CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
NINTH SESSION, HELD JUNE 20TH, 1904.
MINUTES OF EVIDENCE,
TAKEN IN SHORT-HAND BY
MESSRS. BARNETT AND BUCKLER,
Short-hand Writers to the Court,
ROLLS CHAMBERS, No. 89, CHANCERY LANE.
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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 Monday, June 20th, 1901, and following days.
Before the Right Hon. SIR JAMES THOMSON RITCHIE , Bart., LORD MAYOR of the City of London; the Hon. Sir William Grantham, one of the Justices of His Majesty's High Court; Sir JOSEPH SAVORY , Bart., Sir GEORGE F. FAUDEL-PHILLIPS, Bart., G.C.I.E., Sir MARCUS SAMUEL , Bart., Aldermen of the said City; Sir FORREST FULTON, Knt., K.C., Recorder of the said City; WALTER VAUGHAN MORGAN , Esq., Frederic?: Prat Alliston'. Esq., and HOWARD CARLILE MORRIS, Esq., other of the Aldermen of the said City; FREDERICK ALBERT BOSANQUET , Esq., K.C., Common Serjeant of the said City; LUMLEY SMITH , Esq., K.C., Judge of the City of London Court; and JAMES ALEXANDER RENTOUL , Esq., K.C., M.P., LL. D., Deputy Judge of the City of London Court; His Majesty's Justices of Over and Terminer and General Gaol Delivery, holden for the said City; and Judges of the Central Criminal Court.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
RITCHIE, MAYOR NINTH SESSION.
A star (*) denotes that the prisoners have been previously in custody—two stars (**) that they have been more than once in custody—a dagger (†) that they are known to be the associates of bad characters—the figures after the name in the indictment denote the prisoner's age.
LONDON AND MIDDLESEX CASES.
OLD COURT.—Monday, June 20th, 1904.
Before Mr. Recorder.
467. ALBERT VICTOR JACKSON PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at this Court on July 26th, 1897, in the name of Hamlyn (See page (645.) One other conviction was proved against him. Nine months' hard labour; HAROLD PARKER —Nine months' hard labour. (See page 645.)—
(468.) ANTHONY STANHOPE CAVE BROWNE-CAVE (25) PLEADED GUILTY to forging and uttering a promissory note for £500, with intent to defraud; also to obtaining by false pretences from Hayes Marcus Poole and the Reversion and Finance Alliance orders for the payment of £5 and £30, with intent to defraud; having been convicted of felony at Clerkenwell Sessions on August 12th, 1902, as Robert Beauolerk. Judgment respited. —
(469.) TOM BARNETT (28) , to stealing a purse and £25s. 11d., the property of Henry Slade, from the person of Cornelia Slade , having been convicted of felony at Clerkenwell Sessions on May 21st, 1901. Three other convictions were proved against him.† Twenty months' hard labour. — [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
(470.) GEORGE FREDERICK WELLER (39) , to obtaining by false pretences from Minnie Shiner a pair of blankets and £1 7s.; also to obtaining by false pretences from Emma Marler a rug and 10s.; also to obtaining from Alice Matthews by false pretences two rugs and 15s., with intent to defraud. The police stated that the prisoner had done, no work for eight years. Three years' penal servitude. — [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
(471.) JOHN DWYER (38) , to stealing a kitchen range and other property belonging to Richard Lee and another; having been convicted of felony at Clerkenwell Sessions on January 6th, 1903. Fourteen other convictions were proved against him. Five years' penal servitude — [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
(472.) THOMAS GEORGE (48) , to stealing 2s. 2 1/2 d., the money of William Castle, from his person; having been convicted of felony at Clerkenwell Sessions on April 22nd, 1895. The police stated that there were nineteen previous convictions against him. Six months' hard labour. — [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
(474.) OLIVER WILLIAM YEATES (26) , to stealing whilst employed under the poet Office a postal packet containing 14s. 6d. in money and 2d. in stamps, the property of the Postmaster General. Nine months' hard labour. — [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
(475.) ERNEST ALBERT BLUNT (32) , to stealing whilst employed under the Post Office two letters containing orders for the payment of 3s. and 15s., the property of the Postmaster General. Six months' hard labour. — [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
(476.) LILY JAMES (21) , to unlawfully endeavouring to conceal the birth of her male child by a secret disposition of its dead body. One day's imprisonment — [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
MR. BIRON Prosecuted.
MARGARET MORLEY . I am the wife of Frederick Morley, and live at Pimlico—in May, 1903, we lived at Old Compton, Chatham—on May 16th, 1904, I had about £6 6s. in the Post Office Savings Bank—this (Produced) is my book, with my signature in it—I have known the prisoner for about six years—my daughter Elizabeth has been living with the prisoner as her servant for some time—on Monday, May Kith, I went to see the prisoner, and went with her to the Rob Roy to have a drink—I had a skirt on which had no safe pocket in it, and I handed my bank book to the prisoner to mind for me—I also gave her a purse with half a crown in it and the key of my room door—she went and spoke to her husband—I went away to her house to wait for her, as I thought she would not be long—she returned between 9 and 10 p.m.—I stayed at her house all night—I saw her again about nine next morning, when she took me to a public house, I cannot remember the name—I had a drink there—she gave me my key back before she left me—I did not ask for my book, I never gave it a thought—I thought she was coming back after doing her hawking—I next saw her in custody—I did not say to her in the Rob Roy that she could have my money because she had been good to my daughter, or that she could be me and draw the money out—I gave her no authority that she could deal with my book: all I did was to ask her to take care of it for me—on the Monday I told her I did not think she could draw the money, and I do not think she could—I said so because I thought she might try to do so—I found out afterwards that £3 10s. had been drawn from my account.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I did not take the book out of my pocket in the public house and say, "That is for you"—you did not say, "Is this the money you stole from your sister?"—I did not steal any money from her—this money has nothing to do with her.
ELIZABETH MORLEY . I am a daughter of the last witness—for about two years I have been working for the prisoner as a servant—I was working for her on May Kith and 17th—my mother has a banking account—I have given her some of my savings to put into her account—I remember
her stopping at the prisoner's house on May 16th—the prisoner did not come home that evening—next day she told the person up stairs that she was going away for a day or two—she went away—I did not see her again—she did not tell me that she was going away—I have not known her to go away like that before.
Cross-examined. I did not tell you that I was putting away my savings—I do not know anything about my step-father going and having his whiskers shaved.
LEWIS ROBERT KILLICK . I am sorting clerk at the Chatham Post Office—I know the prisoner by sight—on May 17th she presented a notice of withdrawal at the post office—she produced a book—I gave her a withdrawal notice form, which she filled up in the name of Morley for £3 10s.—there was then £5 6s. to Mrs. Morley's credit—the prisoner wanted to withdraw the money by telegraph—I told her to come back in about two hours, and later that day I paid her £3 10s., after she had signed the receipt in the name of Morley.
HENRY MAY . I am employed at the Norland Square Post Office, Notting Hill—on May 24th the prisoner came in; she produced a Post Office Savings Bank book, and said she wanted to draw some money by telegraph—I communicated with the Post Office in the usual way—the prisoner returned about 2 or 2.30 p.m.—I had not then got instructions—she came back again, and I still had not got instructions—I said I would send a service telegram, as I thought my instructions had got delayed—the prisoner said she would come back a third time—when she returned I wrote the usual receipt out, and asked her if the money was hers—she said "Yes"—she withdrew £1 15s., which left 1s. in the account.
By the COURT. We do not pay money out until we get telegraphic instructions.
HERMAN GANSON . I am a clerk in the Post Office Savings Bank Department—on May 24th I went to the Norland Square Post Office, where I saw the prisoner sign a receipt in the name of Margaret Morley—I asked her if she was Mrs. Morley—she said "Yes"—I asked her to come into a private room, and cautioned her—I asked her again if she was Mrs. Morley—she said "Yes"—I said, "I have reasons to believe that you are not Mrs. Morley: what have you to say?"—she said, "I hear what you say"—I asked her to come with me and the detective to the General Post Office—on the way I noticed a man was following us—I said to the prisoner, "Who is he?" and she replied, "My husband"—I said, "His name?"—she replied, "Unitt"—I said, "You just told me you were Mrs. Morley"—she replied, "My name is Unitt; Mrs. Morley gave me the book, and told me I could draw the money; she owes me money. I told my husband who gave me the book, and that is all he knows about it"—I asked the man in the prisoner's presence for his address, and he said "2, St. Catherine's Road, Notting Hill"—I said, "You can come to the Post Office with your wife if you care to"—he went away—at the General Post Office the prisoner said, "My name is Agnes Unitt; I am the wife of Walter Unitt. a blacksmith's labourer, and live at 3, Bishop's Court, Chatham. Yesterday week I was in the Rob Roy public house with Mrs. Morley, having a drink;
she gave me her bank book and said. 'Here, Ma, that is for you, and you can draw the money, and I hope it will do you good.' I said, 'I hope this is not the money they say you stole from your sister.' She replied, No, that is all right; you deserve this for your kindness to my daughter and myself.' I said, 'But the name is Morley.' She said, 'Oh, you be me, and give my name and draw the money out'"—I asked her why she gave a false address when she applied at Norland Square, and she said, "Oh, anything you like."
The prisoner, in her defence on oath, said that the prosecutrix had given her the book, and old her to sign her name and get the money; that she did not know she was doing any wrong; that if she had thought she was doing wrong she would not have gone to the same post office three times.
NOT GUILTY ,
MR. BIRON, for the prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. JAY Prosecuted.
CHARLES LAWS (345 City.) About 3.15 a.m. on May 12th I was on duty in Newgate Street—I saw the prisoner loitering there—I had him under observation for about twenty minutes—I saw him throw a piece of concrete at the plate glass window of 120, Newgate Street—he placed his right hand through the window and took these (Produced) and other articles out—when he saw me about a yard behind him. he threw them back through the hole in the window—these articles were picked up on the footway by another constable—I asked him what he had done it for—he said, "It is nothing to do with you"—I took him to the station, where he was charged.
Cross-examined. I did not pick anything out of the window or off the pavement.
THOMAS KNIGHTS (316 City.) I was on duty outside this Court on May 12th at 3.30 a.m.—I saw the prisoner loitering about on the footway—I watched him for some considerable time, and about 3.55 I saw him throw something and break the window of a tobacconist's shop—I ran down, and Laws took him into custody—I picked up on the footway these two cigarette holders, a pipe bowl and case, and this lump of concrete.
Cross-examined. I picked the whole of the things up—these are all the things which were outside the window.
By the COURT. The streets were quiet then.
identify these articles as our property—their value is about £1 1s.—the damage to the window was about £5.
Prisoner's defence: I had no idea to steal anything; the first constable put his hands in the window himself.
GUILTY . He then Pleaded Guilty to a conviction of felony at Clerkenwell Sessions on February 2nd, 1897. Several other convictions were proved against him, and the police stated that he had 141 days to serve. Three years' penal, servitude.
NEW COURT.—Monday, June 20th, 1904.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
481. HARRY SAUNDERS (37) PLEADED GUILTY to omitting certain particulars in the books of Herbert Thomas Sherwood, his employer, and to stealing cheques for £14 10s., £26 3s. 4d., and to embezzling £20, his property. Fifteen months' hard labour.
MR. HUTTON and MR. JENKINS Prosecuted; MR. CHARLES MATHEWS
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, June 21st, 1904.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MR. SYMMONS,for the prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. SYMMONS Prosecuted.
MARGARET CUMMINGS . I live at 3, Flower and Dean Street—until his death I lived with the deceased for some years—in the summer he unloaded timber, and in the winter he went hawking—on May 8th I went to the Three Cranes to get half a pint of ale—I saw the prisoner in there with Helen Thompson, who lives with him up stairs in the same house as I did—there was no unpleasantness between Thompson and myself—she called the attention of the prisoner, who said to me, "F——you and f——your husband"—they did not know the deceased—I said, "He is indoors; I will tell him what you say," and I went indoors—in consequence of. what I said to the deceased he came back with me to the public house—we called for two glasses of ale—the prisoner and Thompson were still there—Thompson said, "Here she is," meaning me—we were all four in he same bar—the prisoner struck at the deceased, who returned the blow—while I was looking round, the prisoner, the deceased, and Thompson
were all on the floor struggling—I pulled Thompson up by the hair of her head—the landlord got over the bar and turned them all three out.—I stayed in there for about three minutes. and then I opened the door and went out—the deceased was on the path, and said to me, "There is too many to one: come home, Meg; there is a dozen to one"—I did not have any struggle except pulling Thompson up by her hair—as I was going out of the door Thompson went to hit me, and the deceased hit her with his fist—I did nor hit her at all—the deceased and I went home—about ten minutes after we got home Thompson came in—she had to pass our door to get to hers—she threw our door open and kept calling to the prisoner, "Fetch him out, chiv him, fetch him out"—"chiv him" means "knife him"—the prisoner was outside the door—Mrs. Garrett came in and told me something—the deceased went out and said, "I can fight them one at a time, but I cannot fight a dozen"—he was outside about two seconds, when he came in with his arm all ripped up—he showed it to me—blood was flowing on to the floor—nobody bandaged it up—he went to get a constable, and then went to the hospital—he may have bound his arm up himself—T saw him at the hospital, and left him there—when I went there again he was dead—someone called my attention to a grating outside my house—I called a policeman's attention to it—this knife was there (Produced)—it was half closed—I had had my usual drink, which my husband had given me—I had had one and a half pints of ale and a glass in the evening, and during the day I had half a quartern of rum and "two out"; that means between two—the ale was not all drunk until I came back from the hospital—the deceased had had no drink, that I am aware of, except a glass of ale—he was not the worse for drink—he was a very steady man—he never used a pub—he had his glass of ale indoors after he had done his work—I do not know if he had any food at dinner time—he had a meat supper about 8.30 or 9 p.m.—I got it for him—he had beef and potatoes as a stew.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. The deceased did not make a running kick at Thompson—there was no quarrel between them—you had never seen the deceased before in your life—I only knew Thompson by saying "Good morning" or "Good evening" in the back yard—I did not call Thompson a whore—I had no words with her—you and she were mad drunk—I did not strike Thompson; she is too big for me to try and strike.
Re-examined. I fetched the deceased to the public house because the prisoner had said those words.
HELEN THOMPSON . I live at 3 Flower and Dean Street, and have lived with the prisoner for a year—the Collins's lived on the ground floor, and we were on the floor above—on Sunday, May 8th, I went for a walk with the prisoner between 7 and 8 p.m.—about 8.30 we went into the Three Cranes—we may have had two or three glasses of ale each there—Cummings came in—nothing happened then—she went out, and soon afterwards came back with the deceased—up to then there had been no quarrel—I may have spoken to her about sitting on the stairs, but that was on the Sunday before—my remarks did not seem to make her angry—I had not said anything to her on this Sunday evening—when she came
back with the deceased they seemed to be having angry talk, and looking towards me and the prisoner—I said to the prisoner, "Look at him looking at her"—I said to Cummings, "Do you mean me?"—she said, "Yes, we b——well mean you"—all at once she rushed towards me—she scratched my face and tore my hair out—I asked her what she meant by looking towards me—she dragged me to the ground; she tore my face open with her finger nails—someone pulled her off me—I got off the ground and went out; then the deceased and Cummings came out—she said to the deceased, "There she is in the road," and ran towards me—I fell down, and the deceased kicked me on my face while I was on the ground—my teeth are still loose—someone got him away and said, "Don't kick a woman who is down"—I ran into the crowd to get away—I did not see the deceased again until we went to go home—I went back into the Three Cranes—my face was bleeding from the scratches, and it was very much swollen from the kick—I said to the prisoner, "Look what that man has done to my face; he has kicked me"—a man bathed my face—I did not ask the prisoner to do anything—I did not see him with a knife—I may have said that I might summon the deceased—I and the prisoner then went to 3, Flower and Dean Street—when we got to the front door I saw that the deceased's door was open—I said to the prisoner, "Don't go in; the door is open"—the prisoner asked the deceased what he meant by kicking a woman in the face as he had—the deceased came to the door and holloaed out, "I will serve you the f——same"—he meant that for the prisoner—as we stood at the door he rushed out, and he and the prisoner seemed to have a tussle—the crowd seemed to go to the top of the street—I did not follow them—I saw no blow struck with any weapon—I do not know whose knife this is—I do not know if the prisoner had a knife—he is a carpenter.
JOHN COONEY . I keep the Three Cranes at 39, Brick Lane, Spitalfields—I knew the deceased by sight, and the prisoner I have known for a very long time—I was in the bar on May 8th, when the prisoner and his wife came in together—they were sober—the deceased came in about five minutes after—I had seen no quarrel before that—I had been in the bar since 6 p.m.—the prisoner and his wife were standing at the bar—the deceased and his wife came in—she used bad language to the prisoner's wife and said, "That is the woman who took a liberty with me"—the deceased struck the prisoner's wife—there was a scuffle between the four—the deceased was about forty years of age, I should think, and was older than the prisoner—when they began the scuffle I went round and turned all four out together—I then went outside the door and pulled it after me, so that they could not come in again—I saw the deceased's wife knocked down, and the prisoner kicked her on the face while she was down—the police came up, and they all went away—I saw no more of them—the deceased seemed to be excited—the whole thing did not take three minutes.
HENRY BLAND . I live at Bow Chambers, Bow, and am a milk can maker—on Sunday, May 8th, about 9 p.m., I was near Brick Lane—I heard a row in Flower and Dean Street—I went down the street to see what it was—I saw the prisoner standing on the edge of the kerb; I do not know what number he was near—I did not see Thompson there—the
prisoner was in an excited attitude, exclaiming to someone inside, Come out"—the deceased's wife rushed out of No.3, and turned round to someone and said, "Come out, conic out"—the prisoner said, Come out, or I will shoot you"—he had his right arm up, and I saw that he. had a knife in his hand, the blade protruding between his finger and thumb—this was about 9 p.m.—I was not more than a yard away when I saw the knife—I can swear that this is the blade of the knife which the prisoner had in his hand—I cannot identify the handle, because I did not see it—it was a little bit cleaner than it is now, but it was dirty—the prisoner and his wife walked away and went into the Three Cranes—I followed them in and ordered a drink—I said to the prisoner, who had the knife in his band closed, "You take my advice, and you put that knife away, or throw it away, or else something very serious will happen to-night"—he then put it into his pocket—his wife said, "Look what that man Collins has done to my face indoors"—she had a terrible blow on the side of her face—I drank up my liquor and went away—his wife said to the prisoner. "If you don't pay him to-night look out"—the prisoner said, "If he interferes any more I shall put this into him"—when I heard that something had happened I went and gave information to the police—I did not know the deceased or his wife before this—I have only seen the prisoner once or twice.
Cross-examined. I remember bathing Thompson's face.
ELIZABETH GARRETT . I am the wife of George Garrett, a dustman., of 3, Flower and Dean Street—on May 8th I was standing at the corner of that street between 9.15 and 10.30—I saw a crowd coming along—I walked to my door—I saw the prisoner and his wife go to the door of the house where they lived—she called out, "Go in and up him"—just as I walked past the prisoner I see a little bit of a blade of a knife in his hand—after the police came the prisoner and his wife walked down the street—I see the deceased standing in his room, with his back to the fire and his elbow on the mantelpiece—I spoke to him—I did not see the fight or any blow struck.
Cross-examined. I asked you to come upstairs to get you out of the way—I am quite sure I saw part of a knife.
FRANCIS SEYMOUR KIDD . I am house surgeon at the London Hospital—on May 8th, about 10.15 p.m., the deceased was brought in—I examined him—he had a severe wound on his left arm on I lie inner side—there was a good deal of muscle protruding—it went nearly 4 inches across the arm in front of the bone—it might have been received in warding off a blow—there was a great deal of bleeding—I probed it to see how deep it was—the probe passed in for 4 inches—I thought the man had been pretty drunk, but had become sensible by the shock—he was able to give a consistent account of himself, and to sit up in a chair—I considered it best to operate—while partially under the effect of the anaesthetic, and while he was just coming round, he died—the wound would very likely be effected by a knife like this—from the character of the wound, the instrument would be a blunt one, there was so much tearing—there must have been considerable force.
THOMAS GURNEY (291 H.) At 10.20 p.m. on May 8th I was on duty in High Street, Whitechapel—I was called to Flower and Dean Street, where I saw the deceased—he spoke to me—I saw that he was bleeding—a, rough attempt had been made to tie up his arm—in company with Sutton, I took him to where the prisoner was—at the door he said, "That is the man who stabbed me—the prisoner was in the room, and could hear what the deceased said—I took the deceased to the hospital, and Sutton took the prisoner to the station—I did not hear the prisoner make any answer to what deceased said; I should have heard him if he had.
ALBERT SUTTON (361 H.) I went with the last witness to 3, Flower and Dean Street on May 8th—I do not know if the prisoner heard what the deceased said at the door—I told the prisoner I should take him into custody—he said, "He kicked my old woman in the jaw, and we had a fight"—I took him to the station—on the way he said, "Yes, I did hit him, and cut him hard, too"—he was charged at the station, and in reply said, "We had a fight."
Cross-examined. I took off a table in your room an ordinary table knife about 3 inches long; it had a black handle—I have not got it here it was left at the station—there was no sign of blood upon it.
EDGAR BETTS (210 H.) On Monday, May 9th, about 7.30 a.m., I was on duty in Flower and Dean Street—my attention was called by a woman to something down a grating—I found this knife down the grating, opposite No. 3, Flower and Dean Street; it was open as it is now, and about the same as it is now with regard to dirt—it has a stain on it, but I do not know what it is—it was quite dry.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I have nothing to say here. I shall call Mr. Cooney and Helen Thompson as my witnesses."
Prisoner's defence: I am not guilty of taking that life.
GUILTY, under great provocation. Six months' hard labour.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, June 21st, 1904.
Before Mr. Recorder.
485. JAMES EGGO (55) PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully publishing a defamatory libel of and concerning Dr. Tibbles' Vi-Cocoa, Limited; also to threatening to publish a libel with intent to extort money. Discharged on recognisances. —
(486) EDWARD SMITH (35) , to obtaining by false pretences £10 from Albert Dixon, £25 from Percy James Baxter, and £10 from Alfred George Hawkins, with intent to defraud; having been convicted of felony, at this Court on October 21st, 1901, as Alexander Villiers George. Three other convictions were proved against him. Twenty months' hard labour. — [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
(487.) HERMAN WERNER WENGER (34) , to forging and uttering an order for the payment of £56 8s., the property of Adolph Schmutz and others, his masters, with intent to defraud; also to stealing an order for £56 8s., with intent to defraud. Six months in the Second Division — [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
(489.) GEORGE MURRAY (30), to a burglary in the dwelling house of John Turner, and stealing a watch. a chain, and a pair of boots, his property; having been convicted at Clerkenwell on January 6th, 1903, as George Cooper. Five other convictions were proved against him. Twelve months' hard labour. — [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.] And
MR. THATCHER Prosecuted.
The prisoner, in the hearing of the Jury, stated that she was guilty of unlawfully wounding. She then
PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Clerkwell on November 1st, 1902. Two days' imprisonment.
PRAGNELL PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. BOHN Prosecuted, and MR. ROOTH Defended Hoy.
ALFRED KIRBY (Detective, City.) On May 12th I was instructed to watch the prosecutor's premises, 64, Bread Street, City—in consequence of what I saw I went with Pragnell to Hoy's shop at 3, Brooksby Walk. Homerton—I asked her if the boy had been there before—she said "No, except with some second-hand clothing that his mother has sent"—I found the boy had left a parcel the very day I went—I produce eleven pieces of lace.
Cross-examined. Hoy told me she was not aware it was stolen stuff—it is worth £1—this is the identical stuff in the parcel—she told me the boy had asked her a shilling for it, and she would only give him 9d.—she is a dealer in second-hand clothing—I had been told to watch Pragnell—I saw him come out of his master's premises—I followed him to the railway station, and got in the same train with him—I got out at Homerton and followed him to Hoy's shop, and saw him go in with a parcel—when he came out he had not got it—these are cuttings of lace, "samples" they are called—Pragnell said he had found them on the floor by the side of the waste paper basket—he did not say they had been given him by his master—Hoy has been eighteen years at her premises as a second-hand wardrobe dealer.
WILLIAM MILLER (Detective Sergeant, City.) On May 13th I went to Hoys' shop with Detective Garrett and Pragnell—I told her we were police officers, that I was making inquiries respecting a number of lace articles that had been stolen, and which Pragnell alleged he had brought to her,. and she had bought them—she said, No; he has only been to my place once previous to last night, and brought a few pieces of lace, a few small squares"—I said, "The boy said that he came here last Thursday night week, when he brought some lace scarves, and that he stole them"—she said, "Yes. I forgot about that"—we then searched the place—there was nothing else found but this parcel—I told her that Pragnell had been there twelve to fifteen times—she said she did not think he had
been there so many times as that—I then asked her if she could tell me where the goods were which she had bought from Pragnell—she said she sold them from the window, and did not know anyone she sold any article to—she was then taken into custody—I made inquiries in the neighbourhood, and I received these two lace scarves and collarette from Miss Matthews—I saw Hoy at Cloak Lane Police Station, and said to her. "You told me you did not know anyone that you had sold these things to; these have been handed to me by Miss Matthews, who told me she bought them atyour place"—she replied, "Oh, yes, I forgot that"—she was then charged and made no reply—she said she asked Pragnell where he got them from, and he said they came from France; they were samples thrown in the waste paper basket.
Cross-examined. I said before the Magistrate that Pragnell stood by when she said that, and said he did not say that.
ROBERT LYON (Detective Inspector.) On May 12th I went to Hoy's shop—I told her I was a police officer, and added, "I believe you well understand my visit"—she said, "I suppose it is with reference to the lad Pragnell"—I said, "That is so"—I told her he was employed in the City by a firm who had had lace to the amount of £50 stolen from their stock—she told me she had bought a lot of very small pieces of lace about a fortnight previously—on the 13th I saw her detained at Cloak Lane—I told her she would be charged with being concerned with Joseph Pragnell in stealing and receiving ninety-eight lace collars, sixty-two lace scarves, three lace squares and shawls, four black fichus, and eight lace capes—she said, "I have not had all that; I might have had the shawls and three or four of the capes; I gave the boy 1s. 6d. or 2s. for the long squares and 2s. 6d. each for the capes; the lace collars were brought in threes or fours at a time; I gave him 3s. or 4s. a time for those things"—the lad was present—she said, "I have known the boy's mother for some considerable time; in fact, she was here last night; she brought round a box; she often comes round with oddments"—she lives within seven or eight minutes' walk of the shop.
Cross-examined. I understood from Hoy, and also from Mrs. Pragnell, that the latter sent odd things round—Hoy spoke freely to us about these matters, and told us all that had occurred—all that has been traced to her are the eleven pieces here, one large scarf, and two collarettes.
Re-examined. The dealings that Mrs. Pragnell had with Hoy were in old clothes, not new ones.
JAMES HENRY WHEELER . I am a lace manufacturer's agent, of 64, Bread Street, Cheapside—Pragnell was fourteen months in my employment at 9s. a week—I had missed goods from about the middle of April—the value of these eleven pieces of lace is about 4s. or 5s.; they are samples—I should say 9d. would be very much below the value of it—I identify this by the design and the number—I have missed about £45 worth of property.
Cross-examined. It would cost me about a sovereign to replace this lace—these little cuttings are useful to dressmakers—it is untrue that I had given these to Pragnell.
Cross-examined. I was serving in the bar at the time—the little girl came in quite openly with them on a piece of paper, and asked me if I would like to buy them—I knew her to be Hoy's daughter—I have known Hoy for about thirteen years—she bears in the neighbourhood the character of a very respectable woman.
JOSEPH PRAGNELL (The prisoner.) I have pleaded guilty to stealing these articles—I am fourteen years old—I first took articles about a week after Christmas—Mr. Wheeler gave me some samples of lace the first time, and I took them to Hoy's, and she gave me 3d. for them—I told her where I got it from—she did not know where I was employed—she said, "If you can get any more I will give you a good price for them"—the next lot of things I took was on the next night or the night after—I have been twelve to fifteen times with stolen property from my master's to this woman's shop—I got about £1 10s. to £2 altogether—nearly every time I went she asked me if I could get any more.
Cross-examined. The, first things I took to her were what Mr. Wheeler gave me. little pieces, not so big as these—they had been torn out of a book, and I bundled them up and took them to her—I did not tell my mother—when Mr. Wheeler gave them to me I took them home, and then my little brother cried for them, and I would not let him have them, so my mother told me to take them to the rag shop out of the way, and I took them to Hoy's—I never gave my mother any of the lace—I did not go with my mother to Hoy's house after this charge had been made—I do not know whether my mother went—she did not tell me she had been—I do not think I took as many articles as has been mentioned here—no one suggested to me I should steal them—no one else was in Hoy's shop when I went there—when she bought the things she never told me to keep it secret and not mention it to anyone.
Hoy, in her defence on oath, said that she had known Mrs. Pragnell for about eight years by her bringing round left off clothing; that this was the first time that any charge had ever been made against her; that the lad Pragnell brought round some samples of lace cuttings, for which she gave him 1s. 6d.; that he did not say where he got them from, but that he was in a firm, and they had been given to him: that he came about fourteen times; that she paid him about 30s.: that she asked him where he got the things from; that lie said they were in the waste paper basket, but that she never had the quantity of things mentioned
She received a good character.
GUILTY. Strongly recommended to mercy by the duty oveing to her good character. Nine months' hard labour.
PRAGNELL— Discharged on recognisances.
MR. BOHN Prosecuted.
GEORGE VEARS . I am a builder, living at 108, Maycs Road, Wood Green—on April 2-1th, at 3.30 p.m., I was in my house, in the front parlour, which looks on to the main road—I heard a thud, and looked out and saw some people on the ground—I saw Massey assisting Hawkins, who was on the ground; he was trying to lift him up—I fetched some water, and washed the man's head, and helped to carry him into the garden, then I went for the police and a doctor—Edwards was walking away when I went out.
Cross-examined by Massey. You assisted me. to carry the man into the garden.
CHARLES GOODCHILD (Detective Sergeant, Y.) On April 24th, at 10 p.m., I went to 1.3, Brook Road, Wood Green, and saw Edwards there—as I went out of the house I met Massey, whom I stopped and asked his name—he said, "Massey; why?"—I said, "I shall arrest you for being concerned with a man named Edwards in assaulting a man named Hawkins"—he replied, "You have made a mistake this time, guv'nor; I was not there"—I took him into custody—on the way to the station he said, "I may as well tell the truth; we were all together, we had all been drinking"—on the 26th I charged him with causing bodily harm—he made no reply.
JAMES WILKINSON (Detective, Y.) I went with Goodchild to Edwards' house, and saw the prisoner—I told him I was a police officer, and was going to arrest him for assaulting Hawkins by striking and kicking him—he made no reply—in the street he said, "What have you arrested me for?"—I said, "For assaulting a man named Hawkins by striking him and kicking him and breaking his jaw"—he said, "I did not kick him; I struck him, and he fell on his face; Massey was there as well; we were both drunk; is Hawkins hurt very much?"—I said, "Yes, he is very seriously hurt"—he said, "I am sorry; he brought up a family jar"—he was taken to the station—while waiting to go before the Magistrate Massey said, "He was walking along with his hands in his pockets; he was struck in the stomach"—he did not say by whom—"he fell on his face; I picked him up; when I found his chin above his nose I thought it time to be off."
Cross-examined by Massey. I took the statement down.
JAMES HAWKINS . I live at 42, Middleton Road, Hornsey, and am a labourer—I am at present an out-patient at the London Temperance Hospital—on April 24th I was in Mayes Road, Wood Green—I saw the prisoners there—I was standing outside a bird shop when Edwards came up and spoke to me—I walked away, and a few minutes afterwards I heard Edwards say, "We will put him through it"—I then received a heavy blow from behind; it twisted me round—I got another blow on the shoulder which knocked me down—Edwards struck both blows—I fell on my back, and then received a kick on my left side—I turned over and had a kick on the lower part of my stomach—after that I do not know any more—Edwards kicked me on my side, and Massey on my stomach—I am not yet able to work—I am married, and have seven children—I cannot say why these men should have made this savage assault on me—
I have never had a quarrel with Edwards—I have worked with him on a job.
Cross-examined by Massey. I am sure you kicked me.
Cross-exmnined by Edwards. I say you interfered with me—I did not poke my nose into your business while you were looking into the shop.
ARTHUR PAYNE (403 Y.) On April 24th. at 3.40, I was on duty in High Road. Wood Green—in consequence of information I received I went to 110. Mayes Road, and saw the prosecutor lying injured and insensible in a front, garden—I saw a cut under his chin, and his jaws were very loose—lie was taken to the London Temperance Hospital, where he remained for some weeks.
MALCOLM STEWART SMITH , M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P. I am house surgeon at the London Temperance Hospital—Hawkins was brought, there on April 24th—I found on him a cut under his chin towards the right side, about 2 inches long and extending right into his mouth—his jaw was fractured in two places: he had also blood coming from both cars, which pointed to a fracture of the skull, and he had a bruise on his right shoulder——he was in a dull condition when he. came in.
By the COURT. I cannot say how long it will be before he will be quite recovered.
Cross-examined by Massey. There was no bruise about his body.
Cross-examined by Edwards. I said at the police court that the cut on the man's jaw could have been caused by contact with a sharp stone, but it is not probable.
The prisoners' statements before the Magistrate: Massey says: "I was no accomplice whatever to the injuries; I am not guilty." Edwards says: "I am guilty of striking the man, but not kicking him. The man was only struck once after he had called me out of place."
Massey. in his defence, stated that he and Edwards met the prosecutor outside a bird shop; that—he started wrangling with them, using abusive words; that they moved away, followed by Hawkins, who called Edwards a beastly name; that Edwards struck Hawkins, knocking him to the ground, when he fell on his jaw: that he (Massey) picked the man up and, with assistance, took him into the front garden.
Edwards, in his defence, stated that Massey was not in this case at all; that Hawkins interfered with them and used abusive words; that he struck him, when he fell on his chin, and that there was no boot used.
MASSEY— NOT GUILTY .
EDWARDS— GUILTY . Five years' penal servitude.
MR. O'CONNOR Prosecuted.
JOHN SIGOURNAY . I live at 48, Squirries Street, Bethnal Green, and am an undertaker—on May 21st, about 9.45 p.m., I was walking along Gosset Sireet when I was caught hold of by the legs and thrown on my head and kicked by four young men behind me—I had two black eyes
and lost 3s. 6d. out of my pocket—the men ran away—I was picked up unconscious.
THOMAS HENRY WENTWORTH . I am a French polisher, of 16, Cambridge Street, Bethnal Green—on May 21st, about 10.20 p.m., I was in Gosset Street—I saw four or five men—I saw one man on the ground—I closed on them, and said they were cowards—I saw the prisoner kicking the man on the ground—the prisoner ran off and dropped a parcel, which I picked up—as the prisoner ran by I said, "All right, I will have you for this"—I have known him for fifteen years—he is a pugilist and a leader of "hooligans"—I next saw him at the police station, where I identified him.
WILLIAM BRODGDEN (Police Sergeant, H.) I was in Gosset Street on Monday, May 23rd, at 10.15, where I saw the prisoner—I told him I should arrest him on suspicion of assaulting and robbing a man on Saturday night—he said, "I thought I had been too good for you too long"—I knew him—he said, "I can prove I am innocent; I was selling flowers on Saturday night in Brick Lane"—I took him to Commercial Street Police Station, where he was placed with ten other men and picked out without the slightest hesitation by Wentworth.
The prisoners statement before the Magistrate: "I am innocent; I wish to call witnesses."
Evidence for the Defence.
JOSEPH MARTIN . I live at 14, Turin Street, Bethnal Green—I keep a greengrocer's stall at the corner Brick Lane, Bethnal Green—it is about half a mile from Gosset Street—I saw the prisoner on May 21st from 4 to 5 o'clock in the afternoon up to 11 o'clock at night—he was selling flowers near my stall—I do not remember that he went away for an hour at a time—I remember the time I last saw him because he bought some radishes from me.
ALFRED DURRANT . I live at 30, Theobald's Road, Leyton. and am a butcher—I have a stall in Brick Lane. Bethnal Green—it is about a quarter of a mile from Gosset Street—I remember seeing the prisoner on Saturday, May 21st, from about 9 o'clock—he was selling flowers—I shut ray stall at 11, and as I passed the prisoner said "Good night."
Cross-examined. I noticed the prisoner that night four or five times.
Cross-examined. I saw him the whole time he was there—he might have gone and had a drink.
DANIEL PONT . I am a costermonger, and have a stall in Brick Lane—I first saw the prisoner on May 21st about 3.50, and last saw him at 11.10—I saw him standing there all day—I did not sec him go and have a drink—I would not say he did not.
Cross-examined. I was not very busy that night—the prisoner was there as long as I could see him—I say he was there the whole time I have mentioned, and I never lost sight of him.
several times there; he sells flowers—I had to patrol the street, and might be absent ten or fifteen minutes at time.
Cross-examined. I cannot say I saw anything of him from 10 to 11.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. COHEN Prosecuted.
SIDNEY BROWN . I am a tailor, living at Hackney—I left my bicycle in the lobby of 26, Leadenhall Street, about 3.30 p.m. on June 8th—I was absent for about two minutes—on returning I found it gone—I went into the street and saw the prisoner mounting it about 30 yards off—I ran after him and caught him—he had the bicycle lock in his hand—I asked him what he was doing with the machine—he said, "Oh, is that you?"—I said, "Oh, that's me, and that is my machine"—he said, "I thought you were an old friend of mine, and was having a lark"—he tried to hit me—I released my hold of him to defend myself when he ran away—I caught him again and gave him into custody—he is no friend of mine.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. There is a tobacco shop near the lobby where I left the bicycle—the machine could have been taken out without anyone in the shop seeing it—when you said, "Oh, is that you?" you had your back to me—I do not remember that you asked me to come back to the shop—you did not strike me, but attempted to.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that, he thought the bicycle belonged to a friend of his, and took it out into the street for a joke.
He then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at Worship Street Police Court on April 25th, 1904. The police stated that there there were two other convictions against him. Nine months' hard labour.
THIRD COURT.—Tuesday, June 21st, 1904.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
BIRCH PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. LATHAM Prosecuted; MR. PURCELL defended Limb.
and bought half a dozen silver plated tankards and a champagne stand (Produced), which he paid for with this cheque—it was returned through the bank, marked "No account"—I gave him the receipt produced—I had known him previously—we have two businesses; one is a distillery, and the other is for the supply of bar utensils.
Cross-examined. I have known Birch ten or twelve years as a straightforward man and a good customer, also as the proprietor and licensee of the Running Horse some years ago and other houses—I do not remember his being at the Clarendon, but at about that time (in 1898) publicans bought and sold houses for profit—I knew him at the Running Horse last; I do not know what he has been doing since—when he came to buy these things I had not seen him for some years.
GEORGE TURNER . I am a butcher, of 10, White Horse Street, Mayfair—I knew Birch six years ago as the proprietor or landlord of the Running Horse—on October 31st I cashed this cheque for £3 15s. for him, relying on my knowledge of him, but as a precaution I asked him if he knew the people whose names were on the cheque—he said, "Yes"; Mr. Gunning was a very old friend who had paid him money, and Levy was another friend with plenty of money; I cashed the cheque—later that evening I went to the Running Horse and saw Limb—later I saw Birch in another public house about 100 yards from the Running Horse—I paid the cheque into my account—it came back marked "No account"—I wrote to limb, whose address a neighbour had given me.
Cross-examined. I had known Birch about eight years—I never saw Limb in company with Birch.
JOSEPH SEYMOUR . I live at 15, Church Lane, Battersea—I am employed by Mi. Alfred Howe, a baker, of 72, Brixton Hill—on October 24th I was selling from my barrow near Howe's shop, when Limb came and asked me to change this cheque for £3 15s., drawn by J. Gunning and payable to F. Limb—I told him I would take it to the shop and see if they would charge it for him—I took it to the shop, where it was cashed—I gave him the cash, deducting 9s. that he owed me—the cheque has been dishonoured—I have not seen Limb since—before I changed the cheque I had seen him pretty often; pretty well every day.
Cross-examined. I had known Limb as a jobmaster, in business near the Royal Oak, Brixton.
GEORGE TOWNSEND . I am a clerk to the National Provincial Bank of England, Piccadilly Branch—I do not know Birch, but a person of that name opened an account on October 23rd, 1899—it was closed on March 5th, 1900—the three cheques produced, N 161156-7 and 61160 were in a book issued to Birch; 61160 was the last cheque in the book—two are signed in the name of Gunning—we had no customer of that name—I know Birch's writing—I should say the signature "J. Gunning" is his writing; also the body of the cheques—I do not think the endorsement "F. Limb" is his writing.
Cross-examined. I believe the endorsements are in the same hand and by the, some person who endorsed this receipt.
George, Rushton Road, Brixton—I know the prisoners very well—I remember Limb coming about the end of October and asking me to buy half a dozen pint tankards—I asked him where he got them, and to show me the receipt—he showed me the receipt produced—the next day both prisoners came—Birch had the tankards in brown paper—they asked me to buy them; I declined—they left the house together.
Cross-examined. Limb showed me the receipt of Loftus Co., the distillers—I did not ask him to show the tankards—Limb only asked me to buy the tankards the first day—he had a job yard close by, near the Royal Oak stables—I had known him as a customer for about six months.
HARRY EDWARD GEORGE . I am the landlord of the Stuart's Arms, Norland Road West—I know the prisoners—in November I was managing the Railway Hotel, Atlantic Road, Brixton—I recollect Limb coming with a parcel—he told me he could do nothing with it, and that in it were some tankards and a champagne stand—he asked me if I could do with them—I refused to buy.
Cross-examined. I knew Limb as a customer carrying on business as a job-master—I have known him for three years.
JOHN EDWARD DIXON . I am landlord of the Atlantic, Brixton—in November a parcel was left in the bar—Birch came and opened it in front of me—it contained six tankards and a champagne stand fitted up—he asked me to buy them for £3—when I had finished looking at them Limb came in and said, "Cannot you have a deal? Have a deal if you can"—I told them to take them out again.
Cross-examined. I have known Limb perhaps three years—I know he was a jobmaster—I knew he had the Royal Oak stables—before the Magistrate I said, "Birch claimed a parcel left over the bar."
JAMES COBB PIDGEON . I keep the Railway Hotel, Brixton—I remember seeing the tankards and the champagne stand at my house in November—Limb saw me in the passage and asked me if I had seen the pots he had left with me—I said I had not seen any pots—he said they were, in a brown paper parcel—I went into my office, and found a brown paper parcel with these pots and the champagne stand in it—I asked him how he had become possessed of them—he told me he had sold a horse to a retired publican and took these in part exchange—I gave him £3 for them—I told him the champagne stand was no use to me—he said he could not afford to drink champagne—I asked him after I had made the bargain for a receipt, as I could not buy the tankards without one—he produced this receipt, and on the back of it signed his receipt in my presence.
Cross-examined. I had known him for about, four or five years as a job-master, and I bought several horses from him—he had the Royal Oak stables—the conversation about the tankards was in the afternoon—this receipt that he showed me is from Loftus Co., distillers, for £5 17s. 6d.—the champagne stand is £1 (is. and the tankards £4 13s.—I did not buy the champagne stand; he said, "You can have it"—I noticed the receipt is dated "October" 31, 19—but no year was put—I had never seen Birch.
Akerman Road, Brixton—in October or the beginning of November Limb Came and asked me to buy some tankards and a champagne stand—I think it was half a dozen tankards—I had known him several years.
Cross-examined. I had known Limb by his living in Brixton as a job-master for about eight years—he had stables at the Royal Oak—I knew him when he held the White Horse stables, Brixton, before he had the Royal Oak stables.
Re-examined. I had never dealt with him.
FREDERICK WEST (Sergeant, C.) I arrested Birch—on May 14th I arrested Limb—I told him who I was, and that I held a warrant for his arrest—I read it to him, and told him I should arrest him for conspiring with Birch in attempting to obtain and obtaining from George Turner, a butcher at Shepherd's Market, £3 15s., and also for a conspiracy with Birch to obtain six plated tankards from Messrs. Loftus, of Tottenham Court Road—he said, "I do not know anything about the———tankards. What another man does, has nothing to do with me. You made a mistake some time ago over the same thing, and locked up one of my chaps"—I do not know what he means by that, "I was not with Birch when he got the money from the butcher. I waited for him in a public house close by; the butcher did not see me"—on May 26th the prisoners were charged together at Marlborough Street police court, and I told them they would both be charged with attempting to obtain and obtaining by means of a worthless cheque £3 15s. from a baker at Brixton Hill—I showed Limb that cheque—he said, "I know nothing about that cheque, I never cashed a cheque with the baker, the cheque you showed me at Brixton police station was cashed by the butcher"—I had shown him a similar cheque.
Cross-examined. Limb had not called at the police station to hear what he was wanted for—he was taken to Brixton police station by the Inspector, who told him there was a warrant, and that he was wanted, and if he had not gone with the Inspector he would have been taken—I asked him if his name was Limb—I arrested Birch on May 12th and Limb on 14th—there were remands at the Police Court—I was recalled on May 19th and again on the 26th—then he said he knew nothing about the cheque, and never cashed it—there is another cheque cashed with the butcher.
Limb's statement, before the Magistrate: "I know nothing about these cheques being wrong; the first cheque I received from him was in part payment of carriage hire, and as that cheque was not returned I thought it was all right. Shortly afterwards I met him (Birch) by chance, and he asked me to accompany him to his old shop, the public house which he used to be the licensee of in Mayfair, and I did so, and he left me waiting there a short time. That must have been when he was getting rid of the cheque of Loftus, but I know nothing of that, and I am perfectly innocent as to all these cheques. I was not with him when he got the pewter.
Limb, in his defence on oath, said that Birch whom he knew as a publican, owed him 50s. and gave him the cheque for £3 15s. to change and doubt his debt, and as he himself was a jobmaster Birch asked him to dispose of the articles for which he had no further use, showing him the receipt, and that
he handed him the £3 he received for them, but got nothing out of the Transactions.
NOT GUILTY .
BIRCH— Nine months' hard labour.
MR. LATHAM,for the prosecution, offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
499. ERNEST YULE (25) and ELLIOTT BUCHANAN (23) PLEADED GUILTY to two indictments for conspiring to obtain from Josephine Austin £4 19s.,3d., and other sums from other persons, Yule having been convicted at Cambridge on October 13th, 1902, and Buchanan on September 25th, 1903, at Bow Street, YULE**— Five years' penal servitude. BUCHANAN— Four years' penal servitude.
FOURTH COURT.—Tuesday, June 21st, 1904.
Before J. A. Rentoul, Esq., K.C.
LEECK PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. WILSON Prosecuted.
FREDERICK GREENSLADE (Detective, City.) About nood on June 6th I saw the prisoners walking along Cheapside examining the name plates—they walked into Aldersgate Street, Gresham Street, Noble Street, and returned again into Aldersgate Street, where they went into the Post Office Gardens—there Leeck joined a third man, Schneider standing a little way off—after a few minutes' conversation Leeck and the third man walked into Aldersgate Street, followed by Schneider—on the third man leaving a few minutes afterwards, Leeck joined Schneider, and they walked down Aldersgate Street about 90 yards—Leeck left Schneider and walked ahead about 10 or 12 yards—every now and again he would look into a shop window, when Schneider would walk up to him and. looking in the same window, would speak to him—this was repeated on four occasions—the last window they stopped at was No. 141. Aldersgate Street, a tailor's, where they separated—Leeck came back and went up the staircase of No. 146. Schneider following him and standing on the kerb outside—after three minutes Leeck came out hurriedly, and as he passed Schneider, appeared to speak to him—Schneider turned round and looked back in the direction of the doorway of No. 146. and then followed Leeck—after 60 yards or so Schneider caught him up, and they walked some distance into Little Britain—they went up behind a public house, where I saw Schneider looking inside Leeck's coat—on my going up the court both prisoners came out and walked to the Bank, where they got on an omnibus—Detective Wise and I also got on—Wise sat immediately behind them
and I on the opposite side—the omnibus went down the Whitechapel Road as far as Aldgate Church, where Leeck opened his coat and Schneider looked over it—on their getting off at Leman Street I told Leeck I was a police officer, and asked him for the roll of silk which he had under his coat—he opened his coat, and from a large pocket on the inside he took this roll of silk (Produced)—Schneider, when arrested, said, "Me not steal anything"—he made no further answer to the charge that I could understand, as he spoke most of the time in German—at Snow Hill police station., when charged, he said, "Why for am I here?" meaning in the dock—he said he was in company with Leeck, who was going to his address to translate some papers which he had in his possession relative to a patent fire lighter—he gave his correct address.
FREDERICK WISE (Detective.) I was with Greenslade about 12.30 p.m. on June 6th in Cheapside, and I saw the prisoners whom I suspected, as they were looking at name plates—we followed them down into Gresham Street, when they returned into Aldersgate Street—at Aldersgate Street Churchyard Leeck joined a third man, and Schneider walked round the gardens—the third man left and Schneider joined Leeck—they went up Aldersgate Street for 200 yards, when they split up, Leeck going on in front, Schneider following about 10 yards behind—Leeck stopped three or four times and looked into shop windows; Schneider would join him and enter into conversation for a second or two, when Leeck went on in front again—they went as far as No. 141, when Leeck came back to No. 146, occupied by Messrs. Rushbrooke—Schneider followed and stood on the kerb—after a couple of minutes Leeck came out hurriedly and walked past Schneider, who turned round three or four times towards the door of No. 146, and joined Leeck higher up the road—they went into a courtway, where Leeck showed Schneider something under his coat—they then went to the Bank, where they got on an omnibus—I sat behind them, and saw Leeck again show Schneider something under his coat—I stood up and looking over his shoulder, saw this parcel (Produced) in a large pocket he had inside his overcoat.
Schneider, in a written statement, said that he had gone to Leeck to ask him to translate—some German papers with reference to a patent for a fire lighter that he had taken out; that Leeck, whilst accompanying him to his (Schneider's) house, had said that he wanted to see his master with reference to some work, and on reaching No. 146, Aldersgate Street had gone up, whilst he waited outside; that on Leech's coming out he said that he had got some work to do down at the West End, bat that he (Schneider) had persuaded him to go home with him to translate his papers: that they had got on a 'bus at the Bank, and he asked Leeck where his work was; that Leeck had opened his coat, and had shown him a brown paper parcel.
Evidence for the Defence.
ERNEST LEECK (the prisoner.) I have been a lady's tailor in London for twenty-five years, and have known Schneider for about ten or twelve days, having been introduced to him in a coffee shop—on June 6th, the day I was arrested, he came to my house and asked me to translate some
German papers with reference to a patent—I said I could get a cheaper printer for him than he already had, and we went to the City—I told him I was looking for work, and on reaching No. He I told him to wait outside for me whilst I went up—when I came down, after having stolen the silk, he asked me if I had any work, and I said, "Yes; I do not want to go with you; leave the translation till later on"—he said he would make it worth my while if I would work for him, that he would employ me as a traveller for his new patent—I went on a little distance, and he caught me up—when we got to Little Britain I went up a court to a urinal—I did not show him anything under my coat then—we got on a bus at the Bank—he asked me where the work I had got was, and I opened my coat and showed him the parcel—he is perfectly innocent, and knew nothing about my having stolen it.
Cross-examined. I do not know that he has been previously convicted.
NOT GUILTY .
LEECK then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony on June 23rd, 1903, at North London Sessions. Four other convictions were proved against. him. Three months' hard labour.
MR. WARREN Prosecuted.
GUILTY . Two years' hard labour.
MR. A. GILL Prosecuted.
FREDERICK HOLLOWAY (177 C.) At 8 p.m. on May 21st I was regulating the traffic at the junction of Cranbourn Street and St. Martin's Lane—I noticed the prisoner quarelling with a man outside the Cranbourn public house—I went up to him and told him to go away and leave the old man alone—he said, "All right guv'nor, I will go," and he went up St. Martin's Lane—I returned to the point where I was on duty—about fifteen minutes afterwards I was regulating the Traffic, and, turning round suddenly, I was struck a violent blow by the prisoner with a knife on my forehead—I closed with him and threw him to the ground—while struggling he transferred the knife from his right to his left hand, and tried to stab me again, when another constable came up—he was overpowered and taken to the station—I was taken to the hospital, and was attended to by the divisional surgeon the next day.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. When I came across to you to the public house I did not shove you from behind on to your hands and knees.
PERCY CARPENTER (420 C.) About 8 p.m. on May 21st I was walking down St. Martin's Lane, when I saw Holloway standing in the middle of the road regulating the traffic, and the prisoner standing by his side—I saw the prisoner strike Holloway, and I went up and saw blood coming from Holloway's forehead—I saw a knife in the prisoner's right hand, which, after the first blow, he passed to his left hand, but before he could
strike a second time I knocked him down—I held him to the ground until two other policemen came and took him to the station—he had been drinking, but he was not drunk.
RICHARD JONES (399 C.) On May 21st, in the evening, I was in the Charing Cross Road, when I saw a crowd at the corner of Cranbourn Street—on going up I found the prisoner lying on the ground, struggling with Carpenter—Holloway culled out, "I have been stabbed"—on asking Carpenter if he had got the prisoner safely he replied "Yes," and I took Holloway to the hospital—I took the knife from the prisoner's left hand.
PERCY JAMES EDMUNDS . I am Divisional Surgeon of Police at 5, Great Marlborough Street—on May 21st, at 8.45 p.m., I examined Holloway at Vine Street Police Station, and found him suffering from a wound an inch loner in his forehead above the left eye. and down to the bone, which had been temporarily dressed at the hospital, stuffed with some antiseptic gauze—it was a wound which would probably be done by such a knife as this (Produced)—when probed it passed from the left to the right of the patient, as if it were done with the assailant's right band—the helmet had a corresponding cut in it, and I should think it must have been a powerful blow to cut through the helmet and down to the bone in that way—if it had gone an inch lower down it would have blinded his eye, and if it had gone a little to one side it would have perforated the thin part of the skull and gone into the brain, and would have killed him.
The prisoner, in his defence, said that he was standing outside the Cranbourn public house, quarrelling with another man, when Holloway ordered him away and pushed him down, and he went away; that twenty minutes afterwards he was coming down St. Martin's Lane, eating bread and cheese with a penknife; that on seeing Holloway in the middle of the road he went up and asked him what he had pushed him down for; that their legs got entwined, and that Holloway fell over on top of him, his forehead accidentally meeting the blade of the knife.
GUILTY . The prisoner was stated to he a violent man when drunk. Three months' hard labour.
HENRY ABRAMSON . I carry on business as a dairyman, and live at 1.19, Jubilee Street—in May the prisoner was in my employment as a clerk—I dealt with the Great Western and Metropolitan Dairy, whom I owed £4 6s. 6d.—on May 19th I handed the prisoner a cheque for that amount to that company to be sent by post to them (Produced)—shortly after, the prisoner left my service—I made inquiries at the Great Western and Metropolitan Dairy—the cheque was not given to me, but was handed to the detective who was sent to the Bank—I do not recognise whose handwriting the endorsement is in—I have never seen the prisoner write.
Cross-examined. I came to London at the end of March; 1903—the
prisoner had already been a few years in London—I had never known him abroad—I proposed to him to start a milk business—I do not know that the invoices were sent out. in the name of Fisher: I do not understand English, and I loft it entirely to him—I do not know anything about this invoice bearing the prisoner's name (Produced)—I sent out my own invoices, but I have not got any of them here—I know the prisoner lived at 35, Clark Street, where I had my meals—I have gone under a Yiddish name, meaning Duck—my real name is Hyam Pickles—I remember giving the cheque to the prisoner at 35, Clark Street—we were alone at the time—he put on his glasses to read it—he did not say, "The company will not accept this," and I did not say, "It will be all right; I cannot alter it, and it would be a pity to lose a penny stamp. You can write the company's name on the back of the cheque. The cheque is not crossed; you can pay them the money when you get the cheque cashed"—the prisoner did not write the name of the company on the cheque then—when the prisoner left he demanded one week's wages, which I paid him—he did not say he was entitled to £12 for wages and commission—I received a solicitor's letter, saying if I did not pay the prisoner £12 proceedings would be taken.
Re-examined I never had this £4 6s. 6d. in cash—he worked for me—he had no right to receive cheques in the business—I paid him £1 on his leaving, the sum that he demanded.
WILLIAM HENRY SIMMS . I am a cashier of the International Bank of London, at 10, Leman Street, Whitechapel, and live at 77, Melbourne Grove, East Dulwich—Abramson has an account with us—I believe the prisoner came with him to open the account—I cashed this cheque (Produced)—I cannot swear that the cheque was presented by the prisoner—to the best of my recollection it was already endorsed when paid in.
Cross-examined. It is extremely difficult to recollect everybody who presents cheques.
HENRY ADAMS GIBBS . I live at 24, Leamington Road Villas, Bayswater, and am the cashier of the Great Western and Metropolitan Dairy Company. Limited—Abramson is a customer of the company now, but he was not in May—the prisoner owed us £4 6s. 6d., which has been paid since this prosecution—the officials of the company are the only people authorised to endorse cheques.
Cross-examined. The £4 6s. 6d. was paid by somebody on the prisoner's behalf a few days after the case came on at the police court, and credit was given to him, whom we had looked to for payment—credit was not given to the name of Abramson or Duck.
FRANK GIRDLER (Detective H.) On May 31st, at 10 p.m., I saw the prisoner detained at Arbour Square Police Station—I told him he would be charged with forging and uttering a cheque for £4 6s. 6d., he said, "I am his servant. He paid me £1 a week. It was an open cheque, and I could do what I liked with it"—he was detained over night and on the charge being read over to him he said, "Yes, I understand."
Cross-examined. As far as I have been able to ascertain, he is a respectable man.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he was clerk to the prosecutor, and that all the milk was ordered and paid for in his own name; that the prosecutor had handed him a cheque for £4 6s. 6d. in part payment of an account owing by him to the Dairy Company; that he had said that the company would not take cheques; that the prosecutor had said, It is an open cheque; you can take it; it is a pity to waste a penny stamp. You can endorse it and draw the money and pay the money in cash to the company, that he did not pay it to the company as there was another 15s. owing; that he asked the prosecutor for it: that he was waiting to have it paid to him, so that he could pay the whole amount in at once; that he had since the proceedings paid the £4 6s. 6d. to the company, and that he had instructed his solicitors to write to the prosecutor, asking for £12 which was owing to him for wages and commission.
Evidence for the Defence.
SOLOMON NOWICK . I live at 35, Clark Street, where the prisoner and his wife have been living, and where the prosecutor used to have his meals—I remember the prosecutor coming on May 19th and handing a cheque for £4 6s. 6d. to the prisoner, saying, "Here is the cheque for the milk I owe you for"—the prisoner said, "I cannot accept this cheque, because the company wants cash," to which the prosecutor replied, "It is a pity to lose the stamp. You write on the other side the company's name, and as the bank knows you, you can go and get the money and send it in cash"—they spoke in Yiddish—Mrs. Fisher was in the room at the time.
Cross-examined. I was spoken to about my evidence before the hearing before the Magistrate—I was not called on that occasion.
MRS. FISHER (Interpreted.) I am the prisoner's wife, and live with him at 35, Clark Street, Whitechapel, where the prosecutor used to come and have his meals—I remember him coming on May 19th and handing my husband a cheque, who said, "They will not accept this cheque; they do not want no City cheques. I want money, cash"—the prosecutor said, "I cannot give you no cash now; I have not got any. You are well known in the bank. Sign the company's name on the back, and the bank will give you the cash, and you can settle it with the cash."
Cross-examined. I was in the Court when the prisoner was tried before the Magistrate—I was not called.
The prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, June 22nd, 1904.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MR. GRANTHAM Prosecuted; MR. COHEN Defended.
(The evidence was interpreted where necessary.)
ARTHUR PIZZEY (72 H.) About midnight on May 27th I was in St. George's in the East—I heard shouts of "Police"—I saw several men outside the Prince Regent, amongst them the prisoner and the deceased—the latter shouted, "That man has stabbed me," and pointed to the prisoner, who said, "I have done it; you can lock me up"—I saw the blade of a knife protruding from the deceased's temple—the prisoner handed the handle of a knife to another constable—the deceased was taken to the police station, and then to the hospital—when the prisoner was charged he did not say anything.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was very excited.
HERMAN BALCAN . I am house surgeon at the London Hospital, and was present when the deceased was admitted about 1 a.m. on Saturday, May 28th—he was very pale, but conscious—he was lying on a couch, and from his left temple was protruding the end of this knife blade—he smelled of drink, but from his speech I concluded that he was not then drunk—the receiving room officer tried to remove the blade, but was unsuccessful—I had to perform an operation to remove it—it was about 2 1/2 inches in the head—I had to cut the bone away, and the blade was pulled out with very great difficulty—the bone was trepanned to see where the hemorrhage was—there must have been a hard push to make it go in as far as it did—I had to get two of my assistants to hold the head, and then I got it with a strong pair of forceps—they slipped off it twice before I could get it out—this (Produced) is a piece of the bone which was cut out with the circular saw—the blade passed the skull bone—after it had gone through the bone there would be no resistance—the deceased was becoming comatose when we started the operation about 2 a.m.—we had to give him an anaesthetic—he did not recover consciousness after the operation, but died about 1 p.m.—the cause of death was hemorrhage into the brain, caused by this knife severing the vessels in the brain.
Cross-examined. I was the operator—my first attempt to pull the blade out was unsuccessful—I used what we call lion forceps—there were three misses altogether, one by the receiving room officer and two by myself—nobody touched the wound but myself and the dressers, who swabbed the blood away—the two pulls at the blade would not interfere with the deceased's condition in any way. because it did not move—a man who had an accident or a wound of this sort would have a shock—s a rule shock would sober a man—I cannot say what the deceased's condition was before I saw him.
THOMAS JONES . I am divisional surgeon at Leman Street, and am the first medical witness who saw the deceased, which was about 12.30 a.m. on May 28th—he had a blade in his temple, which was bleeding when I saw him—he was conscious and in a semi-dazed condition, which was due to the knife in his brain—I cannot say if he was under the influence of drink or not: he could answer questions—he suggested walking to the hospital, but I saw his serious condition, and suggested an ambulance—the prisoner had a recent swelling over his right eye, not a very large one—he had blood on his left hand, and there was mud on both hands, which might be consistent with his having been knocked down in a struggle—
a fist or any contact would have caused the swelling—the blood on his hands was from some external source, and not from a wound on the prisoner himself—it may have come from the deceased's temple—the prisoner was apparently sober.
Cross-examined. I was not at the hospital at all; I know nothing of the operation.
ERNEST BOEDEKER . I am a coffee house keeper—the prisoner and the deceased lodged at my house for about six weeks in the same bedroom—they had separate beds—on May 27th I went with the prisoner to the Prince Regent—we went into the public bar about nine o'clock—the prisoner had some lager beer—I think he had some ginger beer some time between 9 and 11 p.m., but I am not sure—the deceased was in the public house before nine o'clock; he talked to me in the public bar—I did not see what he had to drink—he and the deceased were talking together on good terms—I heard no quarrel or angry words between them—I was in the bar the whole time, from 9 p.m. until the prisoner and the deceased went out—there were many other people there—I saw the deceased try to speak with the prisoner over the partition, the prisoner then being in the private bar and the deceased in the public bar—the deceased knocked the prisoner's cap off by leaning over the partition—the deceased came round into the private bar—he wanted to open the door which is over the partition—when he came into the private bar he called the prisoner names, caught him by his waistcoat, and said, "You scoundrel!"—I did not hear any more angry words—there was a struggle between them; the deceased threw the prisoner to the ground—after he got up he stayed in the private bar, and the deceased went again into the public bar—they had some words, and deceased said, "I will catch you when you come out"—the landlord said in English, "If you want to fight go outside"—I only guessed what he said—I went outside with the prisoner and someone else—I passed the deceased as I went out—who said, "I am not afraid of you both"; he meant the prisoner and Kornigsdorf—the deceased came out directly after us—he caught the prisoner at once, and they had a scuffle—the prisoner fell down—I tried to push the deceased away, and in the meantime the prisoner got up—while he was doing so he hit the deceased with his hand on his temple—I could not see if he had anything in his hand—the deceased came to me and said, "I have got a knife in my temple; take it out"—the prisoner was standing by—I went to take the knife out—I saw some blood in my hand, and I went to the public house to try and get a rag to put round my finger—neither the prisoner nor the deceased were sober—I had been to another public house with the prisoner that evening, where he had a drink—he had lent me the knife during the evening—this is it (Produced).
Cross-examined. I knew both the prisoner and the deceased; they were both my tenants—when the deceased first knocked off the prisoner's cap the prisoner did not do anything to him—the deceased called the prisoner a bastard—I knew what that meant—when the deceased threw the prisoner to the floor, the prisoner did not do anything except get up and go into the private bar again—he did not hit the deceased—when the
deceased said, "I will catch you when you come out," the prisoner said, "I am not afraid of you"—the deceased was a great, big, strong fellow about two inches bigger than the prisoner—he was a quarrelsome man—the prisoner tried all the time to avoid him—he is a very nice man; he never quarrelled with anybody, and is very industrious—he is a baker—I have never seen him drunk.
Re-examined. The prisoner and the deceased were not drunk.
MAX KORNIGSDORF . I am an hotel porter, and was at the Prince Regent on this Friday night—the deceased was looking over the partition at the prisoner—somebody shut the door, and the deceased came inside the private bar and knocked the prisoner down—the deceased called the prisoner a swindler and a bastard—he went back to the public bar and said to the prisoner, "Wait till you come outside"—the prisoner called the deceased a b——in German, and said, "I am not frightened of a man like you." and added that the deceased had wanted him to go on the bed the night before—they were quiet then—the prisoner shortly afterwards left the public house, going by the deceased, who did not say anything to him. but told me that if I wanted to take the prisoner's part I could do so, as he was not frightened of both of us—outside, the deceased stopped the prisoner and said, "Do you moan to call me that name?" and knocked him down—he got up and attacked the deceased, but I did not see what with, because it was done so quick.
Cross-examined. The deceased wanted to fight the prisoner—I had shown no desire to take the prisoner's part—I have known the deceased for two years—he was a very bad man; he started fighting everybody—I have known the prisoner about six weeks; he is a very quiet man; I do not know if he drinks.
CHARLES SODERBERG . I keep the Prince Regent—the prisoner and the deceased were in my house on Friday, May 27th—I was in the bar only part of the time that they were there—they were talking rather loud in German, but I am a Swede, and did not understand what they said—I said if there was any quarrelling they must go outside—shortly afterwards the prisoner and his friends went out—I said to the deceased, "Stop a minute or two and let them go"—I wanted him not to go out directly, but he insisted upon doing so.
Cross-examined. When I said, "You had better go out if you want to quarrel,"I referred to both parties—it was the deceased who was the most quarrelsome—I had seen both of them—they always behaved all right in my house—I know nothing of them away from my house.
CHARLES KRONBERG (Cross-examined.) I am potman at the Prince Regent—I saw the whole of this disturbance from 9 p.m.—I cannot say who began it—I knew the deceased by sight—I saw him jump over the partition and say something to the prisoner in a foreign language—I thought it was something nasty, but I do not know what it was—the prisoner said something in reply—the deceased got hold of the prisoner's shoulder and pulled him to the ground—I do not think the prisoner was in an excited condition—he did not retaliate—the row was continued in German—I did not hear any bad language in English—my master told
them to go—the prisoner went into the street first, and the deceased followed—my master tried to stop the deceased from going out, but he rushed after the prisoner; he was excited then—I did not see what happened outside.
HENRY HILDERBRAND (Cross-examined.) I have known the prisoner and the deceased by sight for six weeks—I was in the Prince Regent on this occasion—the deceased began the disturbance—the prisoner did not want to have any quarrel—the deceased forced himself into the prisoner's compartment and called him a bastard, swindler, and something else—he knocked him down, and the prisoner did nothing in return—the deceased was a fine, big, strong man, much stronger than the prisoner.
JOHN CURSON (153 H.) I was on duty in St. George's on this Friday night—I heard a row, and saw some scuffling—I went up, and the deceased said, "I have been stabbed by this man," pointing to the prisoner, who said, "I have done it; lock me up"—he appeared to be sober—I took the deceased to the station, and he was subsequently sent to the hospital—in the waiting room at the station the prisoner said, "We live in the same room together; one night he tried to * * *; I had a row with him last night. I was in a public house in the Highway when he came into another bar; he made a face at me and struck me; I went outside, he came out after me, and struck me again; he was a bigger man than me; I hit him in the head with my knife"—that was said by the prisoner quite voluntarily—he saw me take it down—the deceased was a trifle bigger than the prisoner.
FREDERICK GOODING (Detective.) I saw the prisoner at Thames police court a day or two after the assault, and told him the deceased was dead, and he would be charged with wilful murder—he replied, "I did not mean to kill him; I only meant to stop him"—he was charged, and made the same reply.
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he had known the deceased for nine years; that he was always friendly with him; that the only quarrel between them was because the deceased wished to act indecently; that on the 27th in the publichouse the deceased called him names, and knocked his cap off; that when they got outside the deceased knocked him down, and hit him on his eye and nose; that he (the prisoner) got cross and took out his knife to stop him; that he was frightened of the deceased, as he was a very strong man, but only meant to frighten him.
GUILTY under great provocation. Eighteen months' hard labour.
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, June 22nd, 1904.
Before Mr. Recorder.
from me—I remember being in the Duke of Wellington on Saturday, June 4th, about 5.30 p.m., with my brother Alfred, and Horner—I stood at the corner of the bar, then went into the tap room, and then outside to the back to make water—the prisoner was in the tap room, talking to Riley, whose real name is Harrison; I got into conversation with them and had a drink—we were quite friendly; then they talked about work and got excited, and started swearing at one another, and became noisy—they were sober—the prisoner was holloaing like a madman—when I came from the back I said, "Shut up; we do not want to know anything about that "; I meant about work—they kept on wrangling and had high words, and the prisoner jumped into a temper and said, "I have got an old sore against you," and hit me in the face with his fist—I went to hit him, Riley got in the way, and I hit him by accident—I apologised to Riley, but he hit me on the left eye, and we had a bit of a tussle in the tap room, then we shook hands—I then went to the bar and saw the prisoner as I went through to go out at the back—he had left the tap room during the fight, and was standing with his back to the bar, facing me—I had both hands in my trousers pockets—I said to him, "Let's have a drink, Billy, and say no more about it"—he drawed his hand from his pocket and said, "Take that, you bastard!" striking me, and I remember no more till I found myself at the German Hospital—I did not see anything in his hand—(Witness's deposition read: "He had a glass in his hand")—I never see anything—I did not hit him—my eye has been taken out—it is not true to say that my brother and I set about him with pots; the pots had been cleared out.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. It is untrue to say, "When the other two men were going for a fight I thought they were only larking; he laughed at me and said. 'What's the matter with you?' I said, 'Nothing.' He said, 'You remember down at the back of the Tyson?' I said, 'Yes, that is over two years ago.' He said, 'Do you know you wanted to fight me?' I said, 'Yes.' He said, 'Will you have a fight now?' I said, 'No.' He said, 'You are easy for me.' That meant he could beat me, I said, 'I should think so, looking at the difference between the two.' He hit me then. I said, 'I know I am going to have it, Bill,' and I stopped the blow with my arm. He made another hit, and hit Riley."
ALFRED HENRY EATON . I am a labourer, of 38, Engle Street, Stoke Newington—I went with my brother into the Duke of Wellington on June 4th, about 5.30, with Horner—in the tap room I saw the prisoner, Riley and Inglefield—after talking for about fifteen minutes in a friendly manner they began talking about work, and got excited, and had high words—my brother went out, and as he came back he stood in the doorway, making a cigarette, and said, "We don't want to talk about work in here"—the prisoner got excited and said, "Yes, I have an old score with you; don't forget"—I said, "Shall we have a fight?"—the prisoner said, "You hit me. And we will see what I will do"—they kept jangling, and the prisoner made a dash at my brother—Riley got in the way, and he hit Riley accidentally—Riley said, "Don't forget you struck me"—my brother said it was an accident, and said, "Charlie, I have not had a row with you for a thousand
years"—Riley hit my brother and another man named Webb—after fighting they made it up—the prisoner disappeared, and while there was some more jangling he came back into the tap room and said, "You hit me now, you big b——; I'll show you what I will do"—all of a sudden he disappeared again—my brother said, "Come on, let's drop this and go and have a drink"—I stayed behind—my brother went out of the bar—I heard a scuffling, saw my brother with his hands to his face, and the prisoner, leaning with his back against the bar, looking at him—I said, "What are you doing here?"—the prisoner said, "Do you want some?" and rushed at me—I closed with him, and both of us fell to the ground—he struck me with something sharp, all over the head, and the blood began to flow—I managed to stagger up—I felt sinking, and I remember no more—I managed to keep my feet till I got outside—I got to my brother and pulled him after me—he was smothered with blood—when I got home the doctor stitched my wounds—my home is about five minutes' walk from the public house—afterwards I went to the German Hospital—I was an in patient from that Saturday till Sunday, June 12th—I have not been able to work since from weakness—I am still treated at the hospital; I have to go there to-night—I am told I shall be some time before I recover—we were sober.
Cross-examined. My brother did not say when you were down, "Go on, Alfred, stick it into him."
HENRY GEORGE HORNER . I am a labourer and an Army pensioner, of 43, Neville Road, Stoke Newington—I was invalided from South Africa, and have a pension of 1s. 6d. a day—I was with the Batons on June 4th in the Duke of Wellington—when I got into the top room I found the prisoner and others talking to Riley about hod carrying—I said, "Don't let us talk about work, let's have a drink"—the prisoner said to William Eaton, "I have an old score to rub off with you; you know what I mean"—William Eaton said, "Yes, what about it? do you want to fight?"—the prisoner said, "You hit me, and I'll show you what I will do with you, you big b——!"—I saw the prisoner go from the tap room into the bar, and come back again with a small glass like this, that you can get a pony of bitter in, in his hand—William Eaton was in the corner of the tap room—the prisoner knocked the glass on the stove in the tap room and broke it—I went out, as I suffer from palpitation when excited—Riley (or Harrison) followed me, and I saw no more—Riley went back into the public house, and I looked for a policeman—I left the policeman with Alfred Eaton and went home—I think Alfred tried to quell the disturbance as much as. possible between his brother and the prisoner.
Cross-examined. When you came in with the glass I went out; I never saw you strike the Eatons with it.
CHARLES EDWARD HARRISON . I am a labourer, of 19. Brown's Place, near where the Eatons lived—I am known as Riley—that is my nickname—I was in the Duke of Wellington on June 4th with the prisoner and others, talking in a friendly way, till Homer and I started talking about carrying the hod—William Eaton went to the back and returned—the jangling continued—I said to William, "Come on. let us go home to
dinner," but William hit him in the jaw and said, "We'll go on the Downs and have a fight"—I went out for a time—I heard William holloaing out, "Oh, oh!" and returned and saw the Eatons covered with blood—Alfred was kicking the prisoner on the ground—Alfred walked home afterwards—I saw William in the bar, holding his hands to his face—the prisoner was bleeding too; I cannot say if he was injured.
FREDERICK ERNEST REEVES . I am licensee of the Duke of Wellington, a fully licensed house, in Arcola Street—on June 4th, about 5.30, I was at tea in the kitchen, when I heard a scuffle in the tap room—I went there and found the prisoner, Horner, Riley, and the two Eatons, whom I know as customers—they were jangling and punching one another—I asked them to stop—as they did not seem likely to stop, I went to the door and was going to blow my police whistle, but I saw a customer I knew and sent him—Horner and Riley came out and said, "Let us fight it out on the Downs"—I heard a scuffle, and looked in the bar—I saw William Eaton standing with his hands to his face, which was bleeding—as I stepped into the bar Alfred Eaton and the prisoner rushed at one another—both fell, the prisoner underneath, and he was punched as he lay on the ground—both the Eatons attempted to kick the prisoner, but they were so bad they struggled out of the bar—both were bleeding—a policeman came.
HERBERT TAYLOR (Police Constable.) On June 4th I went into the tap room of the Duke of Wellington about 8 p.m.—I picked up these pieces of broken glass from the floor in the far corner—they were smeared with blood.
ARTHUR MULBERGER . I am house surgeon at the German Hospital—William Eaton was brought to the hospital about 7 p.m. on June 4th—he was not unconscious, but he could not answer properly; he was excited and frightened—he had a deep wound in the right side of his face, beginning in the middle of the right cheek and ending in the left eyeball, which was cut in two—the next day the surgeon and I took the eye out—the other eye is all right, and there is no sympathetic ophthalmia—Alfred Eaton was brought to me, and I examined him—he had two deep wounds in the right side of his neck—the subsidiary veins were severed surrounding the caratoid artery, and there was hemorrhage under the skin—he was in the hospital eight days—he is still under my care, and I hope he will get right—the wounds might have been caused by broken glass—the blow must have been very heavy—William was in a state of collapse.
HENRY PORTER (45 J.R.) I arrested the prisoner in Kingsland High Street on June 4th, about two hours after the assault—I told him I was looking for him—he said, "All right, governor"—I said, "I shall take you into custody for assaulting two men in Arcola Street"—he said, "All right; I know that, governor; they hit me with a pot. and I hit them with a glass back"—I saw no bleeding or injury.
Cross-examined. You did not say, "I would hit them with pots and all, to defend myself."
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said thai he was attacked and kicked, and what he did was in self defence against stronger men.
GUILTY . Eighteen months hard labour.
MR. C. W. MATHEWS and MR. HUTTON Prosecuted.
EDWARD LEWIS DAVIS . I am manager of Saqui Lawrence, jewellers, 97, Fleet Street—the prisoners came into the shop on May 21st—they were strangers—Wiedakowch said, "I should like to see some rings about £5 or £6"—I took a tray of jewellery from the window and put it before the prisoners on the counter—Wiedakowch said he would like one or two of the ruby and diamond rings on the tray, but they looked rather more than he wished to go to—one was marked £8 15s. in plain figures—he asked if I could let him have a sapphire instead of a ruby—I said he could have it—he asked me what the extra charge would be—I said, "No extra charge"—he gave me back the ring, and I put the tray back in the window—Tachard was by his side looking at the rings—no one else was in the shop on the public side of the counter—I got another tray out of the window—Hans said, "I should prefer to look at the others again," and I got it out again and put the other back—then he said, "I should like to have a magnifying glass to look at that diamond ruby ring"—I gave him a glass, and he took the ring and glass to the door to look at the stone, and brought it back to the counter—he explained that one diamond seemed rather dirty—he wished me to look at it through the magnifying glass—I took the glass and examined the ring as best I could—it was not dirty—after I had used the glass I noticed two rings were missing from the tray—both men were in front of the counter—then Tachard examined two rings at the door—he came back to the counter and put one marked £2 17s. 6d. and an imitation of a 7 guinea ring back on the tray—I only noticed the imitation when I wiped the tray—I noticed the gold foil at the back of the stone—this is the sham ring, and this the original I missed—it is a three-stone ring, and of a slightly different shape—I put the tray in the window with the imitation ring on the tray—I got another tray of rings out after that—I called my boy to fetch a constable—the prisoners looked at the rings on the other tray, and Wiedakowch said they were rather dear, that they had not sufficient money, but would call another day—Tachard, before the constable arrived, wished to be searched in the shop, and in front of the policeman—the three of us went to Bridewell Police Station, and I charged them with stealing the ring—on their being searched this genuine ring was found on Wiedakowch in the lining of his overcoat, where it had gone from the right-hand pocket—that ring was on one of the trays before the prisoners came into the shop—it has on it a number and a private mark.
Cross-examined by Tachard. I saw you put the imitation ring in the tray.
beginning of May, when they came into the shop together as strangers—I saw thorn for about ten minutes—throe people wore in the shop, myself, my father, and the foreman of the workshop I was subpœnaed to come here to see if I could recognise the prisoners.
GEORGE SPILLER (194 City.) On May 21st a little before 4 p.m., I was called to 97 Fleet Street I saw the prisoner. standing in the shop—the manager said, "I shall give these two men into custody for stealing a diamond ring"—I asked for an explanation he said the men came to purchase a ring; he showed me the sham ring in the tray, and said the prisoners put it there—I think he said one of them put it there—both prisoners pleaded innocence, and very much wanted to be searched—each said, "You may search me here now. or take me to a private room and search me"—I said, "That is not a matter to be done here: if you are charged you will be taken to the station and searched in the usual way"—they were taken to the station and searched—on Tachard were found several letters and ten pawn tickets, a sham diamond ring, a sham lady's pendant, and 8s. 7 1/2 d., a pair of glasses, and a key: and on Wiedakowch a sham ring and a metal chain, a scarf pin. two pawn tickets, a watch and chain, a case. 4s. 11d. in money, and in the lining of his overcoat near a hole in the right hand pocket was this diamond ring, which was identified by Mr. Davis as his property—when it was found Wiedakowch said to Tachard, "You must have put that in my pocket"—Tachard gesticulated "No."
The prisoners' statement before the Magistrate. Tachard said: "I am innocent. I do not know Wiedakowch. I only knew him for two weeks. I met him on Saturday afternoon very casually. and he told me he wanted to buy a cheap ring for his father, so we proceeded to that shop. He saw several rings, and I did as well, and I looked at two rings, one at £2 17s.6d. and the other at £4 10s., which two I put back again after a few minutes. After two or three other minutes the shopman called in the police, without my knowing for what. At the police station Wiedakowch expressed his regret for me being in trouble on his account. I knew him as a respectable person, and I did not suspect before going into the shop that he had a bad intention." Wiedakowch said: "This man had nothing to do with this thing. I was in the shop to buy a ring, to pay some money on it if I liked it, and to take the ring after a few days when I got the money from my home. He showed me dear rings. He showed me a ring I liked, but it was too much money. I saw another like it. It was nearly the same. After he took a ring out I put one back. I did not know which it was, and I put the other in my pocket, and then he called in the police, and I did not know what for. I asked to be searched in the shop, because I thought I had my own ring in my pocket. I had three minutes to put the ring back out of my pocket if I had known it was not mine. When the ring was found on me I was astonished."
Tachard, in his defence on oath, repeated in substance his statement, and added that he had bought some cheap jewellery, three rings for 7s. and a brooch, which accounted for them being found on him.
Wiedakowch. in his defence, repeated his statement, and added that it was all a mistake.
GUILTY .† Wiedakowch was then charged with having been convicted of felony at Eastbourne on July 18th, 1902, to which he pleaded
FREDERICK ROBERTS (39 Eastbourne Police.) I was present at the Eastbourne Borough Sessions on July 18th, 1902, when Hans Wiedakowch was convicted of stealing a gold ring from a bedroom where he was lodging, and sentenced toa month's hard labour—I arrested him on July 10th—he was taken before the Magistrate, and remanded seven days—I took him to Lewes by train, and handed him over to the Governor of the gaol—he was brought up by the warders on July 18th—I took him to Lewes Gaol after his conviction—I produce his photograph—the prisoner Wiedakowch is the man I arrested.
Wiedakowch. It is not true; I am innocent.
GUILTY.*† Five years penal servitude each.
THIRD COURT.—Wednesday and Thursday, June 22nd and 23rd, 904.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
(509.) JONAS NATHAN (33) , to having failed while adjudged bankrupt to discover to the Official Receiver in bankruptcy the sum of £481 19s. 8d., part of his personal property, and to having disposed of that sum. Four months' imprisonment. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. SANDS Prosecuted: MR. ELLIOTT and MR. WATSON Defended.
WILLIAM CHAPPEL . I am an attendant at the Tivoli Music Hall, and live at 58, Russell Gardens, Lambeth—they are model dwellings—I live there with a man named Lewington—on May 21st I came back with "him and two other friends, Burrill and Burgess—when we entered the house we saw a woman on the ground floor—we asked her what she was doing—she then went away—we went up stairs—I saw the prisoner—he was asked by Lewington what he was doing there, and was told to clear out"—the prisoner then used filthy language—I told him if he did not clear out I should ask them to put him out—he used more filthy language, and I was struck in the eye with some instrument—he then ran down stairs—I followed him—there was a recess at the bottom, and as I passed, the prisoner stabbed me in the back—I staggered against the wall, and then received some more stabs—Lewington came down and got hold of the prisoner and pushed him away—I became very weak—the prisoner went. out and met the same woman—we followed him and gave him into custody—I was taken to the hospital, where I remained eight days—I am now able to work.
Cross-examined. I still feel weak, but am getting better—the prisoner did not attack me until he was spoken to—when I caught him I did not notice that he had a black eye—there was some blood on his hands when we got to the station—I have never seen him before.
WILLIAM LEWINGTON . I am a music hall artist, and live at 58. Russell Gardens, Lambeth—I accompanied Chappel, Burrill, and Burgess on May 22nd—in the passage of our dwelling I saw a woman and heard someone running up stairs—I told the woman to clear out—I went up stairs and saw the prisoner—I asked him what he was doing there—he said, "I live here"—I said, "You don't, nothing of the kind; you clear out"—he used bad language, and Chappel said, "If you don't go I shall put you out"—the prisoner struck Chap pel in the face, and I saw blood—he ran down stairs, Chappel after him—I went after them—I saw the prisoner striking Chappel on the back—I could see an instrument, but cannot. say what it was—I got between them, when the prisoner stabbed me in the neek and arm—I got away from him—the injuries were not very serious—the prisoner walked away, and we went after him.
Cross-examined. I think the prisoner went up stairs to go through the roof door—I do not suggest he was waiting on the staircase to attack us—until we spoke he had not said a word—I did not see that he had a black eye when arrested—he said he had his hands cut,.
WILLIAM BURRILL . I am an upholsterer, at 4. Felix Street, Westminster—on May 22nd I went to Russell Gardens with Burgess, Lewington and Chappel, to have some supper—there was an altercation with a woman on the ground floor of the house—we went up stairs—I saw the prisoner coming down—Lewington asked him what he was doing there—he said he lived there—Lewington said, "You don't live here; you had better clear out of it"—the prisoner walked by me down stairs, using bad language—I heard a scuffle on the stairs and went down, and found Lewington and Chappel both bleeding—the prisoner was standing in the courtyard shouting—he went away, and I followed him—he was given into custody.
Cross-examined. He did not run away—until he was spoken to by Chappell and Lewington he did nothing—I did not see him strike anybody—it happened about 12.10 or 12.15.
FREDERICK PRICE . I am a violin maker, and live at 57. Russell Gardens, on the second floor—I was just retiring to bed on May 22nd when I heard voices outside my door—I heard Lewington say, "What are you doing here?"—a voice replied, "I live here"—Lewington said, "You don't live here"—another voice said, "Now clear out"—I then heard footsteps running down the stairs—I opened my window and looked out. and saw the prisoner come out of the doorway, with Chappel after him—the prisoner got to the gate, and then returned and stabbed Chappel right and left; I did not see what with—he behaved just like a madman—Lcwington came out, and the prisoner rushed at him and dealt him two blows—I saw the prisoner walk away.
Cross-examined. I cannot say whether the prisoner was excited; he rushed at the men—he was jumping about as a man would who was fighting.
went towards Boniface Street, and there saw Lewington—his neck was covered with blood, and he was holding his arm—I went with him to Boniface Street and saw the prisoner—Lewington pointed to him and said, "That man has stabbed me"—Chappel said, "Yes, he stabbed me too"—his face was covered in blood—I turned to the prisoner—he held out his hands and said, "Well, what about me? Both my hands are cut; they are not the only ones that are injured"—I took all the parties to the station, and then the prosecutors to the hospital—I then went back to the station with Lewington, and charged the prisoner with maliceously wounding—he denied the charge—I asked him if he had a knife on him. and he produced this one—it was quite clean—I searched him, but found no other weapon.
Cross-examined. I think there was no blood on the knife when taken out of his pocket, but it became stained by coming in contact with his hands—the prisoner, when arrested, was not running away—the parties were all sober.
EDWARD WYGRAM . I am house surgeon at St. Thomas's Hospital—Chappel and Lewington were brought there on the night of May 22nd—I found wounds on Chappel's body and face, a wound 3 inches deep in his side, which opened 2 inches long in the skin, between the two ribs—there was another wound in his back, which went in obliquely 2 1/2 inches, another wound in his loin, which went 'directly inwards 2 1/2 inches in the back, a punctured wound; another wound in the front, which went in 1 1/2 inches obliquely; a smaller wound in the upper part of his back; one on his neck, and a wound on his face 1 1/2 inches long—they were wounds caused by some cutting instrument with a narrow blade—he is. Quite recovered now—Lewington's injuries were not very serious—the wounds might possibly have been caused by this knife, but it is not probable.
Cross-examined. If this knife had been used I should expect to find it covered with blood—two of the wounds were considered as possibly dangerous.
EDWARD ROWE . I am a Divisional Surgeon of police—on May 22nd I attended the prisoner—he had on his left hand two incised wounds 2 inches in length, running parallel with each other—they were quite superficial—on the outer side of his right little finger he had two more incised wounds; they were about 1/2 inch long, and quite superficial—these wounds, I think, could have been caused by a weapon in the prisoner's own hand.
Cross-examined. But not if he had used a dagger with a handle that would not shut—I did not notice his eye.
He received a good character.
GUILTY of unlawfully wounding. The JURY added that they thought the prisoner's action was the result of fear and excitement. Nine months' imprisonment without hard labour.
511. WOOLF WEISBERG (23) and MAX STRAUSS (22) . Falsely applying to certain goods the registered trade mark of the Welsbach Incandescent Gas Light Company. Second count, unlawfully applying to certain goods a mark so nearly resembling the trade mark of the Welabach Incandescent Gas Light Company as calculated to deceive. Another count, Having the said goods in their possession.
MR. BODKIN and MR. BOYD Prosecuted: MR. ROOTH and MR. RODERICK
FREDFRICK POPHAM (Sergeant, 17 N.) On June 1st I got a search warrant and went to 32, Daleview Road, Stamford Hill—I there saw Paul Hertz, a one-armed man, and the prisoners—I went into the parlour—Weisherg was standing at the table—he had evidently just left off pasting some labels on to some blank cardboard boxes—there were two brushes and pastepots there—there were about 6700 labels like this lying about—there were 3120 cardboard tubes, each containing a mantle, and each labelled with a label like this—on the floor there were 8,040 plain cardboard tubes, each with a mantle, but without the green and red label on them—they were ready for sticking—there were Cas big cardboard boxes for holding a dozen each, printed with the "Welsbach" name—I found 1,127 mantles there; each had got on the words "Welsbach Aur"—I seized and took away these things—on June 11th I went to 102, Church Street, Stoke Newington, Carter Paterson's depot, and seized a wooden case which contained 41 gross of labelled tubes, each containing a mantle marked "Welsbach" and "Aur"—on June 5th I arrested Weisberg on a warrant, which I read to him—he said, "I know nothing about it; I was employed as a clerk by Paul Hertz; I came from Roumania about December 28th last; I was glad of the appointment with Hertz; I worked a month for nothing; he then gave me 22s. a week, and afterwards increased it to 30s. There was no work at Spital Square, so I came to Daleview Road, saw they were busy, and lent them a hand"—he said he had no pay for that except his pay as clerk—on June 15th I saw Strauss in Kingsland Road—I said to him, "Are you Max Strauss?"—he said, "Yes, I intended to give myself up on Tuesday."
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. June 1st was the first time I saw Weisberg at 32, Daleview Road, which was taken by Strauss and not by him; so Mrs. Strauss told me—when I got there I saw Hertz, who told me his name, as did Weisberg—I cannot swear that when I went in Hertz was doing nothing; his back was towards me; I should think he had been doing something.
Cross-examined by Strauss. I saw your private rooms at Daleview Road, and found seventeen mantles of a different kind there—I took away all the letters I found there.
WILLIAM PERCIVAL DUNNETT . I am an auctioneer at 116, Bishopsgate Street—I know a man named Hertz—I let 20, Spital Square to him at £52 a year from December 1st, 1903—after he went in, on the door was the name of "The Front Incandescent Company"—I also let 32, Daleview Road to Strauss at a rental of £33, payable monthly, for private occupation.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. I have never seen Weisberg—Hertz did not tell me what business he wanted 20, Spital Square for—he introduce Strauss as his man—I inferred that Hertz was the master.
Cross-examined by Strauss. You took.32, Daleview Road on May 25th, I think.
Re-examined. I have no knowledge of the relations of the people who frequented 20, Spital Square.
NEUMAX FRISCHLANDER . I live at 162, Commercial Road, E., and am a letterpress printer—I am a Roumanian—I know a Mr. Sobel and the prisoners—I saw Weisberg first at my place at the beginning of May—he gave an order for 2,000 business cards, like this—it says, "W. Werthen Co. Sole Proprietor, Paul Hertz, Manufacturers of Incandescent Mantles, London. E.C., 20, Spital Square, Bishopsgate Street," and an address at Berlin—eight or ten days after, Weisberg asked me if I could do some labels—this is what he showed me—I said I could—he wanted 100,000; he asked the price, and I said I should have to go to a lithographer to ascertain that—I went to Sobel and got a price from him—I came back and saw Weisberg, and went with him to see Strauss, and said I could make the labels at 3s. per 1,000—I received later on from Strauss £3 and £2, which was sent by Weisberg—I asked Strauss at the time why he did not give me the money then, and he said he must receive it—nothing was said to me about the Welsbach Company—I saw the name on the label—Sobel did the work.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH I have been in England about four years—the label was brought to me to imitate—I did not know there was any harm in doing it, or I should not have introduced Sobel into the matter.
Cross-examined by Strauss. Weisberg introduced you to me, and I wanted a deposit—you did not give me any money; you said you would send the money by Weisberg—you told me that you had to get the money from your "governor."
SIMON SOBEL . I live at 170, Whitechapel Road, and am a lithographer—I know Frischlander and the prisoners—Weisberg came to me with Frischlander—I printed 50,000 of these labels—I made a mistake in the first lot. and printed "mantld" instead of "mantlf"—I got paid £5 10s. for the 50,000—Frischlander paid me £3 10s., and the prisoners the other £2—Weisberg, with Strauss, took the labels away—I had an order afterwards from the prisoners to print 1,000 boxes—these are some of them—I was paid 25s. for them by Strauss alone, who took them away.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. I have been four years in this country—I did not think I was doing wrong in imitating the things—Weisberg told me he was merely a workman—I did the job for Frischlander.
Cross-examined by Strauss. I had only known Frischlander a month or two before—when you came for the boxes you wanted me to take 10s. instead of 25s., saying you had orders to pay only 10s., and then you went away and came back with a sovereign.
Re-examined. I got the order from Strauss to print the thousand boxes, and I told both prisoners the price at the time—I never got an order from anybody about the boxes except the prisoners—I saw the label was a
Welsbach label—I asked do questions about it—I thought it was all right—I got paid, and that was all right.
WILLIAM MACKEAN . I am a chemist employed by the Welsbach Company—I have been shown the mantles, wrappers, and boxes which have been seized in this case—none of the mantles are Welsbach—they are clever imitations.
JOHN CHASTELAIN . I live at 50, Cranberry Road, Fulham—I was engaged in February. 1904, as traveller by Mr. Hertz, of 20, Spital Square—on the door and windows was the name of the Front Incandescent Company—I stayed in that employment up to about March 18th—I saw Hertz two or. possibly, three times during that time—I travelled throughout London and the suburbs—I used to report on Saturdays and Sundays to 20, Spital Square—I reported once only to Mr. Hertz, afterwards to Weisberg and Strauss—Weisberg paid me—Strauss gave me instructions as to my country trips, and Weisberg also when Strauss was not there.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. I was engaged by Hertz, and I understood he was the principal at first—the terms of the engagement were arranged by him—Weisberg was not present when I was engaged; he was not employed there then, to the best of my knowledge—I never saw Weisberg and Hertz together—I looked to Weisberg for orders—a week or so before I left, he told me he had received a letter from Hertz, saying that my business was unsatisfactory, holding out that Hertz was the principal—I presume the instructions were given to me by Strauss and Weisberg because Hertz was away.
Cross-examined by Strauss. I have only known you as a traveller—you and Weisberg arranged what payment I was to get—you never paid me.
By the COURT. The prisoners arranged what I was to receive on their own initiative, I expect, without the knowledge of Mr. Hertz—they gave me money to go travelling.
By MR. ROOTH. I never said a word about this last matter before.
Re-examined. When I first went I regarded Hertz as my employer—I changed my views soon after, as I did not see Hertz, and I saw the prisoners on more than one occasion and received instructions from them—I travelled in incandescent gas goods—none of the mantles I sold were Welsbacb.
GEORGE WALTER HEXDKRSON . I live at 33, Chicago Road, Wandsworth—I travelled for the Front Incandescent Company—I was introduced by Mr. Chastelain to Weisberg—I discussed terms of employment with him; he engaged me—I was to travel in mantles—I used to call each Saturday to report—I always saw Weisberg—I know Strauss by sight—I have seen him there three or four times, and Hertz two or three times—I have never had business talks with either Strauss or Hertz.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. Weisberg never told me he was a servant—Chastelain did not tell me he had been engaged by Hertz—I complained during my engagement to Weisberg that I could not go
on longer without an allowance for expenses—he spoke to Hertz about it, and then Hertz told him he was to give me 5s. for expenses.
Cross-examined by Strauss. Weisberg told me you were a traveller.
CHARLES LOVELL . I am a carman to Carter, Paterson Co., and live at 6, Woodland Road, Stoke Newington—about May 31st I collected a case from 32, Daleview Road—this is the receipt I gave—there were some packages in the case, I do not know what—this is the lid of it, addressed "Max Strauss, Newcastle-on-Tyne"—I delivered a box once at 32, Daleview Road, addressed, I think, to Strauss.
Cross-examined by Strauss. I did not see you when the case was handed to me—it was handed by a man who seemed to have only one arm.
HENRY JOHN NICHOLS . I live at 44, Handland Street, Deptford, and am a carman to the London and North-Western Railway Company—I collected some wooden cases at 20, Spital Square on May 17th and other times, and signed this book, which was handed to me by a Miss Mendelson. a clerk there—I have received goods from the prisoners—on June 21st last I went to Broad Street Station, and there saw two cases which were part of the May 17th delivery—I presume they had come back from Leeds—I saw them opened—they contained parcels of mantles in little green and scarlet boxes—on May 24th I collected a similar case at 20, Spital Square—it was consigned to Manchester, but I do not remember the name—this book says it is addressed to Strauss's order at Manchester.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. I did not give evidence before the Magistrate.
Cross-examined by Strauss. The case should arrive at its destination the same day—I do not know whether the last case I have spoken to is still at Manchester—I have not seen it since sending it off.
WILLIAM HART (Sergeant, 246.) I am a warrant officer at Worship Street Police Court—under a warrant I seized a quantity of books and papers at 20, Spital Square—amongst them were two press copy letter books.
GEORGE LIEBIG . I am employed by the Welsbach Company—I am perfectly acquainted with the German language—I have looked through a number of letters in the letter books seized at Spital Square and else—where and also through the originals—there are among them letters passing between Strauss and Hertz and vice versa, and also letters, which will be proved to be in Weisberg's writing, both to Werthen Co., of Berlin, and Strauss on his travels—this is a letter from Werthen Co., of Berlin, of November 16th, 1903, to Strauss (Stating that the writers were establishing a branch in London, and would be willing to engage Strauss as seller for the London market.)—I find another letter from 20, Spital Square, of December 1st, 1903, to Max Strauss (Stating "we hereby engage you at a fixed salary of 30s. a week and 10s. towards expenses, together with 33 1/3 per cent, of the net profits.")—that is signed "For the Front Incandescent Company.—P. Hertz, Manager"—the next one is from Strauss to Hertz, of January 20th, 1904 (Asking him if he could find a traveller.)—the next
is January 23rd, from Strauss to Hertz in London, which has in it this passage, "With regard to my idea re making £300, next week verbally"—the next is from Strauss, Newcastle-on-Tyne, to Hertz, of February 19th, 1904, and has in it this passage: "I hope you will arrange everything in Berlin so that we shall soon be in order, because we have the customers, but have not the goods"—the next is February 24th. 1904, from Werthen. Berlin, to the Front Company, signed "Hertz," and has this passage: "We wish for the future, that both of you should write hand in hand, and not conduct separate correspondence"—there is one of April 21st from Werthen Co., Berlin, to the Front Incandescent Company in London (Stating "I hare already sent the 'W' dozen boxes for the 706"—another on April 23rd to J. Werthen Co. (Slating" at the. same time we will look after the gel up of the 706 mantles")—that will be proved to be in Weiscberg's writing—there is a pencil note, undated, by Strauss to Hertz, which says, "I have until now worked hard in taking Tog to Holbech," which is near Leeds.
Cross-examined by MR. ROOTH. A large proportion of these letters are from Werthen Co., in Berlin, to the Front Incandescent Company—there are several to Strauss as well—the passage in the letter of April 23rd would not be translated, "We will look after the getting the order ready for the 706 mantles"—it refers to the outside, the adornment, that is the get up.
Cross-examined by Strauss. All the letters seized at 32, Daleview Road have, I am told, been handed to me—the letters I have referred to are the only ones that bear on the matter—there is no letter that I remember that says that you were a paid traveller; you were travelling for the company.
SIMON SOBEL (Re-examined by the COURT.) I was first spoken to as to lithographing these labels about six weeks ago, I think—I cannot say when I printed the outside of the boxes, but it was some time late in May—I keep no books—Hertz was injured in one arm.
By MR. BODKIN. Apart from that, he was a perfectly active man.
FREDERICK POPHAM (Re-examined by Strauss.) At the time of your arrest I found two pawn tickets on you—"Charles Strauss. 93, Worship Street."May 14th, 1904, is on one and "Joseph Strauss, 93, Worship Street,"May Kith. 1904, on the other—one is for a pair of earrings. 2s. 6d., and the other for a signet ring, 4s. id.
Weisberg in his defence on oath, said that he came to England last Christmas that he was engaged by Hertz at first on approbation, and afterwards at 22s. a week; that his duties at first were to write and read the German correspondence and act as cashier, and afterwards to sell incandescent mantles, burners, etc.: that most of the letters produced in the. case were dictated by Hertz, but that when Hertz was away he used to write reports that he never acted as master; that he did not engage Chastelain or Henderson; that he
had (he cards 'printed by Frischlander on behalf of Hertz, who told him to get labels printed; that he did not know there was anything wrong in it: that Hertz gave him the money, and that he assisted at Daleview Road to put the labels on not knowing that there was anything wrong.
Evidence for Weisberg.
ISIDORE ZKIDNER .1 live at 283, Camberwell Road—I know Weisberg—I introduced him to a friend, who introduced him to Hertz—I knew Hertz as a tradesman in and manufacturer of incandescent things—I have not seen Hertz and Weisbcrg together at Spital Square.
Cross-examined. Weisbcrg told me he wanted to invest £100 or £200. I do not quite remember—I am quite sure he has not invested any money with Hertz, because he was engaged at first without money.
Cross-examined by Strauss. I knew you as a traveller for Hertz.
Strauss, in his defence on oath, said that he had been in England for five years; that Hertz stated he was going to open a branch in London, and—would engage him as seller; that Hertz, when he arrived in England, found him 'arrested for debt; that he obtained his release, and started to work for Hertz at 30s., weekly; that, he travelled for him; that he knew that. Hertz was making imitation Welsbach mantles, but that he (Strauss) refused to have anything to do with them; that, he never labelled (hem, touched one, sold one, nor had one in his possession; that if Hertz sent cases to him he refused to take them; that he never had the labels imitated that he had no idea of the cases being sent from London to Leeds and Manchester; that "706" was the number of a Ramie mantle; and. that he did not get the boxes printed.
Evidence for Strauss
Cross-examined. Hertz was often at the office—he used to be abroad for long intervals—when he was at the office he was there; that is what I mean—when he was absent Weisberg looked after the business, not Strauss, who was nearly always travelling—when Strauss was in London and anybody called. Hertz being away, he would see him.
Re-examined. When any letters came while Hertz was not at the office they were sent to him—I did not give Strauss the letters.
GUILTY . One summary conviction proved against STRAUSS— Nine months hard labour; WEISEBERG— Four months' hard labour
FOURTH COURT.—Wednesday, June 22nd, 1904.
Before J. A. Rentoul, Esq., K.C.
(513.) SAMUEL WINFIELD (53) , to indecently assaulting William Thomas Pitt. Five previous convictions were proved against him. Eighteen months' hard, labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MR. MACMAHAN Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. FORDHAM Prosecuted; MR. WATT Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Thursday and Friday, June 23rd and 24th, 1904.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MR. MUIR and MR. LEYCESTER Prosecuted; MR. HUTTON.and MR. JENKINS Defended.
ROBERT LOUDON . I am master of the ss. "Waiwera," a British ship trading between London and New Zealand—on her last voyage to New Zealand, the prisoner was an able bodied seaman on board her—the deceased was a deck boy on the ship; it was his first voyage—he was about seventeen years of age—I joined the ship at Wellington. New Zealand, on April 12th—the prisoner came on board the next day—my predecessor had to stay in New Zealand to give evidence at a trial not connected with this case—we started on April 13th—I noticed nothing as to the behaviour between the prisoner and the deceased—the number of the crew all told was seventy-eight—on May 18th I was sitting in the smoking room, which is above the upper deck, and about seven feet above the ordinary deck—we were about 2 degrees south of the Equator, and coming round the Cape of Good Hope—between 850 and 8.55 I heard a man's voice cry for help on deck—I immediately went to the place where the cry came from, which was on the sheltered deck, a few feet abaft the deck the smoking room was on—I saw Quartermaster Fisher holding the prisoner down—I asked what was the matter, and Fisher said, "This man has knocked a boy down with a belaying pin, or something"—it was a moonlight night, but there were a few clouds passing over the moon, and it was dark; I could not see much—close to that spot there was an electric light—T asked where the boy was, and Fisher said, "Lying on the deck there"—I turned and saw him lying about ten or twelve feet from the prisoner, on his back, with his arms and legs extended—he was not moving at all—I went up and put my hand under his head and found him bleeding, and with blood on his face—I said, "He has killed the boy." and I called for the doctor—the prisoner said, "You do not want a doctor; the boy is dead enough; I have knocked his brains out," and then he
was quiet—the doctor came immediately and examined the boy—I left him and went across the deck, and got a case of instruments and a cup of hot water, and came back to the doctor—I left the boy in his charge, and went to get the prisoner put into irons—he was put in No. 4 hatch—I was in the hatch with him, and he said, "You will find a letter in my pocket explaining all this"—I put my hand into his trousers pocket and found this letter in an envelope (Produced), addressed to Gumbril, a seaman who is one of the crew—it was only sealed up a little bit; it looked to me as if the letter had been put into an old envelope—(Read): "My last declaration in this world, as I am about to take the life of Dennis Lowthian to-night. I think it right I should give some reason for it. Well, I will start by saying that I have been better to him since the ship left London than hundreds of thousands of fathers are to their children, from the day the ship left London till now. I have washed all his clothes and mended them, and darned his socks, got his boots mended twice. I have on Saturdays taken every stitch of clothes off him and washed them; that is, coat and vest, pants, shirt, drawers, and singlet, socks and cap, besides washing two or three other times in the week for him. I have waited on him as if I was his paid servant: he would shout for me when he was in his bed at night to fetch him a drink of water; and, before going to sleep, ask me to tuck him in every night, saying at the same time that nobody could tuck him in like I and his father could, not even his mother. I gave him more than a sovereign's worth of tobacco, as the steward's book will prove, as all the soft tobacco I had was for him, as well as cigarettes. I washed clothes for the cook on the passage out, so as to get food for him, as some of the men in the ship can prove. In fact, I could not eat anything any good without he had half of it. Now, the reason why I, a complete stranger to him, done all this, when we left London he followed me about the ship wherever I went, always telling me that he liked me more than anyone else in the ship, and if I would talk to him and be nice to him, he would write and tell his father from St. Helena that he had a good friend to speak to. Then he brought me his father's first letter to him since he left home, and read it to me by the moonlight, while I was on the look out. His father asked him in that letter to be honest, truthful and straightforward, one of either virtues I said at the time he had not got. However, when the letter was finished I said to him I will try and be as good to you as your father could be if he was at sea with us. Well. I started, and, my God! what poison I had to encounter in that boy! I have found him to be one of the lowest specimens of humanity I ever met, the most audacious liar I have ever met; while he would look at you in the face with a pure, innocent, truthful face on the viper himself. He was also a thorough, accomplished thief. He has stolen the cargo, or some of it, on five different occasions; while we, the able seamen, were getting blamed for it. He has stolen money off a counter in Lyttelton in front of me, and when I have gone into a ginger beer shop outside Auckland he has stolen the fruit in the shop while I got served with my drink. He has also told me that he has broken the church clock at home while his father used to talk to him about the blackguard.
that done it, and he had seen one pound reward in the paper, before he left home, for the culprit. I think I have said enough to prove that he is a liar. I remained up all my watch below this forenoon to wash his two blankets and rug. He went to-night and danced on them on the dirty deck, in front of me, to vex me. He called me all the bastards and cowards he could think of and said that I did not have the guts to doany harm to him or myself. I have begged and prayed of him over and over again to leave me alone and let me get home in peace. I have even told him that something awful would happen if he did not. Well, he took no notice of me, only continually threatening me that he would go up to the captain and tell him some lies about me. The captain, he said, would believe anything he told him, and believe nothing from me. I have reason to believe that that was true. That is now the sole cause of me going to commit this terrible deed, for if I thought that I would get fair play from the captain I would never do this. I hurted myself internally and badly that way, that sometimes I could hardly breathe, and now catches me very often just below the breast bone in the region of the liver, through some sudden start coming out of the galley with a bucket of water in one hand; however, the captain said I was shamming, that means loafing, and he was backed up by a half simple thing that calls himself a doctor, who is working his passage home to England as ship doctor; he put me in a small house and locked me up there, and brought me two hard biscuits and water for the night. There was no light in the room, but there was a place to ship an electric lamp, but there was none there. I asked the doctor for a light, and he banged the door behind him, saying at the same time, 'You won't have a light Then, although I knew that I could not work properly I told the mate I would turn to, and he said, 'That is what we want you to do.' The captain then sent for me and told me that if I was not careful I would find myself in a hole when I got to London. I think this will show what sort of fair play I would get from the captain should I go before him. Now, this same Dennis Lowthian accused me of being in his bunk one night at 3 p.m., and another night of putting * * *, and has often lately accused me of * * myself in front of him. Now, as I expect to go before my God. that is all false. When he has been on good terms with me lately he told me that he was told to say these things by certain people in the ship, and although he know they were wrong, he said it for those people. He got me seven days in gaol at the Bluff. Well, there, he done everything to me that the Devil himself could plan out for him, for which he will die to-night. I have not much sympathy with his father and mother for rearing such a dog, but I will say, 'May God help them.' I hope this will be a warning to other boys not to try and blackmail anybody. When I kill him directly I shall think that I have killed one of the worst snakes this world has ever seen as I see. Good bye to this foul, dirty, wicked world.—JOHN SULLIVAN. I shall cut his head off and take it overboard with me"—by this time the boy was dead, and the next day there was a post mortem examination—this is a log of the ship (Produced)—on March 29th it contains this entry, made and signed
by Captain Prosser, my predecessor (This stated that the prisoner, under the influence of drink, created a disturbance and threatened another deck boy with a knife; that he was locked up and handcuffed; that he smashed a panel of a door, and was to be dealt with by a Magistrate.)—on March 30th it says, "J. Sullivan, A.B., charged £1 for smashing panel of door and fittings." "J. Sullivan, A.B., given in charge of police, fined 10s. or seven days. Left in gaol"—on April 6th, "J. Sullivan rejoined ship, absent from ship seven days"—on May 19th the boy was buried at sea.
Cross-examined. The prisoner did say, "I have knocked his brains out, what ought to have been done to him long ago; he has nearly driven me mad"—I was on the ship with him from April 12th—it was only whilst on deck and doing his duty that I should see him—I had very little conversation with him—about a fortnight after starting he complained to the doctor of illness—I do not know if he complained to the other men—I had no reason to complain of the way he did his work.
DAVID FISHER . I was quartermaster of the "Waiwera" on her voyage from London to New Zealand and back—we left London on January 6th, and the deceased, with two or three other deck boys, sailed with us—they had a berth to themselves, shut off from the rest of the forecastle—I noticed that the prisoner and the deceased seemed to be very friendly on the way out, and later on that they quarrelled frequently—when we reached New Zealand the deceased prosecuted the prisoner for assault, and he got seven days—on the* return journey they quarrelled more frequently—at 9 p.m. on May 18th I was talking to the deceased close by the bridge deck on the port side of the cargo hatch—I was making a cricket ball at the time, and the deceased was standing slightly behind me on my right—I suddenly heard a dull thud just behind me, and at the same instant I saw a shadow on the deck—I turned round and saw the prisoner striking at the deceased with something in his hand from 18 inches to 2 feet long—I could not see what it was—I saw what must have been the second blow struck on the right side of the deceased's head—I went for the prisoner, got the upper hand of him, and called for help—I held him standing up—I should not hear the prisoner walking on the deck, as he had bare feet, being in the Tropics—the captain came down from the lower bridge and asked me what was the matter—I said, "There is a boy been laid out with a belaying pin," as I thought the instrument was—the captain attended to the boy and called for the doctor while I held the prisoner—someone in the crowd, which had got round,. said, "Is he hurt?"—the prisoner said, "Yes, he is dead, the little bastard, and if I could get at him now I would cut him to pieces; he has driven me mad"—he then started singing an Irish song—the chief officer came and handcuffed him—the prisoner said, "You, you big bastard you, the chief officer of a ship; I will give you a kick in the guts"—we took him to No. hatch, and while the hatches were being taken off he went into a swoon for about a minute—we took him below and secured him—on searching him I found a razor in his right hand trousers pocket—I have not seen the letter which the prisoner wrote—on May 20th, two days after, I said to him that I had heard he had done it with an axe, and
I asked him why he had it in his possession—he said that the deceased had threatened to bring the firemen round him, and that they would kill him or throw him overboard, and that he would lay one of them out anyhow, and so he had pot the axe and hid it, but I do not remember him saving where—he said that after he had hidden the axe he had got frightened, and then hid it outside the galley, which is abaft the lower bridge, and about 40 or 50 feet from where the blow was struck—the axe was underneath the steam case, and he would have access to it walking about the deck—he said that he passed the boy and myself two or three times; that once he stopped behind us for two or three seconds, and the boy took no notice of him: that he then went forward and watched us from outside the firemen's forecastle; that he then got the axe, and added, "You know the rest"—he always seemed to be very jealous if he saw the deceased talking to anybody else—I had been talking to the deceased for about forty minuses before this occurred—I was on duty, but he was not.
Cross-examined. I had heard that the firemen were going to thrash the prisoner for what had taken place between him and the boy—I noticed nothing seriously wrong between them; it was an ordinary friendship—the prisoner was under a delusion when he said that the firemen had threatened through the boy to attack him and throw him overboard—I should only see him occasionally on duty on deck, I should see nothing of him down below—there are about twenty firemen—his singing an Irish song within a minute after he had struck the boy struck me as very peculiar.
DONALD JOHNSTON McGERA , M.D. I was doctor on board the "Waiwera" on her voyage home from Wellington—on the evening of May 18th my attention was called to the spot where the boy was lying on the deck—he lived for about a minute and a half—the next day I made a post mortem examination and found two wounds on his head, one being '2 1/2 inches and the other about 2 inches long—the one on the side of his face was half an inch deep, and the other I did not measure, as it would have injured the brain if I had attempted to do so; it went into the skull cavity and penetrated through the bone into the brain, and was the one that caused death—this tomahawk (Produced), or one like it, is just such an instrument as would have caused the injuries—I noticed a scar on the ball of the deceased's left hand, which appeared to be about three or four months old.
Cross-examined. About two weeks before this occurred the prisoner was in the hospital from about 11 a.m. to 5 p.m.—he complained of severe pains in the region of the stomach, which he said incapacitated him, and came upon him in attacks—he did not complain of singing or pains in he head, nor did he say that he ever fainted with them at all.
ROBERT GUMBRIL . I was an able seaman on board the "Waiwera," and sailed from London on January 6th in her to New Zealand and back—the prisoner was an A.B., and the deceased a deck boy on his first voyage—I noticed that the prisoner was frequently in the deceased's company, and was very friendly with him, doing his washing, and teaching him splices and knots, and so on—we weat round the Cape of Good Hope, and
after we left St. Helena they used to quarrel—I remember the day before the boy's death I was in my bunk about 7 p.m., and the deceased was in his room close by, when the prisoner put his head in and said, "B-e-w-a-r-e" to the boy—the boy said, "Beware be What have I got to beware of 1"—the prisoner said, "You will see," and walked away—on May 18th, just after eight bells, which is 8 p.m., I was on the look out, which is a duty performed by one man alone at a time right forward on the forecastle head—the prisoner came forward and said to me, "I have a good mind to knock the boy's brains out"—I told him to give the boy a good hiding, by all means, but to do nothing he would be sorry for—I told him to do that because I saw the boy was aggravating him very much—about 9 p.m. the same night, he came and asked me how many bells had gone, and I replied, "One"—he then said, "Is that all?"and walked aft—this is what is called a tomahawk, two of which are in each boat on a ship—a fortnight before the boy's death the prisoner and I had to do something to a boat on the port side; the prisoner picked up the tomahawk and said, "It would be a good thing to do away with anybody with, or to chop wood to take home to the Missus"—after the boy's death the prisoner was put in custody away from his bunk—I examined the bunk,—and there was no tomahawk there.
Cross-examined. On the homeward bound voyage the prisoner was very melancholy occasionally, which I noticed increased the more I saw him—I cannot say I noticed it every day, but he appeared to suffer from fits of depression after the boy said anything to him—when he said the tomahawk was "A good thing to do away with anybody with", I thought it was a joke; and as to "Or chop wood to take home, to the Missus," I thought that was quite a natural thing to say—I do not know whether he was suffering from depression on the day he spelt out the word "beware" to the boy, I was sick in my bunk at the time, nor that he was suffering from a fit of depression on the day of the boy's death; was not with him on that day—I was always on very-friendly terms with him.
WILLIAM HENRY NEWTON . I joined the "Waiwera" as an able seaman at Auckland—on' the homeward voyage I noticed that the prisoner and the deceased used to quarrel, and then be intimate friends again—I saw the prisoner in the deceased's cabin two or three times, and I told him to keep away from the deceased, or he would only get himself into trouble—the deceased called the prisoner names at times, and at other times behaved well—in March, before we started home, the deceased came to the forecastle door and said to the prisoner, "You shall not commit with me"—the other seamen were nearly all ashore at the time—the prisoner said, "Go away, you little bastard"—on the 16th, two days before the deceased's death, I went to the prisoner's bunk to. get some tools I had lent him, and I found a boat's hatchet underneath his mattress—I left it there—after the deceased's death, while the prisoner was in custody, I went to his bunk again, but no hatchet was there then—about two or three days after the deceased's death, while keeping guard over the prisoner, he said that he had had a hatchet, and had hidden
it in the galley; that he had walked past Fisher-twice; that on the third time he could not resist the temptation, and had killed the boy with the hatchet, and that he did not know what he had done with the hatchet afterwards.
Cross-examined. I told him that they were burying the boy, and he said, "Do not you believe it. Newton; they are not burying him"—that seemed to me to be peculiar—I saw a good deal of him during the voyage—he did not seem to me to suffer from depression and melancholy—he said that he was bad, but he did not appear to me to be so—I did not hear him complain to the doctor of pains in his stomach—we were not intimate friends on board—I did not. see as much of him as Fisher or Gumbril did.
By the COURT. I was sometimes in the same cabin with him, and I noticed nothing unusual about him.
MAURICE SYMONDS . I was the assistant cook on the "Waiwera"—on March 28th, at 11 p.m., the deceased came into my cabin and told me something about the prisoner—I told him to get into the bed under my bed—about ten minutes later the prisoner came into the cabin, and I asked him what he wanted, and he told me to go and myself"—I turned up the electric light, and he saw the boy in the berth underneath me, and he leaned over and shook him—the boy, who seemed very frightened, started dressing himself, when the prisoner gave him a blow on the mouth, drawing blood, and another one on the jaw—he then banged his head up against the forecastle, and said that he had a good mind to kill the boy in my presence—they then left the cabin together—two or three minutes afterwards the deceased returned to me and showed me a wound in the thick part of his left hand, which had been done with a knife or some other sharp instrument—at the Bluff Police Court the deceased prosecuted the prisoner for striking him on the face and banging his head—the prisoner was sentenced to seven days.
Cross-examined. I remember the deceased saying to the Magistrate on that occasion that the prisoner had been very good to him—the reason the prisoner gave for the assault was that the deceased had spoken in favour of the chief steward, whom he, the prisoner, had an animosity against—I saw the prisoner every day—I did not notice that he used to be depressed, or that he suffered any internal pain.
By the JURY. I did not protect the boy on the occasion of the assault, because one minute they seemed to be great friends and the next they would be quarrelling, so I thought I would not interfere.
ALFRED JAMES PITT . I was an able seaman on board the "Waiwera"—after the deceased's death I was in charge of the prisoner with Newton—when we brought him out of the hold he made for the hospital and looked in, and could hardly believe that the boy was dead, saying, "Georgie is in here"—we told him he was overboard—he said no more, but sat on No. 5 hatch—he then said something about, not intending to kill the boy that night until he had seen Fisher speaking to him, and he thought the boy was telling the quartermaster something about him.
Cross-examined. I have been with the prisoner on the voyage—on
one occasion, going out, he complained of pains in his stomach—I do not remember hearing him say he had pains that used to be like the stabbing of a knife—I do not know that he was in hospital—we were very friendly together—after he had been some time on the ship he seemed melancholy at times—on the morning of the boy's death the prisoner relieved me after doing some painting, and he seemed to be suffering from a bit of depression—he told me to tell the boy to keep out of the forecastle, and to tell all the others too, and I told the boy when I went forward—I said to the prisoner, "Well, Jack, you have got a quiet job here all to yourself," and he said, "I want a quiet job to myself"—it was then that he told me about the boy—between 6 and 8 p.m. that same day, an hour or two before the boy's death, he seemed very depressed—I do not remember saying before the Magistrate that he was excited; he was very melancholy and agitated—it was correct, as I told the Magistrate, that he was in a strange way and nearly off his head, and that he seemed stranger then than he had ever been before—five minutes after the deceased was buried I went down to relieve the man keeping guard, and told the prisoner of it, when he burst out crying.
THOMAS WRIGHT . I was boatswain on the "Waiwera," and had charge of the hatchets in the boats—on the night of the deceased's death I searched in No. 4 boat and found that two hatchets, which were in the boat three or four days before we-left New Zealand, were missing, and they have never since been found.
Cross-examined. A week or so before the boy's death the prisoner sent for me and told me that the boy was nearly driving him mad—he was very excited, and seemed to be in trouble.
WILLIAM REED (Inspector, Thames Police.) On June 2nd I took the prisoner into custody on board the "Waiwera"—I told him that he would be charged with the murder of Dennis Lowthian on May 18th on board the ship, and he said, "I am sorry I done it. It is sad for his parents"—I took him to Wapping Police Station, where he was formally charged—he made no reply.
Cross-examined. I have made inquiries about him, and find that he was invalided out of the Royal Navy on March 10th, 1896, on a pension of 9s. 2d. per week for life, after some years' service—the reasons given for his being invalided were "Defective teeth, functional heart disease, and recent melancholia"—I have not heard that he had a bad blow on his head—since he has left the Navy he has been in a great number of ships in the Mercantile Marine, and his character is good.
Re-examined. I got my information from a report from the Admiralty, which says: "This man embarked at Halifax, 29th February, 1896; suffering" from functional heart disease, and under observation for melancholia. At the outset he was depressed and out of sorts, and it was thought advisable to keep him under watch. He rapidly improved, however, the depression wearing off entirely, and he is now quite cheerful. He has shown no tendency whatever to injure himself or others, and he has been quiet, well conducted, and clean in his habits. His general health has improved, notwithstanding his loss of teeth, which interfere? considerably
with his digestion. He does not sleep very well, and his heart's action is still weak and irregular."
DONALD JOHNSTON MCGERA (Re-examined by MR. HUTTON.) During the five weeks while I was on board with the prisoner I did not notice, whether he was depressed or not—I should not notice him particularly apart from the rest of the crew.
Re-examined. He went about his duties and obeyed orders like any other member of the crew.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I am not guilty of wilful murder, as it is put. I wish to call one or two witnesses, the same as the Prosecution have called."
GUILTY. Recommended to mercy by two Jurymen on account of provocation DEATH .
517. GERALD SORTON ASHBY DARBY (37) PLEADED GUILTY to feloniously forging and uttering three deeds purporting to be indentures of mortgage with intent to defraud; also to fraudulently obtaining from Minnie Lester a cheque for £50, and from Samuel Booth Coombes a cheque for £200, by means of false pretences; also to unlawfully, and with intent to defraud, mutilating certain documents relating to his affairs whilst an undischarged bankrupt.
He received a good character. Five years' penal servitude.
ISAAC BROMBERG . I am a dealer in jewellery, of 6, Turner Street. Commercial Road—on Tuesday, April 26th, between 10 and 11 a.m., the prisoner called on me and told me he had got a customer for a good single stone diamond ring—I showed him a single stone ring, saying that the price was £41—he said that would do, and then asked me for a pair of diamond earrings—I told him I had not any in stock just then, but asked him to meet me at Layman's Sale Rooms the same day—he took away the diamond ring—at 12 a.m. I met him at the sale rooms and gave him the earrings, priced £30—he took them and said he would let me know in two or three hours—I did not see him until he called on me the next day between 7 and 8 p.m., and told me that he had left the two articles with the customer, and would let me know on Thursday afternoon, the 28th, without fail—on the 28th, in consequence of what my wife told me, I went to the prisoner between 3 and 3.30 p.m., and asked him what he had done with my two articles—he said he was very sorry, but that he had been robbed in the night time—I said, "How is it possible that you could be robbed when you said you had left them with a customer? How could you be robbed of my goods?"—he said, "If you do not believe it, you can do what you like"—I then went away, and I have not seen my jewellery since.
Cross-examined. When I said on the last occasion, "He dealt with
me for fourteen years, and evey-thing was all right,"I meant that he did not deal with me all the time, but off and on, and when I said he had had hundreds of pounds worth of jewellery from me I meant small amounts at a time—up to this I have never lost any money through him—I see on my depositions that I said that the prisoner said he would let me know after gave him the earrings whether his customer would take them by Wednesday afternoon, the day after, but I recollect now he said he would let me know in two or three hours—I have no receipt from him for the jewellery—he has never denied having had it, or the price I put upon it—this is the same book that I produced at the last trial, where I entered these transactions with the prisoner in pencil—I had not entered any transactions with him before in a book—he had this jewellery on sale or return—it is true that a man named Rubenstein was in the shop when the prisoner called first, and handed him a pair of diamond earrings, asking the prisoner if he could sell them—I may have had a gipsy ring worth £64, but I never showed it to the prisoner—Rubenstein called me to the Chief Rabbi, as he said I should be the loser of the diamond earrings that he had given the prisoner—I know a man named Marino, but I never sent him to the prisoner to ask him to pay for my goods; I wanted them back—Rubenstein and I did not have an interview with the prisoner, when he said he was prepared to settle all the jeweller's claims—he never offered to pay £120 amongst us, which he would borrow from Vanleef and ay the balance by instalments—Rubenstein, myself, and the other jewellers never went to his house to ask him what he was prepared to pay in settlement—on the Thursday afternoon, when I went home, he said, "If you will have patience I will borrow the money and pay you for your goods"—Marino and the prisoner came and saw me in my parlour, and wanted to give me one article back, but I said I wanted the two articles—there were no other jewellers waiting down below at the time—he did not say on that occasion that he was going to borrow money from Vanleef to pay us—I do not know Vanleef—the prisoner can best say what has become of the jewellery—I would rather have it back than the money, because there is a very small profit on goods out on probation.
Re-examined. When the prisoner took the diamond ring he said he would let me know if he had sold it in a couple of hours.
SARAH BROMBERG . I am the wife of Isaac Bromberg—I was not present when the goods were handed to the prisoner—about 7 p.m. on April 27th the prisoner came and saw my husband, and I heard him say, "I have left your goods with my customer, Mr. Bromberg. and will let you know to-morrow afternoon"—my husband said, "Very well"—next day the prisoner came at 11 a.m. and asked to see my husband, and I told him he was out—he said, "Mrs. Bromberg, do you know I was robbed last night?"—I said, "What was you robbed of?"—he said, "Mr. Bromberg's goods and £73 worth of my own"—I said, "How was that?" and he said, "I went to the Cambridge with my wife. When I came home I found all the place open. Everything was gone"—I said, "How is it you left the goods in the house? You always told us that you carry it with you when you are out"—he said, "I left it in the house that
evening in the safe"—I said. '"What time did you come home from the Cambridge I—he said, "Twelve o'clock"—I said, "You were robbed at twelve o'clock last night. You only live three minutes' walk from our house; why did not you let Mr. Bromberg know before this?"—he said, "I am too excited; I cannot speak to you"—he did not look excited—I said, "You had better go to the sale room and tell Mr. Bromberg of this"—he said, "Very well," and he went away.
Cross-examined. He did not tell me that he had been to the police station at eight o'clock, and had had interviews with two policemen, and had been round all over the place telling everybody.
LEWIS CONVISSER . I am a jeweller at 22, Brick Lane, E.C.—I know the prisoner—he came to my shop on Tuesday, April 26th, about 2 p.m., and asked me if I had a diamond ring to sell for £15 or £20, as he had a ady customer—I said I had one for £17, and he said, "That will do"—he then asked me if I had a lover's knot ring, but I had not—he said, "You give me the ring till to-morrow, and to-morrow I will bring you the ring or the money back"—I let him have the ring—I made an entry in a book—he did not come the next day, but about 7 p.m. I went to him with a Mr. Shubinsky—I saw the prisoner and said, "What about my ring?"—he said, "I left your ring with a customer, and the customer will let me know to-morrow afternoon; I will then let you know"—Shubinsky asked him about his rings, and the prisoner said he had also left them with a customer, who would let him know on Thursday afternoon—on Thursday, the 28th, in consequence of something I heard, I went to the prisoner's house about 3 p.m.—I asked him,"What about my ring?"—he said, "I was robbed early this morning"—I said, "Well, if you were robbed my ring is not lost, as you left it with a customer, and the customer is to let you know an answer this afternoon"—he said, '"Take it as you like, and do what you like"—I then asked how he was robbed—he said, "Last night, before I went to bed, I put all the goods under my pillow, and when I got up in the morning I found it was all gone"—I then left, and subsequently communicated with the police.
Cross-examined. I gave evidence at the last trial—I was called into Court while Mrs. Levy was giving her evidence—Mr. Silver also came into Court; he is very like me—Mrs. Levy said it was not I who came to the house, but Silver—I did shout out that she was a liar, for which I am sorry—I went on April 29th to the police court to prosecute the prisoner—I heard about the Carniver charge, but what it was about I do not know—I have known the prisoner about five years as a dealer in jewellery—there is a lot of dealing among the Jews in London in jewellery—I do not know a man named Atlas; I have heard his name—I am quite sure the prisoner said, "I put all the goods under my pillow," and not "the keys"—he was not. excited or worried—I was not worried about the £17 ring, but about the untruth that he had been robbed of my ring when he told me the customer had it.
Re-examined. I gave information to the police on the 28th—on the 29th the matter came before the Magistrate—I had a 30s. ring transaction
once before with the prisoner—Mrs. Levy said in her evidence I did not go to the house on the Thursday, but I did go.
MAX SHUBINSKY . I am a dealer in jewellery at 14, Fourth Avenue, Manor Park—on Tuesday, April 26th, I saw the prisoner at 11, Fieldgate Street, Whitechapel, between 10 and 11—he said to me, "Have you got a gipsy three stone ring, £30 to £40"—I said, "Yes, I bought one the day before, Monday, at Johnson and Diamonds', which was a sale room, but I have not yet cleared it"—I told him I had given £36 for it—I cleared it, and went back to Fieldgate Street and saw the prisoner—he said he had got an African man waiting, and he wanted to show the ring to him—I hesitated to give it him—he said, "Why are you frightened to give it to me?"—I said, "I can do with it myself"—I thought I could sell it—he said if I gave him the ring he would come back with the answer in about an hour—he then said, "Have you got a double half hoop diamond ring?"—I said "Yes," and produced it, and said I wanted £14 for it—lie took both away—next day I went to his place about 6 p.m.—I said, "Where are my rings?"—he said, "I have left them with a customer"—I said, "Why do you tell me that?"—he said, "It is all right; I will let you know Wednesday evening"—that was on Tuesday—I said, "Give me one ring back; one ring belongs to the pawnbroker; I took it on approbation"—he said, "I have got both of them with the customer"—on Wednesday, about 7 p.m., I went with Convisser to the prisoner's place—I said to him, "Where are my rings?"—he said, "The customer has got them still, and the customer will let me know Thursday afternoon"—I begged him to give me one ring back, as that belonged to the pawnbroker—he said, "I have got both of them with the customer, and will let you know Thursday afternoon"—I went away—next day I met him—he said, "I have got bad news for you"—I said, "What is it?"—he said, "I was robbed"—I said, "What do you mean? You were robbed with my goods?"—he said, "Yes"—I could not understand that, and said, "Who was robbed, you or the customer, where you left the rings?"—he repeated that he was robbed—I said, "If you left the rings with the customer, and the customer would let you know by Thursday afternoon, how could you be robbed of my things? Come, show me the customer where you left the rings"—he said, "No, I am not going to show you my customers"—I said, "I want my rings"—he said, "Do what you like; lock me up if you can; I have given information to the police that I have been robbed; you cannot do nothing to me"—I said, "How were you robbed?"—he said, "I put everything in the safe and went to the music hall, and when I came home everything was gone"—I was not satisfied with the explanation,—and went to the police station and reported the matter.
Cross-examined. I thought the prisoner was a respectable man; if not, I would not have given the jewellery to him—Carniver told me that the prisoner had stolen two rings from him, that he had run away with them—I said to the prisoner when I saw him, "I want my rings"—I may have said before the Magistrate, "I want the money or the goods," but it is the same thing.
and am a dealer in jewellery—on Tuesday. April 26th. about 11 a.m., the prisoner came to me and said he had got a customer for two rings—I gave him a five stone half hoop ring and a three stone diamond ring—I said I wanted £!* 10s. for one, and £8 10s. for the other—he looked at my case of jewels and saw a single stone ring there, and said he had a customer for that ring also—I said, "lean give it you, but I must have an answer to-morrow, as I cannot spare it longer"—the price was to be £24 10s.—he said, "I will come back on Wednesday with the articles or the money"—he then went away with my three rings—he came back on Wednesday about l.30, and said, "I am very sorry I cannot give you the articles; I left them with a customer somewhere in Greenfield Street, and the customer did not have time to wear the articles, and told me to call on Thursday, and he would let me know whether he would have the articles or the money, as he had not had time to value the articles, being busy"—on Thursday, about 9.30 or 9.40 a.m., he came to me and said, "I am robbed"—I said, "What do you mean, robbed?"—he said, "I went to the Cambridge Music Hall last night, and I left the keys of the safe somewhere in the house; I forgot to take them. When I came back I found he safe open and all the jewellery taken out"—I said, "Yes, you can say whatever you like; you said yesterday you left my articles with a customer in Greenfield Street, so I want to go to the customer in Greenfield Street; my articles arc there"—he replied, "Well, I don't know; you can do what you like; I won't give you the articles."
Cross-examined. I have known the prisoner for seven years, but I have not done any business with him before—I kept no approbation book, nor had any receipt from him, but I entered it in a book—I have not got it here; it is at home—I do not know a man named Atlas—I was at the police court, and heard Carniver say that the prisoner came to him on the Wednesday, that they went together to pawn some rings, and that while Carniver was in the shop the prisoner ran away with the rings—I signed the charge sheet on the 29th, that I swear.
SIMON BASCH (Interpreted.) I am a jeweller at 128, Whitechapcl Road—I have known the prisoner a year—he came to me on April 26th last, and wanted a pair of earrings and a ring for a customer in the West End—I handed him the earrings and the ring—he said he would give an answer to-monow—I asked £18 10s. for the ring and £11 10s. for the earrings—the next day I met him at Aldgate Railway Station about 9 p.m.—that was the first time I had seen him that day—I said, "Why did not you give me the goods back or the money!"—he said he had left the goods with a customer in the West End. and to-morrow morning he would know the answer—I next saw him on Thursday about 10 p.m., and he told me that he had been robbed—this conversation was at his house—I said, "How could you have been robbed when I saw you last evening at Aldgate Station, and you said you left the goods with a customer?"—he replied, "I was robbed; I have not got them."
Cross-examined. That is all he said—I said before, that the prisoner also said, "I will go to-morrow for the goods"—I had not seen the prisoner with a man named Atlas in Duke Street on the preceding Sunday.
Re-examined. I do not know Atlas.
LEWIS SILVER . I am a jeweller at 31, Osman Street, Whitechapel—I have known the prisoner about two years—on Monday, April 25th, he came to me and said he wanted a pair of diamond earrings—I showed him a pair and told him the price, £8 15s.—he said, "That is all right; they will do for my customer. Will you give me a three stone ring?"—I said, "I have a cheap one for £5 5s."—he said, "That will be all right for my customer"—I handed him the earrings and the ring, and he said he would give me an answer on Wednesday—he did not come on that day, so I went to his house between 7 and 8 p.m. and asked for my goods—he said he had left them in the West End with a customer, and tomorrow, Thursday, he would give me an answer—on the Thursday I went and told him I had come for my goods—he said, "I am robbed"—I said, "You can give me my goods back, because you told me last night you left them with a customer"—he replied, "I cannot do nothing for you; you can do what you like."
Cross-examined. I do not know if there was a crowd of people outside while I was there—I did not see a crowd.
Re-examined. There were the other nine prosecutors in this case there.
FELIX MCSWEENY (Inspector, H.) On April 28th, in consequence of a report, I went to the prisoner's house—he told me that his house had been entered by burglars—he took me into the back yard and showed me a back room window—I examined it—he said, "They must have got in this way"—the window was open—I found no marks of a forcible entry—I went into his bedroom, and he showed me a small iron safe—he said that at 8.45 p.m. on the 27th, the night before, he went to the Cambridge Music Hall, Commercial Street: that he had the money and jewellery then in his possession; that he got home about 12 p.m., placed the money and jewellery in the small safe in his bedroom; that he locked the safe and placed the keys under his pillow, and locked and bolted the bedroom door—he suggested that someone had got into the room, taken the keys from under his pillow, and the money and jewellery from the safe, and left—I examined the bedroom door, but found no marks of forcible entry—said to him, "It would be impossible for anybody to get into the room without breaking this lock from the outside"—he then said that somebody must have got under the bed, and while he was asleep stolen the money and jewellery.
Cross-examined. He said that he locked and bolted the door.
Re-examined. It was only my duty to examine the premises—I looked under the bed. and, in my opinion, nobody had been under the bed, because the dust would have been moved.
By MR. HALL. I cannot say whether there was a cupboard there.
JAMES RICHARDSON (Serqeanf, 16 H.) On April 28th, at 8.20, I was on duty at Arbour Square Police Station—the prisoner came in and said that during the night he had been robbed by burglars, that he had lost four bank notes, £50 in gold, some silver, and a quantity of jewellery—I asked him when he last saw it—he said, "I went to the 'Paragon' at 7.30 last
night and came home at 12 o'clock; I saw it safe and missed it at 7.30 a.m. on the 28th"—he suggested to me that someone was under his bed, and that they had taken the keys from under his pillow while he was asleep—I said I would send an inspector and detective round, and I telegraphed to the inspector.
Cross-examined. I am sure he said the "Paragon."
JOHN CABAN (Sergeant, If.) At 11 p.m. on Thursday, April 28th, I went to 17, Nelson Street, accompanied by a man named Carniver—I saw the prisoner and said to him, "Mr. Carniver wishes to give you into custody for stealing two diamond rings"—he replied. It is not true. I did not have the rings yesterday; on Tuesday I took two rings to sell for Mr. Carniver on credit: I was robbed; the rings were taken away"—I told him he would be charged—he replied, "All right"—I took him to the station—when charged he made no reply—the next day he was brought, before the Magistrate, and on that day I and Carniver were examined as witnesses—the prisoner was then remanded—on Tuesday, May 6th, the other charges were made against him—he said, "Why did not they say they gave them to me? I did not steal them"—I went to his premises and examined the window which was pointed out to me—I found no marks on it. or the bedroom door.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was the first person who reported to the police. The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said (hat he had carried on business in London as a jeweller for twenty-three years; that this was the first accusation ever brought against him; (hat he was not in any financial difficulty at the time; that he always paid his rent, rates, and tares; that his business was to get jewellery from other dealers and try and sell it; that he sometimes kept jewellery a week, a fortnight, or three weeks: that it would be useless taking it for (wo hours: that he sometimes had as much as £600 or £700 worth; that on April 25th. 26th. and 27th he had many customers wanting jewellery, as it was just before the Jewish holidays, that if was untrue that, he went with Carniver to a pawnbroker's; that he had never denied that he had the jewellery from the prosecutors; that a man named Atlas was a good deal in his company on the Monday and Tuesday: that he (Atlas) had often been to the prisoner's house; that what he had said with regard to the burglary was true; that he could not say who had stolen the goods: (hat he had offered to pay back part of the value of the things, which offer had not been accepted; that he had never said to Mrs. Bromberg that he had left the things at home while he went to the music hall; that it was safer to carry the jewellery about with him than leave it at home; that he could neither read for write.: and that he had dealt with these dealers entirely on trust all these years, and had never robbed anybody of a penny.
Evidence for the Defence.
MRS. LEVY. I am the prisoner's wife—we have been married nine years—we have lived all the time at 17, Nelson Street—my husband has never been in trouble before—he was not in any pecuniary difficulty, to my knowledge, at this time—on Wednesday, April 27th, between 5 and 6 p.m., he came home, and we had tea—we left home about 8.30 to go to
the Cambridge Music Hall—on our way we met Burnett Gerson—he went with us to the music hall—he came out with us about 12 p.m.—when my husband and I got home we went into the front kitchen to have supper—we then went to bed—he is in the habit of carrying his jewellery loose in his pockets—I saw him put the jewellery in the safe, as he always does—in the morning I was awakened by my little girl, 3 1/2 years old; she was standing at the bedroom door—I scolded her and said, "Why did you get out of bed? who opened the door?"—she said, "The door was open, mamma"—I raised myself up in bed and saw the door open, and then I glanced round and saw the safe door open—I awoke my husband—our bed was a large one, large enough for anybody to get under—my husband and I dressed ourselves and went down stairs—I saw our lodger, Mrs. Lipshitz—she said something to us—my husband went to the police station and then to the different dealers to tell them.
Cross-examined. My husband ordinarily carries his jewellery and money about with him—this sum in question was not a large amount of money; he has had much more jewellery than that in his possession—when we went to bed the bedroom door was fastened with a bolt and a hook and eye—he did not lock it with the key—the jewellery was placed In the safe with the money, and the keys placed under the pillow—that was the usual practice, but I do not say I saw it done on this occasion—nothing occurred in the night to disturb my rest—I saw nobody in the room—my husband did not tell anybody that the burglary happened while we were at the music hall: that is not true—my husband did not say he would borrow money to pay them back.
JOHN CHAPPELL JACKSON . I am a surveyor, and made the plan that has been put in—it is correct—I went to the prisoner's house on May 28th to see the room and examine the bed—I am quite sure that a man could hide under it—there was also a cupboard where a man could hide.
FANNY LIPSHITZ (Interpreted.) I reside at 47, Nelson Street, with my daughter, and rent two rooms from the prisoner—it is my habit to open the street door when I hear a knock—I was indoors all day on April 27th—I saw nobody on that day—on Thursday, April 28th, about 5.45 or 5.50 a.m., a baker knocked at my door and asked me who opened the street door—I went out and found it open—about seven the same morning I heard that a burglary had been committed.
ISRAEL BERLINER . I am a hairdresser, of 163, Cannon Street Road, E.—I have known the prisoner for about ten years—I have had small dealings with him—I have always found him honest and straightforward—on Tuesday, April 20th, he brought me a three stone gipsy ring and a three stone cross ring—he left them with me on approval—for the gipsy ring he asked £40, and the other £20—I ultimately decided not to purchase, and gave them to him back again on the Wednesday about 7 or 7.30.
Cross-examined. I had never had articles of this value from the prisoner
before—if it had suited me to buy them I had £60 with which to pay for them.
BARNETT GERSON . I am a tailor, of 32, Wagner Street, Commercial Road—I have known the prisoner about eight years—the night before this robbery I went to the Cambridge Music Hall, on the way meeting Mr. and Mrs. Levy, and I went in with them—I stayed with them till the end of the performance.
Cross-examined. It was about 8.50 or 8.45 when I met them.
Re-examined. We got to the music hall about nine.
HARRIS ELLOVITCH . I live at 83, Cleveland Street, Mile End Road, and am a wholesale mantle maker—I have known the prisoner about six or seven years—I have bought jewellery from him—on Saturday, April 23rd, I asked him if he had a three stone diamond ring—he said he had not, but would let me know during the next week—he came to me on Wednesday and brought two to choose from, but I was too busy then to attend to him, and told him to come again on the following Saturday.
Cross-examined. I did not give evidence on the last occasion; I had left the Court—I am married to the prisoner's wife's sister.
B. FRIEDMAN. I am a jeweller at 204, Commercial Road—I have known the prisoner for six or seven years, and have had many dealings with him—he has sold goods for me on sale or return—I have always found him honest and straightforward, and he has always returned the jewellery or the money—on Monday, April 25th, he brought me articles worth about £30—it varies as to how long a dealer keeps goods on sale or return.
JACOB FEINMESSER . I am a jeweller, of 45, Whitechapel Road—I have known the prisoner about fifteen years—I have done business with him all that time—he has sold goods for me on sale or return, and I always found him honest and straightforward—during the week in which the robbery took place the prisoner brought me a pair of earrings worth £18 10s.—the week before that he had returned me a pair of earrings worth £35.,
MOSES MARINO (Interpreted.) I am a jeweller at 54, Old Montague Street, Whitechapel, and have known the prisoner about thirteen years—I have entrusted him with valuable things, and found him honest and trustworthy—Bromberg and the other dealers in this case sent me to the prisoner to try and settle the matter—the prisoner offered £120, and they would not take it.
ALEXANDER DE LEEF . I am a partner in De Leef Brothers—on the last occasion my brother was called as a witness, and he was also bail for the prisoner—he is now in Amsterdam—I have known the prisoner for twelve years as a respectable and honest man—my firm have no interest in him—we have found the money for the defence—my brother offered to lend him £120 to try and pay for the jewellery lost—we have had to find more than £120 in this case already.
1897, to April, 1901, to the extent of £470—they were goods on sale or return.
MOSES CALO . I am a jeweller at 31, Kirby Street, Hatton Garden—I have known the prisoner for about eight or nine years—I have always found him honest and straightforward—I have seen jewellery in his possession worth £200—he is a man I trusted.
The prisoner was given a good character by other witnesses.
GUILTY . The police stated that they knew the prisoner as an associate of thieves. Eighteen months' hard labour.
NEW COURT.—Thursday, June 23rd, 1904.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. COHEN Prosecuted.
DANIEL TWOHEY . I am a commission agent, of 3, Presborough Street, Forest Gate—on June 4th, a few minutes after 1 a.m., having missed my usual train, I was in Whitechapel High Street, waiting for an electric car, at 1.30, when I was surrounded by four or five men—O'Brien struck me with his fist in the eye, knocked me to the ground, and made me dizzy—I was hustled about and kicked on the head—I became insensible—my eyebrow was cut open, I had two scalp wounds, my face was cut, and my cheek bone exposed—while on the ground I lost a silver watch, a curb chain, and a very heavy, valuable locket, to the value altogether of seven guineas—I believe O'Brien did it—I got up, picked up my umbrella, and saw him walking across the road about a minute afterwards—I attempted to follow, but a constable came up, I believe it was Turner—the prisoners were brought back by four constables after about ten minutes—I recognised O'Brien—the constable saw me point, and blew his whistle—at the station the men were charged—I was attended to by Dr. Jones, the divisional surgeon, and kept at the station about a quarter of an hour—I then went home in a cab—the doctor the next day treated me to lotions and powder—I was a fortnight in bed.
Cross-examined by McCarthy. I was robbed near Venables' place in the Commercial Road.
FREDERICK TURNER (280 H.) Early on June 4th I was in High Street;. Whitechapel, when something was said by the prosecutor, who pointed in the direction of the three prisoners and another man, whom I saw standing on the opposite side of the road—I walked towards them—they commenced walking, and then, all of a sudden, started running—I gave chase and blew my whistle—they turned down Mansell Street—at the corner of Mansell Street, O'Brien and Donovan turned and met me—I stopped them, and they both said, "What's the matter?"—I told them they would have to go back to. High Street, Whitechapel—they refused to go—I took O'Brien into custody—Donovan was taken by a constable who came from the
City, and P.C. 278 took McCarthy—they were all taken to the station together—I took them bark to Whitechapel—Donovan said, "That is a lie" when the charge was read over—the corner of Mansell Street is about 200 yards from where I was on duty—I had the whole four men in sight, while pursuing them, for about a minute.
Cross-examined by O'Brien. You were about fifty yards from the prosecutor when he spoke to me—I did not let you go; if I had you would have escaped; you were rather violent at the time—there was a crowd—the proecutor did not say, "I don't know anybody;" he pointed to you and said, "That is the man who took my watch and chain."
Re-examined. The prosecutor had been drinking, but was not drunk—the doctor who dressed his wounds considered he was suffering from the effects of the blow.
CHARLES CROW (026 City.) about 1 a.m. on June 4th I was in Aldgate High Street, near the City boundary, when I heard a police whistle—I ran into Mansell Street, where it sounded, about 200 yards off—I met O'Brien and Donovan walking out of Mansell Street towards the City—I stopped them—I asked what was the matter—Donovan said, "I don't know"—I said, "You had better stop a little and see"—another constable and I took them to where Twohey was, who pointed to O'Brien and said, "That is the man who struck me; he stole my watch and chain"—I asked him if he knew Donovan—he said he could not be quite sure of him—I took Donovan to the station—when charged he said, "That is a lie"—the prosecutor was not drunk—he had been drinking.
SAMUEL CARSON (378 H) About 1 a.m. on June 4th I was in Mansell Street, Whitechapel—I heard a police whistle in the direction of Aldgate—I was about 300 yards from Aldgate—I went in the direction of the sound and saw McCarthy running towards me from Mansell Street, followed by Wise—he turned into Somerset Street; I gave chase and caught him in Somerset Street—as soon as I laid my hand on him he said, "What's up? I know nothing about it; the man's drunk, and fell down"—that was before I said anything—I told him I did not know what it was about, but he would have to go back with me—he was nearly run down when I caught him, and not running so fast as when I first saw him—he had lost his breath.
Cross-examined by McCarthy. I knew you were wanted for something.
Re-examined. The prosecutor was more excited than anything else—I should not describe him as hopelessly drunk.
HENRY WISE (357H.) I was in High Street, Whitechapel, about 100 or 120 yards from Mansell Street, about 1 a.m. on June 4th, and secreted near Commercial Street on the opposite side to where I saw the prisoners leave a crowd with another man—they crossed the road and passed all—together where I was standing—I saw someone pointing towards me, and Turner running up the other side of the road—thinking something was wrong. I gave chase and blew my whistle—they turned into Mansell Street, except O'Brien and Donovan, who met us—I shouted, "That's two of them"—I saw two arrested—from the time I saw them I did not lose sight of the prisoners.
Cross-examined by McCarthy. The crowd was composed of twenty or thirty people.
Cross-examined by Donovan. I am sure you were one of them running—I ran past you to make sure of McCarthy, knowing another constable was behind me.
Re-examined. The prosecutor was not drunk—he was able to give an intelligible account of the occurrence.
The prisoners' statements before the Magistrate: McCarthy said:" Nothing except the prosecutor says he does not recognise me. The constable says I was walking." Donovan said: "The prosecutor says he does not recognise me". O'Brien said: "The constable says I was walking."
McCarthy, in his defence, said that as the robbery was said to be committed under the electric light in Aldgate, there must have been witnesses if it had taken place; that the prosecutor was "drunk to the world" and that a robbery was impossible in a place so well lighted and guarded.
Witness for McCarthy.
HENRY MACK (Police Inspector.) I took the charge—the prosecutor did not say to you, "I know you in Whitechapel all my life doing nothing but thieving"—I did not reprimand the prosecutor for improper and unseemly behaviour on two occasions—he gave a reasonable and intelligent account of the robbery—he was without a watch, chain, and locket, his waistcoat had been torn off him, and he had a large swelling on the side of his head—the doctor who attended his wounds said if he had a rest for ten minutes he would be all right, so I let him rest, and then sent him home in a cab.
Donovan, in his defence, said that he turned when he heard the police whistle, and was arrested, but that he was innocent, and there was no evidence against him.
O'Brien, in his defence, said that the prosecutor said he recognised him as hitting him from behind and then from the side, but as the prosecutor was unconscious from the "hit" for a few minutes he could not have recognised him; that the prosecutor was "drunk to the world" and could not recognise him; and that the doctor was not called to say how he came by his injuries.
DONOVAN** then PLEADED GUILTY to a conviction of felony at this Court in November, 1900, and McCARTHY** to a conviction of felonyat Clerkenwell in February, 1903. Seven years' penal servitude each. O'BRIEN**†— Five years' penal servitude.
MR. WHITE Prosecuted.
GUILTY on the second count . Nine months' hard labour.
GUILTY . Six months' hard labour each.
NEW COURT.—Friday. June 24th 1904.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
CHARLES STAFF (8 H.R.) On May 9th. about 9.30 p.m., I was in Cable Street, near some stalls opposite Backchurch Lane—I was standing near the corner on the edqe of the pavement, and near the stall of Dawes, the cheesemonger—I saw the prisoner, as I thought, looking in the shop window—then he went towards Cannon Street Row—I next heard some breaking of glass four or five yards off—I looked between the stalls and the shops to see if I could see anything; I thought a youngster might have broken a bottle or a butter dish, but could see nothing—all of a sudden my foot slipped off the edge of the kerb into the road, and the prisoner said, Take that, you f—"—I felt a, stab in my eye—I fell on ray knees—Trollope helped me up and said, "Go for him"—I ran towards Back-church Lane—Hubbard followed the prisoner, who turned up Backchurch Lane a few yards, but a van was there, and he turned into Cable Street again, where Abbott caught him by the neck, and I grabbed the back of his neck with my left hand, having my right hand to my eye—I felt terrible pain, and pulled a piece of glass out of my forehead, and the blood spurted out—a policeman came to my assistance, I began to faint, and was taken to a doctor's—the doctor put two stitches in my upper eyelid—the prisoner was taken to the police station by Fluister—in answer to the charge he said, "I defy all you can say"—I was taken home—the stitches gave way—I sent for the divisional surgeon, who stitched it up again—the prisoner was captured 40 to 50 yards from where I was knocked down—I do not remember having seen the prisoner before—the place is rough.
Cross-examined. I was in uniform, and on duty—I was talking to Trollope—I said, "Go for him, Trollope."
Re-examined. I distinctly saw the prisoner's face—I never lost sight of him—from the charge book the inspector found that I had taken the prisoner into custody about a twelvemonth ago for being drunk, when he was fined 5s.
FREDERICK TROLLOPE . I am a jobmaster, of 57, Wellclose Square—on May 9th. about 9.30, I was in Cable Street talking to Staff, when 1 heard a crashing of glass—I next saw the prisoner strike Staff with a glass, and he fell—I helped him up—the prisoner ran away—I was in the road—I followed the prisoner—I did not lose sight of him.
Cross-examined. I was pushed aside—the prisoner came up behind me—Cable Street is a busy thoroughfare—it was a Monday evening—there are a number of stalls about—a big crowd collected—a lot of people ran after the prisoner—I came on after the rest—I held the prisoner.
Re-examined. I did not lose sight of him—the prisoner pushed me aside.
—I was in Cable Street on May 9th, and saw Staff and Trollope—first I hoard a smashing of glass, then I saw the prisoner come from behind a stall—he smashed the top off a tumbler and retained the bottom part—he bent down and broke it on the roadway—Staff had one foot in the roadway and one on the kerb, talking to Trollope—the prisoner said, "Take that, you—Staff fell to the ground—the prisoner ran off—I went after him—I was at first half a dozen yards behind the prisoner—I caught him up—he attempted to go up Backchurch Lane two or three yards, but altered his mind, and turned into Cable Street again—I overtook him in front of a van—I struck him, and he fell down—a constable took him in charge—I assisted to take him—I afterwards came back, and with Fluister found this bottom portion of a tumbler.
Cross-examined. I saw the assault—it lasted not a minute—I was working outside my stall—business was quiet.
WILLIAM FLUISTER (198 H.) I took the prisoner to the station with another constable, and assisted Staff to the station—the prisoner said, "What have I done? What arc you taking me for?"—I said, "I will let you know when I get to the station"—the prisoner was detained at the station—I went back to Cable Street, and behind a stall outside No. 32 I picked up this fragment of a broken tumbler—the prisoner was charged, and the inspector asked him if he had any witnesses—he said, "Yes, I have myself"—previous to that, and after Trollope and Hubbard had spoken, he said, "I defy all what they say."
Cross-examined. Hubbard held the prisoner—he has been in employment, on and off, for an agent of Lovell Christmas for twenty years or more, also with a Mr. Brooks—he has a wife—I do not know how many children he has—his witnesses were here last Tuesday.
Re-examined. I brought his witnesses at his request—he does not bear the character of a peaceable, sober man—he was charged with drunk and disorderly conduct and using obscene language last year, when he was arrested by Staff—he has been charged and bound over—on one occasion no prosecutor appeared, and he was discharged.
THOMAS JONES (Divisional Surgeon, H.) On May 10th, about 2 a.m., I examined Staff—his left lower and upper eyelids were cut clean through, and there was a slight wound in the conjuntiva, or white of the eye—he had a large horizontal wound on the left side of his forehead, extending down to the bone, and about 2 1/2. inches in length—any sharp instrument like the broken glass produced would produce the injuries—they were not knife wounds—the edges of the wounds on the eyelids were jagged—Staff was bleeding profusely when I saw him—he had been taken to the surgery, and when hemorrhage set up in the wounds I was sent for—the wounds were dangerous—if the glass had entered the corner of the eye it would have been a question of removal or operation by a specialist—the injury will not be permanent.
Cross-examined. He is nearly right now.
GUILTY . Fifteen months hard labour. Hubbard was ordered a reward of 40s.
THIRD COURT.Friday, June 24th, 1901.
Before Lumbey Smith, Esq., K.C.
523. JOHN ROGERS (37) , Attempting to have unlawful carnal knowledge of Louisa Wright, aged thirteen years. Second count, attempting to have unlawful carnal knowledge of the same girl, she being an imbecile. Third count, indecently assaulting her.
MR. HUTTON Prosecuted; MR. J. O'CONNOR Defended.
GUILTY on the Third count.
He received a good character. Two months hard labour.
524. CHARLES WILLIAM ATKINS (40) , Unlawfully obtaining from Albert Turner £150. Second, count, obtaining from Valentin Albert Rettick credit for £25, without informing them that he was an undischargede bankrupt. Counts three and jour, making material omissions in his statement of affairs in his bankruptcy.
GEORGE INGLIS BOYLE . I am a messenger in the Bankruptcy Department of the Royal Courts of Justice—I produce the file in the bankruptcy Hollebone Atkins, of 1, Shaftesbury Avenue, auctioneers and estate agents—the adjudication was on April 17th, 1898—there is a statement of affairs, purporting to be signed by Atkins, showing liabilities £1,69712s. 3d. and assets under £2—the bankruptcy has not been discharged against Atkins.
Cross-examined. £452 16s. and £191 19s. 9d. was money lent to Atkins—there was about £1,000 of sir all debts—the fully secured creditors totalled £255, the partly secured creditors £147—there is in this estate surety by indenture for the payment of £125 to Ernest John Frederick Hollebone, and other sums amounting to about £300, and as guarantors for the payment of a liability incurred by the firm in Regent Street, making a total of £480 3s.—£3 So was security to the prisoner's partner, Hollebone.
THOMAS LAIDLAW . I am an examiner in bankruptcy—I produce the file of the bankruptcy of the prisoner of 1903—he is described as a director of public companies—the petition was filed by Alfred Turner on September 2nd, 1903—the adjudication was on October 20th—the deficiency shown in the statement of affairs is £525 10s. 9d.—the assets are nil—in the list of unsecured creditors is Alfred Turner, of 4, Boundaries Mansions, Balham, for £100 rent—I do not find in the list Valentin Albert Rettick—the prisoner's public examination was held on November 11th—the transcript is on the file (This was read, and showed that Atkins had borrowed from Rettick and his father £520.)—Rettick put in a proof for £25.,
Cross-examined. Unpaid calls are put at £225, and Turner's claim is £150—£50 is not scheduled—that leaves £200 due to other creditors.
Re-examined. Turner put in a proof for £150.
ALBERT TURNER . I am a medical practitioner, of 4, Boundaries Mansions, Balham—I am joint owner with Mr. Williamson of the flats in Marius Mansions, Balham—in 1000 we advertised them to let—I received the prisoner's letter of April 27th, and the other correspondence produced—
this agreement followed (Staling that a flat was arranged to be let to the prisoner at £50 per annum, payable quarterly in advance.)—I referred the matter to Mr. Williamson, who afterwards made a report to me—the prisoner never told me he was an undischarged bankrupt while he occupied the flat—I did not know it till the petition was filed in October, 1903—towards the end of 1900 the prisoner was in arrear for rent, including the rent due in advance, £50—he had paid one quarter—eventually we came to an arrangement by which I bought the furniture for £225 of the tradesman who supplied it, and by this agreement with the prisoner of January, 1901, I let him the fiat furnished at £100 for a year, renewable at his option—he remained in occupation eighteen months longer, which brings us to 1903, but he paid no rent—£120 was due to June, 1903—in May, 1903.I issued a writ for £100 for rent due for 1902, and obtained judgment—that not being paid, I was the petitioning creditor in the prisoner's bankruptcy—after that petition I received a communication, when it came to my knowledge that the prisoner had been bankrupt before—shortly afterwards I received a visit from him—he told me there was a previous bankruptcy, and that he did not want us, on his coming public examination, to say more than we could help; that if we did not he would pay us what he owed us, because his father had recently died, and he was interested under his will—I said I was in the hands of my solicitor.
Cross-examined. We saw one another, but we were not frequent visitors—my solicitors took out a summons under Order 14 for judgment for £100—the rental was payable in advance monthly—if the rent was seven days in arrear I could eject the tenant without process of law—Newman sold the furniture to the prisoner—I could have seized it for rent; it was not on hire—I paid £175, part to the prisoner, and part to his wife, deducting rent and one or two other things—that was not to prevent its being said that the purchase ought to be registered as a bill of sale—the prisoner could repurchase—that was a matter for consideration—we were always willing to resell and give the prisoner an unfurnished tenancy—£63 10s. was not the amount, nor 6 per cent, on the £175 agreed upon for the repurchase—the prisoner made many suggestions, as the letters produced show—I received notice of this case last night when I was 50 miles off, and came up from Essex to be here.
(The Court held that the agreement being for payment in advance, it was not a credit within the meaning of the section of the Debtors Act, and intimated that that part of the case would be withheld from the Jury.)
VALENTIN ALBERT RETTICK . I live at 44, Huron Road, Balhara—I have known the prisoner for some years—I received this letter from him in October, 1902, asking me for the loan of £50 to enable him to complete his qualification as a director of a company—I refused, but receiving this second letter, dated October 6th, I lent him the £25 asked for in it, in exchange for this post-dated cheque, dated December 31st, 1902, which I paid into my bank after it was due more than once—it was not met; I have never been paid—I wrote to him for payment in March, 1903—I did not know he was an undischarged bankrupt until September, when I received a paper from the Bankruptcy Court—it is not true that my
son and I discussed with him his bankruptcy—I heard that suggestion for the first, time in the South-Western Police Court—I received this letter from the prisoner, dated November 9th, 1903(Stating that he did not. Include the witness in the fist of creditors, as the liability was of quite a personal character between themselves, and that his relatives would pay 20s. in the £).
Cross-examined. I and my family were on very friendly terms with the prisoner—I stated in the police court that even if I had known he was a bankrupt I would have let him have the money, but that was an nswer forced from me, taking me by surprise—if I had known what I have learned since I would not have lent the money—I did not call frequently at his place of business in 1888—I dare say I have been there three times—I remember in May. 1900, going with my son, who is now in America, and staying with Atkins some days at Brighton—my son was then bringing an action against Tom Davidson for breach of contract—I do not remember any conversation with Atkins about it.
The—prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that his bankruptcy was well known to Rettick. who did not want the loan transaction with him known to anybody else, and that the result of his present bankruptcy was to deprive him of £350 a year in directors' fees which he had preciously earned.
GUILTY on Second count. Five days imprisonment.
OLD COURT.—Monday, June 27th, 1904.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
525. ADOLPH BECK (63) , Unlawfully and fraudulently obtaining by false pretences from Rose Reece a gold ring, from Pauline Scott a watch, a ring, and £1. from Grace Campbell a ring, from Lily King a ring and is., and from Caroline Singer 2, with intent to defraud.
ROSE REECE . In August, 1903, I was living in Marylebone Road—I was then out of an engagement—one afternoon in that month I was near Oxford Circus—the prisoner spoke to me—I swear he is the man—he said he had seen me on one or two occasions before, and was desirous of making my acquaintance—that he had only five minutes to spare, would I kindly give him my address?—silly like. I gave it to him—in the hurry I did not think there was any harm in it—about a week afterwards I received a letter in writing, like this one (Produced)—it had "Hotel Victoria" stamped on it—I have destroyed it—it said."Will call upon you at 4.30 in the afternoon to-morrow"—nobody came, but about six weeks afterwards the prisoner called and said, "You remember receiving a letter from the Hotel Victoria'"—I said I did. and asked him in, because he said he was interested in me. and would like to know something about me—I told him I was a housekeeper out of an engagement, but was looking for one—he said he had a large house in St. John's Wood, and wanted a housekeeper—I thought it was a good opportunity—he did not describe the house, except to say that he had a cook and a housemaid there—
he said I should require sonic dresses, as I was then rather badly off for them—I was to get a tailor made dress—I cannot remember each one, hut he made a list in pencil—the writing was similar to this list, but the amount was different—I was to get the dresses at Madame Hayward's, in Bond Street—he said he thought that would be a nice place to go to, as he had got many dresses there, and was known there—he saw I had little ring on my finger, and asked whether I would like another—I said I should—he asked if the one I had on fitted me well—I said it did—he said he would take it for the measurement—ho did so—it had a design of a shamrock in the centre and three diamonds and a ruby on either side—it was worth about £4—I had had it for some time—he asked me what sort I would like, and I said a diamond and turquoise—he said it should be so, and that it would come from Streeter's in Bond Street—he wrote me out a cheque for the dresses for £74—it was similar to this document—he would not let me see it, but sealed it up in an envelope and addressed it to the Union of London Bank, Pall Mall—he would not let me sec the signature—I tried to sec it, and asked him if he would tell me what it was—I tried to look over his shoulder, but he put his arm up and said I was to take it just as it was to the bank—I saw that it was written on a half sheet of note paper which I gave him—I said, "Had not you better write it on a cheque form?"—he said, "Immediately they see my signature they will give you the money"—he took the ring off my finger; I did not give it to him—I cannot say if he did so before or after he wrote the cheque—I should not have let him take my ring away if I had not believed his story—I begged him to be careful not to lose it, because it was a present from my mother—he made a pretence to give it back to me, but did not do so—I let him take it away, as he promised to return it the following morning—next day I went to find the Union Bank in Pall Mall—I asked several policemen, but they said there was not one there; the nearest one was in Cockspur Street—I went there and presented the cheque—before that I had steamed the envelope open and looked inside, and then closed it—that is how I know it was like this cheque—I could not make the signature out—the cheque was not honoured at the bank—I never saw my ring again, and I did not see the prisoner until I picked him out of a number of other men, I believe, at Paddington Green police station, about April 23rd—I gave the police a description of the man who had swindled me.
Cross-examined. When I picked him out I believe he was already in custody on Miss Scott's charge—I did not particularly notice the othter men when I picked him out—I believe all of them were younger than he is—I cannot remember if any of them had grey moustaches—I caught sight of the prisoner immediately—I had never seen the man who robbed me before August, and upon that occasion I was only with him about five minutes, talking in the street; it was about 5 p.m.—I did not see him again until October—I saw him then for just an hour—I did not see him after that until April 23rd—I do not remember if anything was said when I picked him out—his nose is most peculiar, and is one I could pick out of a thousand—his whole face is different from any other man I ever
remember seeing—when he came to me he had on a jacket suit of black and fawn small check—it was not a dark suit, but rather light, and had white spots—he had no overcoat—I think when I picked him out he had on a brown suit, not a blue one, as he has now, but I am not certain—I looked at his face, not his dress—I think he had eye glasses on then—the man who robbed me was not wearing eye glasses when he came to see me—I cannot quite remember if he put them on tovrite—I kept all the documents till the Friday before he was arrested, when I tore them up—I am positive about the writing—it slopes backward, which is rather peculiar—I have seen German writing sloping like that—I do not think it is often seen in English writing—I remember the signature perfectly—nobody can read it, and that is what makes me remember it—apparently it means nothing.
Re-examined. I have never seen a signature like it before—I have not the slightest doubt that the prisoner is the man who robbed me.
PAULINE SCOTT . On March 22nd I was living at 27, Cambridge Terrace—on that day I was in Oxford Street—the prisoner came up and spoke to me—he asked for my address, and if I would like to meet him again—I gave him my address—he said he was staying at the Hyde Park Hotel—next day I had this letter from him (Produced); it is written on Hyde Park Hotel note paper: (Read) "My dear Miss Scott,—I shall have pleasure in calling to-morrow between 1 and 2.—Yours,——"—the signature 1 cannot make out—he called next day—he said he would like to make me a little present, as he was interested in me—he wrote out this list of dresses, which I was to get (Produced)—he said he was a lord, I do not remember the name, I think lie said Willoughby—he said he could not stay long, as he had to go to the House of Lords—he wrote out this cheque (Produced) to pay for the dresses; it is written on an ordinary sheet of note paper—he asked me to get the paper, as his valet had forgotten to put his cheque book into his pocket—he put it into this envelope, but did not seal it up—he asked me if I' would like some jewellery—I said I should—he told me he would send me some, and asked me if I would like a ring, and if I had one to take as a measurement—I gave him one, and he said it would do very nicely—it was not a very expensive one—the prisoner asked had I not got a better one, which would fit me better—I said I had not—he asked me if I would like a watch—I? aid I had one, but it was out of repair—he asked me to let him sec it—I showed it to him—he said, "It is a nice little watch; I will take it, and have it repaired for you"—the watch and the ring were not very valuable—I have had the watch ever since I was a child—I then said I was going out to have some lunch—he said he would come with me, but had got no money on him—I had my purse, which he took, and took a sovereign out. and said, "This will pay for the lunch"—we went, and got to Edgware Road—he said, "I think you had better et into a cab and drive to the bank, or it will be closed—he did not have any lunch—I got in a cab and drove to the bank—I got there, and found the cheque was not good—that was between 1 and 2 p.m.—I did not remember that bank? do rot close till 4 p.m.—the prisoner said it was
quite a mistake that he had got no money, that he had got up late, and his valet had forgotten to put any in his pocket—I did not get my lunch, but the prisoner got my watch and ring—I then went to Scotland Yard and gave a description of the man who had swindled me—I afterwards received information from the police, and went to a restaurant at 35, Oxford Street—I did not recognise the prisoner there—as a matter of fact that night I felt so nervous I could not have spoken to him even if he had been there—I saw somebody who I thought was like him; he was wearing glasses then, but not when I met him—I was in rather an awkward position behind a partition, and could not see him—the morning he was arrested he had glasses on, and I recognised him quite well—on April 15th I was with Detective Ward, waiting at the corner of a street in Tottenham Court Road, I do not know the name—I saw the prisoner; I went over to him and asked him what he had done with my jewellery—I said, "You are the—man who took my jewellery and my sovereign"—he said, "No, I am not; I do not know you; I have never seen you in my life before"—I said, "You are the man who took my jewellery"—he said, "Who put on up to this? You come with me to my solicitors"—I said, "I have got somebody waiting for you here"—he tried to make off round the corner, but, of course, Mr. Ward came up and took him to the station.
Cross-examined. The prisoner kept on denying that he had ever seen me before—that was the first thing he said when I stopped him—I expected to see the prisoner there—I think it was at the corner of South Street—I did not see the prisoner come out of a house—he was going to pass me without taking any notice of me—I never saw him before March 22nd—on that day he was only with me a few minutes in the street—it was between 5 and 6 p.m.—the next time I saw him was at my lodgings, about 1.10 p.m.—I only saw him for five or ten minutes on that day—he was not wearing spectacles or glasses at that time—I think he wrote the cheque and list without using glasses, but lam not quite sure about that; I did not look at him while he was writing—he was dressed in a dark overcoat, a bowler hat, and spats, and I think he had a light overcoat—I did not see him without an overcoat, so I do not know what he had on underneath—I do not know if he had a velvet collar—on April 15th he was dressed as he is now; he had no overcoat then—I think he was wearing eyeglasses then, but I am not sure—I have seen him since, in custody, without glasses—at the police station he was told to take them off—he wore them until he was told to take them off—I went to the restaurant in Oxford Street on March 31st with Ward—I went in and sat down—I did not notice if the prisoner was standing talking to the proprietor when I went in—I went there to see if I could see the man who had robbed me—I do not think he was there when I went in—I looked round to see if he was there—I saw a man talking to the proprietor—I believe now it was the prisoner—I did not quite recognise him then, but inwardly I thought he was the man—I did not say so—I do not remember if I said at the police court that that man was not the prisoner—I stayed at the restaurant one and a half or two hours—I do not think the prisoner was there all the time—the man I was doubtful about went out—I do not know how long
he stayed there alter I went in—I have not the least idea if it was five minutes or an hour—Ward was not with me—I suppose he waited outside—I did not notice how the man was dressed: he had glasses on then.
LILY KING . I live at 1, Gerrard Mansions, Piccadilly—in March I lived at Is, Gloucester Mansions, Cambridge Circus—on March 28th, about 8 p.m., I was in Regent Street—the prisoner asked me for my address—I gave him a card—next day I got this letter: (Read) "Hyde Park Hotel, Monday evening. My dear Mrs. King,—Please expect me tomorrow, Tuesday, between one and two o'clock," with this signature, which is illegible—this is the envelope—next day the prisoner called between one and two—I saw him in my sitting room—ho offered to take me to his house—he said he had two servants, but I should feel lonely, because he had no time—he said I could not go to his house as I was, and that I should have to have some dresses—he said he was a lord, and had a house in the country, with a fruit garden and a wine cellar—he wrote out a list of dresses amounting to £230—he wrote me out a cheque for £230—at first it was for £225, then he said, "Do you own something?"—I said, "A couple of quid," and he said, "I will make it £250"—he put it into an envelope—I saw him writing it, but I did not see the cheque—was wearing some rings—he asked for one—he took a plain gold one as a measurement—he said he would buy me some, and they would arrive at four o'clock that day—he left the house—I was to go quick to the bank—he told me to give my servant half a sovereign, which I did—he said he had not got half a sovereign himself, as his servant had not put any money into his pocket—he borrowed the half sovereign from me to give to my servant—he said, "I have not got any change about me; have you got any?"—I said, "Yes, but I have only got—is."—he said, "Give it to me"—he took it and the ring—I went right away to the Union Bank, Knightsbridge—I did not get the cheque cashed—I think the prisoner was wearing glasses, but I am not sure—I afterwards saw him at the Court with a number of other men, and picked him out.
Cross-examined. He was then in custody—I noticed the other people he was standing with; I think about nine or ten were there—I think they were all younger than the prisoner—I do not think there was anybody else there with a grey moustache—I told the police the man who robbed me had a grey moustache—I do not know if I mentioned that he wore glasses—I did not remember anything about his wearing glasses until I was asked about it at the police court—I never saw him before March 25th—I only saw him for a few minutes on that day, and for about half in hour on the next day—those are the only times I saw him—he was dressed in dark clothes—he had a dark black overcoat on—I did not notice the collar—he said he was a lord, but he did not say what his name was—he spoke in English—I cannot speak English very well—I did not talk any German to the man who robbed me.
DR. BOYD. I practise at 118, Seymour Place—I saw Grace Campbell at 23. Quebec Street, Wardour Street, this morning—she is unable to gave her bed, and has been unable to do so for the last ten days, in sequence of the state of her health.
WARD (Police Inspector.) I was present' at the police court when Grace Campbell gave her evidence in the presence of the prisoner—he had an opportunity of cross-examining her—she signed her deposition as well as the Magistrate—(Deposition read): "I live at 123, Quebec Street, Wardour Street. I am single, and of independent means. In February I was in Albemarle Street. It was between February 24th and 28th, between 4 and 5 p.m. I had been to an office. As I was going away the prisoner spoke to me. I was quite alone. I had seen him before I went into the office in the Arcade, between Bond Street and Albemarle Street. As I came out he spoke to me in a most gentlemanly manner, He said, I have seen you somewhere before.' I said, 'Probably you have.' He said he had seen me in Scotland. I am Scotch. I asked him who he was. He said he was a friend of the Sassoons in Park Lane. He said he would like to take me out to lunch, and asked my name and address. I gave it to him. I told him I did not want my people to know I had done so. He said he did not want his to know either, as he was a great lord. He did not tell me what his nationality was. I had a letter next morning, which I at once tore up; it bore the address of the Albemarle Hotel, where the prisoner said he had stayed some months. It was in exactly the same printing as Exhibit 7. He called at the address I gave him, next day as I was finishing luncheon. The friend I was staying with came in for a moment while he was there. Prisoner only stayed a few minutes. He said he had a house at Abbey Road, St. John's Wood, with servants. He said he had a lady friend staying there, and asked me to take her place. I declined. I was wearing two diamond rings. He looked at them and said they were not good enough for me, and he would get ever so many grand rings from Streeter's in Bond Street for me. He asked to let him see my half hoop diamond ring for a pattern, and to how the size. I let him see it, and went and spoke to my friend in the next room. When I returned I did not want to part with it, and he gave it back to me. Eventually I let him take a plain gold ring which I told him had belonged to my mother. He said, 'You don't trust me.' I said, 'Well, I don't, for a gentleman does not usually ask a lady for a diamond ring to act as a pattern.' He took away the plain gold ring. It was worth about £1. He said I should have a great many dresses as a present, and I was to get them from Hayward's. in Bond Street. He wrote out a list of them on a piece of paper, and read it to me. He took one list away and left one with me, which I destroyed. The handwriting it was written in, was exactly similar to that on document marked 3, but my list was much more sumptuous, and the dresses were to cost £250. He wrote out a cheque for the amount, and said I was to take it as a present. It was on plain paper on the Union Bank, St. James's. He left it in an envelope sealed up. He told me not to touch it, but go to the Union Bank, St. James's Street, next morning. I destroyed that cheque directly he had gone. It was in exactly the same writing as that marked He told me to stay in till 6.30 p.m., because he would go to Streeter's and get my rings, and would send them to me by a commissionaire. I never received any ring nor my own back. I never took the cheque to
the bank. I never heard from him again. Last Saturday I picked the prisoner out from a great many other men. I have not a doubt he is the man.
Cross-examined. At first I believed in him, but when he asked for my ring I suspected him. I never thought the cheque was genuine. I never expected to see my ring back. When I saw him first I only talked to him for a few minutes. The interview at my friend's only lasted half an hour. He had a dark grey overcoat and patent leather boots on, a foulard tie, with a cheap pearl pin. I can identify the prisoner by his general appearance, back and front, from top to bottom. The men he was placed among were all younger than the prisoner. The man he called on me wore eyeglasses and a pair of gold pincenez"
CAROLINE SINGER (Interpreted.) In March I was living—at 4, Keppel Street—I recollect meeting a man in Oxford Street who asked if he might go home with me—he asked for a card; as I had not got one, I gave him my address—some days afterwards I received this letter (Produced)—the man called next day, which was a Sunday—he said, "I am very rich, and have got plenty of money"—he wanted me to go to his house—I said, "I am married"—he said, "It makes no difference; I want you as a friend"—we spoke in English—he made out this list—he wrote this cheque for £140 to pay my debts—he said, "I am going to buy you a chain and a watch, and a pair of diamond earrings and a marquise ring"—he said, "Give me those earrings as a pattern"; he pointed to the ones I have on now—I said, "No, I cannot give you these; they belonged to my mother, who is dead"—he borrowed £2 from me—I told him it was given me by my husband—he did not say what he wanted the £2 for—I picked him out at the police court—the prisoner is the man.
Cross-examined. I only saw the man twice—I spoke two or three words with him in the street—I do not speak English very well—I did not speak any German to him—the second time I was with him for about thirty minutes—he said, "I do not speak anything else but English"—he had a single eyeglass hanging down, but he did not put it on—he had a brown suit on and a black overcoat with a velvet collar—I picked him out on the same day that the others did.
WALTER ELLIOTT MURPHY . I am cashier at the Union of London and Smith's Bank, Charing Cross branch—we have no branch in Pall Mall—cheques like these have been presented at our bank for payment for nearly a year—they were always presented by women—about twenty or twenty-five have been presented—in none of them can we decipher the name of the drawer—if the signature is a name, no such person has an account with u.s—all the cheques were dishonoured—none of them were on proper cheque forms—some of them were drawn on the Union Bank, St. James's Street—we have no branch there or at Knightsbridge—we have one in Sloane Square—I do not know the prisoner—none of the cheques have a stamp on.
WILFRED STAGG . I am a clerk in the inquiry office at the Hyde Park Hotel, Albert Gate—these letters are written on Hyde Park Hotel note paper, which is left in the public room for the use of visitors—anyone
coming into that room can write a letter on that paper—I have not seen the prisoner at the hotel.
Cross-examined. There is an attendant whose duty it is to notice people coming in—I look after the visitors mail and so on—if the prisoner came in I think I should notice him.
STEPHEN DE MARIA . I keep a restaurant at 35, Oxford Street, and have known the prisoner for two and a half years as Adolph Michael Beck—he constantly came in as a customer, and had his meals there—after I ad known him for about six months he asked me if I would allow his letters to be addressed to my place—I said "Yes"—they came addressed to Adolph Beck, except on one occasion, when it was Michael Adolph Beck—he said he was engaged in the City as a commission agent—he had reakfast at my restaurant and sometimes lunch, but not lately, and every evening he had dinner—for the first few months he paid every day, then he told me he was rather short, and I said, "I have no objection; you can go on and pay me whenever you can"—at present he owes me between £40 and £50—I remember some time before April the police coming and speaking to me at my Holborn shop—I saw the prisoner the same day—I did not then mention that the police had been to me—on April 4th, when he came to my place about 8 a.m., he said that when he went to his hotel the night previous somebody told him that the police were after him, and that the proprietor would not allow him to sleep there any longer—he was then sleeping at the Percy Hotel, Percy Street—I said, "I do not think there is anything against you, because the police came to my place, and Inspector Ward said there was nothing against you"—I think the prisoner said, "I am not going to be looked upon as a dishonest man; I had better leave; I shall look out for a room, and I shall leave"—he said he wanted to be free and easy, and did not want to be locked up—he said he moved to 7 or 9, South Crescent.
Cross-examined. He asked me who the police officer was, and I showed him Ward's card—he asked me to go to the station with him, which I did on Easter Monday—there were several constables there, but Ward as out, so I made an appointment to meet him at 2.30 that afternoon—I saw him about the prisoner's case—the prisoner was not there then, but he afterwards asked me. "Have you been up there?"—I said, "Yes"—he said, "What did he say?"—I said, "He had nothing against you, but only wanted to know where you lived"—when the prisoner moved, to South Crescent I believe he left his address with me—I knew his address all the time he used my house—I was quite willing to give him credit—I am not complaining that he swindled me; he always paid me before—I remember Miss Scott coming to my restaurant one evening—the prisoner was there having some tea, I believe—he was there for about one and a half hours while she was there—I noticed that she was looking at the table where the prisoner and I were sitting—she was looking at him; there was othing to prevent her seeing him—I believe that was on March 21st, but I am not sure.
Re-examined. On the first occasion I went with the prisoner to the
police station at his suggestion—tic waited outside because I asked him to—I went to see if there was anything against him.
WILLMAM GREEN I am manager of the Central Hotel, Percy Street—I know the prisoner as Adolph Beck—he stayed at the hotel from October Kith to October 30th, 1902, from November 14th to 17th, 1902 from December 28th, 1902, to January 20th, 1903. and from February 11th. 1903. to April 4th, 100 when he finally left—I understood him to be an agent—when he left he owed 39s.—he was requested to leave although I did not give him notice myself—people had been inquiring for him.
Cross-examined. It was the police who had been there, and I did not like if—if was affer he had stayed at the hotel from February. 1903 to April, 1904, that he owed 39s.—I am not making any complaint that he has swindled me.
JAMES WALTER BALMER On April 24th I lived at 9. South Crescent—I remrrnber the prisoner taking a room there at 10s. a week—he said he had come from the north, that he had been living at an hotel, and wanted a cheaper place—he said he was a financial agent, and that his name was Adolph Beck—he stayed until he was arrested—his effects were taken charge of by the police.
—WARD (Re-examined.) On March 24th I received information of Miss Scott's complaint—I called upon her and took her statement—she gave me a description of the man she said had robbed her—I made inquiries and. communicated with Dc Maria—I ascertained that the prisoner was living at 9, South Crescent—on April 15th I told Miss Scott to stand at the corner of Store Street, and if she saw anybody she knew, or the man who had stolen her jewellery, to speak to him—about 9.30 the prisoner came out and looked round at Miss Scott—they spoke for a few minutes—I went across the road, and she gave him into custody, as the man who had stolen her jewellery—he said, "It is a mistake"—I said I was a police officer, and he would have to go with me to the police station—I conveyed him to the station, and when he was charged he said it was a trumped up affair—he gave De Maria's address as his own—I told him it was false, and that he was not living there—he said he was—I said he was not, and I directed the inspector who was taking the charge not to put it on the charge sheet—the prisoner said he was an agent, and a Norwegian—after he was charged he asked to send a telegram, and in my presence he wrote these four telegrams and this envelope—I found 2s. 4d. in money on him and a number of articles, among them being two pairs of eyeglasses—I made a list of the articles—I afterwards went to 9. South Crescent and took possession of his effects—I made a list of the things; it contains prince nez keys, a box containing visiting cards, pawn tickets, hair dye, two pocket books, an overcoat, a washing book, and some memoranda in this envelope—on April 23rd I placed the prisoner with twelve other men at the police court; some were about his own age, some older, and some younger—I told him he was about to be put up for identification, and that he could stand where he liked—he chose his position, standing with his back to the window—he was going to take off his coat—I told
him not to do so, as other people were wearing coats—he had on a great coat with a velvet collar—he was wearing glasses, and I told him to take them oil, as other people were not wearing them—the witnesses came in separately, and each picked him out—in each case he said he did not know them—he was wearing a hard felt hat.
Cross-examined. The witnesses are wrong if they say the prisoner was wearing glasses when they identified him—I do not know that the man who committed the robbery did not wear glasses—I seized everything I could find at the prisoner's lodgings—I found a light grey suit; there were eight or nine suits there—this is the overcoat he was wearing (Produced)—there is no velvet collar on it; I am wrong about that—I am not wrong about his wearing glasses, because I told him to take them off—a woman was brought in to identify him for a different offence altogether; she did not do so—I did not find any pawn tickets relating to any of these articles, and I have not succeeded in tracing any of them to him—De Maria told me he took his food at his place—I did not know that De Maria knew where he lived.
THOMAS HENRY GURRIN . I am an expert in handwriting at Bath House, Holborn Viaduct—I have practised for about twenty years, and have given evidence for the Treasury and others, hundreds of times—I have seen the Exhibits in this case—I have compared the lists of dresses, cheques, and letters addressed to the witnesses with the telegrams and envelopes proved to be in the prisoner's writing—to the best of my belief, the writing on those Exhibits is the studiously disguised writing of the same person who wrote the five proved Exhibits—some of the disguised writing is written backwards, some of it straight, and most of it is' distorted in such a way as to suggest that it is intentionally disguised—I see in it a number of peculiarities which I see in the proved writing—I should say the handwriting belongs to the Scandinavian group, Norwegian or Danish—I have occasion to study manuscripts of foreigners, and I have noticed the it and f's of that writing—I have also compared the disguised writing with a pocket book found at the prisoner's lodging—almost all the writing in that book is the same as that which appears on the telegrams, and it is the same writing as the other Exhibits, only they re disguised.
Cross-examined. The pocket book supplied me with a great deal more material—the style of writing is foreign—I do not think there is any instance in the disguised writing where it is absolutely natural except by. inadvertence—I think it was all intended to be disguised—all the capital P's in the telegrams have the same peculiarity—the umbrella part goes through the main stroke—in the disguised writing there are eight P's, and in most of them one sees the same peculiarity—there are many differences in the writing, but, to the best of my belief, they are not material.
Re-examined. The dissimilarities are not what I should expect to find in the writing of two different people.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "Before God, my Maker, I am absolutely innocent of every charge brought against me. I have not spoken to or seen any of these women before they were set against
me by the detectives. I can bring many witnesses to prove I have acted honestly in my business in the City from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. I ask the Press to help me to get all evidence in my support from my solicitor."
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he did not know any of the women; that he had never seen them; that on March 22nd he teas in the City doing business with a Mr. Gajardo from 11 to 3, and stayed in the City till 6 p.m. that he was in Mr. Williams', his solicitor's office, in the afternoon; that he had dinner at De Maria's between 6 and 7; that on March '23rd he was in the City at lunch time.; that, on March 28th he was with Gajardo all day on business; that he remembered Miss Scott being in Dc Maria's restaurant on March 30th; that on March 29th he had lunch at a baker's shop in Old Broad Street; that the letters to the, witnesses were not written by him; that he could not write without glasses, and then not more than two sentences in English, without using a dictionary; that he carried wo pairs of pince-nez, one for distance and one for reading; that he had Urn mistaken for a man named Smith, his double; that in March and April he had no brown suit, or a coat with a velvet collar; that he was receiving £3 or £4 a week from Mr. Williams; and that he received an option on some copper property of his own in Norway.
Evidence for the Defence.
MATTHEW EDWARD WILLIAMS . I am a solicitor, of Broad Street Place, Finsbury Circus—I have known the prisoner for fifteen years—I have taken up his defence during the last week only—I know his writing—I have received a number of letters from him—in the course of my profession I deal with handwriting—I have seen the letters written by the thief—I say most decidedly they are not written by the prisoner—I do not trace the slightest resemblance—the characteristics of the two writings are entirely distinct in my opinion—during March and April I made the prisoner an allowance;—I was engaged in the sale of property for him—I have the contract here—I made him an allowance because of that property, and because I had known him a long time and had a respect for him—I should think I have given him £200, on an average of £2 a week—there were no regular payments—I was prepared to lend him anything within reason—I have never seen him without eyeglasses except to wipe his eyes—I imagine that he cannot write without them—I have never seen him write except to copy letters written by my clerk.
Cross-examined. I made him an allowance because I believed he wanted money, and because I believed that it would be repaid—I do not do that for anybody who asks it—the prisoner was introduced to me by some cilents—his property is a series of mines described in this agreement of sale—I have not seen them, but I have corresponded with our agent in Christiania concerning them, and he has seen the title—I have a list of my payments—I have no receipts except the cheques—towards the end of last year I received about £200 from the prisoner, which was part of £.100 paid on his property—I did not know that I should be called as a witness until ten minutes ago—I was rather anxious to be called in the prisoner's interest—I had a good deal of experience in handwriting in my early days—I was never employed in comparing handwriting—Mr.
Gurrin's business is to compare handwriting hypercritically; mine is to get a general contour of the whole thing.
By the COURT. I knew of this case some weeks ago, but not professionally—it was after Mr. Freke Palmer was not able to continue it that I took it up.
He then LEADED GUILTY to a conviction of obtaining goods by false pretences at this Court on February 24th, 1896. Judgment respited.
NEW COURT.—Monday june 27th; and
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, June 28th, 1904.
Before Mr. Recorder.
The Jury being unable to agree, were discharged, and the trial postponed till Thursday, June 30th. (See the next case.)
NEW COURT.—Thursday, June 30th, 1904.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
WILLIAM THOMAS MOORE . I am a clerk in the. Supreme Court of Justice at the Central Office—I produce the pleadings in the action of Sophia Annie Watson against Major General Henry Terrick Fitz Hugh—the writ is dated April 18th, 1903—the claim is for £10,000 for breach of promise of marriage—it was issued by the plaintiff in person—that is endorsed on the writ—the Statement of Claim is dated May 20th, 1903—it purports to be signed by Sophia Annie Watson—the answers to interrogatories were filed on June 30th, 1903, and purport to be signed by her—the action was set down for trial, and was in the list on January 15th, 1904th it was heard that day—I was not in Court—I have here the judgment for the defendant—I also produce the further and better answer, filed July 31st, 1903.
Cross-examined by prisoner. I certify the Registrar's certificate in the memoranda of the Court—if it had not been heard on January 15th it would have been carried forward till it actually came on for trial.
ROBERT DRUITT . I am a solicitor and a commissioner to administer oaths, practising at Bournemouth, appointed by the Lord Chancellor under the Commissioners of Oaths Act, 1889—I have my commission here—this signature is my writing on the answers to interrogatories produced—I administered the oath to the prisoner, who swore to them in the New Testament in the usual way—I believe she signed them in my presence.
Cross-examined. I never heard of your intended marriage.
ALFRED WILLIAM BAYLEY . I am clerk to Messrs. Nye, Moreton& Clowes, of 12, Serjeants' Inn—that firm acted as solicitors for Major General Fitz Hugh in the action of Mrs. Watson against him—after the defence was filed a summons was taken out by the defendant for leave issue interrogatories—that leave was given by Master Archibald on June 12th—the plaintiff, Mrs. Watson, was present before the Master—the interrogatories produced were prepared and served upon her, and her answers were filed.
Cross-examined. We had fourteen days to put in the defence—we applied to Master Chitty for further time, and got seven days.
At the prisoner's request, the statement of claim, interrogatories, and answers were read. The assignments of perjury were: (1) That General Fitz Hugh promised to marry the prisoner on October 20th, 1900, while going by train between Brighton and Hassocks in a first class carriage, verbally; (2) that Colonel Isaascon communicated the wish of General Fitz Hugh to marry her in July, 1900; (3) that Matilda Blanc said, when this promise of marriage was discussed in her hearing, that she (Miss Blane) wished that she had had such an ofter of marriage; and (4) that it was not in his capacity as a Visiting Justice that she first met General Fitz Hugh in Lewes Gaol when she was there undergoing a sentence of imprisonment.
HENRY TERRICK FITZ HUGH . I am a retired Major General of His Majesty's Army, and live at Streat Place, Hassocks—I am a Magistrate for the county of Sussex—for many years I was one of the Visiting Justices of Lewes Gaol, and became the Chairman—my duties took me to the gaol once a month, and occasionally at other times when sent for—the business took place in a committee room—it consisted of hearing complaints of or by the prisoners, or requests for indulgences—in the committee room; wore present one or more Visiting Justices, the Governor of the prison, and the prisoner, if there was one to be brought before the Justices, a warder, and witnesses—I saw Watson several times in this committee room and also in her cell—when I went to her cell a warder was present, male or female—I never met Watson, to my knowledge, before I met her in my capacity of Visiting Justice—no doubt I saw her in the prison in 1900, but only on my making a visit of inspection—it is not true that I asked her in July, 1960, or in any other month, not to send a letter to another gentleman with whom she was said to be in communication—I never asked Colonel Isaacson, the Governor of Lewes Gaol, to make a proposal of marriage to her on my account, neither in the workroom nor any where else—Isaacson had nothing to do with the workroom—I never made an appointment to meet her at Hassocks Station on September 20th
or 27th—I received a telegram which I did not answer—I think that was later—I saw her at Hassocks Station on September 27th—that afternoon I came from Brighton, and crossed the line at Hassocks by the underground passage, to get to my carriage, which was on the down line, because I expected a friend, when Watson walked up to me and wanted to shake hands, which I did not do—after seeing that my carriage was there I went back to the platform, and Watson said something about finding a home for her boys—I then said to her, "I have nothing to say to you, except that you had better keep out of prison if you can," and that she had better see Lady Ramsey, who lived at Lewes, visited the gaol, and was kind to prisoners, and is now, for all I know—my friend came, and I went home—Watson at that time had not started this ridiculous idea of hers—I was Chairman of the Prisoners' Aid Society—I knew nothing of her except as a prisoner in gaol—the meeting was accidental—the next day, September 28th, I was at Lewes on business, when I saw the coach from Eastbourne to Brighton drive up to the White Hart, Lewes—Watson was on the top—I did not speak to her, or see her off in the sense of an escort—on October 20th I did not go from Brighton to Hassocks with her in the train—that morning I got in the train at Hassocks Station—I did not speak to her, nor she to me—she followed me into a first class carriage—she got out at Preston without having spoken to me at all—I cannot say how many other people were in the carriage, but certainly more than one—there is no other station between, Brighton being only about five miles from Hassocks—I now know that Mrs. Weekes, of Hurstpierpoint, travelled in that carriage—as I walked through the station at Brighton, to my surprise, I found the prisoner by my side—she said, "Oh, I found I was obliged to come into Brighton after all," and, without stopping, I said, "Good day, and take care you do not get into prison again"—I went away, and saw no more of her that day—it is not true that I confirmed any offer of marriage which had been made on my behalf in Lewes Gaol, nor that the meeting was by appointment, nor that she was introduced to Colonel Isaacson or myself in 1898 about some improvements at the prison which were carried out—from time to time I received letters from—her, about a dozen, I think, since she was in prison and up to the time she was in prison again, which was about September 27th, 1901—I wrote one letter to her (This was called for, and the envelope only produced)—that is my writing, and contained my letter—in substance I said, "I have to. request that you will not write to me," and signed my name—I burnt her letters after she had been convicted and sentenced to three years' penal servitude, as I thought I was likely to be free from such letters for some considerable time—no marriage was fixed for November 30th, 1900—I never wrote to break off such marriage—I wrote to tell her not to write—no meeting took place on Sunday, November 25th, 1900—I saw her in a fly, and she tried to speak to me, about half a mile from my home—two boys were with her—she put her head out of the window to speak, and I told the flyman, to drive on—I had the writ in her action against me on April 9th, 1903, and my solicitors who defended administered the interrogatories, and these are the answers produced—that action came on for
hearing before a Special Jury on January 15th, 1904—I gave evidence, as did Colonel Isaacson—the verdict and judgment were given in my favour—the prisoner did not give evidence, nor was any witness called on her behalf—she was there, and said she would not take any part in the trial.
Cross-examined. I cannot remember the dates—in February, 1901, no one had threatened me with a breach of promise action, nor at any time before the writ—that was the first notice I had of the action—I never suppressed a letter in the prison in which you stated you wished to take action against me—I had forgotten that Mrs. Weekes was in the raiiway carriage—I knew Mr. Blanco, the Visiting Chairman, whom I succeeded when he was ill—I do not remember his introducing you to me—I have never said I was Chairman from 1887 to 1892; I said I was Visiting Justice—I saw you in bed—I had a good many letters—I do not remember the dates—I never had a telegram saying in substance, "Colonel Isaacson has conveyed your wishes to me"—I had a telegram to meet you, but I think I may say I had no letter from you the same night—I had no letter on September 27th from Lower Belgrave Street, saying you were coming to Hassocks Station that day—I had no idea of your action in 1900, when you wrote your letters—I do not remember the Jury asking me to produce your letters—I could not produce them because they were burnt, and if I had been asked I should have said so—I burnt them long before I had the writ—I never expressed my sorrow for your being in prison—I did not ask you what day you were coming out of prison—I did not profess love and affection for you—I never intended to carry out a marriage—you did not visit at my house, to my knowledge—my sister never told me so, and I never told her so—I said before the Jury, "She is trying to catch me"—I did not use the word "confession"—I told the young man who brought the writ it was not worth the paper it was written on—I resigned my Chairmanship of the Magistrates before the action was commenced because I was becoming deaf—I never suggested you should not send a letter to another gentleman in the presence of Major Mollineux and one or two others—I do not remember any complaints against the matron—I was Visiting Justice many years—at the time you spoke to me of your boys I did not know anything about them—the friend I went to meet at Hassocks Station was a lady—she is not here—my sister is.
Re-examined. When prisoners are not ill enough to go to the infirmary they are allowed to remain in bed in their cells, and on my visit the prisoner made some complaint about her food, but I do not remember much about it—some official was with me.
By the JURY. I first received letters from the prisoner about Sep tember 27th—she came out of prison on September 20th—the letters received were not before the Hassocks meeting—they were sent for about six weeks.
HENRY BEVAN ISAACSON . I am the Governor of H.M. Prison at Manchester—I was Governor of H.M. Prison at Lewes from July, 1898, to June. 1902—the prisoner Watson was received into Lewes Gaol on April 14th, 1899, and was an inmate till September 20th, 1900—she was undergoing
sixteen months' hard labour from Brighton Sessions—she came in again on December 20th on remand till the Lewes Assizes on February 16th, 1901—she was transferred on February 27th, 1901, to Aylesbury Convict Prison—from April, 1899, to September, 1900, she made frequent complaints to Visiting Magistrates and inspectors, and frequently appeared before the Visiting Justices, who sit in the committee room—I was invariably present—when I am away the chief warder is there—the meetings are once a month, and once a fortnight a Magistrate came with an official, and there were special meetings—it was the duty of the Visiting Justices to see all the prisoners in their cells—on the female side he is accompanied by the matron or a female officer—it is impossible to see a woman without—possibly the prisoner is in bed—I do not carry a key, and cannot see a female prisoner without an official being present—Watson's petitions were stopped, among others, for a period by the Secreary of State, because of their frequency—no incoming letters are suppressed—outgoing letters are read and suppressed if they contain improper or objectionable matter, by me as Governor of the prison, at my discretion—General Fitz Hugh never requested me to make a communication to the prisoner—he never mentioned marriage with the prisoner—I never made any offer of marriage on his behalf to the prisoner under any circumstances, in the presence of the matron or anyone, and I could not see her alone—I have seen her everal times in the presence of Miss Blane—no letter was ever stopped from the*prisoner to Hayles, nor any letter returned to Hayles—if General Fitz Hugh's name was on it I must have seen it—no letter was sent to Hayles with "To return" written on it.
Cross-examined. I have had no complaint of my mismanagement of Lewes Prison—I stopped a letter from you to Mr. Champion after your conviction and sentence to three years' penal servitude on February 22nd, 1901—I never stopped your letters before your trial—there were eight charges of fraud against you, and you got three years' penal servitude—no letter was kept from you to Hayles while you were under remand—I have a record of your letters—I do not know Hayles—I do not remember your bringing a piece of a letter into Lewes Prison—I have no record of any letter being kept back except a letter to Mitchell, none to Hayles—I never conveyed anything to you in 1900—I kept a letter back for Mr. Labouchere.
Re-examined. I suppressed a letter written by the prisoner to Champion, a solicitor at Eastbourne, on my own authority, without consulting the Justices.
MATILDA BLANE . I am matron at His Majesty's Prison, Lewes—I was there when the prisoner was there in 1899 and 1900—it is not the fact that Colonel Isaacson, in my presence, made any communication to the prisoner as to the desire of Major General Fitz Hugh to marry her, nor that in the workroom of the gaol or anywhere else I said I wished I had such an offer—I have seen the prisoner's writing several times—these are in her writing (The statement of claim, the answers to interrogatories, and the further answer.)—I see the prisoners' letters and pass them
on to the Governor—I remember no letter to Hayles—if marriage had been mentioned I should have noticed it.
JESSIE NELSON WEEKES . I live at Hurstpierpoint, Sussex—I know General Fitz Hugh—I saw a report of this case at Bow Street in the newspaper in March, and sent a telegram to the Director of Public Prosecutions—I afterwards gave particulars of what my evidence would he, and attended at Bow Street—I travelled from Hassocks to Brighton on October 20th, 1900, in the same first class carriage as General Fitz Hugh—two ladies, besides the prisoner, were in the carriage, to the best of my belief—the prisoner got out at Preston Park—at Brighton I saw the same person who had got out at Preston Park speak to General Fitz Hugh on the platform—in the carriage between Hassocks and Brighton there was no conversation between General Fitz Hugh and the prisoner.
Cross-examined. I spoke to General Fitz Hugh after reaching Preston Park—I bowed when I got into the carnage—I had a second class ticket—I read the report of your breach of promise action—I did not see the railway incident mentioned in it—I visit at the General's house.
Re-examined. There was no room in the second class, and I went first.
Cross-examined. I saw a person at Streat Church—I do not know Miss Langham—I do not live at the same house as the General.
WILLIAM TURRELL (Inspector, Scotland Yard.) I found the prisoner detained at Bow Street on the morning of March 25th—I charged her with committing perjury in her answers to interrogatories in an action—she said, "The answers to the interrogatories were perfectly true."
Cross-examined. I believe you said you had given notice of a new trial—letters were in possession of the police on a previous charge; you have seen them several times, and two were given up to you by order of Mr. Justice Grantham.
The prisoner, in her defence on oath, said that, she became acquainted with General Fitz Hugh through Mr. Blanco in 1888, and gave up Mr. Hayles afterwards in consequence of the General's promise of marriage; that he visited her afterwards; that all her statements were true, and the witnesses' statements false; that her letters were suppressed, and being in prison, she could not call all her witnesses, but had given notice of a new trial, as the other was only a farce; that she said to the General after she saw Colonel Isaacson, "You have your wishes," and the General replied, "Oh, he told you", that the confirmation of the promise was on the return journey from Brighton to Hassocks; that Mrs. Weekes was not in the train at all: that the General's letter to her was to break of the engagement; that her boy was at school when the General said she spoke to him about a home for him; and hat she was innocent of the perjury charged, and her previous convictions had nothing to do with the case.
Evidence for the Defence.
where mother was lodging in 1899 or 1900—I took a letter from the postman, which mother showed to me afterwards—it said, "Our engagement had better end" and "I wish no further correspondence" at the bottom—I saw the General at Dane's Croft in November, 1900—I took in several letters from the General, but one was special, and mother showed it to me—it had the Hassocks postmark—I saw a ring that came from the General in the spring of 1899—the police took mother's bag and all her things out of the house—I went to the General's house in a carriage with her and my brother—coming back, we saw the General—mother wanted to speak to him, and he told her coachman to drive on—that was after the letter mother showed me—I saw the rector and Miss Fitz Hugh—I went to Dr. Parker's school just before mother was arrested, on December 20th. 1900.
Cross-examined. I cannot remember if I said before the Magistrate, "I can remember seeing the General at Dane's Croft"—I can remember seeing him at Dane's Croft—I could not remember that before the Magistrate, and I said so—I recollected it since—the words, "I wish no further correspondence," were at the end of the General's letter—I did not tell the Magistrate there was nothing else besides that—my mother reminded me of the addition in the letter after I had given evidence;—she told me to write and send a copy of what I wrote to my brother Fred, so that I could remember—he is thirteen years old.
FREDERICK WATSON . My colonel? Colonel Hoare, of the 2nd Royal Rifles, had an interview with me—I see General Fitz Hugh in Court'—I was in the carriage with mother, coming back from the General's house, when we met him, when he told the man to drive on—mother wanted to speak, and he would not stop—I do not remember a letter coming to the house.
ELLEN PICKNELL . I am a servant at Dane's Croft, Haywards Heath—the prisoner had apartments there—she told me she had come from Paris—I saw a gentleman come to the house—I do not know his name—he stayed about three hours—I made a statement at Lewes Assizes three years ago.
Cross-examined. I said before the Magistrate, "The gentleman I speak of was not Major General Fitz Hugh, whom I see."
THOMAS KENNARD . I am a fly driver at Haywards Heath—I drove the prisoner to Streat on November 25th, 1900, to the Vicarage—coming back, we met General Fitz Hugh—the prisoner asked me to pull up, so that she might speak to him—the General said, "Drive on; I do not want to speak to her"—I drove to the house next to the church.
GEORGE EDWARD WALKER . I am Governor and Medical Officer of Aylesbury Convict Prison—I received the prisoner on February 25th, 1901—she applied to the Board for a special letter—the Board refused the application.
GUILTY.** Five previous convictions were proved against her. Four years' penal servitude. The. Jury expressed sympathy with General Fitz Huge.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MR. WARD Defended.
WILLIAM HOLMES . I live at 8. Warren Lane, Woolwich, and am a costermonger—I was married to the deceased about sixteen years ago—we did not live much together—she finally left me about 3 1/2 years ago—I saw no more of her until May 5th, when I saw her body at the mortuary in Canning Town.
Cross-examined. I do not know how many men she has lived with; I believe with several—she had a very vile temper—I never see her the worse for drink in my life—I had heard that she gave way to drink—while we lived together she committed a large number of assaults upon me with anything she could get hold of—she threw things at me and struck me—she has assaulted me so many times that I cannot remember the number.
LOUISA CRUDEAR . I am the wife of George Crudear, of 21, Star Street, Plaistow—we rent the whole of the house—I know the prisoner—he came to lodge there with the deceased, whom I knew as Mrs. Cooper, about the end of October, 1903—they occupied the front room on the first floor—they moved in on a Friday night, and the prisoner went to sea on the following Tuesday—he is a fireman on board ship—the deceased remained in possession of the room—I think the prisoner was away a month—from October to March he was at my house from time to time—he went away on different voyages—the deceased remained at my house all the time—the prisoner last came back from sea about March, and remained for about six weeks—he did no work during that time—he borrowed money from me to keep himself—he paid nothing during that time—he gave me no security—he had borrowed from me before, and repaid me when he came back from sea—he had done that ever since he lived at my house—he owed me £7 at the time of the deceased's death—that was lent to him and to her—after the prisoner came back in March the deceased remained at the house for three weeks, when she went away—she was away for three weeks, all but a day—on Easter Monday. April 4th. before she went away, they had a few words, but made it up again—I do not remember anything he said about her—I remember a summons coming, which I gave to him—he brought the deceased back to the house on Sunday night. May 1st—this happened on Thursday, May 5th—she continued to live at the house till the 5th—I did not notice anything between them during that time—on the 3rd the prisoner told me he had signed on a boat to go away for eight months—I saw them both on the 4th in their room—they seemed to be on friendly terms—they remained indoors—they were both sober—I went to bed about 11 p.m.—the deceased woke me up at 5.45 a.m. by screaming out, "Mrs. Crudear, Mrs.
Crudear"—I partly dressed myself, went up stairs, knocked at their door, and said, "What is the matter, Mrs. Cooper?"—she said, "Come in, Mrs. Crudear; Mr. Cooper is cutting his throat, and has cut mine"—the prisoner said I was not to go in—she said, "Come in"—I said, "No, I must not come in; Mr. Cooper says I am not to"—I did not notice anything about the prisoner's voice—I said I would fetch a policeman, and lie said, "Fetch one"—I tried to open the door, but could not do so—I could turn the handle—it was not locked, but something else prevented me—my little boy went for a policeman—two came—I saw no more of the room—on the day the summons was served the prisoner came down before he went out and borrowed £2—he said he wanted it in case he was fined—he came back and said he was fined £3 5s.—I let him have the other 25s.—this is the summons (This slated that as information had been laid hy Margaret Holmes that the—prisoner on April 23rd had unlawfully assaulted and beaten her, he was summoned to appear on April 27th.)—the deceased was not then living at my house.
Cross-examined. The deceased was a tall, strong woman—the prisoner was a quiet, decent sort of man while he was in my house—he supplied the deceased well with money—he left her his advance notes, and on one occasion sent her money from New Orleans—there were no differences between them about money—she gave way to drink—I have seen her on many occasions the worse for drink—she had not a violent temper; we could always agree—I never knew of her fighting with anybody—she did not bring men to the house—on one occasion a man was brought there while I was out; I do not know who brought him—the deceased said he was her brother—he was lying drunk on the rug in her room—he stayed there all night—she was in the room with him—that is the only man I know of who stayed all night—I know nothing of her going to Gubbins—I do not know if she did much betting with the money the prisoner left her—she came home two days following, saying someone had given her two horses, and asked me if I would bet 6d. with her, and I gave her 6d. each day—the prisoner did not tell me on Easter Monday that she had attempted to stab him—he said she had a knife in her hand, and he took it away from her—he said that in the struggle of getting it away it broke, and I afterwards found a broken knife in the room—it was not two seconds from the time the deceased's cries woke me on May 5th and the time that I went to their room—I finished fastening my bodice going up the stairs—when I tried to push their door open something at the bottom prevented me—I am sure I heard the prisoner's voice.
Re-examined. I said before the Coroner what I have said to-day—I never saw any act of violence committed by the deceased—I never heard her threaten the prisoner.
MARGARET GUBBINS . I am a widow, and live at Canning Town—I have known the deceased as Margaret McCarthy for about three months—she was up and down at my son's—she said she was a widow—my son is named Michael Gubbins—he has known the deceased not quite six months—he stayed with her at my house for three days and three
nights before he went to sea, his last trip—I do not know the date—on the Saturday that he left I said to the deceased, "Meg, go awav; Mike has gone: you will have to clear out of here"—she said, "Don't hurt yourself, I am going"—the prisoner came at night time—he gave one knock at the door—my landlady went to the door—she said to him, "Who do you want?"—"I want Mrs. Cooper" he said—she said, "There is no Mrs. Cooper here"—he said, "That is all right," and he came up to me—the deceased went to my kitchen table—she took a cullender up and said she would do so and so to him—I took it from her and said, "You won't do that in my place"—she then took up the tongs—my landlady said, "The best thing you can do is to clear out"—when the prisoner first came in he said to the deceased, "Come away home"—he did not say who he was, but, of course, they knew each other—they both went out—on the following Monday I was coming round with some bread from Adams'—I saw the prisoner—he said, "I was looking out for you; I wanted you"—I said, "What for?"—he said, "Meg has summoned me, and I want you to go there for me"—I said, "I am on the parish, and if I go the parish money will be stopped for me"; so I did not go—I did not see the prisoner or the deceased again—my son left the deceased his advance note for £2.
Cross-examined. I have only got one room—when the deceased and my son were with me we had two beds and the use of the back room—she came to wash Mike's bag—I expect she slept with my son—she said she was a widow, and her husband was rotten in the grave years ago—while she was at my house she had a pint of ale now and again—when the prisoner came the deceased said she would split his head open, and she swore at him—I took the cullender and the tongs from her—I should not have let her in, but she promised me 10s. out of the £2—I never gota farthing.
MICHAEL GUBBINS . I live at 25, Peter Street, Canning Town, and am a ship's fireman—I made the deceased's acquaintance in November, 1903—between then and April I was at sea on three voyages—when I was at home I saw her several times—I knew her as Mrs. Barton or Barnes—she said her husband was dead—I visited her once at Star Street—I passed the night on the floor—there were immoral relations between us on the occasions that I met her—I last went to sea on April 23rd—I saw the prisoner once in the Beckons Arms—I knew he had been living with the deceased—she lived with me for about a week before April 23rd at mv mother's house, and one night, I think, at Montague Street.
Cross-examined. She said she was a widow—she was not a bad-tempered woman as far as I was concerned—if she had had a bad temper when I was with her I should have "given her one"—I only gave her an advance note for £2 once—she borrowed 12s. off Mrs. Crudear out of it for me—the last time I went to sea I done my own advance note and gave her the money—altogether I gave her over £5.
SARAH DARBY . I live in West Ham, and am the wife of a man employed on board ship—I knew the deceased for a few weeks—on Saturday, April 23rd, I met her in Peter Street—from what she said to me I let her a room at 3, Montague Street at 7s. a week—that is my house—she did not
come that evening, but she sent her bedstead, mattress, and bed on a barrow by a man where she boarded—she did not sleep there before Monday night, the 25th, when she slept there alone.
MARY ANN HART . I am the wife of William Hart, a labourer, of 17, Epic Street—I know the prisoner, and also the deceased as Mrs. Cooper—she lived with me for six or eight weeks about eighteen months ago—on Saturday, April 2.'kd, I saw her about 11.30 or 11.45 p.m.—she came to where I was living and knocked me up—she made a statement and showed me a skirt torn right down the back—on the following Monday I accompanied her to West Ham Police Court—I saw the prisoner standing outside the Court; he was there before we got there;—he did not say anything then—the deceased went into the Court—when she came out the prisoner was still there, and said to her, "I never thought you would do this"—she said, "If you don't go away I shall have you locked up"—two days later I again accompanied her to the Court—I was not in Court when the summons was heard—I saw the prisoner outside the Court—after it was all over the deceased and the prisoner went and spoke together, then they called me, and I heard her tell him that it was all through the landlady allowing him there; that he had knocked at the door, and the landlady had sent him up stairs when she was ill in bed—nothing was said to explain what she was referring to—on May 4th I went to Star Street and saw them; they were both sober—he said, "Meg, I have signed on; I have got 3s. on my note, and there is 2s. to go and get some tea."
Cross-examined. The prisoner was a quiet, decent fellow—the deceased had a very hasty and violent temper; she did not care what she picked up to you—when the prisoner came home from work one Saturday afternoon the deceased was out—he called me and said, "How long has Meg been out?"—I said I did not know—when she came in she picked up a black-handled knife and said, "If you don't leave off I will stick this into you"—I took it away from her—her finger was cut, and two cups broke—when she met the prisoner outside the police court he spoke kindly to her and said, "Well, Meg, I never thought you would do this"—she said, "If you don't go away, I will have you pinched"—after the summons had been heard she said, "Now I have got my half crown back"—I understood that she meant that she had got back the money she had spent for the summons.
FRANK GEORGE WAYLETT (176 K.) On April 25th I was outside the West Ham police court about 11.30 a.m.—the deceased and Hart came up to me—the prisoner was on the opposite side of the road—the deceased made a complaint to me and pointed to the prisoner—I gave her certain advice—she went into the clerk's office of the Court—she came out again and came up to me—the prisoner was still on the opposite side of the road—as the deceased came up to speak to me the prisoner, from the opposite side of the road, said, "That is right; I will settle you"—he said that loud enough for me to hear—the deceased then made a statement to me—another constable crossed towards the prisoner, who went away, and the two women went in another direction—I made a plan of the premises at 21, Star Street, Canning Town, showing the furniture as pointed out to me.
Cross-examined. It is not at all unusual in West Ham for people to ask me questions about issuing summonses, or to hear people say something rough to one another.
WILLIAM PONSFORD (653 K) I am a warrant officer at West Ham Police Court—on April 25th I received this summons and served it at 21. Star Street—on the 27th I was at the Court, when the summons was heard—the defendant appeared, and also the complainant—I heard him charged with the assault—he pleaded guilty, and I heard him bound over by the Magistrate in his own recognisances, and to pay 7s., the cost of the summons—after the hearing I saw the prisoner and the deceased outside the Court, apparently quarrelling—I heard the prisoner say that if she upset him he would upset her again—I advised him to be quiet, and told the woman to go home—I told the prisoner he would be liable to have his recognisances estreated if he interfered with her any more—they then went a war.
Cross-examined. The prisoner consented to be bound over—there was no disturbance outside the Court.
GEORGE PAIN (63 K. R) I was outside West Ham Police Court on April 25th at 11.15 a.m.—something was said to me, and I went to the prisoner, who was outside the Court—I said to him, "I have received a complaint against you for using threats, and you will have to go away"—he went away without speaking.
Cross-examined. I knew nothing about what was going on between the parties—I believe the 25th was the day the summons was applied for—there was no disturbance as far as I was concerned.
WILLIAM MUNDAY (115 K.) About 5.55 a.m. on May 5th I was called by William Crudear to 21, Star Street—I went there with Rose—we went to the front room on the first floor—I had to use force to open the door—when I got in I found that the prisoner's feet were against the door; he was lying on the floor, his head being away from the door—the deceased was also lying on the floor, and the prisoner had his head and shoulders on her left thigh—he had his shirt and trousers on, and a leather belt or strap—the deceased was dressed in a chemise and a bead necklace—I saw that both their throats were cut—there was blood on her face and head and down to her bust—there was also a great deal of blood on the floor—I sent for a doctor immediately—I pulled the deceased out into tin* light and laid her on her back, and put a pillow under her head, so as to close the wound in her throat—I saw there was not much chance of saving her—the prisoner began to move—Rose and I went to him, and I rendered first aid by putting a towel in water and binding his throat up—I left him and went to the deceased again—just then the doctor arrived, and I loft the deceased in his care—the prisoner was lying at the deceased's foot. Mr. Gill proposed to ask the witness what the deceased had said. Mr. Ward objected on the grounds that the statement was not with regard to what was taking place, but what had taken place; that it was not a dying declaration, and that the prisoner was not in a position to deny the charges, as he was unable to speak, his windpipe being cut, although he could understand what was taking place, and was therefore in exactly the same position
as though he was absent altogether, when anything said against him would not be evidence, and that although he did not deny the charges at the time, he did so afterwards. (Reg. v. Mitchell and Reg. v. Smith, 17 Cox; Reg. v. Beddingfield, 14 Cox.) Mr. Justice Grantham said that the very fad of the prisoner denying the charges afterwards made the statement evidence, and ruled that it was admissible the deceased said, "He done it with a razor; he put his fingers in and tore it out"—the doctor was attending to her then—I made a note of what she said as soon as I had washed my hands and after the prisoner was removed—when the deceased said that, the prisoner was lying on her feet—I noticed that his eyes were following us about the room—immediately after' '"he statement Rose crossed over to him, and, with his assistance, I too-v the prisoner down stairs—he was put on an ambulance, with a view to his going to the hospital—I went up stairs and saw Dr. Holton with this razor, which he handed to Inspector Fowlers—I did not see where it was taken from—the doctor had it in his possession when I went back to the room—I was present when the deceased died, just before we took the prisoner away—after she had made the statement about the razor she said to the doctor, "I am dying," and she died soon afterwards—when I had assisted to take the prisoner down stairs I saw this hammer (Produced) lying between the bed and the wall—I picked it up and gave it to Fowles—when I first saw it there was no blood upon it, but there was blood on the head of the bed nearest the wall, also blood on the wall near the head of the bed, some on the foot of the bed, and some on the wall by the foot of the bed; also smears of blood on the inside of the door, and corresponding splashes on the wall nearly as high as the door, and at the foot of the bed on the right side of the room there was a pool of blood, which the deceased was lying in—I first heard the prisoner speak about 10.30 that night, when I went to the hospital to keep observation on him—he said, "How is that woman? is she dead?"—I said, "Turn over and go to sleep."
Cross-examined. The prisoner had no boots on—I am positive the deceased said, "He done it with a razor; he put his fingers in and tore it out"—Rose was kneeling by her right side—I should think he heard what she said—I was standing with one leg on either side of her—Rose was in as good a position to hear what she said as I was—I do not know if Rose said that she said, "And pulled it out;" if he has said it I should think he is wrong—the only appearance of a struggle in the room was that the bed had been pushed out from the wall at the foot, and the floor looked as if two people had forced themselves between the bed and the wall—the blood on the hammer came from my hands.
FRANCIS ROSE (283 K.) I accompanied Munday on May 5th, and was present when the room was entered—I saw what he has described—I heard what the deceased said after the doctor's arrival—I made a note of it—while the doctor was examining her she said, "He done it with a razor; he put his fingers in and tore it out. My back is bad; ask the woman down stairs to come up"—the doctor asked her age. and she said thirty-five—the prisoner was then lying at the foot of the bed, near the door, almost touching the deceased—I asked him where the razor was, and
he shook his head—T should think he was conscious, and knew what was said.
Cross-examined. From first to last I did not hear him say a word—when I was first there and after the deceased spoke, he moved his hands—this note was made ten or fifteen minutes later in the house—the deceased could not say a whole sentence all at once—she was very exhausted—it was nearly all said at the same time—I do not think I said at the police court, "When the doctor came he attended to the deceased, I heard the deceased say, 'My back is bad; he dour it'"—that is correct, but the sentence is not finished—at the police court I said, "Pulled it out," but that is my mistake; it should bob, Tore it out"—the razor was afterwards found under the prisoner.
FRANCES WILLIAM HOLTON , M.R.C.S. I practise at 206, Barking Road, Plaistow—at 6 a.m. on May 5th I was called to 21, Star Street—I found the prisoner and the deceased lying on the floor of the first floor room—the deceased was then alive—there was a good deal of blood about the room—I attended to the deceased first—she said, "He done it"—that is all I remember being said then—I asked her age; she told me—a little later she complained of pain in her back; then she said, "I want to do something"—I told her to lie as quiet as possible while I attended to her wounds—I took no note of what was said when the deceased said, "He done it"—I think the prisoner could hear, and was sensible—the deceased had several wounds about her face and neck, and a very deep wound at the back of her left ear—she died about twenty minutes after my arrival—she said, "I am dying," and died very shortly afterwards—the prisoner was suffering from an incised wound in his throat—it was above his windpipe, and did not sever or penetrate it—I made some remark to him, but he simply shook his head—he was frothing at the mouth, and was in a very low state—it was not the injury itself which prevented him speaking, but the exhaustion following on the injury—I cannot say how his voice would appear immediately after the injury, but after the struggle which he had apparently had it would be husky—I only found one wound upon him—when he was lifted up to be taken down stairs I saw a razor which had been lying under him—I was shown a hammer—on May 7th I made a post mortem examination on the deceased at the mortuary. Canning Town—she was a tall, powerful woman—there were a number of wounds upon her—she had two superficial wounds on her fhroat, and one down to the windpipe, between the thyroid membrane and the thyroid cartilage—the second wound had notched the cartilage itself, and looked as if it had been bruised—a sharp instrument would have causeil them, such as a razor—one of them looked as if it had been rubbed or torn, or something inserted into it—there was a large bruise over her left eyebrow and one along the left side of the face, extending from the lip to the angle of the jaw—there were also several smaller scratches and wounds about her face, and a small one across her chin—there was a large wound over her right temple right down to the bone—it looked more jagged, as if some violence had been applied to it after it had been inflicted—any pulling or tearing would cause it—there was a
wound at the back of her left ear, which may have been caused by a sharp instrument or a blow, and two slight scratches on her left ear—there was an effusion of blood under the scalp where the wounds were—there was a large bruise on her left breast, about 3—in. by 2 in., and a smaller one over her right breast—blows would most probably cause those—there were bruises on the middle of her left arm, and three or four on her shoulder—there was a cut along her left forefinger on the outer side and a scratch at the back of her left hand—there were five small wounds on her right thumb, such as might be caused by a razor—assuming the prisoner had had the wound inflicted upon him by somebody else, I do not think he was in a position to carry on a struggle which would have inflicted all these wounds on the deceased.
Cross-examined. I do not see how the deceased could have been wounded in this way if she held the razor in her hand—I think it is possible that the struggle could have taken place after the prisoner was injured—I was with the deceased from the time I entered the room till some time after she died, and could hear what she said—I did not hear her say anything about fingers being put into her throat or wounds—the prisoner's windpipe was not severed—he could not speak on account of his injury and the exhaustion following it—I signed my deposition, and it was read over to me—it says, "He could not speak because of the several'. of the windpipe"; it was meant for "throat"—I cannot remember saying "I found lie had had a deep cut across his throat, and as far as the eye could judge, it had penetrated the windpipe"—I only examined the prisoner in a cursory way—he did not reply to me; I do not think he could on account of his collapsed state—I was in the room for ten or twelve minutes—I did not go to him at first; it was only in the interval of attending to the deceased that I went to him—the injuries to the deceased were consistent with a certain amount of struggling—I do not know how the body was taken away—the usual way is on an ambulance—when I made the post mortem examination I remarked that there was some bruising about some of the wounds, but I did not hear of the statement the deceased is said to have made that the prisoner tore at the wounds until the following Monday—the two wounds on the deceased's temple and in her throat were in exactly the same state—the condition of the wound on her temple might have been caused by somebody putting a finger into the wound and rubbing it about—if she had fallen on anything after she had the cut it might have had the same result—I do not think her wounds could have all been caused by herself—some of them may have been the result of a struggle—the wound above her left ear may have been the result of a fall—I do not think that would apply to the wound over her temple—it was caused by some sharp instrument—it is possible that the wounds in her throat were self inflicted—I do not think that half the cuts might have been self inflicted—the two grazes on her left ear were just as if a knife had very lightly touched her—a fall would not cause them—if two people were struggling with a razor it might cause a jagged wound if it got near the face of one of them, but not so deep a wound as the one in the deceased's temple—it may have been caused in a struggle, but violence
was necossary—the wound on the deceased's left cheek was undoubtedly caused in a struggle, and I think also the two cuts on the chin—the wound in the front of her throat might have been self inflicted—the smaller bruises looked as if they were linger marks—some of them may have been caused in a struggle.
Re-examined. I do not think the prisoner had lost a great deal of blood—he was incapable of speaking because of the state of collapse he was in from the struggle he had been engaged in—the position of the wounds on deceased's fingers indicate that she had been trying to defend herself, and had received the cuts from coming sharply against an instrument like a razor.
WILLIAM HENRY JONES . I am house surgeon at the Poplar Hospital—at 7 a.m. on May 5th I received the prisoner into the hospital—I examined him and found a big cut across his throat—I gave directions for him to be admitted into a ward, and there an operation was performed to close the wound in his windpipe; that is, the air passage—the operation was successful—the cut itself would not have any effect on his voice, but the blood that was there would make it alter its tone, such as to make it hoarse—he remained under treatment until May 20th, when he was discharged, and the police took charge of him—there was no smell of drink about him when he was first admitted—from the nature of the wound I think it is impossible to say whether it was suicidal or homicidal—if the wound had been self-inflicted, and he is a right-handed man, it would have run from left to right, and probably the wound would have been deeper on the left side, and here it was deeper on the left.
Cross-examined. I said at the police court that I could not say for certain whether the wound was self-inflicted, and I say the same to-day—the wound, when he was brought into the hospital, was a very big one. but he was in a very fit condition—I remember that I said at the police court that "The injuries to the throat were very severe"—I meant that the wound was a big one, and the fact that the windpipe was open made it a severe one—the windpipe had been penetrated, but the man spoke to me before I administered the anesthetic—what I said at the police court was, "When I gave him the unaesthetic prior to the operation I had my finder on his throat; I said, 'What has happened to this?' and he said, 'It is all through my wife'"—the prisoner could certainly speak with my finger on his throat—I was examining the wound—that was the first time he spoke to me.
Re-examined. The position of the wound was above the vocal cords, and would not agree his ability to speak.
ALFRED NICHOLLS (Detective Inspector.) At 8.30 a.m. on May 20th I saw the prisoner as he was being discharged from the Poplar Hospital—I said to him. "Is your name Henry Cooper?"—he said, "Yes"—I said, "I am an inspector of police, and am going to arrest you for feloniously killing and murdering Margaret Holmes at 21, Star Street, Plaistow. at about 6 a.m. on May 5th, 1904. You will be further charged with
attempting to commit suicide at the same time and place. Whatever you say I shall take down in writing, and it will be used in Court or elsewhere "—he replied, "Yes, I know. I am innocent of this crime. She cut my throat whilst I was asleep. She has stabbed me on two or three occasions before, but I will make my statement later on."
Cross-examined. That was the first time any charge was made against him.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate.: "I, Henry William Cooper, wish the Magistrates to read the following statement. I cohabited with the deceased woman, Margaret Holmes, for a little over three years. During the last few months she has several times threatened my life, and on three occasions stabbed me. On Wednesday, May 4th, she told me she would have my b——life, but later in the evening seemed to be on friendly terms with me. I was awakened early on Thursday morning, May 5th, 1904, by feeling something at my throat, and I saw the deceased with a razor in her hand. I found my throat was cut. I got up and put an old pair of trousers on. While I was putting the trousers on she cut her own throat. I then tried to get the razor away, and there was a struggle. In the course of the struggle she said, "I mean putting you away for the b——lot," and then began to shout for Mrs. Crudear. I did not murder her, and I am quite innocent of this charge. I wish for legal assistance at my trial, and I have not the means for providing the same for myself."
GUILTY . DEATH
Before Mr. Recorder.
530. WILLIAM FREEMAN (19) PLEADED GUILTY to stealing 14 lbs. of bronze and 14 lbs. of copper, the goods of Arthur Ernest Good; having been convicted of felony at' this Court on September 8th, 1003. One other conviction was proved against him. Twelve months' hard labour. —And
(531.) THOMAS HONEYWILL (18) , to breaking and entering the shop of William and Charles Tipple, Limited, with intent to steal therein; having been convicted of felony at Chelmsford on January 6th, 1904, as William Petts. One other conviction was proved against him. Six months' hard labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
MAUD TYLER . In April I was barmaid at the Phoenix public house in Norton Folgate—on April 4th I served the prisoner with half a pint of ale and I pennyworth of shag—he tendered a florin, which I placed on the till—I gave him 1s. 1 0d. change—no other florin was on the till—shortly afterwards Detective Barker came and spoke to me—Mr. Finch broke the coin—the prisoner had left the house, but was brought back by Barker.
me a florin—I put acid on it, it turned black, and I broke it with some pincers—the prisoner had gone, but was fetched back—there was no other florin on the till—Barker came.
WILLIAM BARKER (Detective, City.) On April 4th, about—4.30 p.m., I was on duty in Bishopsgate Street—I followed the prisoner into the Phoenix, and saw him served with a glass of ale—he tendered a florin, which the barmaid put on the till—I communicated with her—Finch broke the coin—I went out after the prisoner and arrested him—I told him I saw him utter a 2s. piece at the Phoenix—he said, "I know I did but I do not know anything about any bad 2s. pieces"—I took him to the police station—he made no reply to the charge—he was subsequently brought up and discharged.
ROBERT BURN . I keep the Railway Tavern. West Ham—on June 4th about 4.30 p.m., I served the prisoner with half a pint of ale and a packet of cigarettes, price 2d.—he tendered a florin—I gave him the change—I examined the coin—I was suspicious—I said, "Wait a moment"—I left the bar and examined it and went to look for a constable—I came back and asked him where he had got it from—he said he had pulled a barrow from Stratford to Whitechapel for a Jew in the market, who gave it to him—I broke the coin in two, and told the prisoner I would go to Stratford Market with him to see if I could get the 2s. refunded—he did not seem to care about that, and I called in Sergeant Brown, who searched him—the prisoner contradicted himself, and I gave him into custody on suspicion—I subsequently found that the coin was bad.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I threw the coin among the pennies because it was dirty—I gave you 1s. Lod. change—I said, "Wait a minute; I will test it," after I broke the coin—I was not away twenty minutes, not five minutes—I did not say, "I do not want to lock him up if he will give mo 2s. for my associates"—I have no associates—I did not say if you would give me 2d. you might go—yes, I did, but you said you could not do it, because you had only got another penny—when I wiped the coin I detected that it was bad.
JAMES BROWN (K. 48.) On the afternoon of June 4th I was called by Burn to the Railway Tavern—the prisoner was standing beside the bar, but came towards us when we entered—Burn said, "This man has given me this 2s. piece, which I found was a bad one, in payment for refreshments"—I took the prisoner to a private room and searched him—I found no other coins upon him—he said, "I have no other coins upon me; I had a penny, and paid that coin for the packet of cigarettes"—he said he did not know the coin was bad, but that he received it from a Jew for pushing a barrow from Hen cage Street, Spitalfields, to Angel Lane, Stratford, a short time previously—I told him I should take him to the station for inquiries, and I took him through Angel Lane and asked him. if he saw the man with the barrow who had given him the 2s. piece, to point him out—passing through Angel Lane, he said the man with the barrow had gone—I took him to West Ham Police Station, and he was charged—he said his name was Thomas Jones, and that he had no address—
be afterwards said he lived at 3, Elliott Street, Spitalfields—that is a common lodging house—this is the coin (Produced).
JOHN MARSHALL (Detective.) I have made inquiries at 3, Elliott Street, Spitalfields—the prisoner has not been there for two months—I went to 24, Westmor land Place, City Road, and ascertained that the prisoner had been there six weeks, and had occupied one room—I believe these two pieces of coin are counterfeit.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "I am absolutely innocent I have no witnesses."
GUILTY .** Four other convictions were proved against him. Six months' hard labour.
Before J. A. Rantoul, Esq., K.C.
He received a good character. One month's hard labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. TURNER Prosecuted.
JOHN HASLAR HASLAR . I live at 80, Bousfield Road, Nunhead, and am a schoolmaster—on May 31st I went to bed at 10.45—everything was safe—about 2 a.m. I saw a man feeling some trousers hanging on the door—I sprang out of bed, and he rushed out, slamming the door—I saw him disappearing down the garden—I found a clock, worth £12, wrapped up and put in a bag of mine at the foot of the stairs, and a towel—these socks are mine; they have been washed.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I cannot tell how the burglar entered the house—I saw the window of the kitchen was open and also the back door—I identify these socks by the colour and the darning.
LOUISA MANELL . I am servant to the prosecutor—before going to bed on May 31st I fastened the kitchen window and the scullery door—I was awakened about 2 a.m. by a not;—I came down and found my master was in the garden, looking for the man who had been in the house—I saw the clock and the towel at the foot of the stairs—I darn my master's socks; these socks are his.
Cross-examined. We are in the habit of leaving two old knives in the yard to scrape mud off boots—I am perfectly sure I washed anile darned these socks.
Re-examined. This is one of the knives referred to.
FREDERICK HALL (116 P.) About 8.45 a.m. on June 1st I went to (61, (iellatly Road, Nunhead, and found the prisoner detained there by a lady and two gentlemen—the lady said, "I have just found this man concealed in my summer house at the back of the garden"—the prisoner said nothing—I took him to the station—he was subsequently charged with this burglary—he replied. "I can't account for what I done, as I was drunk at the time; I do not remember anything about it"—he was sober when arrested—I was present when these socks were taken off his feet.
Cross-examined. You were asked for your socks by the inspector—I did not hear what you said—they had to be taken off by force.
EDWARD BADCOCK (Police Inspector, P.) About!) to 9.30 a.m. on June 1st I was at Peckham Police Station, and saw the prisoner—I told him I was a police officer, and requested him to take his boots oft, which he did—I then asked him to take off his socks—he thereupon threw one of his boots at a police officer—we had to use force to take these socks from him—I went to So, Bousfield Road with the boots, and compared footprints there with them—they appeared to correspond—I examined the kitchen window and found a scratch on the fastening, which might have been caused by a knife—the prisoner gave the name of Frederick Giles; his correct name is John Dayman.
Cross-examined. I did not say to you at the police station, "There is an armchair; make yourself comfortable," nor did I say to you, "Have a cigarette"—you took the boots oft and gave them to me.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate: "Wednesday morning was the morning I was caught in the house, the night before I met a friend and I got drunk, as he left me at the Elephant and Castle. I do not know what happened after that."
The prisoner, in his defence on oath, said that he was not likely to have committed this burglary, and to be found in the outhouse at eight o'clock the same morning and that the socks were his.
Before Mr. Recorder.
537. HUGH STANLEY REVELL PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully signing a false certificate under the Vaccination Act; also to obtaining from the Wandsworth and Clapham Guardians £76 6s. and other sums by fraud. Judgment respited. —
(539.) FREDERICK STEWART (33) , to incurring a debt and liability to Frank Trotman to the amount of 9d., and obtaining credit by false pretences. Three previous convictions were proved against him. Three months' hard labour. [Pleaded guilty: See original trial image.]
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
540. EDWARD GUNSCHMAN (39) and ELLEN GUNSCHMAN PLEADED GUILTY to unlawfully possessing counterfeit coin, with intent to utter it. EDWARD GUNSCHMAN— Six months' hard labour. ELLEN GUNSCHMAN— Discharged on recognisances.
MR. WATT Prosecuted.
WALTER FREDERICK COX . I live at 1a, Hanmore Road, Wandsworth—the prisoner hired a van from me in May, 1903, at 5s. a week—I produce the agreement—he gave me the name of Carr—I saw him sign the agreement—he paid two instalments the first two weeks—I did not see the van again till last August, in possession of a man named Stevens, who came and saw me about it—I gave information to the police before Stevens communicated with me—the van was worth £16—I never authorised the prisoner to sell it.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I did not agree that you should sell it if you could find a buyer—you did not ask me, "How shall I manage if I have not a van?"—I did not say, "You can have another one; there need not be any difficulty about that."
By the COURT. The prisoner never brought me any money for the van, nor told me he had sold it—he never came to me any more.
WILLIAM HENRY STEVENS . I am a jobbing builder, of 109, Ravenshill Road, Wandsworth—on June 8th, 1903, the prisoner offered me a van for sale—he told me he had got it to sell for a man who was in want of money—I bought it after a week's time—it was at his own place—I gave him £6 for it, and 5s. for himself—I gave the van up to the owner, as he sent the police.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You did not request me to keep it for a month or two—you did not say you were likely to purchase the van back—I kept it opposite my place—I had a card in my window that it was for sale, but I had no offer for it—I gave it back to Cox—I did not say at the police court I would give you another van.
WILLIAM HEARD (Detective, V.) I found the prisoner detained at Wimbledon Police Station—he was given into custody by Stevens on May 9th, and I went there in response to a telegram—in the presence of both I said, "Is this the man who had the van?"—the witness said, "Yes"—the prisoner said, "He has made a mistake; I know nothing about the van"—I took him to Wandsworth Police Station—when Cox came I
said, "Is fins the man who hired your van?"—Cox said, "Yes"—the prisoner replied. "No, it was not you I hired the van from; it was a man who had whiskers."
The prisoner, in his defence, admitted having the van, and said he had paid two inst lments of 5s., but at the time he was hard up, as his horse had just died, and the prosecutor must have forgotten their conversation.
GUILTY . Nine months hard labour.
Before J. A. Rantoul Esq., K. C.
MR. ABINGER Prosecuted; MR. CHARLES MATHEWS Defended.
GUILTY . Six months' hard labour.
Before Mr. Justice Grantham.
MR. SYMMONS Prosecuted; MR. BIRON Defended.
PHYLLIS ANNIE THWAITES . I live at 21, East Hill, Wandsworth, with my parents—I have two brothers, named Henry and Teddy—I have known the prisoner fourteen months—he is a second division clerk in the Civil Service—we had been walking out together—we were not formally encagod—on May 2nd I received this letter: (Read) "4, Spanish Road, Wandsworth Common, Monday morning. Miss Thwaites—After your conduct yesterday it would be advisable for us to part. No doubt you will be surprised that I should suggest parting, but I have at last come to the conclusion that if we were joined together life would be an everlasting source of misery to me. This does not mean that my love for you has diminished in any way. No, on the contrary, I still love you with all my heart and soul, as I have always done and will continue to do, even though we part. But I cannot start again, and cannot endure your company any longer at present. I may, however, return to you some day. As you are well aware, for the last few weeks you have done nothing but annoy me—could anyone endure such treatment? No, certainly not! One minute you call me your 'love,' 'pet,' or 'darling,' and the next minute you say you don't care for me at all. You are an extraordinary girl. You know very well that all that was necessary to part us was a good quarrel, and you did your best to cause that quarrel. For the last two or three weeks, whenever you have roused my anger, instead of letting 'sleeping dogs lie,' you have kept on taunting me and made me all the angrier. Do you call that even 'friendship?' When you see you have angered me you should let my wrath cool down again. But you don't do that; you make it worse. After all I have done for you, I think you might find some other way of showing your gratitude. You say that I go out with you for the sake of making you presents. All your statement amounts to is this, that I go out with you to give you
presents with some object in view. In other words, the presents are to be so much soft soap. Is it a decent thing for any girl to tell her lover such a thing? Is it proper for you to imply that I go out with you for the sake or obtaining the opportunity to misconduct myself with you? That is what you mean. This I shall never forget as long as I live. That a girl who once professed to love me should so under estimate my character as to impute such a thing to me, is almost unreasonable. Neither shall I forget that you suspected me of stealing your gloves and card. Such is your opinion of me Now for my opinion of you. Much as I have loved you, I have not failed to notice that when I am taking you anywhere, or about to give you something, you are very nice to me; at other times you are just so-so. In other words, for the last fourteen months you have only gone out with me for the sake of what I could give you. You can't deny that. You have no more heart than a sparrow. No. not even that much. A girl like you deserves to be left an old maid all her life. A Greek philosopher once said that 'Woman was a fraud, and should be kept at the bottom of the garden in a rabbit hutch.' He had evidently had some. But to come to the point. We are going to part, so you will carry out my wishes of a previous letter to you—namely, you will return absolutely everything I have ever given you in any shape or form. Fur, gloves (one old and two new pairs), handkerchiefs (four), two photo; 'one of myself and one of savings bank), boxes (glove and handkerhief with keys), albums, pearls, scent bottle (cards), letters (this one included), and everything I have ever given you except the note paper and envelopes. You will deliver these to me at my door at half past nine in a parcel. I shall expect you, and will return your swish, photos (big and little), cigarette case, and all your letters and cards. I must have my photo. You may either take it out of the frame or give it to me in the frame for 2s. 6d., the price you paid for the frame. But I must have it. If you don't want me, you don't want my photo to scoff at after I have left you. You will return absolutely everything. Bring them here at 9.30 p.m. Why I name this time is because I shall be in then, and want to say good bye to you. You need not be afraid; I shall not touch you, or try to get you to let me stay. I simply wish to say good bye to you; that is all. I think I deserve that much. If you call for me at 9.30 p.m., I can wait at our door for you while you bring the things round, as you cannot bring them at the one time. When you hand me these I will return you your presents, and will also give you your 2s. 6d. for the photo frame. Expecting to see you at 9.30, I remain, my lost love, your broken-hearted Bertie, one whom you once called your little love. You have a little ornament over your mantelpiece that I gave you full of chocolates to give to Johnny or La Roche as a present. You have two. but I only gave you one, I forget which. Don't forget to return it.—Bertie."—the prisoner gave me that letter on May 2nd as I was going to business—I did not read it till dinner time—I took his presents to 4, Spanish Road in the evening—he said I had not given him all—I said, "I have, except your photo, and that I will give you on Wednesday night"—he said he would come down on Tuesday morning—he did not say why he was coming
—he came on Tuesday night—I did not sec him at 9.30—on the Wednesday morning early I was in bed at my home—I woke up about four and see a hat appear behind the door—I called out "Bert"—the prisoner came into the room—I could not see if he had anything in his hand, it was all in darkness—I made a rush for the door—I succeeded in getting out—I could not get the next room door open quick enough, so I ran up stairs to my brother's room, screaming—my brother came down—I then found that my nose and neck were cut, but I did not feel it hurting me—I did not feel myself being cut—I had two cuts on my fingers—there is a scar on my nock and a mark on my nose now—the prisoner had no key to our house—I think he got in at the lavatory window—he had never come into the house with a key—I never asked him to get me a revolver, or knew anything about his getting me one.
Cross-examined. We had had some little tiffs before and made them up—this particular little difference was about his refusing to go to church on Sunday—I never told him I could not have any more to do with him——I do not remember telling him on the Sunday that I would not walkout with him any more—he was not anxious to make up the tiff on Sunday—he left without making it up—my room was quite dark when he came into it—there is only one door to the room—the key was in the lock inside—I jumped out of bed—he jumped over it, and I ran out of the door—he made no attempt to come after me.
Re-examined. I do not know how close the prisoner got to me in the room.
HENRY THWAITES . I am the prosecutrix's brother—on the early morning of May 4th I was aroused by my sister shrieking—I jumped out of bed and ran down stairs—I saw the prisoner by my sister's bedroom door—it was pretty dark—I seized hold of him—there was no struggle—we fell across the bed—I put my knee on his stomach and hit him—I struck out several times and missed him—I did not then know that it was the prisoner—all I knew was that somebody had attacked my sister in the night—I tasted blood, which was on my face—I did not then know where it came from—I thought I had hurt the man, and tried to lift him up—I called for my brother and left him in charge, while I went and dressed and went for the police—there was no light in the room until I came back with the police—the prisoner was then lying on the bed, but in a different position to what I had left him in—his throat was cut—I do not know who found this razor (Produced)—it was shown to me at the police court—it does not belong to anybody in our house—we have no razors—the house was locked up when we went to bed—one of the bars in the water closet was out—at 12 p.m. the door of the w.c. was closed—when I went there about 3 a.m. to open the back door, the window was wide open—it is possible for a man to get through that window—when I returned with the police it was 2.15 a.m. by the town clock.
CHARLES FRY (501 V) In the early morning of May 4th I was called to 21, East Hill by the last witness—I went into a room on the first floor, where I saw the prisoner lying on the bed, with his throat cut—he was conscious—I asked him how he did it—he pointed to this razor on the
floor in a pool of blood—he was taken to the infirmary—he asked to see the prosecutrix before he left, but was not permitted to—in his coat pocket I found some letters: (Read) "Monday. My own darling Phyllis,—Just a line to let you know I have done as you requested me. I sent a P.O. for 6s. 6d. to Gamage's for the revolver and fifty cartridges. If they send them you must be careful with them. You say Henry wants it. I cannot see what he requires a revolver for. I hope that it is not yourself that wants it, for you remember that you once threatened to shoot me. Accept best love, from your loving Bertie." "Tuesday. My own darling Phylis,—It would be advisable before giving you this revolver and cartridges for you to make me a written statement that you intend it for Henry, as he requires one, and not for my poor head; for it would seem rather silly of me to hand you the revolver in order that you might shoot me with it. If Gamage's send it, before you receive it from me you must make a solemn declaration on paper. When I am fully satisfied that you axe telling the truth, then you shall have it. If Henry and I were on speaking terms, I should ask him; but I do not wish to speak to him. Let me have your written statement by to-morrow night; then when you call round with my photo, as you have promised, I will give it to you, and show you how to load it, so that you can show Henry. Lest anything should come of all this revolver business, I have burnt all your notes on the subject, and request you to do the same with mine, for fear that you or I may be dragged into some rumpus. Good bye, my darling, for the present. Excuse this hurried scribble, and accept best love from your darling Bertie. P.S.—On second thoughts I think you need not make a written statement. When you see me to-morrow night simply swear on oath to me that what you say is true. That will be sufficient, dearest.—B." "Friday evening. My darling Phyllis,—I am greatly surprised at your imprudent way of writing letters, and also at the contents of the one just received. My darling, fancy you threatening to shoot me 'through the head,' and putting your threat on paper. I think you forget yourself at times. I have only to show your letter at the police station, and you would have the police after you very soon. Needless to say, I have burnt your note, knowing as I do how you make use of many strange expressions when in a temper. You must be more prudent, my love. I have no wish to quarrel with you, although we parted last night ill friends. It would be very advisable for you to burn this note. I really am not sure whether to take your threat as meant, or whether to let it slip by as an outburst of temper. However, my darling, I shall keep my eyes open. With best love, from your loving Bertie."
Cross-examined. The prisoner was too ill to be allowed to see the prosecutrin—he did not explain what he wished to see her for.
JAMES GATHER GOOD (Inspector, V.) At 9.30 a.m. on May 27th I arrested the prisoner at the infirmary—he was suffering from a wound in his throat—I told him he would be charged with cutting and wounding Phyllis Annie Thwaites by cutting her on the nose, throat, and fingers with a razor, with' intent to murder her, and, further, with attempting to commit suicide by cutting his own throat with a razor—he made no answer—
he was taken to the police station, and made no answer—I found a letter in a box at his house.
Cross-examined. This is the letter I found (Asking the prosecutrix to see him again before they parted, for the sake of (he love she once had for him, and to burn all his letters which had upset her; saying that he would call on her at 7 p.m., and that, he had that day called on the doctor; that the news he received had greatly upset him, and that he teas "going like his father.")
P. A. THWAITES (Re-examined.) I have never received any of these letters from the prisoner; I have never threatened to shoot him, or asked him to get me a pistol.
Cross-examined. I have not received any letters in his writing which I sent back unopened.
By the COURT. His reference to his "going like his father" in his letter refers to consumption; his father had it.
By the JURY. I saw the prisoner's hat when he came into my room because the moon was shining through the window—he had threatened that he would be in my room one night.
JAMES BOSTOCK JACOBS . I am a registered medical practitioner, of 5, Alma Road, Wandsworth—I was called to 21, East Hill, and saw the prisoner lying on a bed—he had got a cut in his throat about 6 inches long, from ear to ear; it was bleeding, and he had lost a great deal of blood—I tied up the wound temporarily to stop the hemorrhage, and had him removed to the hospital—in another room I saw the prosecutrix suffering from a cut on the left side of her neck and one on her nose—the cut on her neek was superficial: the one on her nose was about 1/4 inch deep and had slit her nose down—she had two slight cuts on her left hand—this razor could have inflicted the wound on the prisoner before it broke; it was broken when it was given to me—it could not cause the wound as it is now, and it would have been very awkward to cause the wounds on the prosecutrix with it if it was broken—I think the wounds would have been more jagged if the razor had been in this state—they could have been caused by it before it. was broken—her wounds were not dangerous—the wound on the prisoner was dangerous.
CHARLES SLANG . I am employed by Messrs. A. W. Gamage, of High Holborn—on May 3rd we received this letter, signed Herbert C. McMurray (Askingthem to forward as early as possible one of their pin fire revolvers. bright. 7 bore. 4s. 9d., and fifty ball cartridges for same, for which P.O. for 6s. 6d. was enclosed)—we wrote, asking him to produce his licence for inspection; that is our rule—this is our letter to him—we did not send the revolver—we did not hear from him again until we got a letter from him from Brinton Prison (Saying that as he had no licence, and did not require the rerotcer, would they return the 6s. 6d. and asking for the exact date of his order)—we sent him the money, and he wrote thanking us.
He received a good character.
GUILTY on the Second Count.
He PLEADED GUILTY to attempting to commit suicide. Twelve months' hard labour.
MR. KENT Prosecuted.
ARTHUR TUTTELL (312 M.) On May 21st I was about 300 yards from the Metropolitan Gas Works, Rotherhithe—I received information that two men had been fighting on a barge—I went there and saw the dead body of a man lying in the bottom of the boat—I also saw the prisoner, who said, "I am the man that knocked him in the water. He struck me when I was lying in my bunk, and challenged me to fight. Wow went in the bottom of the boat, and he struck at me, but missed me. He then said, 'Come out on the bank, and have it out there.' I got on the bank, but he would not come. I then got back on to the boat and struck him, and he fell in the river. I jumped in after him, but could not find him"—his clothes were wet to just above his boots—the water is about 7 feet deep there; it was high tide.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. In your first statement you said, "He struck at me, and I struck him back, and he fell into the water"—you did not tell me that when you got back on to the boat he struck at you, and then you struck back, and he fell into the water, but you said so at the station.
WILLIAM JAMES BAGNELL . I am gatekeeper to the South Metropolitan Gas Works at Rotherhithe—on May 25th I was on duty at 10.10 p.m.—I was speaking to a man named Bartlett—the deceased came up and said he had lost his way; would I show him the way?—Bartlett volunteered to show him the way to the works, and I saw them go off together—the deceased was the worse for drink, but he was not helpless—at 10.20 a man named Luff came and asked me where our lighterman, Gough, lived—I gave him his address, and he told me what had occurred—I went to the wharf and saw the prisoner on the stern of the barge—he said, "For goodness' sake, man, come and help me get my mate out of the water"—there was a "hitcher" lying by his side, but there was nothing in his hand—I got on to the barge and picked up the "hitcher," which is a long pole with a hook, and tried to find the body—I could not find it, but shortly afterwards I saw Gough find it—when it was pulled on to the barge I used artificial respiration for about twenty minutes, when the doctor arrived—I then left a man named Wallis in charge of the body while I went for the police.
WILLIAM GOUGH . I am a lighter man, and live at Clarence Street, Rotherhithe—on May 25th, about 10 p.m., I heard that a man had fallen into the water—I went as quick as ever I could—I got a staff off the wharf, and hooked the man out and put him on the wharf—when I pulled him into the boat he was quite dead—I caught him the first time I put the staff down—I helped in the process of respiration, but could not bring him to—when the body was pulled up the prisoner sad, "Thank God you have got him. I done it."
Cross-examined. You stood on the wharf while I got the body out—the constable did not come until some minutes afterwards—I think the doctor came first—you did not help while the body was being pulled out.
By the COURT. I stood in the boat while I used my "hitcher"—a man said the body was about there., and I put the staff down and pulled him
out at once—I expert the man had hoard from the prisoner where the body was before I arrived—the water is between 7 and 8 feet deep—I did not notice whether the prisoner's clothes were wet.
FREDERICK LEWIS BARTLETT . I am a machine attendant, and live at Cow bury Road, Deptford—on the night of May 25th I was talking to Bagnoll when the deceased asked me to show him the way to his barge—I took him there; it was about 200 vards off—about half way across the yard I asked the deceased if his mate was aboard—he appeared the worse for drink—he said, "I do not know. Ah, my mate is a b—rough one; he is a lion, and this is the place they tame lions, is not it?"—I said I did not know—when we reached the wharf he shouted to his mate aboard the barge, but got no answer—it was high water—I said I would fetch a ladder for him to go aboard—he said again, "Oh, my mate is a b——rough one; I will have him up here to-morrow, and I will knock him up and I will knock him down, and I will knock him all over the b——shop"—I got him on board safe, and then went to the gatekeeper—I took the deceased to the cabin—I did not sec anybody else on board—the next thing I knew of it was when the deceased was in the water—I saw him got out—I do not know if the prisoner was sober—I heard him say to Tuttle that the deceased came aboard the barge and woke him up and punched him in the mouth: that he said, "Why don't you sit down there? you are drunk, go to bed "; that the deceased hit him again; that he went out on to the wharf and said to the deceased. "Come out on the wharf," but the deceased would not do so, but struck the prisoner again, who then knocked the deceased overboard.
HERBERT LAWRENCE (Inspector, M.) On May 25th, about 11.50 p.m., the prisoner was brought to Rotherhi the Police Station—I told him he would be charged with causing the deceased's death—I cautioned him—he said, "I will tell you all about it. We arrived at the gas works yesterday from Stourbridge. He asked me to look after the boat whilst he went to Paddington;.I did so. This morning we were drinking together, and had some words. About ten o'clock to-night I was lying on the side of the bed when he came and struck me twice in the mouth, and challenged me to fight. I went on to the bank and stripped to fight, but he would not come, and I went on to the boat. He struck at me, and I hit him with my hand and knocked him off the boat into the river. I jumped in after him. but could not find him, and I shouted, but could make no one hear"—when charged he said, I am very sorry; I would not have had this occur for £20"—he was the worse for drink.
CHARLES JOHN LUFF . I am an engine driver, of Manor Lane, Rotherhithe—about 10.15 p.m. on May 25th I was standing on the gas works jetty—I heard some shouting—I went over and saw the prisoner, who told me his mate was overboard: would I go and help him to get him out?—he had a "hitcher" in his hand, and was tryinc; to find the body—I took the "hitcher," but failed to find the body—I went and told the foreman, and then I returned and saw the deceased's body brought up—he was apparently dead—I went for a doctor—respiration was tried for about twenty minutes.
WILLIAM BECKTON , M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P. I am at present attached to the Seamen's Hospital—on May 20th I made a post mortem examination on the deceased, in conjunction with Dr. Rose, who is now seriously ill and unable to attend to his work—the external appearances of the deceased's body were those of a well nourished man; there were no injuries except a slight abrasion on the upper part of the cheek, which was probably caused after death, probably in the dragging—the air passages contained water and frothy mucus, which would be from the drowning—the heart was quite normal—the stomach contained water and a very lurge amount of food—all the appearances coincided with drowning—there was no smell of liquor—a large amount of water would destroy the signs of spirits—the cause of death was drowning—Dr. Rose agrees with me in that opinion.
Prisoner's defence: When I jumped after him I held one side of the barge with one hand and tried to reach him, but could not do so—the tide was washing in and washing the boat backwards and forwards, so I had to shout for help; I said, "He is down here, he is down here; for the Lord's sake come and help me get him out."
NOT GUILTY .
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY, JULY 25TH, 1904.