I went into the bedroom which had been occupied by the prisoner and his wife—I found a razor blade lying under the grate covered with blood—the stains were dry then—I arrested the prisoner at the German Hospital on August 6th, and explained the charge to him—he said, "Yes, that is right"—I did not explain it to him before because of his condition—before the Magistrate he said, "I do not remember anything about it."
Prisoner's defence:"I do not know anything at all about it."
GUILTY, but insane at the time. — To be detained during His Majesty's pleasure.
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, Sept 11th, 1901.
Before Mr. Recorder.
601. CHARLES HAZELL, (61) , to stealing a gold pencil case, the property of Cosmo Gordon Lang, and to a conviction of felony at this Court on September 11th, 1900. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Three other convictions were proved against him. Six months' hard labour. —
602. EDWARD BURTON (60) , to stealing a box of butter, the property of the London and South-Western Railway Company, and to a conviction of felony at South London on May 10th, 1899. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Eight other convictions were proved against him. Twelve months hard labour. —
603. JOSEPH HENRY MAYNE (33), to stealing cheques for £150, £500, and £269, while employed in the public service; also to making certain false entries in a cash book of the Commissioners of Inland Revenue, his employers. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] He received a good character. Three years' penal servitude. —
604. JULIUS STEIN (31) , to forging and uttering the endorsement to a cheque for £30; also to stealing £4 15s. 9 1/2 d. of Lazarus Bernstein, his master, and to a conviction at Clerkenwell on October 15th, 1897. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Eighteen 'months' hard labour. —
605. ALFRED BROWN (33) , to wilfully damaging a plate-glass window, the property of Albert Wynne Waring; also to a like offence on the plate glass window of Lloyd's Bank, Limited. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Six months' hard labour. —£
606. JOHN REID (39) , to obtaining two cornets, a concertina, and a gold coin by false pretences, and to a conviction of a like offence on September 12th, 1898. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Two other convictions were proved against him. Three years' penal servitude. —
607. FRANK FAIRLEE WILKINSON (37) , to feloniously obtaining £5 16s. by means of three forged credit notes; also to forging and uttering a warrant for £1 18s. 6d. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Six months in the second division. —
608. DOUGLAS STEELE KENDRICK (30) and ELLEN KENDRICK (33) , to forging and uttering a request for £27, with intent to defraud the Pearl Life Insurance Company; also to obtaining £27 6s. from the Prudential Insurance Company by a written statement as to the death of a man named Crisp; also to obtaining £22 3s. from the Wesleyan and General Insurance Company; also £28 16s. from the Royal London Friendly Society by means of a forged instrument; also £26 8s. from the Royal Liver Friendly Society. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] D.S. KENDRICK, Twelve months' hard labour; E.C. KENDRICK, Three months in the second division. —
609. JAMES GAMAGE (38) , to embezzling £3 3s. 2d., £1 2s. 3d., and 15s. received by him on account of Frederick Chapman, his master; also £2 12s. 6d., the money of his said master; also to forging and uttering the endorsement to orders for £1 15s., £1 2s. 3d., and £3 3s. 2d. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Three months in the second division. —And
(610) FRANK CASTLE (21) , to three indictments for forging and uttering three requests for the payment of money; also to forging and uttering a receipt for £4 18s. 6d., with intent to defraud. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] He received a good character. Six months in the second division.
611. WILLIAM BOXALL (30) , Robbery with violence on John West, and stealing a watch-chain and 10s., his property. The prisoner stated that he was GUILTY of robbery without violence, and the JURY found that verdict. (See Rex v. Routledge, page 673.) Nine summary convictions of assault were proved against him.— Twelve months' hard labour.
MR. CONDY Prosecuted, and MR. METHUEN Defended.
JOHN ARTHUR GILBERT . I am general manager to Hepworth & Co., Ludgate Hill, and occasionally do a little money lending on my own account—I received this letter from the prisoner—(Proposing to borrow money, and stating that he was the landlord of a house in Canonbury Street, Islington, and that the furniture there was his own property.)—the
prisoner then came to see me about borrowing money, and on September 20th I lent him £22 10s. by cheque on his promissory note and some documents which are quite worthless—he said that the furniture would fetch £70 under the hammer—he came again on November 2nd about a further advance, and gave me this bill for £7 (Produced), payable in one month, and offered to give me a piano as security—I told him I should require a statutory declaration, which he gave me—I was present when he made it—(This was a declaration by G.T. Wood that the seven octave Dalmaine's cottage piano, No. 7025, on his premises at Canonbury, was his own property, and was not charged or pledged in any way.)—I took proceedings, got judgment, and put in an execution—he then put in this statement, saying that it was the property of another person—I got nothing.
Cross-examined. I had only had dealings with the prisoner once before—I believe he had this declaration written when I saw him—I did not know at that time that he had a piano at 43, Canonbury Street, and that it was going to be taken to No. 35—I have obtained judgment and got the debtor's costs—I have levied execution, but have not got a farthing—there was a bill of sale, and I had to withdraw the man in possession—this statutory declaration was given for £36 for this and previous bills—I had a promissory note—I went to the prisoner with Mr. Peters—I believe the declaration was read to the prisoner.
EMILE LUDWIG UHLRIC PETERS . I am a commissioner for oaths—I remember the prisoner coming on December 2nd and making this declaration—I did not read it to him, but I asked him if the contents were true.
J. A. GILBERT (Re-examined). He told me that the piano was at 35, Canonbury Street; that was the only address I had—that was put in in Mr. Peters' presence before it was sworn.
E.L.V. PETERS (Re-examined). If the "35" was added after the body was made, I cannot tell whether it was done in my office.
Cross-examined. If the figures were put in then it would not have been an unusual occurrence—alterations are made sometimes.
MARGARET ESTHER MCDONALD . I am the wife of James McDonald, of 35, Canonbury Street, Islington—I have lived there 50 years—the prisoner has lodged there from March twelvemonth—he was lodging there last November—he had a bedroom and the use of a parlour, and paid 4s. 6d. a week—he never had a piano in my house.
Cross-examined. I know 43, Canonbury Street—I think the prisoner's daughter lives there—he certainly had no piano there.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated, on oath, that when he filed up the statutory declaration he was living at 35, Canonbury Street, and had a piano at Mr. Danvers', his second cousin's, at No. 43; that he could not say how the figures "35" came into the declaration, as he should have put "43"; that the "43" was not filled in when he signed it, but had been filled in since; that the body of it was his writing, but he put no number in, as he had had dozens of transactions with the prosecutor; that he had sold the piano for cash, but had not got a receipt; that Mr. Danvers was in Devonshire, and nobody was present from No. 43.
GUILTY .— Six months' hard labour.
PERCY RICHARDSON . I am manager of the Daimler Motor-car Company—the prisoner was in their employ as a turner and fitter—these articles (Produced) are the property of the Company, value about £12 3s. 6d.; I presume they have not been sold, but we cannot trace them—there was no need for the prisoner to have them unless he was going to fit up a carriage—there is a search-light here; he had no authority to take that—we missed them between July last year and July this year.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I have a list of all the places you have been sent to, and there is only one case when it was necessary for you to take anything with you—a workman has no right to help himself—we only have a few hands for repairs, and when a man goes to an outside job he gets a pass for whatever he takes away—nothing of that kind had been done—there was only one case where anything was required.
HARRY BENFIELD . I am foreman of this Motor-car Company—the prisoner worked under me—when he required anything it was his duty to come to me, and I give them to him—if he did not use the parts he took away he would return them—he had no authority to take them without my directions—it was his duty to make out a list of what he took away—none of the articles are included in any list.
Cross-examined. I never asked you for them; I did not know you had got them—Parker is the storekeeper, and if he was out you would have to wait till one of us came back—you attended to a job nearly six months ago—I do not know whether you could make any money of them; we should sell them for £11 or £12, but we make them ourselves.
ARTHUR ALLEN (Detective Sergeant, T). In consequence of information I went to 10, Cumberland Crescent, Hammersmith—I searched a room occupied by the prisoner, and found a tin box containing these articles, and some clothes and drawings of motor-cars—I arrested him on this charge; he made no answer to it—he was in custody on the other charge.
H. BENFIELD (Re-examined). None of these parts are stamped with the Company's trade mark; the only thing stamped is the box.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I took the articles away to use on a job, and took them away, not thinking of the cost."
Prisoner's defence: I have been in the habit of being sent to work with materials and tools; we do not know what we want till we are at the job, and if it is 10 miles away we have to come back for things; there is no necessity to take things back when we got them; we could not make any use of them.
NOT GUILTY .—Sentence on the bigamy indictment— Eighteen months' hard labour.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday, September 11th, 1901.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
616. REGINALD JAMES WRIGHT (21) , to two indictments for stealing £10, belonging to Oliver Williams and another, his masters, and two postal orders for 1s. and 5s., belonging to William Hollins, his master. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Nine months' hard labour. —
617. FREDERICK JOHN PRIDMORE (19) , to forging and uttering a request for the delivery of two photographs and frames, the property of Alfred Thomas Field. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] One month's hard labour. —
618. JOHN McINTYRE CAMB (32) , to embezzling cheques for £25 and £12 6s. 6d. received by him on account of Brooks, Phillips & Co., his masters. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Nine months' hard labour. —And
MR. GREENFIELD Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended.
JOHN ALOYSIUS RAYHILL . I am superintendent writer to the Army Clothing Department—I lived at 210A, Queen's Road, Battersea, in July—on July 13th, shortly after 7 p.m., I went into the wine bar of the Windsor Castle, near Victoria Station, and from there to the Duke of York, with a man who made my acquaintance in the Windsor Castle—whilst having a drink in the Duke of York the prisoner and another man came in and joined in the conversation about nationality—I disputed that the man I was with was an Irishman—he appealed to the prisoner, who insisted that he was a genuine Irishman—among other matters, the prisoner pulled out his watch and chain, and said, "My watch is a heavier watch than yours"—in a moment of forgetfulness I took out my watch and chain, and handed them to the prisoner, who handed it and his own watch and chain to the man who came in, and the man bolted out of the bar with the watches, and the prisoner, with the man I had originally met, and another man I did not see, pinned me to the counter—the man I had met held me by my left hand, and the prisoner by my right, and put his foot on my ankle, and the other man held my head—immediately I was released I appealed to the manager, and said that I had been robbed—he said he saw nothing of it—they all bolted—I followed them, and saw the prisoner turning a corner sharply 70 or 100 yards from the public-house—I ran and held on to him—I said, "Give me my watch and chain; you know where they are gone to"—he replied that he had lost his watch and chain too—I said, "I will hold on to you, and give you in charge"—I held him till I handed him over to Police-constable Bell, and charged him with stealing my watch and chain—I value them at £30; they were gold.
Cross-examined. There were about half-a-dozen in the bar—I was in the Duke of York five to ten minutes before the prisoner came in—the prisoner drank with the man who came in, and with the man I originally
met, who paid for the drink—the prisoner found surety for £200—only the swivel, or the ring, of my watch could be seen—I have been seven years in London—this was all done like steam clockwork—the prisoner said at the station, "I have lost my watch, value £5"—I was sober—I had left the Clothing Department at 1.30—I had been home.
JOHN BELL (126 A). About 7.15 p.m. on Saturday, July 13th, I saw the prisoner in a crowd in Brewer Street, near Victoria Station—I went to see what was the matter—the prosecutor said, "I want to give this man in charge; he took my watch and chain"—I arrested the prisoner—he said, "You have done wrong; I have got no watch and chain, so you had better let me go"—this is my note—on passing the Duke of York public-house on the way to the station, the prisoner said, "We were in there in conversation with the landlord"—I took him into the bar—we came out of the private bar and asked the landlord if he heard the conversation with this man, and the landlord said, "I know nothing about it"—when charged at the station the prisoner said, "I have lost my watch and chain, valued at £5"—I searched him, and found on him £2 in gold, 13s. 6d. silver, and 4 1/2 d. copper, two latch-keys, and a pair of scissors—he refused his address—he gave his name as William Ryan—both the prosecutor and the prisoner were sober.
Cross-examined. He said he refused to give his address because he did not wish his people to know it—the Magistrate refused bail—prisoner was outside, and I was looking for him this morning—he has a good character—on the way to the station he used the words, "I know nothing about his watch; all I know is, I have lost mine"—I said before the Magistrate, "Coming through Allington Street, the prisoner said, 'The barman knows all about it; I was in conversation with him' "—he said, "The landlord."
Evidence for the Defence.
ALBERT YARD (Detective Sergeant, A). In the course of my inquiries in this case I ascertained that the prisoner had been employed for six years by Mr. Jones, a builder, who is here, and who was the prisoner's surety for £200—before that he had been employed as porter and link man at the Palace Theatre of Varieties, and by Mr. D'Oyley Carte at the Savoy—he bears a good character.
Cross-examined. I have just heard that Sergeant Burrell is here—I have not known the prisoner in the name of Schofield—he was known at the Palace Theatre and at the Savoy as William Stutchfield.
Re-examined. I have heard nothing against the prisoner's character.
FREDERICK JONES . I am a builder and decorator and buyer and seller of property, at 11, Camden Square, Camden Road—for six years the prisoner has worked for me off and on—he is trustworthy—I was his surety for £200—he was employed at the Palace Theatre seven years and for Mr. D'Oyley Carte—he was a dresser, and had charge of jewellery in the dressing-room.
Cross-examined. I knew him up to July 13th and up to now.
By the JURY. I could pur him to work to-morrow.
Evidence in Reply.
and convicted of larceny about three years ago—it was for stealing ham outside a shop—I have frequently seen him with convicted thieves in the Edgware Road up to about July 13th—I can name them.
Cross-examined. I have made inquiries about the prisoner—I saw him yesterday morning outside the Court, but I did not know he was in custody till I saw him in the dock this morning—I am certain he is the man who was convicted at Marylebone—I could produce the papers to-morrow morning—his sentence was under two months—I have seen him with thieves in Marylebone—he is a native of Marylebone—I have seen him at different hours and day after day—I am certain he has not been at work all the time.
FREDERICK JONES (Re-examined). I have employed the prisoner at Marylebone, King's Cross way, and other places, four or five days a week sometimes, and at my private house at Forest Gate, and I have had hundreds of pounds of stuff lying about—I have property at King's Cross, Caledonian Road, Camden Town, and Forest Gate—he may have been away two or three weeks or a month; I do not keep a record—he lived at Dalston.
GUILTY .— Nine months' hard labour.
NEW COURT.—Thursday, September 12th, 1901.
Before Mr. Recorder.
(623) EDWARD HARRISON (31) and GEORGE MURRAY (42) , to stealing a portmanteau, a smoking suit, and other articles, the property of the London and North-Western Railway Company, both having been before convicted; Harrison** on December 6th, 1899, at Guildford, and Murray** at Marlborough Street on February 6th, 1901, in the name of Charles Manley. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Eighteen months' hard labour each.
MR. OLIVER Prosecuted.
EMILY HAYLOCK . I am the wife of Henry Frederick Daniel Haylock, a cabman, of 35, Outram Street, Islington—about 1 a.m. on August 20th, I went to bed—I had been round the house and seen that everything was right, and had fastened the windows—I saw that the parlour door was fastened on the outside—we only occupy the lower part of the house—my husband came home from work about 2.5—I heard nothing till 5.30 a.m., when I was knocked up—I found the parlour key gone from the kitchen shelf, and I missed from the parlour a cape lined with silk, an overcoat, a Sheffield plate cruet, and a bodice, value together £5—someone seemed to have got in by the window, which opened on the street, with no area in front—the window was wide open, the catch had been pushed back—I went to the Police-station—about 11.30 a.m. I was
called there again, and was shown a cape, black bodice, and alpaca shirt, which I identified as part of the property that was stolen—I had not seen the prisoner before I saw him at the station.
— HUBBARD (642 Y). Just before 2 a.m. on August 21st I was on duty at the bottom of Outram Street, and saw the prisoner and two others go from Outram Street to a coffee stall in York Road—the prisoner had a cup of coffee, and the other two stood on the footway—I went towards them, and as soon as I got to them the prisoner set down his cup, and they all went down York Road towards King's Cross—I was in uniform—I had never seen him before—about 2 p.m. I saw the prisoner at the station, and identified him immediately—I did not pick him out from others—it is about 300 yards from the coffee-stall to 35, Outram Street—the prisoner came from the direction of Outram Street.
JAMES HAYES (Police Sergeant, 52 Y). At about 6 a.m. on August 21st I was called by Mrs. Haylock and her husband to 35, Outram Street—I went and found this small piece of wire lying under the window sill, as if it had been passed over the catch, and the catch forced back; several spent matches were under the window sill—a small table was moved under the window—the parlour door was locked from the outside—it is a very dark place, and it is quite possible that anyone going by would not notice the window being open; there is a lamp at the corner, and another at the end of the street, that makes this place very shady—no report was made at the station by the policeman on the beat that the window was open, so he had not noticed it—when I saw it the window was closed.
THOMAS POWELL (Detective, Y). About 10.40 a.m. on August 21st I was in Caledonian Road, and I saw the prisoner and some other men going at a very quick rate—in consequence of some suspicion I followed them—the prisoner was carrying this bundle, and he gave it to one of the men with him—they went through Charlotte Street into Barnsbury Road and Penton Street—one man left the prisoner and a third man, and went into Chapel Street, Islington—I was covered by a barrow in the road, knowing that the prisoner and one of his confederates knew me—I kept them under observation for 10 minutes—a whistle came from the direction of Chapel Street—the prisoner and the other man left the place where they were standing and were proceeding towards Chapel Street, when I bounced out and seized the prisoner who had the bundle—the other man ran away—I asked the prisoner what the bundle contained; he said some clothing, and that two men gave it to him, and asked if he wanted to earn a couple of bob to pawn it—I said I had seen him pass two pawn shops—he said, "I will plead guilty to having it in my possession, but not to stealing it"—not a word had been paid about stealing it—he said, "I don't know who the two men are; I never saw them before"—I took him to the station, and called the prosecutrix, and showed her the property—I told the prisoner I should charge him with committing a burglary at 35, Outram Street that morning—he made no reply—as I was searching him he said, "I suppose I shall have to go through it."
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that two men asked him if he would like to earn 2s. by pawning the articles, and that he knew nothing about the burglary.
goods were wrapped there was an address, "Mrs. Morgan, 15, Lyon Street, Caledonian Road"—that is where the prisoner lives.
The prisoner then added that he went home for a piece of paper because the bundle was in a bit of sacking, and the men asked him if he could get a piece of paper.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY** to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell on March 6th, 1900, in the name of Alfred Smith. There was another indictment against him.— Eighteen months' hard labour.
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted.
ISRAEL VERNON BLOOMFIELD . I am Deputy Registrar of the Royal Naval Reserve at the Mercantile Marine Office, Bock Street, East London—I know the prisoner as a Royal Naval Reserve man—such men have not necessarily been in the Royal Navy, but they have joined the Naval Reserve, and have had naval training—some of them have served in the Navy, and some in the mercantile marine—they are entitled to £6 a year, payable quarterly, or if they are on a long voyage they can get remittances—to get that payment particulars of their voyage in a British ship must be submitted to me—I should enter the particulars and the date of the voyage—the deputy registrar initials the articles at the time the man signs, when he starts on the voyage and when he finishes—Naval Reserve men are not bound to be constantly at sea, except for reasonable intervals—men of the prisoner's standing may elect to serve on land, but he would have to comply with the regulations whether on land or at sea—if he goes to sea it must be on a British ship—these are the articles of the Morocco, in which, opposite No. 7, I find John Lomas signed on as an A.B., and there are the initials "J. R. G." of a deputy registrar—the articles in blank are supplied by the Board of Trade, and the whole crew signs before the ship goes away, at an office in the presence of a deputy registrar; then the captain keeps the articles during the voyage—on the voyage an official log must be kept—this is the official log of the s.s. Morocco and I find in that, opposite "John Lomas," No. 7, the entry, "Failed to join," and then on a subsequent page a statement is made by the master or mate that that person failed to join—the master would write that after the entry is made in the log, because he has to account for all his crew—this is the certificate book, RB 2, for the Royal Naval Reserve, that records the dates of the prisoner's engagements and discharges—I find an entry here purporting to show that he took his discharge from the Morocco on June 22nd, and at the end of the entry are the initials "I. V. B."—the Morocco was going to North African ports, and the voyage took 25 or 26 days—these initials are mine, but are not written by me or with my knowledge or authority—on the articles there are the amounts of the wages the men earn during the voyage—they are paid at the end of the voyage, and on coming up they put "Received," and we sign it—the fact of their receiving the money is itself a proof that they have taken the voyage—if I had known of the "Failed to join" I should not have initialled it—this book, if it had been properly signed by me, would be
given back to the seaman to take to the proper official, and would be a voucher which would entitle him to the payment of the Royal Naval Reserve gratuity.
EDWIN GILES PORCH . I am a deputy registrar in the employment of the Board of Trade at the Poplar office—it is part of my duty to pay the retaining fee to Reservists—for the purpose of seeing whether the money is payable I require the production of the man's certificate, a book like this—I have to see whether the initials of the representative of the Board of Trade are in this book against the man's service before I pay the money—the prisoner brought this book to me on July 1st; I knew him—it was not necessary for him to say anything, and I do not remember him saying anything—I looked at it and paid him 30s.—he signed this receipt for 30s. on a separate paper—at the time I handed him the money I believed the entry in the certificate to be a true entry signed by Mr. Bloomfield—from time to time the prisoner had been in the habit of coming to the office to receive money, principally he went to Dock Street—other gentlemen besides myself paid—if there is a good reason for a man not joining a ship, there is a proper form which a man should fill up explaining why he did not join—that would be forwarded to the Registrar-General, and it is in his discretion to allow or refuse the payment of the gratuity—if he missed his ship through illness or any reason the gratuity might be paid, although he did not serve.
FREDERICK CLEVELAND (Detective Officer). I served the summons on the prisoner—I showed him the certificate book, and pointed out the particular case, the entry in question—he said, "It is my book, but I do not know whether I did it, or whether it was anybody else; I suppose it was done while I was in drink. I know it means being dismissed"—he appeared to the summons.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "It was done through a drop of drink, but the money was due to me."
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that he did not remember the entry being put in the book.
GUILTY .— Three months' inprisonment in the second division.
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, September 12th, 1901.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. KYD Prosecuted.
WILLIAM VALLANCE. I live at 5, Precillian Road, St. John's—I am Superintendent Registrar for Births, Deaths and Marriages, and Clerk to the Guardians of Whitechapel—on the afternoon of August 14th I was on my way home from the office and in Vallance Road—when opposite Durward Street I was hustled by three men who made away from me—I lost my chain and the belongings—I was wearing a double chain, one containing my watch, and the other a gold match-box—the chain passed through a button hole of, I believe, this waistcoat, and the coat was like this one—the match-box dropped, and I picked it up—I signalled to a constable,
and went in pursuit—I followed the constable, and found the prisoner in custody—he is one of the men—he immediately said, "Did you see me take it?"—I said, "No, I do not know who took it, but you were there"—I estimate the watch at 15 guineas—I heard no cry of "Fire!" and the road was in its normal state.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. It was taken so suddenly that I did not see it taken.
ARTHUR STENT (383 J). About 3.30 p.m. on August 14th I saw the prisoner and two others hustle the prosecutor and run away—I gave chase—I was about 30 yards off—the men ran through Durwood Street, Court Street, and across the Whitechapel Road towards the London Hospital—I gained 20 yards when I passed the second corner—in the Whitechapel Road they split up, and the prisoner ran towards the London Hospital—I caught him at the corner of Mount Street—as soon as I caught hold of him, and before I said anything, he said, "I have not got the watch"—I brought him back to the prosecutor, to whom he said, "Did you see me take it?"—I did not lose sight of him—there was no crowd, and no cry of "Fire!"
Cross-examined. I did not say to you when I came up, "What have you done with the watch and chain?"—as I ran past the prosecutor he said that he had lost his watch and chain, but I did not stop running.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I was standing outside the public-house next the Pavilion. I heard a shout of 'Fire!' I saw a small crowd running through Vallance Road. I turned the corner and went into Whitechapel, outside the hospital. I stopped, and the constable came up and arrested me."
The prisoner produced a written defence to the same effect, and added that the constable came up and said, "What have you done with that watch and chain?" and that he told him he knew nothing about it.
GUILTY .—A conviction at the Thames Street Police-court in August, 1899, as a rogue and vagabond was proved against him.— Twelve months' hard labour.
MR. RODERICK Prosecuted, and MR. ABINGER Defended.
HERBERT JAMES GODDARD BEECH . I live at 150, Brixton Road—I was introduced to the prisoner about the beginning of April by Mr. Beazley for the purpose of buying a tobacco business—the prisoner was carrying on a wholesale tobacco business in Mark Lane—I purchased it for £240—this is the deed of assignment—in one clause the prisoner undertakes not to carry on business within 20 miles of the City during five years, directly or indirectly, under a penalty of £500—I was not satisfied—the chief customers were the City Cigar Bonders' Company, of 10, Market Parade, East Finchley, which I discovered was Sekjer, because he bought of them—he induced me to buy the Finchley business by stating that the takings were between £10 and £11 a week, showing a gross profit of £4 to £5, and leaving a net profit of £2, after paying rent, rates, and taxes—I was shown this book, which shows a gross profit of
£4, by the prisoner—believing that statement and the book, which is signed "Sekjer," I paid him £50 cash, and gave him a bill for £90, for the assignment (Produced)—I did not find the business as stated on the Monday and Tuesday, and on the Wednesday I asked the manager, Ardouin, about it, and he produced these papers.
Cross-examined. I have told the Jury absolutely everything—before I was a wholesale tobacconist I was in the Army eight to ten months—I was a Volunteer—before that I was a commission agent, at 22, St. Mary Axe—I tried to buy and sell businesses—I never bought or sold one—I lived on money lent me by a friend—Mr. Beazley is a friend—I do not know what he is—I knew him about two months before I went to South Africa, and since I have come back—I have lived in the same house since the beginning of March—I knew nothing of the tobacco business, but the prisoner stayed with me at £2 a week salary to teach me at 67 and 70, Mark Lane—he taught me nothing—he did not try—I paid him £6 for my month's instruction—he did not sue me for that—Mr. Morley is the friend who advanced me money for this business—the Finchley Road business I paid for myself—Morley gave me the cheque for £50—I still owe him for it—I mean the Finchley business is my business—I shall pay the costs of this prosecution—Mr. Rose was my solicitor in the purchase—I examined the business at Finchley Road on the Friday before June 3rd, before I purchased—Mr. Beazley was with me—I took stock with Beazley—according to the figures Beazley put down, the value was a little over £100—there were discrepancies—he charged me too much for stock—the value of the fixtures was about £25; I was told £40, but I do not believe it, nor admit that he told me they were worth that; what do I know about taking stock?—Beazley knew nothing—it was valued at £100 by the prisoner, and I accepted it—700 dummies were charged, and there were only 300, and there were other discrepancies—he was going to charge £110, but he came down to £100—I took his word—I have not paid for all the stock—I have sold some retail—where was I to put the money but in my own pocket?—the prisoner is a foreigner, but he speaks English well—I have had nothing back, acting under instructions—I applied for a warrant on June 6th—I settled the business on the Tuesday and the Wednesday—my manager was supposed to open the shop—I came about 1.30 a.m. on Tuesday—I got to Mark Lane from 8.30 to 9 a.m.—I served behind the counter at Finchley till about 5.30 on Tuesday—I went about 1.45 on the Wednesday—I left between 4.30 and 5.30—I smoked Danish cigar—the warrant was executed in about three weeks—the prisoner went abroad—I have had nothing to do with trying to induce the prisoner to pay back the money and costs of this prosecution—I believe that was mentioned by Beazley—he told me the prisoner had been trying to settle, and that I might have my bill back and costs—I said, "Do not bring me into the matter; it has nothing to do with me; I leave it in the hands of my solicitors"—Mrs. Sekjer saw me at Beazley's house about it—I believe Mr. Rowell was there—the bill has been discounted—I did not say I should be satisfied with the return of the bill and £90 costs—Mrs. Sekjer said her husband was wrong, and she would pay me my money back—I did not buy for stock and fittings, but because the takings
were said to be £10 to £11 a week, and now I am losing £1 a week, my manager being there—these post cards are in Beazley's writing—the suggestion about £30 came from the solicitor—he said he had received an offer of £30 to let the case hang up, or something, and not to be heard of again—my manager gets 17s. a week and commission on gross takings—I never heard that Ardouin expressed his intention to ruin the prisoner.
Re-examined. The prisoner told me one or two things about labels—I have since received claims for payment for stock—Beazley is a mutual friend—the prisoner knew him before I did—he busied himself in the business, but not under my instructions—the warrant was taken out on June 8th—I have not given instructions not to execute it; I have given all the information I could.
CHARLES ARDOUIN . I am a tobacconist's manager at 81, Chaplin Road, Parliament Hill, the business sold by the prisoner—I received this note in the prisoner's writing: "Please make your book up at once with a little increase weekly; I will sign it on Monday morning, when I am at Finchley again. SEKJER"—I afterwards saw the prisoner, and he instructed me how to make it up with figures which do not represent the real takings—I made my accounts right with this other book, which shows the real state of affairs between me and the prisoner from May 17th to 24th, and signed by the prisoner, showing a credit of £7 7s. 6d. and a debit of £6 14s. 3d., leaving a balance of 13s. 3d. as against 18s. 6d. in the book, which on May 17th showed 19s.—that and the other periods show a balance of about double the real figures in the papers produced, which I kept—I had no idea the business was going to be bold, I did not think of the purpose of it—when Beech bought the business I continued as his manager—on his complaining of the takings I gave him these papers.
Cross-examined. I am 21 years of age—I do not admit that I committed a fraud—tho whole of this book is faked up and fictitious—the date is February 19th, 1901—the torn-out leaves belong to it—the entries are my writing—I do not know the writing from April 13th—the prisoner brought me the book with that writing in and told me to put in the three weeks—I was in his employ four weeks—I know his writing—this is not his—I made up this par✗e under the prisoner's instructions—the note came by post—I have seen Beazley eight or nine times—I have never been out with him—I kept books—the prisoner took them away after I made these entries—there was a cash book and stock book for sales—it is not one of these—I had a book in which I entered the money, so that he would have a record of goods sold, double the size of that book and single entry—I only put the amounts—I put the amount I sold in the cash book—the "5s."and other sums entered here represent sales—the little book refers to the kind of goods sold—that part totals only to 4s. 7 1/2 d., but one or two items I may have forgotten to put down—when the prisoner came he always referred to it—the words "Settled," and these initials are the prisoner's writing, I believe—no other tobacco business was done at Finchley by the prisoner—I never heard that the prisoner added wholesale sales to the retail sales—I did not know it was a fraud, but I know now—I thought the increase represented sales at
the prisoner's office—I called out the goods at the stock-taking for the sale—Beazley was there part of the time—Beech was not there the whole time, only the prisoner and I—this large book was the stock book—the total is £99 7s. 2 1/2 d.—the stock was put at £110—that was afterwards reduced—there were not very much fixtures—I opened the shop about 9, and about 11.30 on Sundays—I lived at 81, Chetwynd Road, Parliament Hill—I discussed the book with Beech after I had seen the prisoner at his office in King William Street about my balance of salary, which he never paid—he told me he would pay me later on, and would call on Friday, and I asked him the reason for the book—I said the new proprietor was displeased with the amount of sales, and when I got back I told the new proprietor that if he expected the sales to be equivalent to the book, that was an impossibility, and that there were no such sales at 10, Market Parade—he said he believed that book to represent the sales, and then I showed him the real book, which I always kept—the prisoner owed me £1—I did not tell him what I would do if he did not pay—then the intention of the books became apparent—that was the day after the new proprietor took possession—I did not want to create a disturbance—I went to him in answer to his letter, saying he would call on Saturday and pay me the sovereign—the prisoner's reply about the new proprietor was, "If that is the case, the business is sold, and I have nothing more to say about it"—I have not a clear recollection of what he did say—he gave me no reason for making up the book, nor said what the difference represented.
Re-examined. The prisoner ordered 500 cigars to be sent to his office in King William Street from the Finchley Road shop—they were not paid for—the next day he came and told me to put the figures he gave me in the book as they appear.
JOSIAH BEAZLEY . I live at 150, Brixton Road—I have no occupation—I introduced the prisoner to the prosecutor for the purpose of purchasing his wholesale cigar business, and the business at Finchley—he said the takings were between £10 and £12 a week, which would leave a profit, after paying all expenses, of about £2 or upwards.
Cross-examined. I have a little business in commissions—I have no place of business, but I have the right of an office at 34, St. Mary Axe, with a friend—I was introduced to the prisoner by Charles Moore, who said to me in February or March, "Beazley, you are the very man I want; do you know any person who will buy a good, sound wholesale business?"—I said, "Yes," if he would pay a commission—he offered me £20—I have not had a farthing on the present transaction—on the Mark Lane transaction I received between £12 and £17; £17 if he produces his cheque for £4—he paid in driblets—he never suggested selling the Finchley business till long after the Mark Lane sale—he said he was anxious to return to Denmark, and go into the cattle trade—he asked £160 for stock and fixtures—he said the fixtures cost about £50—I do not see where the good will comes in—the business was sold for £140—I made no stipulation—he said, "If I sell the business I will give you £20"—if he says he gave me £5 after the sale of the Finchley business it is a foul lie—I never asked him for a farthing—I heard that the business was a fraud afterwards, and I found it was a fraud, and would have nothing
to do with it—he came to my house, and I said, "Sekjer, there has been a gross fraud; take my advice, return the money, or trouble will follow"—these post cards to him are mine, recommending him to settle, as his poor wife came to me in distress on her knees—I never pressed him; I advised him to act honestly, as she said, "Mercy! mercy! I will do all I can," and I said, "Make your husband return the money, and leave it to the lawyers to agree to the arrangement to stop the prosecution on the return of the money and the bill"—(The letters and post cards were dated after the arrest on August 14th.)—I do not see that there was any compounding a felony in it—"L." means your solicitor, Mr. Lumley, and "R." means Mr. Rice—I referred to them, as Sekjer tried to get me to write to them to settle, and I said, "No; I cannot go and ask them to do anything of the sort," and I have his letters at home saying he cannot do this, that, and the other; would not you take an interest in a matter if you had deposited £390?—I wanted to be a friend to both—I was not posing as his friend; I was sorry for his wife—I told him in those letters that I had done all I could, and that the matter rested with himself—I wanted him to act honestly, and not play a game of bluff—I wrote, "Act honest, pay the money, and so be wise in time; I shall be in by eight"—that did not refer to £30 costs and "no prosecution"—I did not know he was committed for trial—I am more than 60 years of age—when I wrote, "Pay the money," "be reasonable," and about satisfactory results," I meant that he owed the money, whether he was guilty or not—I said the costs had to be paid, but Mrs. Sekjer suggested the undertaking; I know nothing about costs, I only wanted to see the £140 paid back—on the first business I had £20, after interviewing 45 people and two months' work for him.
Re-examined. I received this letter from Sekjer—(Dated June 14th, stating that he would be in London next week, and would see Beazley about Beech, and asking, "Has he been taking a little?" and stating, "I would have made things right in a moment; but, as you remember, he said he had nothing to say to me, it was all in somebody else's hands, and he had a warrant out against me, and would prevent me going out of the country, which I wanted to.")—on the Thursday after the sale I called on Sekjer, and Beech happened to come, and he said, "Beazley, it is out of my hands," and he showed Sekjer this envelope, instructing his manager, which Sekjer admitted writing, and I said, "Sekjer, for God's sake, take my advice; you have got the £90 bill in your pocket; like an honest man, return it"—he considered, and said, "I do not know," and then said, "No, I'll risk it," and from that time I felt sorry for the man and would help him if I could; but I am not going to tell a lie—I think the word is "talking," and not "taking a little"—I never saw him drunk.
GUY ESTELL MORLEY . My place of business is at 22, St. Mary Axe—I know the prosecutor well—when he bought these businesses I lent him the money—I paid the cheque to Beech, and he paid it to Sekjer—it has been returned by my banker.
Cross-examined. I am independent—I have income from the funds and other things—I lent £50 to Beech, who signed a bill for £90.
warrant to arrest the prisoner—I arrested him on August 14th in a foreign club at 84, Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square—two nights before I had his address in an assumed name at 17, Ballater Road, Brixton, as Mr. Petersen—I knocked at the front door, and, after a lot of denials, the landlady admitted that Petersen did live there—when I read the warrant to him he said, "My word is as good as his; I never say anything I cannot stick to; I have never done anything known to be a fraud."
Cross-examined. I have been in the police 18 years—I ascertained that the prisoner was living with his wife and child at Brixton.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated, on oath, that he came to England from Denmark to learn the language, and, desiring to return, sold his business. He denied ever showing the book of takings to the prosecutor, but said that it included his own wholesale sales, including 5,000 cigars, and that the price of the stock and fixtures was agreed between them.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Friday, September 13th, 1901.
Before Mr. Justice Bucknill.
MR. CHARLES MATHEWS, MR. BODKIN and MR. STEPHENSON Prosecuted,
and MR. HUTTON Defended.
FLORENCE GOODALL . I am 11 years old, and live at 1, Archer Street, Camden Town—the prisoner is my father—I remember my mother going out to work on July 29th at 9.15 a.m.—after she had gone my father said to me, "Will you clear up for mother, I am going out with the children?"—I had a sister, Edith Alberta May, aged nine years, a brother, James Edward, about three and a half years old, and a baby sister, Mildred Catherine, about 20 months old—they all went out together—he said to me, "I will meet you round the corner"—he went out with the children—I never saw them again.
Cross-examined. My father was always kind to us; he was an affectionate and kind father.
WILLIE CURTISS . I am a musical instrument maker, and for some six weeks before this happened I occupied a room at 1, Archer Street, the prisoner and his wile being my landlord and landlady—on July 29th I went out about 9.30 a.m.—I met the prisoner at the corner of Queen Street—I asked him if he knew we were going to leave him—my wife had given his wife notice that we were going away from the house—he said he was going to chuck the house up—I said, "I should not do it if I was you."
Cross-examined. He had been strange in his manner for some little time—I knew he had been in the infirmary—I advised him to go to the Middlesex Hospital as an outpatient—he had always been strange, but it increased just before July 29th—he was always a kind and affectionate father.
Infirmary on May 11th, and stayed there till July 1st—he was suffering from bronchitis and acute pneumonia—I used to take his wife and children there to see him.
Cross-examined. Before July 29th his manner became stranger and stranger—he threw shovels about, and kept running round the place—I went up to see him at Holloway—he said he did not know why he had done it—his eyes were all strange—he appeared fond of his children.
CALEB ORAM HINDNESS . I live at 14, Abyssinian Road, Clapham—at 10.45 a.m. on July 29th I was working in a greenhouse near Chalbert Street Bridge, which is over the Regent's Canal—as I left to go to some other work I heard a child's scream—I ran down the steps to the canal bank, got on a fence, and saw the prisoner in the water, about the middle of the canal, with a child, apparently a boy, clinging to his back—I shouted out, "Stick to him, boy"—the prisoner pointed to the water and said, "There is two gone down"—I ran to get a rope at the steps—when I came back the prisoner was still in the water, and the boy still on his back—the prisoner seemed to gain some footing at the bottom of the canal, and he turned himself over and threw the child into the water—the child seemed to rise in the struggle, and the prisoner put his hand on his head and held him down—he then struggled to the towpath, and immediately he reached it he jumped into the water again, and endeavoured to drown himself—he repeated the same thing a second time, and then came out—I said, "You scoundrel! you cannot drown"—he said, "No, I cannot"—he sat on the bank quite unconcerned till Police-constable Milne came up, who dived into the water.
Cross-examined. The prisoner made a determined attempt to keep himself under the water each time; he really tried to drown himself, but his coat became inflated and kept him up—I saw Milne go after each child; then he tried artificial respiration—the prisoner was on the bank the whole time—I did not hear him say anything, I was 40ft. away—he did not attempt to get away.
STEWART MILNE (370 S). At 10.45 a.m. on July 29th I was on duty in Portland Town Police-station—a man came and made a communication to me—I went to the Regent's Canal—I saw the prisoner walking very fast in my direction, with his clothes all wet—I said to him, "Where are the children?"—he walked back with me a short distance, and said, pointing to the canal, "They are there; they are my children; I threw them in"—I threw off my clothes, and jumped into the canal—I had to dive three times—the water is about 6ft. deep there, and there is a large quantity of soft mud at the bottom—the first time I did not bring anything up—the second time I brought up the body of the youngest child, and the third time I brought up the other two bodies—I tried to revive them by artificial respiration, but failed—I dressed and took the prisoner to the station—he was standing looking on all the time—on the way to the station he said, "Thank God, they are dead"—he pointed out the exact spot where the bodies would be found.
WALTER BUCKLEY (120 S). At 10.45 a.m. on July 29th I followed Milne to the canal—I took care of the prisoner, whom I saw on the bank—Milne asked him where the children were; he replied, "They are there; they are my children; I threw them in"—while Milne was diving after the
children the prisoner said, "I did it, because my wife has been out with my lodger; I tried to drown myself, but could not."
FREDERICK FISHER (27 SR). I was in charge of the prisoner at Portland Town Police-station—while he was changing his wet clothe for dry ones he said, "I have been out of work for 14 weeks, I done it, and it can't be helped."
JAMES COOPER . I am a registered medical practitioner, of 1, Lancaster Terrace, Regent's Park—on July 29th I was called to the Regent's Park Canal, where I saw the bodies of three children—they were all dead—I made a post-mortem examination—they were all healthy children—they had no external injuries—the cause of Edith's death was syncope; there was no indication of drowning—the cause of death of the other two was drowning.
JAMES SCOTT . I am the Medical Officer at His Majesty's Prison, Holloway—I first saw the prisoner on July 29th—I have kept him under close observation since then—in September I made this report on his mental condition at the request of the Director of Public Prosecutions—(This stated that the prisoner seemed very dazed and distressed; that he had told him he had come to the conclusion it was better to drown the children and himself, as he could not get any work; that he expressed regret for his act, but that he did not think he fully understood the enormity of his crime; that he is in a depressed and unstable mental condition; that on July 29th he was insane, and suffering from melancholia, so as not to know the quality of his acts.)
Cross-examined. I understand that one of his sisters went out of her mind for a time, and that one of his uncles hanged himself after repeated attempts.
The JURY, without hearing Counsel or the summing up, returned a verdict of GUILTY, but insane at the time. — To be detained during His Majesty's pleasure.
The COURT and JURY highly commended Milne for his gallant conduct.
MR. STEPHENSON Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON Defended.
GEORGE GREEN . I am a newsvendor, and have known the prisoner some years—on Friday, August 2nd, I met him by appointment at 6 p.m.—we were in the habit of spending our evenings together—he said, "I am just going for a ride round"—I agreed to go too—we had two drinks before we got on a' bus—we then went into the George in Liverpool Road—I saw the prisoner's wife, Mrs. Lambert, and her child Kitty, and a man named Douglas there—the prisoner asked me to have a drink—Mrs. Lambert said to the prisoner, "Halloa, Jack"—she put her hand out—he said, "Halloa, Kate"—they shook hands, and he kissed Kitty—the prisoner turned round to Douglas and said, "I owe you one; I am going to give it to you; you are a ponce, and you have made my wife a prostitute, as she was before"—Douglas said, "I will knock your—eyes out"—they struggled together—Mrs. Lambert got between them—the prisoner said to her, "Where is the money that you robbed me of?"—she said, "I have got that to keep us two"—that was Douglas and herself
—Douglas has threatened the prisoner before—I did not see the prisoner draw a razor out of his pocket—I saw Douglas pull a knife out—he threatened me with a glass, and said he would knock my—eyes out—he struck me, and I defended myself—I did not see how the woman was injured—I did not see her afterwards—Douglas went away with her—I did not know the prisoner had a razor in his pocket—he did not tell me he had.
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner 16 or 17 years—he has always been a steady, hardworking, and sober man—he had a place in the Arcade at Charing Cross with his brother—I knew he had married this woman on February 16th—I beard she had left him—I was surprised to see her in the public-house, and so was the prisoner—they shook hands in quite a friendly manner—when he kissed the little girl, Douglas was quite close—when Douglas and the prisoner struggled Mrs. Lambert tried to part them—I saw her lying down after it; I did not see her bleeding.
WILLIAM BRENAN . I am a general dealer—I was outside the George in Liverpool Road on the evening of August 2nd—I heard a voice inside the house—I went in; I saw the prisoner and the prosecutrix on the ground; someone said, "Look out, Brenan; he his got a razor"—I and some other people caught hold of the prisoner, and I saw a razor in his hand—I got hold of his wrist, and made am drop it—someone picked it up—the prisoner said, "For God's sake, let me alone; you don't know my trouble."
ELLEN COLLINS . I was sitting in the George about 9.45 p.m. on August 2nd—I saw Mrs. Lambert there with Douglas—I had never seen them before—there was a little girl with them—the woman gave Douglas some money for a drink—I saw the prisoner come in and go to the counter; he kissed the child and said, "It is the last kiss, Sally"—then I saw something bright in the woman's throat—I don't know what it was—the prisoner was holding it—before that I heard the woman say, "Jack, I do not want any more to do with you"—he said, "Very well, Kate," or something like it—they both fell down; some people caught hold of the prisoner—I said to him, "Be quiet, be quiet; if you don't you will be hung"—he said, "I wish I was dead"—I helped Mrs. Lambert up and gave her some brandy—I saw the prisoner make several blows at her before that.
Cross-examined. There were several people in the public-house, and they all ran out—I did not see Douglas strike at the prisoner; I turned my head away—I was rather confused when I saw the blood—I had only been in the public-house three or four minutes—I do not know how much money the woman gave to Douglas.
KATE LAMBERT . I am the prisoner's wife—I was married to him on February 16th last at Emanuel Church, Lambeth—I was then a widow with one child—after living with him as his wife I left him—I took some of his money away with me—I do not know if it was £20; it may have been—I went to live with a man named Douglas—I had lived with him for five years before I married the prisoner—my first husband was not quite right in his head—I was not a widow all the time I lived with Douglas—I went with him and my child by my former marriage to the
George on the evening of August 2nd—whilst we were there my husband came in with Green—he shook hands with me, he kissed the child, and asked how she was—he said something about a paper—I did not understand him—we were not disputing—Douglas was challenged to fight with Green—the prisoner took a razor out of his coat pocket and put it across my throat—I did not know much more—he cut me in my throat, shoulder, wrist, and thumb—I was taken to the hospital and seen by the doctor.
Cross-examined. I did not hear Douglas say anything before my husband pulled out the razor—I did not hear him say, "I owe you one" he did not produce a knife—I know he had a knife when he went to see my husband at Doulton's—my husband told me he had come there and threatened him with a knife—I was living with Douglas up to last Saturday—I first met my husband in the street a fortnight before Christmas—he did not go home with me that night; he did afterwards—I was living with Douglas at the time—while I was living with Douglas the prisoner used to visit me and give me money—I was not keeping Douglas, he was at work at the Surrey Theatre—I think he was there about Christmas time; I am not certain—he did not know all the time that I was receiving money from the prisoner—the prisoner asked me to give up my life of living on the town, and said he would marry me, and take care of me—I found out that my first husband died last August year—I have not seen a certificate of his death; I and the prisoner went and saw a woman who said she believed he was dead; I do not remember how long I lived with the prisoner before I left him; I have only lived with two men—I think it was June or July that I took the £21—I did not go and live with Douglas for a week after that—I got someone to write this letter to the prisoner—(Dated July 20th, 1901, stating that he (the prisoner) had only got the witness's aunt to thank for what had happened; thai she (the witness) thought she was her friend, but found she was her enemy; that the aunt had borrowed money from her, and had led her astray; that when the prisoner received this letter she would be out of London; that she was only one man's wife, and that was his, but that she was not with the man he thought she was, and had not seen him since the morning she left.)—I was living at Douglas's sister's house then—he was there too—I did not leave London; I intended to—I saw Douglas after I wrote that letter—he was not at work then, nor was I—we were not living on the £21, he had some money of his own—I paid for his drink—it is not my habit to pay for men's drink—I remember the prisoner, soon after I left him, coming to the house where I was living with Douglas—he came upstairs and found Douglas in bed, and he found me running out of the room—I was just going to bed, not with Douglas; I slept in the same room—I do not know if he thrashed Douglas—I ran out of the place—he asked me to go back to him—I did not, because I was afraid of him—I do not know if my husband said to Douglas, before we were married, that he, Douglas, was living on my prostitution—I spent some of the money I took on furniture for my own convenience and for my little child as well—it was for the room where Douglas and I were going to live—I do not suggest that Douglas is a harmless and gentle creature when he is in drink.
about six years—she lived with me for five years up to Christmas last—she then left me—I heard something, and went and saw the prisoner—I asked him if he knew her—he said, "Yes"—he said he would meet me on the same night, but he did not do so—the prosecutrix came back to me in July—she had some money with her; I do not know how much—she lived with me again then—the prisoner came in July—he did not say what he had come for—he brought a policeman with him—he did not say he wanted his wife—I said before the Magistrate, "The prisoner pulled me out of bed, and started trampling on me, and said he wanted his wife"—his wife was in the corner of the room, I believe—on Friday, August 2nd, I was with the prosecutrix and her little girl in the George—the prisoner and Green came in and called for two drinks—the prisoner said to his wife, "Halloa, Kate"—she said, "Halloa, Jim; I do not wish to have anything to say to you"—I believe they shook hands—I was engaged by Green in a scrimmage—I said to the prosecutrix, "Who is this man?"—I had only seen the prisoner once or twice before—I did not recognise him at the time—I did not say anything to him—I never saw a razor used.
Cross-examined. I did not know the prisoner was married to the prosecutrix—I went to Doulton's Works at Christmas time, and told him she was my wife—that was a lie—he did not say that he would make inquiries, and if it was untrue he would marry her—I did not know that he had married her—when she came with the £21 she hinted that she was married to him, but I had no proof—I knew he was in respectable employment—the prosecutrix would not leave me; she came to see me—I could have got rid of her, but I did not know she was married—I did not live with her right up to February—she left me a fortnight before Christmas—I work in the Camden Theatre—in July I was working at the Paragon Music Hall as a painter—Mr. Greenfield employed me—I worked for Maxwell Brothers at Brixton in April, and four months at the Holborn Restaurant—I worked for three weeks after the prosecutrix came with the£21—I never had the money—when I went to Doulton's Works I did not threaten the prisoner—I produced a knife, and said I would do him in with it—that might mean a lot of things—I did not mean I would murder him; I meant I would put the knife into him—I did not say in the public-house" I owe you one," or produce a knife—I did not think the prisoner was friendly disposed to the prosecutrix when he shook hands with her—it did not annoy me to see him shake hands with her, or to kiss the child—I went to Doulton's because she had left me—I did not know she had gone to him—when I found it out it annoyed me—about four and a-half years ago I gave the prosecutrix an unlucky blow with my fist; it was not with a knife—she has got the mark now—I did not threaten the prisoner outside the Court yesterday—I do not know that the prisoner went to Sergeant Smith and complained about it—I made a complaint to Sergeant Smith myself.
By the COURT. I do not say that I am blameless—the prosecutrix came back to me about July 11th or 12th—she said she had written a letter to the prisoner on July 20th—I saw it before it was sent; I wrote it—I knew she was his wife then—I said she was not with me to mislead the prisoner—I wrote it at her dictation.
DOUGLAS WHITE . I am a barman at the George—on this evening I was in the bar—I heard a crying and a screeching—I saw Douglas and some other man, not the prisoner, catching hold of one another; I parted them—I afterwards tried to help the woman who had her throat cut—I did not see what had happened—I picked up part of a razor next morning from the floor—I did not serve the prisoner.
DR. RIDEOUT. I am House-Surgeon at St. Bartholomew's Hospital—on the evening of August 2nd the prosecutrix was brought in; her clothing was cut and soaked in blood; she had a large wound on her left shoulder, another on her throat, and another on the back of her neck—at that time there was not very much bleeding—after she had been admitted the wound in her neck began to bleed profusely—we had to administer chloroform to stitch it up—the wound on the right side of her neck was about 5in. long, and reached down to one of the main cartilages of the windpipe; it was certainly a dangerous wound; a little more, and it would have been into the windpipe—I had great difficulty in stopping the bleeding, which was coming from some fairly large vein; I had to plug it—the wound on her left shoulder was about 4in. long, and severed the deltoid muscle on the shoulder; that was not a very dangerous wound—she had also a very deep wound on the back of her neck, extending from just behind the left ear to the right ear, and was 7in. long—she also had a superficial wound on her back, parallel with the shoulder blade, about 6in. long; also a superficial wound on her left wrist about 2 1/2 in. long, and another on her thumb.
Cross-examined. I cannot say if she had had a fight or a struggle with a person who had a sharp instrument in his hand—I do not think the wound in her neck could be caused by pushing against a razor, as it was too long—this razor is fairly sharp—the smaller wounds on her hands might have been caused by seizing the razor in her hands.
Re-examined. A considerable amount of force would be required—there were three serious wounds.
GEORGE TAFT (Policeman). At 9.55 p.m. on August 2nd I was on duty in Liverpool Road—I heard a police whistle being blown—I went to the George public-house, and found the prisoner detained there, and the prosecutrix bleeding in a corner—in the prisoner's presence a man said that the woman had been stabbed by the prisoner—this razor was picked up—the prisoner said, "Yes; I done it; I meant to do it"—I took him to the station—he was quite sober,
JAMES SMITH (Detective Sergeant, N). The prisoner made a statement in my presence at the station—Douglas was there making his statement—the prisoner said, "That man," pointing to Douglas, "is a scoundrel; my wife robbed me to keep him; he is nothing better than a ponce"—when the charge was read over to him he said, "She is my wife; we were married at Emanuel Church on February 16th last; she robbed me of £20; that thing received it; cannot he be charged? she took the money from me to keep him on my hard earnings."
Cross-examined. I have made inquiries about the prisoner; he is a hard-working, respectable man; nothing is known against him—he complained to me yesterday, and I told Douglas not to interfere with the prisoner—Douglas said that the prisoner had laughed at him.
The prisoner, in his defence, on oath, said that he shook hands with his wife in the public-house; that he said to Douglas, "You are nothing better than a "ponce "; you are making my wife a prostitute after me making her a respectable woman "; that he said, "I mean to get my own back off of you"; that Douglas put his hand into his pocket; that he thought he was going to pull out something, as he had been threatened with a knife before; that Douglas pulled out something, but he did not know what it was, and that he (the prisoner) then pulled out a razor to protect himself, as he thought Douglas would injure him; that his wife came between them, and got cut on the hand; that he found that, instead of protecting himself from Douglas, he was attacking his wife; that it was done in the struggle, and that he did not intend to hurt her.
He received a good character.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. — Discharged on his own recognizances.
NEW COURT.—Friday, September 13th, 1901.
Before Mr. Recorder.
630. THOMAS WALSH (24) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing a mare, harness, and cart, the property of Thomas Cane, having been convicted at this Court on December 11th, 1899. Two other convictions were proaed against him.— Eighteen months' hard labour.
631. FRANZ VON BERGER (42) , Stealing an order for the payment of £543 0s. 8d., the property of Helena Croydt. The prisoner stated that he was GUILTY , upon which the JURY found that verdict.— Five years' penal servitude.
MR. PARTRIDGE, for the Prosecution, proceeded on the Second Count only; MR. JONES appeared for Buchannan, and MR. HEMMRRDE for Morton.
WILLIAM HENRY CROKER . I am manager to my father, a hatter, of 47, Old Bond Street—on July 8th I was walking in the neighbourhood of Brixton, wearing a watch, which I value at £25, and a chain—several people pushed up against me—I noticed two men, but cannot recognise them—I went on, and about 20 minutes afterwards I missed my watch and chain, but a sovereign purse, which was attached, was left in my pocket; the ring had been broken, and fastened with a small piece of twine—I informed the police—this is my watch (Produced)—it is by the same maker, and bears the same number—I saw it at Mr. Avant's shop, a pawnbroker's, but not the chain.
SAMUEL BACON (City Detective).. I received information of the loss of Mr. Croker's watch on July 17th—he is wrong in the date—I went with him that day to Joseph Avant, a pawnbroker at 114, Fleet Street, where he identified his watch, which I had seen a description of circulated by the Metropolitan police—I first saw Buchannan on July 13th at the Police-office, Old Jewry—he was asked to come there to explain about a
watch—he was not arrested, but he was accompanied by an officer—I then took him for another offence, and took him to the Minories Station, where I searched him, and found these three contract notes and two pawntickets, one of which relates to a watch pledged on July 15th for £13 by Thomas Morton, Esq.; no address is given—he was wearing a gold watch and chain, and had a silver one loose in his pocket—I said, "How do you account for this contract note?"—he said, "I got it, with the others, from a man"—I said, "Who is he?'—he said, "I don't know his name; I don't know where he lives, but I got it from him in a club in St. Martin's Lane"—I said, "What club?"—he said, "I don't know"—he gave the name of Scott Buchannan—he declined his address, and referred me to Dr. Pedrick, Mr. Sedgwick, and Mr. Biddle—I went with Mr. Croker to the pawnbroker's on the 17th with the note, and saw the watch—Buchannan said when he was charged that he got it from a man outside a sale room—I arrested Morton on July 18th, and said, "You will be charged with Buchannan with stealing and receiving this watch"—he said, "Buchannan gave it to me to pledge for him for £13, and I received my commission; I have pledged watches for him before"—I took him to the Minories Station.
Cross-examined by MR. JONES. I made no note of the conversation—he said that he got it at the club, not near the club—that conversation related to some other watch—up to the time I went to Mr. Avant I did not know that the contract note related to the stolen watch—he did not say that the man's name was Bowyer—I do not know Bowyer—a good deal of jewellery changes hands at Johnson & Dymond's—pawnbrokers' jewellery is not sold for 12 months, but a good deal of it finds its way back to the pawn-shop—pawnbrokers fight rather shy of dealers who frequent sale rooms, as they often try to get a larger amount.
Cross-examined by MR. HEMMERDE. Morton said "watches," not goods—the pawnbroker did not show me a card which he had left with his full name and address—I found Morton's address by a card which I found on Buchannan when I arrested him—Morton was arrested by another officer—I am not sure whether I had seen one of these cards at the pawnbroker's—the pawnbroker is not here—I am sure this one was found on Buchannan—I knew Morton's address before I saw the card.
Re-examined. The conversation with Buchannan was general with regard to the property—I said, "How do you account for these?" (The contract notes) he said, "I got them from the other man."
Morton, in his defence, stated, on oath, that he had known Buchannan several years as a customer, and received a telegram from him on July 10th, which the police had got, and met him at Ludgate Mill, and gave him the particulars of a public-house which he had to sell, and during the conversation Buchannan asked him to pawn a watch which he was wearing, as he was short of money; that he replied, "Why don't you pawn it yourself?" and Buchannan said, "You know I am a dealer, and they won't lend me sufficient money on it;" that it was exactly similar to the one produced, and he took it to Avant's, gave them his card, pawned it for £13, received the contract note, and took the money to Buchannan, who gave him 10s. for his trouble; that the police telegraphed to him to come to the station, and he went there and offered to bail Buchannan out, and went to the Mansion
House, when he was charged, and applied for bail, but was refused; and that he never told the police that he had pawned watches for him before.
BUCHANNAN— GUILTY .— Nine months in the second division ; MORTON— NOT GUILTY . There were several other indictments against Buchannan.
MR. FITCH Prosecuted.
WILLIAM PAGE . I am assistant to George Mills, a stationer, of 3, Old Jewry—this case is his, and is worth 50s.—on Monday, July 29th, I was the last to leave—I left about 7.10, and next morning at 8.30 I found the premises broken into—a padlock which went through a ring on the revolving shutter was broken, and the shutter which goes over the door had been lifted up, and the door would then be open—a show case containing twelve pencil cases and some card cases was broken, and the contents had gone, value about £8; and £1 18s. was taken by breaking open a cash box on the second floor—the prisoner had worked on the premises for Mr. Mills as a lithographic printer from about November 23rd, 1900, to March 16th, this year—workmen are employed upstairs.
EDWARD SLAUGHTER . I keep a provision shop at 122, Pentonville Road—I know the prisoner—on July 31st he brought a parcel and asked if I would mind it for him for a quarter of an hour—he left it under my counter; it was shut, but I saw that they were leather cases—a man named Childs afterwards came in, and I lent him 4s.—the prisoner came back in half an hour and took away the case, and I saw him and Childs outside the shop afterwards—I knew him as Bull.
MARY JONES . I am single, and live at 58, Wells Road, Hackney—I know the prisoner—on the last day of July I met him at Mr. Slaughter's shop—he said, "Have not you a card case?"—I said, "No"—he said, "I will get you one"—I had met him before—he gave me this card case (Produced)—I subsequently gave it to Lawrence.
WILLIAM LAWRENCE (City Detective). From information I received I saw Mary Jones on August 28th, and she gave me this card case—on July 30th, about 10 a.m., I went to Mr. Mills' shop, and found that this padlock had been forced off the outside door, and the shutter had been temporarily pulled down by the police—I went up to the first floor, and found that a show case had been forced, and the contents taken out—I went up to the top; there are nine rooms—I found a cash box there, which had been forced by a jemmy—I afterwards saw the prisoner, and read the warrant to him; he made no reply.
Cross-examined. I tried to find Camden Dock, but could not.
Prisoner's defence: A man came down at 4 o'clock with the owner of these things, and asked me to buy them for 7s. 6d., which I gave him; he never came back.
GUILTY on the Second Count. Two other convictions were proved against, him, and he was still undergoing a sentence of twelve months' imprisonment passed on August 10th for burglary.— Three years' penal Servitude.
THIRD COURT.—Friday and Saturday, September 13th and 14th, 1901.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. C. MATHEWS, MR. A. GILL and MR. CAMPBELL Prosecuted.
GEORGE INGLIS BOYLE . I am a messenger in the Bankruptcy Court—I produce the file in the bankruptcy of William Ridley Carr, of 68, Torrington Square—the petition was filed on June 6th, 1889, and the adjudication was on August 6th, 1889—the liabilities were £275 10s.; the assets nil—he was never discharged.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. There is nothing here to show that your liabilities were £800, and that you paid £600—there is a release of the trustees on the file, and an order, stating that the case was adjourned sine die.
FLORENCE EMILIE PRIDEAUX . I keep a school at Hill View, Wellington, Somerset—in March, 1900, I received a letter purporting to come from John Paget, of 3, Myddelton Square, asking me to advertise in the "Anglo-Indian Guide"—I also received this card of the same address, headed "Established 1883," and written on the back, "I know your Wellington, and its merits for salubrity, and if you accept my offer I can have a good paying Indian pupil by next term for you? the Indian season being near. J. P.," and this circular.—(Headed" Anglo-Indian and Colonial Agency"; it contained a print of the prisoner's advertisement, and urged parents and guardians to consult the prisoner's "Select Guide to High-class Schools, Colleges and Tutors," and offering to forward lists of references and successes, etc.)—I also received a sample copy of the "Anglo-Indian Guide," dated "1891, 68, Torrington Square," and other similar papers to these produced, from 3, Myddelton Square, E.C.—I sent a guinea for an advertisement to be inserted in the Guide, and received this letter of March 28th—(Asking what vacancies witness had for pupils, and suggesting that circulars should be printed for Indian circulation on foreign paper at 25s. for 200 or 15s. for 100.)—I sent him 15s. for 100 circulars, and he promised to send copies, but never did—I next received this letter of April 3rd—(Asking for two blocks from which to print a picture of the school house and garden, and 25s. for binders.)—I sent £1 16s. as per account, and received these receipts—I sent one block of my school—I received this letter of May 16th—(Enclosing account, including £1 1s. for inspecting the school, and railway fare 10s. 6d.)—I sent that, and received this receipt for £2 17s., "as per account," and a note thanking me—he stated that he would inspect the school at Whitsuntide—he never came—I continued to write to him, because I wanted my block back—I received this letter of June 19th—(Stating that he had to postpone his visit through the Whitsun vacation, otherwise he would have lost pupils he had to meet, and promising to bring the block next week.)—I received other letters of July 9th and 24th, and this printed slip—(Headed "Addenda,
too late for press. Pupil sent (boy age seven) by Mr. J. Paget to Sheen Park, Richmond, S.W., at terms £30 per annum, with 20s. extra per week during vacation=£65 per annum. Commission received at five per cent., with expenses, £4 17s. 6d.")—I also received the vacation notice, and his promise to look after my interest, and these letters of August 21st and 27th, and October 13th, 18th, and 23rd—after writing a great many times I received back my block and another with it, which I returned, but no circulars and no visit, nor any Guide with my advertisement—I received the "Investors 'Friend," but nothing for my money—he never gave the name of any pupil—when I parted with my money I believed he was carrying on a genuine agency at 3, Myddelton Square, and that the Guide was published annually.
Cross-examined. There was no pupil and no commission in question.
ISABEL BENSON . I am a schoolmistress at Cazenove Road, Stamford Hill—in the spring of 1898 I saw an advertisement in the Morning Post similar to this: "To Parents and Guardians.—Education.—For the most reliable information relating to successful tutors and high-class schools and colleges, consult the 'Select Guide to Anglo-Indian Home Schools,' " etc.—I wrote to 3, Myddelton Square, and received a sample copy of the Guide and other documents, similar to these produced—I have destroyed the letters—I paid an agency fee of 5s., and 25s. for an advertisement in the "Anglo-Indian Guide," and received these receipts—the next proposal was to print prospectuses for me—I agreed to 200 being printed in English and 200 in French, and sent £2 10s. for them—I waited for them till the end of the term in July, 1898, and then went and saw him about them at Myddelton Square in 1890—he promised that I should have them in a month, and I was to send an address where I was staying—he sent me at various times two or three odd prospectuses with my name on, but the details did not apply to my school, and were not the particulars I had sent—I do not think there were more than 30; they came in threes and fours, and I returned them—I asked him for a copy of the "Anglo-Indian Guide," because I was getting suspicious that he had not inserted my advertisement, but he never answered that part of my letter—I never saw one with my advertisement in—I saw him again in May, 1899, because I came to live in London then—I told him I had left Lena, and if he did not refund my money I should issue a County Court summons to recover the amount—he said I had left Lena, and had not given him my address—I said that all letters were forwarded to me—he said he would put it right, and I left him my new address—I told him if I did not receive the Guide I should come to the conclusion that he had not inserted my advertisement—I did not mention the amount of money; I thought he was intoxicated, and said no more—in July I took out County Court summonses for £1 5s. and £2 10s.—I made the mistake that the hearing was October 13th, but it was October 6th, and I was not there—I received this letter from 3, Myddelton Square of April 22nd, 1901—(Addressed "The Lady Principal, 104, Cazenove Road, N. As you offer a good educational home for daughters of gentlemen, I should be glad to act for you amongst wealthy merchants in India, etc., at £100 to £150 per annum. My agency fee is 5s.")—I had paid him the agency fee three
years before, and had sent my prospectus—(The letter continued:"On all pupils I send you my commission is 5 per cent. * * * If I sent you two pupils, sisters, at one time, would you allow a slight reduction in terms?")—there was no allusion to the previous correspondence—he had my new address from the County Court summons two years before—I gave the letter up to the Treasury—with the letter came a card and my prospectus—I parted with my money, believing he was carrying on a real agency.
Cross-examined. When I give a prospectus to the printers I send a copy of what I wish, and I do not think it right for them to print what they think should be sent to others—I did not translate my circular into French—I could have done so easily, but I thought one copy was sufficient.
ROSA SIMMONDS BATCHELOR . I keep a school at Old Mostyn House, Park Gate, Cheshire—I received a letter purporting to come from J. Paget, 3, Myddelton Square, between January and April, 1900, and a card like this and a yellow circular, and I was invited to advertise in the "Anglo-Indian Guide"—(The yellow circular was headed "The Best Education," with the Star of India for a trade mark, and set forth the objects and circulation of "The Select Guide to Anglo-Indian Home Schools" including those with medical care, established 1883, and the charges for advertisements.)—I sent a guinea—I received this letter of April 28th, inviting me to employ the prisoner to print circulars—I sent him £1 5s. for the circulars—he has never sent me a copy of the Guide nor the circulars—I received the pink slip and a letter of May 18th, asking for a fee for inspection—I did not send that fee.
Cross-examined. You asked 5 per cent, on pupils.
FREDERICK SAMUEL WILLOUGHBY . In August, 1900, I received a letter purporting to come from John Paget, of 3, Myddelton Square, requesting an advertisement in the "Anglo-Indian Guide"—I keep a school for private pupils—I sent him a guinea on August 7th—subsequently I received a letter inviting me to send £1 5s. for printing circulars—I sent 15s.—I never saw the Guide nor the circulars—I received this letter, stating that the Guide would be posted in a few days, in answer to my complaint that these things had not been sent, also a letter of January 13th, 1901, stating that his lease was out, which had delayed matters—I got nothing for my 36s.
Cross-examined. I thought when the things did not come that I had been swindled, as I have been.
AGNES SEWELL . I am a school-mistress, of Wyncott House, Brigstock Road, Thornton Heath—about October 1st I sent a guinea to John Paget, of 3, Myddelton Square, for an advertisement in the "Anglo-Indian Guide," in consequence of letters and circulars I received—I also received a letter asking for money for him to print my prospectus—I did not send it—I received no Guide—I received this letter of May 13th this year (Promising a paying pupil.)—he never sent a pupil—he sent two printed pink slips, I think.
Cross-examined. I have never seen the Guide—I believed there was one—a piece of a cover was sent, but not a whole copy.
West Croydon—in the spring I received a letter purporting to come from J. Paget, of 3, Myddelton Square, inviting advertisements in the "Anglo-Indian Guide," at a guinea per annum, and a card like this, with writing, about his knowing the salubrity of Croydon—I sent a guinea about May 1st—I never saw any Guide.
ELEANOR LUCY MANSFIELD . I reside at Queen's College, 9, Queen's Road, Twickenham—early this year I received a letter purporting to come from John Paget, of 3, Myddelton Square, inviting me to advertise in the "Anglo-Indian Guide"—I received a number of them—early in May the prisoner called, and I paid him a guinea when he came again at the end of the week—I never saw the Guide since, nor any copy of my advertisement—I received this pink slip in a letter of July 19th, 1901.
Cross-examined. You showed me some leaves of a book with a list of schools—you said there were parents you wished to recommend, but as the midsummer holidays were coming on, you could not introduce them till September.
REBECCA ROBERTS . I am a widow, of 28, Furlong Road, Highbury—before going to that address I was landlady of 3, Myddelton Square from 1897 to 1900—I let lodgings—in August, 1897, the prisoner took a room as William Ridley Carr—after a little time he said John Paget was the name he traded in—at first he had one room at 12s. a week, and afterwards two rooms at 20s. a week, one for an office—he went away in October, 1898 for a short time—he returned in the April of 1899—in the interval letters came addressed to him—he fetched them; he never gave his key up—they used to be put in the letter-box, and I could not run after the postman—I took care of some—from April, 1899, he remained till December 24th—he did not pay his rent regularly—my son wrote this notice to quit, dated April 22nd, 1899—he said it was not a proper notice, and would not give up his key—(This applied for £2 6s. 4d. to be paid by Friday, May 26th.)—after that he put his foot in the door, and we could not get rid of him, and had to lock him out—he then owed £9 or £10, which was reduced to £5 and some shillings—the lease was not out; there are 12 years to run, but our three years' agreement was up in December.
Cross-examined. You went to Woburn Square—you employed my daughter to address envelopes, and never paid her.
RHODA BROOKS . I am a widow, and have been a tenant of 3, Myddelton Square, Clerkenwell, since March, 1900—after I had been there a short time the prisoner asked me to take in his letters, and I did so for six weeks—after that we could not get rid of them—he wanted to take a room—I said, "No, not on any account"—in April I told my son to write to him not to send any more letters—letters continued to come till he was charged—they were addressed Ridley Carr or Paget—I saw him come out of 4, Mylne Street, opposite my house, and sent the letters there—I gave them to the postman when I could catch him—this was written on the back of this envelope by the girl I employed in March, 1900: "Gent, has left this address; never has been here while we have had this house"—(The date on the envelope was January 17th, 1901.)—numbers of ladies and gentlemen came inquiring for him.
Cross-examined. I never saw any of your address forms—(The prisoner
produced a notice of his change of address, stating that he had moved to more convenient premises in consequence of the lapse of the lease).
SARAH TAYLOR . I am the wife of John Taylor, the tenant of 9, Duncan Terrace, Clerkenwell—the prisoner lodged in my house from January, 1900, until his arrest in August this year—he carried on no business.
Cross-examined. You said you were in distress for want of proper offices when I asked for the rent—some papers were smoked at the edges through your own fault, and you asked me to destroy them—I got my rent, except the last week or two, with a great deal of difficulty.
JOHN KANE (Police Inspector, D). I followed the prisoner into a restaurant at Islington on August 6th, and told him I wished to speak to him if he would come out into the lobby—I said, "I am Inspector Kane, and have a warrant for your arrest"—he said, "You are Kane, are you? What does this mean, persecuting me in this way and ruining my business? You have been to the Morning Post newspaper office, and stopped my advertisements"—I produced the warrant—he said, "You need not read it here; come round to my address"—he led the way to 9, Duncan Terrace, close by—I read the warrant to him—he said that it was only a County Court matter—I conveyed him to Bow Street Police-court, where he was charged—he made no reply to the charge as entered at the Police-station—he said he was obliged to have three addresses for his business, that he had to leave 3, Myddelton Square in consequence of the lease having expired—I found on him this bundle of letters—he said that he wanted them produced—(These were dated from March, 1898, to November, 1900, and referred to pupils and acknowledgments of sums received.)—I searched his lodgings at 9, Duncan Terrace, and I have not found letters of a similar character, but I found this register or index, which shows the system upon which his books were kept, also another of a later date—the books show receipts, including £2 from Mrs. Hardy, November, 1898; four receipts in 1899 from Lowe, of Burlington House, Richmond, amounting to £4 17s. 6d., which agrees with the pink slip—the registers extend from September 9th, 1897, to the prisoner's arrest—his books are kept in great detail, and include all the sums paid by the witnesses here—from an examination I find the prisoner has received since December, 1897, for registration fees, £136 0s. 6d.; for printing circulars, £119 14s. 6d.; for advertisements in the "Anglo-Indian School Guide," £327 6s. 8d.; for blocks of schools, £106 16s. 6d.; for inspection fees, £87 17s. 6d, making a total of £1,077 15s. 8d., and an annual average of £269 8s. 11d.—register "I" contains 589 and "J" 331 names—the diary shows times and places of visits—from "I" I trace six places visited and 16 fees—there is no diary for 1897, but the diary I have compared with the index shows 14 visits, while the register shows 19—he put something under the entry which indicated whether he visited or not—in 1899 the number of fees received for inspection, according to register "I," is 25, and inspections 4; in his diary he shows 11—in 1900 the total number of fees are 18, and inspections 4, according to the register, but according to his diary he made no inspections; in 1901 there is, on inspection, one fee received in the register, and in the corresponding diary none—he carefully kept his diary, commencing with the weather—I
produce three specimen pages for April 15th and 17th, 1898, and May 21st, 1900, with items of expenditure, and the word "In" for letters received, and the word "Out" for letters dispatched, and his credit balance is carried forward—these balances are carried from one year to the other—his balance on February 8th, 1899, is 2s. 4d., and he sent out 151 letters—at the end of 1899 itis three guineas, and six letters were sent out—I found not one copy of the "Anglo-Indian Guide," no banking account, no schools that have been mentioned advertised, and not any bills for advertising them—I found several thousand copies of the select list produced, and circulars, and these cards with the lithographed writing on the back, "I know," blank for the name "and its merits for salubrity," etc.—also these letters of complaint, notices to quit, and letters from the Comptroller of the Post Office of March 26th, 1901, acknowledging 2s. for re-direction of letters to April 19th, and a notice that people are not allowed to have letters addressed for a longer period than twelve months; also these three circulars of "John Paget," "John Pascoe," and "W. Ridley Carr, scholastic agent," etc., 68, Torrington Square—I knew him early in 1890 at that address in those names—his right name is William Ridley Carr—I found similar circulars of 19, Woburn Square, and a bill for Miss Prideaux's block for 1s. 9d.; these post-cards, this endorsement, "John Paget never did live at this address," Miss Benson's County Court summons, and hundreds of these pink slips.
Cross-examined. You told me you had been in great distress—your accounts were beautifully kept—you told me you had had a lamp accident—the police had many complaints, but none in London, and as the witnesses were at a distance, they replied that though they had been defrauded, they preferred to let the matter drop.
HERBERT CHARLES HILL . I am manager of Hill & Co, printers, Grafton Works, Grove Road, Holloway—our firm printed "The Select List of Anglo-Indian Home Schools" in 1891, and held them in stock—the last supply was 100 in August, 1900, in the original form.
Cross-examined. We bound 5,000—we supplied about 3,000—whenever you came for 100 and paid for them you had them.
BERNARD LEHMAN . I am manager to A. Vivian, Mansell & Co., printers—we printed these four circulars produced—(Advertising and recommending the agency.)—there was one order—this is our estimate of July 5th, 1900.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated, on oath, that his difficulties in obtaining suitable offices prevented his carrying out what he intended to be a genuine agency, and that proceedings ought to have been brought in the County Court, and not criminally, as there was nothing wrong. His sworn statement before the Magistrate was to the same effect.
He was further charged with having been convicted at Carnarvon on January 2nd, 1896.
on January 2nd, 1896, in the name of John Paget, when he was sentenced to12 months' hard labour—it is signed by Mr. Roberts, the Deputy Chairman—the prisoner is the man mentioned in the certificate—I was present.
GUILTY.—Four other convictions were proved against him.— Four years' penal servitude.
The COURT commended the conduct of the police.
MR. CHORLEY Prosecuted, and the evidence was interpreted to the prisoner.
ARTHUR LOWER (769 S). On Friday, August 16th, about 3.45, I was on duty near the cross roads, Hendon—I met the prisoner coming from Hampstead towards London, carrying a parcel in his right hand and partly behind his leg—I asked him what it contained—he said, "I don't know; you can look"—I said to Ryan, who was with me, "Hold him a minute, Bill; I will see"—the prisoner said, "It is silver; I picked it up down the road under a little bush," and that he had asked the lamplighter the way to the Police-station, and wag going to take it there—I told him he would have to come back while I made inquiries—we met a lamplighter going back the way the prisoner had come—Ryan observed a window open, and we called up the occupier of Grove Lodge, Golder's Green—Parsons came down, and identified the stuff (Produced) as his property—it was wrapped in this white material—I took the prisoner to the Police-station, and Parsons followed—the prisoner was charged and examined—we found his stockings and feet and inside his boots wet and dirty, but outside his boots were comparatively clean—there was a lawn, and garden mould under the window, but the road was dry.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. There was garden mould on the bottom of your feet.
WILLIAM RYAN (116 S). I was with Lower—we met the prisoner carrying this white bundle—Lower placed himself in front of him, and asked him what he had in the bundle—he replied, "I don't know; you can look"—I held him whilst Lower was about to examine the bundle—he said, "It is silver; I picked it up down the road when I went to do a job for myself"—he was then asked what he was going to do with it, and he replied, "I was going to take it to the Police-station; I met a lamplighter up the road, and he told me to come down here and turn to the light"—he was told he would be detained and inquiries made—we were walking towards the Police-station when we met the lamplighter on our way from Grove Lodge—on passing Grove Lodge I noticed the kitchen window open—Parsons identified the property after we had aroused the inmates—daylight was beginning—the front garden gate was open about 2in.
EDWARD KITCHEN (Detective, S). I examined the premises at Grove Lodge—I found the kitchen window on the ground floor in front pushed up, the catch having been forced back—the wooden shutters, closed from inside, had been pushed back, the screw that held them was forced out of the socket—it was impossible to find footmarks there was so much vegetation which was crushed down—the four rooms on the ground floor were in confusion—the front door was shut.
STANLEY FREDERICK PARSONS . I live at Grove Lodge, Golder's Green—all these silver articles belong to me, but not the boots—I last saw them safe at eleven on the night preceding the burglary, some standing about the room, and some in cupboards on the ground floor, when I locked up the house.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I found the boots and the money-box in a dite✗h outside the front gate—I lost a small silver tobacco box, about 2oz. of tobacco from the dining-room sideboard, and some boots, for which these have been exchanged—the money-box had not been used for years—it may have contained a few old copper coins—the thieves left some bread and ham or bacon.
WILLIAM PEDDER . I am the lamplighter for the district near Golder's Green—I passed no one on the cross roads before I met the policeman, and he passed the time of day—I met the prisoner in the custody of the police—there is no other lamplighter going along those roads—no one asked me the way to the station.
Cross-examined. I passed from the cross roads to turn out the lamps about 3.50—it takes me an hour and 20 minutes from the start of my journey to do so—I turn out five lamps at the cross roads, but do not go back, but straight to Golder's Hill.
The prisoner, in his defence, on oath, said, through the interpreter, that he saw three men standing near a ditch where the houses ended, and about 50 or 60 steps from him; that when they went away, one ahead of the others, he went to see what they had been doing, and saw the parcel lying against the hedge, and covered with grass; that he pulled it out of the grass, but was undecided where to take it, when he met an elderly man with a stick, whom he asked where the Police-station was, and he told him straight on and then to the right; and that he went straight on, and was arrested; and that the exchanged boots must have been found on the thief.
GUILTY .—He was stated to have been associated with a German gang of burglars infesting Highgate and Finchley, and to have been convicted at Highgate of loitering, with others.— Five years' penal servitude.
MR. PETER GRAIN and MR. PERROTT Prosecuted.
The JURY being unable to agree, were discharged, and the case was post-poned to next Session.
OLD COURT.—Saturday, September 14th, 1901.
Before Mr. Justice Bucknill.
(For cases tried in this Court this day see Surrey Cases.)
NEW COURT.—Saturday, September 14th, 1901.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. ARTHUR GILL and MR. LUSHINGTON Prosecuted: MR. HUTTON
FREDERICK GEORGE SILVEY . I am a clerk at the Shoreditch Branch of the London and County Bank, where Mr. Edward James Deathridge, of Chiltern Street, Bethnal Green, has an account—this cheque (Produced) was presented over the counter on July 29th, about 2 o'clock, by the prisoner Deathridge—I knew him well—I cashed it, believing it to be his father's genuine signature—I gave one £100 note and ten £5 notes—these two £5 notes, Nos. 14118 and 14121, dated May 18th, 1901, formed part of the change—I did not see Young.
EDWARD JAMES DEATHRIDGE . I am a cigar box manufacturer, of 43, Chiltern Street—Deathridge is my son, and Young was in my employ—this cheque was not drawn by me or with my knowledge or authority—it resembles my signature—this is a sample of my signature (Produced)—Young's wages were £1 1s. a week—he was a cutter on the machine—they were both at work on July 29th—they had on new suits of clothes—my son lived at home, and had £1 6s. a week—he goes out with the van with Cormack, the carman—as the van went out that day Young jumped on it—I did not see them again until they were in custody—Young had asked me if he could have half a day's holiday—I said that, as things were very quiet, he might as well—he did not say that he was not coming back to work.
Cross-examined. Young had been with me three or four years, and had behaved satisfactorily—my son had access to my cheque book when I handed it to him to write a cheque—Young had nothing to do with that.
WILLIAM JAMES CORMACK . I am a carman to Mr. Deathridge—I started to deliver goods on July 29th, at about 1.15, with Deathridge, when Young got in—they wanted to get back to the office at two—I had no conversation with Young.
Cross-examined. Deathridge would be in command of the business in his father's absence.
ELIZA ALLEN . I am a widow, of 16, Royston Street, Bethnal Green—Young lodged with me for two years, and I have known him since he was a little boy—his family lived opposite me for 13 years—he paid me 10s. a week, out of which I allowed him his dinner money, 7d. a day—on the morning of July 29th he went to work, as usual, dressed in his best, which he often did.
Cross-examined. He gets half a day on Monday sometimes—he had often spoken of going into the Army, and I concluded he had done so.
JACOB PEARLMAN . I am a clerk in the Aberdeen Shipping Line Agency, Whitechapel—the prisoners came there on July 29th, and took tickets to sail from the Royal Albert Dock to Sydney—they gave their names as James Swinton and George Brown—the boat sailed on August 6th—they paid £20 15s. 10d. deposit.
Cross-examined. Deathridge came in about a week previously to make inquiries; he paid the money.
WYNDHAM ERNEST BUTT . I am salesman to Mr. Bayford, of 40, St. Botolph Street, Colchester—the prisoners came in about July 30th, and bought some hosiery for £2 10s. 6d.—they gave this bank note in payment—I do not know which gave it—they each selected.
Cross-examined. I said before that Deathridge made the payment.
HILDA MORLEY . I am assistant to Mrs. Simmons, a fancy dealer, of Pier Avenue, Clacton-on-Sea—the prisoners came there on August 5th, and bought a pocket-book—Deathridge handed me this £5 note—he wrote the name "James Selborne" on the back.
Cross-examined. The transaction was entirely with Deathridge.
JOHN PALFREY (Detective Sergeant). On August 9th I went with Sergeant Stockley to Ramsay Road, Leytonstone, shortly after midnight, and found the prisoners there—Stockley asked them their names—they made no reply—he handed them this photograph of Deathridge, and said, "We are police officers, you will both be arrested for forging and uttering a cheque on the Shoreditch Branch of the London and County Bank for £191 14s. 6d."—Deathridge turned to Young and said, "Say nothing about it"—Stockley asked Deathridge if he had any money, and he produced a pocket book, from which he took a £100 note and some £4 in gold and silver—he took Deathridge, and I took Young—on the way to the station Young said, "What is the charge against me?"—I replied, "Being concerned with Deathridge in forging and uttering a cheque for £191 14s. 6d. on the shoreditch Branch of the London and County Bank"—he said, "I had made up my mind to go away, and he came to me and said, 'I have money to take us both to Australia, and keep you there six months.' I said that I would go. We left Liverpool Street last Tuesday, and went on board; but when we got to Gravesend we came off; the reason was that Deathridge had not said good-bye to his young lady. He told me before he went to the bank that he had got money from his father"—he was taken to the station and searched, and had a passage ticket for two to Sydney, and an embarkation notice—he made no reply to the charge—there was also this letter of August 13th to James Swinton, Walton-on-the-Naze, from George Thompson & Co., shipping agents, acknowledging the receipt of the passage money.
Cross-examined. I did not hear all that was said, we travelled in separate cabs—on the way to the station Deathridge said, "You don't know what I have had to put up with to make me do this; I could not stand being in debt; I knew my father would not give me any money; we made up our minds to go to Australia for a long time, but I did not let him handle the money, I paid for everything; I gave him a pound or two when he wanted it. I spent £20 for clothing, and £40 for the passage to Australia, and we started from the dock for Australia, and got off at Gravesend."
Young, in his defence, on oath, said that he accompanied Deathridge, as stated, on July 29th, but did not go into the bank with him, nor did he know that he had a forged cheque, and had none of the money except the little that Deathridge gave him at times; that Deathridge gave the false name for him at the shipping office, and just before they got outside the office Deathridge told him he had stolen his father's money; that they had agreed to go away together, and he believed Deathridge was in debt, and
said to him, "Don't leave me; I shall go mad if you go and leave me"; that he had nothing to do with the cheque, and did not know that Deathridge had gone into a bank.
YOUNG— GUILTY. The JURY recommended both prisoners to mercy on account of their youth. DEATHRIDGE received a good character— Twelve months' hard labour. YOUNG— Nine months' hard labour.
MR. PETER GRAIN Prosecuted, and MR. BURNIE Defended.
WILLIAM THOMAS GOOCH . I am a pianoforte maker, trading as Garrett & Gooch, in Hackney—on August 6th I sold a piano on the hire system to Isaac Greenstein—this printed hiring agreement was drawn up between us (Produced)—it is signed with the hirer's mark and initialled by the salesman—the usual agreement was also entered into between ourselves and the landlord of the premises—I cannot say whether the prisoner is the man who hired the piano—I afterwards identified it as the one I sold to Greenstein.
Cross-examined. Somebody came with Greenstein who purported to be the prisoner—Greenstein was a stranger to me—I cannot say whether the prisoner is Greenstein.
Cross-examined. The employe who witnessed the other signature is not here.
HENRY WALL BIRKETT . I am manager to Louisa Fisher, a pawnbroker, of 116, Commercial Road—the prisoner came in at 1.30 on August 30th, and asked if we would take a piano—I asked what kind of piano it was—he said it was a good one, and asked me to go and see it—I went to his place, 18, Settle Street, facing our street—he took a key from his trousers pocket, and opened the door—he showed me the piano, and I asked him whose it was, and if there was any bill of sale, and if it was on the hire system, and if it was paid for—he said that it was, and showed me this receipt—I asked him if the name (Isaac Greenstein) was his—he said that it was, and I wrote it down—I examined the piano, and agreed to lend him £20 on it on the condition that it was paid for, and that there was no claim on it—he said that he paid cash £35, and could get £10 from his father or father-in-law on it, but did not want to trouble him, as he only wanted the money for a few days, or a short time—I went back to the shop and then to R. Fisher, of Osborne Street—I showed him the receipt and said, "Did you sell this man a piano?"—he said, "No," and then I saw Messrs. Garrett & Gooch—I then had some conversation with the prisoner, who told me that he was a dealer in live poultry—I did not speak to him of my interview with Garrett & Gooch—I then gave him into custody—I went to the station with them—the prisoner dropped a key which fits the piano.
Cross-examined. 18, Settle Street is nearly opposite our shop—he gave me his name as Isaac Greenstein.
—Reuben Fisher is my son—this is not his receipt—I do not know anyone named Isaac Greenstein—I have not sold a piano for seven years—this is my bill head; I do not know how it got into the prisoner's possession.
WALTER FINCH (H 134). The prisoner was given into my custody at 116, Commercial Road, on August 30th—he made no reply to the charge of obtaining £20 by false pretences—he gave the name, "Harris Rosenberg, 18, Settle Street."
Cross-examined. That is correct.
The prisoner, in his defence, on oath, said that he was a tailor's machinist, and Greenstein rented a room of his father on the first floor of 18, Settle Street; he knew nothing of Greenstein having hired a piano, but on August 30th he asked him to do him a favour and pawn a piano for him, and gave him a receipt, saying that he had paid cash for it, which he was to show if asked; that he went to the pawnbroker and attempted to pawn it, and was given in custody; that he gave his name to the pawnbroker, and that Greenstein promised him £1 for doing it.
Cross-examined. I do not know who signed it—I buy boots in exchange—I was told by my girl the prisoner had been arrested—I did not know what for.
Reexamined. Greenstein gave me notice the day my son was taken into custody—I have not seen him since—he did not say where he was going.
[Guilty.] The prisoner received a good character.— Six months in the second division.
OLD COURT.—Monday, September 16th, 1901.
Before Mr. Justice Phillimore.
641. In the case of CAROLINE AGNES JOLLIFFE DYER, indicted, with Ralph John Dyer, for murder; on the evidence of DR. BASTIAN, DR. MAUDSLEY and DR. SCOTT, the Medical Officer at Holloway, the JURY found that the prisoner was insane and unable to plead. — To be detained during His Majesty's pleasure. (See next case.)
MR. MUIR and MR BODKIN Prosecuted, and MR. THOMPSON and
MR. STEWART Defended.
need of a dressmaker, and advertised for one in the Daily Telegraph, and after some letters passing, Caroline Dyer, or Jolliffe, as I knew her, came as dressmaker—she had a small room at the top of the house—I lived in the same house with my wife and family—Thursday, July 4th, was early closing day, and we closed at 2 p.m.—about 9.15 p.m. I was down stairs in the kitchen; Miss Jolliffe was in the front room on the same floor—a fire broke out that evening in the room under the shop, and she came to tell me of it—part of the ceiling had broken away before the fire; there was a hole in the ceiling, and the smoke came through it—the Fire Brigade was fetched, and the fire put out—next day one of the Salvage Corps, named Reed came, and took charge of the premises—the shop was made very wet and dirty and uncomfortable by the fire and water, and my assistants had to sleep elsewhere—I know Mrs. Norbury, of 52, Green Lanes; one of her daughters, Lilian, worked for me—Mrs. Norbury took in the assistants who lived at 94, and among them Caroline Dyer—I took 147, Petherton Road, as a workshop—Miss Dyer worked there part of the time till July 23rd—she had occasion to go several times, representing me, to No. 94, for things she wanted for her work—Reed was there—on July 23rd she complained that she was not comfortable, and on the 24th I paid her a month's wages, and she left—I paid her at 94, when Reed was present—I did not see her or her brother, the prisoner, again till she was in custody—after the fire there was a Mr. Thompson at 94; he was a fire assessor—Miss Dyer never complained to me that she had been outraged or insulted or assaulted in any way—as far as I know, the fire was accidental—Miss Dyer was a perfect stranger when she came—it is an entire fabrication that the fire was a plot against her in which I had taken part.
By the COURT. I am an Englishman and a Christian—I cater for the Jews, but otherwise have nothing to do with them.
Cross-examined. Miss Dyer did not seem afraid to sleep in the house after the fire—she made no complaint about there being no lock on the doors; there is a fastening on each—her manner did not seem strange at all.
ANN NORBURY . I am a widow—last July I lived with my family at 52, Green Lanes—we are Baptists—none of us or any of our friends are Jews—I remember the fire at Mr. Lewis's—my daughter Lilian was working for him then—I offered to take in Miss Dyer and another assistant—Miss Dyer remained in my house till July 23rd—on Sunday evening, July 14th, I saw her in her bedroom—I looked in at the door; she was sitting on a stool at the side of her bed, with her head on the pillow, asleep, as I thought; there was nobody else in the room—only my daughter and youngest son, Frank, were in the house; he is 15—Miss Dyer came down to tea with us—I saw nothing wrong with her—I went to chapel that evening, and she came too—she did not complain about being at my house, she said that she was so comfortable—down to July 11th, she occupied a bedroom by herself—on that day my daughter Frances came home from Birmingham, and she and Miss Dyer occupied the same room—the following night, about 1.45 a.m., my youngest daughter called me—we heard a most peculiar noise; Miss Dyer was saying,"You must, you must"—I rushed downstairs, and called my son; Miss Dyer opened
the door and said, "It is all right, Mrs. Norbury; your daughter has got nightmare"—she had left us on July 22nd, but my daughter Lilian went to work as usual—on the Saturday night previous a detective came in, and Miss Dyer said to me, "Mother has taken this up, and has sent a police-officer; will you come in and see him?"—I said, "No, I do not want to have anything to do with it"—I gave her a lamp to take into the front room with the detective—we thought it was only about the fire—I knew of her accusation then—I did not see anything peculiar about her behaviour, but after the detective had gone she said that she was sorry her mother had made a fuss about it—I said, "Well, take care, or you will get into trouble"—she gave me a dreadful look—I felt afraid of her, and I thought there would be trouble—I had never had a quarrel with her—the prisoner came on Wednesday—I saw him at my door—he asked me if I was Mrs. Norbury—I said, "Yes"—he said, "Is Miss Jolliffe here?"—I said, "No, she is gone home to-day, I believe"—he said, "I am Mr. Jolliffe; what is all this about?"—I said, "I do not know; I think Miss Jolliffe has been acting rather strange the last day or two"—he said that in all her letters his sister had spoken most highly of me and all my children—when he went away he thanked me for my kindness to her, and said he would make his way to the fireman—I do not remember whether I had told him if the fireman would know if she had left town or not—on July 26th, about, 1 p.m., the street door bell rang—Catherine, my youngest daughter, went to the door—she is called Lena—she suffers from heart disease—Mrs. Britton called to her not to open the door, as there was a man and woman there—the man was the prisoner—I went to the back room door—as I went in the prisoner rushed round the counter into the shop to the back of the parlour door—I saw a pistol in his hand—his sister was behind him—Mrs. Britton caught him—I did not hear what she said—I rushed out—Miss Jolliffe gave me a stab on my shoulder as I went out—I did not know it was a stab at the time—I rushed out into the street, and went behind some hoarding next door, where they are building—the prisoner followed me and knocked me down on my face—he then knocked my head with the butt end of his pistol—I kept my senses—a man came up and caught hold of him—I did not see him come up, because he was behind me, but I heard him—I do not remember what the prisoner said—I was taken to the German Hospital, and attended to there—I have been ill ever since.
Cross-examined. I did not notice that the prisoner was very much excited.
LUCY KNIGHT . I live at 63, Mildmay Road—on July 23rd Caroline Dyer came and engaged a room for the night—she stayed there the night—during the night I heard a knocking on the floor—I went up to her room—she said she heard burglars—I had a lodger who came in rather late that night—there was no disturbance after that—the next morning she left.
FRANK WILLIAM BRITTON . I am a jeweller, of 52, Green Lanes—my shop is on the ground floor, with a small room behind it—I let the rest of the house to Mrs. Norbury—on July 23rd I was at my shop, and saw Caroline Dyer there—I asked her to take her things away, as we did not want her to remain any longer—Mrs. Norbury had said something to
me before that—I did not see her again—next day I saw the prisoner in the lobby of my shop—Mrs. Norbury was in the passage with me—he called to inquire whether his sister had gone, and where she was staying—he was told that she had left, and we did not know where she had gone—I think we advised him to inquire at 94, Green Lanes—I did not mention anybody's name there.
EMMA JOLLIFFE DYER . I am a widow—the prisoner is my son—in 1893 I was living at Southsea—my son had a butcher's shop there—I remember some meat being seized—my son was summoned in respect of it—it was good meat—he was waiting for the summons, but it never came—the shop had only been open 11 days—it was closed a day or two after that summons—we went to live at my eldest son's at Brighton—he was the head waiter at the Grand Hotel there—the prisoner has carried on no work lately—at one time he carried on the business of a bootmaker at Brighton—we had two rooms, and my daughter carried on the work of a dressmaker—we left Brighton on account, of his health, and went to 223, Lake Road, Southsea, where he took up the leather trade—on July 1st my daughter was decoyed to Mr. Lewis's under false pretences—she came back again on July 24th—she found no workers there—while she was there we corresponded by letter—the letters were addressed sometimes to me and sometimes to my sons—they were read in the family circle, and I discussed with the prisoner their contents—my daughter would have told me more in them, only her brothers saw them—before she came home I told the prisoner that she had been decoyed there by some rich people, who were the only Gentiles there; all the rest were Jews—the prisoner expressly wishes me to keep Jews out of this matter now; they are so powerful, so I would rather not answer anything about them—he discussed them with me then—he has asked me to keep Jews out of this since he has been in prison—you can see by one of my daughter's letters how powerful they are—when my daughter came home she told me she had stains on her linen—I said there must be something wrong—I questioned her, and she told me different things—the prisoner was told late that evening—I told him we were going to a doctor's next morning—he went round to Dr. Alexander's with us next morning—he remained outside—when we came out I told him that it was true that Caroline had been outraged—when he is upset he never says a word—he did not say a word on this occasion—my daughter was very much upset—she wanted to go to London next morning, and go to the North London Police-court—I was too ill to go with her—I told her I wished her to wait till Monday—she said, "They will be gone; they are going to leave the place; I must go"—she meant the Norburys—she wanted to charge them with inveigling her—she had been there at the time of the fire, and said they had snubbed her at the Court—I do not know what my son and daughter were going to do if the Magistrate would not listen to them—the next morning they started off together to London—I did not see the prisoner write this statement (B)—this is his signature—I could hardly get my daughter to bed that night—she was writing when I left her—this statement (C) is in her writing—she is not insane—the prisoner knew my daughter had been to the Police-court before—they did not expect to be listened to much—I thought in the case
of an outrage they would listen—the prisoner did not say what he would do if they would not listen.
Cross-examined. My son and daughter are very fond of each other—my son did not lift a knife to the sanitary inspector—this is the first time I have heard of it—my other son left the Grand Hotel, Brighton, through a trick which I would rather not go into—it was a Jewish persecution—he was not accused of being strange in his manner—he gave notice himself—I was threatened by Jews myself just before it occurred; consequently I believed they tricked my son out—at the time the unfavourable report was made about my son's meat, the Mayor's name was Emanuel; he was a Jew—I wrote this letter to the Home Secretary, dated October 9th, 1900—my daughter did not know she was followed; her whole mind was given up to her work—I pointed out a woman to her one day at Brighton, and said, "That woman is following you"—she said, "No, mother, it cannot be"—we went to the Dyke, and when we got there there was the woman—I wrote this letter to the "Solicitor-General to the Treasury"—(This contained a mass of disconnected statements, comlplaining that the family had been persecuted by Jews, and stating that when the fire broke out her daughter was reading, and that she rushed to the back door, but found it locked; that she got out at another door; that they were burnt out, and had to remove to 52, Green Lanes; that she was then taken to an empty house, and complained of being left there alone all day with the fireman; and that she charged the Lewises with arson and attempted murder.)—I wrote this other letter to the Director of Public Prosecutions on July 19th, 1901—my son did not see them before I dispatched them—(Read: "223, Lake Road, Portsmouth. Sir,—My daughter went to London as a fitter they tried to set fire to her she is now being inveigled into a Jews' den please see her and see into it the fire was at 94, Green Lanes, London. They have taken her to Petherton Road. The name is Miss Jolliffe. She went as fitter. We are hunted by Jews. (Signed) E.JOLLIFFE.")—my grandmother and my husband's grandmother were sisters—I still believe all the statements my daughter made; I know my son believed in them too—there was a conspiracy among the doctors not to examine my daughter; some of them were going to examine her, then they were rung up by the telephone, and then they refused to do so—this bundle of letters are in my daughter's writing.
SAMUEL PHILIP ALEXANDER I am a medical man, of 20, Kent Road, Southsea—on Thursday, July 20th, Caroline Dyer and the last witness called—a statement was made to me that Caroline Dyer had been drugged and outraged—I eventually agreed to examine her—I found she was suffering from a slight attack of vaginitis—(The witness then described the symptoms which he found, but could find no proof of the woman having been outraged, it being possible that the signs he found might be natural.)
Cross-examined. I did not see the prisoner; I do not know if he was outside my house.
WILLIAM FLACK NORBURY . I live with my mother at 52, Green Lanes, and am cashier to a firm of coal merchants—I remember Miss Jolliffe living at our house from July 4th to the 23rd—I had meals sometimes at the same time that she did, with the rest of the family—she was quite friendly with us all—on July 26th I had dinner at home—I left to go back to
work at 1.10 p.m.—I walked along Green Lanes, and got as far as No. 8 or 10, when I met the prisoner and his sister—she said, "I want to speak to you about Lewis's fire"—she then stabbed me; it all took place in an instant—I did not know I was stabbed then—I went to business, and then to the German Hospital—I felt she had struck me—I ran across the road to avoid her; she came after me a little way, but not far—the prisoner was with her when she stabbed me; then he walked on—I had only one stab.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was a little in advance of his sister when she stabbed me.
HERMANN FELS . I am House Surgeon at the German Hospital, Dalston—I was there on July 26th, when the last witness came in—I examined him, and found on his left breast, a wound from 3in. to 3 1/2 in. deep—considerable force must have been used; it could have been caused by this dagger knife—it struck one of the ribs, and so avoided injuring the heart—on the same day I treated Mrs. Norbury—she had 12 scalp wounds, and one on her face and one on her hand—they were caused by a blunt instrument—this revolver could have caused them—considerable force must have been used—I also found three wounds on her left shoulder behind the arm, and one on the upper part of her left arm—one wound was from 5in. to 6in. deep, and the others about 3in. deep—the wounds on her head might have been caused by this dagger knife—one was very dangerous, the bone being fractured—the wounds caused by the knife were not by themselves dangerous to life.
RICHARD EDSON . I am a labourer—on July 26th I was at work on a scaffold at 50, Green Lanes, between 1 and 2 p m.—I heard screams, and saw Mrs. Norbury lying on her left side, on some sand, behind some hoarding—I saw the prisoner pecking at her with a revolver—I got off the scaffold, and went up to the prisoner, and said, "What game do you call this?"—he said, "I have done this to avenge my sister, as she has been drugged and outraged"—I seized him—he did not strike the woman again; he did not struggle—he said, "I surrender to you"—I cannot say if this is the same pistol—it resembles it—I asked him to put it into his pocket, which he did—I gave him up to a policeman.
JOSEPH GADSTONE (143 J). On July 26th I found the prisoner in Edson's charge—the prisoner handed me this revolver and said, "Here is a revolver, be careful, it is loaded, I intended to give myself up to have this case investigated; I have not shot, fearing I should shoot other persons"—at the Police-station he handed me 28 cartridges wrapped up in paper—the revolver has five chambers—it was fully loaded; it had not been fired.
MARY ANN BRITTON . I am the wife of Edward Britton—my son Frank keeps a jeweller's shop at 52, Green Lanes—I assist in the shop occasionally—I see very imperfectly, one eye is totally blind—on July 26th, about 1 p.m., I saw the prisoner standing in the lobby of the shop—that is also the entrance to the house—the prisoner's sister was with him—I left the shop and went through the back parlour, opened a door, and called out to Mrs. Norbury, "Don't go and open your door, but send your son Will"—the prisoner could hear that—I knew Mrs. Norbury would be downstairs, because they were at dinner—as I called to her she came
hurrying up, and asked me why I had called her—I said, "There is a tall man, and a woman by his side, I do not know if they have rung the bell, you let your son Will answer the bell"—she said in a very hurried, frightened voice, "There they are, coming through the shop!"—I turned back and went into the shop, and saw the prisoner standing there, holding a revolver in his right hand—he called out in a loud voice, "I want Mrs. Norbury"—I went up to him and said, "Oh! spare, do spare, the dear widow!"—as I was pleading with him Mrs. Norbury came in, and then fled out of the shop door, which the prisoner had left open—he immediately tore after her—I went after him, but I did not get up to him—that was the last I saw of him.
LILIAN NORBURY . I am a daughter of Mrs. Norbury, and live at 52, Green Lanes—last July I was employed by Mr. Lewis as a dressmaker at the same time that Caroline Dyer was there—after the fire I worked at Petherton Road with her, and she came to live at our house—she had a room to herself till my sister Frances came back from Birmingham on July 18th—the prisoner and I were always friendly; she and my family always got on well together—on July 26th I was at home to dinner—I heard Mrs. Britton call out for my mother to go upstairs—she went up—directly after I heard some screams, and we all went up to see what it was—when I got on to the landing I saw Miss Dyer—she did not say anything to me—I did not feel her touch me—she had a knife in her hand—she looked as if she was in a rage—I went into the back parlour; she rushed downstairs—when I came upstairs I left my sisters Frances and Ethel behind me on the stairs—afterwards I noticed two small cuts in the back of my left sleeve—my skin was not cut.
ETHEL MARY NORBURY . I live with my mother at 52, Green Lanes—on July 26th, about 1 p.m., I was downstairs in the kitchen with my two sisters—Lilian ran upstairs after my mother, then Frances went up, and I followed her—when I got up I saw Miss Dyer—Frances was near her—I did not see them meet—I went back into the kitchen, and waited there a little while—when I came out I saw Frances at the bottom of the stairs—I led her into a room and attended to her till the doctor came.
THOMAS GALBRAITH I am a medical man, practising at 176, Southgate Road—on July 26th I was called to Mrs. Norbury's—I found her on a heap of sand inside some hoarding of 50, Green Lanes—I made a slight examination of the wound in her head, and sent her to the hospital—I then went into the house, and attended to Frances Norbury—she was sitting on the floor, supported by her sister—I examined her, and found a wound in front of the left shoulder; while I was examining her she died—on July 27th, in conjunction with Dr. Durno, I made a post-mortem examination—the wound on the shoulder was about 1in. long and about 3 1/2 in. deep—it penetrated the muscles over the shoulder joint and the axillary artery—bleeding from that artery would cause rapid death—the wound could be caused by such a knife as this—considerable force must have been used.
ALGERNON HORACE REED . I am a member of the London Salvage Corps—on the morning of July 5th I took charge of 94, Green Lanes, where there had been a fire the day before—my hours there were from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m.—while I was there I saw Miss Dyer from time to time
—I had no quarrel with her at all—on July 24th I saw Mr. Lewis pay her some money; she gave him a receipt for it—on the same day she took away a box; she had previously taken away a portmanteau—on July 26th, at 1.15 p.m., I heard a loud knock at the door; I opened it very quickly—I was stabbed twice by Miss Dyer—she made three stabs at me, but the third I warded off after it had penetrated through my waistcoat—I ran after her—I had a brass rod in my hand—I struck her with it, and knocked her down—I fell on top of her—another man took this dagger (Produced) away from her—I did not hear her say anything—I was attended by Dr. Hewer, of High Street, New Park—I was under treatment for some time—I have recovered now.
THOMAS GILBERT . I am a lamplighter—on July 26th, about 1.30 p.m., I was cleaning a lamp near 94, Green Lanes—I saw Caroline Dyer run out and shut the door—a fireman ran after her and knocked her down—I thought he was going to assault her, and I got hold of him—he told me he was stabbed, and I told him to go to the hospital—I took a dagger out of the woman's hand, and threw it into No. 88—I held her till a constable came up—while I was holding her she said, "Don't think I have done this for nothing; I have been outraged and drugged by these people"—I said, "I think you have done a very foolish thing"—she said, "My brother is down the other end, and is going to kill them all with a pistol"—I held her a bit tight—she said, "You need not hold me, I shall not hurt you"—I said, "Yes, I shall see you don't"—she said, "I mean to kill Mr. and Mrs. Lewis," and that she had stabbed three or four others, and meant to kill the boy—I do not know which boy she meant—she said she and her brother had come up from Portsmouth to do the job.
Cross-examined. She was very calm.
JOSEPH LANGSTON HEWER . I am a medical man, of 33, High Street, New Park—on the afternoon of July 26th Reed was brought to me—he had two wounds on the left side of his chest—I examined and treated him—the wounds might have been caused by this dagger knife—considerable force must have been used—he was wearing his tunic—the cuts had gone through it and his underclothing.
EDWARD ROBERTS (130 N). At 1.30 p.m. on July 26th I was called to 94, Green Lanes—I found Caroline Dyer detained there by Gilbert—I took her to Stoke Newington Police-station—on the way she said, "I did it; don't think I did it for no reason"—this knife was given to me.
JOHN MARTIN (Inspector, N). I received information about this case on July 26th—I made inquiries at 52, Green Lanes—I returned to Stoke Newington Police-station, where I found Caroline Dyer and the prisoner—in their presence William Flack Norbury said, "About 1 o'clock today I was leaving my home in Green Lanes. I saw that man and woman there. She stabbed me in the left breast and said, 'I want to see you about the Lewises.' I ran away, and went to the German Hospital, where my wounds were stitched up"—the prisoner asked if I was an inspector—I said that I was—he said, "I came up to London to-day with my sister to have revenge on the persons who outraged and drugged her; I did it"—he handed me statement B—Caroline Dyer. said, "I came with my brother to have revenge in case the law should not give it to me"—the prisoner said, "I had the dagger to do it with; I had the dagger in
my hand and then advised her to do it; she knew the persons"—Caroline said, "I insisted upon him lending me the dagger"—she handed me this letter, marked "C"—I then said that Frances Norbury was dead, and that there would be a charge of wilful murder against them—the prisoner said, "I expected to be charged, and came up with that intention, that being the only means of avenging her"—Caroline said, "I am so glad"—I noticed that her hand was cut—I did not notice that the prisoner was hurt—at the Police-court Caroline requested the Magistrate to direct that she should be medically examined.
LESLIE DURNO , M.D. I am surgeon to the N Division of Police—I went to 52, Green Lanes, on July 26th, between 3 and 4 p.m., and saw the dead body of Frances Norbury—I afterwards assisted Dr. Galbraith in a post-mortem examination—I agree with what he said we found—the same evening I attended to a sprain on the right forefinger on Caroline Dyer's hand, some bruising on the left forefinger, and a lacerated wound on the same joint—I examined the prisoner—he had a small cut on the top of one thumb and a quantity of blood on the right wrist-band—he told me he had purchased a dagger and the revolver for the purpose of doing the deed he was accused of—Caroline said much the same—in the prisoner's presence she said she had been drugged and outraged, and had contracted the disease, and that she had done it out of revenge—they both seemed pleased at what they had done—on July 27th I was at the North London Police-court—at the Magistrate's request I examined Caroline—I found her genital organs quite healthy—there was no recent evidence of connection—she had told me she had been outraged while asleep.
MARY RALPH . I am the female searcher at Stoke Newington Police-station—on July 26th I searched Caroline Dyer—inside the band of her skirt I found this leather sheath (Produced)—it was sewn to the band by this ring—she told me it was there—(Statements "B" and "C" were here put in and read. "B," written by the prisoner at Portsmouth, said that his sister had been drugged and outraged, and an attempt made to murder her by fire; that she had been menaced by the police; that she was insulted by the fireman; that he (the prisoner) hoped he should meet him; and that there was only one course left for him, and that was to avenge his outraged and insulted sister and his mother, who was almost worried to death. "C" written by Caroline Dyer at Portsmouth on July 25th, stated that she had been the victim of outrage and attempted murder by some Jews in Portsmouth, in conjunction with Jews in London; that she charged Mrs. Norbury and Mr. Lewis, and no doubt there were others unknown, with entrapping her to 52, Green Lanes, and charged Mr. Lewis with setting fire to his shop, with intent to murder her; that they outraged her in her sleep, to do which they must have drugged her; that she was in hopes to meet one of the people, and would thank the Lord if she got hung for it; that she had not the least idea of such a thing till she got home, when her mother said that she ought to be examined; and that she accused the fireman of being as deep in it as anyone, as, though not a Jew, he was no doubt paid by them).
The FOREMAN here stated that the JURY had formed a very strong opinion on the case, but would like to hear Dr. Scott.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate;"I took up my sister's case to avenge the outrage. I still believe she has been outraged. I PLEAD GUILTY; that is my answer. I call no witnesses."
DR. JAMES SCOTT . I have had considerable experience in cases of persons suggested to be insane—the prisoner has been under my observation since July 29th—I have heard the evidence and read the depositions in this case—I think he knew the nature and quality of his act, and that he knew it was wrong—I form that opinion from his general bearing—he said that he was firmly under the belief that what his mother and sister said was true—I think he was prepared to take the consequences of his act—I think his not discharging his loaded pistol showed a certain amount of self-restraint at the time.
Cross-examined. I should not say that he is quite normal mentally—I think he has some ideas of suspicion, which the rest of the family have to a lesser degree—I think he allowed himself to be carried away by indignation at his sister's story—he talked clearly and rationally to me—I heard his mother say that when he is angry he is quiet—I heard that a Mr. Barnett went to the prisoner's shop at Brighton about some boots not being sent home, and of the prisoner taking up a chisel and saying he would kill him—it is possible that he was under a wrong impression then—I know of the case where a servant went into his shop, and he said if she came any more he would throw her into the street—that shows a very hasty temper—I know of the case where the sanitary inspector was threatened with a weapon—I think that was a wrong impression also—I do not think those were insane delusions—I know the prisoner connects some supposed persecution by Jews in 1894 with this case—I should call that a morbid suspicion, not an insane delusion—these things do not justify me in saying that he is insane, or was insane at the time he committed the act, or that he was suffering from insane delusions.
HENRY MAUDSLEY , M.D. I practise at 12, Queen Street, Mayfair—I have had many years' experience in cases of mental disease—I went to Holloway Prison on August 8th, and examined the prisoner and his sister—I have had the letters and depositions before me—I formed the opinion that the prisoner on July 26th was mentally, but not very, sane, but was legally a person of sound mind—that he knew the nature and quality of his acts, and he knew what he was doing at the time he attacked Mrs. Norbury, and knew that it was wrong—I found traces of suspicion in him—he is of an exceedingly nervous disposition—he suspected the Jews, and thought they had been concerned in the disturbance at Newington—he entirely believed what his sister and mother had said with regard to the outrage—he said he thought Mrs. Norbury was a procuress in the matter—his not firing the pistol shows that he had self-control at the time.
Cross-examined. It is a fact that when a person has been actuated by delusions resulting in violence, they become much calmer afterwards—the prisoner's mental condition might have improved in the fortnight after the act—people may be perfectly sane except on one subject—the prisoner said that he would rather believe his mother and sister before all the world—I think he suffers from a profoundly morbid and almost insane suspicion, and so could believe all his sister told him—constantly harping
upon one subject would be a mere formation of insanity—he never mentioned his brother's name to me at all.
Re-examined. My opinion as to the state of the prisoner's mind on July 26th was made on the whole circumstances of the case—I do not know if be himself thought that what he did was wrong, but he knew that the world in general would think it was wrong—he said that if he lived in France he would certainly be acquitted—he thought it a fair and chivalrous act to avenge his sister's wrongs.
JOHN MARTIN (Re-examined). I first saw the pistol at the Policestation—I examined it on July 26th; it was out of order; the trigger did not seem to go right—I could not fire it—I do not know who extracted the bullets—I do not know much about firearms.
DR. BASTIAN, F.R.S. I have had great experience in the treatment of mental cases—I examined the prisoner on September 4th as to his mental state—I had the same materials before me as Dr. Maudsley—I asked the prisoner why he attacked Mrs. Norbury—he replied that he thought her a procuress, and as such more guilty than the man who was supposed to have committed the act—he added that though he had a loaded pistol in his hand, he did not fire it—I asked him if he struck her with the muzzle, and he said distinctly, "No"; he struck her with the side of the pistol—I formed the opinion that he was sane on July 26th—the statement he made to me showed that he had a certain amount of control, and that he was in a condition capable of guiding his actions.
Cross-examined. I should say that he is of an excitable nature, coupled with a great lack of judgment—he believed what was told him by his mother and sister—when I spoke to him about the improbability of the girl's story he said, "Well, she is my sister, and you cannot go into details," and so he took what was said to be the dictum of the doctor—I think his conduct was that of a very excitable nature, led away by these supposed wrongs to his sister—he is not a strong-minded man—at the time I saw him he would not admit that there was any truth in these allegations about the Jews—I have no reason to doubt that he had the full possession of his faulties, save that he was a man led away when in a passion.
Evidence for the Defence.
FREDERICK SIGS (Brighton Police, 19 B). I have been into the prisoner's shop at Brighton to get my boots repaired—I talked to him about his life in America—I have seen him out very late at night, and he has told me that he never went out without carrying a revolver—his manner has always been very strange, and I did not think he was of sound mind.
Cross-examined. I only noticed his general demeanour—I can refer to no particular fact.
MARY ANN PENNALL . I live at 17, Compton Avenue, Brighton—in July last year I gave my servant a pair of boots to be repaired at a shop in Guildford Road—she took them to the wrong shop—I inquired at the prisoner's shop for the boots—I was not sure which shop they were at—the prisoner said he had not got them, and never had had them—I said
that I had made a mistake—he told me if ever I came to his shop again he would throw me out into the street—he was angry, and would not listen to any of my explanations.
THOMAS DUFF BARNETT . I am a tutor, of 16, Albert Road, Brighton—about Christmas, 1899, my wife engaged Miss Jolliffe to make a bodice—I called one day about it, and saw the prisoner—I asked why the bodice was not sent home—he said he wanted to be paid for it before it was sent—I said that I had lived in Brighton for 25 years, and was well known, and generally, when anything like that was ordered, it was sent home first, but that I would pay for it if he would give it to me—he became very passionate, and seized a carpenter's chisel, the blade was about 18in. long, and held it up over my head and said, "You had better be careful, or I will do for you," or something like it—I said that it was a very peculiar way to act, and if he acted like that he would certainly come to a very bad end—as a matter of fact, the bodice was not finished—I tried not to appear frightened, but certainly felt what you would call in a funk.
GEORGE TIMOTHY BILLING . I am the late Inspector of Nuisances at Portsmouth—I am now Inspector of the Finsbury Borough Council—on September 18th, 1893, I went to the prisoner's shop at 180, Sumers Road, Southsea—it was a butcher's shop—I had some meat seized there—before it was seized I told the prisoner I was an inspector of nuisances, and I should seize the meat because it was unfit for human food—he stood in front of me by the side of a block with a chopper, and said, "I shall not let you take the meat away till I know whether you are an inspector, and if I thought you were not an inspector I should break your head"—he was very excited, and was chopping on the block—I sent to the Town Hall for assistance, and afterwards removed the meat—I said to him, "You don't suppose I should come into your shop and tell you I was an inspector if I was not"—he said, "I don't know; I am rather suspicious."
The JURY, without hearing the Counsel for the defence, or the summing up, returned a verdict of GUILTY, but insane at the time. — To be detained during His Majesty's pleasure.
NEW COURT. Monday, September 16th, 1901.
(For cases heard this day see Kent and Surrey Cases.)
THIRD COURT.—Monday, September 16th, 1901.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. A. METCALFE Prosecuted, and MR. BURNIE Defended Roberts.
FLORA LEGG . I am the wife of Joshua Legg, of 1A, Boundary Road, East Ham—on September 2nd, at 7.30 p.m., I was about to get into an omnibus at Cornhill with my daughter, aged 15, and my husband and children—my purse was in my pocket behind my dress—I felt a twitch at my pocket, put my hand there quickly, and said, "My purse is gone"—my daughter directed my attention to a woman sitting inside a Bayswater
'bus close behind, the one we were going to get in—Roberts was standing on the pavement—I asked him if he saw which way the woman had gone—he said, "Across the road"—I looked down King William Street—my daughter said, "There she is; there's the woman that took your purse"—I went into the 'bus to her, and she turned out her pockets—I gave her into custody—outside the 'bus there was a struggle between the prisoners, the conductor, and my husband—two policemen held the woman, and my husband the man—someone came and assisted, and they all went to the station—I distinctly heard the woman say, "Sling it."
Cross-examined. There was a fair crowd, but not many got on the 'bus we were getting on—it was fairly dark.
FLORA ETHEL LEGG . I am the daughter of the last witness—I was, with her and my father, about to get into an omnibus on September 2nd—I saw Williams take the purse out of my mother's pocket, and I pointed her out to my mother—she went between our 'bus and the horses' heads—I followed, and saw her sitting in the next 'bus—I saw Roberts on the pavement—the conductor brought Williams out—I was behind, and saw her put her hand towards and, I thought, in Williams' pocket—he was holding out his pocket.
Cross-examined. I did not mention the pocket before the Magistrate—afterwards I heard the conductor say something about Roberts opening his pocket—I forgot to say it—my father is a joiner.
CHARLES PALMER . I am 13 years old, and a clerk at Keely's, in Mitre Square—on September 2nd I saw Mr. Legg speak to a constable, and followed them to a 'bus—Williams was standing up in the 'bus—the constable took her out—there was a slight struggle—pointing to Roberts, the constable said, "That man knows something about it"—I heard Williams say, "Sling it, Bill, sling it"—the prisoners were taken to the Police-station; I followed—Williams produced the purse from under her cape at the station—she said, "I had the lady's purse all the time; I do not know that gentleman."
PERCIVAL JOHN GOODCHILD (674, City). At 7.30 on September 2nd I was on duty at Mansion House Street, when Legg spoke to me, in consequence of which I went and took Williams from an omnibus—there was a bit of a struggle getting her off—while struggling the prisoner Roberts was standing on the kerb close to the 'bus; I thought he was going to get on—Williams said, "Sling it, Bill, sling it," to Roberts—I took them both to the station in consequence of the conductor saying to me in the prisoners' hearing, "This man knows something about it; he has it in his pocket"—at the station Williams pulled the purse from under her arm and said, "I had it all the time; he knows nothing about it"—Roberts gave the name of William Roberts, and Williams gave the name of Mary Williams—Roberts was charged with her—he made no reply.
Cross-examined. The conductor was standing on the footboard—I am speaking from recollection—there was a good deal of confusion
HARRY MARTIN (622, City). I saw a crowd, and went to assist the other constable—Roberts was in the custody of Legg—he was handed over to me—I took him to the Police-station, with the other constable, and Williams—at the station Williams produced the purse and said, "There's the purse; you thought he had it, but I had it all the time; I do not know
the man"—she gave the name of Mary Williams—when the inspector asked Roberts his name he said, "William Roberts"—I said, "Do you mean William Roberts or Robert Williams?"—he replied, "William Robert Williams if you like"—it was settled as William Roberts.
Cross-examined. I was taking down his answers to the inspector's questions, and did not quite hear what he said.
JOHN COLLING (66, City). I took the charge—the prisoner said his name was William Roberts—Martin said, "William Robert or Robert Williams?"—the prisoner replied, "William Robert Williams if you like"—he gave his address as Mill Gate, Manchester.
Cross-examined. I asked him his name, and he said William Roberts.
WILLIAM SPRINGTHORPE . I am Metropolitan Stage Carriage conductor, No. 6,099—I was conducting a Bayswater omnibus in Cornhill, at 7.45, on September 2nd, going east—a Blackwall omnibus was in front—I saw Williams come through the crowd in the Blackwall 'bus, and Mrs. Legg following her—Roberts was standing about two yards behind Williams, then he put himself in front of Mrs. Legg and rushed up against her—she attempted to step aside, but Roberts allowed Williams to get into my 'bus and said to Mrs. Legg, "Nobody there, not there, two or three boys round the back of the 'bus"—Mrs. Legg was going to get into the 'bus after Williams—I called to Mrs. Legg to fetch a constable—a constable came and took Williams out of the 'bus—I never took my eyes off Roberts, who was standing as near the footboard as he could get, and the handrail, and held his jacket pocket open as wide as he could as Williams went by to the 'bus, and she put her hand in it—I jumped off, held him, and told the constable what I had seen—Williams called out to the prisoner loud enough for everybody to hear, "Sliny it, Bill, sling it," as soon as I got hold of Roberts.
Cross-examined. Williams was a yard away when she said that—I went away with my 'bus—Roberts did not say in my hearing which way the woman had gone, nor "Over there."
Roberts, in his defence, on oath, said that he had come to London from Manchester on a 16 days' excursion, and had left his return half ticket in a coat at his aunt's, at 9, Eagle Place, Poplar, whom he had called to see, and that he had not known Williams.
ROBERTS— GUILTY .— Twelve months' hard labour. WILLIAMS then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell on January 19th, 1891, in the name of Mary Jones. Two other convictions were proved against her.— Eighteen months' hard labour.
MR. MOSES Prosecuted.
ALFRED ANDERTON (City Detective). At 2.45 on July 23rd I was in Mansion House Street with Bell in plain clothes—we watched the prisoner till 4 p.m.—he acted suspiciously, placing his hands on ladies' dresses—he crossed from the Mansion House to Queen Victoria Street, between the prosecutrix and her daughter—as they turned round the prisoner, who was behind, looked in a carriage, then he placed his right hand between the lady and her daughter, withdrew it, put it again in the same place,
and snatched her watch, which was hanging from the chain into a little pocket—I seized his wrist, and he threw the watch on the ground, and said, "I have not got it"—a gentleman picked it up—I took him to the Police-station and charged him—he said, "You have made a mistake."
CHARLES BALL (557, City). I was with Anderton at 2.45 on July 23rd, and saw the prisoner standing at the west corner of the Mansion House, behind a lady, acting suspiciously, putting his hand to dress pockets five or six times—about 3.55 I saw him coming from the Mansion House into Queen Victoria Street, behind Mrs Hall and another lady, who crossed from the south side with the crowd—he placed his hand between the two, and suddenly withdrew it—he did that again, and I seized him—Anderton seized his right hand—he said, "I have not got it"—the watch struck me on the foot, a man picked it up, and gave it to me—the prosecutrix said, "That is my watch"—we took him to the Police-station—in reply to the charge he said, "You have made a mistake"—the watch was in her left hip pocket—a portion of the chain was exposed at the bottom of her bodice; you could see her pocket open below the bodice.
ANNIE HALL . I am a widow, of 24, Pratt Street, Lambeth Road—this watch and chain (Produced) are mine—I was wearing them on the afternoon of July 23rd—when I turned round the watch was gone, and the chain was hanging—in another moment I saw the watch drop—I said, "That is my watch," and a gentleman said, "Is that your watch? Give it to me; I am a detective"—I gave it to him, and followed him—its value is £4 17s. 6d., and 2s. 6d. the ring.
Cross-examined. You were about a yard away when arrested—directly I missed my watch I looked up—when I said, "That is my watch," a gentleman handed it to me, and I took it.
The prisoner, in his defence, said that the evidence was incorrect; that his hand was bandaged, and he could not work.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell on March 6th, and four other convictions were proved against him.— Eighteen months' hard labour.
FOURTH COURT.—Monday, September 16th, 1901.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR PETER GRAIN Prosecuted.
HENRY BOARD (Detective Officer). About 10.45 a.m. on Wednesday, September 4th, I was in Liverpool Street—I saw the prisoner with another youth, and their manner being suspicious, I watched them—I saw them go behind Mrs. Theaker, who was looking in a shop window—the prisoner attempted to get his right hand into her dress pocket, but she moved away—they both followed her to another shop window, where the prisoner got right behind her, the other youth covering his movements as much as possible—Brown placed his hand in her dress pocket—she was in a stooping position at the time, so that I could see distinctly—he withdrew his hand, spoke to the other youth, and hurried across the road—I spoke to the lady, and in consequence of what she said, I made after the prisoner and the other youth, who were then running at a very
sharp pace towards Bishopsgate Street—when I was just on catching them up, just by Bishopsgate Without, they split up; the prisoner ran to the left, the other youth went through Devonshire Street, in the other direction—I caught Brown—I said, "I am a police officer; where is that purse you have just taken from the lady's pocket?"—he said, "I have not got it"—I took him to the station, where he was charged—he made no answer—he gave an address at a common lodging house in Brick Lane—he was searched; no purse was found on him, it has not been recovered—there was opportunity for the prisoner to hand it to the other lad without my seeing—they crossed the road right behind one another, and by the time they had crossed they were running, and had got 20 yards from me, going towards Bishopsgate Street Without.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You were not standing still when I caught you—omnibuses pull up at that corner, and there were a great many people getting on and off; otherwise I might not have caught you—you got slightly jammed among the people—you were dodging among them as fast as you could.
MARY THEAKER . I am a widow, living at Norwich, but staying at Walthamstow at present—on the morning of September 4th the detective came up and spoke to me, and in consequence of what he said I put my hand into my pocket and missed my purse, which contained a sovereign, two half-sovereigns, about 8s. in silver, about 8d. in coppers, two keys, a postcard, and some stamps—about three minutes before the detective spoke to me I had felt it in my pocket—I was about to go into a shop to make a purchase.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated, on oath, that he had not had the lady's purse.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. COHEN Prosecuted, and offered no evidence against EMILY GEORGE.— NOT GUILTY . MALLEN stated that he was GUILTY , and the JURY thereupon found him GUILTY.— Discharged on his own recognizances
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, September 17th, 1901.
Before Mr. Justice Phillimore.
MR. BOYD Prosecuted.
HENRICH EMILE OVERBECK . I am an agent, of 10, Queen Street, Cheapside—on August 20th the prisoner came; he gave the name of Hart—another man was with him who gave the name of Davis—I did not know either of them—the prisoner asked to see some cutlery which I had for sale—he said he wanted it for sale at the Crystal Palace and the Aquarium and other places—he selected a quantity—I made out this list (Produced), which came to £30 2s.—I said he should have it for £30—he offered me £27, which I refused—he said he would consider whether he would buy
it—I told him as an inducement that after a fortnight I would take back any goods he had not sold if he would return them—they went away—about an hour afterwards a messenger came with the list, and written on it was, "Kindly forward goods, and undertake as arranged, and oblige, yours truly, J. H."—the messenger gave me this cheque for £30, drawn on the London and County Bank, and signed "J. Hart"—I paid it in, and was told it was stolen—I handed over the goods when I got the cheque—afterwards I was with a police officer, and saw the prisoner in Gray's Inn Road—he was arrested.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. The knives had been at my office about two months—it was not an empty room—Davis came the previous day—I believe he came through one of my travellers—you told me to make out a bill, and said, "Don't put a name on, because if I don't buy it you might use it for another customer"—you asked me who you were to make the cheque payable to—I said to me, as my firm only sells for cash—it is usual for an agent to have cheques made payable to himself—I had not sent a man to your warehouse the day before to sell some knives to enable me to get my luncheon.
Re-examined. When the prisoner was arrested the officer addressed him as Hart; the prisoner said, "I have not the pleasure of knowing you."
GEORGE HORN . I am a plumber and gas-fitter, of 39, Burlington Road, Fulham—I know the prisoner as Frederick Cutler—in July last year I did some gas fittings for him at 760, Fulham Road, where he had a hosier's shop—my bill came to £4 11s.—he paid £1, and 6s. was deducted for some collars, fronts, braces and handkerchiefs, which made it £3 5s.—I have tried to get that several times—I saw him at Walham Green, outside the Swan, on August 19th with another man, whom he introduced as Robson—he said he was going to pay my account—they went down the street a little way, and then came back to me, and the prisoner said it would save time if I would take a cheque for £5, which was made out to Robson—I said, "Is the cheque all right?"—he said it was all right—that left a balance for me to give him—the cheque was drawn by J. Weston on the London and County Bank to the order of J.C. Robson—I took it and gave him £1 2s. 6d., which he said was near enough, as he owed me the money so long—I ought to have given him £1 3s.—he owed a Mr. Hall 12s., which I was to pay him out of the balance of the £5—I gave the cheque to a friend to pay into his account, and it was returned marked "Stolen cheque"—I never had the money.
HENRY GARRETT (City Detective). I went with Mr. Overbeck to Gray's Inn Road on August 23rd—I saw the prisoner walking along the road—I said, "Good morning, Mr Hart; how are you?"—he said, "Very well, thank you, but I do not know you"—I pointed to Mr. Overbeck, and said, "Do you know this gentleman?"—he said, "Oh, yes"—Mr. Over beck said, "I shall give you into custody for obtaining a lot of goods"—I said I should take him to the station—in answer to the charge he said, "Yes, I bought them, but for another man."
been stolen, and we received instructions not to cash any of the cheques—we have no customers named J. Hart or J. Weston.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I am not guilty. With regard to the cheque where the £1 2s. 6d. was banded as change, I had no idea it was stolen. Robson assured me it was paid to him in a legitimate manner. I had lent Robson small sums of money from time to time."
The police gave the prisoner a good character up to 1895.
The prisoner, in his defence, said that he thought Robson's cheque for £5 was all right; that he did not wish to obtain the knives by a trick; that he had given Mr. Overbeck his name and address; and that he had never seen the cheques.
H.E. OVERBECK (Re-examined). The prisoner did not give me his address, but my man told me that, in consequence of an accident to the prisoner's cab, he had taken the cab's number, and that the prisoner had said to him, "I live at 35, the second Street;" that was in Gray's Inn Road—I did not get the name "Cutler."
GUILTY.—Recommended to mercy by the JURY.— Four months' hard labour.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, September 17th, 1901.
Before Mr. Justice Bucknill.
Five years' penal servitude.
MR. PICKERSGILL Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. BODKIN Prosecuted.
GUILTY .— Twelve years' penal servitude.
MR. A. GILL Prosecuted.
MOSES LAWSKI . I live at 33, Waldon Street, Stepney, and am a clicker in the boot trade—on July 28th, just after 11 o'clock, I was with Hoddes and Spero in Whitechapel Road, and the prisoner and about half-a-dozen others ran out of a turning and assaulted an old man, whom I do not know—the prisoner struck me on my face and head with his closed hand, and knocked my hat off—I was going to pick it up, but he and his friends hit me again—I ran into the road, and called for assistance—I saw two constables—they went with me, and we met the prisoner, wearing my hat, and two of his friends—the prisoner handed the hat over and struck the constable on his face, and knocked one down and kicked one in his stomach, and the other on his side, and brought him to his knees—one constable had to leave to help the other—the prisoner kept on struggling, and got loose and struck the policeman a good many times
—the other constable came back, and it took quite half an hour to take him to the station, as he struck and kicked.
DAVID SPERO . I am a school teacher, of 214, Globe Road, Bethnal Green—on July 28th I was with Lawski in Whitechapel Road—several young men attacked us, and Lawski's hat was knocked off—we both ran away together, and came back with two constables, and charged the man who was wearing the hat—as the constable took hold of him he laid down on the floor, and his friends gathered round me—I thought that discretion was the better part of valour, and that I would get home—I recognised the man wearing the hat as one of those who attacked us.
WILLY BROWN (292 J). On July 28th, about 11.15 p.m., Lawski spoke to me in Whitechapel Road—I went with him, and he pointed out the prisoner—two young men were close behind him—he was wearing this hat—Lawski said, "That is the man, and that is my hat"—the prisoner was carrying his cap in his hand—I asked him what he was doing with the hat—he said, "This is mine"—Lawski said, "No, it is mine"—I asked Lawski if he would charge him with stealing it—he said that he would, and I told Wood to take him into custody—directly I took hold of him he kicked me on my right ankle—another constable came up and took hold of him, and he kicked him in the stomach, and then threw himself on the ground and kicked and bit me, and got hold of my legs, and struggled very violently to get away—we got him up, and asked him if he would go quietly, but he called some people to rescue him from my custody, one of whom kicked me on my back—the other constable tried to arrest that man—the prisoner kicked me on the other part of my left thigh—the crowd tried to get him away, and I drew my truncheon and struck him—in my opinion he was sober.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I said before the Magistrate that you bit me.
JOHN AUCHTERLOUIS (Policeman). On July 28th I was with Brown when Lawski spoke to him—I accompanied him to a spot where the prisoner was pointed out—when the prisoner kicked Brown I went to assist him, and he kicked me on my stomach and gave me acute pain—he threw himself on the ground and kicked me and some other persons in the crowd—he also kicked Brown.
Evidence for the Defence.
SARAH LIMBER . I was in Whitechapel Road, and saw this young man very drunk, and a lad picked up this hat and put it on his head, and two or three walked on and took no notice—a constable came up and took him—he struggled to get away, and another constable came up and hit him and knocked him down.
Cross-examined. The prisoner is quite a stranger to me—I used to see him, but I never said anything to him—I went before the Magistrate, but it was rather late, and they would not let me go in—I knew he was very drunk by the way he was walking—after they put the hat on his head they all ran away—he did not say a word to them—I do not know whether
his cap was on his head when the hat was put on—I cannot recognise the one who put the hat on his head—one man did not take the hat off his own head and put it on the prisoner's head—I did not see the prisoner kick one of the constables; I was half a mile away—I was only 3in. or 4in. away at the time he was in custody—the crowd did not try to rescue him from the police.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. A. GILL Prosecuted.
Prisoner's defence: I cannot remember anything at all about it. About four years ago I met with an accident and cut my head, and when I get three or four glasses of beer I do not know what I am doing.
GUILTY .—Five other convictions were proved against him, three of which were for assaulting the police.— Nine months' hard labour.
MR. TURVILLE Prosecuted, and MR. GREEN Defended.
HENRY BERRY (709 K). On August 17th I was with Cross—I heard a pistol discharged, but did not see who fired it I did not see the prisoner till Cross took him in custody—Balcomb was not there—I heard Cross give his evidence before the Magistrate—the prisoner had an opportunity of cross-examining him.
Cross-examined. He was arrested at 12.30, and was brought up before the Magistrate the same day—he was not represented legally.
DR.—. I am the Divisional Surgeon—I saw Cross yesterday morning in bed in the hospital—he is suffering from heart disease, and it is not safe for him to come here.
The deposition of Frederick Cross was here read: "At 12.50 a.m. on August 17th I saw the prisoner in Rodwell Road with two other men. I walked towards them, and heard the report of firearms, and saw the prisoner with a pistol in his hand. He pointed the pistol at me and fired. The bullet struck the wall. The prisoner ran away. I chased him; he was stopped by Police-constable K.R. He said, 'I fired the pistol, and threw it away over a gateway.' He was then charged."
JAMES BALCOMB (Police-Sergeant 5 K.R). I was present shortly after the prisoner was brought to the station—when he was charged he said that he threw the pistol away into a yard—I went there, and found it had been discharged—I have got the blank cartridge that was in it—I found this box of saloon cartridges which correspond, at his lodging.
Cross-examined. I have made inquiries—he has been employed at Franklyn & Sons, boot and shoe manufacturers, two or three years, who gave him a good character—I found nothing against him—he keeps his widowed mother, and has the reputation of a respectable man.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated, upon oath, that he bought the pistol for 6d., and was talking to James Evans, who wanted to see it, and then asked if he had fired it. He said, "Yes" and put a cartridge in, looked
round to see if anybody was by, and then pointed it to the ground and pulled the trigger, but it would not go off; that he then took the cartridge out and dropped it, but picked it up, put it in again, pointed it towards the ground, looked to see if anybody was by, pulled the trigger, and it went off; that there was then no one in sight, but subsequently he saw a policeman running towards him, and ran away, throwing the pistol away.
Evidence for the Defence.
JAMES EVANS . I am a labourer, of 34, Maroon Street, Limehouse—about 12.30 a.m. on August 17th I was with the prisoner in Muswell Road—he said, "Look what I bought for 4d."—I said, "What is it?"—he said, "A pistol," and put a cartridge in it and tried it, but it never went off—there was no policeman there—he said, "Is there anybody about?" meaning the police—I said, "No," and he fired one shot on the ground—he only fired once.
Cross-examined. I saw him run away—I ran away; I did not stop to see if he was caught, because he had done nothing wrong—I saw him running away, and the policeman after him—I had not the curosity to see if he was caught till I saw it in the paper—I live about five minutes' walk from the Police-court; I was told on the Saturday afternoon that he was charged; that was the same day—I did not know that he was going to be charged, nor the day.
By the COURT. The policeman ran after him and not after me, because he ran away; the policeman could not have known who fired the pistol, because he was not in sight.
The prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
No evidence was offered.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Tuesday, September 17th; and
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, September 18th, 1901.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. MUIR Prosecuted, and MR. HUTTON appeared for Stephens, and
MR. WRIGHT and MR. RODERICK for McMay.
ANNIE RENWICK . I am a widow—my home is in Bendigo, Victoria, Australia—my late husband was a railway carrier, and had a carriage factory—he was very successful in business—he died about 16 months ago—I have had an adopted daughter living with me, Annie Victoria Renwick, since she was four months old—she is known as "Daisy"—we left Melbourne on April 16th to come to England by the steamship Omrah—at Marseilles the prisoner Stephens came on board in the name of Thompson—he occupied a seat at the same table—after three days I was introduced to him—he told me he was a Bendigo man, living at Albert Park, about a mile out of Melbourne—that he had plenty of money and two children, who were living with his mother at Albert Park, a fashionable suburb of Melbourne—he said he should have a fortune
when his youngest sister came of age in about sixteen months—from the first he said he loved me—after the third day he asked me to be his wife when we got to London—he recommended me to the West Central Hotel, Southampton Row, when we arrived on May 25th—I think it is a temperance hotel—I did not like the hotel, and went with my daughter to look for a better place—we met Thompson and a gentleman named Cooper in the street after lunch, about 3 p.m., not by appointment—Thompson introduced me to Cooper, who said, "Leave the hotel where you are, and come to the Hotel Cecil as my guest"—we had refreshments, and afterwards dined together at the Garrick Restaurant—we shifted to the Hotel Cecil that night—we stayed a week or a day or two over—McMay made appointments to meet us outside—we removed from the Cecil to Finsbury Square—I did not care for the Cecil, it was too flash and expensive—we stayed about a week in Finsbury Square; then we got our things ready to go to Ireland, when Thompson came and said we were not to go, as we were going to be married the day after—he took us to the Hotel Russell—I had agreed to marry him after arriving in London, I think the second day—I believed him, I did not think he was a convicted thief—we stopped at the Russell a week or 10 days—he borrowed of me £100 to meet expenses, as we were sure to be married to-morrow—he said he would give it to me in a few days, as he had a cheque for £1,200, which he would get cashed in a week—I got the £100 from the Commercial Bank, as the manager knew me and my late husband—I had it in my hand—I gave it to him in sovereigns—he put it into a handkerchief and put it into his pocket—when he had the £100 he said, "I think the best thing we can do now is to go to Paris; you know nothing about it, and that is the place where we will be married"—when I gave him the money he said, "You are a lady to trust a stranger like me; you do not know who I am"—he said he could not draw the cheque that week, but he would pay me on Monday, when he got the money changed—he said it was far better to have the marriage done in Paris—I wore this diamond ring on this finger (Her left third finger)—he wanted to look at it—he said, "I will keep it," and that as we were going to be married it did not matter—I said, "It belonged to my husband, and I would not part with it for anything"—the diamond has been removed and another substituted—this diamond is like one of the three diamonds he stole from a little brown pocket-book in my tin box in Paris—he had the key—I asked him for it many a time—he said what belonged to me belonged to him, and he would never give it up, as we were going to be married—in the Strand I was carrying my purse in my hand, and about to do something to my dress, when he took it, and emptied it into his own pocket, and never gave me a penny—there was £47 in gold in it—I asked him for it many a time—he used to grin and laugh, and make fun—this gold nugget and the Elizabethan coin belong to me—he looked at the coin and said, "That is mine"—the nugget is the first piece of gold my husband ever got in Australia—I think a lot of it; it is so old—he said, "I will keep that, all you have in the world will be mine soon"—he kept them both—I asked for them back many a time, but never got them—we went to Paris—I forget the date; I have been so ill since this happened—I fix dates by the Racing Calendar—I think it was a day or two after
Derby Day—we stayed in Paris at the Hotel Dominico, I think, but I took no notice, as every day he said he would marry me—my daughter and I stayed at the hotel with Thompson, and McMay stayed at the Grand—Thompson said, "The name Renwick is on your boxes; the best thing I can do is to take the name of Renwick"—he carried the keys of my boxes on his watch-chain—that was his suggestion—he done it to rob me—he took me to the Moulin Rouge, and other places; very rotten places they were; nothing could be more common, no place to take a respectable woman to—one day we were out a Mr. Morton came and sat by me—he said he had a lot of money—I do not know whether Thompson knew him; I think he must have been one of the gang—they appeared to be strangers—Thompson introduced me to Morton as Mrs. Renwick—Thompson told me Morton was a millionaire, that his uncle died at Colombo, and had left him £100,000, and if he could let him have £500 to prove that he was a man of means, and if I would lend him £500 for a little while to show this man he had money, he would return the money to me, and I did—I sent for the money to be sent at once from London, and gave it to him—McMay told me the best way to get money to Paris was through Cook's agency—we got it at Cook's—this is my signature on this draft on Cook's—the money was placed on the counter, and Thompson picked it up and put it in his pocket—I think it was £400 odd, and the rest in sovereigns—he went first and tried to get it, but the gentleman would not give it to him without me—he told the man he was my husband, and I was his wife—my carriage was waiting, and we drove off to some races outside Paris, where we saw McMay, who had gone out with my daughter—he gave him the money—he said he was coming back in the evening, and everything would be ready to marry to-morrow; then he said, "We will go to London to be married"—I was born on July 4th, 1846—I tried to get the £500 back—Thompson said, "That will be all right"—I saw him give McMay the money—we were in Paris 10 days—he put it off from day to day; then he said, "Oh, well, I have been to different places to look for papers, and cannot get them; the best way is to go back to London to be married"—he said it would not be legal to be married in Paris—we came back, and arrived in London on June 17th—Thompson took rooms at St. Ermin's Hotel—that morning I said, "You must give me my money back; it is nothing but a swindle; I am going home"—he said, "We will be married to-morrow," and I was to be dressed at a stated hour, and we were ready, but he sent us a note saying that he could not keep the appointment; he would come back in two or three days—he had left the hotel about 7 a.m.—he had never slept in my bed, but I saw him in the room sitting at the table in a chair the worse for drink—I weut to Scotland Yard on June 18th—I stayed in London till July 3rd—I laid an information at Bow Street, and took out a warrant—I stayed in bed—I suffered in my head, and this grief made it worse—I had lost a lot of money, and, of course, should be in great disgrace at home—on July 3rd I started for Australia in the Orizaba—on the voyage out, Cooper and another gentleman came on board, and wanted to see me—I went out to the colony when I was very young, I never went to see them—I saw one of the men, who said they wanted to stop the case—I received this
telegram of July 11th at Marseilles, and a similar one at Naples: "Wire at once. Anxious. Thompson, Champion Hotel, Aldersgate Street"—I replied: "Wire explanation; Naples. RENWICK"—(This was found on Thompson.)—I got no explanation at Naples—I went on to Colombo—I never wrote that letter of July 12th—(Stating that she would forgive all if he would write to her.)—I cannot write very well—my name is Annie—the signature, "E. Rennie," is not mine—at Colombo I received a telegram from Bow Street that these men were arrested—I returned to this country by the Oceana—at Plymouth I got this letter, which I never answered—(From Thompson, stating that he could not understand her extreme measures, that he could give an explanation of his absence, and that Mr. Cooper would bring her out.)—McMay wanted me several times to give my consent to his marrying my daughter—she was 20 yesterday—I never consented—he said he would take her from me by force—I believed he was single—I would not have consented to her going about with him if I had known he was married—I believed at first that Thompson was an honest, respectable man, and his statement as to his property and home in Melbourne, and about the £1,200 cheque, everything he said, and trusted him as a good man, but he worked on my weakness.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. McMay took my daughter to music halls, dined with her, and went about with her, and although I objected, I thought there was no harm—she was engaged to be married to a gentleman at Melbourne—she did not like this man, and said that she would never marry him, and she wrote to break it off—when I came over here I had £1,000 to £1,500 worth of jewellery—I used to wear a lot of it—Thompson only had the chance once or twice to open the boxes, although he carried the keys, as I locked the bedroom door—I believed his proposal to marry was sincere when I received his note—I accepted him in London—on board ship he looked a nice, decent sort of man—the fact that he came from Bendigo, and was coming into money, had nothing to do with my intention; I had enough for both—I think he showed me a cheque;—I fancy it was on the Bank of Australasia—the £100 was not advanced to pay our expenses in Paris—I suppose he did pay them, and three or four bills at the Russell, but not at St. Ermin's—he took the diamond ring off my finger by force—we were staying at the Russell—we were at a restaurant one night, having dinner—I did not call anybody, because he made me believe we were going to be married—I never said to him about the nugget, "Look here, you can take this, and have a ring made of it"—I have given to the poor who need it—I gave a diamond stud to Mr. Parks—he was a passenger—I never said at the Police-court that it was a set—I gave a brooch to a lady who was kind to me when I was very sick on the Oceana, going back to Australia—I told my daughter about the £47—I said before the Magistrate, "Had Thompson married me there would not have been any of this whatever; I should never have gone against him as to the £100 or the £500, or anything else."
Cross-examined by MR. WRIGHT. Parks had not enlisted my attention or affection more than any other gentleman—when I left the Omrah I arranged to meet Thompson—I left the West Central Hotel the same day I went there, although I had paid for a week—being a temperance hotel did not matter; the hotel was not good enough—my daughter and I met
Thompson by accident in Charing Cross Road or Leicester Square—I think we first met McMay at the Howard that night—I thought he was an honourable man till Thompson gave him my money in Paris on Saturday, June 15th—I did not like my daughter going out with McMay, but I did not want to stop her pleasure; she had not much pleasure, and I did not like to stop it—I am scarcely ever well—on Derby Day I did not suggest that my daughter and McMay should go out and that Thompson should keep me company—going to Paris was not mentioned till after Thompson got the £100, and about a couple of days before we left—I never gave my boxes to Thompson to store—he said we did not require so much luggage in Paris, and he would store some of my boxes, and he stored them at Charing Cross, and gave the ticket to my daughter—I cannot read—I do not remember any hot words about a coin being lost, nor about the chambermaid finding it—she could not speak English—I could not tell what caused our leaving the hotel; they did it—I slipped on the stairs—Thompson did not hold up the nugget to McMay and my daughter and say, "See what Madam has given me," and I never gave it him—I never heard my daughter say she was entitled to that nugget, to make a ring out of, as it was the first piece of gold her father had picked up in Australia—she never complained of my giving my property away—I have given away to those who deserve it, to poor people who were honest—we were both sea-sick—McMay did not find and restore my daughter's purse—I may have surmised that the defendants were bad men, but was never sure of it till the day Thompson broke off the appointment—after that, on June 18th, McMay continued to call on us at St. Ermin's and at the Russell Hotel, to see what we were doing—I did not treat him on friendly terms—I did not invite him to the bedroom where my daughter and I were—he came, and she said if he did not go out we would call the porter to put him out—we were not having champagne together at the Russell as late as July 3rd—my daughter never tasted it—she may have tasted it; I can not tell you—McMay was not with us a couple of hours, he might have been an hour with us—coming from Paris, I may have seen McMay eight or nine times—my daughter accepted McMay—she would have married him if it was not for my non-consent—I think she would have run away with him—she knew I did not consent—I said, "If you marry against my will you leave me for ever"—she wants a good man, not a common thief—he has only been in the room twice—I went to the police the day after Thompson did not keep his appointment on Wednesday, June 19th—I obtained a warrant on July 3rd—he stopped in a corner of the room, and Miss Annie and he had very high words about what he had done to her, and turned out such a wretch—he tried to deceive her and ruin her—there would have been no prosecution by me if I had married Thompson; how could my daughter marry McMay when he was married? that shows what a fraud he was to deceive the young lady, who had never been among thieves and robbers—I never told McMay I was sorry I had taken the warrant out, but I was so pestered by the police—my daughter never told me she was imploring McMay to come to her, and that she could not live without him—when I came from Colombo I was met in the docks by two detectives, who saw me to an hotel in
Finsbury Square—we did not stop on the way—I never kept account of the time we were going there—a gentleman from Albany came to visit me there—the detectives were not often there—I have not tried to see these prisoners in Holloway.
Re-examined. Mr. Parks, to whom I gave the diamond stud, was Mayor of Sydney nine or ten years ago, and there was no more friendship between him and me than with any other gentleman who was very nice—there is no truth in the suggestion that I was drunk at the Hotel Dominico, and fell downstairs—I did not live in Paris with Thompson as man and wife—he put "Mr. and Mrs. Renwick" to rob me—the police showed me some photographs, and I picked out two men—I knew the police were ready to arrest them if they could find them—it was only when I was going to Australia that the warrant was taken out.
ANNIE VICTORIA RENWICK . I am known as "Daisy"—I am the adopted daughter of Mrs. Renwick and her late husband—I have lived with them as long as I can remember—I travelled to this country with my mother in April last—Thompson joined at Marseilles, and we were introduced to him two or three days after—he sat at the same table—he said he was travelling for pleasure, that he lived in Melbourne, that he had plenty of money, and more coming in a few months from something connected with his sister—we went to the West Central Hotel, Southampton Row, recommended by Thompson—we afterwards went out—we met Thompson by accident with a Mr. Cooper—I saw them together three or four times—we met McMay the same evening at the Garrick Restaurant—I was introduced to him—he afterwards paid me attention—he proposed marriage—I was willing to accept him—Mrs. Renwick opposed it sometimes—he said that his father was a squatter, and that he managed his wool business in London—he never said that he was married, or I would not have had anything to say to him—I went about a good deal with him while in London—I saw mother's gold nugget and silver coin in Thompson's possession in Paris—he had them in one of his pockets—mother asked him for them back when she asked for her money—he said that he would give them to her when they were married—my mother wore this ring with a yellow diamond—the diamond in this ring looks like one taken out of her purse—I knew she had three in her purse—they had come from different articles of jewellery—I heard mother ask Thompson for it back in Paris, and when she asked for the rest of the things he said what was her's was his—he told me about the money coming through Cook's—he said to mother if she would give him £500 to show to some man he would gain some more—McMay suggested that the money should come through Cook's—on June 15th McMay and I drove to the races in a carriage—he left me for a while at the races, sitting in the Stand—I remember some diamond stones being missed out of two of mother's rings in Paris—I had seen them with the stones in before we went to Paris—we said they were missing—Thompson said they must have fallen out—the day after we came to St. Ermin's Hotel from Paris on June 17th mother told Thompson she wanted everything back—he said that he would give them to her after they were married, and that he was going out to arrange that day about the marriage—he left between 9 and 10 that morning—2 o'clock was appointed for
the wedding—he did not come; this scrap of paper did—(Stating that he could not keep the appointment.)—I went with my mother to Scotland Yard that day, and saw a detective—I made up my mind two weeks afterwards about McMay—I wrote to him the same week we came from Paris to the Grand Hotel, Paris—I saw him the evening of June 18th at St. Ermin's Hotel—I next saw him at the Russell on July 3rd or 4th—that was the last time—I had made up my mind—I led him to believe I was still willing to marry him—I discovered that he was married when we returned from Colombo, about August 27th, a Monday—I asked him about Thompson—he said he did not know exactly where he was, but that he had heard that he had gone to Scotland.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. My mother was generous, and made presents sometimes—I have never known her make presents of jewellery—we met a Mr. Parks on the steamer—I do not know that she made him a present—I remember a set of three diamond studs my father left—I have not seen them lately—mother had them on board—a young lady sitting at the same table introduced my mother to Thompson—I heard that mother had advanced him £100 before we left Paris, or the next day—Thompson and McMay said they had money—I never heard that the £100 was to pay expenses in Paris—I think mother asked him where his money was coming from—he said he had £1,200 coming from Melbourne, and that it was in the Union Bank—mother told me he had £500 from her in Paris—she complained about these sums—we both reminded him of the £1,200 coming to him from the Union Bank, Melbourne—he said he could not get the draft cashed for a certain date—he said on board the boat in my hearing something about the younger sister coming of age—that was after we were in Paris.
Cross-examined by MR.WRIGHT. I first saw McMay about May 25th, and last on July 3rd—I said at the Police-court that my attachment for McMay continued till I last saw him; that is partly true—I came to the conclusion that he was dishonourable about a week after we came from Paris—McMay was to follow to Paris—I am not clear whether at my suggestion the arrangement was altered—when we came from the races near Paris there were warm words at the hotel about the lost coin—I think it was found on the mantelpiece—the chambermaid was called up—I did not hear Mrs. Renwick say to Stephens, "Never mind, George; I will give you a nugget of gold instead"—I dined with McMay alone at a restaurant sometimes—I may have said, but not at the hotel, that I was entitled to the nugget, as it was the first gold my father picked up—I knew Thompson had mother's keys, and that he stored six boxes containing wearing apparel at Charing Cross, and gave me the tickets—we all knew mother had jewellery, and locked it up at night—I do not know where it was put—I went with Mrs. Renwick to the police on June 18th—I did not see McMay more than three times after that, once in the bedroom occupied by mother and myself—McMay on the last occasion sent for champagne—we all drank, I think—we were fairly friendly—on July 3rd I knew I was not going to marry McMay—that was my own privilege—the same day of that interview mother had obtained a warrant against McMay and Thompson—I had tried to get McMay to come to the hotel,
but there was no day fixed—I did not hear mother say she was sorry she had taken the warrant out, but the police had pestered her into doing so—in Paris, if I wanted anything from the boxes, I had to go to Thompson for the keys—McMay was not present when Thompson placed the jewellery on mother's table in the bedroom one night.
HERBERT GEORGE BARNES . I am a cashier, employed by Messrs. Cook & Son, bankers and tourist agents—last June I was at the Paris Branch—on June 15th £500 English money was transmitted to me for payment to Mrs.Renwick—Stephens had called on the previous day—I did not attend to him—on the 15th he called again with Mrs. Renwick—I do not remember if he gave any name—this is the draft that was cashed—there was 2,475 francs and £400 in English money—I placed the money on the counter; the prisoner picked it up—he posed as Mrs.Renwick's husband—we do not note the numbers of the notes we pay over.
Cross-examined by MR. HUTTON. When Stephens picked the notes up Mrs. Renwick was standing by his side—he took at least 10 minutes to count the money—Mrs.Renwick seemed unwilling to sign the draft—I did not see her make any protest when he picked the money up—she seemed very nervous.
JOHN RICHARD BENFIELD . I am a clerk in the London and SouthWestern Bank, Strand branch—I recognise McMay—he opened an account at our bank on July 2nd with £250—I produce a copy of it, which is correct—£50 was paid in on July 3rd, and £108 on July 10th, the total paid in being £408—on July 10th he drew out £210, and £60 on July 11th, and other small sums up to July 18th, making £308 altogether—there was a cheque book to be paid for, which leaves £99 17s. 11d., which is still intact—the £250 was paid in in notes—I have a copy of the numbers—this is the cheque book issued to the prisoner—this cheque is in favour of G. Thompson for £500, dated July 24th—it has never been presented—there never was £500 to the account.
Cross-examined by MR WRIGHT. I cannot say if "Parr's Bank" was on the notes—McMay was introduced by a customer.
GEORGE BROWN . I am a warder at Holloway—on August 29th both the prisoners were in my custody, in corridor B 2—Stephens was in cell No. 55, and McNally in 52—there was also a man in custody named Harmer—about 6.30 a.m. on August 29th I saw Harmer in the corridor cleaning it—I saw him walking along the corridor, taking something out of his pocket—he stooped down as if to pick up some slops, and threw a piece of paper into Stephens' cell—the door was open, as two officers were taking applications and shutting the doors—I opened Stephens' door—he was standing in front of it—I said, "Where is that piece of paper that man has just given you?"—he put his hand into his pocket and said, "Here it is"—I took it out of his hand—he said, "It is very hard; I have no friends to communicate with," or something of that sort—the paper was folded when it was thrown in, and it was still folded up when he gave it to me—this is it—I saw the name of a solicitor on it who had visited McNally the day before—I went to McNally with that piece of paper, and asked him if it belonged to him—he said that it did, and that he had dropped it the day before when going to the w.c.—I handed the paper to the chief warder—during the day I went to Stephens' cell—he
said, "If you give me that piece of paper I will give you £5, or send you where you can get it"—I said, "You had better leave it as it stands now; I have given it to the chief warder"—next morning I saw him again; he snapped his fingers and said, "I would not give you 3d. for it now; I have had a visit, and it is all right"—(Read: "Margetts won't take the case. he says Bell is a good man he used to be in his office Hanley won't have anything to do with the old woman. Burns came on the scene, and told Mrs. Hanley that the Johns were tailing my wife; then she would not go near the old woman. Mrs. Hanley meets my wife at 4.30 this evening, and she goes into the hotel to see what she can do in the matter. The Hanley Mob have split up. Burns goes to Australia by the Austral; Hanley is working with Boo-peep. My cheese ran into Punse Bell the other day, and the first thing he said was, 'I had a fellow who would go bail for your husband, but I did not know where to find you.' He was with Flash Harry. Bell's son came up to see me; Gum cigarettes, Three Castles. Trousers and vest. George Johns are there to visit the old girl, to see if anyone has Got to her. Once she gives evidence, she will be bound over to appear at High Court. If shifting her, take the luggage to railway station, break the cab, then shift it again, as the Johns will be there to tell the porter of the hotel to take the number of the cab. Let her know, if possible, that George has her ring, and will return it. Burns' wife would be a great pal for the old girl; easily booze with her. Try if possible and Bump old hanley into her; Mrs. Hanley would handle Daisy. bell told Johns... mark theirs now...")—it is possible that McNally had passed that paper to Harmer at exercise. (Part of it is destroyed.)
WILLIAM STEPHENS (Detective Sergeant, E). I first came into communication with Mrs. Renwick on June 18th—she went to Scotland Yard, and made her complaint there—in consequence I looked for the prisoners—I saw McNally several times, but not finding both, I did not arrest him—I continued looking without a warrant till July 3rd, when Mrs. Renwick and her daughter were about to depart for Australia—then the information was sworn, and the warrant was granted, and they departed for Australia—on July 25th I was in the Strand, about 2.15 p.m., with Stockley—I saw Stephens there—I know him as Stephens and Thompson—I followed him for two hours, and then saw him talking with McNally in Villiers Street, Strand—we were standing in a doorway—they came towards us—I said, "We are police officers, and I hold a warrant for your arrest"—McNally said, "Read it"—it was raining very hard at the time—I put them into a cab and read the warrant to them—as soon as the name Annie Renwick was mentioned McNally said, "That has done it; where is she?"—I said, "On the high seas, on her way to Australia"—he said, "How are you going to charge us, then?"—I said, "She has sworn an information, she has seen your photographs, and has positively identified you both"—McNally said, "All right"—they were taken to the station and charged; they made no reply—I searched McNally; I found on him a cheque book on the London and South-Western Bank, Strand, a small nugget of gold, which has been identified by Mrs. Renwick, a gold and diamond ring, which he was wearing, that has also been identified, an old Elizabethan coin, and £3 10s. in money—none of the counterfoils in the cheque book are filled in—this cheque for £500 in favour
of Thompson is the last taken out of the book—I saw Thompson searched—a cheque book, a letter, and a cablegram were found on him, as well as this cheque for £500, and a pawn ticket—he gave no explanation of the cheque—McNally asked if he could communicate with his wife—I said, "Yes, it will be allowed if you will give your address"—he gave 35, Cambridge Street, Pimlico, but it was false—she was not known there; it is a private house—I have seen her at Bow Street; she is outside now—I told him the address was false—he said, "It is all right; I have seen her"—I have seen the paper found on the prisoner in prison—"Johns" is a slang term used in Australia for "detective"—I knew the prisoners before; I have seen them in the company of other persons I know—(MR. WRIGHT submitted that the witness was not entitled to say what he knew of the persons mentioned in the document, or give explanations of the slang used in it, or to say who the prisoners' companions were. MR. HUTTON contended that the prosecution only wanted the evidence to show that the prisoner's companions were disreputable characters, which could not be of any assistance. The RECORDER ruled that the witness was entitled to say what he knew.)—I have seen the prisoner with Hanley—he is known to the police as a confidence trick man; that is his profession—I do not know if he has been convicted in this country—I do not know Mrs. Hanley personally—I know Burns—I have seen him with the prisoners—he is well known in Australia and here as belonging to a gang of confidence trick men—the "Hanley Mob" consists of 11 men altogether—they are known as the "Australian Mob"—I am not personally acquainted with "Boo-peep" or with "Flash Harry."
Cross-examined by MR. WRIGHT. I said at Bow Street, "I know the woman who is said to be his wife"—she said and McMay said himself that she was his wife.
GUILTY .—The police stated that the prisoners belonged to a gang of confidence trick men, and had been sentenced for obtaining money by tricks, and that many cases were known against them.— Five years' penal servitude each. The COURT highly commended the conduct of the police.
FOURTH COURT.—Tuesday, September 17th, 1901.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. COHEN Prosecuted; MR. STEWART Defended Ford, and
MR. RANDOLPH Defended Martin.
The prisoners received good characters.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. FRIEND Prosecuted, and MR. BOYD Defended.
FREDERICK BERCASIN (Interpreted). I am a carpet seller, of Prince's Court, Whitcombe Street, Leicester Square—on the night of August 11th I was sleeping in a room in which the prisoner and six others slept—I
was not in the same bed with the prisoner—when I opened my eyes I saw a knife coming at my side; it hurt me—I fell on the ground in consequence—I do not know how many blows I received, because I was very drowsy—I was cut 12 times, on my arm, side, and back—there were no lights in the room—I made a noise, and people came in with a candle, and lifted me up—it was all in the dark—I was taken to the hospital, where I remained under medical treatment for four weeks.
Cross-examined. I came from Algiers; I have been in London about 18 months, and a second time three months—on November 19th I went to Algiers—I had no quarrel with the prisoner; we were friends—that was the first day we had occupied the same room; we had not been in it more than two hours—eight persons slept in the room together—the prisoner had been ill that day, and kept his room, while I went out for a walk—I did not get out of bed and go to him before he struck me—I was in bed when he attacked me—it was pitch dark—when it is sleeping time the gas is turned off—I saw it was the prisoner who struck me—I had never done any harm to him, and had never fallen out with him at all—I tried to save myself from him when he attacked me, and he said, "It is I who am striking you."
LUIGI CUTTANEO . I am a waiter at Prince's Court, Whitcombe Street—about 2 a.m. on August 12th I heard a scream—I was in the office—I went outside the door and looked downstairs—there was no light in the room where these men were—I heard another scream, and a lot of confusion among the people who lived there—I lighted a candle, and lighted the gas in the passage, and then went down and knocked at the door of the room where these people were living, and told them to open it—it was locked—I asked what was the matter inside—they said, "Nothing"—I said, "You open the door"—I don't know who answered, because six people lived there—they would not open it, so I broke it open, and went in with a lighted candle, and saw Bercasin lying in the corner—his shirt was full of blood—I asked him what was the matter with him, and he could not answer—Aranesta, who lived upstairs, came in then after me, and I sent him at once for a constable—Bercasin did not speak—I said, "Who did that? what is the matter?" but no one said anything—the prisoner was sitting on his own bed, with this knife in his hand—the others who lived in that room were holding up Bercasin—I asked the prisoner why he did it—he said, "I don't know myself why I done it"—a policeman came a few minutes afterwards—I had caught hold of the prisoner's hands—a policeman came and took the knife out of his hands—Bercasin was taken on an ambulance to the station.
Cross-examined. The prisoner's bed was close to Bercasin's—they have never had anything in the nature of a quarrel before—the prisoner was very quiet—he was very excited when I went in the room—I was there to look after the house, because the governor was in the country.
By the COURT. Six people were living in the room; there were three beds—Bercasin and the prisoner had been living there for some time; I cannot say how long—they had been sleeping in the same room all the time, but I cannot say properly, because I did not look after it then—the prisoner sells table-covers in the streets, the same as the others—I had not seen this knife before—I do not know what it is used for.
GEORGE LAMB (414 C). About 2.20 a.m. on August 12th I was called to Prince's Court, Whitcombe Street—I went into a room in the basement—I saw five or six other men, and Bercasin lying on his back on the floor in a large pool of blood—he appeared to be stabbed all over: he was sensible, but very weak—all the men were in their shirts—the prisoner was standing beside his bed—I asked Cuttaneo to ascertain who did it, and he asked in his own language, and the prisoner said, "I did it" in his language; Cuttaneo interpreted it—the prisoner had nothing in his hand—I asked Cuttaneo to ascertain what he did it with, and the prisoner then handed me this knife from the bed—I sent another constable for the ambulance, and Bercasin was taken to the hospital—I took the prisone; to the station, where he was charged—through Cuttaneo, he replied, "I do not know for why I done it."
Cross-examined. The prisoner was not very excited when I took him into custody; he might have been frightened, but he was very quiet—he made no resistance when I asked him to go to the station.
JOHN PERCY LOCKHART MUMMERY . I am House surgeon at St. George's Hospital—on the early morning of August 12th Bercasin was brought there suffering from a great deal of haemorrhage; he had lost a lot of blood—he was stabbed in 12 places; there were seven stabs on his left arm, from shoulder to wrist—the other five were on other parts of his body; only three of any real importance—one had opened his elbow joint, one had opened his thorax on the left side, and another had injured a large nerve in his fore arm—one of the wounds just missed some large vessels on the top of the shoulder—most were stabs, varying from 2in. to 3in. deep; some were cuts—he was in a very serious condition—I think that but for prompt attendance he would have died—he was in the hospital about a month altogether—the stabs would be likely to be caused by this knife.
Cross-examined. He is now quite well, except that he has paralysis of two of his fingers—whether they will always be paralysed depends on whether the nerve is entirely severed or not; he had such a number of wounds that it was impossible to examine them all very minutely.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. — Twelve months' hard labour.
MR. STEWART Prosecuted.
BENNETT— NOT GUILTY . O'HARA— GUILTY .— Twelve months' hard labour.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
GUILTY .— Six months' hard labour.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
NEW COURT.—Wednesday September, 18th, 1901.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
661. WILLIAM POLLARD (29) and ANTHONY EDWARD COSGROVE (24) , Robbery with violence on Henry Goldenberg, and stealing from his person a watch and chain, his property; and MARY HORRIGAN (31) , Receiving the same.
MR. HARRIS Prosecuted, and MR. PURCELL Defended Pollard.
HENRY GOLDENBERG (Interpreted). I have been in England four years—on August 6th I was at the corner of Leman Street between 2 and 3 p.m., when Cosgrove gave me a blow and snatched my watch and chain—I could not see whether it was with a knife or something else—someone struck me on the side of my head from behind—a detective found my watch and chain—these are them (Produced)—I held Cosgrove till the police came—one man ran to the right, and the other to the left—Pollard ran along Cable Street, and Cosgrove along St. George's Street by North-East Passage.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I picked out Pollard at the Police-station—Cohen was with me when I was struck on the head and robbed—he was a bystander—he is a barber—Morris Brosky was with me—Cohen went to the Police-station.
Cross-examined by Cosgrove. I saw your face—I was trying to hold you about a quarter of an hour.
ISAAC COHEN (Interpreted). I am a barber at 66, Cable Street—on August 6th I was at the corner of Shorter Street with Goldenberg and another man—I saw the two prisoners—Cosgrove took Goldenberg's watch and chain, and knocked him down—Goldenberg held him, and Cosgrove fell on the top of Goldenberg—I wanted to take the watch and chain from Goldenberg—Pollard struck Goldenberg with a knife on his brow—he was standing behind him; then Pollard gave me a severe blow, and I fell down, which gave Cosgrove a chance to run away with the watch and chain into No. 8, North-East Passage—I could not see Goldenberg, because I was chasing Pollard.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. The second time I went to the Police-station I was with Goldenberg—we were shown into a room together—I picked out Cosgrove—the man who struck Goldenberg after he was robbed was a stranger—Pollard gave me two blows—I have seen on his front a blue mark, which I could not see at the station, as it was dusk—I have not said anything about the blue mark till now—they could not understand me at the Police-court because the interpreter was absent.
Cross-examined by Cosgrove. I picked you out at the Police-station at once.
Re-examined. The first time I was taken to the Police-station I identified Cosgrove, and the second time Pollard—I could not see Pollard on my first call—it was somewhat darkened, not dusk—I spoke English as I could at the Police-court—I cannot speak very well.
EVA COHEN . I live at 66, Cable Street, St. George's—I was in my tobacco shop; a lady called me out, and I saw the gentleman who lost his watch and chain lying in the street, and my husband standing in the
corner—then I saw my husband round the corner, and I ran after him—he was running after a man I did not see before, Cosgrove—I saw Pollard there.
Cross-examined by PURCELL. Goldenberg caught hold of Pollard when Cosgrove ran away—I saw Pollard jump away from Goldenberg—I said before the Magistrate: "When first I ran out I saw the two men running off, but only had a glimpse of Pollard, just a glimpse of his chin"—I saw him jump away, and a glimpse of his chin, that is all.
Cross-examined by Cosgrove. At the Police-station I picked out the short one (Pollard), and then the tall one, (Cosgrove) at once—I caught hold of the tall one's clothes in my two hands as he ran into the house—he spoke to me, and I said, "You do not go away to punch him again."
Cross-examined by Horrigan. I saw the watch and chain—you ran away with it.
THOMAS JACOBS (Police Sergeant, 2 H). On August 6th I took Pollard at the Brewery Tap in Wellclose Square, near North-East Passage, St. George's-in-the-East, about 4 o'clock—he said, "You have got the wrong man," when I told him the charge.
Cross-examined by MR. PURCELL. I was in uniform—I told Pollard I should take him into custody for being concerned with another man in assaulting and robbing a man in Cable Street—he was placed with seven other men at the station—Goldenberg and Eva Cohen picked him out.
SAMUEL CARSON (370 H). I took Cosgrove on March 6th about 3.40 p.m. at North-East Passage, Cable Street—I took hold of his right arm when taking him through the street—his left hand was loose—I do not think he could have passed the watch to anyone without my noticing.
CHARLEY SMITH (Detective, H). I took Horrigan at 5 p.m.on August 8th—I told her I was making inquiries respecting a watch and chain stolen from a man at Cable Street on the 6th—she said that she knew nothing about it, that she had never seen any watch and chain—afterwards she said, "If you want to lock me up I will tell you the truth; I know someone has put me away; I took it out of Pollard's hands, and I gave it to a man to put away for me, as I was afraid of getting into trouble, the man I gave it to has gone to the London Hospital to have his leg dressed, and when he comes back I will give it to you"—she then went in to No. 8, North-East Passage—she came out some time afterwards and said, "The man has come back, and I have got the watch," and handed it to me out of her dress pocket she then said, "I have had it all the time, but I did not want to get into trouble"—I took her to the station, where she was charged, and said, "I picked it up"—she was placed with others and identified by Brosky—she was living at 8, North East Passage.
Cross-examined by MR.PURCELL. Pollard has never been charged, to my knowledge.
Pollard, in his defence, on oath, said that he was a fireman discharged from the "Ideho" on August 3rd, and was with another fireman in Leman
Street on August 6th, where he drew £10 from the Post-office; that he lived at Schafer's lodging-house in Wellclose Square, and knew nothing about the robbery.
POLLARD— NOT GUILTY .
Cosgrove's Defence: I knew nothing about the robbery.
GUILTY .—Five convictions were proved against him.— Eighteen months' hard labour. HORRIGAN— GUILTY .—Two previous convictions were proved against her.— Six months' hard labour.
MR. PURCELL and MR. JENKINS Prosecuted, and the evidence was
LAZARUS SAETAH . I am a mantle-maker, of 62, New Road, Mile End—on September 4th Cohen came to my house and said that a man wanted to see me—I said, "Let him come in"—Kreistman came in and said, "I want to speak to you privately"—my missis came in at the same time—I said, "Never mind; my missis is the same as me; say what you like"—she went out—he said in Yiddish, "You had a fire"—I said, "What do you want?"—he said, "The day before you had the fire you took out, two van load of goods; me knew you made the fire; if you give me some money? then we will keep our-mouth shut"—he wanted £10—I said, "What will it be if I won't give you something?"—he said, "Well, you will suffer imprisonment; I shall give evidence, and it will cost you more"—my missis came in and said, "Do you owe that man£10?"—I said, "No"—Kreistman said, "He does not owe me £10, but I have come about that fire"—my missis said, "You are very cheap, Jack "—Kreistman ran out of the place—the next day, about 5 p.m., the prisoners came again—Kreistman said, "Well, what are you going to do?"—I said, "What do you want of me?"—he said, "I want to be settled"—I said, "What do you want?"—he said, "We want £10"—I said, "I have not got the money to pay you, and I won't pay you; do what you like"—he answered, "All right; if you don't give it, it will cost you hundreds of pounds, and you will suffer imprisonment for that"—my missis went out in the street, and the police came—I am insured in the North British and Mercantile Office—the stock was burnt—it was insured for £300—I claimed £250 or £260.
Cross-examined by Kreistman. I did not know you, nor that you were a tailor's presser.
DORA SAETAH . I am the wife of Lazarus Saetah—on September 4th the prisoners came to me at my door—Cohen said, "Kreistman wants the governor"—as Kreistman walked in I said, "What do you want of the governor?"—he said that he must speak to him privately—Cohen stopped outside—the governor said, "You can speak to me while my wife is here—he said, "No, I want to speak privately"—I walked out of the shop and left Kreistman with my husband—I know my husband's business, and
listened outside—I heard Kreistman say, "I want £10," so I walked into the shop and said, "What is the matter about £10? do you owe him £10?"—Kreistman said, "The governor does not owe me £10, only you had a fire, and I want a little bit out of the money you will get"—I said, "How much money do you want?"—he said, "£10"—I said, "You are cheap, Jack"—he ran out—both walked away; I followed—before that my husband said, "What will it be if I won't give you £10?"—Kreistman said, "It will cost you more; if you won't give me £10 you will suffer imprisonment"—my husband said he would not give it—I went for the police—my husband told him to go to the Company, and he would get more than £10—they came again the next day between seven and eight—I heard my husband scream, "What do you want?" and went for the police—my husband was excited—the prisoners are strangers.
FANNY SAETAH . I am the mother of Lazarus Saetah—on a Wednesday and Thursday Kreistman came to my house in Hampton Court, Whitechapel—he said, "Where is your son?"—I said, "What do you want him for?"—he said, "I want him very particularly"—I said, "I am his mother, and should like to know"—he said, "You should know that your son is in danger of being imprisoned"—I said, "What for?" and he told me it was a fire—I was frightened, and told him he should leave his address, and I would tell my son—he left, and I followed and saw him go with Cohen outside the house—they came the next day, Thursday—and asked, "Where is your son?"—I said, "My son is a business man, and out at business, but he will return about 6 or 7 o'clock"—they came again about seven, and Cohen said, "Tell him that he should be wide awake, and that he should come over and settle"—I went and saw my son—I saw them again outside my house, and said, "If you want to see my son go to his house"—Kreistman said, "I won't go to your son," so I went again to him and came back, and told them my son would not come to see them, so they went away.
JOHN GILL (Detective Sergeant, H). About 8 p.m. on September 5th I went to 69, New Road, Whitechapel—the prosecutor complained to me in Enghlish in both prisoners' presence that they had called on him and told him that he had had a fire; that he said, "Yes, I had afire," and Kreisman said, "We know that you made the fire; you moved two van loads of stuff the night before the fire, and if you do not give us £10 to keep our months closed we will put you in prison and make a criminal of you"—Kreistman then said, "Yes, I have come for the money"—Cohen said something I did not hear—I took them to the station—they were charged—they made no reply—the prisoners understand English very well.
ROWLAND THORNHILL (Police Sergeant, H). I went with Gill and took Cohen into custody—I said, "I am a police officer; I shall take you into custody for being concerned, with Kreistman, in demanding this money"—he said, "Yes, I came here with him," pointing to Kreistman—we went there in consequence of the prosecutor's complaints the day before, when we saw 10 or 15 people outside the prosecutor's house, and his wife was shouting "Police!"—on the way to the station Cohen said in very plain English, "You do not want to hold me; let go of me, I won't run away."
Kreistman, in his defence, stated that he had quarrelled with Saetah's
wife, and only called to ask her husband for work, when Mrs. Saetah accused him.
Cohen, in his defence, stated that as he was taking his things to the laundry Kreistman asked him to see if Saetah was at home, as he did not want to meet his wife.
Evidence for Cohen.
GOLDA ABRAHAMS . I live at 36, Mile End Road—Cohen lodged in my house three months—he works at 36, St. George's Street—on Thursday, September 5th, he was in doors till about 11 a.m.—he came back and left the house again in the evening.
GUILTY .— Six months' hard labour each.
Before Mr. Justice Bucknill.
MR. MATHEWS, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. METCALFE Prosecuted.
SARAH BROWN . I am a widow, and live at 21, George Street, Plaistow—the prisoner is my son—on August 27th he was living next door to me, at Mrs. Bentley's—on that day, at 3 p.m., I was at home, sitting in my kitchen upstairs—the prisoner came in—he asked if his dinner was ready—he had his meals in my place—I said it was ready—I left the kitchen for a drop of water for my teapot—I had not reached the bottom of the stairs when I heard sounds of breaking glass and china—I was too frightened to go up—I went out to fetch a policeman—I found one, and then went away for an hour—when I came back I found my house was on fire—my son was sitting in the forecourt—I asked him what he had been doing—he said, "I have done what I said I would do; I have set the place on fire"—a policeman assisted me in putting the fire out—Mr. Bentley went for a fire engine, which came, but the fire was put out by the neighbours—I went into the kitchen—all my bedding, my carpet, and curtains, and some clothing was burnt—I saw my lamp broken there—it had contained paraffin; I had filled it that morning.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You did not ask me if I had been to Deptford to get some money which was owing to you—you asked me if I had been out.
By the COURT. When his wife died the prisoner sent me money for the expenses—I owe him £5 now; I do not owe him £12.
—about 5 p.m. on that day he came through the house into the wash-house, and then into the yard—I saw him getting over the fence—he had my oilcan with him—it contained half a gallon, but I had filled one lamp out of it—I said it was mine, and that I wanted it—he did not answer—I asked him what he was going to do with it—he said, "Set fire to her place"—I took the can away from him—he went on without the can.
Cross-examined. After I took the can away from you I went into my place—I did not see or hear you come back.
JOHN AARON BENTLEY . I am the husband of the last witness, and live at 19, George Street—I am a blacksmith—on August 27th, about 5.10 p.m., in consequence of something I heard, I went to No. 21—I went upstairs and found the kitchen on fire, and also a feather bed—there was a smell of paraffin in the room—I extinguished the fire as well as I could with a mat—I found a brass lamp on the table; the top of it was missing—I gave information to the police—I saw the prisoner sitting on the railings while the house was on fire—we did not speak—I was in the house about 15 minutes—he was on the railings all the time.
WILLIAM TOPHAM (40 KR). At 5.15 p.m. on August 27th I went to 21, George Street, Plaistow—I saw smoke coming from two windows upstairs—I saw the prosecutrix there—the prisoner was standing in the court of 19th—he could hear what she said—she said, "That is him, that is my son; he has set fire to the things in my house"—he said, "How do you know? You nor yet no one else saw me do it; you do not know what you are talking about"—she said, "You know you did, Bill "—I said, "On what your mother says I shall take you into custody"—I took him to the station—on the way he said, "I never set fire to it, but that is just the thing I was going to do; I don't deceive you"—in answer to the charge he said, "All right"—on the following morning he said, "I don't suppose there are more than half a dozen houses burnt; if it is proved against me, I don't suppose it will mean more than three months"—I found a box of matches, 20 seamen's discharges, and some pawn-tickets on him.
THOMAS WILLIAMS (Police Sergeant, 77 K). At 5.30 p.m. on August 27th I went to 21, George Street—the fire had been put out by then, but the feather bed was smouldering—I found this part of an oil lamp (Produced) standing on the kitchen table—the curtains were partly burned, and a carpet on the floor—there was a smell of paraffin oil—there was no fire in the grate, and nothing that I could see to account for the fire in the ordinary way.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate:" I wish to say that I am not guilty of setting fire to the house. When I came home in the afternoon me and my mother had words concerning the money. One word brought up another. After she went out I was that wild, I got the poker and knocked the things in the room to pieces. I went out and came back again about 4.15. It wan my intention to set fire to the place, but Mrs. Bentley stopped me, and took the can away from me. I went out into the yard; whilst sitting there smoke came down the stairs. She said, 'You have set the place on fire.' I said, 'No, I have not, but I shall not put it out.'"
GUILTY .— Five years' penal servitude.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. PURCELL Prosecuted.
GEORGE ALLEN . I am a guard on the Great Eastern Railway Company—the prisoner Allen is my wife—Lamond, who was an engineer on the other side of the water, was a lodger in my house—I got rid of him from my house about a month ago in consequence of some attentions to my wife of which I did not approve—on Saturday, August 1st, I returned home from work about midnight—I then lived at 37, Carpenter's Road, Stratford—my wife And youngest child were missing—I have three children; two were in bed—on the next day, Sunday, I searched and missed a tin trunk, blanket, sheet, knives, forks, a quantity of china, a teapot, pillow, pillow cases, and other household effects—I have seen all the property in the possession of the police, and identified it—its value is about £4—on that Sunday I went to 65, Hassard Road, Homerton, and there saw Mrs. Hutchioson, who gave me some information—on August 21st, from information I gathered, I went to Dalston Police-station, where I saw the prisoners in custody, and charged them—all the articles I refer to are my property, and not my wife's.
Cross-examined by Allen. The lodgers paid the rent to you—the box belongs to me—on the Sunday morning I went to the place where Lamond was living, 56, Tregar Road, Victoria Park, and taxed him with decoying you and taking you away—he denied all knowledge of you; he said he had never seen you, and did not know where you were—when I turned to ask the landlady a question he gave me the slip, to give you the warning that I was about—I did not see you there—the china was given to both of us by your grandmother; the linen belonged to me—I have not been cruel or unkind to you—I earned 23s. a week, and gave you £1 or £1 1s. a week, and if you wanted another shilling or two you had it, and I let you let lodgings—I never knocked you about—I only put my hands on you once, and that was when I found that scoundrel walking up the street with you under some arches, after he had left my place.
KATE HUTCHINSON . I am the wife of Frank Hutchinson, of 15, Hassard Road, Homerton—on Friday, Angust 16th, Mrs. Allen came alone, and said, "Have you a furnished room?"—it was for herself and child and her husband, who might want to come—she said that he was a travelling engineer, going about from one place to another, and at no fixed place, and he worked at night, and slept on the premises where he was employed, and would only come occasionally—I let her a downstairs back furnished room—next day, about 10 p.m., she came with her little child in a cab, bringing two tin boxes, one a small one, and a string bag with china—the boxes were produced at the Police-court—she slept there that night—next day, Sunday, Lamond joined her about 11 o'clock—he was in and out during the morning, and slept there that night—about 8 p.m. the prosecutor came and put some questions to me—the prisoners could not hear what we said—he then went away—when she came about the lodgings on Friday she did not give any name, and I did not know it; I did not ask for it, I thought she was all right—I did not know her
name when Mr. Allen came—I told Mrs. Allen a gentleman had called and asked for Mrs. Allen, and said he was her husband—she said her name was not Allen; it was her brother—I said, "He said he was your husband"—she said that he was not, he was her brother—I said, "If he is your brother he takes a great interest in you"—I said he was going to call next day, and she said she would stay till next day and see him—I said if everything was not all right she could not stay on our premises—she said that everything was all right, but she would go if we wished it—I did not want them to stay; we were not satisfied—she left on Monday, 19th, at 5.30 a.m., with Lamond and her child—they carried the boxes themselves, and went in the direction of Homerton Railway Station—we saw them going, and I came down to them.
Cross-examined by Allen. There was only a chair-bedstead in the room you occupied, no bed.
CHARLOTTE MARY DOWSETT . I live next door to Mr. Allen—on Saturday, August 17th, between 9.30 and 10 p.m., I was passing our gate, and saw Lamond coming out of Allen's gate—10 or 15 minutes afterwards I went out again, and saw a cab outside Allen's door—Mrs. Allen and the cabman brought out a tin box, like one I saw at the Police-court—they put it on the top of the cab—Mrs. Allen, who was carrying the baby, got into the cab and told the driver to drive to Bow Station—I did not see Lamond after I saw him leave—he was not there when she went away in the cab.
Cross-examined by Allen. I did not see Lamond assist in any way with the things when you left.
FREDERICK REYNOLDS (Police Sergeant 40 J). In consequence of information I went to Dalston Junction Railway Station at 10.30 on August 19th; I found the prisoners in the Parcels Office—I said to Allen, "You have some property here belonging to your husband"—she said, "The boxes are mine, and the contents are mine"—Lamond said nothing then; on the way to the station he said to Allen, "You have got me into a fine hole, helping you with your boxes"—Allen said, "There is an advertisement in the evening paper in which my husband asks me to return; I was thinking of going back to him to-night"—they were taken to the station and recognised.
JOHN MARSHALL (Detective Officer). At 2 o'clock on August 19th I went to Dalston Police-station, and saw the prisoners detained there—I said to them, "I am a police officer, and shall take you to West Ham, and charge you with being concerned together in stealing a quantity of articles, the property of George Allen, of Carpenter's Road, on Saturday last"—Allen made no reply—Lamond said, "Yes"—in the train, on the way to Stratford, Lamond said, "I did not steal them; I only helped her with the things"—they were afterwards charged with stealing the property of the husband, and Allen paid, "Yes, very well"—Lamond said, "In what way am I implicated in it? I took nothing away; I was not there."
Cross-examined by Allen. Your husband did not know all the property that was in the box until it was opened.
Allen's statement before the Magistrate: "I wish to say I took the things myself, and this young man did not do it; I have a witness."
Allen produced a written defence, stating that the articles were hers, and were given to her by her grandmother, with the exception of the baby's clothing, and that the box had been given to her by a lodger in lieu of a week's rent; that Lamond was perfectly innocent, as she brought the things away by herself; and that she left her husband on account of his persistent cruelty and ill treatment, but that she had not committed adultery.
Witnesses for Allen.
AUGUSTA DAVIS . I live at 55, Rosher Road, Stratford—my husband is a blacksmith—I know you—I have seen the box produced; it was left by a lodger in your house, because he could not pay what he owed—the white petticoat and the flannel petticoat (Produced) I made, and gave to you for the baby—you had lodgers—I do not know of your going out to work—you used to wash; I cannot say what work you took in—I have only heard lately anything against your character—you never complained to me about the brutality of your husband, or that he was in the habit of knocking you about—you are a bad-tempered woman, and have had words with your husband, and I have parted you—you have been about with the man when he was a lodger, and people have talked about it—you were a different woman till you knew this man, who has been the instigation of it all.
EMMA CATON . I live at 64, Rapton Road, Bow—I have known you for about the last nine years as a true, good-hearted, honest woman—the last time I saw you was before August Bank Holiday—I knew Lamond—I never saw you together outside the house—I know nothing against your character—after you left on the Thursday your husband came and said that his wife had left him—I said that I was not at all surprised—she was going to leave him for the past two years, because of his ill-using her, and she had had to work so hard—I never saw any ill treatment; it is only what you told me—I minded your children for you six years ago, when you went to fetch your grandmother's property—I heard that the trunk was left by a lodger for rent—you have left your husband more than half the things that belonged to your grandmother—you left behind crockery, bedding, swing-glasses, curtains; they had all belonged to your grandmother.
Lamond, in his defence, stated that Mrs. Allen had asked him to help her move her boxes to the railway station, and he did so; that he thought it was absolutely her own property, and that on the Sunday night she sat on a chair in the room all night, because she was afraid of her husband.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WARD Prosecuted.
GEORGE WILLIAMS . I live at 64, Catherine Street, Canning Town, and am the tenant of that house—I let three rooms there to the prisoner, two rooms downstairs and one upstairs, at 5s. a week—on August 8th he owed me six weeks' rent—on Friday, August 9th, about 8 p.m., I went to his kitchen downstairs and knocked at the door, and asked him for some rent—he said, "You old b—! I have not got no money for you to-night; if you don't clear away from the door I will do for you"—I kept my stand—he opened his door, hit me, and I fell—I cannot swear what he hit
me with, because he cut me all unawares, and knocked all my senses out of me—afterwards someone took me to Poplar Hospital—I had no senses till Saturday morning, and what was done after I was knocked down I cannot answer for—I am 82 years old.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I do not know what time you came in that day—I did nothing to you before you struck me on the head—I stood against the doorpost till I was knocked down—the piece of iron is mine; it was in the garden, and I missed it for six days—I did not state at the Police-court that I kept it in my kitchen—I did not follow you into the kitchen and strike you with this iron, I never lifted a hand against you—I cannot say how the iron got into the kitchen; I used to have it in the back yard—Duncan did not come into the kitchen with me.
WILLIAM DUNCAN . I am a painter, of 64, Catherine Street, Canning Town—Williams is the landlord—on Friday night, August 9th, I was standing at the street door—I saw Williams come in, and go to the kitchen—he asked the prisoner if he had any rent for him—the prisoner said, "I have no f—rent for you"—I went upstairs after that, and was not present when any assault was committed—I came down afterwards when my wife called me—I made them fetch a policeman—the place was smothered in blood—Williams was taken to the Police-station—Lyle was in the kitchen; he had blood on his face, and a wound on his head, but I do not know how he got it—earlier that evening at 7.30, when I came home from work, my wife told me that Lyle had been up and struck her on her mouth—I asked him what took place between him and my wife, and he gave me no reasonable answer, so I hit him with my fist—he was not knocked down.
Cross-examined. I was coming downstairs when you came into the house—I struck you, and challenged you to fight in the street—I had get the bar of iron, I took it away—you asked me where I found it, and I said, "Behind the gas-stove"—it was my property, I do not know how you came to be in possession of it—I did not see you strike Williams, or he strike you—I was not in the kitchen when he struck you with that weapon—we did not both come in the kitchen and knock you about.
EMILY DUNCAN . I am the wife of the last witness; he is deaf—on the night of August 9th I was standing at the street door—I saw Williams at the prisoner's door—he asked him for his rent, and I heard no more till I went outside and heard a scuffle, and there was a rare noise of banging—the people said to me, "Go through, go through!" and I went to the prisoner's door, and saw him strike Williams on the head with this lump of iron—he went as hard as he could go with this end of it—Williams fell down, and the prisoner jumped across his knees, and Williams said, "I am dead"—I went to the Police-station and told them, and a constable came, and as he was coming with me my husband took Williams and the policeman over to the Police-station—while Williams was on the floor the prisoner said, "I will shed blood to-night"—blood was all over the kitchen, and where Williams laid it was all covered with blood.
Cross-examined. When you struck Williams with the iron bar he was in your kitchen; I was against the kitchen door—I saw you go in the house—you struck me in the afternoon—I never took up a board to strike you with; I did not aim a blow at your head—I did not take up a shovel,
or spar up to you like a pugilist, or throw a bar of iron and hit your leg as you went downstairs—I was going to poke my fire, and when you struck me in the mouth I said, "Will you get out of my kitchen?"—this was before the assault on Williams—it is not the first time you have assaulted me—my husband did not challenge you to fight on the Sunday previous.
ARTHUR FENNER (243 K). About 8.45 on August 9th I went to 64, Catherine Street—I found Williams bleeding very much from his nose and left ear, and saw a lot of wounds on the top of his head—the prisoner was there—I said to Williams, "Who did this?"—he said, "Mr. Lyle"—the prisoner was also bleeding from his head—he produced this bar of iron and said, "The old man came down with this iron and struck me; I then struck him"—I said, "You will have to go to the station with me"—he went to the station, where Williams was seen by the doctor, and I then conveyed him to Poplar Hospital, where he was detained—the prisoner said, "This row has been about for over a month"—the room was smothered with blood, which was over chairs, tables, and everything.
Cross-examined. You presented me with the bar of iron in the kitchen—your wounds were dressed at the Police-station; I was not there then—Dr. Humphreys, the divisional surgeon, attended to you, and you were detained, and have been locked up ever since—yours was a slight wound.
FRANCIS GOODEVE BOWEN . I was assistant House surgeon at Poplar Hospital on August 9th, when Williams was brought there at 10.15 p.m.—he had several wounds; both nostrils were torn through, the left rather more than the right, and the septum, the division down the nose, was torn through—he had 10 wounds on the scalp; there must have been repeated blows; the longest was about 1 1/2 in., and the shortest about 1/2 in.—he had a lacerated wound over his ear about 1/2 in. long; several shorter wounds and some abrasions, and extravasation of blood below the skin—all the wounds could have been caused by this piece of iron—they might have been serious—he has recovered; I do not think that we thought at any time that he would not recover—I did not hear about his deafness till I met him here a short time ago; he never mentioned it when I discharged him—the wounds might accelerate or increase his deafness.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated, on oath, that Williams came to the kitchen with a stick and challenged him to fight, and that Duncan and his wife had abused him for weeks past, and that Duncan had on various occasions challenged him to fight.
GUILTY .— Eighteen months' hard labour.
MR. METCALFE Prosecuted.
ALBERT BOWER . I am a general dealer, of 1, Rathbone Street, Canning Town—on August 14th I had a mare pony, a coster's barrow, a set of brass-mounted harness, and three bags of potatoes and 30s.—I told the prisoner to put the pony in the barrow and meet me at Stratford Markets—I gave him no authority to take the potatoes, or 30s. in silver from a jug—I did not see him at the market—I gave information to the police, with
his description—I saw him and the pony, the harness, and the barrow at Brentwood—the pony was in bad condition, having been tied up, with nothing to eat.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I did not see you in the market with a donkey, or receive a sovereign.
WILLIAM ANDERSON KILLOCK , M.D.C.M. I practise at 115, Dock Road—I attended Mrs. Harriet Bower—I was asked to go there on Tuesday, 10th—she was confined on the 6th, and is unable to attend here to-day.
GEORGE READ (Detective Sergeant K). I am stationed at Canning Town—I was present when Mrs. Bower gave her evidence before the Megistrate—I saw her sworn and sign this deposition—the prisoner cross-examined her—(The deposition of Harriet Bower: "I am the wife of Albert Bower, of 1, Rathbone Street, Canning Town. I was in my shop on Wednesday, August 14th, 1901. I saw three bags of potatoes in the shop at 9.50 a.m., and I missed them at 10. In the meantime I had to leave the shop to serve a customer. I saw Hunt take the three bags of potatoes, and I told him not to take them. He said, 'Albert sent me for them.' My husband had given me 30s. I put is in an old jug on the drawers in my room leading out of the shop. I put it in the jug on Wednesday morning, August 14th, 1901, and I missed it at 10 o'clock, 10 minutes after Hunt had gone. I saw no one take the money. Cross-examined by Hunt: Albert was at Stratford at this time, and not in the back yard. Albert was not at home at 11 on that day. I did not see you give any money to my husband").
JOSEPH SHRIEVES . I am a general dealer, of I, Water Street, Canning Town—I bought 3cwt. of potatoes of the prisoner on a Wednesday between 10 and 11, in three sacks, for 3s. 6d.—I understood I was buying from his master, Mr. Bower—he had a barrow with the name on it, and a pony—I asked for 3cwt. more, and he said, "Yes, Joe, that is all right"—I said, "Who have I got to pay?"—he said, "Pay me; Albert has given me money to buy half a ton of taters; if I can be trusted with half a ton of taters I can be trusted with your half-guinea"—he said that his governor had bought him a new set of scales.
Cross-examined. You treated me and my wife.
WALTER REEVE (223 Essex County). I am stationed at Brentwood—I was on duty in Brentwood High Street on Saturday, August 17th, about 7.30 p.m.—I saw the prisoner, with a man named Wilson, driving a grey pony and a coster's barrow, coming from Chelmsford, that answered a description I received—I stopped him and said, "Is your name Hunt?" and told him he was wanted on the charge of stealing a pony, a cart, a set of harness, three sacks of potatoes, and 30s. in money—he said, "I am now driving it back," and that he never stole it, he borrowed it—I told him I should arrest him, and he would be charged with stealing it—I kept him till Sergeant Read took charge of him at the station.
GEORGE READ (Re-examined). About 11.30 on August 18th I went with Sergeant Cridland to Brentford Police-station, where I saw the prisoner and Wilson detained—Wilson has since been discharged—I said to the prisoner, "You will be charged with stealing a pony, a cart, a set
of harness, three sacks of potatoes, and 30s. in money from Albert Bower on the 14th"—he said, "I did not steal it, he lent it to me"—I took him to Canning Town Police-station—he was charged—he said he gave me the 30s. before he went to market.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I cannot say more than I have said. I have got no witnesses."
The prisoner, in his defence, on oath, said that the prosecutor had lent him money and the pony and cart, on and off, for three years, and had given him half the profits, but this time he got drunk and spent the money.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony on January 15th, 1890, at West Ham.— Six months' hard labour.
MR. FITCH Prosecuted.
WILLIAM COLLINS . I reside at 101, Glenny Road, Barking—on August 9th I went to bed about 11.30 p.m., having seen the premises safely locked up—a bicycle I value at about £5 was standing in the passage—when I came down shortly after 6 a.m. the bicycle was missing—I found marks on the grain of two side window sashes of the room looking on to the street—I identified my bicycle at Dagenham Police-court.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. There was an iron mud-guard, but no pump or handle on the bicycle.
CHARLES PARISH . I was in the Fiddlers beer-house, Beacontree Heath, at 2.20 on August 3rd—the prisoner asked me if I would buy his machine—I said, "No; I have just sold my own"—it was outside—he asked me to lend him £2 on it—I said, "I have 30s.; you can have that, and leave the machine, and when you bring it you can have the machine back"—he said that it was his machine.
Cross-examined. When we said good night you went in the opposite direction to Barking, and towards the house where you were lodging.
WILLIAM RAWSON (33 KR). On August 11th I received information, and went to the prisoner's house—he was in bed—I asked to see him—he came down—I told him I had seen him with a bicycle, on which he had obtained 30s., of the description of one which had been stolen from Barking, and as it had been in his possession, I should take him into custody on the charge of stealing it—he was taken to Dagenham Police-Station, and afterwards to Barking—on the way to the station he said that he bought it of a man whom he did not know for 30s.
Cross-examined. I said to the inspector that you made no attempt to explain how it came into your possession—I was on duty the night the bicycle was stolen—the Fiddlers is closed at 11 p.m.—my duty extends a considerable way towards Barking, which is four miles and a-half from Beacontree—I did not see you that night.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate:" About 11 o'clock on Saturday I took a walk on the road to Ilford, and stopped at a beer-house; I do not know the name. Whilst having a drink I got into conversation with a young fellow who had a bicycle outside. As he went out I went out. We stood talking for a little while. He said, 'That is my machine;
it is for sale.' I asked him what he wanted for it. He said, '£2.' I said, I had not got it, or should buy it. All that I had was 25s. in my pocket. He would not let me have it for that. I said if he would call at my house on Sunday morning I should give him 10s., to make 35s. He agreed to let me have the bicycle, and I gave him 25s., intending to call with the 10s. Monday morning (to-day) I took the bicycle away, and wheeled it to the Beacontree Heath. As I could not write I went into the Fiddlers, and asked Parish to buy it. He said he did not want it; he had just sold his own. Not having any money, I asked him to lend me a few shillings on it. I intended to sell the machine again. I had no idea it was stolen. He gave me 30s. on it."
GUILTY of receiving. — Three months in the second division.
671. FREDERICK JOHNSTONE (28) PLEADED GUILTY to embezzling £2 10s. 5 1/2 d. and £1 of Christian Henry Meyer, his master; also £3 12s. of John Ludwig Stocker, his master. Three months in the second division. —And
(672) ERNEST STERJOHANIO and OTTO BOHNISCH, to burglary in the dwelling-house of William Smart, and stealing a bread knife, his property. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] Six months' hard labour each.
MR. FITZGERALD Prosecuted.
ERNEST ORFORD (585 J). On July 11th, at 3 a.m., I was on duty near Snaresbrook Towers with Howard, and saw the prisoner leaving the back gate; I caught hold of him, and asked what he had been there for—he said, "Only to have a sleep"—two other men came out, but I was unable to catch them—I called Mr. Beauclerk down, and found two bicycles in the field and four lamps—on being charged the prisoner said, "It is false; you never saw me with anything."
WALLACE HOWARD (440 J). I was with Orford on the night of July 31st, and about 3.50 a.m. I saw the prisoner come out at the back gate of Snaresbrook Towers into a field—he was taken, and I detained him while Orford pursued two other men.
SIDNEY HERBERT BEAUCLERK . I was at Snaresbrook Towers on the night of July 30th; I went over the place at 10 o'clock—I went to the coach house—it fitted rather tight—the back garden gate was bolted—on the morning of the 31st I was called up, and saw four carriage lamps and two aprons—the safe was broken open, and the bicycle and lamps had gone—I found them in the field—they are worth about £35.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated, upon oath, that he got drunk, and laid down to sleep, and the officer awoke him in the morning, and just then two men rushed out at the back gate, and then the constables charged him, and that he got his living honestly as a fishmonger.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. CAMPBELL Prosecuted.
RACHMEL FRIESCH . I have a tobacconist's shop at 49, Broadway, Barking—nobody lives there—on Sunday, August 18th, I left the premises about 11.5 p.m.—they were securely fastened when I left—I went about 8 a.m. on Monday, and as soon as I opened the front door I saw that the back entrance was open—there is a little footpath at the back—the iron bars of the window at the back had been broken also—£8 or £9 worth of property had been stolen—this is some of it (Produced)—about £6 worth has been recovered.
JOHN WRIGHT (82 K). I examined the premises at 49, Broadway, on August 19th—I was shown a window at the back—the bottom sash had been forced by some blunt instrument, the iron guard bar had been removed, and an entrance gained that way—the door downstairs had been forced from within, as the staple had been forced and the iron button broken off—I found the store-room at the back of the shop in great disorder, and also the shop—the persons had gone out at the back door, leaving it open—the pathway in open to the street.
EDWARD BELL (Detective Sergeant, K). I went to 17, Barking Place, Barking, on August 27th—the prisoner lives there—I saw him there, and said to him, "I am going to take you into custody for breaking and entering the shop at 49, The Broadway, Barking, and stealing a quantity of cigars, tobacco, etc., between the 18th and 19th"—he said, "Yes, Sir"—I said, "I want to see your room"—he took me upstairs to his room—I saw a locked cupboard—I told him I wished it opened—he took a key from his pocket and opened it—he produced three boxes of cigars, three small cases of tobacco, two pipes, a cigarette holder, two boxes of cigarettes, and other articles (Produced)—on the way to the station he produced a metal matchbox and said, "I also found that"—he also said, "On Monday morning, August 19th, I saw the goods in a bag in the Broadway. I saw four fags outside the yard. I looked into the yard, and saw a box open, containing some cigarettes; there were also some on the ground. I picked them up and put them into the box, and took them home. I stopped at home till 7.30, and then went to work at Beckenham"—at the station he said, "I can only say I found them in the yard."
Prisoner's defence:" What I told the detective is true."
GUILTY on the second Count. — Six months' hard labour.
CHARLES HUDDY LAWSON . I am living at the Scandinavian Sailors' Home, West India Road—I was a cattleman on board the cattle ship, Cambrian, sailing from Boston to London, on August 16th—I signed articles with two men named Lange and Sorenson; we were all Norwegians—I am the only one who is an American citizen—we had two dressingcases and two trunks between us—I had one trunk—before we went on board I saw, Sullivan—I asked him if he was on board the Cambrian; he
told me he was, and said, "You had better bring your baggage down into the foreman's forecastle, or else it will be stolen"—I thought it would be a good thing, and did so, and then went with some other firemen I did not know, to have a drink—my friends came too—we went back on board and sailed about 1.30—I went below about an hour and a-half afterwards, and found Lange's trunk being broken open by Sullivan and Atkins; they were taking the things out; they were in the fireman's room—the prisoners asked me what I was going to do; I said I wanted my things back—my friend saw the captain, and afterwards he came down.
Cross-examined by Sullivan. You had your regular working clothes on on August 16th.
Cross-examined by Atkins. I was not in the forecastle when the captain went down—I saw you helping Sullivan break open the box—I cannot say if your face was smothered with coal dust.
Re-examined. When we got to London I gave Sullivan and Atkins into custody—we took 12 days to get to London—I saw them during the voyage—I did not know Atkins' name till I came to Court—I knew Sullivan's name from the first—I am quite sure they are the men who broke open the box.
MAX PETER SWENSON LANGE . I am living at the Scandinavian Sailors' Home—I shipped on August 16th on the Cambrian with my two friends—I had two big trunks and one little one—I did not see the prisoners before I went on board—I put my trunks into the fireman's room—I saw Sullivan and Hovey there—I changed my clothes there, and Sullivan helped me to close my trunk; I had a rope round it—he told me that if I carried my trunk into the cattleman's room I should be robbed; the best place would be to leave it in the fireman's room—I went on deck then—about an hour and a-half afterwards I went down and saw Sullivan and Hovey busy with my trunk; it was open; it had been locked; it was broken in pieces—I had the key in my pocket—when I saw Sullivan and Hovey taking the things out of my box I went away—I was afraid, because they had had some drink—about 10 minutes afterwards I went back with my friends—I asked Sullivan for my things, but another man came and told me to get out, or he would hit me—there were many fire-men there, and I went on deck—I missed from my trunk a gold watch, a diamond ring, some pocket handkerchiefs, some underwear, some boots, an overcoat, a silver chain, a medal, and other things—I went and told the captain; he came down with the chief officer—I searched the room then; I found three pairs of stockings in three different places, and in the front of the ship I found my overcoat, some handkerchiefs, and some shirts—I have not recovered the watch, the ring, or the medal—Hovey was there while I was searching with the captain—when I found the things he said, "Are you satisfied now?"—I said, "No, I have not yet got everything"—he hit me twice in the face with his fist—I had a black eye for eightdays—I pointed him out to one of the policemen when we got to London.
Cross-examined by Sullivan. I did not see you on deck when I came aboard.
Cross-examined by Atkins. I did not see you breaking open the trunk.
—he told me it was the best place to put it, because anywhere else I might be robbed—about an hour after we had started I went down to the fireman's room—I did not find anything—I saw Large's box lying open in the side room, which leads from the fireman's room—I saw Sullivan and Atkins there—Sullivan came and pushed me through the door.
Cross-examined by Sullivan. You pushed me when I wanted to go into the side room, and said, "You cannot come in here, because the boss is in here; I have put your things away for a while, and you will get them back after a while."
Cross-examined by Atkins. I do not know how you were dressed then—you were one of the men in the inner room.
JOSEPH BARTLETT (Dock Constable, 201). On August 28th I boarded the Cambrian, and went to the fireman's cabin with Lawson, Lange and Soranson—I saw Sullivan and Atkins there—Lawson charged them, with Hovey who was not there, with stealing his trunk—Sullivan's bag was ready to come on shore—he said, "You are at liberty to search it"; I did so, but found nothing in it—I searched the firemen's bunks with the same result—I afterwards went to the engine room, where I found Hovey—Lawson said that Hovey had assaulted him on the high seas, and participated in the robbery—Hovey did not say anything—I took them all to the station in the docks.
Cross-examined by Sullivan. You made no objection to my searching your bag; you said you did not know anything about the things.
Cross-examined by Atkins. The captain did not say that he had searched the room.
Hovey, in his defence, on oath, said that on August 16th he was in the engine room from 9 a.m. till 12 a.m., then came up for his dinner, and went back till 4pm.; that he heard that the cattle men had been robbed, but turned into his bunk, and went to sleep.
Sullivan, in his defence, on oath, said that he was in the engine room from 12 a.m. till 4 p.m. when he turned in, and got up at 12pm., and went to the engine room again, and that he did not tell the cattle men to put their things into the fireman's cabin.
Atkins, in his defence, on oath, said that he went down to the stoke-hole at 12.15 a.m., and remained there till 4 p.m., and that he had not stolen the things.
NOT GUILTY .
677. ROSE WALKER, For that she, having the care and custody of Henry Walker, Rose Walker and Catherine Walker, under the age of 16, did unlawfully neglect them in a manner likely to cause them unnecessary. suffering or injury to their health.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
EDWARD TUCKER . I am an officer of the N.S.P.C.C.—on July 12th, about 7.20 p.m., I went to 49, Connaught Road, Walthamstow, whith is occupied by the prisoner, her husband, and three children—the eldest child was a boy of eight, the second a girl of live, and the third a girl of three years—Henry was pale, fairly clean, and well nourished; Rose was fairly well nourished; her body was verminous—she was clad in an
old frock and chemise, both covered with vermin—Catherine was fairly well nourished, dirty, and her clothing erminous—the room was in a filthy condition, and smelled of urine—in the back room there was a small cot, which was dirty and verminous—at 8.30 I saw the prisoner coming out of the White Swan—I asked her to come home and see the children—I showed her the condition of the rooms and children, and said, "How do you account for this condition?"—she said, "There are no vermin"—I showed her that there were, and she said, "Yes, there are vermin; I did not know it"—she said to Henry, "Don't you have enough food?"—he said, "We have had no food; Daddy gave Mamma 1s. to-day, but I have had nothing"—the said, "Oh, yes, you are sure to stick up for your father"—I saw her at 10 o'clock going into another public-house.
JOHN ESMONDE . I am a fully qualified medical man, and live at The Poplars, Walthamstow—I went on July 12th with the last witness to examine this house about 8 p.m—I agree, with him—the condition of the children would cause them unnecessary suffering and injury to their health.
ANNIE TEAGUE . I am a nurse, and live at 47, Connaught Road, Walthamstow, next door to the prisoner—I know these children; they were greatly neglected through the wife being away at the public houses—the two little ones were practically naked—they were in a filthy condition, the dirt being the accumulation of days—that was likely to do them harm—I gave them food, which they ate ravenously—I saw the prisoner from day to day—she was continuously from one public-house to another, and was drunk night after night.
HENRY WALKER . The prisoner is my wife—we have three children—the eldest is nine—I go out to work at 7 a.m.—I am a warehouseman—I return at 7 p.m.—during that time the children are in my wife's care—I earn £3 a week now—I gave her 35s. a week—I have only just got the £3—she has a drop of drink pretty frequently.
By the COURT. I have kept her short of money when she has been drinking.
The prisoner, in her defence, said that she had not been drunk or neglected her children, that they got dirty by going out into the garden, and that they always had plenty of food.
GUILTY . (See next case.)
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
HENRY WALKER . The prisoner is my wife—during the last five or six months she has been frequently drunk—she signs the pledge and keeps it for months, and then she goes off again—we have been married nine years—she only took to drink about three years ago—when she is sober
she behaves very well—her mother did not drink—I did not know her father.
Prisoner's defence: I am not an habitual drunkard.
GUILTY .— Ten days' imprisonment and eighteen months in a Home for Inebriates. The RECORDER directed the police to make a report of this case, and to send it before the Licensing Justices, to have the licences of the publicans in the neighbourhood endorsed.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
679. MORRIS STEINAUD (20) and WOLF KENNOUGHT (20) PLEADED GUILTY to burglary in the dwelling-house of Thomas Hart Thorpe, and stealing a bottle of oil and other goods, STEINAUD having been convicted of felony at Clerkenwell in May, 1900 (Two convictions of burglary, one for larceny, and one as a rogue and vagabond, were proved against Steinaud)— Five years' penal servitude. KENNOUGHT— Eighteen months' hard labour.
MR. BOLTON Prosecuted.
FRANCES EDWARDS . I am the wife of George Edwards, of 48, Spruce Hill Road, Walthamstow—on July 22nd, between 5 and 6 p.m., as I came in from work I passed my husband, who was talking to the landlord on the stairs—I went to my room, picked up a letter from the table, and began to read it—my husband came in—I asked him who it was to—he told me it was to a friend—he took it from me—we had a few words over it—he came round to me, and I felt something stick in my arm—there was a struggle for several minutes—I screamed—the landlord came up—I was then on the floor—I was taken to the Walthamstow Hospital, and attended 13 days as an out-patient.
JOSEPH JESSOP . I am a butcher, of 48, Spruce Hill Road, Walthamstow—I let the upper part of my house to the prisoner—on July 22nd I was talking to him between 4 and 5 p.m. at the bottom of the stairs, when Mrs. Edwards passed me on the stairs to go to her own part of the house—Edwards followed her in about two minutes—I heard cries of "Murder!"—I ran up to the prisoner's room, and found Mrs. Edwards on the floor, and Mr. Edwards standing over her with this knife in his hand like this (Partly open)—I wrestled with him, and she got the knife away—I kept him in the room till she was safe away—when he went out he said that he would not trouble the house any more—he was drunk.
BEATRICE FREDERICK LOVIBOND . I am a medical practitioner at the Walthamstow Hospital—on July 22nd I examined Mrs. Edwards—she was suffering from a cut on her left elbow, not very deep, and about 1/2 in. long—I put in some stitches—it could have been made by a knife
similar to this—some force would be required—the wound was perfectly healed in about twelve days—it was not serious.
JOHN LEA (Detective, N). On August 10th, at Forest Road Police-station, about 5.15 p.m., I read the warrant for the prisoner's arrest to him—it charged him with unlawfully wounding—he said, "I am sorry that I did so, but I lost my temper; I have not had any peace since. If anybody had told me this would have happened I should have never believed it"—he was charged, and made no reply—the warrant had been out since July 22nd, and every attempt had been made to find him.
The prisoner, in his defence, said that he arranged to meet his wife, when the detective came, and he expected him.
FRANCES EDWARDS (Re-examined). The prisoner wrote me a letter; saying he would meet me, and I went—the police had information, and arrested him—I had not seen or heard of him between the assault and the letter.
The prisoner handed in a document, stating that he had been sharpening a pencil to write the letter with, and the knife was in his hand; when his wife came and saw the words, "I can't stand it much longer," she asked what he meant by it, and made a grab at the letter, when he lost his temper, and gave her a push with both hands; that they fell on the floor; that he had been drinking; that he had sent her 10s., and was sorry she had received a scratch accidentally.
GUILTY .—He received a good character. To enter into recognizances.
681. FREDERICK HOVEY (26), PATRICK SULLIVAN (23), and ALLEN ATKINS (20) , Stealing a watch and other goods, the property of Swenson Lange; also stealing a pair of sleeve links, goods of Charles Huddy Lawson.
MR. HUMPHREYS, for the Prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .—(See page 853).
MR. METCALFE Prosecuted.
JAMES HENRY FURLONG . I am a foreman bricklayer, of 3, Palmas Road, Leyton—on Saturday, August 24th, about 8.30 p.m., I was in Angel Lane, trying to find a scaffolder named Ward—I asked the prisoner if he knew where Ward was—I did not know the prisoner—he said he would show me where he might, be in—we walked together up Stratford High Street as far as Chnnnelsea Street Bridge, in the direction f Bow—I was wearing this gold chain and silver watch—at the bridge the prisoner snatched at my watch and chain with his left hand, and struck me a violent blow in my mouth with his right—there had been no quarrel—he got the watch and left the chain hanging—he ran towards Bow—I followed some distance, then went to the Police station and described him—within 10 minutes the prisoner was brought in, and I identified him as the man who had robbed me and struck me.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You were not searched in front of me—I described you as a high cheek-boned man—I think you wore a cap
Stratford—on Saturday, August 24th, about 8.40, I was outside the urinal at Channelsea Bridge—I saw the prisoner, whom I knew by name and sight, talking to Furlong, and at the bridge the prisoner snatched Furlong's watch, hit him on his mouth, and ran away—Furlong ran after him—I spoke to Plant 34 K, and went with him in search of the prisoner—we saw him at Channelsea Bridge—the constable took him into custody.
Cross-examined. I did not see the watch in your hand, but I saw you snatch it—you had about a quarter of an hour to make away with it.
Re-examined. I was able to tell the prisoner's name.
RICHARD PLANT (34 KR). I am stationed at West Ham—about 8.45 on August 24th I was on duty in Carpenters' Road—I received information from Walker, and went with him to search for the man he named, whose name I knew—I found him at Channelsea Bridge—I said, "I shall take you into custody on suspicion of stealing a watch a little while ago"—he replied, "I do not know what you mean; I have only just come here"—I searched him, but found nothing relating to the charge—I took him to the station, where Furlong recognised him at once—when charged he said, "Very well"—Furlong's lip was bleeding—I had met him when I was with Walker.
Cross-examined. The prosecutor was not standing at the door while you were being searched; he was in the lobby.
The prisoner, in his defence, said that he was innocent, but he was brought into every thing.
JAMES HENRY FURLONG (Re-examined). I had one glass of lemonade at the beer-shop where I first met the prisoner—I had 2d. worth of whisky, and the prisoner paid—I had no communication with Walker I did not notice him.
RICHARD PLANT (Re-examined). Furlong had been drinking—the prisoner was sober—near the bridge at the corner of the road is a narrow passage where there are not many people—I made inquiries, but could not find anybody who saw the robbery—I inquired of pawnbrokers—the watch has not been found—the robbery was at 8.40 p.m., and the boy spoke to me at 8.45.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at West Ham on April 17th, 1900, and 13 other convictions were proved against him.— Eighteen months' hard labour, and eighteen strokes with the cat.
MR. CUNDY Prosecuted.
CHARLES WILLIAM PARTRIDGE . I live at 16, Jansen Road, Stratford—I am employed by Ernest Charles Willis at his cycle manufacturing and letting business at 15, Union Road, Leytonstone—we put the maker's name on the head of the bicycles we make, and the transfer name "Clarence" on the back tube under the saddle—on August 3rd, a little after 12, the prisoner came and said, "I want to hire a machine for two or three hours"—I asked him his name and address, which he wrote down in this book, which we keep to put addresses in: "George Davies, 31, Union Road"—I made inquiries, and was satisfied—left him machine—he paid a deposit of 4s.—it was never returned—on Augst 7th I gave in
formation to the police—on August 14th I was sent for to the Police-station, where I identified the prisoner—the bicycle was sent for from the prisoner's home, and I identified it—it was in almost the same condition—a link in the chain had been broken and repaired, and the transfer and the name had been taken off; rubbed off, it seemed—buyers like to see the transfer—the number was the same—that is stamped on the metal.
ERNEST CHARLES WILLIS . I am a bicycle manufacturer, of 152, Union Road, Leytonstone—I make the "Clarence" bicycles—the name of the maker and the number are put on the front tube, and the transfer "Clarence" on the back tube—I gave information to the police, and on August 14th I went to the station, and afterwards to 67, Vicarage Road, Leyton, where I saw my machine in an out-shed—the transfer was taken off, and our shield, but the machine was ours; the number could not be taken out—it was worth about £7—the prisoner gave an address to my manager, which was put in this book.
HARRY ROUS (372 J). I received information about this bicycle on August 7th, and on August 14th, about 9 p.m., I saw the prisoner in the High Road, Leyton—I asked him what he had done with the bicycle he had hired from Mr. Willis—he replied, "I never had one; I do not know where the place is"—I took him to the Police-station and charged him—he said nothing in answer to the charge—he said he lived at The Laburnums, 67, Vicarage Road. Guilty.— Three months' hard labour.
MR. METCALFE Prosecuted.
JOHN RONALD JOHNSTONE . I live at 4, Friary Road, Custom House, and am military expert for Simmons' Ordnance Syndicate—I am a retired sergeant-major—between 9 and 9.30 p.m. on Friday, August 2nd, I was returning home through Victoria Dock Road—I was ignorant of the whereabouts of the Tidal Basin Station, and asked the prisoners the way—I recognise them—they said they would show me; they were going that way—I walked with them along Victoria Dock—I wanted to thank them for their kindness, and took them into a public-house and bought them drink—I do not know the name of the public-house—after leaving there they led me along by a school off Lansdown Road, and then turned sharp to the right on to some empty ground, with houses on one side—there was no pathway across it—when we got on the waste land the first thing I knew was I was hit on the right ear, and rumbled on the ground—I cannot say which prisoner hit me; for the moment I was stunned; no one but the prisoners was with me—while I was on the ground one of them, I cannot say which, laid across me and caught me by the throat, and strangled me—they rifled my pockets, and tore this pocket out entirely; it contained a pipe—they took an 18-carat gold watch, No. 1258, and chain, a solid block front pin set with a diamond, a pocket-book, and £1 8s. 9d., some of which was in this vest pocket, and some in my right hand trousers pocket—they also took five letters which I had, from the Rev. H.B. Chapman,
Vicar of St. Luke's, Wandsworth—this pocket was turned inside out—while this was going on a woman on our right front called out, "You brutes, don't murder the man!"—I made a noise, but had not much chance of calling out—upon that one of the prisoners said, "I have got it," and one of them gave me a very violent kick on my right cheek—I was still on the ground; then I had another kick on this side, in addition to the first blow I had received—it caused my ear to bleed very much, and blood came out of my mouth—I could not get up and follow them—the next I remember was the woman and the policeman trying to raise me up—the woman fetched a chair, into which the policeman helped me—then the woman fetched a pocket-handkerchief and a glass of water to wash my mouth out, and try and steady me—eventually I went to the Police-station with the constable, and gave a description of the prisoners—I went home to bed—about 12 o'clock I was fetched to the station, where I was shown eight men standing in a row—I went up to one of the prisoners and said, "Here is one," and walked to the other and said, "You are the other; here are my two men"—my pipe was found on the ground next morning—I was quite sober—the total value of the property I lost was about £50.
Cross-examined by White. We had three halves of old six between us at the public-house—I asked you what you would have, and called for them.
FREDERICK STEVENS (707 k). At 9.30 p.m. on August 2nd I was on duty in the Coolfin Road, Custom Hopee—I found the prosecutor on some waste land, lying on his back, bleeding from his ear—I picked him up, with the assistance of a lady from a house close by—after a little time I accompanied him to Canning Town Police-station, where he gave a description of two men, and of the property he had lost—he was quite sober.
JAMES DUNSTALL (546 K). On Friday, August 2nd, at 9 p.m., I was on duty in Victoria Dock Read—I saw the prosecutor with the prisoners, whom I knew previously, going in the direction of the Custom House, where the robbery took place—they were perfectly sober as far as I could judge—I came off duty at 10 p.m.—when I went into the Police-station I saw the prosecutor there, and from what he said I arrested White in Barking Road that same night about 11.30—I said, "I am going to take you into custody on suspicion of highway robbery with violence to-night near Custom House"—he made no reply—I took him to the station, where he was placed among six other men—Nelson had been arrested at the same time, not by me—the prosecutor was brought in, and picked out the prisoners without any hesitation—White was charged and searched; nothing relating to the robbery was found on him.
Cross-examined. You were coming from Canning Town; you were half way between Tidal Basin and Canning Town, about 500 yards from Canning Town; I was at the corner of Woodstock Road when you passed—I know where the prosecutor's pipe was found—if they went in the direction I saw them going, and took a little turn, they would get on to that waste ground, which is over half a mile from where I saw them.
a man in Coolfin Road that evening—he made no reply—I took him to the station—the prisoners were placed with six other men, and were identified by the prosecutor—they were afterwards charged, and made no reply to the charge—on August 6th I went to Coolfin Road, and Mrs. Thompson handed me a pipe, which the prosecutor has identified—the prisoners gave the address, 22, Emlyn Street; I made inquiries there—it is a common lodging-house, but they have not been living there——I found that Nelson had been living at 31, Catherine Street,
ANGELA BERTHA THOMPSON . I am the wife of Alfred Thompson, a sailor—I live at 18, Coolfin Road, Custom House—about 9.30 p.m. on Friday, August 2nd, I was at home; I heard an awful noise, a scream and a sickly sound, and I ran out and saw two men lying over a person on the waste ground, just outside my gate—I thought it was somebody in a fit—I opened my gate and took a step outside, and when they saw me they rushed up, and away they went—I called out, "You murdering brutes!"—I went to the gentleman, who was lying stretched out on the ground, with blood running from his right ear—a policeman came, and we assisted him into a chair—I could not see the faces of the two men—very early the next morning I found this pipe on the place where the man was lying—I told Hutton of it when he came to me—I gave it up to the police.
White, in his defence, stated, on oath, that he and Nelson went to show the prosecutor the way, and had the drink with him, but that they left him outside Tidal Basin Station looking at some young women who were dancing to an organ, and did not see him again, and that the prosecutor had been drinking, although he did not stagger about or show it.
J.R. JOHNSTONE (Re-examined). The prisoners left me on the ground in Coolfin Road—we had to pass the station; I was not going to the station, but to Friary Road—I asked the way to the Tidal Basin, but I was going on, not to the station—they did not leave me looking at women dancing—they did not leave me till I was helpless in Coolfin Road.
GUILTY .—WHITE then PLEADED GUILTY* to a conviction of felony at Thames Police-court on March 5th, 1901; and NELSON** to a conviction of felony at West Ham on October 24th, 1898.— Twelve months'hard labour and eighteen strokes with the cat each.
MR. WARDE Prosecuted.
ROBERT THOMAS . I live at 79, Hotham Street, Stratford, and am an engineer to the Imperial Saw Mills Company, Limited, at Cook's Road, Stratford—on Wednesday, August 23rd, at 6.30 p.m., I was going home from work, and when I got to Sewer Bridge, Stratford, I saw Freeman in charge of a pony and cart, and on the cart was a walnut log—I turned back to the works and informed the foreman, Wilson, who came out and followed the pony and cart to Bethnal Green, where an officer was spoken to; it was going at a nice trot.
over the rope and bashed into the log as hard as possible, and so a number, called a float, are fastened together, and another rope is made fast to the rope nearest the water edge, to prevent them getting away—they can only get away then by someone cutting the rope, and you cannot cut it except by a chopper—it is the same rope as the Surrey Commercial Docks and all the other docks use for rafting purposes—it is a special kind of rope for securing these things in the water—I examined the logs floating there on the 14th, and had 33 logs of walnut—they average from 8ft. to 14ft. long, and from 1 to 2 tons weight—on August 21st, in consequence of what Thomas said, I went with him, and followed a pony cart to Bethnal Green—on it was a log of walnut, which had the marks "DB" in a diamond, No. 158, 27ft.; that means 27ft. cubic foot contents—DB in diamond, and No. 158, is the dock mark—it was one of our logs—its value was £8—Freeman was in charge of it—I followed him, and gave him into custody.
Cross-examined by Freeman. When I counted the logs, after receiving information of this one, I found that three were gone—I found the other two had come down to Stratford; they were in the old back river—the last time I saw them safe was on the Wednesday previous—I do not know if this was got out of the old back river, in the presence of 200 people, between 10 and 10.30 on the Sunday morning, by a dozen of you—I found the others last Thursday week; I was informed that there were two that belonged to us—I know nothing of you.
Re-examined. After the prisoners' arrest I examined the floats, and found one had been tampered with, and three logs were missing—the rope had been cut in the middle, and part of it was gone—the part of the rope holding the two logs that were left, was safe—there had been five logs in that particular float, with one rope holding them all together—I examined the piece of rope that remained attached to the two that were left, and I could see that it had been cut—it is impossible to break it.
Cross-examined by Freeman. If a lighter or barge came up against these logs and cut them, they would tell us; it is possible that a barge running into the float might sever the rope; it would have to be a terribly severe blow to do it, and it would not make a mark like a knife or chopper—this looked like a clean cut.
JAMES CHAPPELL (344 J). About 7 p.m. on August 21st I was in the Old Ford Road, Bethnal Green—Wilson spoke to me, and I went to Freeman, who was driving a pony and cart, on which was a log of walnut—I asked him where he had it from, and if he had any delivery note—he said, "No"—I asked him where he was going to take it—he said to the London Apprentice, Hoxton—I knew that was a public-house—he said, "Mr. Webb, of Temple Mills, asked me to put the pony in and take it and meet a Mr. Joyce outside the London Apprentice; he lives opposite me at Temple Mills"—I took him to the Police-station, and he was detained—he made no answer to the charge—I afterwards took him to the West Ham Police-station—I have made inquiries about him, and believe he is a respectable man.
I said, "I shall take you into custody for being concerned with another man already in custody for stealing a baulk of timber"—he said, "I borrowed the barrow to take it away; 12 of us put it in, and 20 of us got it out of the water; I don't know where Freeman was taking it to"—he was charged; he made no reply.
THOMAS WILLIAM WEBB . I live at 43, Temple Mills Crescent, Stratford—I am the prisoner Webb's brother—about August 21st I was in Corporation Fields, when my brother came and asked me for the loan of a barrow—I saw Freeman and some more men there—I lent my brother the barrow, not the pony—Freeman had the pony when I saw him—I afterwards saw the prisoners getting the log into the barrow—I did not see them together after the log was on the barrow.
Freeman, in his defence, stated that on the Sunday morning he saw a crowd of about 150 persons looking at the log in the water at Temple Mills, and helped them to get it out; that it was put on the barrow and taken over the bridge, where a man offered £2 for it; that the log was left there till the Wednesday, when a man offered £4.
Webb, in his defence, stated that he was there and as Freeman had no ponycart he went and borrowed his brother's, and Freeman took it away.
FREEMAN received a good character.— GUILTY of Receiving — Discharged on his own recognizances. WEBB, NOT GUILTY .
686. HENRY WHITE PLEADED GUILTY to stealing two geldings, two mares, and other goods, the property of Frederick Waring, having been convicted of felony at Chester Quarter sessions on October 19th, 1893.— Three years' penal servitude, to run concurrently with a sentence of seven years' penal servitude to which he was sentenced in 1900.
687. JAMES ORMEROD , JAMES ORMEROD the younger, and AMELIA ORMEROD, Maliciously wounding James Welch. Second Count, Assaulting him and occasioning him actual bodily harm; Two other Counts, Charging them with wounding and assaulting Alice Welch.
MR. STEWART Prosecuted.
ALICE WELCH . I am the wife of James Welch, of 66, Scott Street, Tidal Basin, on the bottom floor—the prisoners live on the top floor of the same house—there are only two floors in it—at 11.15 p.m. on August 18th three friends whom we were entertaining left; one of them was named Scotton—outside our room is a passage, from the middle of which the stairs go—I went to the front door to see our friends off—Amelia Ormerod called me upstairs, as she wanted to speak to me—I went upstairs alone, and the first thing she did was to throw a pail of water over me; I had just got to the top of the stairs—she picked the pail off the floor; it was near her—she said nothing before she did it—she then hit me on the top of my head with a hammer; I did not see where she got it—I came to the top of the stairs to come down, and James Ormerod, the father, claimed me—he was on the stairs waiting for me to come down—he was on the landing at the top of the stairs when I first went up—all three prisoners were there when I first went up—I called out "Jim" for my husband, and he came up the stairs, but he only got up about five of the nine stairs before he was beat back again by
Ormerod, the son, with some sort of a stick—no one else struck my husband—he was pushed down the stairs by Ormerod, the son—I ran down and informed the police—I had a great cut across the top of my head—both Mr. and Mrs. Ormerod hit me; one hit me across my shoulder—I had a dreadful shoulder—Mrs. Ormerod hit me across the head—I was attended by a doctor.
Cross-examined by Ormerod the elder. When I was on the top of the stairs you caught hold of me and hit me across my shoulder with a stick—your wife called me up there—she was not looking out of the window—I did not come running past your boy, who was struck on the head, to come and try to get at your wife, because she was calling out "Police!"—I had nothing in my hand—I got the blow on the shoulder after the one on the head—I did not know that one of my visitors was a burglar—it was on a Sunday—you did not send for the police that day, or complain of anything that was going on in the house—you never had anything to complain of in my house, only I have had a little company, and one of the young fellows has got himself into trouble; I did not know what he had done—you had not sent to the police about him—you had not complained of dancing and singing, or what was done—you are my lodgers—you did not complain of my entertaining a lot of strange people—I, knew one of the people we were entertaining, not the others; they were people that lived in the street—I was entertaining them because they took my part in the street—I have been in terrible rows in the street with one and another—the female prisoner has caused me trouble since I have lived in the street—she has gone into the road and challenged me to fight her.
Cross-examined by Amelia Ormerod. I did not throw water over you—the water came downstairs from your apartments—your place was all wet.
Re-examined. I complained to the police at 11.15, when my head was split open, and they came at 12 o'clock.
JAMES WELCH . I am a labourer, of 66, Scott Street, Canning Town—the prisoners were my tenants on Sunday night, August 18th—we were entertaining two young women and Scotton—the young women were strangers to me; I only knew them up and down the street—they called in—Scotton since then has been in trouble—they left about 10.30 or 10.45—up to then I had had no row with the prisoners—when our friends left I heard Mrs. Ormerod call my wife upstairs, and then I heard the water when it was thrown over my wife—some of it came down the stairs—I was then standing at the door in the passage—I did not see anybody throw it—my wife hooted out "Jim"—I went upstairs,. and when I got to the top the Ormerods, father and son, hit me with this loaded stick on the front of my head—there are 14 or 15 stairs—I was still on the stairs—I cannot, say which hit me first—I believe I was hit five or six times—I believe the son had this stick—I have seen no other implements produced—a doctor attended me shortly afterwards—I believe I fainted a little when I was struck; I fell down the stairs—Scotton picked me up—he was standing talking to me at the door when my wife called out—I had my trousers and boots on, my coat was off.
Cross-examined by Ormerod the younger. Our friends did not consist of
three young men, Ashford, Houghton, and Scotton—Ashford has never been into my house—I do not know if Houghton was the name of one—I did not know who Scotton was, but he played an American cottage organ, which my brother in Africa asked me to buy, to teach my little girl—when I came to the door with my friends I did not see you and your mother against the window ledge of my front window—since you have been in the place my gas-meter has been opened, and I have lost 1s. 5d., which I have had to pay—I did not know anything about it till the man came to collect the money—I have missed about 1s. 6d. off the mantelpiece—Scotton did not own to it.
Cross-examined by Amelia Omerod. My wife did not throw up a pail of slops at dinner time—I never go out on Sunday—I was at home on Saturday night and Sunday morning; there was no quarrel going on between us and you then, but you have been rowing all the time.
FRANK SCOTTON . I have been employed as a labourer—I have not, known Mr. and Mrs. Welch very long—since August 18th have been in custody for some offence for which I have not yet been tried—on the evening of the day before I was before the Magistrate, I think it was a Sunday, I was spending the evening with the Welches—I left just before eleven—up to that time I had not heard or seen anything in the nature of a row between the Welches and Ormerods—we had spent the evening singing and having some beer; we were not in oxicated—when I was about to leave I stood out beside the door—I heard Mrs. Ormerod call Mrs. Welch upstairs; I know her voice—Mrs. Welch went, upstairs, and then I saw some water come down the stairs from where Mrs. Ormerod was standing—a few minutes afterwards I saw Mrs. Welch hit on the head with a hammer—I did not see the person who hit her, but I saw a blow struck with a hammer—I could see Mrs. Welch, but I could not see Mrs. Ormerod—I stood at the bottom of the stairs, and saw it go down, and heard it—Mrs. Welch called out "Jim," and Welch went upstairs—that was the first time he went up that evening, to my knowledge—when he got to the top of the stairs he was knocked down by some blunt instrument, exactly like this stick—I caught him in my arms—he was smothered in blood from head to foot; he was not bleeding when he went up; the bleeding was caused when he got to the top of the stairs—I saw Mrs. Welch come down the stairs; she was very dizzy, and her head was pouring with blood; she was not bleeding before she went upstairs—I could not tell whether her clothing was wet or dry—there was a lamp alight at the bottom of the stairs, held by a little girl; it showed a light up the stairs, and I could see everything pretty nigh—neither of the Welches had used any violence towards the Ormerods while I was there.
Cross-examined by Ormerod the elder. No one had the lamp on the stairs that I know of—I was not on the stairs—I was not lying on say stomach half way up; I never put my foot on them—the girl who held the lamp was in the passage.
Cross-examined by Ormerod the younger. When I left the Welches I did not go about 30 yards up the street—the other two men went away earlier—I stopped outside the door after bidding the Welches goo I night—I did not see you or your mother outside; I thought you were upstairs
Cross-examined by Amelia Ormerod. The Welches have a little girl—she did not come and call me, and tell me something was going on.
DAVID SEWELL (Sergeant, 54 K). Shortly after midnight on August 19th Mr. and Mrs. Welch came to the station—I had not been sent for on the 18th by the Ormerods—I do not know that they had sent for someone to go to their house on the Sunday evening; I had not heard of it—Mrs. Welch, when she came to the station, was bleeding from a scalp wound on the top of her head; Mr. Welch was bleeding profusely—I cannot say whether her clothes were wet or dry—I went to 66, Scott Street, where I found the Ormerods—I did not notice whether Mrs. Ormerod's dress was wet or dry—the three bottom stairs ware very wet; water appeared to be trickling down them—so far as I could judge, none of the prisoners were suffering from personal injuries, nor did they complain of doing so—another boy, Ernest Ormerod, complained of injuries—I told the prisoners I should take them into custody for being concerned in unlawfully wounding James Welch and his wife—James Ormerod the elder said, "I did strike him with this," producing a Bombay cane, "I must protect my home"—Mrs. Ormerod said, "I did not strike anyone; I had got my head out of the window, shouting 'Polic!'"—I was in the neighbourhood on that night; I did not hear any call for police—the younger Ormerod said, "I struck him once"—before the Magistrate, the gist of what the elder Ormerod said was that he had a witness, and that his child had bad his head out—Mrs. Ormerod "I am innocent," and the younger Ormerod said, "I have nothing to say."
ROBERT WILLIAM HUMPHBEYS ,M.R.C.S. I live at 143, Victoria Dock Road—at 11.50 p.m. on August 30th I was called by the police to canning Town Police-station, where I found Mr. and Mrs. Welch—he had three scalp wounds about lin. long, one on the upper part of his forehead, one on the back of his head, and one at the right side of his head; three slight wounds on his right cheek, and a punctured wound over the point of his right shoulder, which would appear to be caused by a blunt instrument—I do not think a hammer would cause it—the injuries were consistent with the use of a stick such as this—he also had a contusion on his left shoulder—Mrs. Welch had a lacerated wound on the top of her head about 1 1/2 in. long, extending to the bone—that was not consistent with the use of a hammer, but it might have been caused by this stick; she had three other contusions on the top of her head, bumps raised by blows—they might have been caused by that stick, but with less violence than caused the laceration—her clothes were wet with water and blood—parts of the dress where the blood had not come were wet—I was not asked to examine the prisoners.
Cross-examined by Amelia Ormerod. The few slight scratches on Mr Welch's cheek might have been done a few hours previously; they were very slight—Mrs. Welch's head was covered with blood, and her hair was saturated with it.
Witness for the Defence.
evening—I came out of the room to see what was the matter—I heard father say, "Go down, or I'll hit you"—I saw Mrs. Welch on the right—she struck me on the head with something like a piece of wood, and I ran into the front room to mother—she was looking out at the window and calling for the police.
Cross-examined. I have talked the matter over with mother since we were before the Magistrate—this is the first time I have said that mother called at the window—I forgot it before the Magistrate—I saw Mr. and Mrs. Welch coming upstairs, and Mrs. Welch had something in her hand—father was on the landing, and my brother—it was August 8th when I was struck—I have seen Dr. Hay, of the Victoria Dock Road—the lady next door said she sent for the police—I heard a young man at the bottom of the stairs—I afterwards saw Mr. and Mrs. Welch with wet rags their heads—I saw no one strike them—this stick (Produced) is my father's—I never saw it in his hand that night.
JAMES ORMEROD the elder— GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. — ee months' hard labour. JAMES ORMEROD the younger— GUILTY of a common assault. —He received a good character.— To enter into recognizances. AMELIA ORMEROD— GUILTY of a common assault. — One month's hard labour.
Before Mr. Justice Bucknill.
MR. CHARLES MATHEWS and MR. BODKIN Prosecuted, and LORD COLERIDGE
and MR. ELLIOTT Defended.
OLIVE BOTTON . I am the wife of Henry Botton, of 68, Charles Street, Deptford—my husband is the prisoner's brother—I knew the prisoner's wife—the prisoner was a general dealer, and lived at 21, Baildon Street, Deptford—his wife was 34 years old—I have known her 15 years—I knew her before she was married—she and the prisoner lived together—both indulged in drink for seven or eight weeks; before the middle of July they had been drinking very heavily—when they were in drink they were both rather bad tempered—they used to quarrel when in drink, otherwise they lived together very happily—I last saw the deceased July 12th outside my door in Charles Street—she seemed to be the worse for drink—the prisoner was there also; he seemed as if he had been drinking very hard; he did not seem to know what he was doing—he came up to me and said, "Halloa, sister, will you shake hands with me?"—I put my hand out, and the deceased hit him in the chest and knocked him down—me and a lad helped him up—the deceased stood there and used bad language—I told them to go home quietly—he went home quietly; she stood in the middle of the road, with her sleeves rolled up, saying she would fight him or anyone else—on July 14th I saw her dead body.
Cross-examined. When the prisoner was knocked down by the deceased he fell on the back of his head on the pavement—I have seen a
difference in his manner lately; he said things which had no sense—I met him a few days before, and had a conversation with him, and asked him to give up the drink—he said his wife was slowly poisoning him—he said he had been retching, and that everything he took had a taste—I asked him to go home, and he said, "What is the use of going home when there are 10 men in my house waiting for me with an electric battery?"—he said they were going to put an end to him, and "Don't stand talking to me, because the police is after me, and they will take you well"—he said there were men getting into his back windows with ladders—he was not drunk then—he seemed to me as if he had been real soddened with drink; he did not seem to know what he was saying.
Re-examined. He seemed as if he had been drinking for a long time—he seemed to me to be getting over the horrors of drink, or in the horrors of drink.
CAROLINE WOODMAN . I am a widow, and live at 1, Richmond Place, Wandsworth—the prisoner is ray brother—he lived at 21, Baildon Street, Deptford—before July 11th I had not seen him for two years—on that evening he came to my place; he was strange, and trembling all over—he did not seem the same as he was two years ago—he asked for some water, and drank two jugs full—he lay down for a few minutes, and then came down into the yard, where I was washing—he had a cup of tea, and then went out for a walk—he came back two or three hours later—he said that some men were following him, and were working a danger on him, and that they had been trying to rob him of his money—he slept with my little boy—I was not disturbed by him in the night—he left at 9 a.m.; he came again on Saturday, 13th; about 5.30 a.m.; he seemed the same as he was when he went away before—he said he felt very ill—he came with a pony and barrow—he went out for a walk that morning—he came back and asked me to let him go to bed—he went into my front room and went to bed—I saw him after he was in bed; he looked strange; his a seemed dazzlefied—his face was blue, and he asked me to fetch the doctor—he said his wife had tried to poison him—I was so frightened I ran for a doctor—Constable Aldridge came first—Dr. Williamson came, and I heard the prisoner say that he felt bad, and that his wife had been trying to poison him—he said, "Don't take me to the infirmary; I have enough money to keep me"—the doctor told me to send for some medicine, which I did, and I gave it to the prisoner—he stopped in bed all that he had some tea about 5 p.m.—he asked me to go down and see his wife; he gave no reason for asking that—he said he could not go home, because the battery men were working a battery, and he could not stay in his own home—I went to see his wife that night, and stayed till about 7.30 next morning—she was the worse for drink—I saw one little bruise under her night-dress—on the Sunday morning, about 7.30, I left her to go home—on the way I met the prisoner in his pony barrow, with my son John and a man named Kingsford—the prisoner was driving—he stopped and I said, "I could not get home last night"—he said, "How is she?"—I said, "She is all right; you have been paying her, have not you?"—he said he was going down to see her—he got out of the barrow, an round to his house alone—he was trembling just the same—his eyes looked very funny—I stopped with my son to wait for the tram—the prisoner
came back in about 10 minutes—he got into his barrow; he did not speak: to me—he drove off with the others—I do not know who was driving—they went towards New Cross—that is the last I saw of him till he was in custody—after he had gone Nellie Nun came up the street screaming—from what she said I went back to 21, Baildon Street—a policeman went up to the prisoner's room.
Cross-examined. When the prisoner left on Friday he did not say if he was coming back or not—he said he was going home—I was in bed when he came on Saturday—I thought he was dying, so I sent for a doctor—the doctor said he would be all right if he was in bed for a day or two—he said it would not be necessary to keep him under restraint so long as he was kept in bed, but if he got up I had better at once send for the police—he did not tell me to get somebody to watch him, to see that he did not get up, but Kingsford did watch him—I did not think it safe to leave him alone—when I went out I asked Kingsford to stay till I came back—the relieving officer came to take my brother away to the infirmary—he said he would not move him if somebody would look after him—it had gone 12 p.m. when I got to Baildon Street.
ELLEN NUN . I live with my mother at 21, Baildon Street, Deptford, and am 13 years old—the prisoner and his wife lived there—I used to work for the deceased—on Saturday night, July 13th, I slept in her room with her little girl—the prisoner did not sleep at home that night—I went downstairs about 7.40 on Sunday morning to make the deceased a cup of tea—I went into the kitchen—the prisoner came in—there is a yard at the back, where he keeps his tool-box—he went through the kitchen into the yard, and then came back to the kitchen—he said, "Where is Mrs. Botton?"—I said, "Upstairs"—he said, "Stop Nellie; I won't be a minute"—he lived on the first floor—I went upstairs after him—he got up before I began to go up—when I got to the first floor I could see into the prisoner's room; the door was open—the deceased was on the bed, and he was kneeling on it—I saw him strike her on the head with a hammer—she called out, "Oh, Jimmy, my loving husband, you are killing me!"—he had his left hand on her chest—I saw blood coming from her—then I saw him have her down by the neck, but I did not see what he done to her—I ran downstairs and out of doors—I saw Mrs. Woodman, and spoke to her.
MARTHA NUN . I am a widow, and live at 21, Baildon Street, Deptford—the prisoner and his wife lived there—they had a child, aged seven living there—on Friday, July 12th, I got home about 10 p.m.—the prisoner was at home—he was having a few words with his wife in the kitchen—I went to bed—about 1 or 2 a.m. I heard some screaming; it woke me up—I went out on to the stairs, and saw the deceased fighting h the prisoner in the passage—he went away—he had a "Kola" bottle in his hand—I see him hit his wife on the head with the bottle—a policeman took her away—I saw the bottle was broken—I did not see her again till about 10 p.m. on Saturday night—the prisoner was not at home then—about 7.40 a.m. on Sunday I was in bed—I heard the deceased say, "My darling husband, don't kill me quite"—I heard my little girl scream out, "Don't kill Mrs. Botton quite"—I opened my door—I could see into their room—I saw the prisoner kneeling on the bed, and one
knee on her neck—he was hitting her with a long hammer; I could not see how many times—I put the children in next door, and called the police.
Cross-examined. The deceased's head and arm were bound up on the Saturday night; she talked about her "loving husband, James Botton."
EDWARD STEPHEN KINGSFORD . I live at 32, Clifford Street, Wandsworth—I know Mrs. Woodman—I slept at her house on Saturday night, July 13th—the prisoner was sleeping there, too—we were not in the same room—I went into his room about 2.30 to give him his medicine—ho was awake; he seemed rather strange and fierce, looking all about the room to see if there was anyone there—he went to sleep about 3 a.m.—I went into Mrs. Woodman's son's room; then I went into the yard, and when I returned I found the prisoner half dressed in his room—he said to me, "Do you know where the pony is?"—I said, "No, Jim"—John Woodman was there—he said be knew where it was—the prisoner said, "Come on, Jack, show us"—he put his coat on, and we all went to Baildon Street—I got the pony—the prisoner put the harness on it, and put it into the cart—we all three got in—the prisoner said he was going to Deptford to get the lease of his house, and his bank-book, and a safe—he did not say why—I did not ask him—I had only known him a day or two—he drove; he went from one side of the road to the other—he was looking about the barrow to see if anybody was behind him, and looking rather fierce at me—we stoppped about 240 yards from his street—I saw Mrs. Woodman—she said to him, "Jim, you have been paying her"—he said, "I must go and see my dear, beloved wife"—he jumped out of the barrow, and went towards Baildon Street alone—he came back in eight or ten minutes, and jumped into the cart and drove rapidly away—after we had gone about five miles he said, "I have done it"—I did not know what he meant—just as he got into the cart he said, "The men are after me"—he towards Kennington—when he said, "I have done it." I noticed blood on his left hand; he looked strange and fierce—he took his watch out of his pocket and said to Woodman, "I have promised it you, and you shall have it"—he gave him the watch—we stopped at 1, Richmond Place, Wandsworth—the prisoner jumped out of the barrow and left us—I went into Mrs. Woodman's yard, and then upstairs; he followed me—I do not know what time it was then—we went up to his nephews' room—he said to them, "I have done it; good bye, God bless you"—I went out of the room then—the prisoner went out about 9.30 or 10, and just after he had gone an inspector came—I did not see the prisoner again till he was in custody
Cross-examined. On the Thursday I went with the prisoner to see his wife—when we were coming back he told me he had £79 odd in his pocket—I watched him on the Saturday night; he did not speak to me—he said on the Saturday that he was going on the Sunday to get his lease and bank book—his manner seemed strange all the way while we were driving.
OLIVE BOTTON (Re-examined). The prisoner had the lease of a house—he had a good deal of money at times—he did not carry it about with him unless he was going to deal with a good firm—he had a banking account—I suppose you would call him a well off man for the working class.
JAMES WATSON (611 R). On Sunday, July 14th, at 8.15 a.m., I was called to 21, Baildon Street, Deptford—in a back room on the first floor I found the deceased lying in a pool of blood by the side of the bed—on a washstand I saw this hammer (Produced), and on the bed I found a half opened knife—the woman died soon after I arrived—Dr. Taylor came immediately after I arrived—the woman was then in the same position as when I found he
FRANCIS THOMAS TAYLOR . I am Divisional Surgeon of Police, and practise at 234, High Road, Lewisham—on July 14th I went to 21, Baildon Street, about 12.50 p.m.—I found this woman dead, and lying in a pool of blood by the side of the bed—there was blood on the pillow cases and the sheets, and some hair on the edge of the bed—next day I made a post-mortem examination—the body was considerably bruised—some of the bruises had been more recently inflicted than others; there, were two curs in the throat; they were not very deep—one was 1 1/3in. long, and the other 3in. long—there were cuts on the fingers and thumb of the right hand—this knife would have caused such cuts as these—there were seven wounds on her head; all of them such as would be caused by this hammer, which must have been used with very great violence—I have no doubt that the deceased died in consequence of the injuries she received on her head, inflicted with this hammer—there were signs of excessive drinking—with that exception, the organs were healthy—I think the wounds on the head could have been inflicted with great rapidity; they seemed to have been inflicted all about the same time.
ROBERT EBBEDGE (Detective, W). I knew the prisoner before July 14th—about 4.30 p.m. on that day I went to 137, St. Philip Street, Battersea—the prisoner's nephew lives there—I saw the prisoner in the kitchen—he spoke to me firsr—he said, "All right, Mr. Ebbedge, I am the man; I done it"—I told him the charge, and cautioned him—he said, "I want to tell you something when we get to Greenwich"—ar Blackheath Road Police-station I repeated the charge—he replied, "Yes, sir, I am the man what done it"—he was searched in the ordinary way—he said, "All I want to tell you was that my wife and the man Pratt has been laying traps about to poison me"—he had the appearance of a man who had been drinking for several days—when I saw him he was perfectly sober.
Witness for the Defence.
JAMES SCOTT ,B.M. I am Medical Officer at Holloway Prison—at the request of the Director of Public Prosecution, I have made observations as to the state of the prisoner's mind—he was received at Holloway on July 15th—I have made a report regarding him, dated September 4th, 1901—(This stated that the prisoner showed signs of chronic alcoholism, that he appeared confused and dull, that he admitted his crime, but did not seem to be aware that he had committed a serious offence; that he stated that he and his wife had been on fond of one another, and that when sober they lived on affectionate terms; that he thought she was trying to poison him, and that 10 men were following him to take his life; that his (the doctor's) opinion was that the prisoner was at present mentally weak, as the result of alcoholism; that when he murdered his wife he was suffering from alcoholism, and was not in a condition to know the qualiy of his acts, but that he might plead and stand his trial.)
GUILTY, but of unsound mind at the time. — To be detained during His Majesty's pleasure.
MR. LYCESTER and MR. JENKINS Prosecuted and MR. FULTON Defended.
WILLIAM MARSHALL . I am a labourer, of 15, York Street, Charlton—Florence Irving, the deceased, was my daughter, and the wife of William Arthur Irving, whom she deserted seven or eight years ago, and has lived about three years with the prisoner—I do not know where she lived with him first, but afterwards at Ship Street, Deptford—when I came home on July 17th at 5.50, the prisoner was there—he was crying like a child—the deceased was at Mrs. Moore's house opposite—I advised him to leave, and he went over to see, and about a quarter to midnight I saw him leave Mrs. Moore's house with my daughter—on the 23rd, about 12.30 midnight, she was in West Street, Charlton, arm-in-arm with a man whom I did not recognise—she called "Good night, father"—I made no reply, but went home, and when I had been at home a few minutes the prisoner camp, that was about a quarter to one—he asked me whether I had seen Flo—I told him she had gone up the street arm-in-arm with a man, and said, "If I were you I would hit her b—eye"—he made no remark when I said that, but walked up West Street—I next saw my daughter when I was called out at midnight to recognise her body.
Cross-examined. I never saw him in that condition before—I have had plenty of opportunities of observing him.
BRIDGET MOORE . I am the wife of Charles Moore, a waterman, of 6, York Street, Charlton—that is on the other side of the street where Mr. Marshall lives—I knew Florence Irviug—on the Wednesday before she died she came to my house in the morning; we were all in bed, and she knocked me up—it did not seem to me that she had been drinking—she stayed till about 6 a.m. and left by herself—I did not see her again that day—the prisoner came for her on the Wednesday or Thursday, I am not sure—she had been in my place three times—I think she must have come again the same day, in the morning—that was the second time—she stopped till Palmer fetched her away after tea—she was quite sober, and they seemed on very friendly terms—she came again on the Saturday, between one and two in the afternoon—she was quite sober—she stopped with me about 20 minutes—that was the last time I saw her—came between seven and eight on that Saturday night—I had not gone to bed—I generally go to bed about 11 o'clock—he asked if Flo was in the house—I said that she had been there that morning—that was all that was said.
HENRY MARSHALL . I live at 15, York Street, Charlton—the deceased was my sister; she lived with the prisoner in the same house with me at 12, Ship Street—on July 20th. about 5.30 am., the prisoner went out—my sister was then in the house I saw her again in York Street about dinnertime; she spoke tome—I saw her again just before midnight in Upper East Street—she was then very drunk—I left her at the
top of East Street, and did not see her again alive—I knew that the prisoner had a razor—this is it (Produced).
Cross-examined. I know that he carried a razor and brush for his own personal use (A shaving brush).
JOSEPH MONTAGUE . I have known the deceased about six years—on Sunday, July 20th, between 12 and 1 a.m., I saw her in Woolwich Road, at the top of East Street—I spoke to her—we had some conversation, and walked away together, arm-in-arm, towards her father's house; she was tipsy—we passed her father, and about 10 minutes after th prisoner came up—I knew him—we were then just past Ransom Road—he said, "I want you home," speaking to the woman—she said nothing—he said nothing to me, nor I to him—the woman went away with him towards home, in the direction of I Deptford.
FREDERICK DORMAN (363 R). On July 21st, about 1 a.m., I was in Church Lane, Charlton, going off duty, about 20 yards from the Woolwich Road, and noticed the prisoner and a woman coming towards me—I have not seen the woman since—the prisoner said to her, "It is no good your going up here now; you cannot get a tram to-night"—they then turned back and went into the Woolwich Road, which leadn towards Greenwich—I do not know Ship Street—I followed them—the prison pushing the woman along the roadway—he said, "This is the way home, and you have got to come home to-night"—I continued to follow them for about 200 yards from Church Lane—I asked the prisoner what was the matter—he said, "Nothing, policeman, I am only trying to get her home"—I asked him if she was his wife; he replied, "Yes"—I said to her, "Is this man your husband?"—she replied, "Yes, it is"—they then walked on up the road—no doubt she was the worse for drink; she could walk, but in my opinion that is why the prisoner was pushing her—he was quite sober—I then went to the station, and they turned up Featherstone Road, in front of me—I saw them on the Woolwich Road, on the road to Greenwich—to get from Woolwich Road to Greenwich it would not be necessary to turn up Featherstone Road—I know that locality well—No. 6, Feather stone Road is about 40 yards from where I saw them turn up.
Cross-examined. It would not be very easy to turn out of Fairford Road—that would not lead to Greenwich—it is no thoroughfare.
WILLIAM AYLWARD . I am a labourer, of 6, Feathers Road, East Greenwich—I did not know the prisoner and the deceased till this case arose—on Saturday night. July 20th, I was in led and asleep—I was awoke by a loud knocking at the door about 1.15 a.m.—I jumped up, and went downstairs—the front door has two glass plates—I looked through them, and saw something lying in the forecourt—the iron gate is 10ft. from the front door—there is a garden gate, and it is necessary t through that to get to my door—what I saw was lying inside the garden gate—I opened the door, and saw that it was a woman smothered with blood—her feet were resting on ihe door-step, and her head was towards the gate—the prisoner was standing by her inside the garden gate—I ed what was the matter—he said, "Here lies the woman; it is nothing to do with me; she wants a doctor and a policeman"—while I was stooping down to unlock the door I heard two loud gaspings—the prisoner ran towards "Woolwich Road, and I followed, shouting, "Sto
that man"—he stopped and turned round, and said, "Oh, you need not trouble; I am not going to run away," and he went up to Mr. Chard, who was passing, and said something to him—I should not like to repeat it, but he asked him to go to the police—the police arrived in one or two minutes, and meanwhile the prisoner and I still stood on the same spot—Sergeant Hood came up, and I then went hack to my house—I had not examined the woman at all—the police took charge of the body—in my humble opinion she was dead when 1 first opened the door.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was quite sober.
JOHN ROBERT CHARD . I am a caretaker at Charlton—on July 21 at, about 1.15, I was passing Feathers Road, and heard a shout—Palmer came to me in the centre of Feathers Road, and said that he had cut a woman's throat; he had murdered her—Mr. Aylward cried out to me to stop him.
By the COURT. The shout I heard was "Stop that man"—the prisoner was coming to me then—he said, "I do not wish to get away"—that was before he came over the road to me, and then came across the road and said that he had cut a woman's throat, and had murdered her.
Cross-examined. He was walking towards Woolwich Road.
WILLIAM WOOD (Police Sergeant, R). On the early morning of July 21st I was on duty at the corner of Wescomb Hill, which is 30 yards from the corner of Feathers Road—Wescomb Hill is at the corner of Woolwich Road—Mr. Chard fetched me, and I saw him and the prisoner standing at the corner of Feathers Road and Woolwich Road—the prisoner said, "Here you are, officer; I wish to give myself up; I have killed my wife; I cut her throat; I will show you where she is, I don't want to run away"—I accompanied him, and he pointed to the forecourt of No. 6, Feathers Road, and pointed to the body of a woman lying in the forecourt, and said, "There she is; I have been a good one to her, and now all I want is death"—I looked in the forecourt, and saw the woman lying there—I should say that she was dead; she was apparently dead—she had a large wound in her throat—I sent Chard for a do and took the prisoner to the station—he said on the way, "You will find the razor in the garden about four doors away; you need not be in a hurry; I have had enough of her; I have done everything I could for her."
EDWARD SEDGWICK (Police Inspector, R). About 1.50 on July 21st I was called from home, and went to 6, Feathers Road, but the prisoner had gone to the station—I saw the deceased lying in the forecourt; she was dead when I arrived—I traced blood-stains from No. 6 as far as No. 20—that is in an opposite direction to Woolwich Road—I found a pool of blood on the pavement outside No. 20, and a razor lying in the pool—I then went to the station and saw the prisoner; I said, "I shall you with killing a woman by cutting her throat"—he said, "Yes, Sir; she is the woman I was living with; I am her third; I said I cut the woman's throat"—that was not said all on straight; he stopped at the word "third," Aylward then gave an account of what he had seen, and then the prisoner said, "I cut the woman's throat; that is right; I had been down to the bottom of the road before that. Is she dead?"—I said, "Yes"—when the charge was read over he said, "Yes; I walked to
Croydon this morning, and took my razor with me to shave"—I had not said anything about the razor, but I had shown it to him—I handed his over to Sedgwick to take care of him—I saw blood-stains on his hand and shirt sleeves.
WALTER THAYSEY (85 R). I took charge of the prisoner at the station—he was brought in, accompanied by Detective Hand, who said in his presence, "Look after this man; he has confessed to having murdered a woman at Feathers Road"—the prisoner said, "Yes, I cut her throat with a razor, which you will find six doors up from where she fell"—searched him, and found this razor case, lather brush, and blood-stained handkerchief—there were stains of blood on his right hand.
EDWARD SEDGWICK (Re-examined by MR. FULTON). I made inquiries about the prisoner's antecedents, and produce this report—his father lives in Kent—his half-brother is confined in a lunatic asylum in Kent; that is his brother by his father's second wife—Henry Bowles, the prisoner's first cousin, was confined in the same prison 18 Years ago, and died shortly after he was discharged—another first cousin, William Bowles, was an imbecile, and was confined in the same asylum and died while he was there—Henry Glynn, another first cousin, drowned himself in a pond at Chidley about 18 years ago, Charles Richard Palmer, a nephew of the prisoner's father, shot himself at Hugh Road, Wool last October; and the prisoner's brother, Henry Palmer, is of very weak intellect; his age is 21.
By MR. LEYCESTER. I do not know any of those people myself; that is the result of my inquiries; a written report was sent to me—it has never been suggested that the prisoner ever showed any signs of insanity—inquiries have been made about him.
FINCH WHITE . I am a registered medical practitioner, of 53, Bamborough Park, and am a partner of the Divisional Surgeon—on July 21st I was called at 2.15 a.m., and got there 10 minutes or a quarter of an hour later—I found the deceased lying dead in the forecourt of the house; she had an elliptical wound on her throat, under her chin, and it was immediately under the chin—it was not quite from one ear to the other—it went up and then down from left to right, and then on; two segments of a circle—that might be done by one blow, possibly two—I think it must have been done by one blow—it was about an inch deep at the deepest part—it went through the thyroid cartilage and the muscles at the side, and through both the jugular veins—that wound might have been caused by this razor, but it would require a considerable amount of force—death would ensue immediately—I do not think I could have done anything—haemorrhage was the cause of death—there was also a small wound on the left shoulder, which might have been caused by the weapon gliding off—in that case the blow would have been given from the right side—that was a superficial wound; it cut quite through the clothes.
Cross-examined. I have not had experience of cases of homicidal manis.
JAMES SCOTT . I am Medical Officer of Holloway Gaol—the prisoner has been there awaiting his trial since July 22nd—I have had various interviews with him with the object of ascertaining the state of his mind—I have had him under observation the whole time, but have not detected anything in him to suggest that he is insane.
Cross-examined. I have had a good deal of experience of homicidal mania; it rarely appears suddenly in persons who apppear sane—sometimes insanity is not to be detected afterwards—it is peculiar to cases of homicidal mania that the perpetrator appears calm—it is not rare that they attempt to conceal themselves or their deed, but in many cases they do—they kill those to whom they are much attached—I have taken into consideration the cases I have heard about his family—being one of such a family might perhaps give him a predisposition towards mental weakness—with such a family history it would not be possible for me to say that he is not insane.
By the COURT. If he was insane at the time he committed the I think I should have found under observation some traces of insanity.
Re-examined. I have talked about the case to him, and he has spoken about it in a rational manner.
GUILTY.—Strongly recommended to mercy by the JURY on account of the great provocation. — DEATH .
Before Mr. Recorder.
690. JANE SCHOLEY (54) PLEADED GUILTY to keeping a common bawdy-house, having been twice previously convicted of a like offence. Fined £40 , and to enter into her own recognizances in£250, with two sureties in£50 each to keep the peace and be of good behaviour for twelve months, or in default of finding such sureties, to be imprisoned for three months. —And
Before Mr. Justice Bucknill.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
GUILTY .— Seven years' penal servitude.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
GUILTY of indecent assault. — Fifteen months' hard labour.
MR. MARTIN Prosecuted.
ROSE HARRIS . I live at 192, Long Lane, Bermondsey; I am a servant—I have known the prisoner about three years—for the last 12 months I have been keeping company with him; he gave me some rings—a week before August 17th I had a quarrel with him, and gave him back the
rings—we appeared to make it up, and I thought we had—on Saturday, August 17th, about 5.30, I met him; we had some supper and some drink together, and went to Clapham Common—we sat there for about half an hour—I said, "It is striking 11 o'clock; let us go home"—as soon as I said that he stuck this knife in the middle of my throat—we had had a few words on the night before, but on this Saturday evening we had been friendly—I took the knife out and threw it away—I had seen the knife before; I think he had it on a Sunday—my throat was bleeding freely at time—the prisoner came with me to Clapham Cross, about half a mile off—as far as I remember, a little boy fetched the constable—the prisoner was with me all the time, wiping the blood from my neck—I was taken to the hospital—on the 26th I was able to give evidence at the Police-court—I could not do so on the 19th—he said nothing angry to me before he struck me with the knife—almost directly he had done it he said he was sorry, and asked me to forgive him—these rings I am wearing are those he gave me—I cannot account for his conduct—we had this quarrel a week beforehand, and he said that he had been brooding over it ever since.
ARTHUR ASLIN (725 W). At 11.30 p.m. on August 17th I was called to Clapham Cross, where I saw the prisoner's arm round the prosecutrix's neck, wiping blood from her face—she said, pointing to the prisoner, "He has stabbed me in the throat"—he said, "All right, I have done it; I will go with you to St. Thomas's Hospital"—I arrested him, and handed him to Sergeant Anderson—I took the prosecutrix to St. Thomas's Hospital.
RICHARD ANDERSON (Sergeant, 4 W.R.). On August 17th, 11.40, I heard a police whistle near Clapham Cross—I there found the prosecutrix bleeding from a wound in her throat, and the prisoner, who had blood on his face and shirt-front, standing by her, looking on—I seized—he made no attempt to get away—he said, "All right; I have been brooding over this for some time; I am sorry now I have done it I wish I had done myself in as well; you will find a shoemaker's knife on the Common; we were to get married next Sunday morning"—I told him I was a police officer, and should take him to Balham Station—he said, "I am not going to tell you any more; you will only use it against me in evidence; I hope she will not die; I will go quiet, and give you no trouble"—he went to the station with me—I afterwards found this knife on the Common.
THOMAS SEXTON TAYLOR . I was House-Surgeon at St. Thomas's Hospital—on August 17th the prosecutrix was brought there—she had a bad wound about an inch long, and about a quarter of an inch deep, which just penetrated the trachoea—she recovered all right from it—this knife would have produced that wound; it could not have been used with any force, as the wound was so shallow—it is a sharp shoemaker a knife, and if used with force would penetrate deeply—she was not in danger.
The prisoner, in his defence, stated that he had a few words with his sweetheart, and took to drink, and did not know what he was doing on the night in question till he had done the deed, for which he was very sorry, as he was very fond of her.
next Sunday—I am still willing to marry him—I am still wearing his rings.
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. — Discharged on his own recognizances.
MR. LEYCESTER Prosecuted.
JAMES MACPHEARSON FISHER . I am Superintendent of the Boys' Home at Wandsworth, of which the prisoners are inmates—they have been there about two years and a-half—I have had occasion to punish them h recently for other offences before this fire—I had to punish Rose about a week before September 7th for being in the wood shed with a lighted match in the evening—Hilliard was punished for absconding, for the fourth time, about a fortnight before September 7th—the wood shed is in the yard—the lower part is used for wood chopping, the upper part for a workshop—it is a brick building of two floors, with wooden floors—a lot of firewood was stowed in the lower part—we have a saw mil to the shed, and the spare wood is chopped up by the boys—I was called to the shed just after 1.30 on September 7th during the dinner hour; the boys had just been dismissed from dinner—I found the wood store on fire nearly up to the ceiling in the part where the wood is stored—the floor of the workshop above, which was the ceiling of the lower floor, was on fire—we tried to put out the fire, but could not do so—I sent for the Fire Brigade, and it was put out—I had the school paraded and made inquiries—I had the prisoners called into the schoolroom, and in the presence of the police sergeant I questioned them—I had not spoken to them before the sergeant saw them.
THOMAS WILLIAMS . I am 15, and am in the Home—on the aft when this fire happened I was in the yard near the wood shed—it was in the dinner hour, and we were not working—Hilliard came and asked me for a match—I said, "What do you want it for?"—he said, "To light a cigarette"—I said, "I have not got one"—he then asked Shepherd, who did not give him one—he then went to the wood shed; I watched him through the window—he got some tarred string, with which they tie up the bundles; he took some of the wood out, and made a hollow place—he lighted the tarred string from the gas which was alight in the wood shed, and put it in the hollow place—this was at 1.40 or 1.45—smoke came out at the windows five minutes afterwards—Hilliard came out of the shed—I did not see Rose there at all while this was going on.
Cross-examined by Hilliard. I am sure you asked me for a match, and another boy as well—I was not in the shed cooking dinner over the gas—there were two boys in the shed—no boy came and turned us out.
HARRY DOUGLAS . I am at this Home—I am 15—I saw the shed alight, but I did not see how it came to be alight—afterwards, when Mr. Fisher had us all paraded and we were in the ranks, I asked Billiard if he had anything to do with it—he said, "No"—I said one of the boys told me he did have something to do with it—he said it was a lie—he after wards said, "Rose done it, not me; I was in the wood shop at the time"
—he did not say how Rose did it, or what part he had in it—that was all he said—when he said that, Rose was on the other side of me—I cannot say whether Rose heard it—he said nothing.
CHRISTOPHER SMITH . I am 16, and live at this Home—I did not see how the fire began, but I saw the shed alight—about three minutes before I saw the fire Rose said to me that he would set the wood shop on fire, so that he should get out of the school, and that if he did not get out then he would set the kitchen on fire—I do not know where he went to when he had said that—I spoke about his saying that he would set the kitchen on fire before the Magistrate—the middle shed is the wood shed—I signed the depositions, but I did not notice that it was not there.
Cross-examined by Rose. You told me in the middle of the yard.
J.M. FISHER (Re-examined). Smith spoke about the kitchen at the Police-court; I heard him—I did not notice the omission when the depositions were read.
JAMES SHEPHERD . I am 16, and am at the Boys' Home, Wandsworth—before the fire happened Hilliard asked me for a match—I had none—he then went into the wood shed—Rose was with him—I could see them from the outside, through the window—Hilliard lighted some tarred tyers from the gas, and made a hole in the wood that was stacked and lit it underneath—Rose was standing by the door inside—he did not help in any way; he kept watch at the door—he saw us looking through the window, but he did not say anything—they came out together—I saw the fire, and I went and told the boy to ring the fire-bell.
Cross-examined by Hilliard. You lit the fire; you were supposed to be working down in the kitchen, but you were not there.
Cross-examined by Rose. You can see through the window; the glass is all broken—the bottom of the window is about as high as my chin—you can see into the place where the wood is cut up, not into the store—you are not prevented by a brick wall from looking through the windows—there are about 2ft. not filled up with wood that you can see through.
J.M. FISHER (Re-examined). You could not see through the window of the place where the wood is chopped up, but there is a space of about 2ft. through which you could see from the window of the store—if you looked through the window of the wood-chopping place at a certain angle you could see the gas and the place where the fire was—there was an open door where these boys must have got through.
ERNEST FOSTER . I am 16, and live at this Boys' Home—on the morning of the day when the fire happened I saw the prisoners together—Hilliard said to me that he was going to make a fire—Rose could hear what was said, but said nothing—Hilliard did not say that he was going to make the fire inside the warehouse—I am certain Rose was there, but he never told me anything about it.
Cross-examined by Hilliard. You were supposed to be in the kitchen—Mr. Fisher put you there for running away.
HENRY NORTHLY (Police Sergeant, 85 V). On the afternoon of September 2nd I was called to this Boys' Home—the fire was over when I got there—I saw the prisoners—when they were in custody Shepherd said in their presence that Hilliard asked him for a match to light a fire, but he
had not got one—other boys said that they had been asked for matches, and that they saw the prisoners leave the shed at the time of the fire—the prisoners said nothing—I took them to the station and charged them; they made no reply.
Hilliard, in his defence, stated that if anything happened in the school all the boys would come up against someone.
NOT GUILTY .
No evidence was offered.
NOT GUILTY .
698. WILLIAM LILLYWHITE and ELLEN LILLYWHITE, Unlawfully and wilfully neglecting Beatrice, William and Albert Lillywhite children under their charge and care, each under the age of 16 years.' Second Count, Neglecting them in a manner likely to cause them unnecessary suffering and injury to their health.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted, and MR. COHEN Defended.
ELLEN LILLYWHITE stated that she was GUILTY , the JURY thereupon found her GUILTY.
JOHN LEARY . I am an inspector of the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children—on August 3rd, at 10 a.m., I went to the rooms occupied by the prisoners, and I there saw Beatrice, aged nine, and William, seven—Albert Edward, the baby, was dead, and had been removed to the mortuary—his age was given as three months—I also saw Ellen Lillywhite; the male prisoner was not at home—there were two rooms—I examined them and the children—I called in Dr. Kempster who in my presence examined them and the children, who were same condition—next morning, Sunday, the 4th, about 11 o'clock, the male prisoner came to my office in Vauxhall Bridge Road—I told him what I had sent for him for, and said, "This might be a very serious matter; anything you have got to say about it I will take down in writing"—he said, with reference to the dead child, "The child was always well fed; it had Ridge's Food and cow's milk; it was feeding on Nestle's milk when it died. The child seemed fairly well up to the morning it died. I am not at home during the day; I am either out at work or looking for work, and I don't know if my wife is in the habit of leaving it. I cannot find work; I have tried hard; I only worked 10 hours the week before last, and none last week. to pawn and sell the things to get the child food. I have not had three full weeks' work this year. The other children have always enough to eat. My wife only drinks like other people; and another thing, she does not have the money. I work for anybody who gives it to me."
FELIX CHARLES KEMPSTER . I am Divisional Surgeon of Police at Battersea—I have several appointments—on August 3rd I went with Leary to these rooms—in the front room, a bedroom, there were two beds—the bedding of the larger one was soaked with excrement and urine, and had vermin on it, and the pillow was black with filth—there was a fairly clean pillow-slip on the bed where the children slept, but the mattress was dirty, and the bedding soaked with urine and excrement
and there were lice on it—an old broken sofa by the side was alive with bugs—sleeping on a bed like that would be injurious to health—anyone in the room could not only see the condition of the bed, but would smell it—the air was very foul—the floor of the room was grimed with dirt—the ceiling and walls had just been whitewashed, so that they were clean, but there were bugs in the skirting—the back room was the living-room;—the air there was very foul-smelling; the floor was grimed with dirt—it had just been repapered, and the ceiling whitewashed—there were and butter and eggs in the cupboard—the rooms were in a condition likely to cause injury to health—I examined Beatrice—her head was verminous and nitty, and her hair filthily dirty—the glands of her neck were enlarged, due to the irritation of vermin; her body was bitten by vermin; owing to her filthy condition her limbs were grimed with dirt—her stockings were filthily dirty—she had no boots on—her body was emaciated—I examined William; he was in the same condition—he only had an old ragged shirt on—ordinary soap and water would have kept the children free from vermin—I noticed lice eggs on Beatrice's eyelashes—water would have taken them off—I made a post-mortem examination on Albert—he weighed 5£lb. instead of 9£lb., which would normal weight—I made a careful examination of all the internal organs; there was no organic disease, and I came to the conclusion that death was due to starvation pure and simple—it was of normal length.
EMILY ROW . I am the wife of William Row, a parcels post driver, of Camelia Street, Wands worth Road—the prisoner and their children have occupied the top floor of our house at a rent of 5s. a week for the last three or four years—the baby was born on March 27th—I saw it directly after its birth—it was a fine baby—I saw it at its death; it looked very thin and bad—the male prisoner was living there all the time—he has been sleeping there for the last four or five months—he went out about 8.30 or 9 a.m., and returned at six or seven or later, but seldom ever in the daytime—he was not there during the day.
Cross-examined. Our house is let out in rooms—the prisoners have been there four years next December—it was their own furniture—once or twice I have had trouble to get my rent, but I have always got it—they did not have more drink than they should have—I have nothing to say against them on the whole—I was friendly with Mrs. Lillywhite as landlady—I never saw her husband unkind to her—occasionally she would help me with my work—I never saw any unkindness to any of the children—I have spoken to her about the state of her place—I did not say, "If this goes on you must go"—as far as I know, Mr. Lillywhite went regularly either to work or to find work; he used to go in a—I do not know anything against him—I cannot say where he went—he went out ostensibly to go to his work—he was always very civil and well conducted towards me.
Re-examined. I have seen him the worse for drink on one or two occasions—he was not so drunk that he could not get up the stairs; he was a bit jolly, like other people.
KATHERINE WOODLANDS . I have occupied the floor immediately below the prisoners at 17, Camelia Street, for the last nine months—I saw the prisoners' children occasionally—I went to work in the morning, but I
have seen the male prisoner once or twice go out about 8.30, not very often—I was at work all day long, and did not see him return—I made a complaint to my landlady about the smell from the prisoners' rooms—it was about a pail on the landing; I could smell it.
Cross-examined. The prisoners quarrelled occasionally; they had little tiffs, such as married people have.
— GREY (Police Sergeant, 26 W). I arrested the prisoners on August 6th—I know the male prisoner; I have been told where he work
William Lillywhite, in his defence, stated, on oath, that he had not been in regular employment; that when he was in regular work he earned on an average 30s. a week, out of which he gave his wife 25s. or 26s.; that he had been married 12 or 13 years, and had always lived happily with his wife; Had only had a few days' work for some months, but had given his wife as much as he could, and had heard no complaints about want of food; and that he thought it was his duty to be out looking for work, and not washing the children; that he had not seen vermin on them, or noticed that they were in a filthy state.
The COURT directed the JURY to return a verdict of NOT GUILTY against William Lillywhite.
ELLEN LILLYWHITE— Five months' hard labour.
MR. HUTTON and MR. STEPHENSON Prosecuted.
WILLIAM FOSTER LOWE . I live at 21, Lambourn Road, Clapham—the prisoner is my brother-in-law—he lives at Brighton—on August received this letter by post—it is in the prisoner's writing—I do not owe him £25—there is no reason whatever why he should demand money from me.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I have no financial interest in obtaining a conviction against you—I have not got a fraudulent marriage settlement—when you married my sister there was a settlement prepared, which you signed (Produced)—when the settlement was drawn up £20 was placed in the National Freehold Society—I have not drawn the interest on it—a house was bought with your wife's hard earnings in business—you have been kept by the proceeds under the settlement—you have been prosecuted for libel several times—I have no recollect wanting to lend you any money—I recollect some years ago paying Dr. Fisher your wife's bill, because you had no money, and you wanted him again—you had six months imprisonment before for writing scurrilous cards to your other brother-in-law, and demanding money by threats—I do not remember you ever offering to apologise at all—you sent the police to my house—on one occasion you demanded money from me with v✗olent threats—you got nothing from me—my sister was so terrified that she said if you wanted money badly she would give you £1, which she did.
Re-examined. The prisoner sent some post cards to the police, "W.F.
Lowe, 21, Lambourn Road, Clapham; send help," and the police came to see if we wanted assistance—I am trustee to his marriage settlement; there is no money owing to him from me.
THOMAS HAWKINS (Detective, W). I arrested the prisoner on a warrant at Brighton on August 8th, about 8.30 p.m., I read the warrant to him—he said, "Mr. Lowe will never have any trouble to find me; his difficulty will be to lose me"—he made no reply to the charge.
Cross-examined. I went to the prosecutor's house in reply to the post we received—I satisfied myself that they were bogus—Mr. Lowe could not understand me going there.
The prisoner, in his defence, said that this case had been on for 20 years, that after he married his wife she found she had no income, and as he only had £2 a week they soon came to grief.
GUILTY.—Strongly recommended to mercy by the JURY. Twelve months in the second division.
Before Mr. Justice Philllimore.
MR. PERROTT Prosecuted, and MR. JENKINS Defended Jimson.
GUILTY .—COOK— Eight years' penal servitude; CARPENTER— Seven years' penal servitude; JIMSON— Six years' penal servitude.
The COURT commended the police for their conduct in tracing the prisoners.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
702. LEONARD MOUF (20) PLEADED GUILTY to obtaining from Samuel Scambler 12 shirts by false pretences, with intent to defraud; also to stealing three suits, a scarf-pin, and two rings, the property of Alfred Lee; also to forging and uttering a request for the delivery of 12 shirts, and to five other indictments for forging and uttering requests for the delivery of goods; having been convicted of felony ac Greenwich on February 20th, 1900. Two other convictions were proved against him. Twelve months' hard labour. —And
(703) WALTER WILKINS (alias ROBEY , alias MOIR ) (44), to unlawfully selling obscene pictures and books. [Pleaded guilty. See original trial image.] He had been before convicted in the name of Ellis of a like offence. Two years' imprisonment.
MR. PETER GRAIN Prosecuted.
THOMAS NICHOLSON (67 A). I was 243 L—about 3 a.m. on August 8th I was outside St. Mary's Church, Newington—I had marked the gates, and I noticed my mark disturbed—on going to the second gate the prisoner going out at the first gate—I went after him, stopped him, and asked him what he had been doing there—he said, "I have been in
to relieve myself of diarrhoea" I said, "That won't suit me; I am going to see what you have about you; I believe you have been up to something"—I searched his handkerchief and said, "How much have you here?"—he said, "About 3s."—I found threepenny bits and coppers amounting to 8s. 2d. bronze, and 2s. 6d. silver—I asked him where he got it—he said, "By portering at the market"—I took him back to the Church to see if his statement was correct—seeing no signs of his going there, I said, "You will have to go to the station, whether we find anything or not"—he said, "I might as well show you where we got in"—he took me to the back of the Church and showed me a window which had been forced open, and said, "We got in there; my mate has got the tools; the only thing we went in for was money; I have got the money, my mate has got the tools, he has got no boxes"—I took him to the station and charged him.
JOHN RYMAN (Police Sergeant 31, L). At 5 o'clock on August 8th I examined St. Mary's Church, Newington—I found the lower part of the window at the rear broken in—an entry had been made into the vestry, and from the vestry into the church—I found a writing desk open, and the contents taken—in the lower part of the Church eight of these boxes (One produced) had been broken into—three had been moved.
Prisoner's defence: I did not go in, but I was outside.
GUILTY .—He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at this Court in September, 1900, in the name of Daniel Salvador.— Eighteen months' hard labour, and two years' police supervision.
Before Mr. Recorder.
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, OCTOBER 21ST, 1901.